"You’re clearly misinformed,” Jason said. “I assure you there is no new vein in the Dusty. But even if there were, you'd be hard pressed to find mine workers. Every available man is working for me at the Phantom, and I can't afford to let any go."
Jenny felt a renewed sense of hope. The fact that Jason Colby wanted the Dusty made her certain it was sitting on a major vein. "And I believe there is gold in the Dusty," she countered, "or my husband would not have bought it."
Jason held her gaze, so long, in fact, she was prompted to say, "Mr. Colby, if this is a staring contest, you'll find that you will not win."
"I didn't mean to stare, Mrs. MacDonald," he said, "I was only trying to figure out why you are so determined to work a mine that's been played out. But to make things easier for you when you return to Iowa, I'm willing to double my offer. Six thousand."
The figure caught Jenny up short. For six thousand dollars she could purchase a fine home in Cedar Rapids. But if the Dusty truly had the gold Myles insisted it had, she'd stand to gain much more by holding on to it. "I'm not interested."
Jason Colby's eyes took on a steely glint. "I suggest you consider very carefully, Mrs. MacDonald," he said, his words metered, "because you might not get another offer. You could even lose your claim to Jack Bishop, owner of the Vigilante, the mine next to the Dusty. You may not be aware of it, but under apex law, Bishop could claim any gold in the Dusty if the vein apexes in the Vigilante. He's acquired several mines that way, since mine owners don’t have the courage to fight his bogus claims. He can be very persuasive with his tactics, if you get my gist."
His condescending attitude was about what Jenny expected. “I am familiar with apex law,” she said, “but Mr. Bishop cannot sue me unless there’s gold in the Dusty.”
"And I assure you there is not."
“Then why are you so anxious to buy a worthless mine?" she asked.
"Because I feel obligated to you since your husband was my marshal," he said, his dispassionate tone contradicting his words.
Refusing to be goaded into giving up the Dusty, Jenny said, "I do not wish to sell. However, maybe we can strike a deal. I understand you're a gambler." He nodded, vaguely. "Then I propose a wager."
His eyes appeared to brighten with humor, though it could be the lamplight that made them seem that way. At least Jenny thought it was the lamplight. She wasn't sure. She couldn’t think straight with the man staring at her like he was, distracting her, making her thoughts disjointed. Best to concentrate on irrelevant things like the corded veins in his wide flat wrists, and the frilly little pillow trapped in his large square hands. How comical he looked holding it. She peered up at him in wry amusement.
Picking up on that, he gave her an indulgent smile and set the pillow aside. "In order to make a wager," he said, "you have to put something of value at stake. The problem is, what do you have to offer?" He glanced around the cabin. "I see nothing of value here. So it seems, all you have to offer is—" he looked directly at her "—your service."
Heat suffused Jenny's face. "That's about what I would expect from a man like you," she said, "as you undoubtedly view women with your own purpose in mind."
One corner of his mouth tipped upward. "I was not referring to your service in my bed, Mrs. MacDonald," he replied. "I was referring to your service as my housekeeper."
"I am not dense, Mr. Colby," she returned. "I know precisely what you expect of your housekeepers."
"Do you now?" The flicker of amusement came into his eyes.
"Yes, I do. I also know that there is no wager high enough to tempt me to give myself to you." His unflinching gaze, and the intensity of it, made Jenny truly uneasy. Trying to ignore the man, however, made her even more preoccupied with his presence. Oddly, in some illogical way she couldn't explain, she wanted to reach out and touch him. But at the same time she wished he’d leave and she'd never have to lay eyes on him again.
"I assure you, Mrs. MacDonald, you do not interest me in that way," he said. "You'd be quite safe while working in my home."
Jenny stiffened with his rebuff. "That may be," she countered. "But, what I am putting at stake is the Dusty mine. If I lose the wager, I'll sell it to you for four thousand dollars. But if I win, you'll provide me with miners who will work the Dusty on shares."
He looked her in amusement. "The way I see it, you have put up nothing. If you lose, you get a good price for the Dusty. If you win, you get my men to work it for you. Either way, you win. But what do I stand to win?"
