Cowboy of Mine

by Red L. Jameson

  After rolling his eyes, Jake scanned the street as he always did before feeling comfortable. It was still colder than Hades with no snow to show for it. However, today he could smell it.

  Coming from the moisture-rich Highlands, he was used to wet snow. Sometimes it would come down drier, lighter, make piles to gather snowballs and launch sieges against the neighbor lads. Ah, the times he’d had as a boy. But this Montana weather was different. Strange. The dry air crackled under the tension, almost craving for the release of snow. It smelled like a lightning storm. It smelled like trouble.

  The Grande Pintlar Hotel sat upon a hill, high over downtown Butte. The Copper Kings, once they had bought their many mines in the county, had settled upon this expanse to ensure their kind never mixed with the mining kin who lived in the valley, the center of the city. Butte itself snuggled between some of the tallest mountains Jake had ever seen. Granted, the Highlands had their fair share of high crags, but this...this was the Continental Divide. Here, the Rocky Mountains towered with white tops, almost bragging of their stolen snow, intimidating as hell. He’d heard tales of the miners who’d lost their lives to the surrounding mountains, trying to find the rare gold nugget.

  Like the crags around it, Butte could be hard and unforgiving too, he’d heeded. At the hotel, though, they desperately tried to replace the feel of the booming mining town with opulence. Similar to Mr. Baker’s house, it was trying too hard with it grandiosity, too red inside, too starkly white outside, too large of a building for such a hill. Yet there were a few hotels just down the knoll and up trying to compete with its stature. The dirt road the hotel sat upon was frozen, appearing more gray than of earth. Lined along the street were small shops, all catering to the hotel. Parallel to the lane were side paths covered with thin, long, sometimes broken planks. For the ladies to traverse. And here in Butte, Jake had seen more ladies than anywhere in Montana. Some, like the giggling loon a couple yards away, dressed in gaudy gold silk, standing out from the environment in an alarming way, almost shouting, “I’m as fake as pyrite!” Lord, he was blessed to have Meredith who made no such pretenses. Then again, she was as lovely as the wilds of Montana and just as fierce. She had no need for a façade.

  Scooting two chairs far away from the tittering couple, Jake guided Cat to a seat, then sat opposite her, pushing a tad closer so they could speak in whispers.

  She took the hint and lowered her voice. “Before Mr. Baker could dare say a word, Bruisner extended some blueprints for a...a raining bathtub. I’ve heard of such a thing in some of the richest of houses in England, but Bruisner said his scheme would make it so even the poor man could afford a shower. I ken it sounds farfetched, but—”

  “Nay, it doesn’.” Jake shook his head. If possible, Jake was even more disgusted by this Bruisner fellow he had yet to meet, and how he’d love to bullwhip the man when he did. With a growl he said, “‘Tis my Meredith’s invention.”

  “Ye don’t say. She’s an inventor?”

  “What did I invent?”

  Jake glanced up, somehow a bit surprised Meredith had found him, and part of him wasn’t shocked at all. The woman was tenacious. Leaving her behind had been about as easy as pulling teeth. She wore that lovely purple silk contraption, setting her eyes to look even more magnificent. He had no clue how she could have done up all those tiny buttons in such a flash. Lord, she was dogged.

  “The shower, darlin’.” He rose and extended a hand so she might sit close to Cat, whom she regarded with a severe expression. Wee Fury was jealous? Lord, he’d love it if she were. Finally, she sat with an almost imperceptible growl, when he said, “Bruisner was at Mr. Baker’s house. Baker’s the vice president of the Butte Mining Company, by the by. Bruisner showed blueprints of yer design. Meredith, love, this is Caitlyn O’Neil, governess of Mr. Baker’s children.”

  Cat extended a shaky hand. She probably had more than eight inches on Meredith, but it was easy to spot how his woman could intimidate the Irish lass. Her visage was nothing but fierce grace, the likes only seen in wild horses.

  “Miss O’Neil,” Meredith said with a cordial enough nod and shake of the hand.

  “Miss—Miss—Mrs. Cameron? Sorry, but Jake never told me yer surname. Or did the two of ye marry already?”

