Lady X's Cowboy

by Zoë Archer

Ben put his old, broad hand on Will’s shoulder. His bright blue eyes glimmered. “They would have been proud of you, Will. I know I am. You turned out straight and strong, and you fight for what you believe in.”

  Will stared at the browned picture of his father and mother. Luke Bradshaw’s hand rested on his wife’s shoulder, protective. “Not everything.”

  Ben peered up at his grandson with a frown Will recognized from his own face. “You love that woman, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Will said, without pause.

  “And how does she feel about you?”

  “I...I don’t rightly know. Guess I never asked her.” Will realized that he hadn’t given her much of a chance to say one way or the other. He was always so dead certain that they didn’t have a chance, he just plowed on ahead.

  “Maybe now is the time to ask,” Ben suggested gently.

  Will ran a hand along his jaw, still tender from the working over it got the other night. “She didn’t try to stop me when I left,” he began.

  But Ben gave Will’s shoulder a little shake. “That’s foolish. Do you love her?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “She loves you. Don’t argue with me. I saw it the night she came over with you. I just couldn’t believe that someone of her class could really feel that way, and tried to convince myself her feelings weren’t true. But I was wrong. Servants’ gossip tells me she’s been wretched since you left.”

  Will felt stabbed right through. “I can’t help her, Grandpa. That’s what kills me.”

  “Like hell,” Ben snorted, shocking Will. He’d never heard the soft-spoken old man to speak so plainly. “Think about what your father died for—the freedom to do as he pleased for no one but himself. And think about that miner that raised you. They wouldn’t want their boy to lose out on his chance at love because society tells him no.”

  “Goddamn it.” Will paced around the room. He cursed again. He’d spent his whole life fighting to survive, struggling to take the herd from Texas to Colorado, doing whatever it took to get by. He thought about all the dangers he’d faced down: snowstorms, floods, Indians, fools with guns looking to kill. None of it stopped him. But the most important thing in his life, the woman he loved, he’d let go without so much as a peep. “I’ve been a jackass.”

  “Well, yes,” Ben answered with a smile. “What do you intend to do about it?”

  Will stopped his pacing and stared at his granddad. “I need a horse.”

  Not content to sit idly while her clerks labored, Olivia had joined in on the search. Some of the ships would not release their passenger manifests right away, but she soon discovered that notoriety had its benefits. As soon as the name Lady Xavier was mentioned, the packet firms were eager to help. They wanted to be a part of the public drama of her life, titillated by her infamy.

  Still, it took an agonizingly long time to get any real information. By the time one of the junior clerks stood up and announced, “I found him!” it was already after noon.

  “Where is he?” Olivia demanded.

  “Leaving on the Cunard ship Gloriana at two this afternoon.”

  “Mr. Huntworth—” she began.

  “Your carriage is waiting in the loading dock, Lady Xavier,” her manager said with an enigmatic smile.

  She was already running, and didn’t have time to thank him properly. Please don’t let me be too late.

  “She’s at the brewery, Mr. Coffin,” Mordon said. “And if I may say,” he added as Will bounded down the front steps to his waiting horse, “it’s good to see you at Princes Square.”

  Will took the horse at full gallop through Hyde Park, startling the genteel ladies and men taking polite equestrian exercise. They reined their horses in and stared as a cowboy, in full Western dress, hurtled at breakneck speed down Rotten Row. To jaded Londoners, even this was a novelty.

  But he didn’t bother with their gaping. He had to get to Greywell’s across the river as soon as he could. It had taken him from Mayfair to Bayswater to get his horse used to the strange saddle. He’d had his chase with Maddox back in Kent to get himself familiar with the English reins. So it was a lifetime of practice that had him pounding down the streets of London, heading south. Thank the Lord that Ben knew horseflesh, since he’d picked a fine distance runner that ate up the ground like sugar lumps.

  Will crossed the Battersea Bridge, the gray Thames beneath him. He’d come to know London and recognized the landmarks. Maybe he’d wind up making it his home. He wasn’t much for city life, but it didn’t matter where he hung his spurs, so long as Olivia was with him.

  If she’d have him.

