by KyAnn Waters
To Bed A Montana Man
by
KyAnn Waters
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
To Bed A Montana Man
COPYRIGHT 2012 by KyAnn Waters
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Visit www.KyAnnWaters.com
Publishing History
First Edition, June 2012
Published in the United States of America
Boston, 1879
Rain stung her cheeks as she lifted her head to get her bearings. Shielding her eyes from the downpour, she still couldn’t read the street signs. Allison Lake’s hands trembled as numbing cold sank into her bones. A noise from the alley momentarily made her forget her discomfort. She started to run. Her wool cape, now soaked, clung to her slender body. The fabric of her evening dress dripped water, making it even more difficult to move.
Lightning forked across the sky. The crack of thunder echoed through the streets. She startled, but she continued to run. She was almost home, her house only a half block down the street. Footfalls sounded close behind her. Or maybe it was the rain pelting the cobblestones.
“Allison, wait.”
She turned to see Henry Oakdale quickly closing in on her.
“Stay away from me,” she cried, her tears mingling with the rain. “I went looking for you…in the study. I saw you.”
Bending over, Henry braced his hands against his thighs and struggled to catch his breath. “You’re mistaken.” Straightening, his gaze raked up her body. “My father forbids anyone from entering his sanctuary when he is away.”
“I saw you!” She pulled her wrap more tightly around her, protecting herself from his open assessment of her clinging, wet dress. “Leave me alone, or I swear I’ll tell. Your little secret will become grist for the gossip mill.”
“Go home, Allison, I believe you will remember differently after a night of reflection.” Gripping her wrist, he brought his thin lips to her frigid fingers. He held tightly as she tried to pull away.
“You’re hurting me,” she whimpered.
“I’m capable of a great many things.” His eyes narrowed. “As you have discovered. On the morrow, I will confirm our engagement. I was with you tonight. And do not pretend to not understand my meaning. Our parents will insist on a quick marriage. Imagine our wedding night.” His lips pulled into a sneer. “Or perhaps now no imagination is needed.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I most certainly will. Our future is set.”
Allison couldn’t take that chance. She wouldn’t.
So a few hours before sunrise, she quietly left her bedroom. She tiptoed down the stairs and carefully opened the door to her father’s study. With a silver letter opener, she plied the lock loose from the second drawer. Beneath papers and a box of expensive cigars was a small pocket of cloth sewn into the liner of the drawer. Tearing the cloth in haste, her fingers trembled as she took the key and crossed the room.
A small end table with a beautifully carved wood façade hid her father’s house money. When she was little, he had often let her play with the gold and silver coins while he worked at his desk. She knew there was a lot more than coins. She placed the key in the hidden lock and opened the safe. She took enough money to get far away from Henry, and left a note to both her mother and father in its place. There would be no society wedding, no merging of two prominent families. She wrote them the truth. Whether they ever believed her or not, mattered not.
Slipping out of the house, into the sleeping city, she made her way through the dark streets of Boston to the train station. “One way, please.”
“To where, Miss?” the attendant asked.
Gray smoke curled around the engines of trains waiting to depart. Men in top hats and women dressed in fine traveling clothes walked the platform. They seemed so casual, knowing where they were going. She didn’t know where she was going. She only knew she couldn’t stay.
“A ticket west on the first train out.”
Chapter One
Montana Territory , 1879
Allison’s stomach turned over twice a minute, anxiety raced along her nerves. Ten long, lonely days finally ended as the train whistled and screeched its way into Copper City. She had finally arrived. Only…where in the world was she?
She stepped from the platform. An uneven board caused her to lose her footing. Her ankle twisted. She gave a squeal as someone’s fingers pressed into the soft flesh under her arms. Her first thought was of the money she had hidden beneath the tightness of her corset. However, she quickly quelled those thoughts as the same strong fingers lay perilously close to her breast.
“Release me,” she said regaining her balance and spinning around. Any further comment stuck in her mouth. Standing before her was a man as large as the Montana Territory.
“Excuse me, Ma’am. Meant no harm, just wanted to keep you from a tumble.” Full lips tilted into a beguiling smile.
“Thank you.”
He tipped his cowboy hat and moved off down the platform.
Allison couldn’t help but watch him walk away. His shirt stretched across the distinct muscles of his back, drawing her attention to his narrow waist and slim hips. Feeling an unfamiliar heat climbing up her neck, she turned and hurried from the platform.
Throughout the bustling town, heavy smoke from the mines drifted through the air in visible layers. Coal stoves spewed black dust from roofs of clapboard structures. Saloons lined the streets. And the whores who worked in the rooms above stood in front of their business establishments wearing corsets and lace, advertising sins of the flesh for a price.
This was going to be home. While on the train, she’d considered all she’d left behind, but also the adventure that awaited her. The fantasy had been much different from her reality. This wasn’t Boston by any measure. Country women were dressed in serviceable clothing; drab, heavy wool skirts without adornment and blouses buttoned to the neck. Clothing suited for work in their homes, not socializing in lady’s clubs as her mother did. And unlike home, there wasn’t going to be anyone to help her dress, mend her stockings, or launder her gowns.
