Miss Phipps and the Cattle Baron

by Patricia Watters

  There was no question that incidents had taken place, but those in support of the cattlemen insisted that what was in the editorial attacks had been fabrication. The issue was heating up, and many were predicting that there could be an all out war between cattlemen on one side, and farmers and homesteaders on the other.

  Priscilla knew that The Town Tattler might ultimately be forced to take sides, and she didn't see how she could side with Adam. Having traveled west with a wagon train made up of homesteaders who'd risked everything they had to start new lives on land they owned made her sympathetic to their cause. All they wanted was the 160 acres granted them by the Homestead Act, and the right to work the land and make it their homes. On the other hand, cattlemen who'd built up vast empires by grazing thousands of head of cattle on thousands of acres of land belonging to the government, were intent on driving the farmers and homesteaders away, depriving hard-working people of the right to carve out a life on the new frontier and establish farms and raise families.

  Priscilla sat at her dressing table, brushing out the tangles in her hair, while mulling over The Town Tattler's presence within this contentions publishing community. The women passed on gossip around town. Actually, lighthearted jesting, not to be taken seriously. The cattlemen's newspapers viewed The Town Tattler as nothing more than a pesky little bug they could squash if they chose to do so. And the homesteader's newspaper brushed it off as the frivolous pastime of a spinster lady who had nothing better to do. But the time would come when they would all be forced to take notice because The Town Tattler would be the talk of Cheyenne. She was certain of that. But that was in the future. She had other concerns right now.

  She was about to move into the house of a man whose presence caused all manner of emotional and physical upheaval. Not only had she been thoroughly kissed by him, but he'd kissed her in a way that she'd never read about in her Dime Novels. She'd never imagined a man would explore her mouth with his tongue, or that she'd enjoy it. No, not enjoy it. Crave it. But the feel of Adam's tongue rasping against hers while moving in and out of her mouth awakened a different need, low and deep. The woman's need Adam spoke of. She'd contemplated the marital act as any untouched woman would, concluding that it was nothing more than a physiological necessity that a woman endured in order for procreation.

  But reflecting on Adam's intimate kiss and the reaction it stirred in her, for the first time in her life she could imagine taking part in the marital act with him for pleasure. Which, of course, she wouldn't. But she would like him to kiss her again like he had. But he'd also kissed her in other places, and in other ways. She had no idea that darting his tongue in her ear or kissing her neck would send a flurry of chills racing through her, blocking out thoughts of everything but the myriad of sensations centering in places that only a husband should be allowed to touch. She also realized Adam was the reason she kept getting winded. She had no idea why it happened, but it did, and she'd have to get used to needing extra air whenever he was around. Which might not be for very long, she realized, sadly, as she looked at herself the mirror.

  She was an unattractive spinster woman who'd come west with the homesteaders and understood a person's need to start anew, and Adam was a breathtakingly handsome man who could have any woman he wanted. She was also certain that even if Adam did feel something for her now, those feelings would cease when his campaign for mayor began and she'd be forced to take sides. For the moment, however, she'd enjoy what Adam offered her and set the rest aside.

  ***

  Lady Edwina Whittington peered through the parlor window at Priscilla, who was climbing aboard her buckboard to go after another load of belongings. "It's no wonder the woman's a spinster," she said to Adam. "She's as plain as an old shoe, poor thing."

  Adam eyed his mother with irritation. "Looks are not everything, Mother. You've been telling me that for years."

  "Only to take your mind off the kind of women you have pursued in the past, women who use their beauty, female assets, and seductive charms to catch your notice."

  "Then you should not find fault with Miss Phipps," Adam said. "She hardly fits that description. But the fact is, I find her rather charming."

  Lady Whittington looked at Adam with a start. "I hope you have not led the pitiful creature on in any way, Adam," she said, a furrow of concern touching her brow. "She is without question naive in the ways of men, and you are clearly experienced along those lines. It would be unkind and unconscionable for you to give her any encouragement at all, or any hope of finding romance with you. Spinster ladies like Miss Phipps look to those silly Dime Novels to fulfill that role in their lives, and it's best to leave them to it."

