Katie and the Marshal (Montana Women Book 1)

by Nancy Pirri

  Katie and the Marshal

  A Montana Women Novella

  Nancy Pirri

  Copyright © 2017 by Nancy Pirri

  First Printing: 2017

  ISBN: 978-1-68046-502-0

  Published by Satin Romance

  An Imprint of Melange Books, LLC

  White Bear Lake, MN 55110

  www.satinromance.com

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover Design by Caroline Andrus

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Thank You For Reading

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  Also by Nancy Pirri

  Don’t miss the next Montana Women Novella

  About the Author

  Prologue

  1865

  Butte, Montana

  “Jimmy boy, ain’t nothin’ you can do about yer mama’s occupation. Ye just can’t change things. It’s her choice,” the man said, a wide, lecherous grin on his lips. “Besides, ain’t she keepin’ vittles in yer stomach and clothes on yer back?”

  Fourteen-year-old James Freeman glared at his mother’s latest ‘friend.’ Beau Hanson sat in his mother’s tiny parlor, cocky expression on his face, a wicked gleam in his eyes. Big and blonde, he was a lummox of a man. While Hanson had treated him and his mother fairly over the past month since he started ‘courting’ James’ mother, he knew to keep his anger buried deep inside him and his mouth shut. The man must be able to read minds, or James hadn’t done a good job keeping the scowl from his face, for the man had guessed his feelings.

  For two years, James had suffered abject humiliation because of his mother’s work. But then James knew she’d had no choice. Margarite Freeman had been desperate.

  After his father died two years ago, their lives had changed. The family home had to be sold to pay off debts neither of them knew his father had incurred at the gambling tables. And his father’s stake in a once thriving silver mine had resulted in little monetary value since it went dry within a few months of its discovery.

  James had managed to secure farm labor work, but the pay was low and back-breaking. That lasted a month. Out of nowhere, Margarite informed him she’d found work and he could return to school once more.

  His heart had pounded with joy at her words. James loved school and planned to make something of his life. Once he had his degree, he could care for his mother, and no longer would she be forced to accept men into their home.

  From the first, she’d been evasive about the type of work she’d found, but it wasn’t long before James heard kids at school calling her a ‘slut.’ After many bloodied noses, James found the courage to confront his mother about the allegations. As she’d always done, she gave him the truth. While he hated her words, he understood her desperation and was proud of how she cared for him.

  James heard Margarite’s light step from down the hallway, and he slunk lower in his chair. He watched her move gracefully into the parlor. She was a beautiful, caring woman, meant to have a wonderful life. He’d do everything in his power to protect and care for her—once he was able to earn a good living.

  His gaze left her when he heard a chair scrape against the wooden floor. Hanson rose from his chair, his face changing from friendly to dark and…

  James shuddered at the expression on the big man’s face.

  Hanson took two steps so he stood directly in front of Margarite. The man took her in his arms, grabbing her buttocks and kissing her fiercely, pressing her tight against his body.

  James fisted his hands on the table in front of him in impotent fury before shutting his eyes tight against the awful scene. It took all of his willpower not to leap out of his chair and pounce on Beau’s back. Only when the bastard finally released her did James breathe a relieved sigh. Margarite sent James a warning look and a small shake of her head before facing Hanson with a brilliant smile. Then she put her arm through his and sashayed from the house.

  James’ eyes got teary as he thought ahead to a lonely night of cursing and worrying about his mother, knowing she wouldn’t return until the break of day.

  Three years later, the future for him and his mother that he’d envisioned had ended precipitously when she died of syphilis.

  Now, on a cold winter day as he stood before her grave, he smiled. He thought of her words when he’d confronted her about the men in her life. She’d replied, “What, James, will you be my knight in shining armor come to rescue me? You can’t, you know, it’s my choice. Besides, you’re a child. Perhaps one day, after you’ve grown…”

  No longer was he a child, but he’d been too late to save her.

  I was too late to be your knight, Mother, sad to say.

  But he vowed, in future, to charge to the rescue of any other woman who needed his help.

  Chapter 1

  1884

  Bozeman, Montana

  Saturday was the busiest morning of the week at the Sapphire Palace. Filled to capacity, the noise of conversation and laughter caused Katie O’Malley to feel a headache coming on. She appeared outwardly calm as she approached Marshal James Freeman’s table in the dining room, though deep inside her temper raged. If she were a teakettle, she’d be steaming! She had no doubt her cheeks were about the same shade as her red calico day dress. Why couldn’t she be a pretty blonde like her friend, Annie Callahan, instead of red-haired and freckled?

  Annie passed by just then, carrying plates heaped high with the breakfast special. Dressed prettily in a robin’s egg colored gown that set off her blonde hair and matched her cool blue eyes perfectly, Annie threw her a smile and said under her breath, “Be calm, Katie.”

