Montana Maverick

by Ramona Flightner

  “Seems like it went as it always does when ye speak to him about his gamblin’,” Alistair said. He heaved out a breath. “When will ye tell him that ye’ve paid this debt?”

  “When he’s calmed down enough to hear me.” He paused as he stared into the fire, the logs transformed into embers. He rose and tossed on a new log. “How can I threaten him this will be the last time?”

  Alistair raised his eyebrows. “I think it has to be, Cail. Otherwise he’ll never change.”

  Ewan walked down Main Street the next afternoon, smiling to those he knew and ignoring many curious stares. He entered the print shop, ruefully aware that the town’s sense of intrigue surrounding him would only rise at this visit. His smile faded as he saw Jessamine’s frown at his entrance. “Ye had to ken I’d visit ye.”

  She swiped her ink-stained hands on the apron covering her teal dress. Somehow the color did not clash with her red hair but complemented it. “I had hoped, after a visit with your brother and the lawyer, and my apology yesterday, that I would be spared any further interaction with you.”

  “Apology?” Ewan asked, pulling the previous day’s special edition from his pocket. “Ye call that twaddle an apology?”

  She lifted her chin and nodded. “Yes. I am a journalist. There are times when a journalist must admit to having harmed another due to misleading facts.”

  “Ye should just call them lies. We ken well enough what they were.”

  “I did not lie. I was misinformed.”

  He paced toward her, his face reddening and his breath emerging in pants with his anger. “Ye canna even apologize in a manner that appears contrite. Ye must attempt to make yerself look a victim too.” He shook his head. “Ye were a fool, and God only knows why.”

  She matched his step forward until they were almost chest to chest. “I was not a fool. I made a mistake. Or am I not allowed to make those? Am I to be held to a different standard than other journalists because I’m a woman?”

  Ewan sneered at her. “Dinna act offended now because I doubted yer abilities because ye were a woman. If ye want to act as hardened and as mean as a man, that’s yer right. But ye’d be far better off showin’ this town that ye have soft sensibilities to go along with yer intelligence.”

  She clamped her jaw shut as she glared at him and breathed out a huff. “No man would be told to highlight his tender side. No man would be damned because he had the daring to challenge commonly held beliefs.”

  He shook his head in confusion and backed up. “I told ye afore, an’ I tell ye again. Ye’re daft, woman. Ye try to be a man, when ye have plenty to offer as a woman.” He watched as her glower intensified with his comment. “An’ I dinna mean as a wife and a mother. I canna imagine a man daft enough to want to wed ye.”

  He backed up as she punched him in the arm. “How dare you?” she shrieked.

  “Oh, so ye dinna like it when someone speaks about ye without knowin’ ye? When they cast aspersions on yer character?” He watched her with anger-lit eyes. “Now ye ken just a little what ye did to Bears. Only I’m no’ here with a pistol, wanting to harm ye.”

  She spun away from him and took a deep, stuttering breath. “I’ve said I’m sorry.” Her voice emerged low, with each word carefully enunciated.

  “Aye, in your journalistic way, ye have. But ye have no’ shown remorse. No’ to me, no’ to the town. And especially no’ to Bears.” He waited, but she remained turned away from him. “Are ye crying?” He touched her shoulder gently, stilling his touch when she stiffened.

  “There’s no excuse for having printed what I did,” she whispered. “I knew, deep inside, I knew I shouldn’t print it. And yet I did.”

  “Why, Jessie?” he whispered.

  She spun to stare at him in confusion at the nickname. She took another step back to the point she was at the edge of the raised dais. “I, … I heard the story, and I thought it would make good copy. Almost like another Fact or Fiction section.”

  “It would have been better there if ye must print such trash.”

  She closed her eyes. “I should have known better.”

  “Ye have plenty to offer this town without pandering to the worst among us. Ye dinna want to be held in the same estimation with the likes of the town’s two meanest gossips, Mrs. Jameson or Tobias, do ye?” He saw her bite her lip. “Ye should ken that.”

  “This type of story is how I made my name in New York. In Saint Louis. The more sensational, the greater my readership and the greater my salary.” She lowered her head. “I never had to face those I affected with my words.”

