Wild Rain

by Beverly Jenkins

  “Did Mr. McCray get settled in at Dovie’s?” Regan asked as she led Spring into the parlor. Colt Fontaine was sleeping.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you heading home?”

  “No. Heading here.”

  Regan appeared confused.

  “I saw how tired you’re looking, so I thought I’d come over, keep Anna company, do some chores, and maybe cook some meals so you can rest.”

  Regan met her eyes and began to cry. “Thank you.”

  Spring moved to the sofa, draped an arm over her sister-in-law’s shoulders and eased her close. “If I’d known you were going to start crying, I’d’ve stayed home.”

  Regan wiped her eyes and laughed before saying seriously, “I didn’t know this baby business was going to be so difficult. I feel like I haven’t slept in a hundred years, and poor Anna has been so good, but I’m spending all my time with her brother and neglecting her—I—Lord, this is hard, Spring.”

  “That’s why I’m here. Once you’re rested you can go back to ruling the world. So what do you need done first?”

  “I haven’t been able to make bread all week. Anna usually helps me. Can you do that and let her assist?”

  “Sure can. That will give us some time together.”

  “Good, and after I’m back on my feet, you can tell me why you’ve really come.”

  Spring stared.

  “I don’t doubt you came to help me, but something else is on your mind, too.”

  Spring smiled. “You know me well.”

  “I do, so whatever is bothering you, I expect you to spill all.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Now, go to bed while your son is asleep and leave the rest to me and Anna.”

  Regan kissed her cheek and left. Watching her go, Spring realized just how much she loved having Regan Carmichael Lee as a sister. She was more of a blessing than either Spring or her illustrious doctor brother deserved.

  As she and Anna began the bread, a knock sounded on the front door. Spring turned to her niece. “Let me see who it is. I’ll be right back.”

  Opening it, she found a tall man whose blue eyes appeared startled by her appearance. He was wearing a bowler hat and an expensive coat that seemed to say back East. His pale middle-aged face was craggy. His hair and beard sandy. “May I help you?” she asked. She wondered if his surprise was tied to her color. There weren’t many members of the race in the Territory.

  He gathered himself. “I, um, hope so. My companions and I seem to be lost.”

  Out on the road was a large fancy buggy. The lowered canopy hood showed a man, dressed similarly to the one on the porch, holding the reins. Behind him sat a young woman wearing a pert navy blue hat. Her coat, a matching blue, was edged with black fur.

  “Where are you traveling to?”

  “Paradise.”

  “You’re on the right road. You’ll come to a fork in another mile or so. Take the one on the left. It’ll lead you straight into town.”

  “Thank you.” He looked her up and down. The speculative gleam in his eye gave the impression that he liked what he’d seen. “May I ask you a question?” he asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Are there many of your kind here?”

  “My kind, meaning women?”

  He chuckled. “No, I—I mean Coloreds?”

  “Will the answer alter why you’re going to Paradise?”

  Her serious tone seemed to give him pause. “Well, no. I just . . . You’re a very striking woman and I’m wondering if you ever entertain—”

  “Remember to take the left fork.”

  His thin lips tightened, and the gleam was replaced by what may have been anger or embarrassment. “Thank you, miss.”

  He left the porch. She closed the door and returned to the kitchen.

  Chapter Five

  Touring Paradise with the sheriff didn’t take long but proved helpful in meeting some of the other townspeople. After the saloon the first stop had been Miller’s grocer. Garrett was surprised by the establishment’s large interior, and how well-stocked it was. He spied everything from farm implements and children’s clothing, to back-East newspapers and a few Singer sewing machines. The Millers were middle-aged. The gray-haired wife, Lacy, had a twinkle in her blue eyes when Lambert introduced Garrett. Her husband, Chauncey, with his black-framed spectacles, was standoffish, and eyed him suspiciously. Next, he and the sheriff walked to the town’s lone bank, owned by Glenda Cale’s husband, Arnold, who appeared years older than his wife. Cale boasted about the bank’s large deposits on hand, and told Garrett, “Too bad you won’t be staying. I’d have some sure-fire investments for you to consider.”

  Their final stop—the undertaker’s, where he shook the cold hand of owner, Lyman Beck. And throughout it all, his thoughts were dominated by the encounter witnessed at the saloon.

  “So who was the man Spring was arguing with?” he asked the sheriff as they finished up their lunch in Dovie’s small dining room.

  “Name’s Matt Ketchum. Spring worked for his father, Mitch, when she was younger.”

  “In the house as a cook or a maid?”

  “No, as a ranch hand and the only woman on the place.”

  Garrett paused over his coffee and studied him. “Really?”

  “Yes. She was pretty wild back then. Arrested her regularly for disturbing the peace, public intoxication, shoplifting. Colt and I were afraid we’d find her dead somewhere.”

  Garrett’s lips tightened in response to Lambert’s description and concerned tone.

  “But as soon as she got her own place, she settled down,” the sheriff continued, “or as settled down as Spring can be.”

  “Do you think Ketchum will harm her?”