  Meredith’s harsh mien turned soft, her eyes looking hazy. “What?”

  Jake nearly chuckled, if he weren’t more worried about Bruisner. Ah, but Cat shocked Meredith, talking about marrying him.

  “Nay, but Meredith surprised me by being here.”

  Cat smiled up at him. “Nice surprise for ye then.”

  “Indeed.”

  Cat’s cheeks took a turn toward red. She glanced down at her lap. “I—I have a surprise myself in my chamber.”

  Meredith’s stern expression returned and with a vengeance.

  Jake balanced on her chair’s arm, since she wasn’t using it, trying to hold back his laughter. He was fairly certain she was jealous. And he liked it. Lord, help him but he did.

  “Yer man’s in yer chamber?” he asked quietly.

  Cat nodded, still looking down at her twisted fingers, but then shot her gaze at Meredith. “Not that we’ve done anything...we haven’t...that is to say...”

  Meredith smiled, finally looking at ease. “Your...beau is in your room. That’s wonderful.”

  Jake leaned closer to Meredith’s ear, whispering. “Her beau’s Blackfoot.”

  Meredith’s lips slightly gaped.

  Cat swallowed, gauging Meredith’s reaction. Her red brows furrowed, and the similar color reminded Jake of Duncan, his older brother. He wanted to tell Meredith about the man, how he’d idolized his brother since he was a bairn, how he worried he’d never see him again, never see any of his brothers. Swallowing, he reminded himself to tell her more about his life, his past. He still worried about telling her his age, now over two hundred years old, but he might get to that eventually. Oh, but he nearly couldn’t wait. The look on her face when he would relay that he was, indeed, much older than she would be priceless.

  Besides, what if she were from another time? What if she were more like him?

  Meredith scooted to the lip of her chair, her hand stretched out and lay on Cat’s nervous ones. “Are you worried?”

  Cat nodded.

  “Can I do anything to help?”

  Cat smiled, her eyes rimming red. She glanced up at Jake. “Ye have to marry her. I love her too.”

  Jake silently chuckled. “Oh, yes. See, my Meredith is one of the strongest people ye’ll ever meet. Ifnye need help, she’d dry oceans, blast through mountains, and other chaos to make sure ye get it. That’s my lass.”

  Meredith looked up at him, swallowing. Her own eyes misted and turned slightly pink, intensifying the purple within. He hadn’t meant to make her cry, but the look of gratitude on her visage—oh, it was all worth it.

  “Ah, there you are,” a thoroughly English voice called out. Although it was deep and rasped slightly, there was no mistaking the patrician accent of Will’s. He looked thoroughly American to boot, with black trousers and a black greatcoat that hung low, even wearing black muddy boots. But there was something about being born into nobility that no matter how one tried to conceal it was still there. With Will it wasn’t a sense of entitlement. In fact, Jake thought him trying his damnedest to compensate for his birth. Nay, it was more his seeming to apologize for being born an aristocrat.

  Cat’s face tensed, instantly showing a sneer. Jake stood and tried to push his palms out to counter her instant hatred of all things English.

  “Erva, darling, I found Meredith on the porch with her Jake,” Will called out over his shoulder. He smiled as his wife’s footsteps approached, then she shimmied up to him, wearing a blue silk dress similar to Meredith’s, and they strolled closer.

  Meredith stood as Erva rushed to her, embracing her with a kiss on her cheek.

  “Sleep well?”

  Meredith blushed and looked at Jake, which made him grin down to
his toes.

  “Me too.” Erva giggled as she looped an arm around her husband’s waist. She glanced at Jake. “Hello! Good morning.”

  Jake hadn’t taken his hat off and felt like a moron tipping it at her. He should take it off, although, Will wore his too.

  “I’m Erva, Meredith’s friend,” she said to Cat, extending a hand to her.

  Cat stared at Will as if he were the devil.

  “He’s a good man. I swear,” Jake whispered.

  Suddenly, Will coughed. It wasn’t as if he caught something in his throat. It had sounded like concealed astonishment. Cat narrowed her eyes all the more.

  “Are you—are you talking about my husband?” Erva asked, her voice turning defensive.

  Will smiled warmly and bowed to Cat. “I’m William Hill.”

