Taming of Jessi Rose

by Beverly Jenkins

  Business was slow. There was one man seated at the polished wood bar, and a few others playing cards at the back of the room. The piano sat silently waiting for its player, it seemed, while at a table near the bar sat three gaudily dressed hostesses. They all watched him eagerly.

  Griff gave them a smile but headed for the bar. It was quite obvious that it had been transplanted here from some other establishment. Amid the dim lighting and the sawdust-covered floor, the ornately carved length of wood looked as out of place as an African princess in a border town bordello.

  The man behind the bar, a burly caramel-colored man with arms the size of trees, viewed Griff warily as Griff walked up.

  “Tequila,” Griff ordered.

  The price the man quoted for the shot gave Griff pause, but Griff placed the coins on the bar with no fuss. Sometimes information didn’t come cheap. He waited for the man to splash the liquor into a glass.

  Once the coins were deposited in the strong box, the barkeep’s manners seemed to improve. “Haven’t seen you around here before.”

  Griff took a swig of the tequila. It had been a long time since he’d had a drink, but the bite and kick of the liquor was a familiar one. “Working for Miss Clayton.”

  The man went still. “Why?”

  “She asked me to.”

  “Are you a friend of Bob’s?”

  Griff eyed the man coolly. “No.”

  The barkeep picked up a towel and began wiping out glasses. “You know, nobody works for the Claytons?”

  “I keep hearing that.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Blake. What’s yours?”

  “Keel. I’m the blacksmith here, too.”

  Griff thought Keel certainly looked the part. Griff had always considered himself a big man, but the smith was much broader and taller. In a fight, he could probably crush Griff like a walnut. “How long have you lived here?”

  “All of my life.”

  “Then you’ve known Miss Clayton a long time.”

  “Yes. We went to school together.”

  “Do you think she’s the whore folks say she is?”

  The man’s manner darkened. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I don’t agree.”

  Keel studied Griff for a moment, then seemed to relax. “Neither do I, and I dare anyone to call her that when I’m around,” he growled.

  Griff was glad to hear it. “How do you feel about Reed Darcy?”

  “I’d like to put that bastard in a gander pull.”

  Griff smiled. A gander pull was a sport not much seen anymore. The barbaric pastime entailed hanging a gander upside down from a high tree branch. A rider would then ride beneath it and try to twist its head off. Griff thought gander pulling to be a right nice solution to the Darcy problem. He lifted his drink in toast to the man’s idea. “To gander pulling, may Darcy be so lucky.”

  Keel smiled.

  “Hey, cowboy,” one of the hostesses beckoned with a smile, “buy a thirsty girl a drink?”

  Griff didn’t see why not. In fact, he bought a round for all three of the thirsty women: Lottie with the red hair, Camille in the blonde wig, and the cinnamon-skinned Sylvia, whose very ample bosom seemed ready to jump free from the low-cut bodice of her well-worn red satin dress. The other women were clad in equally gaudy but threadbare dresses, typical attire for a backwater saloon such as this.

  In questioning them he found that none had worked at Auntie’s very long. “Is Auntie a real person, or just the name of the place?” he asked, taking a drink of his tequila.

  “Oh, she’s real,” Camille laughed. “In fact that’s her talking to Keel.”

  Griff turned and saw a plump middle-aged woman with dark eyes and a red wig who even in her youth could not have been described as beautiful. Life had been hard for Auntie; he could see it in the lines and set of her overly painted face, but when she looked up and met Griff’s eyes, her answering smile was as bright and warm as the sun.

  He watched as she excused herself from the big bartender and walked to where he sat.

  “Evening, I’m Auntie. Welcome to my place.” She wore a red feather boa around her neck. The color matched her dress.

  “Name’s Blake. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Keel says you’re working for Jessi Clayton?”

  “I am.”

  “Then welcome to Vale.”

  She turned to the girls. “Ladies, I need to talk with this young man, if you don’t mind.”

  Lottie pouted. “Even if we did mind, you’d take him anyway.”