  He raised a hand, slowly reaching out to her. He traced his fingertips down her arm, from her shoulder to her hand. After clasping her hand, he gave her a slight tug so she took a step toward him. “Ye should have kent things would be different in a small town. Everyone knows everyone else, and there’s always talk. Ye canna lose yerself in the crowds like ye can in a city.”

  She nodded and sniffled. “I make you no promises, Mr. MacKinnon. This is who I am as a reporter. If I were to change, I don’t know who I’d be.” She squirmed under his intense stare, finally breaking away from his gaze and looking at her feet.

  “Ye might surprise yerself at who ye could be. At who ye would choose to be, not who ye were expected to be.” He squeezed her fingers and backed away, pausing as she began to speak.

  “I will promise you one thing,” she whispered. “I will apologize to Bears.”

  He nodded, approval and something else he quickly hid glinting in his gaze. “Aye, that’s a good start, Jessie.” He gave her a quick smile and shut the door quietly behind him.

  Jessamine crept into the livery, frowning to see no one at work inside the barn. Horses slumbered in their stalls, and the paddock door was only one-quarter open, letting in fresh air but allowing most of the barn to remain warm. She tiptoed down the long center aisle until she reached the last stall, her shoulders slumping as she failed to find anyone present. For some reason, she had no desire to call out and destroy the peace pervading the livery.

  She approached a horse in a far stall, reaching out to him. It whinnied and butted at her hand. When it nibbled at her fingers, she giggled and snatched her hand away. “I don’t have any treats for you, beauty.”

  “That’s Brindle,” a man with a deep voice said from the shadow by the tack room.

  Jessamine yelped and spun in the direction of the voice. She held a hand to her chest, her eyes huge as she met Bears’ amused gaze. “I beg your pardon. I did not see you there.”

  He nodded, the amusement never fading from his eyes although he did not smile. After a moment, he moved closer to her, and his long raven-colored hair shimmered in the faint light as though shot with blue. His eyes so dark they appeared black never wavered from her, and he moved with an unconscious grace.

  She lowered the hand from her chest and held it out to him. “I’m Jessamine McMahon, and I’m here to apologize.”

  He looked at her hand and then at her face before shaking his head. He moved to stand next to her and held out a hand to Brindle, scratching behind the horse’s ears. “Are you here to write about how a mixed-blood has the audacity to touch a white woman?”

  “What?” Jessamine gasped. She flushed with indignation and then embarrassment. “Of course not. I am sincere in my desire to apologize. I truly hope you will be able to forgive me.”

  Bears made a low noise in his throat before he backed away from the stall’s edge. “I don’t need to offer my forgiveness, ma’am. You need to forgive yourself.” He turned away from her with a nod of his head that appeared deferential but seemed mocking instead.

  “Wait,” she snapped, grabbing him by his arm as she attempted to spin him around to face her. She grunted with exertion to realize he was much stronger than he appeared with his long-limbed, lanky build. She took a step back as his gaze flashed with fire. “I beg your pardon.”

  “As you should. You’ve brought enough chaos upon those I call friends.” He w
aited as the anger left his gaze, and a smoldering derision remained. “If you want to prove your contrition, your actions will show how you’ve changed.” He nodded to her again and walked toward the end of the barn where he pulled himself up a ladder to the loft overhead.

  She let out a deep breath and leaned against the stall. “Well, I never,” she muttered. She jolted as Brindle bumped her side with her snout, and she turned to pat Brindle on the nose.

  Hearing a throat cleared, she looked in the direction of the tack room.

  “I imagine you’ve never been put in your place.” Cailean MacKinnon stood there with a half smile, his arms crossed over his chest, leaning on the doorway.

  “What is it about you men who work in this livery? Why weren’t you about when I entered?” She stomped a foot and flushed as she realized she was acting like a petulant child.

  Cailean chuckled. “Our customers know to call out a welcome when they enter. That way they won’t have to wait before we attend to them.” His smile broadened as he saw how uncomfortable she was. “Of course you were uncertain of your welcome.”

  She shook her head, her hands on her hips, the horse forgotten. “I did not care to ruin the peaceful atmosphere when I entered.”