He was right, of course, Jenny realized. But since she did not intend to lose, she said with confidence, "If you win, I'll sell you the Dusty for three thousand instead of four, and do your washing for a month." Which would give her added incentive to win. The thought of handling Jason Colby's undergarments made her decidedly uncomfortable.
"A week's washing will do," Jason said.
"I shall not be coddled. One month."
"One week or no deal."
"Why are you so insistent?"
"Because no woman who's just given birth will wash for me for a month."
Jenny bit back a retort. Of course, she didn't intend to lose, so it was a moot point. "Very well. One week. And you'll furnish men to work the Dusty on shares if I win," she emphasized.
He nodded. "What do you propose this match entail? You once threatened to put a bullet between my eyes if I came near your cabin. Maybe pistols at twenty paces would suit. Aimed at the same target, of course. I wouldn't want to knock the feather off your pretty new bonnet."
Jenny bristled at his condescending manner. "A pistol match at twenty paces will be fine," she said, hoping her plan didn't backfire. There was nothing she'd like more than to put the cocky devil in his place.
He looked at her in amusement. "Twenty of your paces, or twenty of mine?"
She shrugged. "It makes no difference to me. Either way I shall win."
"You seem pretty sure of yourself."
"Does that bother you?"
"No, it just makes me curious. My reputation around here is not that of a bumbling idiot behind a gun. In fact, it's exactly the opposite." His gaze was confident, unwavering.
"I am aware of your reputation with a gun, Mr. Colby,” she said, eyes fixed on his, “but obviously, you are not aware of mine.”
His steady gaze faltered, but only momentarily before he collected himself and said, "Then, I look forward to finding out. When do you suggest we have this match?"
"The sooner, the better," Jenny replied. "Shall we say, two weeks from today?”
Jason looked at her dubiously. "A few minutes ago you were uncertain if you'd be up and about in three weeks for the christening. What changed your mind?"
She gave a little shrug. "I'm feeling suddenly fit." An errant act of will caused her to offer her hand to seal the deal. The gesture brought him a step closer, until she could see tiny lines at the corners of his mouth as he smiled—a smile no longer feigned, but one of droll humor. But the message was entirely different when he took her hand in his, looked at her with eyes smoldering with intent, and said in a deep, resonant voice, “Two weeks it is then,” leaving her breath caught in her throat, her heart fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird, and her mind imbued with a whole different aspect of Jason Colby.
Thoughts no proper woman should have whirled in her head, dangerous thoughts that made her restless for the risk and excitement his heated gaze promised. She also had the eerie feeling that he could read her thoughts, that she’d hidden nothing from him. The man truly set her on edge. It was some moments before she realized her hand was still in his. Slipping it free, she said to him, "Good day, Mr. Colby."
He nodded a silent good bye, settled his hat on his head and left.
After the door clicked shut, Jenny lifted Lily from her cradle and said, "My little darling, we will soon open our mine, and it will make us rich."
"Don't go getting your hopes up,” Wilma said. “No one around these parts is a match for Mr. Colby. N
one-the-less, his offer was real decent. He's big-hearted that way."
"Big hearted!" Jenny exclaimed. "Merciful Heavens but this town has the man high on a pedestal, when anyone with a moron's mentality can see he's no hero."
"He is to the girls at the Golden Fleece," Wilma said. "Most of them made enough money dancing and rustling drinks to build cottages—Mr. Colby don't run no bordello. House rules: no touching below the neck or above the knees, and many a young buck who tried was thrown out by the seat o' his britches, oft times by Mr. Colby hisself."
Jenny sighed her disgust at the constant praises of the man, but decided not to waist another breath in protest. “One more thing before you go,” she said. “Would you stand in as Lily's godmother at the christening?"
Wilma swelled with pride. "Why, I'd be honored. I'll even teach Lily some of the scriptures I learned when I was a tyke."
Jenny hadn't meant for Wilma to actually be godmother, only stand in for the occasion. But she didn't have the heart to tell her.
Wilma's brow gathered in concern. “The christening wouldn't be right without a godfather," she said, "and Mr. Colby’d make a right fine one, him being founder of the town and all, and Lily being it's first babe."