  He almost slowed his horse as this doubt darted through his mind, but he shook it off. He’d had his share of uncertainty; now it was time to act.

  He didn’t allow himself to breathe easy when he saw the gates of Greywell’s. Will urged his horse to the loading docks in the back. He had the crazy idea of riding the horse right into the brewery through the large loading doors. As a cowboy, he trusted the speed of a horse’s hooves far greater than his own feet, and he didn’t want to waste a minute getting to Olivia.

  But as the horse clattered over the cobbled loading yard, stacked high with kegs, he almost rode straight past Olivia’s carriage pulling away.

  “Liv!”

  The carriage slowed and Olivia jumped out before it could stop completely. Her feet tangled slightly in her skirts, causing her to stumble a bit as she started towards him. But she pushed against the ground with the heels of her palms, righting herself, uncaring about the mud that stained her expensive lambskin gloves.

  “I was coming to find you,” she called to him.

  His heart knocking inside his chest, he swung down from the horse. He wasn’t too late. He’d been blessed. “And I was comin’ for you.” He strode towards her.

  “I couldn’t let you go, Will. I won’t.” She smiled, so full and beautiful. She started to reach for him across the few yards that separated them.

  “Have you no shame, Lady Xavier?”

  Olivia’s arms dropped as the voice of old, shrill Prudence Culpepper rang out. The kibitzer was staring at them across the courtyard, in a snit.

  “I will not tolerate any further outrageousness from you,” Mrs. Culpepper sniped, “including such public displays of immorality.”

  “There is nothing immoral in loving someone,” Olivia answered. “Especially a man as wonderful as Will. And I would pity you for having such a cold, bovine heart if I cared a little about you. But I don’t. So go bugger yourself, Prudence.”

  With a squeal of impotent outrage, Prudence Culpepper stalked off. Will knew that was the last he’d see or hear of the old hen. But he barely spared the battle-ax another thought. His heart nearly shot to the moon with happiness, hearing Olivia’s words. She loved him. And that smile of hers glowed with it.

  He couldn’t stand not having her in his arms. They were only three feet apart, yet it was three too many.

  But he had to freeze when he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun’s hammer being cocked. Seeing him halt, Olivia did likewise, a puzzled frown on her face. He turned and saw Maddox, bruised and filthy, step out from behind a stack of kegs. Every part of Will went numb as he saw Maddox’s gun trained at Olivia.

  “What the hell are you doin’, Maddox?” Will demanded. His hand hovered near his gun, but he wasn’t willing to take the chance that Maddox could beat him to the draw. “It’s over.”

  Maddox took a few steps forward, closer to Olivia. “I’ve got a reputation, Yank,” he snarled. “I always get my job done.”

  “But Pryce is finished,” Olivia said, and Will was amazed by the steadiness of her voice, considering she had a big Webley revolver aimed right at her head.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Maddox said. “If I say I’m going to do something, I do it. And that includes killing you, Yank.”

  “Then quit pointin’ that thing at the lady,” Will commanded.

  Maddox shook his head. He re
ached into his pocket and pulled out a battered book, then threw it on the ground near Will’s feet. It was a Wild West dime novel, and on the cover were two men facing each other in the middle of the street, guns drawn. At that moment, Will wanted to burn down all publishing houses that produced such claptrap.

  “I’ve been doing a bit of reading, Yank. I like to know who I’m up against. It says in those books that when two men want to finish something, they have a showdown. And that’s what I’m here to do.”

  Will almost groaned. “Nobody does that, Maddox. It’s all made up.”

  “What about Wyatt Earp and the Clantons at the OK Corral?” Maddox insisted. “That was genuine. And if you make a play for that gun right now,” he added, seeing Will’s hand hover near the handle of his Colt, “I’ll shoot this lady. She won’t be the first.”

  Will pushed back the white rage that clouded his eyes. He needed to keep himself steady, since it was clear Maddox was playing a few cards short of a full deck. Men who had been pushed to the edge were always the most dangerous.

  “So how about it, Yank?” Maddox taunted. “Are we going to do this properly, or will you make me ruin this pretty woman’s face?”

