A whore sidled up to him and pushed him toward the front door. “Get out. Stay out. Don’t let the Madam see you here for a long time.”
“But Jessie …”
Charity shook her head. “She fled in the middle of the fight. Zeke had to free her to join the brawl.” She looked over her shoulder, her chestnut brown hair in ringlets. “Go!”
He stumbled onto the boardwalk and fell against the hitching post. “Bluidy hell,” he muttered as he took as deep a breath as he could. He heard raucous music from the Stumble-Out where many loitered on the boardwalk. It was a mild night for late October, and men were enjoying the evening after celebrating the year’s bounty.
He walked in the building’s shadows as he approached her print shop. He sighed with relief to find the area around her establishment momentarily deserted and tapped on her door. When there was no answer, he banged on it until it rattled. He heard rustling inside and called out in a soft voice, “I ken ye’re in there, Jessie. Open the damn door.”
He fell inside when it opened with alacrity and shut just as swiftly. He righted himself and stared at her in the dim light of her print shop. He allowed her to tug him toward the back of the space, away from the windows and potentially prying eyes.
“What are you doing here? Why would you come here late at night?” she whispered. Her gaze roved over him, and she frowned. She pushed him into a chair and moved into the kitchen, where she wet a cloth.
He hissed when she dabbed at his bloodied lip and a bruise on his cheek. Her movements stilled when he gripped her wrist. “I had to ken ye were all right, Jessie.”
“I fail to see why you’d care.” She glared at him.
“Do ye?” he asked as he watched her with a wondrous smile. “I thought ye smarter than that.” He sobered. “What could ye have been thinkin’ by goin’ into a whorehouse?”
She shrugged. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
He acted as though he would tug her down to sit next to him, and then he shook his head and opened his hands. “I would like ye to sit next to me an’ explain, but I will no’ force ye.” He waited for her to understand his words. “I’ve thought about tonight, at the dance, an’ I think I ken why ye were angry with me.”
Her eyes glowed with impotent rage. “Never try to bend my will. Never force me to do something I don’t want to do.” She relaxed when he nodded. After pulling out another chair and sitting next to him, she laced and unlaced her hands. “I was angry when I left the dance. I was filled with this nervous energy.”
“I ken. I was too. What I dinna understand is why ye did no’ come back here and write a scathing article about me. That would have been more productive.”
Jessamine frowned as she stared at him. “Do you see them as decorative pieces to be used at any man’s leisure? Or are they women?”
He frowned at her change of topic. “They are women, aye, although they are rarely seen as more than a whore.”
She lowered her gaze. “Do you know why the new doctor has been visiting them with such frequency?” She bit her lip as he canted forward. Her eyes widened as though she had just discovered a secret truth. “You care about one of them. It’s why you are there with such frequency but never go upstairs.”
He shook his head. “’Tis no’ about me. Asides, Anna’s sister works there.” He challenged her with a harsh stare, but she did not contradict him when he spoke about Fidelia.
“It’s the worst job imaginable for a woman, I think,” Jessamine whispered. “I’ve seen the doctor come and go almost daily, but I’ve been unable to speak with any of the women. Ever since the town instituted the shopping times for the whores last month, it’s not acceptable for me to mingle with them at the stores. I’m unable to speak with them, and, if I do, they will be taxed for my impertinence.” She frowned with frustration.
“That damn brute the Madam hired is always at the back door, and I can never see my way inside during the day. Thus, I thought to sneak in the back at night when the front was busy. I thought the occasion of the Harvest Festival dance would be the best night as they would be the busiest.”
Ewan shook his head. “Ye are the daftest woman. If ye had bothered to make friends with us, ye could have asked to deliver the basket to the Boudoir, and then ye could have been inside during the day.” He raised his eyebrows as her forehead furrowed. “Ye never did consider that option, did ye?”
At her head shake, he sighed. “Why would ye want to be upstairs when they are entertainin’ the men?”