  A smiling Auntie shook her head. “Lottie, one of these days, that lip of yours is going to stick like that, and you’ll have to make your living being a dust pan.”

  The other two girls howled.

  Auntie turned to Griff. “This way, Mr. Blake.”

  Griff was caught a bit off guard by Auntie’s request and he couldn’t help but wonder what she wanted; even so, he tipped his hat to the ladies at the table and followed Auntie to the stairs.

  As they were heading up, she turned back and said, “I don’t have any designs on that handsome body of yours, Blake, if that’s worrying you. I just want to talk to you about Jessi.”

  Admittedly, Griff was a bit relieved to hear her say that because he’d been trying to figure out a way to gracefully decline any invitation she might extend. She was a bit older than the women he usually preferred.

  Her office was as threadbare as the gaudy dresses on the girls downstairs. The furnishings consisted of a desk and chair, and another chair for guests. There were a couple of lamps and little else.

  “Have a seat,” Auntie gestured.

  “Thanks.” Griff sat.

  “Drink?” she asked, as she poured herself a small shot of whiskey.

  He shook his head. “No. I’ve had my ration for tonight.”

  “I like a man who knows when he’s had enough,” she replied pleasantly. She went around and sat behind the desk. She hoisted the glass for a toast. “To better times.”

  Griff nodded as she took a small swallow.

  “So, how long’ve you been working for Jessi and Joth?”

  “Less than a week, and I already know that nobody works for the Claytons, so please don’t make me hear it again.”

  She grinned. “Been hearing that a lot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, they’re right. Darcy’s got everyone around here so scared, many of them won’t breathe without asking his permission first.”

  “And you? Do you need his permission?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”

  Griff like Auntie.

  “Reed Darcy is a thieving, murdering bastard of a man whose going to have his own room in hell. Mark my word,” she told him, raising her glass again.

  “Does anybody else stand up to him?”

  “Not since Jessi’s daddy Dexter died. Once Dex was cut down, folks around here stopped hoping.”

  “So there’s no one?”

  She shook her head.

  “What about you? Has Darcy tried to run you out?”

  “Tried and won. He owns this place now. Has since the day after Dex was buried. When he called in my note I couldn’t pay. The building reverted to the bank. He lets me stay because he knows he’d have a hell of a time trying to find somebody else to run this hellhole and his hands need the saloon open so they can have a good time come pay day.”

  “But why did you stay?”

  “Because one, I’ve been here almost two decades—I’m too old to just pack up and move on—and two, I want to dance on Reed Darcy’s grave some day and I can’t do it if I’m not in Vale.”

  Her tone was as bitter as the whiskey she was drinking. “So, what’s this about you being a deputy marshal?”

  He couldn’t keep the surprise from his face. “I’m going to assume you’ve been talking to the sheriff?”

  “You can assume that, yes. Is it true?”

  “
If you talked to the sheriff, you already know the answer.”

  She gave him a knowing smile. “Darcy’s not going to help you lock him up. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Jessi said the same thing.”

  “She always was smart as a whip,” Auntie replied proudly. “How much has she told you about what’s been happening here?”

  “Most of it. You planning on throwing in on her side?”

  “I’ve always been on her side. When the good churchgoing folks starting calling her a whore, this whore gave them all a good piece of her mind. Jessi’s no more a whore than I’m Joan of Arc.”

  “Then why do they call her that?”

  “Mainly because of Bob. Her mother and her sister played a part too.”

  “In what way?”

  “A lot of women around here hated Violet Clayton the moment she came to town because of her fine manners and sweet ways. She was from someplace in England, but they thought she was putting on airs. They didn’t like her speech, her beautiful clothes, or the fact that Dex picked a bride from somewhere else.”

  “How’d he meet an Englishwoman?”

  “Through the newspaper. She was a mail order bride. When she was killed in the accident, her girls were devastated. Jessi buried herself in books. Mildred chose men.”

  Once again, Griff felt Jessi’s grief. “What about Dexter Clayton, how’d he react to his wife’s death?”

  “Her liasion with Reed devastated him more than her death I believe. You do know about this, don’t you?”

