He waited until each man in his seven-man crew met his gaze. “I ken ye are all good men. Decent men. An’ ye want to ensure that we are all safe and secure in our town.” He watched as the looks in his men’s eyes became calculating and guarded. “However, I must warn ye, just because somethin’ is written in a newspaper does no’ make it fact.”
“Are ye sayin’ the lovely redhead is a liar?” a man named Olaf called out.
“Nae. But I would say she was misinformed.” He held up his hands as the men muttered among themselves. “Ye ken everything she writes about me is a mixture of truth and exaggeration. If ye canna trust me to tell ye the truth, ye should no’ work for me.” He stared into each man’s eyes, waiting until each man nodded.
“The fact is that Bears is a trusted partner of the MacKinnon family. He works hard, never complains, and has no wish to live in the main house. I’ve been working in my free time to build him his own place behind the main house and beside the paddock. It’s the least the MacKinnons can do for a valued partner.”
He paused as the men considered what he said. “Any man who kent Jack Renfrew, who saw him with his son, saw the dedication the man and son had for the other. To doubt it is to dishonor Jack and Bears.” Ewan’s jaw ticked. “And the townsfolk, with all their gossiping, kent well enough that Jack died of cancer. I want to hear no more talk about any nonsense in that newspaper. I want to hear no more talk of harming Bears.”
The men’s shoulders stooped, but Ewan could feel the restless energy of the morning dissipating. He half smiled and motioned for them to continue their work. He nodded to Ben and returned to studying the plans for this particular project.
Jessamine looked up from her printing press and frowned as the door slammed open with such force she feared the glass would break. “If you break it, you pay for it.”
“I hope the same is true for you, you heartless harpy,” Cailean MacKinnon snapped. He slapped the day’s paper onto the printing press, ruining the ink and paper waiting to be pressed. He met her irate glare, showing no contrition for his actions. “If I could, I’d throw the bluidy machine into the creek and ensure ye’d never print another article again.”
She rolled her eyes. “All you would do is ensure I’d obtain a better press where the letters aren’t so fragile and it is easier to print my papers.” She smiled with triumph. “I have insurance against an angry mob.”
“Do ye want to talk about a mob?” he asked, his accent reappearing in his anger. “I had to talk down a group of drunken idiots from the Waterin’ Hole, intent on saving my sister and wife from the likes of Bears. With only a pitchfork to match their pistols.” He shook his head as she stared at him with a look of innocence. “Do ye no’ ken what ye’ve done?”
She closed her eyes at his bellow. “Yelling at me will not change my behavior.”
“I wish something would. Nothing will make ye see sense, will it?” He strode away from her to the door and then back again, unable to rid himself of his nervous energy. “Do ye have any idea what they would have done to Bears had he been alone in the livery?”
She shrugged. “Roughed him up a bit. I’m sure he’s suffered worse.”
He lunged for her, stopping from touching her by the merest of inches. “Do ye no’ have any idea what drunken men are capable of? What they do to a native born they think has been too highly favored?” He let out a long sigh. “How could ye act to flame the fires of their bigotry with no thought to whom ye’d harm?”
“I am not responsible for how others respond to my article.”
Cailean slammed his hand onto a tall chest, the sound reverberating around the room and causing Jessamine to jolt. “Dinna act innocent, ye wee demon. Ye kent well enough what ye were doin’.” His eyes flashed with enmity, and he took a deep breath. “I laughed and cajoled my brother every time you wrote about him. I assured him that you knew the bounds of propriety. But you don’t.”
“Mr. MacKinnon, I fail to understand why you are so affronted. Bears is a laborer who works for you. Nothing more.”
He squinted at her as though she were a creature he had never seen before. “A laborer?” he scoffed. “Bears is one-third partner in the livery. And I’m proud to call him partner. His father was a trusted and valued friend. Bears is my equal and far superior to you in every way.” He stormed out of her shop, slamming the door behind him.
