Montana Maverick (Bear Grass Springs Book 3)

by Ramona Flightner

  Warren moved to the small potbellied stove in the center of the room and played with the slumbering coals inside. He then added a little fuel, closed the stove door, and held up his hands in front of it to warm them. “Ah, there’s nothing I like better than a well-built fire.”

  She watched him curiously. “When you decide to make your story public, will you allow me to publish it?”

  Warren flushed and turned to look out at the town where a fresh coat of snow covered the boardwalk and street. “Oh, there’s little of interest to tell. Nothing to tantalize the townsfolk.”

  Jessamine shook her head. “I hardly believe that’s true. You’re one to know secrets but impart your own very reluctantly.”

  Warren shrugged. “With stories like the ones you have recently published, you are regaining the townsfolk’s regard. However, I do not know how you will ever undo the damage you did to Bears’ reputation.”

  She turned to fiddle with blocks of letters and failed to meet his gaze. “There is little I can do to make amends. I will continue to hope I can write something that will change the townsfolk’s perception of him.”

  Warren nodded. “I could ask for no more.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I know I have been a constant irritant to you and that you must often wonder why I pester you as often as I do.” He met her gaze. “However, it was due to my recommendation and pressure that you were offered the job. I convinced the committee that they could do no better than hire you.”

  Jessamine flushed and shook her head. “I don’t understand. I was an unknown when I arrived.”

  Warren smiled. “I have friends all over the country. After you applied, I sent an urgent telegram for information.” He lifted one eyebrow and shoulder. “I knew you were a woman. And I knew your penchant for stirring up trouble.”

  She pointed at him. “It’s why you were dissatisfied with my articles. You had vouched for me and were worried I would be a disappointment.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You could never disappoint as a reporter. However, it’s what you chose to report that rankled.” He waved his hand. “Enough about the past few months. It seems you are turning a corner.” He took a deep breath. “I need a favor.”

  She frowned and nodded. “What is it?”

  “The town needs money. There are projects that must be completed if we are to remain a viable, desirable place for people to live. However, one of our committee members”—he pointed to the bank next door—“refuses to consider plans we have for raising taxes.”

  “Taxes? That’s the most hated word, besides war.”

  “Perhaps, but you can’t live in a civilized place without some sort of inflow, and taxes are the fairest way to ensure revenue. We already know our most wealthy will not willingly pay for what we need.”

  Jessamine chuckled. “No, Mr. Finlay is too busy guarding his wealth.” She furrowed her brows as she watched Warren. “How would I be able to help you?”

  Warren sighed. “The townsfolk voted him onto the committee, but I fear they are not hearing the truth about what is occurring at the meetings. When they visit the bank, or see him around town, he spreads the tales of how much he is doing, but that he is hog-tied from accomplishing all he would like.”

  Jessamine shook her head. “What amazes me is that people believe him.” She shared a look with Warren. “Why not have another meeting at your office and have me present?”

  “That would never work. He’ll act differently when he realizes you are there.”

  She smiled. “Leave your small office door open, and I’ll sit back there, away from the three of you. If there is one constant, besides his frugality, it’s his booming voice.” Her smile spread. “That is one exposé I would relish publishing.”

  “I’ll let you know of our next meeting date.” Warren laughed and nodded, his shoulders relaxing as though a weight had been lifted. “Thank you, J.P. I’ve been unable to think of a way to bring about real change with him impeding us at every turn.” He headed for the door but paused before opening it and faced Jessamine. “I know you’ll hear this news soon enough. Once you released your paper yesterday, your father’s welcome here became more tepid.”

  Jessamine sighed. “He won’t like that. He expects to be celebrated wherever he goes.”

  Warren laughed. “Well, you should have seen his cold reception at the café last night. From what I was told, Irene gave him an earful.”

  Jessamine laughed. “I almost wish I had been there to hear it.” She wrapped her arms around her middle and rubbed her hands over her upper arms. “If there is one thing he despises, it’s publicity that makes him appear less than gallant.”