  “Yes I met Miss Gillie earlier tonight, and she explained it some, but she believes there’s more to the story than what the gossips are saying.”

  “She may be right. Gillie knows everything about everybody here, but I don’t think anybody will ever know the full truth.”

  “So why would Reed Darcy want to take Jessi’s land too? I’d think he’d leave her alone out of respect for his feelings for her mother, especially after having her father backshot.”

  “Greed, pure and simple. He wants all the land in this corner of the county and he doesn’t care who he steps on to get it.” She took another sip of her whiskey. “Reed also wants Jessi.”

  Griff stilled. “In what way?”

  “In every way. She didn’t tell you?”

  “No.”

  “Reed wants her to marry him.”

  Griffin stared.

  Auntie nodded her head. “She looks enough like her mother Violet to be her twin. His hope that she might say yes is probably the only thing that’s kept him from burning her out before now. That and the fact that in her own way she’s as ornery as her daddy and refuses to be intimidated.”

  Reed wants her to marry him, kept echoing over and over in his head. “Has she always been so fearless?”

  Auntie chuckled. “Dexter wanted a son, so Jessi tried to be one. Could outwhip, outride, and outclimb every boy in town back when she was younger. The girl had more spirit and mischief in her than any child I’d ever met in my life. She was in and out of scrapes all the time.”

  Griffin found that hard to believe. “Jessi Clayton?”

  “Yep. Have my barkeep Keel tell you some of his Jessi stories. She gave those boys fits.” Auntie’s voice then softened. “After her mama died, I wish she’d been mine, so I could have helped ease all that pain she used to wear on her face. Then when the rumors started about Reed and Miss Violet—well, that finally broke her heart for good. All the brightness went out of her, like somebody had snuffed out a candle. Stayed that way for a long time.”

  Her voice quieted, then her eyes turned cold. “Dex didn’t do anything to protect those girls from all the name calling and slurring after Miss Violet died. All he wanted to do was kill Reed, to hell with those girls, and they suffered because of it.”

  “Did he try to kill Darcy?”

  “Yep. The night after Miss Violet’s burial, he got drunk and went gunning for Reed. Swore he was going to kill him. Scared Reed so bad, he left town for two months. They hated each other.”

  Once again she quieted as if she were recalling memories. “When Jessi got back after being with Bob, the fire in her had returned, but it was a cold, icy kind of fire. Dex had always been able to ride herd over her. Not anymore. She was as tough as a bed of nails. They fought constantly over everything and nothing. Dex wasn’t accustomed to being challenged, but she took him by the horns and rode him with spurs. She put as much of her life into that ranch as he did, worked by his side from sunup to sundown, but he treated her like a spittoon.”

  Griff now understood why Jessi was so rawhide tough—she’d endured much. He found the idea of Reed wanting Jessi angering, though. “So do you think Darcy’ll really harm Jessi when it’s all said and done?”

  “If he’s caught between a rock and a hard place, he will, and right now, he is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Reed is starting to choke on his own greed. He’s going to be going down to Austin in a few days to explain why he hasn’t been able to turn over this land. None of his business partners know he’s been playing both ends against the middle.”

  She must have seen the confusion on Griff’s face, because she explained.

  “He’s in cahoots with the railroad, and also representing the folks who think they’re going to carve up all the land the railroad won’t have any use for.”

  Griff held up his hand. “Wait—let me get this straight. Darcy wants to sell all of the land around here to the railroad, but the railroad isn’t going to need it all.”

  “Nope. And all they don’t need will be bid out to Reed’s other friends.”

  “And what are they going to do with it?”

  “Sell it again—only this time not to any of the people who live here, but to big city types looking to start their own towns and ranches. It’s happening all over the West. Darcy has investors already lined up.”

  “But the deal hasn’t been finalized yet.”

  “As far as Reed’s concerned it’s all over except the shouting. The only person opposing him is Jessi Rose, but right now Jessi is only one of his problems. Not only has he been unable to deliver the Vale land that he promised—he also used the deposits given to him by the speculators who want to divide up the land.”