When she looked out the window and saw his retreating form down the boardwalk, she took a shaky breath and collapsed onto a chair. After a moment, she swiped at her cheek, letting out a huff of frustration that a few tears had leaked out. “I will not be cowed from writing my stories,” she whispered to herself. She cleaned her cheeks, pinched them, and pasted on a smile as she saw the lawyer walking toward her front door.
She rose and smiled impersonally. “Hello, Mr. Clark. How lovely to see you.”
He dropped the newspaper at her feet. “I’ve defended you, J.P. I’ve assured the MacKinnons that you’d never stoop so low as to write something slanderous. However, I cannot defend what you wrote today. If they ask me, I will sue you.”
She paled and tilted her head. “What if I desire to retain your services first?”
He shook his head, placing his hands on his hips. “I would refuse. I have some morals, and taking on a client who willfully disregards my advice while endangering the livelihood, if not the very life, of a man I greatly respect would go against everything I believe.”
Jessamine half smiled. “I know it is not as bad as you are making it out to be.”
Warren frowned as he looked at her. “Are you truly this naive? Aren’t you a hard-nosed reporter from the East Coast? Haven’t you faced the harsh realities of discrimination and hatred for no good reason before?”
She shrugged. “There are always two sides to a story.”
“And there is a difference between gossip and news. Yet your goal in life seems to be to ensure that those in this town are forced to face the worst in themselves and each other. You could just as easily allow us to celebrate the good fortunes we have.” He glared at her, and she remained silent. He started ticking off incidents with his fingers. “Ewan stifled a riot among his own men this morning who wanted to attack Bears. They only had hammers and saws, but they would still have wrought substantial damage to an unarmed innocent man. Cailean met an irate mob head-on with a pitchfork. How do you think pregnant Annabelle would have felt had her husband been accidentally killed by one of the men in the mob?” He waited as Jessamine remained mutinously silent. “Harold locked a group of men in the café until they saw sense. He used Irene’s rolling pin to beat men away from the door.”
Warren waited, his stance relaxing slightly as he saw guilt in her gaze. “Those are the three incidences that I am aware of so far. However, you have made Bears’ life here a living hell. Did you feel he didn’t have enough unwanted prejudice before this?” He paused as he glared at her. “You have raised suspicion and doubt where none were due. You have made the townsfolk jealous of his good fortune, which is uncalled for.”
He shook his head as she refused to speak. “No matter what you do—an apology, a retraction in your paper—nothing will ever undo what you’ve done.”
Ewan sat at the poker table at the back of the main room of the Stumble-Out, his face impassive as he listened to the muted conversations of those around him. A private room upstairs was reserved for when the Madam joined them, as she preferred not to be seen gambling. A cloud of smoke hovered over the entire first floor, growing thicker as patrons smoked hand-rolled cigarettes and cigars. The wide-plank floors creaked as a drunken patron twirled a Beauty from the Boudoir in an impromptu dance, avaricious gazes of other men following the billow of her skirts as they stood at the long bar along one wall.
Ewan ignored all of this as he focused on his hand. He played with four of the fiercest cardsharks in the area, and he stood to lose a large amount that evening. One man’s upper lip twitched involuntarily, and Ewan knew he was bluffing.
The other three were a mystery, as he had yet to learn their tells after years of playing poker with them.
The first man said, “Call,” and exposed his hand on the table—three of a kind.
Ewan’s face remained inscrutable.
The next man groaned and threw in his cards.
Ewan set down his. “Straight,” he said, maintaining an impassive expression.
Mr. Lip Twitch threw in his hand and glared at Ewan.
The man next to him set down his cards with a triumphant gleam. “Flush.”
Ewan met the man’s cocky smile and nodded. “Well done.” He rose, grabbing his hat from the top of an empty table nearby, and moved to the bar. He motioned for the bartender to pour him a whiskey as he fought panic. He absently listened to the men next to him argue.
“I tell you,” one said, “the poor bastard’s never been the same since he got clubbed in the head by a moose hoof.”
Ewan snorted and shook his head. He took a swig of whiskey and closed his eyes as he fought returning to the poker table. He stiffened as a hand slapped him on the shoulder.
