Montana Maverick (Bear Grass Springs Book 3)

by Ramona Flightner

  Ewan nodded to his second eldest brother, Alistair, and then to the lawyer, Warren Clark. Ewan gave the town banker, Mr. Ambrose Finlay, his mischievous smile before he joined them at the round table Warren had set up in his large front office space near the small stove. It pumped out warmth on this cold September day, and Ewan glared at the banker for taking the seat nearest the heat.

  Alistair noted his glare and fought a smile. “’Tis typical.”

  “Yes, typical of you to be late,” Mr. Finlay said as he glared back at Ewan. “I remain unconvinced as to the necessity of this wastrel’s presence. Simply because he thought of the whore tax, due to his penchant for lascivious activities, does not indicate we should continue to consult him.”

  Ewan sat back in his chair with his characteristic impish half smile as he stared at the affronted banker. “Perhaps if ye focused less on the cut of yer clothes an’ more on the town and its needs, ye’d come up with similar ideas.”

  “Listen, you little whelp, we did just fine until you came along. We were able to have our meetings at the café.”

  “Aye, where ye never paid for a single meal,” Alistair said with a raised eyebrow. He glared at Mr. Finlay until he slouched in sullen silence. “My brother has ideas on how to raise revenue for this town. Revenue we need for projects to improve this town.”

  “I want this to be minuted. I am deeply offended that my council members believe I would shirk my responsibilities to pay my part of a bill. I thought the committee’s bills were covered by a fund supplied by the townsfolk.”

  Warren pinched the bridge of his nose. “How in God’s name would there be a fund to feed us meals when there’s no money for anything else? It wouldn’t be honorable to accept the money even if there were such a fund!” He took a deep breath. “And I am not minuting any of this because the meeting has not been called to order.” He glared at all present, spending extra time on Ewan.

  After a few moments’ pause, Warren said, “Now that those preliminaries are complete, I call this meeting to order.” He looked at a sheet of paper in front of him where he had scribbled a rough agenda. “Mr. Finlay, would you be so kind as to inform us of the revenue we have collected in the first weeks of the new tax?” The tax meant that a woman employed at the Boudoir had to shop at specific hours at the mercantiles or face a tax. She could not speak to townsfolk, or be taxed. Finally, the Madam had to pay a small tax each month on profits earned at her Boudoir.

  Mr. Finlay sat tall, his satin burgundy waistcoat bulging over his paunch. “Regardless of the revenue generated, it has been a tremendous boon to this town to show that vice is not tolerated.” He speared Ewan with a glare. “Those living on the fringes of society should remain there, and we have shown the respectable women of our esteemed town our deep regard.”

  Ewan sighed as he slumped in his chair. “For God’s sake, man, we all ken every man in town has visited the Boudoir.”

  Mr. Finlay turned beet red with his agitation. “Our women do not need to be exposed to such depravity!” He took a deep breath. “In the first weeks of the tax, we have raised fifty dollars.” He smiled at the success of the revenue-raising venture.

  Alistair nodded. “Fifty dollars in nearly a month isna bad, although it seems a little low to me.” He studied the banker. “Was there a charge for managing the fees?”

  Mr. Finlay shrugged. “There are always charges when managing money.” He shrugged again as though matters were out of his control. “How else would you expect a bank in such a small town to succeed?”

  Warren glared at the banker. “You can read the contract and the proposition about the tax as well as I can, Ambrose. There was a clause in there for no fees to be collected by your bank for some time.” He met the banker’s blank stare. “Don’t make me take you to court. You will not like it, and you will not win.”

  Ewan looked at the three men who formed the Bear Grass Springs’ Improvement Committee as they glared at each other before focusing on the banker. “How were ye voted onto the committee? Ye seem to only have yer best interests at heart, not the town’s.”

  “My interests are the town’s interests. Unlike my two uninformed colleagues, who fail to grasp such a notion, the townsfolk are more aware of the realities of life in a town such as ours.” Ambrose fingered his satin waistcoat.

