Montana Maverick (Bear Grass Springs Book 3)

by Ramona Flightner

  Rather than long, shiny chestnut hair that gleamed in candlelight, her dull hair was ratted on her head. Sunken cheekbones, sallow skin, and sky-blue eyes devoid of emotion met his stare. “Have you taken inventory?”

  He frowned and shook his head.

  “Of how I am different? I would no longer be considered a Beauty if the Madam could see me now.”

  He smiled at her as he pulled out a chair to sit next to her. “Ye will always be beautiful, Miss Ch … Fidelia,” he stammered as he spoke her real name rather than her Boudoir name. “An’ ye should no’ look to one such as the Madam for validation. Or to the men there.” He met her cynical gaze. “Look to yerself.” He frowned as she scoffed and curled into herself as she lay on her side.

  “Why did you bother to accept the deals of her wager? You would have been much better off forcing her to pay you money.”

  Ewan leaned on his elbows propped on his thighs. “I dinna agree. Ye are worth more than any amount she could have paid.” He watched as she picked at a thread on the afghan. “Do ye ken who might have won ye?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to know. I have enough nightmares.” She fought a shiver. “I hate that she believed she could wager me.”

  Ewan tilted his head to one side as he studied her. “Fortunately for ye, she did. Would ye have refused to go with another?”

  She closed her eyes and nodded. “She gave me an out. I knew you would not harm me.” She flushed with embarrassment. “You would not see me as a piece of property.”

  “Nae. Never.” He cleared his throat. “Although many in the town will never see past what ye were.” His somber gaze bore into hers.

  “I know.” She took a deep breath. “Will you ask if someone can continue to sit with me? I fear I am not as strong as I would like to be.” Her flush deepened at her admission of weakness. “I am nearly free of that horrible drug’s hold on me, and I do not want to seek out more of it.”

  Ewan nodded. “Aye, sister, I will.” He smiled at her shock at his term for her. “Ye are my sister, Fidelia. Ye have been since my brother married Anna.” He ignored her sniffle as he rose and eased out of the room.

  Sorcha waited for him in the hallway. “Well, how is she today?”

  “Better.” They shared a relieved look. “Will ye continue to sit with her? Maybe knit with her or something until her embroidery supplies arrive? She doesna want to be alone as she’s afeared she’ll try to buy more of that wretched potion if given the opportunity.”

  Sorcha firmed her shoulders and nodded. “I will. She will no’ want for company.”

  He grinned. “Mayhap silence.” He laughed as Sorcha hit him gently on his arm. “Have a good day, Sorch.”

  Chapter 13

  Jessamine strolled down the boardwalk, hoping for something of interest to occur. She had little of note for her next N&N section, and the old-timers had failed to produce an interesting tall tale for her F or F column. “Where’s a damn cow when you need one?” she muttered to herself. Many townsfolk had come forward, eager to be interviewed for the newspaper, but she wanted to discover those with a hidden story to tell.

  After settling on the bench near the café, she watched the townsfolk, content to be ignored. Little of interest occurred, although she frowned as she saw Helen Jameson with shoulders stooped following behind her mother. It appeared that most of Helen’s spirit had been whittled away by her mother’s constant criticism.

  “Poor woman,” a man said next to her, and Jessamine jumped. Harold laughed as Jessamine jolted. “Seems you are more interested in her than you’d like the townsfolk to believe.”

  Jessamine ignored his comment and focused on the goings-on of the town again. Or the not-goings-on.

  “If you’re lookin’ for something for that paper of yours, I’d consider investigating why a fancy gentleman checked into the Grand Hotel. You know Mr. Atkins is a flirt and would enjoy your visit.”

  Jessamine bit back a smile. “I should sit in your café all day and learn all I’d ever need for my paper.”

  Harold chuckled. “We know more than we would like about the goings-on in the town.” He nodded with his head to someone striding down the boardwalk across the street. “That’s the man who arrived yesterday.”

  Jessamine stilled before scooting back farther onto the bench and any shadows offered by the café’s roof. The man, dressed in a fine gray suit, polished black shoes, and a black wool jacket, turned into Warren Clark’s office. “I believe I will join you in the café,” Jessamine murmured.

