Just Her Type

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “You heard that? I thought that you were senseless.”

  He chuckled, but the sound faded into a curse. “I was beginning to come around about then. Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have let you go with him while there was breath in this body.” Putting an arm around her shoulders, he whispered, “Shall we go home?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed lowly as he turned her to face him. Tantalizing her lips into his possession, he whispered, “I’ve never had a woman threaten to shoot another man to save me. You’re a she-wolf. Is it just anger that brings out these emotions, or could something far more pleasant arouse you?”

  “Luke, I …” Her voice drifted into a sigh as he tasted the curve of her ear. “Take me home.”

  “And to bed?”

  “And to bed,” she whispered.

  When he scooped her into his arms, she gasped. His eyes glittered as he smiled at her astonishment. “I may be a bit battered, but not so much that I don’t want to tame you tonight, she-wolf.”

  “I fight dirty,” she retorted, leaning her head against his shoulder.

  “I know that already, but soon I’ll have you purring with pleasure, sweetheart.”

  Closing her eyes, she begged, “Hold me all night, Luke.”

  “All night and forever in my dreams.”

  FIFTEEN

  The approaching thunderstorm pushed a cool breath ahead of it. Leaving the windows open for as long as possible before the rain whipped through, Mackenzie scooped up the dirty clothes Douglas had dropped from his loft.

  Behind schedule. That was what she had been all day, but she did not care. After Luke had printed up the paper and delivered it, she had joined him in watching Douglas’s team play ball on the field the boys had built themselves. When Douglas’s team won, she congratulated Luke as the boys cheered their coach. She was not sure what that title meant, but could tell he was pleased.

  A slow smile spread along her lips. The walls should have burst from joy in this house. She was glad her son was accepting Luke as the friend he had needed almost as much as she had needed Luke to love her.

  At the sound of footsteps rushing up the stairs, she turned. Luke raced into the room, grabbed her, and spun her about. Pressing his lips over hers, he lowered her to the floor.

  “Look at this.” He handed her a slip of paper. A telegram, she knew, when she saw Zared’s scrawl filled the page.

  Excellent series/Will wire ticket for train for July 17/Stop Chicago, Cleveland, Buffalo, Utica/Arrive Albany on 21/Expect you in on Wednesday 22/Start new assignment. Associate Editor News Room/Congratulations on job well done/

  It was signed Carter Sanders, editor The Albany Independent.

  Giving Luke the page, she whispered, “That’s wonderful. Congratulations on your promotion. You’ve worked hard for it.”

  “Yes, I have.” He grinned. “I have you to thank.”

  “Me?”

  “Didn’t Carter love what you wrote when I was banged up?” He folded the letter and put it in his shirt pocket. “I never told you, but I borrowed your style to do the rest of this assignment. Carter told me I could learn a lot from Mackenzie Smith.”

  “He meant my father.”

  “I know that, but, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be getting this promotion.”

  “I’m glad I could help.”

  “But?”

  “But nothing.”

  He enfolded her hands between his. “Mackenzie, don’t lie to me.”

  “That’s the truth.” Pulling away, she stared about the room. The joy had vanished. She took a deep breath. “Luke, I have some work to do downstairs. Will you get the new shipment of newsprint from the station?”

  She did not wait for his reply. If she had stayed, she could not have hidden her pain.

  When he had left, the print shop became an accusation Mackenzie longed to escape. Each empty corner demanded that she stop wasting the few hours she had remaining with Luke. He would be leaving in a week.

  She picked up today’s Bugle from the stack left over from the ones Douglas had taken to the mercantile that morning. Maybe reading would help her forget … for a moment. Her steps were heavy as she climbed the stairs. Everything in the rooms upstairs offered sweet memories of Luke’s arms around her, of his kisses stealing her senses as she answered his passion with her own. But that was coming to an end.