“Well played but bad luck,” a man with a deep voice rumbled.
Ewan nodded to the man who had won but did not motion for the barkeep to pour him a whiskey. He could damn well pay for himself with his winnings, Ewan thought. The man raised an eyebrow at Ewan’s recalcitrance in sharing a drink with him and motioned for two drinks.
Ewan accepted a refill of his whiskey and saluted the man. “Well done,” he said again before tossing back the shot.
The man leaned one hip against the bar, facing Ewan but also able to survey the rest of the saloon. “Thanks, although there’s always luck involved in cards.” He nodded to Ewan. “Your day will come.”
Ewan grunted a noncommittal noise and took a small sip of whiskey.
“I hear a large poker tournament will take place soon. Held upstairs.” He nodded up as though indicating the private room above the saloon.
Ewan shrugged. “I’m not certain that interests me.”
The man motioned the barkeep for two more whiskeys. “Well, the winner would walk away with at least a year’s salary.” He looked at Ewan. “You’re a MacKinnon.”
Ewan gave a curt nod.
“The Madam will participate in that tournament. If rumor is to be believed, there is little she won’t wager to win it all.” He smiled when he saw understanding dawn in Ewan’s eyes.
“I’ll have to check my schedule,” Ewan murmured.
The man chuckled and admiration lit his gaze. “Do that.” He took a drag off a cigarette and then murmured, “I hear the native working for your family is causing you trouble.”
Ewan stiffened. “Nae. He’s a trusted partner. And friend.” He met the man’s speculative gaze. “An attack against him is an attack against a MacKinnon. I’d appreciate it if ye let those ye ken know that.”
The man nodded, swallowed his whiskey, and then pushed away from the bar. “Better luck next time, MacKinnon.”
Ewan watched as the man sauntered toward one of the two Boudoir Beauties on loan that evening to the Stumble-Out to help pay off the Madam’s debts. After one last swallow of whiskey, Ewan slipped out the pine doors to home.
News & Noteworthy: It seems Lady Luck is no friend to our favorite disreputable gentleman.
Ewan joined his brothers at Warren’s house the following evening. They declined Warren’s offer of a drink and sat around the roaring fire, listening in quiet companionship a few moments as the wood crackled and hissed.
“Why did ye want us to come here tonight, Warren?” Ewan asked.
Warren settled into his high-back chair and steepled his fingers with his elbows resting on the chair’s arms. “I wanted to discuss the last two publications released by J.P.” He watched as the brothers scowled. “And if you planned on bringing a suit against her.”
Alistair crossed his feet at his ankles as he relaxed in his chair. “’Twould serve the woman right.” His brothers grunted their agreement. “Her apology, if those few lines could be called such a thing, were barely visible in the corner of the damn broadsheet.”
Cailean nodded. “I agree. She has no sense of what she did.” He shook his head as though dumbfounded. “And exhibited no remorse when I spoke with her.”
“When did ye talk with her?” Ewan asked.
“I stormed into her office yesterday. After I was certain Bears would be safe, and Alistair was present.” He took a deep breath as though calming his anger. “She seemed proud of what she had written.”
Warren tapped his fingers together. “I think she is. I think she is proud of her ability to cause discourse in the town. Although intelligent, she hasn’t learned to tell the difference between that and discord.”
“An important distinction,” Ewan muttered. “I havena spoken with her since she printed either paper. I ken she published the paper today as a way to apologize. However, her headline should have read, ‘Journalist a Bluidy Fool and Begs Your Apology,’ rather than the tepid ‘Facts May Be Misleading’ rubbish printed in a corner.”
Alistair closed his eyes and scoffed, pulling out the latest paper to read directly from it. “There is a time in every journalist’s career when she must admit she was wrong. When she realizes she has harmed another due to misleading facts. Such an instance occurred yesterday, and I beg that Mr. Runs from Bears—and my reading public—will accept my apology.”
Cailean snorted. “Misleading facts? Why not call a lie a lie? Or a mistake a mistake?”
“Woman has too much damn pride,” Warren muttered. “It will be her downfall.”