  Ewan laughed. “I wonder what the journalist would do, should she hear about yer actions.” He smiled as Mr. Finlay paled. “I dinna think the townsfolk would take kindly to hearin’ the banker, who has many of the townsfolk’s prized possessions in a safe as collateral to debts owed, is robbin’ them of money meant to improve the town.”

  “How dare you imply any wrongdoing,” Ambrose sputtered. “I merely read the contract incorrectly.”

  “‘No’ is a fairly easy word to comprehend,” Warren muttered. He sighed and raked a hand through his brown hair. “I will ensure we sort out the tax issue, and I will report back to the committee the full findings at a later date. If there are continued problems with the tax collection, we will find another solution. Perhaps a second bank in town would aid us, just as a second general store has.”

  Alistair and Ewan shared a grin as Ambrose’s eyes grew rounder at Warren’s threat.

  Warren cleared his throat. “Now, Ewan, if you would care to share with us and list a few of the ideas you have for raising further revenue in the town?”

  Ewan sat taller and leaned his elbows on the table. “My ideas are no’ very different from what has already been implemented.” He met the banker’s scoff and indignant roll of his eyes and continued. “I believe that a lot of money could be made if ye were to tax the saloons.” He took a deep breath. “And if ye were to tax gambling matches and games. Men spend a lot of money on those matches, and the town should benefit from the winnings.”

  Warren frowned. “Wouldn’t the town benefit twice? Once from the tax by the man who has won, and then again when he buys a drink at the saloon, and his drink is taxed? When we tax the saloon, it will retax the man’s money.”

  Ewan shrugged. “That is an argument you could make about everything and thus never tax a thing. However, many of the poker players are passing through. I’ve known quite a few who drink little and win quite a bit. The town is losin’ money on those men.”

  “Will the tax no’ encourage the men to go to other towns, rather than spend time in Bear Grass Springs?” Alistair asked.

  “This is Montana Territory. There aren’t many towns nearby.” Warren paused. “I think we could make an argument to tax gambling. I fear too many would protest an alcohol tax and believe we are overstepping our authority.”

  “What about a hotel tax?” Ewan asked. “Few who lodge at the hotel are local.”

  Ambrose glared at Ewan. “You do not have a head for business, boy. You will destroy any enterprise we have with your taxes.”

  Ewan shrugged. “I’ve thought about this quite a bit. I canna say I’m a fan of taxes. But I see no other way to raise the funds we need for town improvements.”

  “Those who are able will be generous,” Ambrose sputtered.

  Alistair rolled his eyes, and Ewan snorted before speaking. “If we wait for those who barely ken how to spell the word, never mind the meaning of it”—he glared at the banker—“then nothing will ever be accomplished.”

  The banker flicked his hand as though what Ewan said was a mere triviality. “It’s nearly impossible to know if we are receiving the correct money from the Madam. How will we ever know if we are receiving the correct money from the saloons or the hotel?”

  Ewan shook his head. “I dinna ken. I supply the ideas. ’Tis yer job to implement.”

  Alistair scrubbed at his head. “Any businessman worth his weight would have two sets of ledgers,” he muttered. He watched as the banker shifted in his seat. He ignored Warren’s surprised glance. “Do ye think smugglin’ an’ the like wasna common in Scotland?”

  Mr. Finlay shook his fingers at the two brothers. “That’s why you have s
uch nefarious minds and can think like common criminals!”

  Alistair sat forward with his hands clenched together in front of him. “I would remind ye that I was no’ the one found to have swindled the town out of money!” He took a deep breath.

  “Bein’ smart enough to outwit those keen on keepin’ all their cash for their own benefit doesna make one a criminal,” Ewan said.

  Warren shook his head in dismay. “I’ll look into the town bylaws. It was easy to tax the whores and the whorehouse as they are out of the bounds of propriety. However, with a gambling tax instituted, other businesses will begin to worry that we will tax them to help raise funds.”

  Ewan shrugged. “’Twould only be fair to tax a small percentage of profits or a tax on sales for the town’s improvement.”

  “Yes, but how would you enforce it?” Warren asked. “Would you be willing to participate in this tax scheme?”

  “Ludicrous scheme,” Ambrose muttered.