  Adam allowed a smile to curve his lips. "What if I told you I was infatuated with Miss Phipps?"

  "I'd say that was so much twaddle," Lady Whittington said. "Besides, if you were to find enjoyment in the woman's company, though I cannot imagine it for a man like you, she'd be an embarrassment for you to have hanging onto your arm during your campaign."

  Adam forced back a scathing retort. "So the kind of man you think I am is one only interested in pursuing women who flaunt their female assets for my pleasure."

  "That is not what I meant!" Lady Whittington clipped. "You are a man with the looks, command, and presence to keep company with countless beautiful and gracious women who would be an asset to your political career."

  "But I am not seeking a political career," Adam said, "only the position of mayor so I can serve the cattlemen of this region, whom, I might remind you, are supplying beef to England. With homesteaders coming in droves and seizing vast acres of land, it won't be long before cattlemen will have no land for grazing, or passageways for driving herds to market because of all the fences going up. When that happens, the cost of beef in England will be out of reach for ordinary people. There needs to be regulation to protect cattlemen against this incursion."

  "Well, if you fancy yourself mayor, " Lady Whittington said, "you had better keep your eyes off Miss Phipps, or your electorate will think there is something wrong with you that you are unable to attract a decent-looking woman."

  Adam bit back a string of expletives. The fact that he found Priscilla appealing might be his assessment alone, but he liked the way she looked when she was scrubbed clean, and her green-brown eyes held that glint of passion he'd seen after he'd kissed her, and her hair was a tangle of carrot-red curls around her pretty oval face. Perhaps God gave him the eyes to see beyond her plain facade and into the soul of the exhilarating woman she was. But he'd never convince his mother that he could care for a woman who looked the way Priscilla did when she was the way God created her. "When Miss Phipps is fashionably dressed and made up she is a different woman," he said. "When I was at the church social last Sunday I had to outbid two men for her picnic basket, and her company."

  Lady Whittington looked at Adam as if he were deranged. "I cannot believe you would be drawn to the woman in any way."

  "That's because you don't know her," Adam said.

  Deciding it would do more harm than good to plead a case for Priscilla and chance his mother wanting her to move out, Adam said, "You can rest assured, Mother, I have no designs on Miss Phipps. I merely wanted to do something charitable for the woman, plain as she is, and for the church. It was, after all, a fundraiser. But the main reason I asked her to live here is so she can keep an eye on Trudy, who has her sights on a young cowboy out at the ranch. Moving Trudy here, under Miss Phipps' watchful eye, would keep Trudy away from that temptation. Miss Phipps' virtue is above reproach, so she would be a good example for both Trudy and Alice to follow. And she has a razor sharp tongue when she has a mind to chastise someone. I can assure you, Trudy would be no match for her."

  Lady Whittington straightened her spine and pursed her lips, and her head gave a little wiggle, a clear sign that she was yielding the argument to him, which she confirmed, when she said in a conciliatory tone, "I was not aware of that side of Miss Phipps' nature. That being the case,
I suppose it's good that she will be here."

  "I am glad you see it that way," Adam said, relieved to be done with the session.

  Lady Whittington offered him a self-righteous smile. "Don’t get me wrong, Adam. I have nothing against the woman. She seems pleasant in fact. It's just that she is so very unattractive."

  "Well, I hope you will not continue to hold that against her," Adam said, feeling his temper mount, knowing he'd better bring this whole unpleasant affair to a close before he said something he would regret.

  Lady Whittington bristled. "I am not so shallow as you portray me to be, Adam," she said. "I feel sorry for the woman because of the way she looks. But I would certainly not hold that against her. In fact, I hope to get to know her better."

  Adam stood. "You will soon be given that chance." He started for the door.

  Lady Whittington raised her hand to stop him. "Before you go, Adam, tell me... What is this business you say Miss Phipps plans to start?"

  Adam shrugged. "A singlesheet newspaper, which she will call The Town Tattler. It will cover topics appealing to women—recipes, society news, advice to the lovelorn, a romantic story, a bulletin where women can air personal grievances. Things like that."

