by Bella Grace
“I take it there’s one you wish you’d contracted yourself, my friend?”
“Olivia Prescott. Her elder sister has already married Logan Gallagher. Her younger sister is breaking every lumberjack’s heart from here to Port Gamble, and Olivia seems too bemused by something within her own thoughts to give any of the men her full attention.”
“You’ve spent time with her, then?”
“Of course not. I’ve kept my distance from all of the women, and eschewed temptation by working late instead of attending any of the social events. I’ve only observed them in the store and kept an ear open when Hattie spins her yarns and pours drinks at the inn. She’s mentioned Olivia’s preference for books over any of the men she’s met. That in itself is almost as appealing to me as her slender frame and lovely face.”
Jack laughed whole-heartedly for the first time since he’d left New York. “I’m afraid to meet this Olivia of yours. If there weren’t a contract on her head, we might have a time sorting her out between us.”
“We would indeed, my friend. We would indeed.”
Chapter 2
Lizzie Gallagher’s Journal, December 31, 1864
Port Steele, Washington Territory
If the pre-dawn of this New Year is any indication of what 1865 holds in store, I fear I shall have to wage the most vicious battle of my life. I have paced the floors since my dear sisters left to join the ladies at the inn, and now have taken pen in hand to occupy my worried mind until Logan and Gage return from the docks with news that will either flood me with relief or sink me with resolve. I’ve no doubt our uncle will stop at nothing to retrieve what he has no right to claim, especially since his previous attempt to prosecute me failed and his cohort, Winston Farrier, proved to be ineffective for him and profitable for my husbands. If either Olivia or Amelia falls into Uncle Robert’s hands, the marriage he will force her into will be even more brutal than the first one I endured. I will not allow my sisters to fall victim to such a heinous fate or to pay for the rage our uncle feels for me.
* * * *
The chatter and rustle of skirts that filled the gaudy parlor of the only boarding house in town sank into Olivia with a comforting familiarity. Strangely, she felt more connected with her adopted society here in the rugged Washington Territory than she had ever felt in the respectable social circles she’d been born into in Boston.
Most of the twenty-two women who had endured the trip from the East Coast together had gathered to await the arrival of their escorts for the evening. Though the room could easily accommodate them all, two groups stood huddled so tightly their dresses brushed one another with every movement. The groups were divided by an imaginary line that had been drawn along the center of the threadbare carpets. These alliances had been forged on the long passage from Boston, via New York to South America, where they traded their ship for a train then boarded another ship, which carried them through the fog of San Francisco and eventually to their new home.
The women who had looked to Lizzie for guidance on the long, miserable, storm-ridden passage from Boston and continued to trust her judgment on these dank foreign shores gathered along the fireplace wall. Wedding bands circled eight fingers in Lizzie’s camp, and two bellies protruded beneath skirt pleats.
The women who misguidedly entrusted their navigation through these unfamiliar social affairs to Constance Kendall instead of Lizzie surrounded their underhanded leader on the opposite side of the room. Four of them had married and were easy to spot with their more conservative necklines. Hattie Red, the innkeeper and house sage of impropriety, bustled around the room pouring thimbles of sherry for the women who desperately clung to the conventions of their former lives. She doled out whiskey in cut-crystal highballs for those who had given in to the harsh realities of their new homeland.
Rumors swirled that Hattie had run a house of ill-repute in Seattle and had been persuaded to move her business to the shores of Bachelor Bay by one of the pioneer business owners, an entrepreneur who believed a fortune lay in wait for anyone who could provide the lumberjacks with women, booze, and a place to gamble their hard-earned money. He, of course, intended to hold at least partial ownership of any such business, including Hattie’s inn. According to accounts, Hattie would neither confirm nor deny that the business owner found it in his best interest to shutter his shop when the Gallagher brothers took over their parents’ lumber company and demanded that the men who worked for them to be treated with integrity.
