Lady X's Cowboy

by Zoë Archer

  “What happened?” Olivia asked as she and Will hurried into the Greywell’s office. Huntworth had left to get back to the brewery on his own; they hadn’t spoken much on the way to the brewery from Princes Square. Olivia had been quiet and tense, chewing on her bottom lip like it was jerky and staring out the window. All the same, she had reached out across the carriage and taken his hand, squeezing it tight.

  She wanted him to stay. He didn’t know if he was being blessed or cursed by this, pretending for a little while longer that they somehow had a chance together, that a gap as wide as the Rio Grande didn’t separate them. All he let himself think about was that she didn’t want him to leave her just yet, and that was fine enough for now.

  And if she let go of his hand when the Greywell’s gates come into view, that was to be expected, even though it made his chest ache a bit.

  As they entered the office, he saw immediately that one of the men she had hired to stand guard was sitting in a chair, being attended to by a doctor. The man’s eye was swollen shut. He held a bloodied cloth to the back of his head.

  “I didn’t even see ‘im,” the guard was saying. “I were makin’ me rounds, just checked in with Frank an’ gotten the all clear. And then, wham, I were knocked out cold.” He grimaced. “Next thing I knew, Frank and the other boys were standin’ ‘round me and sayin’ to get the doctor. Nobody saw nothin’.”

  “How is he?” Olivia asked the doctor.

  The older man frowned. “He took a nasty blow to the head, could be a concussion. I’ll want to observe him for the next day or two. He was lucky—the hit could have killed him if it had been just a bit to the side.”

  “I reckon whoever clocked him knew that,” Will said.

  Olivia looked at him, alarmed. “Maddox?”

  “Yep.”

  “He got in, but to do what?” She turned to Huntworth. “Have you conducted a search of the premises?”

  The manager nodded. “We couldn’t find anything.”

  “We’ll look again,” Will said. “Maddox didn’t bust in here just to hit this man over the head.”

  So they broke into teams, all the employees of Greywell’s, searching from one end of the brewery to the other. Almost nobody spoke, instead examining the smallest detail to catch whatever tampering Maddox had done. It took almost two hours, during which all production had to be stopped.

  “This is going to cost me a fortune in business,” Olivia said to him as they stopped near the well.

  “Can’t take any chances, though,” he said grimly. He put his hands on his hips, brushing his duster back.

  She nodded, then stared hard at his hip. “You’re armed.”

  Will also looked at his Colt, which he had strapped on just before they left. The polished handle gleamed in the pale light coming in from the windows. “I didn’t think I’d be needin’ this in England.” He glanced back up at her. “You look like you’re starin’ at a rattler.”

  “But you’re wearing the rattlesnake,” she said. Her brow was lined as she continued to stare. “It’s yours to use. If you wanted someone dead, there isn’t much that can stop you now. That makes things very different.”

  Will pulled his duster closed. He saw himself in her eyes—he wasn’t the cowpuncher anymore, but a gunslinger. The kind of man who could deal out death like a hand of poker. “I know. I can feel it. I haven’t worn my six-shooter in a while. It can change a man.”

  “I don’t want you to be like Maddox,” she said, troubled.

  “I ain’t him. I don’t kill for money.”

  She looked stricken. “Nothing seems real, anymore. Guns, kidnapping, sabotage. It hardly seems the thing of civilized London. More like...”

  “Them dime books?”

  Her smile was rueful and pained. “I thought I wanted a life like Lorna Jane’s, foolish as she was.”

  “And now?”

  “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt. You, especially.”

  He knew his time with Olivia would be ending, sooner than he would like, but he had to tell her, let her know that last night wasn’t just about sex; something else was happening to him that he felt from the crown of his Stetson to the heels of his boots. And it was all new to him.

  Before he spoke, he glanced over at the well.

  “What is it?” she asked, seeing his face change.