  “Aye. The town is fine now but ’twill fall apart if we do nothin’,” Ewan said. He and the banker shared an intense stare filled with loathing. “I believe we should help each other succeed an’ no’ hoard our success.”

  Mr. Finlay slammed his hand onto the table and rose. “I’ve had enough of this whippersnapper’s disregard!” He grabbed his coat and stormed from the room, the door rattling as it slammed behind him.

  Warren gave Ewan a reproachful look. “You could learn a bit of tact, Ewan.”

  “Why bother with one like him? He’s already admitted to robbin’ the town of hard-earned money. I canna feel badly for showin’ him my dislike.”

  Alistair sighed as he stretched out his legs. He held his hands toward the warmth of the potbellied stove. “At least we have more heat, now he’s gone.”

  Warren laughed. “Yes, now that he’s not blocking the stove.” He sighed. “And it’s a glorious day as we don’t have to pay for his meal.”

  Alistair met Warren’s troubled gaze. “Harold wasna happy we were havin’ the meeting here. He likes listenin’ in, although we never accomplish much.”

  Ewan shook his head. “Harold should be on the committee, not Mr. Finlay.” He glared out the door as though still able to see the banker.

  Warren rose and entered a back room that he used as a private office. He emerged with cups in one hand and a coffeepot in the other. After pouring the coffee, he placed the metal pot on top of the stove in the main room and sat again.

  “Heaven,” Ewan murmured as he took a sip. “Sorcha’s is improvin’, but she’ll never brew a decent cup.”

  Warren chuckled. “I’d have thought that Annabelle would have taught her by now.”

  Alistair raised an eyebrow and fought a smile. “Nae. Nae such luck for those living in Cailean’s house.” He winked at his brother. “Leticia makes a fine cup of coffee. And I hear Miss Jameson does too.”

  Ewan sputtered into his mug and glared at his brother. “Ye ken I’ve no interest in the woman. It doesna matter what that vicious journalist wrote.”

  Alistair glared at Warren a moment. “Can ye no’ prevent that woman from writing such stories about us?” He let out a frustrated sigh. “About Ewan?”

  Warren tapped his fingers on the side of his mug before he took another sip. “It seems she is taken with young Ewan. If you had shown her courtesy when she had arrived last month, you may not now find yourself in her journalistic sights.”

  Ewan growled. “The woman misrepresented who she was! Ye ken we all thought we were gettin’ a man. Why would we have thought J.P. McMahon was a woman?” He raised his hand as though proving his point. “What woman uses two initials for her name?”

  Warren shrugged. “A woman who has had to be intrepid enough to survive in this world. A world run and controlled by men.” He met Ewan’s frustrated gaze. “She knew well enough that she would be denied this post, even though she is overqualified for it, simply because she is a woman. I cannot blame her for her actions.”

  “Her deceit,” Alistair said. “Ye are a very forgiving man, Warren.”

  “About some things perhaps.” He watched Ewan. “You have to admit, you do make the paper more lively. And she’s yet to report on any falsehoods.”

  Ewan snorted. “She exaggerates, tellin’ just enough of the truth so that I canna complain so much as to shut her down.”

  Warren rose and filled their cups before topping his off. “Would you want to shut down the paper? It’s brought lively discourse to the town.”

  “Just wait until she attacks someone ye care about, Warren. Then ye will no’ consider it innocent or amusin’,” Ewan said. “I can handle being the focus of her attention. I look for her snide comments every edition and then prepare for the banter of my men. But she goes too far when she harms the reputations of others in town.”

  Warren set his cup on the table and held his hands over his stomach, as though attempting to appear relaxed and to not clench them. “She only wrote the truth about how Miss Jameson acted.” He forced a smile. “You protest loudly on behalf of the young woman. Perhaps you wish to hide your feelings for her.”

  Ewan stared at him, slack-jawed, momentarily unable to speak.

  “Besides, it seems Miss Jameson has an interest in you. That should be what matters as J.P. will not refrain from repeatedly mentioning it to her readers.” Warren watched Ewan intently.