And no one to cook her favorite treats. She was hungry and tired, and the money tucked in the folds of her dress and the few pieces of jewelry in her clutch weren’t going to last long. Never having been responsible for herself, she had plenty to learn about life in the West.
First—a place to stay. Permanent living arrangements could wait a few days, but she needed to clean up, rest, and get a job.
The town was much bigger than she had anticipated. A general mercantile butted up next to the bank. She had some experience with a needle and thread. Surely, there was a need for a seamstress. With a town full of men working in the mines, she was bound to find a job.
Allison walked to the hotel.
“I’d like a room.” She looked at the front deskman across from her. Hotel work would pay a modest amount and perhaps she could earn room and board. She could clean the rooms, or work at the front desk. A flutter of excitement tickled her belly. Endless possibilities awaited her.
“Pay by the month and get a five dollar discount.” The clerk read a paper and didn’t look up. “Room gets cleaned once a week.”
“That’ll be fine.” Allison
pulled the drawstring of her purse and retrieved a few bills. “May I inquire if you’re hiring?”
“No.”
“No, I can’t ask or no, you aren’t hiring?”
“No, we ain’t hiring.”
She sighed. “Thank you. How much for a month?”
“Ninety-five.”
“Dollars?” she asked, shocked.
The clerk nodded. “Three-fifty a night, twenty-five dollars a week, or ninety-five for the month.” Exasperated, he finally looked up at her. “Do you want a room?”
She nodded. “One night, please.” She carefully counted out the money. Change of priorities, find a place to live and try to find a job at the same time.
Once settled in her room, Allison took a bath and headed out. The town bustled with people and construction, but not the stone or brick buildings of Boston. Most were wooden structures. She entered the mercantile and approached the counter. “Do you have a bulletin board?”
The plump woman behind the counter nodded to the far wall. Allison thanked her, crossed the room, and glanced over the few pieces of paper. A knot grew in the pit of her stomach. There was plenty of work. Work for men who were prepared to break their backs working in the mines or willing to travel to the fields to work with the ranchers. There were also a few jobs for skilled labors, skills she didn’t possess.
“Excuse me,” she said to the woman. “I’m looking for a job.” Allison pointed to the bulletin board. “I don’t see any work for women. Do you know of any jobs around town for a lady?”
The woman laughed, making her stomach bounce, and revealing the gap in her dark yellow, front teeth. “There’s always work at the saloon. I guess you don’t look like the kind of girl needin’ work around here.”
Allison hoped she hid her horror, keeping it from her expression by pressing her lips together. No need to panic, there was always opportunity for a person willing to work hard.
“I don’t suppose you’re hiring.” Allison stood at the counter, resting her arms along the smooth, polished wood.
“No, I don’t suppose I am.” The woman came from behind the counter.
“Then perhaps you know of a boardinghouse or room I could rent for a modest amount?”
The woman chuckled again. “Honey, ain’t nothin’ affordable around here. Haven’t you heard? We’ve got ourselves a copper rush? Two hundred men a week come into town. You’ll be lucky to find a stall in a stable.” She took a feather duster and began sweeping it along the shelves full of merchandise. Bolts of fabric, clocks, and farm equipment filled tables running the center of the store. Food items lined one wall. Cans of beans and bags of coffee, sugar, and flour piled high behind the counter. There were brooms in a canister next to the door as well as shoes stacked in boxes in front of the large picture window at the front of the store.
“Thank you for your time.” Allison tried not to sound dejected.
“You get a room at the saloon if you’re a certain kind of gal,” was the last thing Allison heard as she walked onto the busy sidewalk outside the mercantile.
That night as Allison lay in her hotel bed, she wondered if she had made a mistake in coming to Montana. Maybe she should have gone on to California. It couldn’t be any worse than a mining town. In her ignorance, she’d thought she would get off the train and have a job before nightfall. Working as a whore seemed to be her only job prospect. She didn’t run from a life of servitude to Henry Oakdale to lay down with strangers.
Serving drinks in the saloon would be better than her alternative, but like the proprietor of the general store stated, that didn’t solve the problem of a place to live. Boardinghouses around town were full. Even if they weren’t, she couldn’t afford the rent.
She heaved a heavy sigh. Truthfully, she couldn’t afford to venture onto California nor could she return to Boston with the limited money she had. Her fate was sealed. Copper City may not be the small town she imagined. Nonetheless, she was determined to find a home here.
Chapter Two
The following morning dawned dark and cold. Shivering beneath the bedspread, she pulled her knees to her chest and tightened into a ball. Her teeth chattered.
She glanced out the small window. Smoke curled into the air and blended with the gray sky. A few flurries drifted in the air, a sign of what was to come.
At first, a light dusting of snow powdered the streets, but then the wind began to blow. By midmorning, she couldn’t see the far side of the street from her hotel room window.