  “Used it to do what?”

  “Invest in a land scheme down in Mexico that went bust.”

  “He is choking on his own greed, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. In order to save himself he needs to deliver the Vale land as soon as possible. That way he can get his cut and cover those losses, because if his cronies find out they’ve been swindled, they’re going to have his hide.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Minerva the Trollop has her spies, I have mine, and I’ve been doing this a hell of a lot longer than she has.”

  Griff chuckled. “Gillie called her that, too.”

  “It suits her. Who else but a trollop would cuckold her husband with her father-in-law?”

  Griff’s eyes widened.

  “And I don’t believe Reed’s son Roscoe knows. He worships the ground she slithers on. And they call Jessi Rose a whore.”

  Griff had heard enough for one night. It would take him a while to digest it all, but he was certainly glad he’d come into town.

  He stood and stretched. “Thank you for a very informative evening, Auntie.”

  “You’re welcome. Sure you can’t stay a while longer? The girls downstairs are going to be disappointed.”

  “I’ll need to get back. I don’t want for Darcy to show up and for Jessi have to hold him off alone.”

  Auntie nodded.

  Griff turned back to her. “Oh, one last thing. Clem Davis, the man who shot Dexter Clayton—is he still around?”

  “Yes, saw him the other day. Reed sent him down across the border after the murder to keep him away from the law, I’m guessing, but he’s back. Why?”

  “I have a few questions for him.”

  “When
you find him, tell him I said he can take his business elsewhere.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s cheap on top of being a backshooter. He never wants to pay the girls what they’re owed.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Griff said, moving to the door. He smiled. “Auntie, it’s been a pleasure.”

  “Not as much of a pleasure as it might’ve been, had you walked through my door twenty years ago. But at my age, I take what I can get.”

  Grinning, Griff exited.

  When he finally made it back to the Clayton spread, it was past ten. Careful not to make a lot of noise, Griff led the gelding back to the barn. He didn’t want Jessi to think he was an intruder and come out firing.

  Griff entered the house as quietly as he could. Moving soundlessly down the short hall that led to his room, he happened to glance into the sitting room and there sat Jessi on one of the chairs, nearly invisible in the shadows. “Any visitors while I was gone?” he asked.

  Jessi shook her head. “Not so far. How’d things go in town?”

  He stood in the doorway and fed his inner desire on the sight and sound of her. “Fine.”

  “Did you get the chance to talk to anyone?”

  “A very odd old woman named Gillie. Do you know her?”

  “Everyone knows Gillie. She’s been around forever.”

  “She always so strange?”

  Jessi chuckled. “Yep, but that’s what makes her special. Back during the Puritan days she’d’ve probably been burned as a witch, but here she’s just Gillie. Meet anyone else?”

  “Yes, Auntie.”

  In the dark, Jessi smiled. “Another very special lady.”

  “That she is.”

  “Were it not for her and Gillie sneaking me food and supplies, Joth and I wouldn’t’ve been able to survive this past year.”

  There was silence then. Griffin wanted to ask her about Reed Darcy’s desire to make her his wife, but he held off. Now didn’t seem to be the time.

  Since putting Joth to bed, Jessi had been sitting here waiting for Griffin’s return and wondering what to do about him. Looking over at him now, standing framed against the door, a part of her wanted to demand he pack his gear and go because of the feelings he’d opened inside her, while other parts wished him to sit with her awhile for the very same reason. There was something about him that seemed to be drawing her down a new and uncharted road, a road she had no business traveling, not at this stage in her life. Admittedly, she’d been wondering what it would be like to be with a man who openly confessed his love of women, and even though she wasn’t certain what that really meant, Griffin Blake with his teasing ways and sultry eyes had gotten into her blood. The practical no-nonsense parts of herself wanted to find a cure for this growing attraction. If she could satisfy her curiosity about how it might be, would that do it? Would the knowing finally enable her to get on with her life and reclaim the woman she knew herself to be? She wondered what he would think of her if she asked to be kissed.