  “Why is she staring at you like you have snakes for eyes?” Erva asked, now her tone was noticeably angry.

  “I’d guess because she thinks I’m English.” Will tried to explain, contritely looking around the group.

  “Well, ye are. I hear it plain as day,” Cat spat.

  “Caitlyn, that’s no way to talk to the man,” Jake berated. “He’s a good one. I assure ye.”

  Will coughed again, this time Jake turned to him. Somehow Meredith had skirted just outside of the group, leaning against a stair rail down closer to the frozen dirt road. He caught sight of her, grinning. She shrugged at him and mouthed, “It’s nice not being the bad guy for once.”

  Jake wished she didn’t see herself this way, but he couldn’t seem to help himself from returning her smile. He turned back to Will, thinking of how to appease Cat, when the man smiled at him with his own eyes narrowed.

  “I’m sorry, I just—my wife told me you were Irish.”

  “Meredith told me he was Irish.”

  Jake glanced over the crowd at his wee woman, now looking thoroughly confused. “Ye thought me Irish?”

  “I’m the Irish here.” Cat bellowed.

  “But you speak Gaelic,” Meredith said with the tilt of her head.

  “Scottish Gaelic, I believe, yes?” Will asked.

  Jake nodded. “Aye.”

  “You’re Scottish?” Meredith asked, somehow she skittered a step below the porch. She seemed to lose her balance for a second, but caught herself.

  “Aye. I can’ believe ye thought me Irish.”

  “And what’s wrong with being Irish?” Cat yelled.

  “Nothing’s wrong with the Irish. Even I know that.” Will said, still trying to tame Cat.

  “You spoke with that fake accent. How was I to know you were Scottish?” Meredith asked, her brows furrowed. But she wasn’t acting defensively. She merely looked intrigued if anything.

  “Well, I’m Scottish, a Highlander at that, lass.” He released his brogue then.

  Meredith surprised him by arching a brow seductively, a mischievous smile growing on her face.

  “Oh, darling,” Will said cheeringly to his wife. “You’d like this. Jake, tell me whether I’m pronouncing it correctly, Ceart gu leòr. It means something like, okay, right?”

  “Right enough.” Jake nodded.

  “You speak Scottish Gaelic too?” Erva smiled and swooned closer to her husband.

  “Well, I suppose he’s not all bad if he speaks a little Gaelic,” Cat said almost more to herself.

  “Tha, beagan.” Will wagged his dark brows at his wife.

  She moaned while fluttering her dark lashes. Then she looked at Jake. “What’d he say?”

  “‘Yes, a little.’” Jake translated. He caught Meredith grinning at him too.

  “How’d an Englishman learn Scottish Gaelic?” Cat asked, becoming nervous again.

  “The Black Guard,” Will answered nonchalantly.

  But then Erva smacked his shoulder, looking pointedly at him.

  “Ye were in the military then?” Cat accused with a hiss.

  Even that had Jake’s full attention. Once Cromwell had usurped the land for the Parliamentary rule, the English officers had turned into English demons, killing or enslaving all Highland men, it had seemed.

  “He’s a doctor. A psychiatrist, like Sigmund Freud,” Erva said quickly.

  Will hissed in a breath. “Darling, Freud only graduated from university six years ago or so. Mayhap seven.”

  Erva winced then smiled around the group, further confusing everyone, except, it seemed, Meredith. She continued smiling up at Jake, making his stomach feel gloriously buoyant. Damn, he loved her. He truly loved her.

  “I don’t care what kind of doctor he is,” Cat sneered. “Are ye a doctor in the English Army?”

  Jake wondered if Cat would find fault in Will no matter what.

  The on-and off-again tension of the small group of people around him had taken his attention for merely a few seconds. That’s all it took. He barely registered the muffled cry from Meredith’s direction. But he saw her arms waving about. Turning, Jake caught the thump-thump-thump of her little slippered feet sliding down the stairs to the street.

  At first, it didn’t make sense, seeing Meredith in another man’s arms. But then he registered her terror. Her wild violet eyes turned into a fearsome storm as the man wrapped her tightly against him, holding her still with one arm around her chest and stomach. His other hand aimed a gun at her temple.