  Katie sighed. Annie had to know about all she could do was try.

  Once again last evening, the marshal had done his blasted duty by closing down Marie Hannigan’s establishment across the street—a diner and brothel, the last establishment of its kind in Bozeman.

  Katie thoroughly despised James Freeman’s holier than thou attitude. Since he’d begun charging through on a swathe of questionable (in his opinion) business destruction, she’d vowed he would find no cause to close down the Palace, fondly called Katie’s Palace by most folks who frequented the combination saloon, dining room and boarding house.

  The Palace had been her mother’s dream. Katie’s father died several years ago, in a mining accident, leaving his wife and daughter a modest fortune. Grace O’Malley had seen a need for a room and board place in Bozeman, and had opened up the Palace. With Katie’s assistance, and a few other helpers, they ran the place efficiently together for the past six years. Luckily, Katie’s mother was a no-nonsense woman with a clear mind for business. Katie had been in business three years, after acquiring the business from her mother, who’d found a second love and moved to Texas.

  Balancing a platter filled high with buckwheat cakes, over easy eggs, half a pound of bacon and two pieces of toast with marmalade, she wondered if Freeman’s conservati
ve nature explained why he ordered the same breakfast every day. She felt tempted to fake a stumble and dump the entire contents on the good marshal’s head. No, spending time in jail wasn’t in her plans.

  Just as she reached his side, he looked up and gave her one of those steady lawman looks that seemed to penetrate her body and soul. Searching, she decided waspishly. The man was always searching for some evil-doer to toss into one of his jail cells. She smiled to herself at the image of the marshal sleeping in one of the cells each night. Being rather new to town, he’d yet to find or build a home of his own.

  He sat back with his arms crossed over his brawny chest. Her hands shook as she set the plates of food in front of him. “Thank you, Miss O’Malley.”

  His deep baritone caused a shiver up her spine. His voice had been the first thing she’d noticed about him. Annie said his voice conjured up dreams of something about which she had no business fantasizing. On principle, Katie insisted she found his voice cold and crude. She didn’t try to explain why it affected her so profoundly every time he spoke, if she truly hated him.

  Katie gave him a brief nod, unable to meet his penetrating gaze any longer. Turning her back on him, she’d taken just two steps away when he spoke again. “More coffee would be appreciated when you’ve got the time.”

  Keeping her back ramrod straight and her hands on the tray, she closed her eyes and counted to twenty. She’d already poured him several cups of coffee while he waited for his breakfast. Now she turned to him with a vivid but false smile on her lips. “Coming right up, Marshal.”

  Her stride back to the kitchen was long and furious. She’d fix him up with coffee all right! She’d fetch the damn burr under her saddle his own personal pot.

  Upon her return to the dining room to deliver breakfast to other customers, she wasn’t the least bit surprised to see he’d cleaned up more than half his breakfast. He was a huge man with an equally huge appetite—some appetites she could imagine more vividly than others, to her shame. Not for the first time, she found herself noticing his muscular frame, sandy hair and attractive brown eyes.

  More so than others, she knew there was more to a man than looks. Her last two beaus were utterly gorgeous. Too bad neither of them possessed much by way of manners where a lady was concerned. She was a woman, full-grown now—twenty-seven years old. Some in town thought her a spinster, but she just hadn’t found the right man and refused to settle.

  Bozeman remained a young town filled with youthful, wild men, some permanent and some passing through, but never would she accept outrageous behavior from her beaus or patrons. She expected any man entering her establishment to behave as a gentleman should, and that included removing his hat and leaving his gun with Brewster Johnson, the doorman she’d hired to keep the peace. Only the marshal was allowed to keep his gun, owing to his job.

  Back in the kitchen, she grabbed the handle of a coffee pot. Blinding pain shot through the palm of her hand, and she gasped, dropped the pot back down on the burner, pulling her hand back. Annie dropped the plate of food she’d been dishing up on the counter to run to her. Grabbing her hand, she stuck it into lukewarm dishwater nearby.

  “Katie? Whatever were you thinking?” she scolded.

  Tears filled Katie’s eyes. “That’s the problem—I wasn’t thinking. Darn it! That man has the ability to make me forget common sense.”

  Annie stood back with hands on curvaceous hips. “I gather you mean the marshal?”

  Katie caught the wry tone in Annie’s voice as her friend dried her hand gently with a cloth. Turning a sheepish look on Annie, she gave a curt nod. “When will he stop spying on me?”

  “Likely not until he finds a reason to shut you down,” Annie said with a nonchalant shrug. “The man seems to have a personal vendetta against brothels.”

  “But we all know I’m not running a brothel here!” Katie protested.

  Annie paused before leaving the kitchen. “But he doesn’t know that, does he?”

