She joined him at the table. “It isna easy now, but we dinna go around carvin’ each other up. Nor do we turn them into folk heroes.” She pointed her finger at him. “An’ I dinna believe that man walked this earth. He’s a figment of yer imagination. Why are ye helpin’ that spiteful woman when all she does is write horrid things about ye?”
Ewan laughed. “Well, I look forward to hearin’ ye admit ye were wrong. And I’m no’ helpin’ her. The old-timers have taken a shine to tellin’ her tall tales. They gather around her stove an’ smoke a pipe as they recount how life was here years ago. She only says she heard it from me because it was her way of mentioning me in this paper.”
She snorted. “Most of ’em have been here less time than we have. She should ken better than to believe anything they say.”
Ewan smiled. “That’s the point, Sorch. I dinna think she cares if they are true or not. She just wants good stories that will sell and get the townsfolk talkin’.” He shrugged. “It got you riled.”
He ducked as she threw a napkin at him. He sobered as his gaze wandered to the door and livery. “I hope her tales dinna lead to problems for Bears.”
Sorcha frowned. “Why should they?”
“Ye ken what some say. That we are brave to have such a man as him livin’ in close proximity to us.” He smiled as Sorcha rolled her eyes. “Many in town are waitin’ to find us scalped some mornin’.”
“Well, then they’ll be waitin’ for a long time as Bears is from a peaceful tribe, and, even if he were no’, he’s a good man,” Sorcha said. “They have no right speakin’ about him as they do.”
Ewan nodded. “Aye, ye’re right. But his acceptance here is tolerated at best.”
Sorcha grumbled as she rose to pour herself a cup of coffee now that it was brewed. “I will never understand the desire to dislike based on appearances. I would rather ken the person first and have a reason for my distaste.”
Ewan smirked. “Like the Jamesons.”
She giggled. “Aye. Them and Tobias. An’ the Madam.” She shivered. “That woman is more horrible every day to her girls.” She bit her lip and shook her head.
“What do ye see, Sorch? I ken ye deliver many of the baskets now that Anna is tired with her condition.” He frowned when Sorcha shook her head again.
“The new doctor spends quite a bit of time there,” she whispered. “He has no reason to be there as Fidelia has no’ been abused lately, which is one less worry for Annabelle.” She paused as she thought about Fidelia Evans who was Annabelle’s sister and worked at the Boudoir where she was known as Charity. She raised troubled eyes to meet her brother’s concerned gaze. “I dinna like him. He doesna look at me as a person but as a thing. Do ye ken what I mean?”
Ewan nodded as he frowned. “Aye, an’ that’s dangerous for the women at the Boudoir. He could be there for other reasons, Sorch.”
“He talks about his medicines, their price, and their strength. I dinna ken what they’re for.”
Ewan shrugged. “Someone must be ill.”
Sorcha heaved out a gust of irritated breath. “A sick whore doesna have the money to have the doctor there almost every day, Ewan. I dinna ken what is goin’ on, but somethin’ is.”
Ewan rose. “Aye, well, ’tis good of ye to be concerned about Anna’s sister and the other women there, Sorch.”
“Will ye try to find out what is occurrin’ there?” She flushed at the question and the implied acknowledgment that her brother visited the Boudoir daily.
“Aye.” He stroked a hand down her arm. “Now I must away to work.” He winked at her and headed to his worksite. He had good men working for him, but he knew they worked more diligently when he was present.
He slipped on a jacket as a cold snap had moved in, killing most of the flowers and heralding an early start to fall. He detoured to the print shop and poked his head in, smiling when he saw J.P. alone, fighting with the old printing press. “How are ye settlin’ in then?” he asked. His smile broadened as she glowered at him.
She wiped her hands on a cloth and glared in his direction before she gave up on the press for the moment. “Fine. Just fine. If this old heap of junk worked, it would be even better.”
Ewan chuckled. “I heard that, if ye had a gentle touch, it worked better.”