Outside, rain thickened the muddy streets and added a deep, damp chill to the already wintry air. The women had become accustomed to relentless downpours in the past seven months since their arrival. Neither a boot, nor a yard of wool had escaped the muck. On days when the sun broke through the clouds, the benefit of the rains could truly be appreciated. The land sprouted every shade of green and trees grew so tall, looking up at them was dizzying. By Olivia’s observance, such overgrowth bred brawny lumbermen as wild as the land itself. Only women with fortitude could properly domesticate such men. Perhaps having the courage to leave the comforts back East for such unfamiliar circumstances demonstrated such required fortitude.
Constance had lifted her chin as Olivia and Amelia walked into the inn, and she continued to maintain a posture of proud defiance. She was nearly as outwardly beautiful as Amelia. Dark ringlets lay against her plump, creamy shoulders. A paisley scarf, folded on the diagonal, wrapped around her upper arms and was pinned in place with a brooch that glittered from across the room. Unfortunately, Olivia had grown certain the heart of a snake beat beneath the fleshy mounds of her plentiful chest.
“It must absolutely kill her that Lizzie married before she did,” Amelia whispered behind a gloved hand.
Olivia could not suppress her smile. “Yes, I’m certain it does. Unfortunately, that only gives her more motivation for vengeance. I’m quite certain any man who shows an interest in one of us will fast become her next object of desire.”
Amelia lifted her skirts and rubbed her boots on the matting Hattie had placed in front of the door. The women who had sailed into Bachelor Bay along with Olivia and her sisters were given free boarding at the hotel until they found suitable husbands. When Lizzie married, she welcomed Olivia and Amelia into her new home, no doubt to keep them under her ever-watchful eye and out of reach of Constance and her catty cohorts.
The only downfall to their new living arrangement was the necessity to trek through the rain whenever they needed to join the other women for a social event or community service project. Tonight, the Gallaghers had arranged for the women to be picked up at the hotel and escorted over to the mess hall turned dancehall. Unfortunately, the mode of transportation was canvas-covered wagons that had been constructed to haul just about anything but a lady’s dignity. Carriages were unheard of here, not that they would be of any use at all sunken to their hubs in black mud. Transportation, like everything else in Port Steele, tended to err on the side of practicality.
Olivia and Amelia cleaned their boots enough to step off the mats just as the door flung open and the threshold was filled with the hulking frame of the most striking man Olivia had ever laid eyes on.
His quality wool trousers and coat could have come straight out of the window of Boston’s finest tailor. It was a pity the trousers’ hem revealed traces of the mud that covered the toes and heels of his boots. Olivia cordoned the urge to offer her hand at cleaning him up. She didn’t care to be anyone’s handmaid, but a man who put that much effort into his clothing deserved a sharp feminine eye to help him tend to the details. Though his size rivaled that of the biggest men in area, his careful appearance was a rarity among the lumberjacks, and his wardrobe was definitely not of the town’s typical variety.
Constance lifted her skirts and hurried across the room. Olivia’s spine stiffened. If Constance believed for a moment she or Amelia had an interest in this man, she would make it a point to win him for herself just to spite them. And while Amelia could hold her own against any wo
man, Olivia knew she didn’t stand a chance of out charming Constance and her ever-displayed bosom.
“Sir! I don’t believe we’ve been acquainted.” Constance put just enough breath in her voice to ensure she had his undivided attention. “Let me offer a terribly improper introduction of myself.”
He bent to kiss her proffered hand, but his touch didn’t linger. “Jack Bartlett. Bartlett Mercantile and Machinery. I’ve just returned from attending personal business on the East Coast.”
His manners and proper, clipped enunciation set Olivia’s heart aflutter almost as much as his hazy blue eyes and beautifully masculine features.
“Oh. How very impressive, Mr. Bartlett,” Constance crooned. “You have been sorely missed in your absence.”
“I fear your silver tongue may be deceptive, my dear. My business partner, Aaron, keeps the mercantile running smoothly while I’m away, and there is hardly a shortage of men to clamor for your attention here in Port Steele. I’m quite certain my absence went entirely unnoticed.”
Constance covered her mouth with her fingertips as she laughed. Olivia’s heart sank as color rose in Constance’s cheeks. She flirted so naturally she could blush on command!
Olivia watched in dismay as Constance continued her feminine assault on the handsome Mr. Bartlett.
