Montana Maverick Read online

  He held the bottle in his hand before moving to the small kitchen area. He rummaged before he found a clean spoon. When he sat on the edge of the bed, he held the bottle and spoon in one hand and rubbed a finger over J.P.’s brow. “How are ye, Jessie?” he whispered.

  “Hurts,” she rasped. She opened pain-dulled eyes to him, eyes that had only ever been full of life. “Every breath is an agony,” she breathed in a voice so low he barely heard her.

  Ewan watched as Annabelle turned away, battling a sob. “I have medicine for ye. ’Twill take away yer pain.” He watched as she closed her eyes as though in agreement. “’Tis laudanum.”

  “If you give that to me, don’t leave me.” She gasped as she took a too-deep breath.

  “Do ye want the medicine, Jessie?” Ewan asked. He softly placed a palm against her cheek.

  “Yes.” A tear trickled out.

  He frowned, and his hand shook as he measured out a small dose. “I’ll give ye a wee amount, and then we’ll see if ye need more. Is that all right?” He eased the spoon into her mouth and waited until he knew she had swallowed the medicine. After setting aside the bottle and spoon, he held her hand, his thumb tracing patterns over her skin. “I will no’ leave ye.”

  After a few minutes her breathing evened out and her hold on his hand slackened. He focused on Annabelle. “Are ye all right, Anna?”

  She sat on the chair beside him, quiet and drawn. “Yes. It made me realize how much Fidelia had been hurt earlier this year. How much she can be hurt again. And I hate that there is nothing I can do to help her. That she still wants nothing to do with me.”

  Ewan made a sound of agreement deep in his throat but refrained from saying more.

  Annabelle rose. “I should return home. Cailean will be frantic when he realizes I’m gone.” She squeezed his shoulder. “It isn’t proper for you to remain here, Ewan. Come with me, and we’ll send Sorcha over to sit with her.”

  Ewan snorted and shook his head. “Sorcha would poison Jessie with the medication.” He rubbed at his forehead. “I promised Jessie that I’d stay, and I will no’ break that promise.” His gaze was haunted by memories. “Dinna ask me to.”

  Annabelle nodded and squeezed his shoulder again. “I’ll save dinner for you. If you aren’t home at a decent hour, I’ll have Cailean bring you a plate.”

  Ewan nodded his agreement. “Thank ye, Anna. I couldna have asked anyone else to aid me today. The others were too angry.”

  Ewan barely acknowledged her departure as he remained focused on Jessamine. He told her stories from his youth, about his travels to the United States and his reunion with his brothers. He held her hand as she battled pain and her fear of the medicine that was to aid her. The sky darkened as night fell, and he lit a lamp so as to see her face.

  Hours later he jumped as a hand clapped him on the shoulder. He looked up to meet his eldest brother’s worried gaze. “Eat.” Cailean thrust a plate of food at him and shook his head to dissuade him from arguing. After Ewan accepted the food, Cailean pulled over the lumpy chair Ewan had sat in the previous night and collapsed into it.

  “Why are ye here, Ewan?” Cailean asked, his accent stronger in his agitation. “Ye have to ken what this will mean.”

  Ewan wolfed down the meat loaf and potatoes. He paused before attacking the piece of apple pie. “I ken what I’m doing.”

  “Do ye? Do ye understand that ye’ll have to wed her if ye don’t leave here with me? It’s night, and the longer ye remain here, the worse it appears.” He sighed and clasped his hands together in front of him before meeting his youngest brother’s defiant gaze. “She’s not Flora.”

  Ewan jerked as though Cailean had punched him. “Aye, I ken that well enough.”

  Cailean took another deep breath, calming his emotions. “You don’t have to try to save her. Or any of the others. There is no way you can.”

  “Ye believe that’s why I go to the Boudoir?” Ewan asked. “Ye think it’s because I’m intent on savin’ women who have no interest in leavin’ such a place?” He set the plate on the floor with a thud and looked at Jessamine who rested on the bed.

  “Why else do you go there? Why do you torment yourself when I know you don’t go upstairs and partake of the favors they offer?” Cailean’s hazel eyes shone with confusion and concern.

