Montana Grit_Bear Grass Springs_Book Two

by Ramona Flightner

  She leaned back, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Do you know how much I love you? Can you possibly understand?”

  He nodded as he palmed her face. “Aye. I thought I loved ye before. Before our first weddin’ ceremony. Now I ken what it is to lose ye. And to regain yer love.” He swooped forward and kissed her. “I’ll do whatever I must do to never lose ye again.”

  She smiled through her tears. “It’s only made my love for you stronger too.”

  He stared into her eyes. “I felt like the luckiest man alive today and pitied anyone who wasna me.”

  “What a nice change from our first wedding ceremony.”

  He chuckled as he leaned forward, kissing her deeply. He turned her, so she lay beneath him, and he methodically removed her clothes. “Let me love ye, wife,” he whispered.

  “As long as I can love you in equal measure.” She arched up, helping him ease off her dress.

  “I’d have it no other way.”

  Later Alistair rubbed his stomach as it growled. “Do I remember correctly that cake is downstairs?” He heard Leticia giggle. “Come, love. Put on yer nightgown.” He slipped out from underneath her and pulled on a nightshirt. He waited as Leticia wriggled from bed and into her nightgown, grabbing her hand as they walked downstairs.

  He sighed with appreciation to see the two-layer cake on the dining room table. “Thank God.” He extracted milk from the icebox and glasses from the cupboard while Leticia pulled out plates, a large knife, and forks. When she cut it, he grinned with pleasure. “One of each. She’s a smart lass, is our Anna.”

  He sat next to Leticia at the table and wolfed down a piece of cake. For his second hefty slice, he ate more slowly and chatted with his wife. “How do ye think the reception went?”

  “Better than I could have hoped. There are always those who will mutter and wonder about me. But the majority are more accepting of me than I would have expected.” She gripped his hand. “I had thought it would take a year for so many to look upon me favorably.”

  “Never discount the effect of a formidable family. Or the benefits of a good cake.” He sighed with pleasure as he ate another bite. “What do ye think of the new teacher?”

  She giggled. “I can already imagine the stories Hortence will come home with. The frogs that will be released. The children glued to seats. The braids tied together. The privies overturned.”

  Alistair chuckled. “And those are the innocent possibilities. Imagine when the boys put their heads together. They’ll wreak havoc.”

  “Is it right of me to warn him? I fear I’ll frighten him away. What if there is no one to teach the town’s schoolchildren?” Her worried gaze met his.

  “If he had any training at all, he will know what’s in store for him.” He pushed away his now-empty plate, patting his belly, wiping away any milk on his lips. “I hope wee Hortence isna upset we started the cake without her.”

  “As long as we save her some, she’ll be ecstatic,” Leticia said. “She’ll demand cake for breakfast.”

  He played with his wife’s hands as his gaze turned somber. “Are ye all right? Ye have to know those men willna bother ye again. Wee Hortence is safe.”

  Leticia let out a deep breath. “I will believe it as time passes. Josiah tends to cast a long shadow, and I must wait for it to fade.”

  After a moment Alistair said, “Why did the reporter upset ye?” He frowned as he was lost in thought. “I’ve thought through the tale ye told me, an’ there is nothin’ about yer time in Saint Louis that should make ye embarrassed.”

  Leticia flushed. “Imagine how it would look to the townsfolk. She could write a sensationalized story about me. I flee my husband and find another man to protect me.” She lowered her gaze. “Then I come here and entangle you in my web.”

  Alistair cocked his head to the side and frowned with confusion. “Is that how it was? It sounded to me that ye found a way to earn a living without having to resort to the kind of life the women of the Boudoir live. Ye cared for the man’s children. It isna yer fault ye couldna love him.” His eyes shone with pride. “Nothin’ she could write would embarrass me.”

  Leticia shuddered. “I pray you remember those words. I fear she could conjure plenty that could humiliate me.” She took a deep breath. “Now that I’ve finally begun to regain my standing in town, I can’t imagine losing it again.”

  “Nothing matters except what we ken to be true,” Alistair said as a smile bloomed. “An’ I’ve enjoyed bein’ entangled in yer web.” He sighed with contentment as she giggled at his words.