She watched him with a flinty glare. “Don’t act charming. I don’t call you the town’s most disreputable gentleman for no reason.” She threw down the rag and stepped off the elevated area the press sat on. She zigzagged around piles of old newspapers, reams of paper to be pressed, and bulging file cabinets to sit at her desk. “Why are you here?”
He leaned against the wall. “What do ye think? Fact or Fiction?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is that it gets people talking and hopefully buying my paper.” She pointed to a pile by the door. “When that happens, then I’ll be happy.”
“Ye should put out an advertisement for tall tales. Ye wouldna have to pay the majority of the folk. They’d be delighted to see their tales in print.” He shrugged. “That way ye could mix yer fact with fiction. Most believe today’s was fact.”
“How can you accept today’s story as though it were normal?” She fought a shiver and then frowned at him as he laughed at her reaction. “This is how normal people react!”
“Nae, it’s how a soft woman, actin’ at bein’ hardened by life, acts. Ye’ll have to do a better job at convincin’ me in the future, now that I ken ye are no’ as I thought.” His eyes gleamed with triumph as though he had discovered a secret, and he would use it to his benefit.
“You know no such thing. I’ve seen things that would make someone like you, who’s only known privilege and harmony, cringe. You’ve never seen suffering. Hell, you’ve never suffered. How can you expect me to worry about your opinion?”
Ewan shrugged and flashed his mocking smile. “Aye, I’ve lived a charmed life. How could one such as I ever understand loss?” He winked at her, delighting in her aggravation at his actions and his words, and then sauntered out the door.
He entered the nearby worksite and sighed as his men whistled at him as he walked in. They had begun teasing him after his frequent mentions in the paper and his title as “most disreputable gentleman.” After a moment he laughed. “Serves me right,” he muttered to himself.
“Someone’s waiting for you, D.G.,” Ben muttered around a mouthful of nails and nodded toward the back of the project.
Ewan frowned for a second and then caught the humor in Ben’s eyes and realized this would be his new nickname from his men. “Dammit,” he muttered, walking to the rear of the home. The outside walls were up and one interior wall to separate the spaces also stood. Soon they would move to another project before returning here to finish it after it became too cold to work outside.
His frenetic pace slowed when he saw a woman in a deep-blue dress awaiting him. Her wheat-colored hair was pulled in a tidy bun, while her dress and shawl did little to conceal her generous curves. At a few inches over five feet, she stood nearly a foot shorter than Ewan, plus eight years younger than his thirty.
He paused at the entrance to the room covered in wood dust and filled with pieces of lumber he hoped to salvage for another project. A saw lay near her right foot, and he frowned when her swaying brought her closer to it. “Ma’am,” he said. She turned to him, and he sighed. “Ye should no’ be here, and ye should take care no’ to step on that saw.”
His words had the opposite effect. She panicked and moved to stand on it. He leaped forward and grabbed her, his long arms tugging her toward him, and she fell forward against him and away from the saw. When she was out of danger, he pushed her from his arms. “Dinna go creatin’ fantasies in yer brain that I was so overcome with seein’ ye that I had to drag ye into my arms.”
She flushed at his harsh words and looked at her well-worn boots. “I’m sorry for intruding on your work. I was hoping to speak with you, but it is difficult to find you away from your usual pursuits.”
She nodded. “I understand. However, I think you’ve failed to consider all I can bring to a marriage.” She watched him earnestly before hushing after he growled at her.
“Do ye have no pride?” He glared at her. “My men are all standing behind us, and, if ye havena noticed, they are no’ workin’! They are listenin’ to our conversation and what ye are sayin’. Ye will be the center of gossip again, Miss Jameson. An’ ye will be the topic of pity as another MacKinnon refuses to marry ye.”
She blinked away tears. “I refuse to believe I am unmarriageable.” She wrapped her arms around her waist.
“Nae, ye are no’. Plenty of men would be willin’ to marry ye, but with ye comes yer mother. An’ I dinna ken many who would be willin’ to take her on too.” He tilted his head to one side. “My brother said ye were desperate. Dinna do anythin’ foolish, Miss Jameson.”