  Will’s eyes flicked over to Olivia, who managed to keep herself steady. She looked almost as mad as he felt, her jaw tense and her lips pressed tight. A born fighter. One he wouldn’t lose to some crazy Englishman’s idea of honor.

  “Fine,” Will said.

  “No!” Olivia took a step towards Will, but Maddox raised his gun higher.

  “That’s far enough, Lady Xavier. This Yank and I have a score to settle.”

  She turned agonized eyes to Will, and he gave her just the smallest nod and a wink. “Es vet zich alles oyspressen,” he said. Everything will be all right.

  “None of that filthy foreign talk,” Maddox shouted.

  “Abi tzu zein mit dir,” she answered. As long as I’m with you.

  “That enough!” Maddox screamed, nettled. His focus was gone, unnerved by Will and Olivia speaking Yiddish, and he swung his gun back and forth between them. Will had his opening.

  The world slowed as Will’s hand darted to his hip. He saw the barrel of Maddox’s gun suspended midway between him and Olivia. Then his hand grasped the handle of his Colt and pulled it from the holster. In one motion, he drew back the hammer and fired.

  Maddox gaped at the growing stain of bright red in the center of his chest, choking and sputtering, before falling to his knees. His Webley dropped from his fingers.

  “That’s not...how they did it in the books,” he managed to gasp.

  “I told you,” Will said, walking over and picking up Maddox’s gun, “those books are full of lies.” He looked over at Olivia, whose hands were pressed against her mouth in shock. She was pale, but sweet almighty, she was safe. “‘If you had read ’em better you would’ve learned somethin’—out West, a man protects what’s valuable to him, any way he can.”

  Maddox’s eyes rolled back as he pitched forward, landing face first on the muddy cobblestones. Olivia came forward gingerly as Will reholstered his gun.

  “Is he...?”

  Will eased the hammer of the Webley back, uncocking it. “Yeah.”

  By then, everyone had run out of the brewery to stand in the loading dock, drawn by the sound of gunfire. Excited and stunned murmurs filled the air as the crowd stared at Maddox’s lifeless body lying amid the stacked kegs, and Will holding a revolver. The murmurs rose to a babble as Olivia launched herself at Will, throwing her arms around him.

  “You came back.” She clasped him tightly him as his own arms came up to hold her close. “I was going to get you. I thought you would leave.”

  He cradled the back of her head with his free hand. “I can’t leave you, Liv, darlin’. I love you.”

  “Will.” In full view of all the stunned employees, she pressed her mouth against his. “I love you. That’s all that matters to me.”

  “Marry me, Liv,” he said. “I don’t care if I have to hog-tie the devil himself. I don’t care if never ride a horse again. I don’t care if we never leave smoky old London. I just want you to be my wife.”

  She placed her hands on either side of his face, her violet eyes shining, tears glinting on her short black lashes. “And I don’t care if I have to wear evening gowns made of newspaper, or drink tea out of a tin can,” she said laughing. “I will marry you, my sweet cowboy.”

  Epilogue

  Golden, Colorado

  1887

  Olivia checked the figures in the ledger one final time and smiled to herself. At last, the Coffin Brewery was showing a profit.

  Sitting at the desk in the small office, she stretched and looked out the window that opened into the brewery. Compared to Greywell’s, it was a small operation, but there was a growing market in this town at the foot of the Rockies, and nearby Denver, for quality beer. The Coffin Brewery was one of the few in the region, perhaps in the whole of the West, that could claim its yeast from a centuries-old strain originating in England. Perhaps that was part of its appeal. In any event, the years of hard work she and Will had dedicated were finally starting to pay off.

  Starting their own brewery had been his idea. She had been willing to be a rancher’s wife, or just about anything, so long as she and Will could be married. As they were lying in bed debating exactly what they would do, that’s when the idea hit him. It sounded splendid to her.

  To everyone’s surprise, she sold Greywell’s soon after George Pryce’s treachery had been uncovered. Mr. Huntworth remained the manager and became a major shareholder, but the deal stipulated that she could take a sample of the yeast with her to America.