“I wouldn’t call it entertainment.” Jessamine choked as though attempting to swallow a sob. “It was horrible. And I know why the doctor is there with such alarming frequency.” She met Ewan’s intent gaze. “He’s drugging them. Dulling their senses so they can continue to do this work, day in and out.”
Ewan shook his head in denial and then exhaled, seeming to droop in front of her. “Aye, ’tis what they all do in the end.” He met her gaze, his eyes filled with a deep sadness. “Poor Fidelia.”
Jessamine grabbed his hand and squeezed it before flushing and dropping it. “I beg your pardon.”
“There’s nothin’ to beg, except for startin’ a wee battle.” He sucked in a breath as he prodded at a sore rib. “I ken I’ll be barred for a while.”
“I’ll never understand why you go to the Boudoir.”
He flashed his charming smile, hissing when it pulled on his split lip. “Perhaps I like looking at pretty things.”
She shook her head as she peered deep into his eyes, as though seeing him for the first time. She shivered and dropped her gaze to the cloth that had fallen to the floor. “I doubt that’s the reason.” She forced a smile and rose. “You should be heading home.”
She froze as someone pounded on her front door and tried the lock. The door jangled, but the lock held.
“Ye should no’ be left alone tonight. Too many have drunk too much, and some will wonder if ye are fair game after what happened at the Boudoir. The report of the brawl will have spread by now and will have been exaggerated.” He watched her with concern. “Let me stay with ye.”
“That’s even more improper than me sneaking into the Boudoir tonight!” She shook her head but jumped as another pounded on her door. Her frightened gaze met his. After a moment she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Stay,” she whispered.
“Aye, I will,” he murmured.
He closed his eyes and stretched his legs in front of him as he listened to her perform her ablutions and slip into bed. “’Night, Jessie,” he whispered.
After a minute she said in a barely audible voice, “You shouldn’t spend the night in a chair without a blanket.”
He turned his head to her, lying on the bed with warm blankets around her and her red hair in a braid. “I see no choice.”
She stared at him for a moment. “The town already thinks I’m no better than a whore.”
He made a sound of disagreement in his throat. “What matters is what ye ken to be true.”
She nodded. “Good night, Ewan.”
He let out a deep breath, battling disappointment. “’Night, Jessie. Sleep well.” He shifted as he attempted to find a comfortable position. After a few minutes he settled into the chair, tugging his coat around him. He slitted his eyes open to watch Jessamine, curled on her side on her small bed. Although she appeared to sleep, her breathing was not the deep inhales of someone in slumber.
“Lay next to me,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t be in that chair all night.” She flicked up one blanket, leaving a sheet and another blanket as a barrier between them.
After kicking off his boots, he slid into bed beside her. “Thanks, Jessie.”
“You really shouldn’t call me that,” she mumbled as she tumbled into sleep.
He chuckled as he sensed that she had fallen asleep. The sounds of the town festivities echoed in the distance as his breathing deepened, and he also slipped into sleep.
Chapter 6
Ewan wo
ke, his sense of place slowly returning to him as he inhaled the scents of ink, paper, and a warm woman in his arms. He leaned forward, breathing in the subtle scent of Jessamine’s perfume. He inhaled again. Rosewater. He stilled in his movement that would bring him closer to her and retracted the hand he held around her waist. Momentary panic eased as he realized they were both fully dressed with a blanket separating them.
He kissed her blanket-covered shoulder in a whisper-soft goodbye kiss and eased out of the tiny cot. He froze when she moved toward his retreating form, but then she curled into the mattress and sighed with pleasure as he tucked the blankets around her. He pulled on his boots and tiptoed around the disorganized space. He sat on a stool and ran a hand over his face, his fingers scratching at the stubble. “What have I done?” he muttered to himself. He scrubbed at his hair and face. “I should have remained in the chair.”
The bright moonlight glinting in through the window indicated it was no later than two in the morning. However, he knew it would be difficult to sneak out of the newspaper office unseen, and he had promised her that he would remain to protect her from any unwanted visitors. And yet he knew he needed to leave before dawn. “I have such horrible luck.”