  Chapter 20

  Leticia and Alistair joined the family at the larger MacKinnon house for Sunday dinner one week following the reception. After dinner, they sat around the table chatting while Hortence played in the parlor. Most drank coffee, although Annabelle sipped tea.

  “I can’t abide the bitter brew right now,” she whispered to Leticia.

  Leticia smiled. “How are you feeling?”

  “Well enough, although I sleep more than I would like.” She leaned into Cailean’s shoulder.

  Cailean squeezed his wife’s hand. “She doesn’t rest enough. If it were up to me, the bakery would close.”

  Annabelle ignored her husband. “How are things on the council, Alistair?”

  “Fine, although we should meet soon.” He shrugged. “The town’s growin’, and we need to find ways to fund what we need.”

  Ewan took a sip of coffee. “Do what all the other towns do and have a whore tax.” He jolted as he was kicked by Cailean but motioned to the parlor where Hortence played with her marbles and dolls, away from their boring talk. “I’m serious. Ye’ll make more money than ye thought possible.”

  Alistair frowned. “Wouldn’t that give the impression we approve of the Boudoir?”

  Cailean chuckled. “It’s not as though it’s going away. The town might as well benefit from its presence. I’ve heard of towns whose schools are funded through the taxes imposed on such places.”

  Annabelle bit her lip. “Won’t that make life even harder on the women who live there? I hate to think of Fidelia suffering more than she already does.” She squeezed Cailean’s hand.

  “The tax isna just on the Boudoir,” Ewan continued. “It also dictates how the women from the Boudoir can act outside of the Boudoir. They canna meet the eyes of townsfolk or risk bein’ taxed. They canna shop with other women or be taxed. They canna speak with townsfolk, unless placing an order at a business or be taxed.” He shrugged. “I ken it sounds horrible. But they live outside of what society deems acceptable behavior.”

  Annabelle sputtered. “Why would such a law be acceptable? They are people. Women who have fallen on hard times.”

  Cailean glared at his brother before speaking with his wife in a soothing tone. “You know the majority of the townsfolk aren’t as accepting of their presence as you are. That they would rather ignore its presence here than acknowledge it.”

  “Which is hypocritical as I doubt any man in town, except Mr. Tompkins, has failed to visit the Boudoir!” Annabelle snapped. “I heard you whispering about the minister’s presence there last week.” She glared at the MacKinnon brothers as they flushed red.

  “Ye’ve already battled the town once by acceptin’ yer sister,” Sorcha said. “To most, she should have been dead to ye.”

  Annabelle shook her head. “She’ll never be dead to me.” She swiped at her cheeks.

  “I hate to say I agree with Ewan,” Alistair said, “but, with an influx of cash into the town’s coffers, we could have a larger school and two teachers. Warren has all sorts of ideas for expansion. A windmill-powered water tower. A horse-drawn fire-fighting wagon. Starting a brick factory.” He shrugged. “But it takes money, aye? Such a tax would be a boon for us.”

  “But a disaster for the Boudoir. The Madam barely ekes out a living as it is, cutting the food budget for the women.” Annabelle watched her family with a panicked expression.

  “Why is that?” Leticia a
sked. “Seems she has enough customers to keep her flush with money.” She bowed her head as she blushed.

  “The Madam has a terrible gamblin’ habit,” Ewan said, meeting his family’s shocked stares. “And Lady Luck hasna been on the Madam’s side of late.”

  “Who would gamble with a woman?” Cailean sputtered.

  “Oh, the men in the private rooms at the Stumble-Out. Ye have no idea what goes on there.” Ewan shrugged. “’Tis why Alistair saw a few of the whores from the Boudoir at the Stumble-Out last month. The Madam lost an’ had trouble payin’ her debts. She lent her girls to cover what she owed.”

  “I hate that the women working there are nothing more than pawns for her,” Annabelle whispered. She rubbed at her belly.

  “Word is that a poker match will soon be held to equal any in a large city.” Ewan shrugged. “I canna imagine what she would barter were she to lose.”

