By Patricia Watters
COLBY'S CHILD
HER MASTER'S TOUCH
DAY OF RECKONING
MISS PHIPPS AND THE CATTLE BARON
ADVERSARIES AND LOVERS
BITTERSWEET LEGACY
JUSTIFIED DECEPTION
A DOLPHIN'S GIFT
SUDDENLY SINGLE
COME BE MY LOVE
TOUCH ME WITH LOVE
WHISPERING SPRINGS CHRONICLES
ADVERSARIES AND LOVERS
Patricia Watters
Copyright Patricia Watters 2011
Published by Smashwords
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CHAPTER ONE
Colby, Colorado Territory: April, 1872
The blast of gunshots followed by the zing of a ricocheting bullet brought Jenny MacDonald’s eyes popping wide open. Whoops and hollers from the direction of the Tin Bucket Saloon reminded her where she was. "God almighty,” she said in a weary voice, “don't they ever quit?" It was the second week of revelry, of raucous laughter, of reckless shots fired into the air. It was also the second week after the birth of her daughter.
Wilma Potter, a hurdy-gurdy girl from the Golden Fleece Saloon, looked askance at Jenny, and said, "Them's Mr. Colby's boys celebrating another new vein at the Phantom."
Jenny compressed her lips in a grim line. "Doesn't anyone around here think of anything but Jason Colby and his gold mines?" she said, irritated with mention of the man's name. Raw-edged men like Jason Colby, with their shadowy beards, and lean hard bodies, and eyes as restless as storm clouds seemed especially untrustworthy.
"They can't afford to think of nothing else," Wilma said, "since Mr. Colby’s mines are what's keepin' this town going, and Mr. Colby's what's keepin' the mines running."
Jenny felt her temper rise. "He's also the reason my husband's dead. If he hadn't pressured Myles into taking the marshal’s job I wouldn't be a widow with a newborn."
Still, Jenny couldn't deny the niggling uncertainty surrounding Myles death. One of her terms in moving west was that he'd give up being a lawman, yet, soon after arriving in Colby, he took the marshal’s job, claiming Jason Colby pressured him into it. But what kind of pressure could Jason Colby put on a forceful, take-control man like Myles?
There was also the question of the Dusty Mine. Myles made a trip west to invest in a gold mine and returned to Iowa claiming he'd found one sitting on a major vein. But shortly after the Dusty was up and running the workers quit. Talk was, the mine was played out. But Myles claimed the workers quit because Jason Colby coerced them into working for him at the Phantom. But she refused to be burdened with pointless conjecture. As soon as she was on her feet, she’d reopen the Dusty, uncover the mother lode, and return to Cedar Rapids where she'd live the life Myles promised when he'd sold everything they owned to drag her to this Godforsaken place. She owed it to her newborn babe.
Wilma lifted Lily from her cradle. "The folks here put in for some mighty fine things for you and this little mite," she said. "They'll be bringing them tomorrow."
Jenny took Lily to her breast. "They shouldn't have gone to all that trouble."
"No trouble," Wilma said. "Gives 'em a chance to see the new babe."
Jenny looked at her infant daughter. "She's so pretty,” she said, stroking her soft round cheek. “And she has so much hair."
"Like her ma," Wilma said. "Ain't never seen hair that color. Like fireweed honey. Looks like she’s gonna have your green eyes too."
While Lily nursed, Jenny stared out the window at a town sandwiched between rocky outcrops. Nestled on both sides of the gulch were lean-tos and clapboard shacks with stovepipe chimneys. And clinging to the side of the mountain like swallow's nests to a cliff was the town of Colby. The buildings, mostly saloons with false fronts and batwing doors, were arranged on steps cut into the mountain. Noting the water oozing from the hillside's muddy façade, Jenny said, in a melancholy voice, "It wouldn't surprise me if the town just slipped off the mountain."
"Early thaw," Wilma said. "Makin' it tough for the men to finish the flume on Main Street before the brides come. Mr. Colby don't want no muddy roads when they arrive."
Jenny looked at her, curious. "Brides?"