He sat for a few moments as he watched her sleep, battling tender and burgeoning feelings for her. He fought an overwhelming desire to crawl into bed beside her again. His fingers tapped on his knee as he suppressed mounting panic.
He rose, looking for a distraction, and moved to her desk. Moonlight streamed in, providing light on part of her desk and allowing him to read without a lamp. He smiled as he saw ideas for tall tales. He set aside a piece of paper and froze as he saw Leticia’s name under ideas for the News and Noteworthy section and the backbone of a story that had been sketched out.
“Nae,” he breathed. “Has she learned nothing?”
He looked over his shoulder at the woman resting peacefully on the bed, her red hair in its braid, and any harmony he felt earlier ebbed away. He clutched the paper in one hand, any thought of sneaking out before dawn forgotten. He sat on a lumpy chair near her miniscule living quarters with the proof of her foolishness in his hands and waited for her to awaken.
As the sun began to glint through the windows, J.P. stretched and arched her back. She hugged her arms around herself as she remembered a wondrous dream of being cherished and held in a man’s arms.
“Wake up, ye wee demon.”
She bolted upright, her braid of red hair falling down her back as she spun to face the irate voice. “Ewan! What are you doing here?” She glanced out the window and grimaced at the bright sunlight that burst through it.
“Did ye think it a dream? Me sleepin’ with ye?” He laughed as she paled. “Ye invited me into yer bed.”
She ran a hand over her clothes and then frowned at him. “I’m fully dressed.”
“Do ye no’ ken enough to realize it can be done fully clothed?” he taunted. When she paled even further, he shook his head. “Dinna worry, Jessie. I did no more than lie aside ye in that bed, with a blanket separating us.”
“Why are you still here?” she hissed as her gaze sharpened, and recollection of the previous night’s threats against her lit her expression. “I thought you’d leave before sunrise. Now the whole town will see you depart!” She shifted her legs to dangle over the side of the cot but stopped from rising when he thrust a piece of paper at her. She squinted once before focusing on the paper. “You had no right to rifle through my things while I slept!”
“I did no’ rifle! It was right there for all to see on top of yer desk. I was killing time as I tried to think of a way to escape here unseen. When I saw what ye were considering printing, I realized I could no’ leave. No’ when ye are hell-bent on ruinin’ her life.”
J.P. shook her head and stared at him with wonder. “What is it about you MacKinnons that makes you believe—whatever you do, whatever you have done—you are to be protected from the harsh realities of this world? That those around you do not have the right to know the truth about you?”
“An’ ye think ye are peddlin’ the truth with that vile rubbish?” he snapped as he pointed to the printing press. “If ye print that story, ye’ll be perpetratin’ lies and half-truths in an attempt to rip open wounds that have barely healed, all to sell a few copies of yer paper.”
“What’s wrong with titillating the masses?” She rose and moved past him. However, he clamped a hand onto her wrist and spun her to face him.
“Aye, I’ve complained to all who’d care to listen about how ye’ve treated me. About how ye write about me. But I’m a man. I can do what I like in this world and no’ be affected by its vicious double standards. Ye can no’ do this to Leticia!”
Jessamine took the piece of paper and pushed it into his chest. “Doesn’t it bother you that she tricked a mourning wealthy man into caring for her so she’d have a place to raise her bastard daughter? Doesn’t it matter to you that the one thing she does well is lie and cheat?”
“Do no’ ever again call Hortence that. Do ye want the whole MacKinnon clan against ye? Just try attacking my niece again in yer paper or afore any of us. Ye’ve caused the poor child enough torment with yer words, causing the schoolchildren to think she must be evil because she has red hair, like ye.” Ewan shook his head while Jessamine remained uncharacteristically silent. “All ye care to see about people in this world is the evil. The wrongdoin’s. The meanness. Ye have no ability to see the beauty, the joy, the hope.” His eyes shone with disillusionment as he backed away from her. “Ye refuse to acknowledge the sacrifices and the courage that most in this town exhibit daily to survive. To meet their neighbor’s call with a smile.”