She raised her head, her whispered words emerging with a mixture of defiance and bitterness. “You have no right to tell me what to do. I already have enough people in my life intent on controlling me.” She pushed past him and stormed out of the worksite.
Ewan scratched at his head and shook it before returning to work beside Ben. They worked in silence for a few minutes. “I ken ye heard most of it.”
“You fool. You said something, and then she started to whisper. We didn’t hear the end of your discussion.” Ben looked at him as though encouraging him to speak.
“Ye heard enough,” Ewan muttered. “I wonder when that lass will ever learn.”
Ben shook his head and reached for more nails. “That’s not the question, is it?” He met Ewan’s curious gaze. “It’s when will she have had enough. That’s when there will be hell to pay.”
Ewan fought a shiver and began to work in earnest, attempting to forget Helen Jameson.
That evening Ewan sat in the sitting room, staring into space as he acted like he was reading a book. He sat on the tufted settee, near the potbellied stove. Two straight-backed chairs were on either side of the stove and a small desk was in a corner. A pitcher of dried flowers sat on a corner of the desk, while a bookcase leaned against a wall next to the desk. He waited for dinner to be announced, and then he would head to the Stumble-Out or the Boudoir. He sighed as ennui filled him.
“Why the long sigh?” Cailean asked. He sat on a chair across from Ewan. Cailean had the tall lanky grace all the MacKinnon brothers shared. His hair was darker than Ewan’s but lighter than Alistair’s. Concern flared in his hazel eyes as he watched his youngest brother.
Ewan grumbled and set the book beside him. “I’m hungry.” He waited a moment, but Cailean was more patient. “That wee woman visited my worksite today!” He shook his head with incredulousness. “She kens no bounds of propriety.”
“Helen Jameson visited you at work?”
“Aye, she was waitin’ for me when I arrived. Did no’ even try to hide from my men that she was there. Who, by the way, have started callin’ me D.G.” He rolled his eyes as Cailean burst into laughter at that. “I am no’ disreputable!”
Cailean swallowed a chuckle. “You’d better hope you are, if the mothers start circling after you. You’ve always been too charming.” He watched his brother with concern. “I know you hide in the saloons and the Boudoir to escape them and to ensure they leave you in peace. However, I fear your plan could be failing.”
“A woman should wait for a man to show interest,” Ewan sputtered.
“If that’s the case, you’ll be single forever,” Annabelle muttered from the doorway. She rubbed at her belly before rolling her eyes at her brother-in-law. “I’ve told you before, Ewan, how you need to have slightly more progressive ideas about women.”
Cailean shared an amused smile with his wife. “Helen cornered him at work today in front of his men.” His smile widened as his wife’s mouth dropped open. “Even you find that forward, darling.”
“I would never …” she muttered. “What happened?” She moved into the room and sat next to Ewan on the settee.
“She said I had no’ fully considered my options an’ the good fortune I would have were I to marry one such as she.” He glared at his brother and sister-in-law as they burst out laughing. “Ye think this is hilarious. But this is my life, an’ I ken the newspaper woman will hear about it.”
“Oh, after all the work you’ve done to cultivate the mystique of a scoundrel,” Annabelle murmured as she swiped at a cheek.
“A charming scoundrel,” Ewan said.
“C.S.,” Cailean muttered, earning a glare from Ewan.
“Dinna start,” Ewan said. He sighed and blew out a breath. “I dinna like that Helen is so desperate.”
Cailean sobered. “Aye, she is. And it seems to be worsening.” He flushed. “I know I should have told you this before, but I’d hoped nothing would come of it. Her mother cornered the reporter last week and wanted her to write a story about Helen’s upcoming nuptials. She was cagey about who Helen was to marry, but Mrs. Jameson wanted to ensure there would be plenty of newsprint spent on her daughter’s triumph.”
Ewan groaned. “She canna mean me. I willna marry her. I dinna care how eager she is to leave her mother’s home. I am no’ weddin’ the woman.”
Cailean shook his head. “No, you aren’t. We’d never want you to wed a woman you did not care for.”