  As for Pryce, his father’s influence had succeeded in keeping him out of prison. Instead, the Earl of Hessay sent his youngest son to malarial South America, where, last Olivia heard, George Pryce had disappeared while trekking in Brazil.

  She loved her life here in Colorado. The winters seemed to last an extra six or seven months, but how could she find fault with something so minor when everything else was so miraculous? Will continued to astonish her. It seemed amazing that a man who had made his life on rough and dangerous cattle trails could be so unfailingly generous with his heart.

  He took well to running a brewery. She focused more on the accounting and record-keeping, and every day he was out there with their five other employees, hefting sacks of barley, stirring the mash, doing whatever was needed. He said to her one night, “I didn’t think I’d like stayin’ in one place, Liv, but I do. And I get to see your pretty face every mornin’. A man couldn’t ask for more.”

  Their house in Golden was much smaller than her townhouse in London, which had been long since sold, but she liked its coziness. They had a small parlor with a baby grand piano, and a library stuffed with books and paperback novels. She liked the two women who helped cook and clean, their gruff good humor and teasing of her accent. The people of Golden were likewise outspoken and affable. She couldn’t recall laughing more than she had at her first barbeque.

  When she and Will had time, and the weather was good, they would take a picnic hamper and go horseback riding along the high green trails. He’d spread out a blanket on some bluff overlooking the ripening valley, and they would make love until it began to grow dark.

  So when Charlotte asked, in one of her letters, if Olivia missed England at all, the answer was an uncomplicated no. She did miss her parents, but they had come for a visit a year ago, and promised to return the following summer. Her brother had written to say that Graham would gladly fetch her back if she was unhappy, but she couldn’t remember a time when she had been more happy.

  The door behind her opened, and she turned to see Will come in from the yard, grinning.

  “Mommy!” Little Jake, just turned three, came racing past his father and right into her arms. As he burrowed close, she pressed kisses onto the top of his black curly head.

  “Where have my two men been?” she asked.

 
“Post office,” Jake said. “Pop got a package.”

  “Is that so?” She turned her face up and Will bent to kiss her. He ran the pad of his thumb under her chin and she still felt how just a touch from him could stir embers.

  “Special delivery from England.” Will reached into the pocket of his duster and handed her a small paper-wrapped parcel.

  “England,” Jake repeated. “Where Mommy’s from.”

  “But she lives here now,” Olivia said.

  “Can I open it?” Jake asked, looking eagerly at the parcel.

  “Of course, sweetheart.”

  Olivia and Will exchanged smiles as their son tore at the brown paper around the package. A year after returning to Colorado, they had adopted their son, naming him Jacob Luke Coffin. Recently, they had begun the paperwork to adopt a little girl.

  “It’s a book,” Jake said with obvious disappointment. He slid off his mother’s lap as she plucked the book from his hands. Will hefted him up and grinned down at his wife as she looked at the cover of the novel.

  “Lady X’s Cowboy; or, The Battle for the Brewery, A True Tale of Adventure and Romance,” she read aloud. “By Benjamin Bradshaw, Retired Coachman.” With a laugh and a shake of her head, she set the book down on the desk and rose to embrace her son and husband.

  “Ain’t you going to read it?” Will asked.

  “I already know how it ends,” Olivia answered. “Happily.”

  The End

  About The Author

  Zoë Archer is an award-winning and RITA-nominated romance author who thinks there’s nothing sexier than a man in tall boots and a waistcoat. As a child, she never dreamed about being the rescued princess, but wanted to kick ass right beside the hero. She has an MFA in Fiction from the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop, and an MA in Literature from UC San Diego. Her romances include the acclaimed Blades of the Rose series, the Hellraisers series, both for Zebra Books, the 8th Wing series for Carina Press, and the forthcoming gritty Victorian romance series, Nemesis Unlimited for St. Martin’s Press. She and her husband, fellow romance author Nico Rosso, are also co-authors of the Ether Chronicles steampunk romance series for Avon Impulse. When she’s not writing, Zoë likes to bake, lust after boots, and spend far too much time on the internet. She and Nico live in Los Angeles. Find her on the web at