“I’ve seen enough to know what it is to make my way in this world. To fight for what I have, even if it’s against my family’s wishes.”
He glared at her scornfully. “I had hoped ye were more than a scared little girl, playin’ at bein’ a woman, who thrived on the attention her paper brought her because she’d been denied the attention of her family for so long. Seems I was wrong.”
The sound of her hand slapping his cheek echoed through the room. “Don’t you dare judge me.”
“Aye, I will. An’ I’ll find ye wantin’ every time. For ye have no decency. Ye think exposin’ the secrets we want hidden means ye are doin’ a service for the town. Instead ye’re slowly rippin’ us apart.” He huffed and turned on his heel.
She grabbed his arm, preventing him from leaving. “What do you mean?” she asked, her brows furrowed in confusion.
“No one talks to each other the way we used to. There’s no real conversation at the café, the livery, the sawmill. Everyone watches each other with a wary regard, assumin’ what they say will end up in yer paper.” He shook his head. “Ye’ve managed to turn this town against itself in a few short months.”
She snorted. “That’s not my fault. If people didn’t have something to hide, they wouldn’t be wary.”
He bent forward, his face reddening with his ire. “Everyone has something to hide. Includin’ ye. Ye’d best hope no one discovers yer secrets because ye’ve made plenty of enemies, an’ many will take joy in seein’ ye suffer as ye’ve made others suffer from yer sharp tongue and ill-advised articles.” He shook his head with disgust.
She backed away. “I don’t believe you. I am a respected member of this town.”
“Fear doesna mean ye are respected. Think about that, Jessie.”
They watched each other for a long moment, their breaths emerging in pants. His irate gaze subtly altered, and she shivered at what she saw in his eyes. He raised a hand to brush aside a loose tendril of fiery red hair, while she clutched at the front of his shirt. He leaned forward, groaning as their lips met in a featherlight kiss. He fought his better instincts to tug her closer and deepened the kiss, his hand tightening in her hair as she leaned into him.
“God, I’ve wanted to kiss ye for so long,” he rasped as he peppered kisses over her neck as she arched to give hi
m better access.
“I thought you didn’t like me.” Then she gasped as one of Ewan’s hands roved over her backside and the other cupped a breast.
“I wouldna be disappointed, Jessie, if I dinna like ye …” He leaned forward, kissing her deeply again, the words “too much” lost in their embrace.
Someone banged on the glass. They sprung apart and spun to the door. He watched as she hastily tied her hair and took deep breaths. She tugged at a shawl over her shoulders and pulled it high on her neck to hide the scratches his beard had left. He raised an eyebrow at seeing her pale at the implication of someone finding him inside her locked newspaper office.
“Hide!” she snapped. She shoved him toward a cabinet and moved toward the front door, her shoulders back and head held high.
She stood in front of the door, preventing Walter Jameson from entering her office and home. “I am having a slow morning today, Mr. Jameson. If you will allow me time to begin the day before returning to discuss whatever concerns you?”
“I will not!” he bellowed. He held up a recent edition of the paper. “How dare you write these words about my sister! I thought you understood from our previous discussion that such articles were to cease!”
She pushed back against him when he attempted to enter her office. “I have asked you not to enter, and I am serious in my request.” She met his glare. “You are not welcome inside.”
He leaned forward, his fetid breath washing over her. “Do you have any idea what you have done? You are ruining her chances with another MacKinnon! There are no more after Ewan. What will she do?”
J.P. stood as tall as she could but remained at least half a foot shorter than Walter. “I’m certain your family will concoct some scheme that will continue to humiliate your sister. You never fail in that regard.”
She gasped as his hand lashed out and grabbed a fistful of her hair. “You will cease writing about my family, or you will answer to me. Take my word for it that you will not enjoy it.”
Montana Maverick Page 10
