Anthology - BIG SKY GROOMS

by DAVIDSON, Carolyn. MALLERY, Susan. WILLIAMS, Bronwyn (in) Montana Mavericks

  Instead of heading to the boardinghouse where he had arranged to take his meals, he veered in the opposite direction. What the devil, when a man had something to celebrate, he needed a drink, not a plate of beefsteak and eggs.

  Lizzy was teetering across the floor with a carefully balanced tray when he walked in. Despite a pair of eyes as blue as the Montana sky, her looks had not magically improved overnight. She was still skinny as a bed slat. Her hair was a real mess, her face once more hidden under a layer of paint. She might try to dress the part with the black satin corselet and the red satin shoes, but as a lady of the evening, she was doomed to failure. This early in the day, there wasn’t a man in the house drunk enough to make a pass at her. Even cross-eyed snoggered, Will doubted if they’d bother.

  And yet…

  Not your problem, Kincaid.

  He remained at the bar for a few minutes, but then, realizing where his gaze kept straying, he left. His leaving had nothing to do with the woman, he assured himself, it was just that he had more important things to do. As long as luck was running his way, he might as well begin scouting out a suitable house. Nothing quite as ostentatious as the McCutcheons’ place, but a man had to keep up appearances.

  Harry Talbert, who knew everything that went on in town, filled him in on the dismal prospects. “Folks aren’t selling out, they’re moving in. Ranchers wanting more grazing, young’uns growing up, moving out, wanting a place of their own—I don’t hardly know what to tell you, son. I reckon you could hire a house built if you could find the right land, depending on what you’re wanting. Carpenters are in high demand these days, what with half the businesses in town expanding, and those that aren’t carping are hiring on as threshers.”

  “What I want would probably take too long to build,” Will replied morosely. “I was counting on finding the right place, offering the right price and being able to move in right away.”

  There, he’d planted the seed. If he knew Harry—and he did, from years past—before the sun set on another day the man would have a complete rundown on all suitable prospects, not to mention which builders would be available to start on his bank. The Kincaid name alone carried a lot of weight, but he’d be damned before he would trade on it for his own advantage. He had given up that right ten years ago.

  Leaving the barbershop, he met a couple of men he used to carouse with, both graying now, paunchy, obviously settled in for the long haul. They reminisced, swapped a few stories—he heard the latest gossip, which he’d already heard from Harry, and when the men headed home for supper with their families, Will glanced up the street toward the hotel, and then down the street toward the Double Deuce.

  What the devil, why should some scrawny little runt of a saloon girl keep him from enjoying a drink? It wasn’t as if he were expected anywhere else.

  Naturally, the first thing he saw was Lizzy. Too much to hope she’d be taking a break before the evening rush. Nor had a couple more hours on the floor brought about any miraculous changes, other than the fact that she looked tired. That wary look he’d come to associate with her was still there. More pronounced, if anything.

  The place was gearing up for the evening. A few habitual gamblers were hard at it, oblivious to their surroundings as long as the cards kept turning, the chips kept piling up before them and the drinks kept coming. Lined up at the bar, half a dozen cowboys celebrated a night off. They were loud and obnoxious, but probably harmless. He knew the type. Hell, he’d worked with them half his life.

  Finding a place at the end of the bar, he ordered a straight Monongahela and forked over two bits. Cam slid his drink across the counter, cut his eyes over to where Lizzy was serving a table of well-lubricated card players, and grinned. One of the other girls sashayed across the room, rump swinging, breasts bouncing, and leaned against Will’s shoulder as she slid her tray over the counter for a refill. “Evening, honey, don’t you want me to show you to a table? You don’t want to ’sociate with these bar bums.”

  Before Will could respond, Lizzy brought her tray back loaded with empty glasses. As if to avoid him, she headed for the far end of the bar. One of the drunks slung an arm around her shoulders and landed a sloppy kiss on the back of her neck, and Will froze. Moving quickly along the scarred mahogany surface, he placed himself between the men and Lizzy. “Excuse me, but I believe the young lady wants to get through,” he said quietly.