“Yes, men are as plentiful as raindrops here in this uncivilized wilderness of yours,” Constance said. “But quality is so much more important than quantity, Mr. Bartlett. Surely a man of your distinguished taste and impeccable dress can appreciate my opinion on that.”
“Yes, I don’t suppose we’d disagree on that, Miss…?”
“I am Constance Margaret Kendall of the Boston Kendalls, by way of Philadelphia.”
“Boston and Philadelphia, two of my favorite cities. A far cry from this uncivilized wilderness of ours. Now if you’ll excuse me, Miss Kendall…”
Constance stepped forward blocking his path as he began to fully enter the room. “Surely, you don’t mean to dismiss me, Mr. Bartlett. Our conversation has only just begun.” Despite the quirk of his brow and the faint line of irritation that creased his forehead, Constance stepped even closer and continued. “My family owns a dry goods store in the heart of Boston proper.”
“Then you must have been quite the family disappointment to find yourself in our unsavory town.” He smiled politely. “I will take that as my counsel and mind that I don’t get caught up in your beauty or entrapped by your undoubtedly well-practiced, but possibly ineffective manipulations.”
Olivia’s mouth popped open, and Amelia failed to sufficiently stifle a snicker. Gasps erupted from both sides of the room. Color rose in Constance’s cheeks, and she drew her arm back as if to land a slap across Jack Bartlett’s handsome, clean-shaven face.
A figure in the doorway caught her eye, and she immediately pasted a smile on her painted lips. “Mr. Petty, my darling. You have appeared just in time to rescue me from this beast of a man’s brutal tongue.”
Miles Petty, the co-owner of the Gallaghers’ biggest logging competitor, quirked an eyebrow at the mercantile owner. “I see you’ve met my dear Constance.”
“Yes, and now I will leave her to your attentions.”
Olivia had been living with the Gallaghers long enough to know few of the local businessmen thought highly of Miles. She had formed her own opinion as well. Whether Miles was a shady businessman or not, the Gallaghers had paid passage for potential brides for the men in their employ. To have a business competitor unabashedly courting one of those women seemed almost vulture-like and, at the very least, in poor taste.
The only man Olivia would have cared to see walk through the door less than Miles Petty was her Uncle Robert. Hopefully, Lizzie would be able to confirm the rumor that their uncle had arrived in Port Steele to be untrue. Until such news set her and Amelia’s minds at ease, Jack Bartlett promised to be a most welcome distraction.
Jack moved further into the room without exchanging a handshake or pleasantries with Miles. Olivia forgot all about Miles and her Uncle Robert the moment Jack’s gaze fell upon her. He paused in his tracks, as if taken aback by her presence, and for a moment, neither of them moved a muscle. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart pounded in her chest.
Once the temporary paralysis passed, she reached back to self-consciously pat the smooth, schoolmarm twist of hair at her nape and slid her glasses up her nose. The man was mesmerizing. As firelight danced in his smoky eyes, the heat of embarrassment crept up her neck. Perhaps she should have taken more time with her appearance.
She sighed and let her gaze drift to the floor. She shouldn’t tease herself with such wistful thinking. A man as handsome as Jack Bartlett would not waste his time courting a woman as unremarkable as her, and he wasn’t one of the Gallaghers’ lumberjacks that she was contracted to marry anyway.
Jack Bartlett crossed the space between them and held out his hand, palm up. “You know my name, but I haven’t yet had the pleasure of hearing yours.”
Olivia placed her hand in his and shivered when his lips brushed her skin.
“Olivia Prescott. Mr. Bartlett, the pleasure is mine.”
“Olivia Prescott, is it?” His lips quirked, and then his laughter roared through the room.
The heated embarrassment that had flooded Olivia quickly flared into the fire of humiliation.
“I can’t say that I understand why you find my name so amusing.” Her cheeks flamed, and she bit her tongue from keep from further taking him to task for his rudeness.
“Please. I apologize. It’s not your name I find amusing.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I was told you were the most intriguing woman in town. I found it amusing that I found myself equally mesmerized the moment I laid eyes on you without knowing who you were.”