  “He may try, but he’ll have a helluva time doing so, and he knows it. He doesn’t have his father to make things smooth for him anymore. Man’s basically a coward. Always has been.”

  That made Garrett feel somewhat better. He was still trying to reconcile the Spring he’d met a few days ago with the one Whit had regularly arrested. Granted, she’d admitted patronizing saloons. It never occurred to him that she’d also run afoul of the law.

  “Some people still judge her for her past, others don’t, but just about everyone points at Ben Lee for sending her life off the rails. Ben, and Mitch Ketchum. Both deserved to be horsewhipped for the parts they played.”

  Garrett wanted to know the full story but didn’t see himself asking Spring about what had to have been a difficult time in her life. He couldn’t claim to respect her one minute, then turn around and casually ask, “Oh by the way, I heard you called a whore and were arrested for public drunkenness. Can you share the details with me—a stranger?” If she shot him with her Colt, he’d deserve it.

  Whit drained the last of his coffee and stood. “I have to get back to my office. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to show me around.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The tall lawman departed and Garrett’s thoughts slid back to Spring. His entering the saloon just in time to hear Ketchum brag about Spring being on her knees had been shocking. Her withering retort referencing something he’d never heard another woman say in his life still had him reeling. Rather than judge her as some might, Garrett considered the life she’d led. It had to have been challenging being the only woman on the place. She’d undoubtedly had to forego what society saw as proper female behavior in order to measure up and hold on to her position. She would’ve needed to be physically strong, have a thick skin, and an even quicker wit to pull her weight.

  She said her grandfather kicked her out at age eighteen. Had working for Ketchum been her only option? She must have seen it as such, and he could only imagine how difficult making that choice must have been. When Matt Ketchum came charging at her for comparing him to less than a ryegrass straw, Garrett’s first instinct had been to jump between them to protect her. He sensed the sheriff was of a like
mind, but Spring had drawn the Colt with such deadly calm, neither of them got the chance to intervene. She didn’t need protecting. Watching her face Ketchum down so fearlessly made him want to cheer. He’d never seen a woman radiate such ice-cold purpose and doubted he ever would again. That Ketchum had used his fists on her made him furious. Had she been forced to service him? Was that the reason she wanted him dead? It was a disturbing question, one he had no answer for and with his return home on the horizon, probably never would.

  Later that evening, after Anna went to bed and Regan put the baby down for the night, Spring sat with her sister-in-law in the parlor. The temperature outside had dropped so they built a good-size fire in the grate.

  “Thanks again for coming to my rescue today,” the still-weary Regan voiced softly.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “So other than being a good sister to me, what was the other reason?”

  Spring thought back on the altercation at the saloon. “Had a run-in with Ketchum earlier today.”

  Confused, Regan sat up straight. “The Ketchum you told me about last year? The one you once worked for? I thought you said he died in a landslide?”

  “Mitch Ketchum did. This is his son, Matt.”

  “What happened?”

  Spring relayed the incident.

  “That’s what he said to you?” Regan asked angrily. “And you didn’t shoot his bastard arse?”

  A small smile curved Spring’s lips. She loved her fiery sister-in-law. The fuming Regan switched to Spanish as she always did when her emotions ran high. In the year they’d been family, Spring had learned to pick out a few of the curse words but little else. “He’s still alive. For now.”

  More angry Spanish was spoken before Regan calmed enough to ask, “Did any of the men there come to your aid?”

  Spring shook her head. “My Colt did that. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “Whit came in, along with McCray.”

  “And?”

  Spring shrugged. “I sort of wish McCray hadn’t witnessed and heard everything. That’s all.”

  She met Regan’s eyes.

  Regan studied Spring for a long, silent moment before asking in a wondrous voice, “Do you have feelings for this man, Spring Rain Lee?”

  “Doesn’t matter. He’ll be going back East soon.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “I don’t know. This is all new for me, Regan.” She then admitted, “Maybe it’s simply lust.”

  “Nothing wrong with lust—ask your brother.”

  Spring held up a hand. “Stop. I don’t want to think about my brother in a sentence tied to lust.”

  “Neither did he, at first.”

  Regan laughed, and unable to hold back, Spring joined in. “Poor Colt’s up in Rock Springs wondering why his ears are suddenly burning.”

  “Probably.”

  After the laughter Spring said honestly, “The last thing I want in my life is a man cluttering up things.”

  “As you said, he won’t be here long enough to do that.”

  “But there’s something about him that makes me want to know more about him.”

  “Then use the time he’s here to do that, and if you end up with him in your bed, whose business is it besides his and yours? Just make sure you don’t get caught. I know you don’t want children.”

  “I’ll protect myself, that’s a given.”

  Regan reached out and took Spring’s hands. “I’m aware you aren’t seeking my approval, but I’m all for any woman snatching happiness wherever she finds it—especially if the woman is my sister. And if it’s lust—so what?”

  “Please don’t bring up my brother again.”

  And they laughed once more.

  “I won’t promise. McCray is quite handsome.”

  “So is Matt Ketchum, but something’s drawing me to McCray besides his looks, and I can’t put my finger on what it is. He can be annoying. Asks far too many questions and won’t sit at the table until I’m seated. I don’t need a man to treat me that way. Sit down.”