  Harold frowned. “I’d think you’d travel to the hotel to ascertain all you can about the man while he’s busy with Warren.”

  “I’ve no need.” Jessamine rose and braced a hand on the back of the bench as she faltered.

  Harold leaped to his feet and hitched out his elbow. “Here. I might be old, but I can still help a lady in distress.” He led her into the café. Rather than easing her into a chair in the front of the café, he brought her to the kitchen and settled her at the small table he shared with Irene during calm moments.

  “Miss Jessamine, whatever is the matter?” Irene asked. She emerged from a store cupboard, carrying a heavy sack of flour. She set it on a workbench and rubbed her hands together before swiping them on her apron. “I have a few minutes before I start the biscuits that go with the meal.” She pulled out a chair and sat, smiling her thanks to Harold as he set cups of coffee on the table in front of them all. He pulled out a chair and joined them.

  “Nothing. I felt slightly faint when I stood up after speaking with Mr. Tompkins outside.” She forced a smile. “Forgive me for my foolishness.”

  “Your foolishness is thinking that we’ll believe that pile of nonsense you just spouted,” Harold said. “Who is that man, and why did he unnerve you? You’re unflappable.”

  She flushed at the touch of pride that laced his voice. “Thank you,” she whispered. When Harold and Irene remained silent, she let out a deep breath. “That man has the look of my father. How he walks. How he seems to believe everyone should move out of his way because his business is imperative. How he dresses.”

  Irene frowned. “You sound displeased that he would travel all this way to find you.”

  Jessamine gripped the handle of the coffee mug, turning her hands white. “I haven’t seen him in seven years. I had no desire to ever see him again.” She closed her eyes as though ashamed and embarrassed. “Isn’t it rich? The woman who exposes the foibles of the town now has something she wishes to remain hidden?”

  Harold snorted. “Perhaps it will teach you humility.”

  “And compassion,” Irene said. She held Jessamine’s hand. “You’ve allowed life to harden you. To make you believe that all you need is a story, or some version of the truth, to find a fulfilling life.” She shook her head. “I hope you come to understand there is more to life than work and the pursuit of a story.”

  Jessamine blinked away tears and took a deep breath as she sniffled.

  “I don’t mean to be harsh, dear, but you have to understand that, although parts of your paper are admirable, you have a caustic intelligence you are too eager to unleash on those who would befriend you.” Irene met Jessamine’s hurt gaze.

  Harold cleared his throat. “It took great courage to travel here from Saint Louis as a single woman. And tremendous tenacity to find success as a woman reporter in a town intent on having only a man fill that role.”

  Jessamine exhaled and pulled out a handkerchief to rub at her face. “I hadn’t realized you disliked me so much.”

  Harold laughed as Irene let out a snort. “Heavens, we like you just fine. You must learn that it’s harder to have someone’s regard than disdain. For with their approval comes expectations,” Harold said.

  Jessamine flushed. “This is why I’ve never sought friendship. Why put yourself in a position where you will only be disappointed when people continuously fail to meet your expectations? And vice versa?”

  Irene watched Jes
samine with a mixture of pity and concern. “Seems to me that you’ve focused far too long on the negative aspects of friendship. Of relationships. Or that you were told from a young age that you would never measure up.” She gripped Jessamine’s hand.

  Harold shook his head. “For you do measure up, girl. You do. But you must realize that, when you belittle others or make them feel less worthy, you are also diminishing yourself.” He met her startled gaze. “You are diminishing the town’s inherent goodwill to aid one another and instead encouraging the townsfolk to embrace their baser tendency for mistrust and suspicion.”

  “We know you can keep secrets.” Irene met Jessamine’s guarded gaze. “Look how well you’ve guarded Tobias’s, keeping our family shame out of the public sphere.”

  Jessamine shrugged. “I wasn’t being altruistic. It was the only way to ensure he’d not bleed me dry with his prices.” When Irene watched her closely, Jessamine shrugged. “It seemed wrong to report that story.”

  “Exactly,” Irene said. “It would hurt far more than Tobias.”