  Lady Whittington pursed her lips and sucked in a long breath. "Well, I suppose that would be appropriate for the woman. She would certainly not do well running a millenary shop or other business catering to women's fashions, as she has clearly not been schooled along those lines. I doubt if she has even been to a proper finishing school."

  Adam eyed his mother with vexation. "I advise you not to underestimate Miss Phipps," he said. "I suspect she could be a force to reckon with should you, or anyone else, rankle her. I for one intend to stay on her good side." And that was the understatement of the day, Adam silently conceded. If truth be known, he intended to cover all sides of Priscilla while she lay naked in his arms. The idea had taken root and wouldn't let go. But for the life of him, he didn't know when, or where, it would take place. The ranch was miles from town, his house was soon to be a hive of activity and watchful eyes, and The Town Tattler building was a far cry from being a love nest...

  Then he remembered the mattress pads in the upstairs rooms that Priscilla had mentioned. They were unoccupied, now that the women had moved into a boarding house, and he was becoming increasingly impatient to alleviate a problem he was having, and to do it with the oddly appealing, totally exasperating, easily roused spinster whose mere image in his mind's eye brought a smile to his lips and action below his waist...

  "I don't believe I like that smile, Adam," his mother's voice caught him up short. "It was never a good sign when you were growing up."

  Adam looked at his mother in amusement. "Then I suggest you get used to it," he said, "because I'm afraid it's here to stay." With that cryptic message, he left the house and headed for The Town Tattler building, almost tasting the lips he intended to capture the first chance he got. But now, his hands were restless to capture other parts of Miss Priscilla Phipps' anatomy. She was a fireball of passion waiting to be released. And he was more than ready to do her that honor. And to do it very soon, or he was apt to go mad.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  'To be a king and wear a crown is a thing

  more glorious to them that see it than it

  is pleasant to them that bear it.'

  — Queen Elizabeth I

  Lady Whittington leaned over Priscilla, studying, with rapt attention the lock of copper-red hair pressed between her fingers. "We could tone it down with a lightener such as lemon juice and chamomile tea and have you sit in the sun," she said to Priscilla, "but I am afraid you would acquire yet more freckles, so that would not be advised. Besides, dark hair is preferred over blond, so I believe it would be best for you to go darker. I will have cook boil down some black walnut shells and mix it with black tea."

  Priscilla saw the look of pity on Lady Whittington's face. All her life she'd seen that look while people talked around her on what to do about the color of her hair. At different times her mother tried rinsing it in coffee, then in boiled sage leaves, then in an infusion of cherry bark and chicory root. When that didn't work, she tried lightening it with a mixture of mashed rhubarb and pineapple juice and having her sit in the sun. The next day her face was red as a beet and covered in blisters. When that passed, she had a new crop of freckles.

  Seeming to pick up on that, Lady Whittington said, "We could do something about those freckles, but there is no magical formula. It would require time and patience and continuous care. But there are bleaching agents that can fade them to a color that closely approximates the color of your skin, although sometimes it results in an undesirable lightening of the skin surrounding the freckles, calling more attention to them."

  Knowing that her voice would be wobbly if she replied, Priscilla nodded and said nothing. Her freckles had been a constant reminder of how plain and unattractive she was, though no one said as much. But it had been implied by the teasing of her classmates and the remedies her mother tried over the years. One bleaching agent had her face breaking out in a rash. Another burned her skin. Then there were the sour cream washes, and the vegetable masks made with mashed cucumbers, and strawberries, and apricots...

  Lady Whittington cupped Priscilla's chin and raised her face so she could study her skin more closely. Brows pinched in deliberation, lips pursed in dismay, she sighed, and said, "You do have quite a crop, but I can have cook make up an infusion of parsley juice, lemon juice, red currant juice and orange juice. If you apply it to your skin under your facial cream, it will help make the freckles less noticeable while getting rid of them."

