Printer in Petticoats

by Lynna Banning

  “Jess…”

  “Oh, go to the devil, Cole.” She pivoted and swept out so fast her skirt got caught when the door slammed.

  “You don’t understand girls, Mr. Sanders,” Noralee said quietly.

  What? He did, too, understand girls. He understood Jess well enough to take her to bed and make love to her, didn’t he? What wasn’t “understanding” about that?

  But under his shirt collar he began to sweat. He couldn’t ask Noralee about it, but he wondered…

  At least he thought he knew about women. About Jess.

  Didn’t he?

  *

  Noralee sighed, and then sighed again. Cole glanced over to see the girl’s hands lying idle on the typesetting table, her attention riveted on something outside the front window. He followed her gaze.

  Anderson Rivera, the new sheriff, was tying up his horse at the rail in front of the Golden Partridge Saloon.

  “Noralee?”

  No answer.

  “Noralee, are you all right?”

  She turned dazed brown eyes to him. “What?” She released another long breath of air. “No, I am not all right, Mr. Sanders. My brain is chattering inside my head. I can’t think. I am… I am in love.”

  Cole glanced out the window again. The only thing he saw was the sheriff’s bay mare, standing quietly at the hitching rail. “With a horse?” he inquired.

  “Oh, no,” she moaned. “With him. With the new sheriff.”

  Cole bit his tongue to keep from laughing. When he could speak he said, “He’s a bit old for you, don’t you think?”

  “No,” she whispered. “I’m gonna grow up real fast, and then he won’t be too old at all.”

  Great jumping jennies! He racked his brain for the right thing to say to the girl. “Noralee, I’m sure you will be a lovely young woman when you are grown-up. No doubt in a few years you will have many suitors, and—”

  “I don’t want many suitors,” she murmured. “I just want him.”

  Cole walked twice around his desk and stopped near the table where the girl sat, mesmerized into immobility. “Uh, Noralee, while you’re growing up, do you think you could set some type for me?”

  “What? Oh, sure, Mr. Sanders.” She didn’t move.

  “Now?” he inquired in a gentle voice.

  “What? Oh, sure, right away.” Still she remained motionless on her stool.

  “Right away today?” he pursued. Or would he have to wait until Sheriff Anderson Rivera emerged from the saloon, mounted his horse and moseyed on out of Noralee’s view?

  He exhaled a long breath. Women.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Cole decided he didn’t like Anderson Rivera. Not because he was inefficient, or full of himself, which he wasn’t. It was just…well, he couldn’t exactly put his finger on what bothered him. The man partook of a friendly drink at the Golden Partridge of an evening, tipped his immaculate sand-colored Stetson to all the ladies, respectable or otherwise, and took time to speak to the youngsters around town. He even treated them to chocolate cookies at Uncle Charlie’s Bakery.

  The string of horseflesh that paraded down Main Street two weeks later were such fine-looking specimens, even after a journey of a thousand miles up through the Texas and Arizona desert, that men poured out of businesses and the saloon and lined the street to ogle them, especially the spirited Appaloosa that led the herd.

  Deputy Sandy Boggs let his admiration for the man be known in no uncertain terms, and Noralee Ness went into such a trance whenever the new sheriff stepped into the Lark office that Cole had to prod her back to setting type. The girl was so moony she started making spelling errors, which she had never done, even when working under a tight deadline.

  Already Rivera had brought in the outlaw who had robbed the Gillette Springs Bank, and he’d recovered all the money in the bargain. Billy Rowell, Rivera’s nephew, had started standing so straight and proud Cole wondered if his momma was putting starch in his overalls.

  It seemed that everybody in Smoke River loved the man. Everyone except Cole. Not only that, but he couldn’t tell how Jessamine regarded the new sheriff. He watched her bustle about town, her notepad clutched in one hand and a fistful of pencils in the other, reporting on the wheat crop; the baby shower for Ellie Johnson, the marshal’s wife; the new violin teacher the music school had hired; even the sale of Miss Lucy’s place over on Maple Street. Cole would sure like to know just how Jess had managed to uncover that piece of information.