  “The last time I saw her was at a place like the Boudoir.” He shook his head as though in defeat and shrugged. “When I’m there, I feel close to her, if only for an instant.”

  “You’ll never see her again, Ewan,” Cailean said, his voice harsher than he intended.

  Ewan nodded and clenched his jaw. “Aye, I ken that.” He raised bleak eyes, made all the bleaker as his cheerful mask was completely absent. “I’ve always kent that.” He took a deep breath. “She’s been dead for years.”

  Cailean exhaled and gripped his brother’s arm. “I’m sorry, Ewan. I didn’t know.”

  Ewan shrugged his shoulders. “When I advised you to find another, before you met Anna, I knew what I was talking about, Cailean.” His bittersweet smile did little to ease his long-held sorrow. “I’m a hypocrite though. I willna do the same for myself.”

  Cailean frowned and looked at Jessamine asleep on the bed. “If you won’t do the honorable thing by her, leave with me. Allow her to keep her reputation.”

  Ewan shook his head. “Nae, I willna leave.” He clasped her hand. “I’m honorable, aye?”

  Rather than soothing his brother, his words provoked greater agitation. “Think about what you are doing.”

  Ewan looked at Jessamine. “I have. Dinna worry, Cail. Everythin’ will turn out fine. It always does with me.” His carefree grin met Cailean’s glower. “Ye have to ken I’ll never follow the town’s dictates.”

  Cailean sighed and slapped him on his shoulder. “At least sit in this chair. It’s got to be a little more comfortable than that bare wooden one.” He rose, scooting it to where Ewan sat. When he saw that his brother was as comfortable as possible, he slipped out the front door.

  After Ewan had finished eating his pie, he stretched his legs in front of him as he prepared for an uncomfortable night in the chair. When he was about to slip into a half-awake state, he heard her voice.

  “Who was Flora?”

  He opened his eyes and turned his head to meet Jessamine’s alert, pain-filled gaze. She shook her head as he pointed to the bottle on the nightstand by the bed and waited for him to answer her question.

  “Flora was the woman I loved on Skye. Her father was poor, which was sayin’ somethin’ as none of us had two coins to rub together. He was forced off the land afore our family.” Ewan’s eyes shone with emotion. “I promised her that I’d find her, that I’d wed her, that we’d have a wonderful future together, but that I needed time to save money.”

  J.P. waited for him to continue, her eyes filled with compassion rather than a reporter’s rapacious curiosity.

  “Cail sent me money for my journey. I never planned to travel here. I was goin’ to use it for my weddin’ and to live with Flora. I’d find work in a factory in the lowlands. Do anythin’ I needed to as long as I could be with Flora.” He cleared his throat and shook his head as though embarrassed by his youthful love.

  “What happened?” Jessamine reached out a hand and waited until he held hers. “You’re here and not there.” When he remained silent, she whispered, “I’m asking as a friend, not as a reporter.”

  He swallowed and took a deep breath. “I traveled to Glasgow. No easy feat from Skye. I’d never traveled farther than ten miles from our land, so the big city was a shock.” He shook his head. “The buildings on top of each other. The waste everywhere. The stench of all those people living together.” He shook his head. “After days of searchin’, I found my Flora.”

  Jessamine frowned. “At a whorehouse.”

  “Aye, a whorehouse. Dyin’.” He blinked a few times, although his gaze remained unfocused, envisioning a long-forgotten scene. “She’d caught some nasty dise
ase an’ was little more than skin an’ bones.”

  “What did you do?”

  He sniffled. “I paid for my time with her. ’Twas a filthy, poorly run place. Nothin’ like the one here. When we were in her room, I wrapped her in a blanket and carried her out the back steps. I nursed her until she died, three days later.”

  “Why didn’t she wait for you?” Jessamine squeezed his hand.

  “Her family was proud, ye ken, but they had no money. When they arrived in the big city, her father didna find work. He had no skills, little education, an’ too many mouths to feed.” Ewan bowed his head.

  Jessamine grimaced, and Ewan was uncertain if it was from his story or her own pain. “So he sacrificed his daughter for the benefit of the family?”