  Warren shook his head, his smile pleased. “Well, I’d say public opinion turned against him even more when he snarled at Irene.” He nodded as Jessamine gasped. “Yes, he’s not as astute as he likes to believe himself if he didn’t know better than to treat her poorly in her own café.”

  “What happened?” Jessamine asked.

  “From all accounts, he was thrown out on his hind end by a pair of miners who are fond of Irene and Harold. They were the first to react as it seems all the men in the café stood, ready to defend Irene. Harold was held back, with his rolling pin in hand, by one of the hands at his grandson’s ranch.”

  Jessamine let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God my father can’t complain to the sheriff and press for charges against them.”

  Warren chuckled. “His pride and pantaloons were damaged.” He fingered the doorknob. “Lock up after me, J.P. I fear the man has yet to see sense. He’s still at the Grand.”

  Jessamine nodded, locking the door after Warren. She pulled the curtains before collapsing on her small cot, a pillow hugged to her chest.

  That evening Warren sat in his parlor, sipping an amber glass of spirits when he heard the knock at his front door. He groaned and rose. Long shadows filled the front door area, and he held a lamp up as he opened the door. “Come in,” he murmured to the man on his front step.

  “I dinna mean to interrupt yer evenin’,” Ewan murmured.

  “I was thinking about impossibilities,” Warren said with a self-deprecating smile. “Come. Join me by the fire. It’s cold tonight.” He led Ewan into the parlor where he motioned for Ewan to sit in a high-back chair. He raised an eyebrow as he approached the decanters.

  “Nae,” Ewan said with a grimace. “I’ve a mind to drink stronger spirits than yer inclined to imbibe.”

  Warren nodded and sat, lifting his tumbler and swallowing a long swig of his amber-colored drink. “What brings you by tonight? Anyone with sense is buttoned down at home.”

  Ewan laughed humorlessly. “Aye, that’s always been my problem. I’m too often without sense.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and then squared his shoulders as he took a deep breath. “Do ye mean to ask for her?”

  Warren squinted at Ewan after the question and shook his head as though he were hard of hearing. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Dammit, man, must I spell it out fer ye? Do ye plan to marry Jessie?”

  Warren choked on the sip of his drink he had just swallowed. “J.P.? Why on earth would I wed her?” He held up his hand to placate Ewan. “I meant no offense. She’s a fine woman, but she’s not for me. She never has been.” He fought a smile before he saw Ewan’s torment, and then he sobered. “She’s never seen me that way either.”

  “Ye’re at her shop constantly. Ye had dinner with her the other night. Ye … Ye …”

  Warren raised his eyebrows as Ewan stuttered to a halt. “You’re as bad as the gossiping biddies in this town. And you can’t even come up with more than two reasons for why she and I would be courting. Which we aren’t.” He shook his head emphatically. “We are friends.”

  “Friends?” Ewan asked.

  “As of today we are. Before now I was someone she put up with who criticized her soundly for her publishing mistakes.” Warren took a deep breath. “I have my sights set elsewhere.”


  Ewan leaned back in his chair, mollified for a moment before he stiffened. “If ye mean Sorcha, ye’d better have only honorable intentions in mind.”

  Warren pointed a finger at Ewan. “It’s none of your business who I intend to pursue. And no need to be insulting in your petulance at your inability to convince J.P. to marry you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Plus I am as honorable as the situation requires.”

  Ewan snorted. “Said like a damn lawyer. Either ye are or ye are no’ honorable. There is no’ much room for prevaricatin’.”

  Warren laughed. “I’m afraid you have a lot to learn. There’s always room for evasiveness, especially in the courtroom. Or love.” He watched as Ewan fidgeted across from him. After taking a deep sip of his drink, Warren let out a satisfied sigh. He met his guest’s surprised stare at his action and smiled. “Why should you care who pursues J.P.?”

  Ewan shrugged.