Olivia’s hand flew to her heart. Amelia’s eyes widened, and she gave an almost imperceptible nod of approval.
“Mr. Bartlett, I find such blatantly untrue flattery a little offensive. Are you sure you aren’t using lovely words to disguise the true reason you laughed at my name?”
Jack Bartlett continued to hold her hand in his. He moved so close his breath feathered her ear when he spoke. “Miss Prescott. I assure you, there was nothing untrue about what I said. You have more than one man in this town smitten, and neither of us has sufficiently gotten to know you yet.”
Before Olivia could gather a response from the odd flutter of thoughts running through her mind, Jack stepped back and released her hand.
Hattie crossed the room carrying a glass of whiskey. “I hope you brought back plenty of books. Olivia has read every novel in Port Steele more than once. She’s our resident librarian.”
“Is that so?” He lifted his glass to Hattie. “It’s high time we had a library. I’m profoundly more impressed by Miss Prescott every moment I’m in her presence.” He turned back to Olivia. “Is it true you’ve read every novel in Port Steele?”
She nodded and realized with a sinking feeling he must think her the dullest bookworm to grace the planet.
He cocked his head in what could have either been a mocking tease or an accusatory challenge. Olivia could only guess which. “When Aaron mentioned you, he didn’t say you’d been nosing through my bookshelf.”
“Of course I haven’t!” The accusation stung in her cheeks like a slap. “And I’m afraid I’ve yet to meet an Aaron in your…lovely…town.”
Jack threw his head back and laughed again. “Not a fan of our little town either, Miss Prescott? Aaron is my business partner. You’ve no doubt seen him at the mercantile.”
Olivia blushed for reasons Jack Bartlett could never guess. The only man she’d seen on this side of Bachelor Bay that intrigued her nearly as much as the man standing before her was Mr. Lambert. Most of the times she’d been in the store, he’d been bent over books in the back while a young stock boy attended to the customers, but when he’d gazed upward to scratch his jaw in contemplation or reach for another of the books he kept st
acked around him, she found herself holding her breath, hoping to catch more than a fleeting glimpse of his masculine features. Or worse…imagining his hands, his body…Oh my!
“I have seen Mr. Lambert, but we’ve not been introduced, and I had not heard his given name. Actually, I do enjoy the breathtaking beauty of your little town, Mr. Bartlett, when the rain stops long enough for me to see it.”
“I shall have to make certain you get a proper tour of Port Steele the minute our dreadful weather meets your approval. And it is high time you were properly introduced to Mr. Lambert. We will call at your door as soon as the clouds clear.”
* * * *
Lizzie hurried to the front of the house at the sound of heavy boots on the porch. She flung the door open, praying Logan and Gage would bring the news she hoped for. Her mouth fell open in horror.
“Hello, Elizabeth.” Robert Prescott stepped forward as if to brush past her. His waxed mustache drooped from the humidity, and his thick, unruly eyebrows held drops of rain like prisoners between their wiry hairs.
She blocked the doorway. “You’ve not been invited to enter my home.”
“I will not tolerate your rudeness. Move aside.”
She stood her ground. “You will find my husband to be less welcoming than I am.”
“Your husband and brother-in-law will be tied up in some business matters for a little while. I’ve made arrangements to give us enough time to discuss some business of our own.”
She cringed at the reference to Gage as her brother-in-law. For practical purposes, she couldn’t let on differently. But her heart belonged to both Logan and Gage. She was no more a wife to one than to the other, except on the marriage certificate that declared she and Logan had legally wed.
“We’ve no business between us. You have no claim to me now that I’ve married again.” She braced herself against the doorframe and hid her other trembling hand behind her back. Steel sounded in her voice, but inside, she rattled like a child. The torture she had endured because of this man came alive every time she saw his face. She dared not underestimate his intentions or let him think he had the upper hand. His responsibility for the death of their parents may remain unproven, but she had no doubt he stood behind the murders. She must not forget the level of violence in his capacity or her resolve to protect her sisters from him. He would never draw another ounce of blood from her family while she pulled breath into her lungs.