  “If he wants to—let him. No skin off your nose.”

  “He wants to open doors for me. I break horses. I can open my own doors.”

  “Has nothing to do with strength, Spring.”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Dare I mention your brother again? He treats me like a hothouse flower at times and it can rile me no end. I talked to my aunt Eddy about it when she visited, and she asked if Colt made me happy. I said yes. She said then let him do those things that make him happy—unless he begins acting as if I’m not smart enough to cross the road alone.”

  “So I should let him open doors for me?”

  “I know better than to try and tell you what to do because we’re very much alike in that way. Just offering things to consider.”

  “Okay. That’s fair, I suppose.” Yet, she remained opposed to his shows of chivalry because at the end of the day who cared as long as the damn door was opened.

  That night, lying in bed in Colt and Regan’s spare bedroom, Spring thought back on having admitted her attraction to McCray. She didn’t like having feelings she didn’t understand. Avoiding him until he left town might be a way to solve the problem, but what if that only left her pining? Another way might be to invite him into her bed and let nature take its course. In her mind, one quick romp was all she’d need. If he were anything like the other men she’d danced between the sheets with in the past, quick was what it would be. None had ever taken more than three, four pumps before doing up their trousers and going on their way. She’d never minded the briefness when she needed an itch scratched. Coupling was for relieving lust or creating children; it wasn’t supposed to take all day. McCray was a self-professed gentleman, however. Would he be appalled by her invitation? She’d yet to meet a man who’d willingly turn down such an offer, especially one with no strings attached, so he probably wouldn’t, either—gentleman or not. Deciding to make the invitation in hopes it would rid her of the troubling attraction once and for all, she turned over and went to sleep.

  The next morning Garrett was eating breakfast in the dining room when Odell came in and approached him with a smile.

  “Morning, McCray.”

  “Morning, Odell. Any replies to my wire yet?”

  “Not yet. Want to ask you something.”

  “Sure. Have a seat.”

  “Thanks. Are you busy this morning?”

  Garrett wondered where this might be leading but responded honestly, “I was going to work on my notes but nothing more. Is there something I can assist you with?”

  “Yes. Porter could use some help. You know anything about sawmills?”

  “Other than picking up lumber my uncle and I ordered, no. What kind of help does he need?”

  “Getting the mill up and running because he can’t do much on his busted leg.”

  “What about his employees?”

  “They always leave when he shuts down for the winter. They’re due to return in a week or two. I have a small group of volunteers lined up, and thought with you being a carpenter and all, maybe you knew something about how mills run or could help with some of the repairs.”

  Garrett thought it over. He did want to interview Mr. James, and this might be a way to accomplish that. “I don’t know if I’d be a help or a hindrance, but I’d be willing to give it a try.”

  With Dr. Lee still away and Spring keeping to herself, his time was his own. “When does he want me to start? Is he at the telegraph office?”

  “He is, so come over when you’re done with your breakfast. I’ll round up the rest of the volunteers and we’ll meet you at the mill. Thanks,” he said, rising to his feet.

  “You’re welcome.”

  When his breakfast was done, Garrett walked over to the telegraph office. When he entered, Porter James nodded a greeting. “Appreciate your help. You ready?”

  “I am.”

  Aided by a can
e, James rose and made his way outside to where a wagon waited. Garrett started to ask if he needed help but waited and watched as the old man slowly but smoothly maneuvered his way up to the seat and picked up the reins. Impressed, Garrett climbed aboard, and they got underway.

  They headed north and were soon following a river. He’d not seen the area before, but like the rest of the surroundings, the land was filled with towering pines, birdsong, and stands of brightly colored wildflowers. Off in the distance the snowcapped mountains rose majestically. The countryside seemed to grow more beautiful with each passing day. “How long have you lived here, Mr. James?” he asked.

  “Long time,” he replied. “Was young when I first got here though. Maybe fifteen, sixteen years old. I was a slave owned by a Methodist minister from Georgia. He and his wife came west to save the souls of the savages.”

  Garrett heard sarcasm in his tone.

  “By the end of the first winter though, the minister was dead from fever. His wife buried him, freed me, and took the train back to her family.”

  “And you’ve been here since?”

  “Yes. Worked traps for a while, learned to build cabins from a friend of Odell and Ben Lee, then got into the business of lumber because it was needed.”

  “Family?”

  The question made him smile fondly. “Sent away for a mail-order bride. A sweet little brown-skinned beauty named Molly responded. Loved her like summer sunshine. We were married five years before she died birthing our twins, a boy and a girl.”

  “My condolences.”

  “Thanks. Sent away for another bride. She was pretty, just like my Molly, but inside she was ugly as the devil. I came home from the mill one evening and found a bruise on my son’s face the size of my fist. She said she’d punished him for not eating his supper.”

  Garrett was appalled. “How old was he?”

  “Three. She didn’t like my twins. Wanted me to send them away so we could raise children that were hers. The next day I drove her to the train station, bought her a ticket, and left her there. Don’t know where she went. Didn’t much care.”