  “It’s not as though you are still interested in her.” He fought a smile as Ewan stiffened and gripped the arms of his chair. “J.P. told me today she’s had no contact with you in days. She believes you are content to be pursued by the townswomen.”

  “Would serve the daft woman right if I married the Jameson girl.” He frowned as Warren flinched.

  “What about Fidelia?” Warren asked. “How is she since she left the Boudoir?”

  Ewan shook his head and frowned. “Terrified. I dinna ken what to do for her. She hides in her room, refuses to see anyone until Anna forces her way in. She’s no’ like the woman I remember seeing at the Boudoir. Confident and sassy.”

  The lawyer stared into the fire for a long moment before sighing. “Perhaps adjusting to life away from such a place is more of a burden for her than could have been expected.”

  Ewan hung his head as though in shame. “I never meant to harm her. When I had the chance to free her, I took it. I thought of Anna, of what I would want were Fidelia my sister. I never considered what Fidelia wanted.”

  Warren sat in quiet contemplation a moment. “Perhaps she is having a difficult time due to the lack of a certain liquid the new doctor seems only too eager to supply the Beauties. I had hoped he would have greater expertise than he has thus far exhibited.” He raised an eyebrow as Ewan snorted.

  “The new doctor, Doc Chester, kens less than I do about medicine. I dinna ken where he went to school, but he was no’ much of a student. I pity anyone in town who needs his services.”

  Their gazes met as though sharing their worry about Cailean and Annabelle as the birth of their child approached. “There’s always the midwife,” Warren whispered.

  “Aye, that’s what Alistair tells Cailean daily at the livery. An’ what I tell Anna whenever I see her alone without Cail. But the anxiety is mounting for them, in case a doctor is needed.” He tapped his thigh in agitation. “They should be lookin’ forward to the birth of their bairn, not dreadin’ it. Anna must force joy into her expression, and Cailean watches his wife as though he’s tryin’ to fill a lifetime of memories into these months.”

  “It isn’t fair,” Warren muttered.

  “Nae, it isna. If that bluidy Doc had no’ been intent on travelin’ to Butte, we would continue with a competent man now.” Ewan shook his head in disgust.

  “If the new doctor is found to be incompetent, he will be replaced.” Warren’s jaw twitched as he clamped it shut.

  “Aye, but who has to suffer afore then? Who must die?” Ewan stared into the flames and then stiffened his shoulders. “I’m sorry to interrupt yer quiet evenin’ at home, Warren. I’ll see myself out.” He rose, clapped Warren on the back, and strode to the front door.

  Warren followed him, locking the door after him. He returned to the parlor, his thoughts even more muddled than before Ewan had arrived.

  Chapter 15

  Two days later Jessamine pulled on a heavy shawl and slipped outside her print shop. Her paper was ready for the following day, and she had little to do. As she walked through town, it was largely quiet with most townsfolk inside as dusk arrived earlier as the winter solstice approached.

  Tobias stood on the boardwalk in front of his General Store, a broom in one hand as he watched her approach. “Well, if it isn’t the town crier,” he said with a snide smile.

  “Mr. Sutton,” she said with a lift of an eyebrow. “I hope you have a good evening.”

  He laughed. “I hope you are as intelligent as you proclaim yourself to be. I’d hate to see you as disillusioned as the other misses in this town, played false by that rascal MacKinnon.”

  “I’m afraid I neither need your warning nor care what you have to say.”

  He laughed. “Then I suppose it makes no difference to the likes of you that your favorite newspaper subject is holed up at his latest project with his newest paramour.” He watched her with feigned sympathy. He called after her as her pace away from him increased. “I look forward to reading about their wedding announcement in the paper!”

  She walked with such alacrity she was soon out of breath. After a few minutes she groaned inwardly to realize she had arrived at Ewan’s worksite. The small one-story home with glass windows on either side of the front door seemed cheerful to her just as it made her want to weep. She turned to leave but paused as she heard voices raised from inside.

  The well-oiled front door eased open without a squeak, and she tiptoed down a hallway through the center of the house. The front room was empty, but she heard voices from a back room.