  “Hmph. Said like a journalist. Or a lawyer.” His gaze hardened, belying his relaxed pose. “We won’t allow you to bring harm to Bears.”

  She glared at him. “I was trying to apologize, but he wouldn’t let me!”

  Cailean pushed away from the wall and approached her. “So I heard. Now it only remains to be seen if you will take his words to heart.”

  She pointed to the loft and furrowed her brow. “How could I possibly understand what he meant? If he won’t forgive me, I won’t beg for it.”

  Cailean shook his head as though disappointed. “I know you aren’t a stupid woman. You have to be remarkably smart and tenacious to do what you do.” He paused. “I would think over what Bears said.” He nodded as she let out a huff of frustrated breath and marched down the livery’s long center aisle.

  Cailean joined Ewan and Alistair on the porch as they awaited supper. Sorcha, Leticia, and Annabelle had shooed him outside when he complained about Annabelle working too much. He met his brothers’ amused smiles.

  “Seems ye were evicted from yer own home,” Alistair said with a chuckle. He smoked his pipe and stared at the paddock and livery, the mountains in the distance.

  “They do not understand that Belle should not exert herself.”

  Ewan laughed, earning a scowl from his eldest brother. “Ye have to be more tactful, Cail. I can only imagine how ye want to protect Anna after last year, but ye have to let her enjoy these last months before ye have yer bairn. Yer life will never be the same again when the time comes.”

  Cailean nodded as he sat with a thud on an upturned log. “I know what you say is true. Most days I can hide the panic growing inside.”

  Alistair nodded. “Anna understands yer fear, Cail. After last year, she kens.”

  Cailean nodded. “I dinna want to steal her joy in these moments.” He let out a sigh. “What do ye ken about the new doctor?”

  Alistair shared a long look with Ewan, as the resurfacing of Cailean’s accent showed his agitation and concern. “I dinna ken the man yet.”

  “He seems intent on aiding the women at the Boudoir,” Ewan murmured. “I hear he is there with great frequency.”

  Cailean frowned. “But what’s the man like? Will he be able to help Belle?”

  Ewan shook his head. “I wouldna focus on that man. I’d ensure the midwife is here. She’s the reason Anna’s still alive.”

  Cailean let his head rest against the side of the house, his eyes closing for a moment. “I wish the two of you had been at the barn earlier today. There was quite a scene.” He opened his eyes to meet his brothers’ curious, yet concerned, gazes. With a shake of his head he indicated he did not want to speak about his worries as to his pregnant wife anymore that night. “That reporter came by to apologize to Bears. And he wouldn’t accept it.”

  Ewan sputtered. “Bears wouldn’t? And she did?” His delighted smile spread. “’Tis nice to ken she keeps her word.”

  Alistair cocked his head to the side as he studied his pleased little brother. He took a puff on his pipe and then said, “Why should what she did please ye?”

  “I confronted her yesterday. About Bears. About her pathetic attempt at a retraction in the paper. An’ she promised she’d apologize to him directly.”

  Cailean laughed. “Bears said he’d not be forgiving her and that she needed to forgive herself.” He smiled as his brothers stared at him, stupefied. “And that, if she wanted to prove the truth to her words, she would through her actions.”

  Alistair smiled and sighed with satisfaction. “Bears is a canny man. Why should he let her believe a simple apology would suffice? He’s right. Her actions will speak louder than anything she could print.”

  Chapter 4

  A brisk wind blew, scattering golden and reddened leaves with strong gusts. Shorter days and longer nights, with a crisp feel to the air, acted as a harbinger of winter due to arrive earlier and more harshly than the previous year. Ewan scowled as he considered the amount of work needed to be accomplished before the first snow fell.

  He entered the worksite and sighed as his men began to work twice as hard once he arrived. Ben worked nearby, and Ewan listened to a conversation the men were having. “I dinna understand what they’re talkin’ about.”

  Ben shrugged. “Seems that reporter put out a new paper this mornin’ with another tall tale. The men are tryin’ to determine if it’s true.”

  Ewan grunted. “Most things that woman writes are blatant exaggerations.” After a moment he muttered, “What was this one about?” He glared at Ben as his friend smiled at his question.