  Jessamine firmed her lips. “It’s not my duty to only report the bright stories. To portray this place as a sort of Eden.”

  Irene burst out laughing. “Oh my! Bear Grass Springs could never be accused of such a thing. Not with the likes of the Jamesons, the Boudoir, and our own nephew present. But it isn’t as harsh a place as it often appears in your paper.”

  “I want to write important articles. But I also need to sell papers if I am to survive.”

  Harold took a slurp of his coffee. “A fine dilemma to have. And you are intelligent enough to figure out what to do.” He tapped his hand on the table as he rose to attend customers who had just entered the café.

  Jessamine took a deep breath. “Thank you for your honesty.”

  A bemused smile spread as Irene watched Jessamine. “I know honesty can be difficult, but I also know you are one to appreciate it.” After Jessamine sat as though in a daze, Irene asked, “What will you do about your father?”

  “I don’t know.” She balled her hands into fists. “I don’t want to start again in a new place because of him.”

  Irene patted her hands. “Sometimes our battles choose us.” Her wise gaze met the younger woman’s frightened eyes. “You’ll know what to do when you see him.” She patted Jessamine’s clenched hands again and then rose to prepare biscuits for the supper rush.

  Ewan worked on a small building on the other side of the paddock, his hammer pounding at an incessant pace. He extracted nails from a pail and continued working in silence until his brother stepped into the small room.

  “Heard ye were here,” Alistair said.

  Ewan huffed out a sound. “Wouldna be hard with all the noise I’m makin’.” He set down his hammer and focused on his brother. A lamp lit the enclosed space, with the cut-out windows covered in blankets to keep the cold from seeping inside. “I’m makin’ progress an’ should have this done soon. Hopefully afore it snows.” He looked around the compact room. “Should be a decent space for Bears.”

  Alistair nodded. “He’ll argue with us that he’d be fine in the tack room, but I dinna want a stove near the hay.” He shrugged. “Thanks for makin’ this for us.”

  Ewan nodded. “My pleasure.” He watched as his brother lingered. “What’s the matter, Al?”

  “I wanted to see how ye are. Ye’ve been quieter than usual. An’ ye are no’ visitin’ the Boudoir or saloon like ye usually do.”

  Ewan snorted. “I’ve no desire to lose the money I finally won, an’ I’ve been barred from the Boudoir.” He shrugged. “The Madam doesna want me there unless I’m to be a true customer. Says I provoke unrest among her patrons and girls.”

  Alistair laughed. “Ye caused a brawl ’cause someone threatened yer woman.”

  Ewan shook his head quickly. “She’s no’ mine. She’ll never be mine.” He lifted the hammer in agitation and swung it down once onto an already nailed-in nail.

  His brother sighed and leaned against the doorjamb. “I ken ye’re upset with her, but ye’ll forgive her. It’s what ye do with someone ye love.” He met his brother’s defiant gaze. “I heard Helen visited ye again this mornin’.”

  Ewan groaned. “Aye. Although ’twas a strange visit.” He shared a frustrated look with his brother. “She was there when I arrived, an’ my men said she’d been there since before they arrived. She made a point of bein’ seen with me by the men.” He shook his head in confusion. “I dinna ken why.”

  Alistair frowned and was silent for a few moments. “Why would she already have been there? Ye arrive early, an’ yer men only ever get to the site afore ye because ye go to the sawmill.” He shook his head. “Why would she be away from her mother’s house afore dawn?”

  Ewan shrugged and shook his head. “I think there is much we dinna ken about her, but I have no desire to learn more. ’Twould only give her misconceptions.”

  “Or false hope. An’ that’s one thing that woman doesna need.” Alistair let out a deep breath. “Someone arrived yesterday. I thought ye would have heard about it.”

  Ewan shook his head and furrowed his brow. “Why should I? I’m no’ expectin’ anyone.”

  Alistair met his confused gaze, his brown eyes serious. “’Tis rumored the man’s her father.”

  Ewan stilled. “Jessie’s?” At Alistair’s nod, he sighed. “’Twill no’ be good news to her. But I can do little for her. She doesna want me.” He met his brother’s doubting gaze. “She made it clear, Al.”