  Putting the kettle on the stove, she opened the paper to the second page. Her brow furrowed with bafflement as she looked for her editorial. Where had Luke put it? Searching both inner pages, she could not find it. Where the editorial should have been was the article she had written about statehood for the front page. If that article was where her editorial normally was, then …

  In disbelief, she gasped. When she read the headline, she dropped to the bench. Her knees no longer would support her.

  HAS RIMROCKING SHEEP

  BECOME THE LATEST SPORT ON THE RANGE?

  “How could you?” she whispered. “I thought you knew the danger.”

  She bent over to read the article. In it was everything she had said they must not print. That the facts were presented without inflammatory fervor made them the more damning.

  “Oh, no,” she moaned when she read Connolly’s name as well as Krafft’s.

  How could Luke betray her again? He had promised to do nothing to lose her trust, but he had broken that promise with this. Crumpling up the paper, she stuffed it into the stove. She wished she could do the same with the other copies, but it was too late.

  Hurrying into her bedroom, she reached for Luke’s suitcase. Tossing it onto the bed she swept his extra clothes off the pegs on the wall and threw them next to the bag. She reached under the bed for his shoes. A sob escaped from her lips as she drew out a sock which had been lost during their eager lovemaking last night. She had dared to open her heart to him, but he saw her only as a way to advance his career. He had even boasted of stealing her writing style.

  “What are you doing?”

  Mackenzie turned to see Luke in the doorway. His astonishment tugged at her heart, but she could not forgive him. “What I should have done the day you arrived. Thrown you out into the street! I thought I could trust you.”

  “You can, Mackenzie.”

  She shoved the suitcase into his hands. “No, I can’t. Not after what you put in my newspaper.”

  Sitting on the bed, he grabbed her hand. “I wanted to explain. I tried. You didn’t give me a chance.”

  “I don’t care why you wrote that article. I told you I wouldn’t have that in the Bugle. You ignored me. I am the editor, remember?”

  “I’ve never forgotten that, but—”

  “No!” she cried, ripping her hand out of his. “Don’t you understand? I don’t care why you did it.”

  “The truth needs to be printed. If you and Roosevelt are too scared—”

  “You’re right I’m scared!” She pointed to the door. “Get out! I can’t fight for change in Bentonville when I have a serpent hissing at my feet.”

  “Change?” He surged to his feet. Throwing the bag onto the bed, he grasped her shoulders. “Mackenzie, you don’t want change! You want to keep everything exactly as it is.” His hands tightened on her arms as she tried to pull away. “No, you’re going to listen. I know you’re scared. Break the power of Connolly, Rutherford, and O’Grady, and Bentonville dies. If the town dies, so does the newspaper.”

  “That’s absurd!” she said, but with less heat.

  “I don’t think so.” He looked down into her eyes. “Sweetheart, if you don’t fight for what is right, who will?”

  “I’m doing what I can, as I can. I won’t have Douglas murdered like Cameron and Pa.”

  “And Doc Langhorne and Lacey?”

  “Yes, don’t you see? You must let me do what I think is right.”

  “I’m willing to do that, if you will do what you think is right.”

  “I—” Mackenzie froze as the door to the shop crashed open. When her
name was shouted, she stared at Luke in horror. He put out his hand to her, but she rushed down the stairs.

  She forced a smile as she stepped into the print shop. It faltered, for Connolly stood there. Two burly hands flanked him and were looking about with malicious anticipation.

  “Good evening,” she said cautiously. “Can I help you?”

  “Stop playing your games, Mackenzie!” Connolly snapped as he pulled off his gloves and tossed them to his men. He cracked his knuckles and smiled. “You know why I’m here.”

  “Mr. Connolly, I—”

  “Shut up!” he roared. She took an involuntary step backward as he pushed through the half-door. All pretense of gentility was gone. “You’ve had your say. Now you’ll listen to me.”

  “Mackenzie didn’t write that article.” Luke put his hands on her shoulders. “I did.”

  “No!” she gasped.

  Connolly smiled icily. “Does it really matter whether you or Bradfield wrote it, Mackenzie? It was printed in the Bugle. You lied to me about your Eastern paper, Bradfield, but you can’t lie this time. The Bugle’s your newspaper, Mackenzie.”