  She also reported on how plans for the summer operetta, Lady Marmalade’s Suitors, were shaping up. Casting for the principal singers would start in April. Music would be provided by Ike Bruhn on guitar and mandolin and Anderson Rivera on his fiddle. Hot damn, the man could play the fiddle?

  Dressmaker Verena Forester would design and sew costumes for the dancing girls. Dancing girls! Cole figured Sheriff Rivera would be needed more to keep order among the males during any performance with dancing girls than to play his fiddle.

  Jess was always busy these days. Cole had to admit she was doing a fine job of competing with the Lark; she matched him scoop for scoop, often publishing stories he’d thought he had an exclusive on. But he managed to return the favor so often that whenever they shared breakfast or a late-afternoon cup of coffee, she took to clapping her hands over her notepad so he couldn’t read what she was writing.

  She still smiled at him with those huge gray-green eyes that made his heart skip three beats. And she still worried her lower lip between her teeth, which left him hard and hot and hungry for a lot more than scrambled eggs and bacon.

  This morning Cole looked up to see Sheriff Rivera stride past the front window of the restaurant and Cole found himself watching Jess closely.

  Her gaze flicked up, then focused on the man’s long legs.

  “Noralee’s right,” she murmured. “He does take giant steps.”

  Cole stared at her. “What’s that got to do with the price of corn?”

  She worried her lower lip. “Why, nothing at all.”

  He snaked a hand across the table and grasped her wrist. “Dammit, Jess, don’t do that!”

  She dimpled and he almost choked on his coffee. Hell’s bells, when had she developed a dimple? He thought he’d seen every kind of smile that ever crossed her face; how could he have missed that dimple? He wanted to run his tongue into that sweet little curved indentation in her cheek.

  “Cole, whatever is the matter? You look very odd.”

  He released her wrist and sucked in his breath. “I told you what getting your lips all rosy like that does to me.”

  She nodded, then stared past him out the window. Oh, hell, she wasn’t even listening to him.

  She gave her lower lip another nibble and he clenched his jaw. She was driving him crazy.

  “Hell’s bells, Jess, you want me to kiss you right here in the restaurant in front of everybody?”

  “Oh. I forgot.”

  He stared at her. “You forgot?” She forgot?

  Dimples again. His shirt collar constricted his Adam’s apple. He undid the top button.

  “Cole?”

  He swallowed. “Yeah?”

  “Do you still want to?”

  “Want to what?”

  “Kiss me.”

  With a groan he bolted out of his chair, gripped her shoulders and dragged her up to face him. “Yeah, I still want to.” He covered her mouth and kissed her until his breath stopped.

  It wasn’t until he released her that he realized the restaurant was empty and Rita was busy in the kitchen. Thank God for that. He didn’t want to play fast and loose with Jess’s reputation. She wasn’t the kind of girl a man dallied with just for the hell of it.

  But God knew losing his wife was as close to hell as he ever wanted to get. He didn’t dare risk being married to a woman ever again.

  “God, Jess, don’t tease me. I haven’t kissed you in exactly six weeks and three days.”

  “You’ve been counting?”


  “Damn right I’ve been counting.”

  “Good. I was beginning to wonder.”

  “What the—?” He groaned.

  Jessamine thought his eyes couldn’t get any narrower, but she was mistaken.

  “Don’t play games with me, Jess. You know I like kissing you. I’m trying to keep it under control.”

  She watched the struggle in his face. The pain in his eyes sent a shard of unease into her chest. “I don’t mean to tease you, Cole. Or play games.”

  He just looked at her. “You know how hard it is for me to keep my hands off you?”

  She swallowed.

  “Listen, Jess, you know that losing my wife was… I can’t do it again.”

  “What are you saying, Cole?”

  “I’m saying…” He swallowed again. “I’m saying I can’t bring myself to risk being married to a woman. Ever.”

  “Yes, of course, I understand that. It’s something you’ve mentioned before. But there’s something you don’t know about me, Cole.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “I do not want to marry anyone. I will never marry. I care about you, Cole, but I am not looking for marriage.”

  He looked as if a horse had just kicked him. “Care to tell me why?”