  “No matter what she says, she’ll want a friend, Ewan.”

  “I ken ye dinna like her. Why should ye want me to act as her friend?”

  Alistair shrugged. “Ye’re miserable. Ye canna deny that ye are.” He looked at his brother before glancing around the small room and then out the door to the paddock and the livery. “We have a good family, aye, an’ we ken we’ll always support each other.” He took a deep breath. “I willna like it the first time she’s at Cailean’s table. No’ until Leticia is comfortable. But I also ken ye have the right to yer own happiness. Yer own life that isna dependent on the family or our approval.”

  Ewan cleared his throat and rubbed at one shoulder. “Cailean would argue I’ve already lived that life.”

  Alistair frowned. “He kens why ye acted as ye did. As do I.” He watched his brother with sorrowful eyes.

  Ewan shrugged. “What’s done is done, an’ nothin’ will change what occurred.” He half smiled. “’Twas easier playin’ the jovial fool than havin’ ye know what I was truly feelin’.”

  Alistair grunted. “An’ ye will never convince me that ye didna enjoy yer time in the saloons and the Boudoir.” He smiled. “Live yer life, Ewan. Cailean married Annabelle even though Sorcha despised her. He didna marry to please anyone but himself.”

  “I’ll consider what ye’ve said,” Ewan said as he lit a lamp.

  His brother pushed away from the doorjamb. “Ye have nothin’ else to do tonight except stare at a book without readin’ it. Ye might as well pay her a visit.” Alistair winked at his brother who glowered at him before he slipped out of the small room.

  Ewan returned to hammering, but his mind was across Main Street with Jessamine. He swore as he nearly hit his thumb and set down the hammer. With a sigh, he tidied the worksite, grabbed the lamp, locked the front door, and headed for home, uncertain if he would seek her out that evening or not.

  Jessamine returned from a long walk along the creek and entered her print shop. She came to a halt as she inhaled the familiar scents of paper and ink mingled with brandy and Bay Rum. “How dare you come here?” She removed her hat and gloves with an unwavering frown at her father.

  He raised an eyebrow as he sat in a perfectly tailored gray suit with an ice-blue tie that matched his eyes. His immaculate coat hung on the peg by her door. “Did you truly believe you’d evade me forever?” He watched her with a calculating glint in his eagle-sharp gaze.

  “You have no right to be here. Please le
ave.” She thrust her shoulders back and stood as tall as her short stature allowed. When her father, who was over a foot taller than her, rose, she refused to back away or to cower in any fashion. “I freed myself from you, and I am no longer your concern.”

  “On the contrary, Jessamine, you are very much my concern. You owe me. You owe your mother better than this.” His disparaging look took in her small print shop and tiny living quarters. “I thought you would want more from life than to live so shabbily.”

  “This is my life. The life I chose,” she said. She gasped when he grasped her arm and pulled her close.

  “I made you. I gave you every advantage a father can give a daughter. You owe me, girl.” He grimaced with distaste when he saw her ink-stained fingertips. “You are an Abbott! You hire minions to do such work.”

  She wrenched her arm free, gasping with the pain as she massaged her bruised wrist. “No, I am a McMahon. A name I chose. A name I can be proud of.” She shrieked as he backed her into the wall next to the door, his voluminous coat next to her.

  “If you were anything other than that worthless factory worker’s daughter, you would know how fortunate you are,” he hissed. “You should be married with sons by now. My heirs.”

  She grunted as he gripped her shoulders and held her in place. “Let me go!”

  “No, you are coming with me. You will stay at the room I have reserved for you at the so-called Grand Hotel”—he sniffed in disdain at the only refined lodging establishment in town—“and then you will return with me to the life you should never have abandoned.”

  She pushed at him until he stumbled back a step. “Who have you picked out for me to marry this time? Some other wretched mirror image of you who thinks of women as playthings, never to be listened to or consulted, but seen as an arm ornament?” She glared at her father and reached into her boot, extracting a sharp knife. “Stay away from me. I will not hesitate to use this on you.”

  He froze at the sight of the knife. “You’re as irrational as your mother.”