"Eleven of 'em. Mr. Colby sent for them hisself. They'll be here in a month. That's why he's pushing to get the hotel finished."
"And of course, Mr. Colby will have pick of the litter," Jenny mused.
"Oh no," Wilma said. "He's not marrying any. I 'spect he's got all he can handle with that French floozy of his."
Jenny looked up at Wilma. "Mr. Colby has a mistress?"
Wilma chuckled. "He calls her his housekeeper, but I've seen where he pats her. If she's just cleaning house then I'm the Virgin Mary. But she might have to move because of the ordinance against cohabitation Mr. Colby set in place—he don’t want no funny stuff goin’ on when the brides arrive. They’s respectable women and he intends to keep 'em that way. It's a shame you're not staying. They's the kind of ladies you'd enjoy knowing'."
"I may get to know them yet,” Jenny said. “I’ll need money for a house when I return to Cedar Rapids, so I plan to reopen the Dusty."
Wilma looked at her, dubiously. "Where will you get the miners?' she asked. "Every man around here's working for Mr. Colby at the Phantom."
Jenny shrugged. "I don't know. But you're welcome to spread the word."
***
Jason Colby shut the door behind Wilma with more force than he'd intended. The last thing he wanted was Jenny MacDonald hanging around. Until now, she hadn’t asked questions. But if she stayed long enough, questions would come up, especially if the old miner returned. He'd been paid well to leave the territory and keep his mouth shut, but that didn't mean he had. Whatever it took, Jenny would be on the stage bound for Iowa as soon as she was on her feet. She'd gain nothing by learning the truth. Nor did he want to chance having her uncover his own dark past. He'd come west with the gold seekers to make a new start, and the only person who knew otherwise was dead. But if buying a house was Jenny's objective, he'd make an offer on the Dusty she couldn’t refuse.
He drew back the drapes and looked at the town below. The morning sun turned everything gold: the tin roof of the mining supply, the facade of the variety theater, the spires of the Golden Fleece. And across the ravine stood the stamp mill. When he'd arrived two years before, forests covered hills which now lay bare as a baby's bottom, the vast stands reduced to lumber for buildings, and shorings, and mine shafts, and the huge water wheel that turned the saw at the mill. The day would come when he'd see fine homes and tall-front stores and municipal buildings with brick facades. And a grid of macadamized streets would bustle with mercantile wagons and town coaches carrying respectable folks.
Unfortunately, Jenny MacDonald would not be among them, though it wasn't without regret he'd see her go. He still pictured her when she'd first arrived. She'd been a sight to behold, sitting on the box beside her husband, chin high, shoulders back, sun splashing across her fine-boned face. But it wasn't until he'd stopped by her cabin after the funeral to offer condolences, and she'd balled her fists and threatened to put a bullet between his eyes if he came to her cabin again, that he could fancy all that fury channeled into passion. He imagined her coppery hair fanning the pillow, her body pressed to his, soft moans escaping her lips as
he brought her to fulfillment. It had been a long time since he'd held a woman smelling of soap and toilet water, instead of smoke and cheap perfume. But it would be longer yet, he reminded himself. And it wouldn't be with the woman who held the key to unlocking a past he thought he'd buried with her husband.
***
Wilma stood on the threshold of Jenny's cabin. "Here they come," she said. "Darb Spencer’s leadin' the pack. And there's Pudge and Rupert and Broken nose Scotty. They look excited, like they're all new papas. And there's Kate and Maud and Bessie Landry." Jenny prepared to greet the folks who'd been so good to her during her lying in. She held a special place in her heart for each buxom painted woman from the Golden Fleece, who'd tended her personal needs, and every grizzled sourdough polite to a fault, who'd provided food, water, and wood for her stove.
While Wilma ushered the folks to gather around, Jenny peered out the window at a town clinging to the hillside. A knot of bitterness rose in her throat.