  Chapter 23

  “You’re a quick one, aren’t you?”

  The words were whispered into Meredith’s ear, and she felt that accompanying them was a spray of oil. She shuddered, realizing Bruisner had somehow captured her. Seconds ago, he’d taken her by the neck, making breathing impossible. She’d scratched at his coat, clawing her way to another breath. When he settled his arm across her chest, she was so thankful to breathe again, she almost didn’t think about her trapped arms under his snake-like one. But by then he’d pushed the barrel of a pistol against her head. Now, she was too afraid to inhale.

  “Did you speak with Mr. Baker immediately upon your arrival here? Did you have the time to clean up beforehand? Did you wear this whorish dress? Did you give Mr. Baker any favors to ensure his toward you?”

  With every word Bruisner whispered, he hissed into her ear, making her trembling amplify, fear peeling down her spine, as if it were skinning her bones of their veneer.

  “Unhand her this instant,” Will shouted.

  Meredith glanced up at the crowd of her...friends. Erva had already bounded down a couple steps toward her, Will holding her back, both their faces wrapped in concern and fear for her. Miss O’Neil held her hands over her mouth as if repressing a scream. And Jake, lovely Jake’s face warped into animalistic anger. He had his hand on his hip, but he hadn’t belted his sidepiece on before he’d talked to Miss O’Neil. And for that he seemed doubly frustrated, his brows drawn, the hollows of his cheeks looking even more so as his jaw jutted out.

  As much as she feared for her life, as much as terror coursed through her, the sight of Jake helped her keep calm. She loved him. That was all that mattered. She’d made mistakes, and he didn’t fault her for them.

  I see yer scars. And I see so much more, he’d said as she had. Her mistakes were her emotional scars, she knew. But she was so much more than a thief and a liar. Somehow, she was a loyal friend and a woman who knew love. True love, where she didn’t have to fight or hustle to earn it. It just was. And it was perfect.

  “I don’t have a job now, Meredith,” Bruisner susurrated in her ear, almost seeming another world away. “Thanks to you, Mr. Baker fired me.”

  “I didn’t talk to Mr. Baker.” Her voice was surprisingly calm.

  “I did,” Jake’s own composed voice boomed throughout the frozen moment, echoing across the road. “So take me instead.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Bruisner screamed.

  “That there is Sheriff Cameron,” another voice called out.

  Bruisner shuffled his feet, carrying her slightly to turn and see another man in the street. He bore a gigantic walrus white mustache and an o
bvious silver star on his chest. He also happened to have the lightest blue eyes Meredith had ever seen. Like two glaciers, they seemed to reflect icy azure and bore down on the man at her back.

  “Cameron?” Erva whispered.

  “Oh my God,” Will said a bit louder, suddenly glancing up at Jake.

  Bruisner laughed. “Why, Sheriff Henderson, how nice to see you. I’ve come to arrest this woman for you and take her away.”

  “What’s her charge?” Henderson said gruffly.

  “Isn’t it obvious? She’s a whore,” Bruisner spat.

  Jake growled.

  “No, she ain’t,” Henderson argued patiently, as if he were talking to a child. “Besides, even if she were, prostitution is legal in these parts. And you know it.”

  Bruisner held her closer, smashing his body against hers. “It is prohibited for a woman of her caliber to whore herself, I’m sure. Maybe it’s not in any legal book, but women like her...shouldn’t do the things they do.”

  That was when Meredith was certain Bruisner was pathological. And he held a gun to her head. God. Oh God. Help her.

  “Like what, Bruisner? What did she do?” Henderson asked, again looking as though he was merely trying to parent an errant youngster. He took a small stride to the left, more in the middle of the street. Then, from the corner of Meredith’s eye, she saw Coyote in his human form. His face was just as severe as Jake’s, and he hurriedly walked closer to where everyone stood, carrying something.

  Bruisner adjusted his hold of her, swaying her in front of him as he faced off against Sheriff Henderson. Moving had made it more difficult to see Jake. Jake. She had to see him. Craning her neck, she saw his tense face, the fury rolling through his eyes, transforming the gray into black storms.