  The woman he’d just left called him something he wasn’t. His parents had been married long before he came along. He muttered a belated “Excuse me,” which didn’t appear to help.

  “Wha’ th’ hell d’you want, mister. Min’ yer own—”

  Lizzy turned red under her war paint. She was rubbing the back of her neck, as if to wipe away the un-solicited kiss. “Oh, please don’t, please,” she kept murmuring.

  One of the other men struggled to wrest a six-shooter from his holster, but before metal could clear leather, Cam was there. “Take it outside, boys,” the bear-sized bartender said quietly. “First gent that draws a gun in this here establishment is buzzard bait.”

  Lizzy eased through the mob that had suddenly collected and headed for the stairs. Cam called her back. “Come back here, you ain’t off duty yet, girlie. You go up them stairs now, you take a payin’ customer, is that clear?”

  Someone made out a loud, ribald remark, and Will felt his whiskey threaten to return on him. Deliberately turning his back on the barkeeper, he glared at the room in general.

  Most of the men dropped their glances, but a few were watching Lizzy, speculation in their bloodshot eyes. What’s she got hidden up under them skirts that a Kincaid is willing to pay for?

  Dammit, he knew that look, knew what it meant. And it wasn’t going to happen, at least not tonight.

  Turning back, he slid a wad of folding money across the bar. “Lizzy,” he said quietly. “Send her upstairs, I’ll be back later.”

  And then he left. He would not be back, but with a miserable sense of inevitability, he knew that before he could get on with his own affairs, he had to find some way to get her out of there. Find her a decent place to stay and a job in a respectable establishment, one where she wouldn’t be expected to earn her living on her back. She was too young, too—

  He didn’t know what she was, but at least he knew she’d sleep safely for one more night.

  Propped up in his own bed sometime later, holding a week-old copy of The Chicago Daily News, Will tried to figure out what there was about a clumsy waif with big blue eyes and a prickly attitude that could mess up his priorities so completely. He didn’t have time to waste on her problems. He didn’t owe her anything. Fortunately, his nose had returned to its normal size, with only a faint red line across the bridge to show for his misadventure. His shirt had already been laundered, and his suit was being sponged, aired and pressed by the local tailor.

  Yet he had paid the going rate for two successive nights for something he had no intention of claiming. Evidently, turning thirty had addled his brain. Or maybe traveling too many miles in too short a period was just now catching up with him, even though he had stopped twice to break the trip.

  Or perhaps it was just one of the disadvantages of being a gentleman—the inability to walk away from a bad situation without trying to do something about it.

  FIRST THING the next morning, Will started looking for a business that hired women. Respectable women. Because despite her present situation, he was increasingly convinced that Lizzy Price had, at least until recently, been just that. Amos Carlton’s wife suggested the Mercantile, after telling him she had all the help she needed at the hotel.

  Will wouldn’t have wanted her working at the hotel, anyway. Half the men in town would have seen her at the Double Deuce. They might reasonably conclude she had simply transferred her place of business.

  Tess Dillard was no more help. “You might want to talk to them that’s building the new schoolhouse. I heard they sent off for a teacher, but he might not show up.”

&
nbsp; “Thanks, Tess, I’ll keep it in mind.” He hadn’t exactly said who he was trying to find work for. A decent, well-spoken young lady, he’d told Millie Carlton.

  At least he thought she was decent. Or had been until some lowlife had dropped her off at the DD in exchange for his IOUs. A real prince, Will thought, indignation stirring in his veins. Considering where he’d found her, Lizzy Price was surprisingly well-spoken, but a schoolteacher? For all he knew, she might not even be able to read.

  Meanwhile, he had his own business to see to. With the deed for a lot in the center of town for his bank being drawn up by his lawyer, he spent another fruitless few hours looking at possible home sites. If no suitable houses were for sale, he would have to find a piece of land he liked and build his own.