Colby. Everything Colby. Colby Mining Supply. Colby Mercantile. Colby Bath House and Barber Shop. And although it didn't display the illustrious name, there was the Tin Bucket Saloon and Dance Hall for the rowdies, and for gentlemen of affluence, Jason's Golden Fleece—a saloon, dance hall and gambling house bedecked with gilded spires, ornate bargeboards, and double entry doors with lead-glass panels. And perched on a hill, high above town, with turrets and arched windows and a sweeping porch, was the opulent mansion of the man himself. The fact that Jason Colby owned about every business, including the hotel under construction, intensified Jenny's jaded feelings. No one should have that much investment in people's lives...
"Women first," Wilma called out. A string of women paraded into Jenny's cabin. They presented Lily with gowns and booties, and diapers made from new muslin. And they gave Jenny an array of toiletries along with a blue silk gown and a bonnet with an ostrich plume. And the men presented a cradle, hand-carved toys, and a rag doll made from a new wool sock. That done, Joe Talbot, owner of the Rim Rock mine, stepped forward. "Your babe’s the first born in Colby so this is a great event,” he said as if addressing a crowd of hundreds instead of a circle of six. “Since you'll be wanting to take her on outings we put in for a buggy and a horse. She's old and settled and will be fed with the other stock."
After the men left, Wilma was about to close the door, when she looked into the distance and announced, "Here comes Mr. Colby."
"Send him away," Jenny clipped.
“He’s not apt to go.”
Jenny's lips flattened in aggravation. “Five minutes then.” She yanked the shawl around her shoulders, sat in the rocker beside the cradle with her daughter, and prepared to face Jason Colby for the first time since Myles funeral, three months before. As she waited for the inevitable, her last contact with the man flashed through her mind like a bad dream.
What struck her first when she'd opened the door that day was a pair of eyes as glacial as the wintry sky. Hat between his hands, Jason Colby looked at her soberly, and said, "Mrs. MacDonald, I'm truly sorry for your loss. If there’s anything I can do."
"What you can do is get out of my sight!" she'd cried, tears of outrage stinging her eyes. "You don't give a damn about me! All you care is that now you have to find another marshal!"
She'd started to shut the door, but he stopped it with his hand. "You're grieving and overwrought and that's to be expected," he'd said, moving toward her. "When you’re thinking clearer, I'll come see to your needs."
She'd started to stumble, and he reached out to steady her. "Don't touch me!" she'd cried, snatching her arm from his grasp. "And if you come near my cabin again you'll find a bullet between your eyes, just like my husband had when you brought him in."
He'd fastened that steely gaze on her then, and said, "Under the circumstances, I'll dismiss that threat as idle, and you can rest assured I won't bother you again." Shoving his hat on his head, he'd walked away. And she hadn't seen him since…
A shadow fell across the doorway and she looked up to see Jason Colby duck beneath the entry. His tall, powerful frame dominated the room. He hung his hat by the door and turned to face her. Eyes reminding her of the steel-blue barrel of a shotgun moved over her in a slow, thorough perusal, making her uncomfortably aware that the man behind those eyes was all male.
He was also arrogant and self-assured, and she would continue to despise him for as long as she remained in Colby.
He smiled, which made her decidedly ill at ease. The smile was not genuine. "I've come to pay my respects to the little lady," he said, "and to give her this." He offered a gift wrapped in brown paper. Although Jenny stared at the package in his large hand, it was his baritone voice that held her attention. Within the confines of the cabin it sounded unusually deep. And rich. Like smooth thick cream. "Mrs. MacDonald?"
Jenny focused on the package. Taking it from him, she said, "Thank you on behalf of my daughter. Good day, Mr. Colby."
His smile faded. "Aren't you going to open it? There's something for you as well."
Jenny stared at the package. The last thing she wanted was a personal gift from Jason Colby. Nor would it alter her opinion of him.
He edged closer. "Shall I open it for you?"
"No thank you," she said in a crisp, dry tone. "I can manage." She ripped off the paper and found a small satin pillow edged in lace.
Jason took the pillow from her and turned it over. Attached with a pin was an envelope, which he removed and handed to her. He stood holding the pillow while she pulled a slip of paper from the envelope.