Ewan looked at his brothers. “Ye are the two who work with Bears. What does he say? What would he want?”
Alistair shrugged and sat up, leaning on his elbows. “He wants to be left alone. He wouldna want a court case or any such suit against her as it would only cause him to receive more attention.”
“I think he hopes the townsfolk will focus on another story or scandal and forget about him,” Cailean said. “He has no desire to sue her and knows that he has no standing in the court.”
“Aye, but we would,” Ewan said. “Yer business was threatened yesterday. I had to warn away a cardshark last night.”
Alistair and Cailean shared a long look. “We believe the livery is safe. And, in it, so is Bears.”
Warren nodded. “What happens when he has his own home? A home that Ewan builds?” He watched the brothers shift uncomfortably. “Many in the town would want Ewan to build them a home but are financially unable to. When they see Bears receive such a home, their resentment will grow.”
Ewan scratched his head, inadvertently sprinkling wood dust on the parlor floor. “I dinna ken how to ease their feelings, Warren. Bears is my brothers’ partner. He works hard, and he asks for little. He did no’ ask for the home. We would build one for any such worthy and reliable partner in need of winter lodgings. Anyone with sense kens Bears is good with horses. None should be threatened by him.”
Warren raised his eyebrows. “As we know, too often too few have any sense. Especially when they put their heads together.”
The men were silent for a few moments before Cailean nudged Ewan with his foot. “What did she mean when she wrote that Lady Luck is not your friend?”
Ewan flushed. “I’ve had a short string of bad luck.” His carefree smile failed to alleviate Cailean’s worried gaze. “I’m sure ’twill turn around soon.”
“Or ye could give it all up,” Alistair said. He ignored Ewan’s glare. “I ken this has been Cailean’s battle with ye, but I agree with him. Ye should no’ be wastin’ yer hard-earned money on such a foolish endeavor.”
Warren rose and exited a door down a hallway, granting the brothers some privacy for their conversation.
“I dinna tell either of ye how to live yer lives!” Ewan flushed as he stared at his brothers, his gaze filled with disappointment as they scowled at him.
Cailean took a deep breath and pinched the brid
ge of his nose. “We have money now, Ewan. If you were to be in financial difficulties, we could help you. But our families will grow. And soon. We will have other responsibilities. There will be no further partnerships. No other ways to make such ready cash.” Cailean shook his head. “I will not be able to help you in the future.”
“What are you talking about?” Ewan whispered.
“I had a visitor today at the livery. Mr. Timmons.” He watched as Ewan paled and slouched in his chair. “It appears you are out of credit, brother.”
Ewan clenched and unclenched his hands as he fought panic that the owner of the Stumble-Out, Mr. Timmons, had visited Cailean today. “I’m sure he was merely concerned about his horse.”
Cailean frowned at Ewan’s words. “Nae. He wasn’t. He worried you would be unable to pay him the exorbitant amount you have on credit.” Cailean shook his head in wonder. “Do you owe a similar sum at the Boudoir?”
Ewan flushed and swore under his breath. “Do ye think I go around town, beggarin’ myself and runnin’ up credit?” His eyes flashed with hurt as he saw doubt in his brother’s gaze. “Nae. I owe no money to the Madam.”
Alistair sighed. “Ye have a good business, Ewan. Ye have a good income. There’s nae reason for ye to lose it all on a toss of the cards. I dinna understand this restlessness ye feel.”
Ewan glared at Alistair. “I’m not like ye, Al. I need adventure. I need excitement. An’ there is little in this town to provide that.”
Alistair shared a look with Cailean and shook his head. “Ye were no’ like this on Skye. Then ye were never more content than to roam the hills, losing yerself as ye wandered among the streams as ye searched for fairies. Ye never had such desires then.”
Ewan stood, his hands clenched and his body visibly vibrating. “I’m no’ the lad who lived on Skye.” He stormed from the room and slammed the door behind him.
Alistair and Cailean let out long breaths and eased back against their chairs. “That went well,” Cailean muttered.
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