"No!" Jenny yelped. “I'd sooner have the Devil. There'd be a better chance of Lily's soul reaching heaven with his guidance."
Wilma sighed. "Darb Spencer then. He's a God-fearing man."
"Fine. Please ask him for me," Jenny said. "Meanwhile, I have a shooting match to win. And I will win. I have no intention of being trapped into servitude for Jason Colby.”
***
The pistol snug in her hand, Jenny sighted on a stick and squeezed the trigger. A giggle rose in her throat. After two weeks of dry-firing, her hand was as steady as the day she'd out-shot Myles. After a close call with an escaped convict, Myles bought her the fine Zettner pistol and insisted she learn to shoot. She became obsessed with the sport and soon made a name for herself, even receiving an offer to join a wild-west show. The irony of it was, after haranguing Myles for his weakness in gambling, she was doing just that.
Lily whimpered softly then let out a wail. Jenny turned from the open doorway into her cabin, set the pistol aside and lifted Lily out of the cradle. Swaying her gently, she cooed in a sing-song voice, "Soon Mr. Colby will look like a big silly fool." Lily stopped crying and peered up at her, tiny furrows pinching her brow. “Don't frown little love,” she said, “Mr. Colby deserves it. He's so sure of himself, so sure of everything."
Wilma swept into the cabin. "The men are gathering in the lot," she announced. "Must be upwards of a hundred of 'em, all bettin' on how many bottles you'll hit, if any."
"Good," Jenny said. "I'll wager one week's wash against anyone putting up ten dollars in gold dust. If I win, I get the gold. If I lose, I'll do the winner's wash for a week."
Wilma heeded Jenny's wishes, and forty-five minutes later, returned holding scraps from shirttails from eighteen men. "Each man whose shirttail I'm holding put up the gold dust," she said, "and Mr. Colby's stashed it in the vault at the Golden Fleece."
"Did Mr. Colby place a bet?" Jenny asked.
"No," Wilma replied, "but he told the men to tote their clothes to his wash house."
"How thoughtful of him," Jenny said, with irony. "Well, I'd best be on my way." She kissed Lily and handed her to Wilma.
***
Jason watched Jenny approach, chin high, shoulders back, an air of confidence in her stride. She had guts, he gave her that. Any woman brazen enough to call her own bet, pit her skill against a man's, and do it in the presence of half the town was one hell of a woman. He suspected she was one hell of a woman in bed too. The timid virgin was not for him. He liked his women experienced. And eager. She was, of course, experienced; she'd been married. But washing his clothes wasn’t apt to make her eager to warm his bed.
Hell! Had he forgotten whose widow he was mooning over? Bedding the woman was out of the question. He'd win the match, purchase the Dusty, and send her on her way.
The gathering parted for Jenny to pass. As she walked towards him, she pinned him with eyes as cunning as a cat’s, and said, "I appreciate the offer of your washhouse."
"My pleasure," he replied, his gaze roaming down the length of her and up to where the bodice of her dress stretched tight across her breasts. His mind conjured the image of her standing in front of a washtub in his washhouse, face flushed from the steamy heat, bodice unbuttoned to mid-chest to reveal a generous portion of creamy-white bosom rising and falling with her motions as she grated clothes up and down the washboard.
"Mr. Colby, I would appreciate it if you would hold your attention to the match."
He looked up, realizing he'd been staring pointedly, and was met with distain.
She pointed to the line-up of cobalt blue magnesia bottles."Are you sure you want to start with those?" she asked.
"We could set up pints if you prefer," he replied, "then work down to magnesias and elixirs."
"No, Mr. Colby. I was meaning to start with elixirs and work down to perfumes."
Jason smiled. How droll. She intended to carry this little farce to the bitter end. "Very well," he said. "We'll start with elixirs." He beckoned his brother. "Toss out the magnesias, Seth, and set up the elixirs." After the smaller bottles were lined up, he said, "Ladies first."