"It's a receipt for stagecoach fare," he explained, thumbs idly stroking the lacy edge of the pillow. "Present it to the stage driver. Fare to Iowa is paid for you and your daughter."
Jenny glanced up, and said, "You seem anxious for me to leave."
Jason looked at the hard line of her mouth and wondered what it would take to see laughter there instead of bitterness. He started to offer another smile, but from the look of disdain on her face he knew it would take a hell of a lot more than that. "I was under the impression you wanted to leave,” he said. “I thought stage fare to Iowa would please you."
"The pillow pleases me," she replied, "and I accept it on behalf of my daughter. As for stage fare, I won't be leaving for some time. But when I do, I'll pay my own way. I have no intention of being beholden to you."
As he regarded at her, Jason realized she was vastly changed from the woman who'd confronted him after the funeral. That woman had been disarmed and vulnerable. This one was in control. But instead of backing away with balled fists, she stared at him unflinching. A far more effective means of expressing enmity. She was also more beautiful now—flawless skin holding a rosy hue, hair spilling over her shoulders like silken coppery threads, long russet lashes deepening the intensity of her cat-like eyes. It came to him then, that a woman, after giving birth, was perhaps at the height of her beauty.
A muscle twitched in his cheek and he realized he'd been clenching his jaws, not his usual response on admiring a beautiful woman. But this one sent adrenaline pumping through him like no woman ever had, and he had to remind himself that she was, and always would be, untouchable to him. Holding that thought, he said, "My paying your fare east doesn't make you beholden to me. In fact, I consider it a token gesture."
"I suppose a man who owns a town would feel that way," she scoffed.
He ignored her retort, but as he continued to stare at her, the color in her cheeks deepened, the tip of her tongue came out to trace her parted lips, and he saw a heavy pulse beating in her throat. She was nervous as a cat, and it was his presence that made her that way. So, her cheeky display was all an act. He'd keep that in mind.
His gift having failed to achieve its goal, he'd try another approach before making his offer on the Dusty. He crouched beside the infant in the cradle. She lay sleeping on her tummy, head cocked to the side, legs folded with her rump thrust high. As he contemplated her serene face, an unfamiliar feeling settled over him, an odd
sense of protectiveness. A wife, a child… Neither fit into his life. So the feeling was an anomaly. Maybe it was simply that he was in essence the town father, and this was Colby’s first child.
Looking up at Jenny, he said, "You'll want your daughter christened so I arranged for the preacher to come in three weeks, when you've recovered from your lying in."
Jenny looked at him, miffed. "Thank you, but I doubt if I will be up and about by then."
"You have to be."
"I beg your pardon?"
Jason stood. "I said, you have to be up by then. The preacher's scheduled to arrive and the women at the Golden Fleece have a special christening ceremony planned there."
"But it's a saloon," Jenny said.
"One room doubles as a chapel until our church is finished," he explained.
"It's still a saloon."
The muscles in his jaw tightened. "The women are working hard to make it right for the christening. I'm sure even you will find it acceptable."
His attitude aggravated Jenny. Obviously he considered her uppity and ungrateful, when in fact she wasn't sure how she could ever repay the women from the Golden Fleece for all they'd done for her during her lying in. "That's very kind of them," she said, deciding there was nothing she could do but concede. But once back in Cedar Rapids, Lily would be rechristened in a church. "Now, I must tend to my daughter." When he made no move to leave, she added, "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Colby, you know the way out."
"There's one thing more I 'd like to discuss," he said. "It's about the dusty mine."
Jenny eyed him with uncertainty. "What about the Dusty?"
"I understand you intend to start it up again."
"That's correct."
"That's formidable undertaking," he said, "not something a woman can handle. However, I'm willing to take the mine off your hands for three-thousand dollars."
Jenny stared at him, speechless. The idea of selling her only means of making a living to the man who put her in that position was so outrageous she could barely give it credence. "That's out of the question," she said. "A new vein was uncovered just before my husband bought the mine, and it should bring in considerably more than three-thousand dollars."
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