  Cailean glared at his brother to cease speaking about the Boudoir as his wife shuddered. He pulled her closer to him and kissed her head. “Where’s Warren? I thought he would join us for dinner.”

  Alistair shook his head. “He has a large case coming up. Something to do with mining rights and encroachment. I dinna ken it all but seems complicated. Warren looked delighted, although his eyes were red from lack of sleep, and I doubt the man’s eaten a good meal in nearly a week.”

  “I’ll make up a plate and bring it over later. He’s been a good friend to us.” Sorcha met her family’s speculative glances. “I believe the word I used was ‘friend,’” she snapped.

  “Seems ye are no’ that good at makin’ them,” Alistair teased. “Irene told me how ye annoyed her grandson when ye met him at the reception.”

  Sorcha made a low sound as though growling at the mention of Frederick Tompkins. “He’s a rude man. Refuses to even attempt the niceties of conversation.”

  Cailean laughed. “And you are always so polite.” His laughter deepened as she tossed her napkin at him.

  Leticia smiled. “He was quite handsome.”

  “If ye like cowboys,” Alistair muttered.

  Leticia rolled her eyes and clasped his hand and., in a low voice that only he could hear, murmured, “No need to be jealous.” Her delighted gaze caught and held his until they were interrupted by Ewan’s groan of distress.

  “Did ye see what that woman wrote?” Ewan tapped at the paper he had pulled out as dessert was to be served. He ignored the plate of oatmeal raisin cookies and glasses of milk.

  “What woman?” Alistair asked, his eyes gleaming with mischief at his brother’s ire. He snatched away the paper and read aloud:

  Word has arrived from Helena that a certain man of interest, who previously had ties to the now Mrs. Alistair MacKinnon, has met an unfortunate demise. Over a round of poker, the known liar was exposed as a cheat and was duly shot. As no one was inclined to run for a doctor, he expired. To nobody’s surprise, as they moved the body, an ace of spades fell from his boot leg. Few will mourn his passing, although one wonders which of his traits will be passed on to his progeny.

  Alistair slammed the paper onto the table. “I thought we were gettin’ a proper journalist! Not some woman intent on fillin’ the townsfolk’s heads with gossip.” His cheeks flushed with anger as his eyes flashed. He met his siblings’ irate gazes. “She should ken maligning children is off-limits!”

  Leticia stroked a hand down his arm. “Although I wish she had refrained from the last sentence and the rampant speculation that will cause among certain townsfolk, I hate to admit I am relieved Josiah can cause no more mischief in our lives.” She battled tears. “I should not feel such relief at someone’s death.”

  Alistair pulled her close as she cried against his chest. “Shh, … love, ye suffered enough with the man. Now ye know ’tis truly over.”

  Sorcha sighed. “She could have written the first part of her News and Noteworthy segment without the last part. Seems she’s intent in sensationalizing news to garner a greater readership.”

  Annabelle shook her head, frowning. “It’s how things are done in the larger cities. The greater the scandal, the larger the sales. People love to read about others’ foibles and failures.” She shared a look with her family seated around the table. “We wouldn’t be so upset if it weren’t about our little Hortence.”

  Ewan tapped at the paper. “That’s the point. It’s always about us. Can ye think of one News and Noteworthy column we have yet to appear in?” He tilted his head, his eyebrows raised. “Somehow we have been in every single one the past week!”

  “And she’s only been printing the paper for a week,” Cailean said drily. He nodded at Ewan. “I agree. For some reason, she’s fixated on the MacKinnons and you in particular.” He watched as Ewan fidgeted. “I have a feeling your welcome, or lack of one, at Alistair and Leticia’s reception, has something to do with it.”

  “She was snoopin’ on others’ private conversations!” Ewan protested. “She canna believe that is normal or acceptable.”

  “Whatever ye did, ye angered the woman, and she has a printing press,” Alistair said. “Ye need to find a way to calm her down as she seems intent on houndin’ us—ye—on a daily basis.”

  Cailean nodded. “You don’t want your business to suffer due to her, Ewan.”