  “Yes.” Her voice trembled on the single word.

  “Then you are responsible for what’s printed in it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Mackenzie—”

  Connolly ignored Luke. “Now, as the wounded party, I have two recourses. One legal, one we shan’t speak of. How much are you worth? Libel is a very serious situation. This small enterprise has little of value, so you may find yourself working for me to pay off the debt.”

  “If you see scant value in the Bugle,” she said, “there’s little reason for you to go to the expense of a trial.”

  “Mackenzie, don’t let him bully you. He—”

  “Can we discuss this without your employee?” Connolly asked, sneering at Luke.

  “Yes, if yours leave, too.”

  Luke snapped, “You’re insane if you think I’m going—”

  “Well, you are.” Turning to him, she kept her face composed. She did not doubt that Connolly’s men were watching for any crack in her façade. “I trust you’ll excuse us.”

  Connolly laughed as his men went out to the porch, leaving the door open. “Run along, Bradfield. It’s a good thing you don’t work for me. I wouldn’t take such lip from any two-bit paper pusher.”

  Luke did not move until Mackenzie whispered, “Please.”

  “All right,” he said, “but I’ll be upstairs, Connolly.”

  “You wound me, Bradfield. I’ve no intention of doing harm to Mackenzie.” He added when Luke went up the stairs, “I’ve told you my plans. What do you intend to do about this grievous situation?”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

  “I thought you knew very well the price.”

  “You want the Bugle?” She listened to her calm voice as if she stood outside herself and watched Connolly threaten all she had slaved for.

  “I have had the papers drawn up. All you need to do is sign them.” He withdrew a sheaf from under his coat and forced them into her hands. “Of course, you may stay on as editor if you wish. I’ll offer you a fair stipend as well as allow you to live upstairs.”

  She lifted the pages and picked her way through the legal language. It repeated what Connolly was saying. Folding them up, she said, “No.”

  His eyebrows pressed his forehead into wrinkles. “Did I understand you correctly?”

  “Yes. If you think I shall let you take this opportunity to force me to turn the Bugle over to you, you are mistaken.” Straightening her shoulders, she held out the papers. “Nor shall I print a retraction of the article.”

  “I’ll have your business and everything else you own.”

  She shrugged. “Fine. Take it.” Flinging the papers at him, she laughed. “What do you think the Bugle’s worth without me? A few hundred dollars? I’ll warn you that the building and the furniture upstairs have less value than the equipment here. Take it, and I’ll put you out of business.”

  His smile faded. “You plan to put me out of business?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “I’d be a fool to tell you that, Connolly.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Take the Bugle, and you’ll see how quickly you will be left with nothing but a printing press and a stack of papers you can’t sell.”

  He put his forefinger in front of her nose. “If you think O’Grady will help you after you’ve been sleeping with Bradfield—”

  Although heat scorched her cheeks, she said, “I don’t want his help, nor do I need it.”

  “Have it your way,” Connolly growled. He kicked aside the scattered pages. “I’ll take this newspaper from you in court.”

  “I shall see you in court,” she snapped. “Criminal court when the facts of this case are presented to the circuit judge. Will you be found guilty as an accessory before or after the fact, Connolly, or both?”

  “No one’s ever been convicted of rimrocking a few bleaters.”

  She smiled as she leaned her hands on the half-door. Opening it, she stepped aside and motioned for him to leave. “Then it’s about time, isn’t it? Eyewitness accounts have a way of turning a jury’s opinion.”

  “Eyewitnesses? Who?” His fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides, and she knew he wanted to pull the pistol he wore beneath his coat.

  “If I answered that question, I’d be as big a fool as you seem to think I am. By the way, if you’re thinking of trying something to force the answer from me or Mr. Bradfield, I can tell you that we aren’t the only ones who know.” Motioning again toward the door, she said, “Good evening, Connolly.”