  “Just imagine, Ewan. This could be our room,” said a youthful, hopeful female.

  “Ye are as daft as a donkey if ye believe for one moment I’ll marry ye. I’ve told ye ten times already. Get out of my house!”

  Jessamine shivered at the anger in Ewan’s bellow. She peeked around the corner just in time to see Helen Jameson throw herself in the direction of Ewan’s arms. Rather than catch her, Ewan sidestepped her, and she fell to the floor.

  “I will no’ have ye fabricatin’ a story, sayin’ I touched ye. Sayin’ I wanted to be with ye. That we were alone in this house due to my desire for ye.” He glared at Helen as she began to sob on the floor. “I will never say I understand all that ye are sufferin’ at yer mother’s house, but ye have to know I’ll never wed ye.”

  Jessamine’s sharp intake of breath was covered by Helen’s howl of rage.

  Helen raised her tear-ravaged face to meet Ewan’s glare. “You and your family are not so special! Someday you will be brought low. Not everyone will love you.” She pushed herself to her feet and rubbed at her skirt.

  “I ken not everyone will love me, Helen. I’m sorry to cause ye pain, but I will no’ marry where I do no’ love.” He met her pleading stare. “Nor should ye.” He sighed as she barreled out of the room, glancing up at Helen’s squeal of displeasure at the sight of Jessamine.

  His shoulders stooped, and he pinched between his brows. “Of course ye’d be here to witness that.” His pleading gaze met hers. “Will ye please no’ write about that? ’Twould only harm Helen, and I will no’ marry her.”

  Jessamine nodded. She swallowed as she took a step into the room. “This is a lovely house, Ewan.”

  He nodded as he glanced around. “Aye, ’tis. I’ll find someone to sell it to.”

  She shivered at his hopeless tone and at the fact he moved away, rather than toward, her. “I’ve missed you.” The anger in his gaze caused her shiver to turn into a shudder.

  “Ye have no right to say such things. I ken ye have no regard for me. Ye never have, other than as a way to sell yer papers.” He ran a hand through his long blondish-red hair. “I’ll soon resume my disreputable ways, an’ ye’ll have plenty to write about.”

  “Ewan,” she whispered.

  “Never worry. I’ve a whore of my own now, so I’ll have no reason to bother ye further.” His bitter words sounded through the room as he turned away from her and stared at a bare wall.

  He stiffened as she ran a hand over his back. “Ewan,” she whispered again. “I … I’
m sorry.”

  “For what?” he asked, his shoulder muscles tightening under her touch.

  “For thinking you were like my father. Like my old editor. For not realizing you were a different sort of man.” She let out a deep breath. “I should have known. That first night you stayed to ensure no one broke in and harmed me, you gave me the clues to your true character then.”

  He shook his head in confusion. “I dinna understand.”

  “That night you told me that you’d thought about our earlier interaction. About what you could have done to have provoked my actions at the town dance. Rather than blame me, you looked to see what you could have done wrong and to fix it.” She let out a stuttering breath. “You are honorable.” She leaned forward and kissed him at the base of his neck. “You are loyal.” She kissed one shoulder. “You are trustworthy.” She kissed his other shoulder.

  She squealed as he spun and hauled her against him. She barely had time to take a breath before he kissed her, his mouth moving over hers as pent-up passion and desire burst forth.

  After a minute he pushed her away. “Dammit,” he rasped as he caught his breath. “Forgive me. I should ken better with ye.” He frowned with confusion as she smiled at him.

  “No, I want your touch,” she whispered, flushing at the admission. “I can’t begin to describe how it pleases me to know how much you desire me.” Humor lit her eyes. “And I’m a journalist.” At his low chuckle, she relaxed marginally.

  She shook her head as he moved to kiss her again, confusion clouding his gaze. “No, Ewan. I have to tell you something.” At his nod, she took another deep breath. “I’m terrified of putting my life in another’s hands. Of trusting that he will see me for me, not as a possession to be profited from.”