  “Somethin’s shady.” He walked over to the well, with Olivia following. “Looks like the cover wasn’t put on right.”

  She frowned. “Show me.”

  He pointed. “The wooden top that covers the well ain’t lined up. I’ve seen Huntworth here, fussin’ over everything, makin’ sure it was all just so. He checks this well about a dozen times before movin’ on. And see here,” he continued, holding up the lock, “somebody opened this without a key.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Some men I knew in Oklahoma showed me how to force a strongbox without shootin’ the lock off. They used some special tools they got from a Boston housebreaker. Looks like somebody got at this lock, too, but made sure you couldn’t tell without lookin’ real hard.”

  Whitening, she said, “Oh, God, what does that mean?”

  He was already running to fetch Huntworth. “He got to the well.”

  The manager looked like he might faint, but he managed to pull himself together enough to send for the chemists.

  “We can have them test the water, just to be sure.” Huntworth stared at the well. “Our search teams passed by the well three times and didn’t see anything. But Mr. Coffin was more perceptive than any of us.” He looked at Olivia. “He may have saved us from a disaster.”

  But Will was too keyed up to be much interested in Huntworth’s praise. He, Olivia, Huntworth and just about all the workers of Greywell’s waited while several men in white coats removed the cover, took samples of the water, and then brought the samples into their laboratory to do some tests. Will hated standing around, doing nothing, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He wanted to smash the windows out, throw his fists into the sides of the brewing tanks, anything besides this cooling of his heels. Worst of all was the way the waiting wore at Olivia, with him unable to do a damned thing about it.

  Needing something to do with himself, he took out his gun, careful to keep it pointed at the ground. He turned the cylinder, checking to make certain all five bullets were in place, then made sure the hammer was on an empty chamber. He wanted to be ready for whatever happened. After putting the Colt back in the holster, he looked up and saw everyone, including Olivia, staring at him. Their faces were all stunned, as if he’d been handling fire. But he made himself shut those faces out. If he had to take Pryce down, he had to be primed. English balkiness be damned.

  They all looked up expectantly when the head chemist came out of the laboratory, but his chalky face already told them the story.

  “The water has been contaminated,” he said, clutching a clipboard to his chest. “A very specific set of chemicals were poured into the well, tainting it. But you can’t taste the pollution. If we hadn’t been alerted to the problem, we would have brewed poisoned beer and sold it to the public.”

  There were curses, groans, and even a few sobs from the crowd.

  “Can we repair it?” Olivia asked.

  “It will take several months to purify the water,” the chemist said. “Until then, we’ll have to cease production entirely.”

  Someone cried, “We’re ruined,” and murmured agreement followed. The mood of the entire brewery was bleak. Will watched as Olivia slid into a hastily offered chair, her face ghostly pale, her eyes staring straight ahead, unseeing.

  The blackest rage Will had ever felt nearly split him in two. Blind with fury, he stalked from the brewery. In a way, he reveled in it, a pure form of hate that refused to be ignored. It made him act, when he had been idle too long. The Colt on his hip felt like lightning. He was halfway to the gates of Greywell’s before he heard Olivia calling to him. As he turned, she cam
e jogging across the yard to stand beside him.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded.

  “I got business to take care of.”

  She looked almost as angry as he felt. “This isn’t Dodge City, damn it,” she said, not even blushing at her language.

  He didn’t answer, tightening his jaw so much it almost cracked. Just then, a misty rain started to fall, turning the cobblestones slick and black. He moved to take Olivia’s arm, but she pulled away.

  “You have to get out of the rain,” he said.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Olivia answered, the arches of her eyebrows drawn down furiously, “until you swear you won’t kill George Pryce.”

  “Goddamn it!” Will shouted. “I won’t let that son of a bitch live, not after what he’s done to you. I can’t just twiddle my thumbs and let him get away with it. If you think I’m that kind of man, then you don’t know me at all.”