  On the other hand, if carpenters were in short supply, he might have to stay on at the hotel or lower his expectations, settle for a smaller house and let them get started on his bank. Which in no way explained why, acting on impulse, he found himself riding out to look over the old Tanner place a short while later. To see if it was still as awesomely awful as he remembered.

  It was. Like a grand old lady, down on her luck. Shabby and obviously ailing, she still retained a certain elegance—a certain pride.

  And once again, he thought of Lizzy. Not that she was ailing—at least, not so far as he knew. But both had obviously seen better days.

  Back in town, he returned his rented mount to the livery. Discouraged at finding himself no closer to either of his goals—owning a bank, or owning his own home, he made up his mind to ride up to the ranch and talk to Caleb about that mare he’d mentioned. He needed his own horse, even if he had to keep her at the livery.

  Actually, the day hadn’t been entirely wasted. At least he had a deed for the land where one day soon, the First Whitehorn Bank and Trust would stand.

  But he was no closer to finding a permanent place to live. Bank presidents rarely lived in hotels that lacked a presidential suite. Amos’s establishment lacked a suite of any kind. Even the shared plumbing was barely adequate.

  The idea that popped into his mind was not new. The first time the notion had occurred to him, he had promptly dismissed it, but like a cocklebur, it wasn’t that easy to dislodge.

  Lizzy and a house. A house and Lizzy. Like buzzards circling a lame cow, the half-formed thoughts refused to go away. He couldn’t seem to forget the mixed message of hope and despair in her eyes that no amount of face paint could disguise.

  Not your problem, Kincaid. It was getting to be a familiar refrain.

  But it was his problem. He didn’t know why, he only knew that his conscience wouldn’t allow him to ignore her situation if there was a chance he could help her. Caleb had a wife and son, otherwise he might have considered taking her out to the ranch. Now, he felt as if he no longer had that right. Which left the boardinghouse and the hotel. He did know that if she remained where she was, her fate was inevitable. She didn’t have what it took to become a success at her chosen profession.

  A sleepy-eyed janitor told him Mrs. Harroun’s place was plumb full up to the rafters. Will thanked the man, handed him a coin and left. He happened to know the hotel had several empty rooms, but he couldn’t bring himself to take her there.

  Damned if it wasn’t enough to make a man give up drink. Or at least find himself another saloon.

  THE IDEA WAS THERE when he woke up the next morning, like a giant spiderweb waiting to capture the un-wary. Sooner or later you’re going to need a housekeeper. Why not hire Lizzy for the job?

  Of course, there was the small matter of not owning a house. At the rate he was spending money, burying it under saloons and buying the favors of down-on-their-luck saloon girls so they could get a good night’s sleep, he might well end up living in a room over his bank, which wouldn’t do much for the image any successful investment banker needed to project.

  But the kind of house he needed—the kind that would instill confidence in potential investors—couldn’t be built in a day. And the banking business was built on confidence.

  With that thought foremost in mind, Will set out to make three stops. The first stop was the barbershop, where Harry told him what he needed to know.

  The second was the same lawyer who had handled the deal with McCutcheon. Acting on behalf of the Tanner estate, he said pompously, “You’re a wise man, Mr. Kincaid. As representative of that unfortunate family, I can assure you—”

  “Unfortunate?”

  “Er, um—well, they’re all dead but a great-nephew who lives in New York, y’know. However, I have his power of attorney, and I don’t mind telling you that you’ll be getting your money’s worth, that you will, sir. The place is a real gem, built back when the territory was first beginning to open up. Mining interests, I’m told, but that was long before my time.”

  It was before Will’s time, too, but he had no time to waste on a history lesson. The only surprise was that no one had snapped it up.

  Standing on the corner of Main and Crossroad some forty-five minutes later, Will tried to sort it all out in his mind. When he’d first made plans to leave Chicago, common sense had pointed to New York, which was, after all, the banking capitol of the world.