  “It’s a legal thing. In Oregon the minute a man and a woman get married, the woman loses control over her property. It falls to her husband. The truth is, I don’t want to lose my family newspaper to anyone. Not even you.”

  Again, he just looked at her, a muscle twitching in his jaw, his fists clenched at his sides. “That’s what the law says, is it?”

  “Yes, it is. I checked in Jericho Silver’s law books and—”

  “You think you might lose control over your newspaper, is that it?”

  “Exactly. So you can relax, Cole. And…” She laid her fingers against his stubbly cheek. “…that means you can kiss me whenever you want.”

  He caught her wrist. “Not so fast. You sure about what the law says?”

  “About a married woman’s property? Yes, I’m sure. That’s why—”

  “I heard you the first time,” he growled.

  She gazed up into his troubled blue eyes and wondered why she felt as if she’d laced up her corset way too tight. She didn’t like the constricted feeling inside her chest, or the funny hot burning in her throat or the hungry ache that was blooming below her belly.

  What she wanted was for Cole Sanders to kiss her. A lot.

  She also knew she couldn’t have it both ways. Since neither of them wanted a permanent relationship, she could either love him and be with him or avoid tempting him. To be fair, she couldn’t continue to torture him; he deserved better.

  She expelled a long sigh and fought down an overwhelming urge to cry. Mercy, she hadn’t felt this bereft since her brother, Miles, was killed.

  *

  “Miss Jessamine?”

  Jess pivoted to see Noralee Ness timidly edging through the front door of the Sentinel office. “Yes, Noralee? What is it?”

  The girl glanced at Eli, bent over his font case, and tipped her head toward the far corner. “Can I speak to you in private?” she whispered.

  Jess followed Noralee to the niche by the doorway.

  “Miss Jessamine, how does a girl get beautiful?”

  Jess blinked. “Beautiful? You mean a pretty dress and curls?”

  “No, I mean beautiful all over. Like you.”

  “Honey, I’m not beautiful all over. I wear proper clothes and wash my hair twice a week, but that’s all.”

  “You smell good, and your cheeks are pink,” Noralee said softly. “And your eyebrows look like, um, like upside-down smiles.”

  Jess blinked again. “Upside-down smiles? What an original description. I do believe you have a talent for words, Noralee.”

  The girl sighed. “You really think so? Do you think I could write a…a love letter?”

  “Well, you could, I’m sure. But whether you should is another matter entirely. Besides, I’m not sure a love letter is the way to a boy’s heart. Can you bake cookies?”

  “Cookies! He wouldn’t want any old cookies!”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Noralee. Most males are very partial to cookies.”

  Noralee brightened. “And while I made cookies I could be growing beautiful, couldn’t I, Miss Jessamine? Oh, thank you! I knew you’d know what to do.”

  She was out the door before Jess could open her mouth. She stood looking after her, skipping across the street to the Lark office. What strange notions girls got when someone plucked at their heartstrings. Women, too, she acknowledged.

  Eli’s dry voice made her jump. “It’s hell to be young, ain’t it?”

  She spoke without thinking. “Sometimes it’s hell to be twenty-two.”

  “Yep. I figured that. Got you all tied up in an eight-way knot, huh?”

  “Nonsense! I am not tied up at all. I am as carefree as a song sparrow.”

  Eli didn’t respond, and Jess sent up a little prayer begging forgiveness for her lie.

  *

  An obviously pregnant Ellie Johnson stopped in at the restaurant and made a beeline for the table in the corner where Cole and Jessamine sat over breakfast. “I’m so pleased to find you two together,” Ellie said.

  “Mrs. Johnson.” Cole instantly rose and surrendered his chair, then snagged another from an adjacent table.

  “Thank you, Cole.” Ellie sank onto the padded seat and turned a beaming smile on him and then Jess. “I need you both.”

  “What for?” Jessamine blurted.

  “Jessamine means,” Cole inserted dryly, “what can we do for you?”

  Ellie grinned. “You may recall that we are planning to stage an operetta this summer? Lady Marmalade’s Suitors?”

  “Of course,” Jess said. “I was going to run a story about it in the Sentinel. Have you chosen the cast?”