  “I know you aren’t stupid, Will.” She had run out without her hat, and her hair was now completely wet, dripping into her eyes. She didn’t seem to notice. “If you so much as touch Pryce, there isn’t a judge in England who won’t convict you. You could be thrown into prison, or worse; you might be hanged.”

  “I don’t care.”

  She gripped his sleeve and fixed his gaze with her own. In the rain, she looked both impossibly vulnerable and also unbreakable, like a storm-lashed tree. “But I do.” Unconcerned who might be watching, she stepped closer, so her skirt brushed against the bottom of his trousers. “No matter what Pryce does to me, I refuse to let you throw your life away. That would hurt me far more than anything he might do.”

  He stared at her for a long time, this strong woman who could be rocked with hard luck yet never lose her soul. A rare one, this Lady Olivia Xavier. After a moment, he took off his hat and placed it on her head. It rode low, almost covering her eyes, but he tipped it back just enough so she could see.

  “Keep the rain off your head,” he said, not worried about getting wet himself. A little English drizzle was nothing.

  She smiled, though it was small and rueful. “Thank you.”

  He breathed out loudly, like a horse snorting his impatience. “Jesus, Liv, you don’t know how hard this is for me. Sittin’ around with my thumb up my behind while Pryce tears you apart. I thought I was supposed to protect you.”

  “You are. You do. But murdering him was never part of our agreement. There will come a time when I will need you, soon, but until then”—she shook her head—“we’ll find another way to strike back.”

  “While we were thinkin’ of a way, Pryce took out the water supply,” Will said, angry with himself. “Any more thinkin’, and he’ll wipe us out completely.”

  Olivia straightened, and, wearing his Stetson, she looked the picture of a tough-willed Colorado woman.

  “He won’t get the chance.” She took off his hat and set it back on his head. Her lovely face was set and determined, more so than he had ever seen. It was an inspiring sight. “I have a plan.”

  The rest of the day was spent outlining Olivia’s strategy to the staff of Greywell’s. There were some objections, but she countered them coolly, with an steadfast calm that welled up from somewhere deep inside her. She simply refused to be cowed by George Pryce, and would not accept defeat of any kind. Perhaps a few months ago she might have conceded, and accepted Greywell’s as a complete loss.

  But Will Coffin had shown her that there were things worth fighting for. No matter what obstacles were thrown in her path, she understood that time was precious and could not be spent wringing her hands and giving in to misfortune. She would tell him this, when they had time alone. And she longed for that time alone, very badly.

  But there were things to attend to first. There wasn’t much time to act. So, very clearly, she explained what she intended to do and how she meant to go about doing it. The employees of Greywell’s stood around her in the large room that held the cooling tanks and listened. Gradually, the uncertain and fearful looks on their faces were replaced by tentative smiles.

  “What about the cost, Lady Xavier?” Mr. Huntworth asked. “It seems dreadfully prohibitive.”

  “In addition to Greywell’s, my late husband left me with a significant settlement that is paid quarterly,” she explained. “I will discuss these plans with my solicitor and have him withdraw funds immediately.”

  “Will he agree to this?”

  She mustered her best finishing school look, the one as cold and polished as glass, but beneath this look was her Western backbone, grown in the past few weeks. “He will have no say in the matter.”

  Gulping, Mr. Huntworth nodded.

  Will helped make the deliveries of the beer that was potable while Olivia and the clerks busily made preparations. She instructed the Greywell’s chemists to begin purifying the well immediately. There was immense activity around the brewery that lasted all day—one of the most strenuous and trying Olivia could remember. They needed everything in place as soon as possible so she could finally beat George Pryce.

  As she went about her business, she would occasionally see Will across the room. His smile and wink helped her stand a bit straighter. She wasn’t alone in this challenge. He was with her, and knowing that made every burden that much easier to bear.