"I'll go first, this round," Jenny said, "then I insist we switch off. I don’t want it said that I was given an advantage because I am a woman." She raised her pistol…
And Jason noted at once the fine workmanship of the weapon. And the make—a Zettner, known for its accuracy. Before he could contemplate how a Zettner had come into her hands, she sighted and fired. The end bottle burst. And the din of voices died.
Jason shifted uneasily. Had he underestimated the lady? If so, this was a hell of a time to find out, with the whole damn town looking on. "Good shot," he mumbled, and hoped it would be her last.
"Not good," she countered. "Accurate. There's a subtle difference."
Jason caught the amusement in her tone. Clamping his jaws tight, he shot quickly, dispensing with the second bottle. She followed, shattering the third. After he'd hit the forth, she said, "I suggest we stop wasting bullets on elixirs and move on to tinctures."
"Why not go directly to perfumes?" Jason said, unable to mask his irritation.
"A splendid idea," Jenny replied in a voice that left no doubt that she fully intended to handle the task... Which she did—each tiny bottle sundered into hundreds of pieces before a crowd of stunned viewers—until it appeared, when they'd shattered the last two perfume bottles, that the match was to end in a stalemate.
Jason holstered his gun. Sweet Jesus! The woman was a crack shot! And he had no intention of testing her further. "I say we call it a draw. I buy the Dusty for four thousand and you don't wash my clothes."
"You’ve raised the stakes on yourself,” Jenny said, eyes glittering with animation.
Jason shrugged. “I’m in a charitable mood.”
“Well, I don’t want your charity,” Jenny said. “I want your men to work my mine. Obviously we need something more challenging." She scanned the meadow and pointed to a target. “Over there, the stick poking through that tin."
Jason tried to focus on the stick. A few years back he could have beaded on it with ease. But his eyesight wasn't what it used to be. What he knew to be one stick appeared to be two. However, he’d go out in a blaze of glory. Snapping up his pistol he took aim and fired. The can flipped off the stick, and while it bounced over the rocky ground, he fired from the hip and hit it two more times. But the stick remained intact, its upright stance mocking him.
"Tsk... tsk... tsk. What a pity," Jenny said. She raised her pistol. This time Jason saw her hand tremble. She lowered her arm and took a breath, raised the gun again and sighted. Squeezing the trigger, she clipped the stick at its base.
Not a word rose from the crowd. Not even a whisper. Then muffled laughter rustled...
/> And Jason saw himself a boy again, ringed by his classmates, their voices mocking, ridiculing. “Rotten, egg-sucking skunk," yelled one. "Son of a whore," cried another, a jeer he couldn't deny. He'd been reminded every morning when his mother came home reeking of smoke and sex and cheap perfume. It was all right to bloody the Colby bastard’s nose or shove a fist in his eye because he wasn’t one of the pack and never would be...
Jenny dropped her gun into its holster. Looking over at him, she said, "I believe, Mr. Colby, that I have won a mining crew, and you have lost a washer woman."
The muscles in Jason's jaw tightened. No woman had ever bested him at his own game and he wasn't about to let this one come out unscathed, not as long as he had one last breath in his body to whisper nonsensical nothings in her ear until she gave herself to him willingly, and eagerly. Yes, he vowed, shattering his resolve to stay out of her bed. That day would come. "Maybe we should try again when the stakes are higher," he said, "when your services entail more than simply washing my clothes." He looked directly at her. "Much more."
Her eyes darkened with understanding. "But you claim I do not interest you in that way," she said, not faltering under his fixed gaze.
"I've changed my mind."
"Then the stakes would have to be equally high for you," Jenny countered. "Say, perhaps... the Phantom mine?"
As he looked at her, Jason fought the urge to take her by the arms and pull her against him and cover her mouth with his. He'd seen that look in a woman's eyes before, not an outward signal—he doubted she knew what she was doing—but a signal none the less. The steady pulse in her throat and the deep rise and fall of her breasts underscored it. "I thought there was nothing that would tempt you to offer me your favors," he said, and saw a new light come into her eyes.
She gave him a waggish smile. "For a chance at the Phantom, perhaps I would endure it. Meanwhile," she added, "I will leave you to the task of putting together my mining crew." Raising her chin in triumph, she turned and walked away.
Colby's Child Page 2