  Rita appeared, a coffeepot in one hand and a china teapot in the other. “Miz Johnson, would you like coffee? Tea?”

  “Coffee, please, Rita. I need to stay on my toes today.”

  She turned to Jessamine. “No,” she said, “I haven’t chosen the cast yet. I’m holding tryouts tomorrow and—”

  “You’d like us to announce it in our newspapers,” Cole supplied.

  “Well, that, too,” Ellie responded with a grin. She accepted a full mug of coffee and dumped in cream until it threatened to overflow.

  Jess frowned. “Too? What does that mean?”

  “Um, well…” Ellie sent a questioning look at Cole. “I would like you to try out for a part.”

  “Oh, no,” Cole protested instantly. “I don’t sing in public. I told you that when I tried out for the choir, remember?”

  “Yes, you do,” Jess contradicted. “You sang in the Messiah at Christmas, remember?”

  Oh, Lord yes, he remembered. He remembered the thrill of standing close enough to Jess to brush her arm, hearing her voice blend with his and later kissing her until his brain softened into molasses and making love to her as if there would never be a tomorrow.

  “Yeah, I remember. But singing with a choir isn’t like standing up on a stage, alone, and singing in front of a real audience. Alone,” he repeated.

  “There are three parts for male singers,” Ellie said.

  “You could do that, Cole,” Jess said with an encouraging smile.

  “And,” Ellie went on, “there are two female lead roles. Jessamine?” She sent Jess an expectant look.

  “Oh, no, I—I am really busy at the Sentinel with, um, the Fourth of July celebration. Oh, and the Ladies’ Hat Competition and—”

  “Ladies’ Hat Competition?” Cole interrupted. “What the heck is that?”

  “You wouldn’t be interested,” Jess said in a patient voice. “It’s a ladies’ matter.”

  “Maybe not, but my newspaper would be interested. News is news, remember?”

  “Stop it, you two,” Ellie interrupted. �
��Humor me. I would very much like your help in two ways. First, to announce tryouts in your newspaper, and second, I would like both of you to show up and—” she paused and looked from Cole to Jessamine “—try out.”

  *

  Half the population of Smoke River showed up at the music hall for the operetta tryouts. Uncle Charlie brought three overflowing trays of oatmeal and cinnamon cookies, and when director Ellie Johnson suggested that the rotund Chinese man audition for the part of Ricardo the Magician, Charlie bowed low.

  “No sing,” he said. “But make good magic, like in China.”

  “Oh?” Ellie studied the grinning man with heightened interest. “Could you come back later and give me a demonstration?”

  “Ah, no, Missus.” Charlie waved his hands over young Teddy MacAllister’s head and pulled a shiny quarter from behind one ear and a perfect yellow rosebud from the other.

  “Hey, how’d you do that?” Teddy demanded.

  “Magician never tell how,” Charlie said with an enigmatic smile. “But you wash front window tomorrow, and I show you more.”

  “You’re hired!” Ellie exulted. “I don’t care if you can’t sing a single note, Charlie, you are a real magician!”

  “Oh, can sing, too,” the Chinese man corrected. “Just not want to.”

  Cole Sanders, seated behind Ellie, laughed out loud. The director swiveled her head and pointed a long finger at him. “You’re next, Cole.”

  “Aw, now, Ellie…” Beside him, Jessamine smiled broadly.

  “Sing,” Ellie commanded. “Anything but ‘Clementine.’”

  Cole swallowed hard and opened his lips. “‘I knew she was the one when she loaded up her gun and—’”

  “That’s enough, Cole. You’re perfect for the part of Sir Sandwich.”

  Jessamine was still giggling when Ellie pointed at her. “Miss Lassiter? Sing something, please.”

  Jess blinked. It wasn’t an invitation; it was an order. “Uh, well, let me see. How’s this?” She drew in a breath.

  “‘She peered hard down the barrel and watched his blue eyes narrow, then—’”

  “Hired!” Ellie chortled. “Jessamine, you will make an admirable Lady Marmalade.” She had to raise her voice over Cole’s laughter.

  “I don’t know about you two,” the music director muttered under her breath. “Positively…well, shamelessly…shameless.”