  However, his heart was in Montana. There came a time in a man’s life when his roots and his family, no matter how alienated, came before all else. He’d been thinking in terms of Whitehorn as it had been ten years ago. It had changed. It came as something of a surprise to realize that he had changed, as well. As if he were caught somewhere between Montana and Illinois. Somewhere between the headstrong youngster he’d been in those days, and the pragmatic businessman he was today.

  Before he could make up his mind what his next move was going to be—or rush back inside and call off the whole crazy business—Caleb emerged from the nearby barbershop.

  Caleb had changed even more than the town. Maybe they had all grown up over the past ten years. “What the devil have you been up to, Will? Harry said—”

  On the other hand, once a big brother, always a big brother. “Harry says too damned much. Always has.”

  “Then it’s true?”

  Too tired to inquire as to which of his recent actions Harry had put on the town grapevine, he nodded. “Probably.”

  “You’re crazy!” Caleb had never hesitated to voice an opinion. “God, man, I don’t even want to hear about it. Yeah, I do, but first, what happened the night you got whacked by a tray and went upstairs smelling like a distillery with the same girl that tried to break your nose?”

  Will was sorely tempted to walk away. He needed more time to come to terms with what he’d set into motion. But dammit, he was his own man now, fully responsible for his own mistakes. So he told him the whole story. The recital ended with the purchase of a worthless, elegant old ruin.

  “Jehosaphat, you really are crazy!”

  “That seems to be the consensus.” Leaning against the sun-warmed board-and-batten, Will felt the last of his doubts drift away, replaced by a new sense of determination. This was the hand he’d drawn. He would stand pat and play it out.

  “You know it’s going to take a fortune to fix up that old ruin.”

  “Good thing I’ve got a fortune, then,” Will replied with a wry smile. “What I don’t have is time.”

  “What about your bank?”

  “Like I said, I’ve bought the land. Good location, south end of Main. Now all that’s left to do is hire a crew to clear the lot and build on it. I’ve already drawn up the plans.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Caleb interjected sarcastically. “You do know, don’t you, that every carpenter between Butte and Billings will be too busy trying to shore up your mansion to build you a bank.”

  “My problem. I’m good at logistics.”

  “Yeah, well the woman’s not your problem, little brother.”

  Some of his newfound determination ebbed away. “Dammit, Caleb, somebody’s got to do something for her. You know what’ll happen if she stays on the
re. She might be plain as a mud fence, but odds are she’s a good girl who just happened to run into a streak of bad luck.” Bad luck in the form of a sweet-talking, no-good, sonovabitch gambler who sold her to pay off his debts. “She’s got no business in a place like that. All I intend to do is find someplace to stash her where she’ll be safe until she’s ready to move on.”

  “Uh-huh. So you went out and bought her a mansion.”

  “Stop grinning! I didn’t buy her a mansion, I bought it for me! The girl’s got nothing to do with it. I needed a house, and it would take too long to build what I want. And anyway, I’ve always kind of liked the old place. All it needs is a—”

  “New roof, new windows, new porch, paint job inside and out and—”

  “Don’t you have something to do besides question my judgment?”

  Caleb hooked his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, leaned against the sun-baked wall and shook his head. “It’s your sanity I’m questioning, man, not your judgment.”

  “Yeah, well—while you’re at it maybe you can give me the names of a few good carpenters, because I just signed the papers. From now on, the old Tanner place will be known as Kincaid’s Folly.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WAS AFTER DARK by the time Will got done with all that needed doing. So far, he’d been home three days and had yet to get a full night’s sleep. At this rate he wouldn’t have the energy to oversee the construction of his bank, much less the repairs on the old ruin he’d impulsively purchased. Making one small bedroom and the kitchen even marginally habitable had required the work of two handymen and one cleaning woman.

  Will tried to recall the last time he had done anything quite so reckless. As luck would have it, most of his wilder gambles had paid off, but this time…

  Kincaid’s Folly was right. He might have bought the place for pennies on the dollar, but by the time he resurrected the old ruin, it would have cost him a healthy bundle.