  His face turned a florid shade, but he grabbed his hat from one of the cowboys standing just outside the door. When the door crashed shut behind him, she closed her eyes and leaned forward, praying the wall would support her better than her knees.

  Hearing Luke behind her, she turned to be enveloped in his arms. With a sob, she whispered, “I hate to admit it, but you were right.”

  He sat her at her desk. Kneeling next to her, he sandwiched her hands between his. “Sweetheart, I went about it in the wrong way.”

  “An apology?”

  “I’ve been wrong once or twice.” His voice sobered. “The Bugle is your paper.” His hands rose to warm her cheeks now cold with frustrated rage. “I didn’t want to argue more with you that night when I wanted so much to make love with you. Just like now.”

  “How could you be thinking of that when I may be out of business soon?”

  “How could I think of anything else when you’re so beautiful and you defend this wayward knight like the bravest princess in the kingdom?” When she smiled, he kissed her upturned lips.

  Something woke Mackenzie, something as nebulous as the dream it had interrupted. It had taken her so long to fall asleep, knowing when she woke she would be saying good-bye to Luke on the train platform.

  The evening had been a kaleidoscope of visits by the friends Luke had made. Her plan to make their last night together wonderful had failed when she’d dissolved into tears when Luke had taken her into his arms. Lying in the bed, which would be hers alone again, he’d held her as she wept. His promise to write often and visit again did nothing to ease her pain.

  She wished she could be like Douglas. Her son was furious. He could not understand why his baseball coach had to leave. He had stormed up to his loft and vowed not to come down until the train had departed. He had—

  She could not breathe. She coughed. Sitting up, she hung her head against her knees. Why couldn’t she breathe?

  Luke tugged on her arm. “Get some clothes on. Fast!”

  “Clothes?”

  His face came close to hers, but something distorted it. She tried to push away the cloud and saw it billow. Not a cloud! Smoke!

  “Douglas!” she cried.

  “I’ll get him.” Luke shoved her out of bed. “Go down the outside stairs. We’ll be right behind
you.”

  Through the din of fear, she heard him shouting to Douglas. Tying on her skirt, she threw a blouse around her shoulders. She searched for the key to the door and struggled to put it in the lock. The coughing almost ripped her in half.

  Fresh air erupted into the room as she opened the door. She raced down the stairs and turned to look at the print shop. Fire flickered through the windows.

  “Get buckets!” she shouted as curious cowpokes poured out of the saloon. Lights appeared in windows along the street, and there were shouted demands to know what was happening.

  Mackenzie ran to the front door. She tugged on the knob. A curse burst from her lips as she realized it was locked. She flung a rock through the new glass and lifted the latch. Kicking the door aside, she raced into the smoke. Scorching heat nearly forced her back. Through the smoke, she could see the press. She pushed through the half-door and tripped over some damp rags. She raised one to her nose. Kerosene. This fire was no accident.

  Fire licked the walls. She fought her way through the smoke to the press and knocked aside the boards next to the wheels. Thank heavens, Pa had had the foresight to plan for this emergency. She pushed. It refused to move.

  “Come on!” she moaned. Fighting to breathe, she shoved again. “Move!”

  Hands groped along the press. Luke shouted, “I’ll get the press. You get out of here.”

  “Douglas?”

  “He’s safe. Get out! Now!”

  Mackenzie leaned her shoulder against the press. Luke shoved on the opposite side. More people swirled through the smoke to assist them.

  She stepped aside as a man took her place. She loaded type, ink, and an armful of unscorched paper on the turtle. Her eyes burned from the smoke. Choking, she thrust the turtle forward. The Bugle was not going to be shut down.

  Cheers met her as she pushed the wheeled cart off the porch. Skinny arms were thrown around her. With a sob, she grasped her son. Dropping to her knees, she hugged him.

  Douglas grinned. “I’m all right, Ma. I even got my baseball out.”

  Although she wanted to admonish him for stopping to get it, she could not. She had been more foolish when she had rushed back to rescue the press. Holding on to him, she searched the crowd for Luke.