  “Seems there was once an early settler who one day decided to ride his horse out on the prairie. He was an absentminded man, interested in nature, and he tethered his horse to a rock as he sat near a pretty cliff to look out over the beautiful expanse below him.” He grinned at Ewan’s snort. “Oh, no, it gets better.”

  Ewan raised an eyebrow and grinned at Ben. “If she wrote it, I can only imagine.” He hammered in a nail and then set about measuring a board as he listened to his friend.

  “As he sat, marveling at the wonder before him, a herd of buffalo hemmed him in place. His horse, the only sensible animal in this story, became skittish and broke free, scaring the buffalo. Some tumbled over the cliff to their deaths. Others swerved away, back to the vast expanse of the prairie. Our fine friend jumped off the cliff, to what he thought would be certain death, to escape a trampling by a buffalo.”

  Ewan raised an eyebrow. “An’ there’s doubt it’s fiction?”

  Ben laughed. “It’s not over yet. He falls, thinking in an instant how wonderful his life had been and giving thanks for it, when he lands with a thud on a soft buffalo carcass. He’s speared in the arm by one of the horns but is otherwise unscathed.”

  Ewan snorted in disbelief as Ben gave a short bow as though he were a fine stage actor. “Ye’re as daft as she is.” He listened to his men arguing in favor of the story being fact. “Ye all are if ye believe it’s true.”

  Ben smiled as he picked up a handful of nails. “Haven’t you seen the scar on Mr. Finlay’s arm?” He shrugged. “And he loves nature.”

  Ewan shouted in pain as he accidentally hammered his thumb. “Are ye seriously insinuatin’ that ye believe the banker, the puffed-up man who willna go anywhere if he’s no’ in satin or silk, would sit in a field and land on a buffalo carcass?” He shook his head and snorted.

  “Then what is his scar from?” Ben demanded.

  “I dinna ken. I had hoped he had earned it honorably, as many men in this country did when fightin’ in their Civil War.” He shrugged. “I dinna go lookin’ for other people’s secrets, Ben.”

  Ben nodded. “I imagine that’s because you don’t want them lookin for yours.�
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  Ewan sighed. “Ye ken me. I’ve nothin’ to hide.” He shook his hammer at his friend. “An’ dinna give me that rubbish about everyone havin’ somethin’ to hide.” He sighed. “At least the story wasna about me this time.”

  “Her tall tales never are. Although each one is better.”

  Ewan rolled his shoulders as though attempting to alleviate tension. “I like the real ones. Teachin’ us about the history of this place we call home.” He met Ben’s amused gaze. “I ken they’re real ’cause they make sense. But it doesna make them any less remarkable. Someone had to live those stories, and I’m always filled with a mixture of happiness and regret that it wasna me creatin’ such tales.”

  Ben laughed. “I’ll always be thankful I wasn’t Colter, running from the Blackfeet.” He shook his head in wonder. “I can’t imagine being stripped and told to run, knowing their fastest braves were behind me, intent on killing me.”

  Ewan shivered as he thought about the mountain man and explorer, John Colter. He had been an original member of the Lewis and Clark Corps of Discovery and had spent the majority of his life exploring the wild undiscovered-to-whites West. “He killed their fastest runner and then hid among downed logs in a river.”

  Ben shook his head. “No, he hid in a beaver lodge.”

  Ewan laughed. “How do ye expect a grown man to fit in a beaver lodge?”

  His friend shrugged. “This is why they think all our stories, about men who truly lived, are tall tales.”

  Ewan nodded as he shared a smile with his friend. “Can ye imagine what he looked like, strollin’ into that trader’s post on the Little Big Horn River over a week later, naked as the day he was born, with his feet torn to shreds?”

  Ben laughed. “I would think he was lucky not to have been shot on sight.” He cast a quick glance at his friend. “I thought you’d be irate that the men were talking about the reporter and her stories today after how she treated Bears.”

  Ewan shook his head. “I ken now she’s no’ as I feared. An’ that makes all the difference.” He smiled as Ben looked at him in confusion before he slapped his friend on the shoulder and left him to work alone as he moved to supervise the men he had just hired that summer.