And the snow continued to fall. She brought the noontime meal to her room, eating every morsel hoping to stave off the feeling of an empty stomach until tomorrow.
By late afternoon, the streets resembled those of a ghost town. Businesses closed. The only sign of life came from the saloons. Folks who couldn’t get home because of the spring blizzard opted to spend their evening sipping watered-down liquor, and in the company of ladies eager to please.
Three days passed in dreary white boredom. Money trickled from her resources. Allison had no choice but to check out of the hotel. In effort to stay warm, she layered on as many clothes as possible.
At this point, every penny mattered. The idea of getting a job at the brothel slipped into the back of her mind. First, there was one alternative she was desperate enough to try.
The snow had stopped but many roads out of town were impassable. Allison went to the general store and rechecked the work board. Nothing had changed but there was still an option. She grabbed the slip of paper from the board and tucked it into her pocket. Now she needed to see the blacksmith about procuring a ride.
Passing a beautiful mansion under construction made Allison a bit nostalgic for life in Boston. Comfort and pampering weren’t important to those working in the mines and working the land. Copper City didn’t have cobblestone streets.
Allison swallowed the lump of regret and reminded herself that she chose this life. She was here because she wanted to be and that alone should make her happy.
A few blocks down the street, she found the blacksmith.
“I need transportation to somewhere called…” She dropped her satchel and took the slip of paper from her pocket. “…The Bester Ranch.”
“And what t’would a lass like you be need’n with the Bester’s?” the blacksmith asked with a thick Irish accent.
“Business.” She clasped her hands in front of her dress to keep from fidgeting. “Would you be able to arrange transportation?” This was her last vestige of hope. She needed a proper job. One wasn’t available. Her next best solution was finding a job that wouldn’t bring her principles into question, and she couldn’t do that unless she somehow got to that ranch.
The blacksmith stood and wiped his hands on the apron tied around his waist.
“I would be happy to pay a reasonable fee,” she offered when he hesitated.
“Wagon o’er there…” He nodded his head toward a wagon in front of the mercantile. “He’s a lad from the Bester’s. Comes t’ town once a week for supplies if the weather holds.” He hitched his trousers up by the belt loop and spit into a snow bank behind him. “Bonne lass like yourself should’na have any trouble.” He winked and then turned back to his fire pit.
“Thank you.” She grabbed her bag, lifted her skirt an inch off the ground, and hurried across the slick road.
The man couldn’t have been much older than twenty. He was wearing a heavy winter coat with a wool collar pulled high around his neck.
Allison stood next to the wagon and waited for him to finish positioning a crate of supplies before she interrupted. “Excuse me.”
He turned in her direction and adjusted the rim of his cowboy hat. He nodded an acknowledgement and then lifted another crate.
“The blacksmith said you worked at the Bester Ranch.”
The man stood and wiped his brow with his coat sleeve. After removing one of his gloves, he retrieved a pouch of tobacco from his pocket and rolled a cigarette.
“It’s imperative
I get to the ranch.” She switched her bag from one hand to the other. Trying to sound professional, she angled her chin and met his gaze directly. “I have business with Mr. Bester. I would be happy to pay a reasonable fee.”
“No need for that,” he said, clenching the cigarette between his teeth and put his glove back on. “Give me thirty minutes.”
“Thank you.” She felt like clapping her hands, but restrained herself. “I guess I’ll get a cup of coffee. If you have a canteen, I’d be happy to have it filled.”
“That’d be great,” he groaned as he lifted a heavy satchel. “Don’t be late. Another storm’s coming and I want to beat the snow.”
“Thirty minutes.” She clutched her bag and walked a half block to the restaurant advertising hot coffee and fresh pastries in the window.
* * *
They made introductions as he helped her onto the buckboard.
“How far is it to the ranch?” Allison asked the young man who called himself Train.
“Depends on whether it starts to snow again. Should be there before supper.”
Allison pulled her coat a little tighter. The time was barely noon now and since leaving the shelter of the city, it seemed colder.
They rode in silence mixed with sporadic comments for a while before the conversation became easier.
“You’ve got a real pretty voice. Can’t place the accent. Where’re you from, Miss Lake?”
She giggled at his easy drawl and pleasing dimples. He was soft spoken and handsome and that made her self-conscious sitting so close to him on the swaying buckboard. His voice was warm and deep, making her think of cedar and molasses. There wasn’t anything rushed about the man. A few days worth of whiskers shadowed his strong jaw. His eyes were the color of the darkening sky out ahead of them. His thick coat hid the muscles of his arms, but he had to be strong. The reins were secure in his grip.
“Boston,” she answered his question. “I’ve only been in Copper City a few days. I have to admit, I’m quite surprised at the size of the town. I thought the western territories would be different. I’d hoped to find a small community where I could build a quiet life.” She nearly bit her lip at the slip. She hadn’t intended to reveal her uncertain beginnings in Copper City. Revealing too much would leave her open to questions she wasn’t inclined to answer. However, Train didn’t seem to notice her discomfort.