  Feeling utterly unattractive, tears misted Priscilla's eyes. And to her mortification, she saw Adam standing in the doorway. She had no idea how long he'd been there, but the look on his face could stop an advancing army. He crossed the room in three long strides. Glaring at Lady Whittington, he said, "What the bloody hell are you doing, Mother!?"

  Lady Whittington looked at Adam in shocked surprise. "Do not use that language with me, Adam," she clipped. "I am helping Miss Phipps with her toilette."

  "Miss Phipps is fine just the way she is. Do not impose your standards on her. She is fresh and pretty and does not need the aid of infusions and dyes and all manner of female fripperies that will make her look like a clown!"

  Lady Whittington's eyes darkened with awareness. "I do not believe you are in a position to dictate what is best for Miss Phipps. You are not her husband nor her father. And I would ask you to leave this room at once."

  "No, I will not leave. You're causing Miss Phipps distress when there's no reason for her to feel anything but satisfaction with her fresh, natural appearance. She's perfect the way she is."

  When Priscilla looked at Adam's reflection in the mirror and saw the resolve in his dark eyes, she realized his words had not been hollow praise. He actually believed what he was saying. The idea that Adam thought her pretty brought tears of joy welling, and when she blinked, they brimmed over her eyelids and trailed down her cheeks.

  Lady Whittington glared at Adam. "Do you see what you've done! You have upset Miss Phipps and made her feel miserable about herself, when most of her problems can be overcome with a few simple remedies."

  "She has no problems!" Adam bellowed, "except the incorrect notions about beauty that you and others like yourself have put into her head. She is beautiful the way she is."

  Unable to sit any longer without breaking into sobs, Priscilla shoved the dressing-table stool back and rushed out of the room and down the hallway. Hearing footsteps close behind, she hurried down the stairs, ran out of the house and rushed toward her buckboard.

  Adam grabbed her arm as she attempted to climb up. "Where are you going?" he asked.

  She swiped a finger beneath each eye. "To The Town Tattler."

  "Why? Because of my mother?"

  "No, because that's why I moved to Cheyenne in the first place. But I seemed to have gotten distracted
of late. Now, I want to get back to the reason I'm here." She shrugged off his arm and climbed onto the box, and he didn't try to stop her.

  His hand on the buckboard, he looked up at her and said, "Don't take to heart the things my mother said. They mean nothing."

  Priscilla took the reins. "The things your mother said were nothing less than what I have heard all my life. And it really doesn't matter because The Town Tattler is what's important to me, not trying to fix myself up so I can attract a man who will try to run my life." She gave the reins a jiggle and the horse started forward.

  Until now, she had accepted the fact that she was unappealing to men and would never know love. Or if she did, it would be unrequited. But after Lady Whittington's close scrutiny, all of her mother's fretting and fussing about her appearance came rushing back. But for some unexplainable reason, Adam did not see her the way everyone else did, and it was baffling and disturbing and confusing. It was also heartbreaking. She had at last found a man who looked at her through rose-colored glasses, but if he aligned himself with her, he'd be laughed at and ridiculed by the voters he needed to help him get elected as mayor. And although Adam might think she was pretty, his mother would be a constant reminder of how the world really saw her.

  ***

  The following week, to a great burst of cheers from Priscilla, Trudy, Alice and the four women, Jim Jackson pulled the first edition of The Town Tattler off the press and laid it on the copy table. As Priscilla stared at the five-column folio, she was so excited she had to remind herself to breathe. A banner headline set in large flourishing foundry type, and occupying the width of the page, heralded the establishment of The Town Tattler, and on the top of the page, an ornate nameplate embellished with attractive calligraphy, stated: Volume 1, Number 1, July 31, 1885, Serving Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory. The editorial below the banner headline invited women writers to visit the office of The Town Tattler and chat with Miss Priscilla Phipps about submitting poems, short stories, viewpoints and opinion pieces for possible publication. Readers were encouraged to write to Miss Manners with questions about proper etiquette , and to Miss Valentine for advice for the lovelorn. As a bonus, all new subscribers would receive a lovely engraving suitable for framing.