  Alistair nodded. “I believe that’s Ewan’s point. The reporter will harm Miss Jameson even more than Miss Jameson harms herself. ’Tis not right or proper for a journalist to act in such a way.”

  Warren shook his head. “She is not printing lies or libel. I cannot bring suit against her. If Miss Jameson continues to act in a reckless manner, I can do nothing to save her.”

  Ewan slumped in his chair. “My brothers were clever enough to avoid Helen’s snare. I will be too.”

  Warren looked into the depths of his coffee cup. “I hope you are.” He cleared his throat. “Another matter has come to my attention, and I thought I would share it with you as I’m afraid it may affect Cailean and Annabelle.”

  Ewan and Alistair leaned in, concern furrowing their brows at the mention of their eldest brother and his wife, Annabelle. Cailean ran the livery with Alistair and their partner John Runs from Bears Renfrew, and Annabelle owned the bakery. “What is it?” Ewan asked.

  “I learned this morning that our doctor has left town.” He met their panicked expressions. “I know that Annabelle is in expectation of a fortuitous event months from now, and I can only imagine how this will worry her. However, I have been assured that his replacement is en route and will arrive within days.”

  Alistair sat back, dumbstruck. “We must have an accomplished doctor. Cailean and Annabelle suffered enough last year.” His eyes shone with fear as he recalled Cailean’s torment at nearly losing Annabelle after she had miscarried their first child the previous fall.

  “As I said, our doctor, who left to expand his practice and fortunes in Butte, has guaranteed that the new doctor is as highly trained. However, I have yet to learn where he attended medical school.”

  “But ye have received letters of recommendation?” Ewan asked.

  Warren flushed. “I have. But we know that those can be forged.” He flicked a glance at Alistair who glowered at Warren’s reference to his wife, Leticia’s, deception that was discovered earlier in the summer.

  Ewan frowned at the memory. Leticia had forged letters of recommendation to obtain her Bear Grass Springs’ teaching post in an attempt to escape her abusive first husband. Although she had cared for and taught a widowed man’s children in Saint Louis upon first escaping her husband, her letters of recommendations had stated she had more experience than she truly had. However, she had taught admirably for years in Bear Grass Springs before her duplicity about her experience and marital status was discovered. After overcoming Alistair’s anger, she and Alistair had wed, and they were raising her daughter, Hortence, together. The townsfolk had forgiven her the deception due to
their respect for Alistair and the previous regard they had for her as the schoolteacher.

  “I willna have her actions held against her again, Warren.” Alistair glared at his friend.

  “I fully understand your wishes, Alistair, but the townsfolk will not so easily forget her transgressions. And they are less inclined to believe letters due to what happened with Leticia.” He shrugged. “It is understandable.”

  “Then how will we ken if he’s an accomplished doctor?” Ewan asked.

  Warren shook his head. “Doc was a man I trusted, although he had an interesting work ethic. He considered some patients more worthy of his time and expertise than others, which isn’t how I imagined a doctor in a small town to be. I’m hopeful this doctor he has recruited for us will be as talented but with a greater sense of integrity.”

  “Aye, in that I’ll agree with ye,” Ewan said. “I’d let that wee demon in the print shop ken what ye know. Would be good for the townsfolk to understand a new doc is on the way. It may make his arrival easier and will ease any fears at the uncertainty.”

  “That is a good idea. And it may distract her from you for an edition.” He laughed as Ewan scowled.

  Ewan swallowed his coffee in a few gulps before rising. “Good luck determinin’ how to tax the town’s businesses. I’m glad I’m not ye.” He smiled. “I must return to work. Winter comes sooner than we’d like.” He slapped his brother on his back, nodded to Warren, and grabbed his hat before he slipped outside.

  Jessamine glanced up at the handwritten article on her desk as her hands moved with lightning speed over the tiny metals letters, recreating the words in a metal proof set in a special tray as she prepared the paper for print. For the article to print properly, the proof had to be laid out in reverse. She smiled as her mind had no difficulty envisioning the words backward, and she was a skilled hand-cast printer. After a few hours bent over the metal tray, she stood and arched her back, groaning as it cracked.