  “Aye,” Ewan breathed. “An’ robbed me of her.” He swiped at his cheek and rubbed his shirtsleeve under his nose. “I would have loved her an’ loved her well.”

  “Oh, Ewan, how tragic,” Jessamine whispered. “All this time I thought you were carefree. That you’d been spared the harsh realities of life.”

  He huffed out a laugh. “No one’s been spared harsh realities, Jessie. If ye dinna ken that, then ye are no’ a very good reporter.”

  He saw a shadow flicker over her face and frowned. “Are ye in pain?” When she nodded, he picked up the medicine bottle and raised an eyebrow. After she nodded once more, he gave her a small dose. “Sleep, Jessie. I’ll be here next to ye.”

  By the following day, Jessamine’s pain had lessened enough that she no longer requested laudanum. At least that is what she told Ewan. In truth, the pain continued as a hot iron in her side, constantly present. She feared it would always be there. Movement was difficult, but, after telling her lie that the medication was no longer needed, she had to swallow all cries of distress and cover a grimace with a smile.

  When seated in bed, with a cup of soup in front of her and one of Annabelle’s sweet rolls cut into small pieces, she sighed. Immediately the burning in her side intensified, and she masked the pain with a smile as she looked at the bounty in front of her. “How nice of your family,” she murmured.

  “I ken ye are in pain, Jessie,” Ewan said. “I dinna understand why ye are tryin’ to hide it from me.”

  “The pain is bearable,” she insisted as she took a slurp of soup and blushed.

  He swiped at her mouth as though she were a child, shaking his head in disagreement. “Nae, I ken what it is to bruise a rib, never mind break one. Ye’ll have pain for weeks. Why will ye no’ take the medicine offered?”

  Her gaze filled with a defiant desperation. “No more medication. Ever!”

  He frowned but nodded. “Aye, it’s yer choice.” He waited as she ate half her soup and a few pieces of the roll. When it was evident she would eat no more, he removed the food and set it in her miniscule kitchen area.

  She rested against the pillows with her hands crossed over her waist. “I was never going to print that story,” she whispered. She met his surprised gaze and nodded. “About Leticia.”

  “Why was it on yer desk?”

  She shrugged and then winced. “It was a story I’d investigated and considered reporting.” She met his intense stare. “It’s a good story.” When he continued to stare at her and remained quiet, she sighed. “But I realized I’d do as much damage printing that article as I did with Bears’ story.” She flushed. “And I like Leticia.”

  Ewan frowned as he leaned against the counter in her kitchen. “So it makes a difference whether or not ye like the person? If ye didna, ye wouldna mind destroyin’ their reputation?” His eyes flashed.

  She winced again as she let out a deep breath. “I’m learning, Ewan, about how to be a small-town reporter. It’s very different from the big city. And, unfortunately, it does matter if I like you. If I were to learn a similar tale about Mrs. Jameson, I would find it difficult not to print it.”

  Ewan shook his head. “Keep learnin’, Jessie. I still believe ye should use yer intelligence to write humor and other such articles.”

  “Be patient,” she whispered. “As it is, I won’t print anything for at least a week.” She watched as he fidgeted in the kitchen and frowned as he was uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “Whatever it is you think you need to say, will you just say it?” She turned her head and met his chagrined gaze. “It’s as though I can feel you tensing more with each second that passes while you consider your words.”

  “Jessie,” he said on a long sigh, his voice tinged with humor. “Ye take the romance out of everything.”

  Her gaze lost all humor as she sobered. “There is no romance between us. We’re barely friends.”

  “Ye ken that’s no’ true.” He reached for one of her hands, raising it to his lips and kissing it. “I’ve now spent two nights with ye.”

  “Nothing happened!”

  “Aye, to my everlastin’ regret.” He frowned as she glared at him. “Jessie, ye ken we must marry.”

  “I ken no such thing.” She huffed out a breath, unable to hide her grimace. “What I do know is that I will never marry an overbearing, uncultured, brutish Scot like you. Why would I have to? I’ve survived plenty of scandals in my past, and I’ll survive this one.”

  He flushed at her perception of him. “The townsfolk will no’ be kind to ye. I ken … know they are already talkin’ about ye.”