Annabelle took Ewan’s hand. “We want you to wed for love.”
A shadow crossed Ewan’s face before he pasted on his carefree smile. “An’ ye ken that will never happen.” He squeezed Annabelle’s hand. “Is dinner ready? I’m starvin’.”
“And eager to escape the house tonight,” Cailean muttered. He watched as Annabelle rose and moved to the kitchen. “You won’t always be able to outrun your demons, Ewan.”
Ewan ignored his comment, laughed, and slapped him on the back as he followed him into the kitchen for dinner.
News & Noteworthy: Was it just me, or did you also see a certain young lady exiting the worksite of our town’s most disreputable, albeit eligible, gentleman? I had thought sitting in a puddle of cow dung would have dissuaded her in her pursuit; however, it seems I was mistaken. Perhaps she is hoping the third time is a charm?
The door to the print shop slammed open, the glass in the door rattling before it was pushed shut. “Dammit, J.P., you can’t go around publishing this sort of thing,” Warren snapped as he paced around piles of paper on the floor. “I thought I had helped the town hire a reasonable reporter with experience, even if you are only twenty-seven years old. I’ve had one MacKinnon after another in my office badgering me about your articles.”
She looked up from typesetting her latest edition and shrugged. “If they were truly concerned, they’d ensure Ewan stopped acting in such a way as to garner the reporter’s attention.” Her red hair flowed down her back like a river of fire, pulled together with a loosely tied ribbon.
“There are libel laws, J.P. The MacKinnons are smart enough to know about them and to use them if needed.” He sighed as he ceased pacing and leaned against a wall near her raised printing press. “You could write about plenty of other stories in town where you didn’t have to focus on the MacKinnons.”
“So is it that I’m overstepping the boundaries of the law that concerns you or your friendship with the MacKinnons?” She raised an eyebrow, her gaze mocking in her assessment. “I will not be cowed into writing meaningless twaddle simply because there are those in town offended.”
“This could harm your status as a serious reporter.” He raised his eyebrows as though in warning.
She snorted as she turned away and sorted through a tray, looking for a specific letter. “As though that concerns me. I live in Bear Gra
ss Springs, for heaven’s sake.” She found the letter and placed it in the typeset. “Do you know my sales have increased threefold since I started writing more on the N&N and F or F sections?” She smiled as she worked, her hands blackened by ink. “People like gossip.”
“They like news too,” Warren growled.
She blew out a puff of air. “I write plenty about the goings-on in the world. In the Territory. And I’ve yet to receive one letter or one comment when I’m walking through town about my news pieces. If the townsfolk want to focus more on the goings-on of their town and neighbors, who am I to complain?”
“You fuel gossip that could harm others, J.P. I thought better of you.”
She glowered at him as she leaned over the printing tray. “Then that was your mistake. I am a reporter and a damn fine one. I’m also a businesswoman, and I must make a living off my work. This may not be Saint Louis, but people are the same everywhere. What interests them is what will affect them. I will continue to publish what I know my reading public wishes to read.”
Warren clamped his jaw shut. After a moment he asked, “Even if you destroy others’ reputations in the process?” He flushed as her sharp gaze focused on him for the first time.
“Is there something more you aren’t telling me? Will your relationship with Sorcha MacKinnon be affected by my articles?” She looked chagrined for a moment before amusement shone from her eyes. “I thought her more of a firebrand than that.”
Warren pushed away from the wall. “Talking to you is worse than speaking to a brick wall. You’ll never see another’s point of view.”
“Not when you are attempting to prevent me from publishing what I want. I have every right to print my articles, Warren.”
He huffed out an agitated breath and spun to leave. He looked over his shoulder at Jessamine. “One day I fear you will regret your actions. And you will have no one to blame but yourself.”
That evening Jessamine locked up her print shop. She paused on the boardwalk in front of her shop, watching as men entered the Stumble-Out and a few wagons rumbled down Main Street. She nodded to Mr. Finlay as he made a show of locking up the front door of the bank.
Montana Maverick (Bear Grass Springs Book 3) Page 4