  After dinner, Alistair and Leticia walked to the barn so that Hortence could visit Brindle. She had the scraps of carrots from the stew to give the horse as a treat, and she had informed her parents that she had a story to tell Brindle that could take some time. They stood at the stall next to Brindle’s and listened to Hortence’s soft murmur as she spoke to the horse, feeding her the vegetables and patting her on the nose.

  “Would ye object if I bought wee Hortence a horse?” he whispered so that Hortence would not overhear. “I think she would love having one of her own, and she’s a good age to learn to ride.”

  “Wouldn’t it be too big for her?” Leticia asked. “I fear spending too much money. We should save what we have.” She kissed his cheek as she shook her head. “I love that you want to do that for her. For now I think her frequent visits to see Brindle are enough.”

  He pulled her against his side. “How are ye, truly?” He nuzzled the side of her neck.

  “Relieved. I cried in the kitchen, not out of grief but from a sense of overwhelming relief. I can’t believe I am finally free of him.” She wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist. “I know I legally freed myself when I divorced him, but I didn’t trust him enough to abide by that. I always feared he would return some day.”

  “An’ now ye dinna have that fear,” Alistair murmured. “I’m glad. I canna say I’m sorry.” He sighed as he kissed her neck. “I ken I should as someone died. But he threatened ye. He threatened Hortence. An’ I canna forgive that.”

  “I love you, Alistair, more than I can ever express,” she whispered, tightening her arms around him. “I would be lost without you. Thank you for believing me. For overcoming your anger.”

  He chuckled. “An’ thank ye for forgiving me for abandoning ye when ye needed me most.” He leaned away and smiled at her. “This has only made us stronger, my love.”

  “You rekindled my faith in my dreams,” she whispered as she arched up to kiss him.

  “Aye, an’ now it’s time to make them all come true.”

  Sneak Peek at Montana Maverick!

  Chapter One

  Montana Territory, September 1885

  Jessamine Phyllis McMahon, Bear Grass Springs’s recently arrived resident and reporter, nodded to a neighbor as she wiped down the windows of the newspaper office. The latest edition of her newspaper was on full display, and she wanted those passing by to easily read the headlines. However, “Delinquent Cow Wanders Main Street” proved of little interest. After another pair of townsfolk walked past with only a cursory glance at the paper in the window, she sighed. During her first week in town last month, she had published a newspaper daily to drum up interest. Now, a month after her arrival, she
printed a twice-weekly paper, and this edition did little to elicit curiosity.

  Her print shop, located next to the bank, was often overlooked as townsfolk rushed to complete a transaction at the neighboring business. Or, she mused, they were too eager to arrive at the Boudoir, the town’s whorehouse, which stood just past the bank and at the edge of town. She glanced across the dusty main thoroughfare—apply named Main Street—to the town’s most popular saloon, the Stumble-Out. The man she had coined the town’s most disreputable gentleman was not among the men loitering outside, and she quickly lost interest in those wandering in and out of the saloon.

  After a final swipe to polish away an imaginary streak, she reentered her print shop. When she had first arrived, a year’s worth of old papers and notes had been stashed in corners and crannies of the one-story building. After collecting most of the excess paper, she decided to keep it on one side of the large room to use as fuel for her fire in the winter. She walked along the front of the shop, with its tall shelves and bookcases blocking the view of the back of the shop and forming a sense of a hallway. Her desk sat between two windows, and a large flat table sat opposite the press where she hand set the newspaper with metal letters.

  To the far side of the room, near one window, the press stood on a small raised dais. A lamp hung over the press for dark days or when she wanted to work at night. Covered buckets filled with ink sat near the press, and reams of paper were piled on the floor to one side of her desk. Long rows of wires, like multiple clotheslines, hung across the room for drying the paper after printing. Currently no papers were there, as they were stacked by the door, ready for purchase.

  She sat at her desk, pushing aside a stack of article ideas with corresponding research and pulled out a blank sheet of paper. On one side she made a column for what she considered a success in her newspaper so far, and in the other she wrote what she thought were challenges. For success, she wrote N&N. Her News and Noteworthy section that came out once a week garnered the most interest from the townsfolk. It made that edition of the newspaper outsell the others three to one.