  “They’ve talked about me, with your help, since the day I arrived.” She snatched her hand away from him. “I have no need of a husband. Not now or ever.” Her mocking gaze raked over him from head to foot. “And, if I did, I wouldn’t look to you.”

  His flush deepened, and he took a long breath. “Aye, how foolish of me. I’m sorry to bother ye, Miss McMahon.” He rose, grabbed his hat off a cabinet, and stormed for the door.

  When the door rattled shut, J.P. closed her eyes, willing the tears not to fall. A lone tear leaked out, and she swiped it away. She took shallow breaths and focused on the pain of her rib rather than the ache in her heart.

  Chapter 8

  Jessamine stilled while she was in the Merc and listened to the women gossiping behind her. She had bound her ribs as tightly as possible, and the pain was bearable if she moved slowly and did not raise her right arm. She focused on the women rather than her ever-present pain and wondered if they knew she was here, before realizing they did not care if she heard. She feigned interest in ribbons as she focused on their vitriol.

  “Slut.”

  Another woman spoke. “Spent the whole night with him, but they aren’t married!”

  A third, more righteous than the last, added to the discussion. “We thought the schoolteacher was bad, but this one’s worse! I don’t want to speak to her again about anything.” A snicker followed. “As if I’ll believe anything she prints again. Has no common decency.”

  Jessamine took a deep breath, forgetting about her broken rib, and clutched a hand to her side. She turned to face her detractors in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner and smiled. “Hello, ladies.” Her smile lost any friendliness and took on a feral tinge when she saw Mrs. Jameson in the group. “I hope you are having a wonderful day.”

  Mrs. Jameson marched up to her and poked her in her side.

  Thankfully it was her unhurt side as J.P. had had the sense not to call attention to her injury.

  “You are a disgrace! You should not be allowed to live in our town.”

  “I will forever find it fascinating how your standards are different when they pertain to anyone who isn’t your son.” She gasped as she attempted to take a deep breath. “The only reason Mr. MacKinnon was forced to remain by my bedside …”

  She paused as a woman muttered, “You mean in your bed!”

  “By my bedside,” she repeated, “was because your son broke my rib. Mr. MacKinnon insisted on caring for me.”

  Another woman, unknown to Jessamine, snorted. “As if you’ll have us believing that man would care for your injuries after all you’ve written about him!”

  �
��It’s certainly more plausible than your notion that he’s desperate to be in my bed.” Jessamine smirked and raised an eyebrow.

  The women in front of her blushed and tittered and lowered their gazes. Only Mrs. Jameson met her bald statement with a glower. “You are shameless. You refuse to acknowledge the bounds of propriety.”

  “When they are promulgated by women like you, I have no need to understand your version of propriety.” Jessamine met Mrs. Jameson’s glower, recognizing she was her true foe.

  Mrs. Jameson took a deep breath. “You have no right to defame my son! He is a wonderful boy.”

  Jessamine laughed, gasping at the pain it provoked. “That’s his problem. You continue to consider him a boy, and he acts as though his actions will never be punished. One day someone will make him pay for all his wrongdoings.”

  Mrs. Jameson straightened her shoulders. “I do not have to stand here and listen to the likes of you. Ladies?” she said as she spun on her heel and marched out of the Merc.

  Jessamine watched them stomp down the boardwalk and enter the café. She let out a shallow breath, so as not to cause any more pain to her broken rib, and then faced the mocking glance of Tobias. “Hello, Mr. Sutton.”

  “Miss McMahon,” Tobias said with a smirk. “What can I get for you?” He frowned as she set a list on the counter. “And I suppose you want this delivered?”

  “Yes, by the end of the day.” She met his gaze and smiled when he nodded his agreement. “Thank you.”

  He called out to her when she approached the door. “You won’t always have the upper hand over me, miss. One day I’ll find a way to get back at you.”

  She refused to look at him and slipped outside to return to her print shop.

  Ewan wandered to the sawmill on a cold early-November day. He tucked the scarf tighter into his jacket and around his neck before stuffing his hands into his pockets. A thin layer of frost covered the trees and grass, although the area nearest the sawmill remained unfrozen due to the heat from the mill and the activity in the yard.