  Was it the Western code of honor that kept him working so hard at a business that wasn’t even his, when he wasn’t even drawing a wage or salary? She didn’t think that this was the only reason. From what Will had told her, not very many people out West could afford that code. Life was too difficult and unpredictable. Most looked out for themselves. Perhaps it was some kind of English integrity, bred into his blood from his parents. But no, there was no such thing as inherited decency. Then what, she asked herself, keeps him here?

  The honor he possessed was all his own. It did not belong to any geographic region or way of life. Will Coffin was a good man with a strong and gallant heart, tempered with affable humor and enjoyment of life’s pleasures. He didn’t brood or sulk or bemoan his fate when he had been given a rough path to follow, as others might have done.

  As Olivia wrote out a telegram, she heard him talking to one of the wagon drivers, making a joke that had the other man laughing, and she realized that she truly liked Will, who he was as a man. He filled a room with his presence, but he wasn’t domineering. He was both sunny and strong, sociable and trustworthy. She turned and watched him through the open office door. A few of the younger female employees, going about their work, had come by and were lingering around him, smiling, shy, flirtatious.

  The jealousy that billowed inside of her died quickly when she saw Will speak politely to the girls. He was deferential, friendly, but clearly unresponsive to their overtures. She couldn’t help the exultation this provoked. He didn’t want them, even though those girls were more suitable, less problematic than she was.

  Any question of who Will did want was answered when he caught her watching him. The look he gave her was so purely intimate and carnal, moving over her face and along her body, there could be no doubt of his meaning. Her belly flipped in response and she became aware of her legs pressed together. She licked her lips and he smiled, warm and lazy, before ambling off.

  For now, she reminded herself. Her adventure with Will—and that’s what it was, it couldn’t be more than that—would come to an end, sooner rather than later. For now, he could be her partner and her friend, help her carry the burdens she had shouldered.

  It was a long day, made longer by the fact that she had to wait to be alone with him. She struggled to focus on the papers in front of her. The sooner she finished her work, the sooner she and Will could go home together. She felt as though she stood outside a lush garden, permitted to enter it every so often, and tormented when she waited to be admitted. Oh, she could get very used to having Will in her bed, in her house. Dangerous thoughts crept into her mind and refused to leave.

  There was only so much they could accomplish in a day. Her plan
was being set in motion, and within two days, either she or George Pryce would be ruined. Her heart pounded at the gamble.

  Eventually, she and Will started to climb back into her carriage to journey across the river to Bayswater, long after night had fallen.

  He was handing her into the carriage when the unwelcome voice of Prudence Culpepper cut through the foggy night.

  “Lady Xavier,” Prudence said tightly, stepping beside Olivia. A bored looking footman stood nearby, politely staring off into the distance, and Prudence held a newspaper in her hand.

  Olivia wanted to scream. She was much too exhausted to contend with her brewery’s shrill and self-righteous neighbor. “Mrs. Culpepper,” she said wearily, “I have had a very long and tiring day, and I must insist that we postpone this discussion for another time.”

  But Prudence was not backing down. She cast a baleful look at Will, her lips compressed until they were almost white. “What I have to say cannot wait, Lady Xavier,” Prudence insisted, almost spitting the word “Lady.” She held out the newspaper. “I have read the most shocking thing about you and your American. And I find it utterly disgusting.”

  Will took the paper, Prudence flinching from his proximity, and handed it to Olivia. A column from the society pages had been circled. He stood at her shoulder as they read it together.

  Considerable notice has, of late, been given to a certain Lady X, known in recent years for her unusual decision to pursue public employment following her husband’s death. Though some have found her actions more disreputable than remarkable, others have hailed her decision as an advancement for women and innovators alike.

  Recently, however, Lady X has been seen keeping company with an American cowboy—not a cattle baron, dear readers, nor a burgeoning industrialist. No, Lady X’s cowboy is indeed a Texan with little to claim but his spurs and saddle. One can only speculate whether our Lady X will soon change her interest from porters to porterhouses. The late Lord X would likely have something to say on the topic.