  Katie watched Annie take up the plates and leave the kitchen. Scowling, she remembered how Brewster told her about the new man in town who’d refused to give up his weapon upon entering Katie’s Palace. She confronted James Freeman herself then, and her cheeks burned with humiliation when he merely smiled as he pulled his badge from his pocket. At the time, she hadn’t wondered why he hadn’t been wearing the badge, but she knew the answer now. He was hoping to employ entrapment to shut her down.

  He’d used his initial entry as a method of enforcing the law. Because he had been new to town, the brothel owners assumed he was simply a customer. Once he discovered the nature of a particular business, he would produce his tin star, make arrests, then close down the establishment.

  Faster than fire across a dry plains field, he’d closed down four brothels since he’d arrived a month ago. This, of course, meant more business for Katie since the brothels had also served meals. She couldn’t complain given the increase in her own business. She’d been able to hire on more servers and maids as well. She knew the marshal hadn’t liked that, for often she’d seen his narrow-eyed gaze focused on workers she guessed he recognized from the disreputable establishments—some of them having spent time in his jailhouse. Too bad! She could hire whomever she liked.

  She grabbed a dishcloth this time and wrapped it around the handle of the coffeepot to pick it up, then snatched up a metal trivet as well. Once she reached the marshal’s side, she leaned over, placed the trivet down in the center of the table and poured him a fresh cup of coffee before setting the pot down.

  “Remember to use the cloth to pick up the pot,” she advised.

  When he didn’t reply, she sent a fleeting look at his face. His wide smile disarmed her.

  “Thanks for the reminder. I probably would have forgotten.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, tired of keeping him at bay. Her establishment was squeaky clean. When would he learn she would never allow prostitution to go on in her Palace?

  “I gotta say you make the best coffee in town, Miss O’Malley.”

  Watching him raise the cup of coffee to his lips, she glared at him. The reason she made the best coffee in town could only be because now she was the only place in town open that served coffee.

  “Call me Katie, or Miss Katie, if you prefer. Anything else?” she asked.

  He nodded to the chair opposite him and she squirmed inside at his appraisal of her. “How about joining me for a cup of coffee? You look like you could use a break.”

  What game was he playing now? She shook her head and stepped back. “Sorry, I’ve customers to tend to. As you can see, we’re doing a booming business.”

  “’Course you are. You’re the only place open in town because you appear to be legitimate.”

  Her spine stiffened again, and her hands shook. She clenched them into fists at her sides as she glared down into his lazy-smile expression. “Appear, did you say?

  “Appearances can be deceiving, can’t they?” he intoned softly, setting his coffee down.

  Katie gasped. “Then you are accusing me of running a…”

  “I’m not accusing you of a thing.”

  “Then what did you mean?” she snapped.

  “Just making sure you understand why you’re still open while the others aren’t. Now take a load off. I’ve some questions to ask you.”

  “About…?”

  “Something of a…personal nature.”

  “Which I refuse to answer,” she inserted.

  He straightened in his chair, his lips quirked. “Not that personal. Call it a business proposition.”

  Business? He’d roused her curiosity now.

  Katie had never been one to turn a business proposition away without careful consideration. But then she thought about her most recent employees and her eagerness to hear him out dissipated. No doubt he wanted to know her motives for hiring them. The marshal had given her no choice, of course. It was his fault she’d taken the ladies from the last two brothels he’d
closed down under her wing, after serving jailtime. After all, she couldn’t leave them destitute, and she needed the help. Then she thought of the vivacious Marie Hannigan, who’d been sentenced to six months jail time in Helena. How unfair life was for women in this man’s world.

  James leaned forward and cupped his hands around his coffee cup. He raised his dark eyes, looked her square in the eyes and murmured, “I need a place to stay. A place to hang my hat, other than a jail cell.”

  She sat there, utterly still, astounded by his words. Then she saw his face turn a dusky shade of red beneath his tan—saw how he looked back down at his cup again. Obviously, it embarrassed him to ask her for the favor of renting a room, but could she really blame him for wanting to live any other place besides his makeshift home in a cell at the jail?

  She had never been in one of the cells herself, but had heard plenty of complaints from some of the traveling cowboys. After a night of hard drinking, which usually resulted in a brawl, the cowboys complained how the bed cots were too short and harder than the dry ground upon which they slept during cattle drives.

  Currently, she had five rooms to let. Unless she managed to find one more boarder, she’d be short paying her employees at the end of the month. The marshal moving in would help. After a moment’s thought, satisfaction fled in light of the headaches his close proximity would likely cause her.

  “I thought I heard you were building yourself a place at the end of town,” she said. “Didn’t you buy up that old silver mine past Flaherty’s Mercantile?”

  “Sure did.” His voice was curt. “Got a problem though.”

  “What would that be?” she asked.