Montana Renegade Read online

  Warren sighed. “She said she didn’t like me.”

  Bears laughed, a booming sound that filled the room. “Any fool can see she loves you, lawyer. It’s a pity you’ve been a fool for years where she is concerned.”

  Warren flushed and nodded. “I suppose I have.” He met Bears’s inquisitive gaze and shifted in his seat.

  “Seems she isn’t the only one battling memories of ill treatment,” Bears whispered. His eyes shone with sincerity. “You’re a good man, lawyer. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  Warren murmured his thanks and finished his coffee in silence. He rose, slapped Bears on the back and left, his mind spinning after his conversation with Bears.

  Warren looked up as Harold stood at his home office door and frowned. “How did you get in here?”

  Harold shook his head at the question. “Opened the door and walked through it like any person with a lick of sense would.”

  “Most knock and wait to be invited in.” Warren raised his eyebrows but motioned for Harold to sit across from him. “What’s the matter, Harold?”

  “You tell me, Warren. You send my wife up to that damn mining camp, and I haven’t seen her in days. I can’t run the café on my own.” Dark bags and a fatigue accentuated his age. “You’ve got the MacKinnon women over here helping you, so I can’t badger one of them into rendering me any aid.”

  “Send for your nephew or one of his hands. I find it hard to believe there’s that much work on the ranch this time of year.”

  Harold grunted. “I have.” He glared at Warren, but little ire was there. “I want my wife back.”

  Warren rested his elbows on his desk and shook his head in confusion. “Why has she been at the camp for so long?”

  “There was a fire and a cave-in at one of the mine shafts.” Harold shuddered. “I can’t imagine anything much worse than burns.”

  “Nor I. This would be the one time that the charlatan’s laudanum would be useful.” He shared a smile with Harold as he snorted. “Still no word about him?”

  “I listen to my patrons jabber at the café, and all seem mystified that a man could disappear in Montana in the middle of our winter.” He frowned and slapped his hand onto the arm of his chair.

  Warren gave a mirthless chuckle. “It is technically spring Harold.”

  Harold rolled his eyes. “There’s winter, weeks of mud and then summer. There aint no real spring here, and to run off in March is a foolish endeavor.”

  “Someone had to have aided that man.” Warren shared a long look with his friend. “I wonder how he always had a ready supply of laudanum. Seems the Madam enjoyed having her Beauties’ senses dulled. Said it kept them docile.”

  “Docile my foot,” Harold said. “Kept them from seein’ they were bein’ robbed blind by that woman.” He shook his head. “Some towns have decent women running their brothels. Why couldn’t we have one of them?”

  Warren laughed and relaxed in his chair. “Few would argue for another brothel, Harold. To them, a brothel is a brothel, no matter who runs it.”

  “Then they’re fools, and you know what I say.” He watched Warren nod. “This town is full of ’em.” He tilted his head to one side. “You helped expose that banker, and soon we’ll be rid of him. I hear the new banker has a greater sense of charity than Mr. Finlay.” Harold smiled with approval. “Now you should try to get rid of the Madam.”

  Warren held up his hand, a warning glance in his eye. “I should receive no credit because the townsfolk were astute enough to go elsewhere for their banking when another option became available.” A new bank had opened two weeks earlier with little fanfare but a steady clientele. It sat beside the new mercantile, across from the Boudoir and the old shuttered bank. “Finlay closed his bank for the last time three days ago, and I hope folks got their goods out of his safe.” He shook his head.

  Harold nodded. “I’ve heard he’s thinking about leaving town soon.”

  Warren shrugged. “I doubt he’ll be missed. As for the new bank, folks will have more faith in it once a brick building is constructed.” He smirked. “Finlay did pay half the fine to the town.”

  Harold smiled. “How did you wrangle that?”

  Warren eased back in his chair with his hands over his belly and shared a satisfied smile with Harold. “He was persuaded that he didn’t want a cloud of scandal to follow him were he to leave town. I had no idea he would leave so soon and I’m glad he paid up before departing for Idaho.”

  Harold nodded. “Never thought he’d be that astute. Or practical. Prancin’ around in his fancy waistcoats.” He shook his head in disgust before pointing at Warren. “Now, I want you to do the same to the Madam.” He speared Warren with an intense stare. “Folks are always sayin’ that I should be mayor of this town, but you should be mayor. You’re young, influential and smart enough to use words to entrap those without sense.”

  Warren chuckled. “Yes, I know, and most here are without it.” He shook his head. “Yet I have no desire to be the mayor of Bear Grass Springs. I like my role as the lawyer.”

  “Could have fooled me the way you are working to improve this town. Don’t seem so content to just let things remain as they’ve always been.” Harold sighed as the agitation that had initially filled him had eased after his conversation with Warren.

  “Is Irene all right in the camp?” Warren asked.

  “I’ve visited her. She’s fine, just worn out. There aren’t enough to help, and there are never enough supplies.” He shrugged. “Most men up there have no family.”

  “So that, when a miner is injured, there is no one to help,” Warren said. “Why don’t we post something in the bakery, café and my window about what has occurred there? Try to get supplies and relief for Irene?”

  “See? You should be mayor,” Harold muttered. “Sounds good. I’ll speak to our reporter. She could print us a few copies in an impressive typeface to garner attention.” He raised his hand, saying, “Disaster! Help needed!”

  Warren chuckled. “Yes, something like that.” He shook his head as though in regret. “I won’t be able to go, and I don’t have much here in the way of supplies. Most of the extra linens I had have been used to help Helen.”

  Harold nodded. “You don’t have to do everything, Warren. What matters is that you take an interest and care.” He watched as Warren battled emotions. “Now, how is that wife of yours?”

  “Fighting to come back to us. To me,” Warren whispered. “Every day she spends a few more minutes awake, although I can tell her head hurts her terribly.” His eyes flashed with hope and frustration. “She groans if she moves at all and can’t abide any bright light. I pray she continues to improve.”

  “She has you beside her, and I know that must be a great comfort to her.” Harold watched as Warren squirmed in his seat.

  “She doesn’t remember anything from the past months. Thinks it was all a dream. Doesn’t remember our marriages.” Warren rubbed at his forehead. “Every time she wakes, I hope that this time she’ll remember me. But every time she recoils and asks why I’m in her room.”

  Harold sighed. “Her memory will return. Give her time and be patient. She suffered a terrible blow to the head and can’t be expected to be right as rain upon first waking.”

  Warren nodded. “I know. But it’s hard to feel like I’m back to where I was in December.” He glared at Harold as he laughed. “That’s wasn’t a joke, old man.”

  “Of course it wasn’t, but it seems to me that you’ve been given the chance to court your love a second time. You might find it enjoyable.” His eyes lit with the prospect. “I know I would.” He rose and nodded to Warren. “I’ll be by with a copy of the plea for aid to see what you think. Good day, Warren.”

  Harold marched out the door as abruptly as he arrived, and Warren sat contemplating Harold’s words, the paperwork in front of him forgotten.

  A week later Helen had regained much of her strength, although she suffered from bouts of dizziness. Sh
e slept late most days, as though her body continued to need the extra rest to heal. This morning she rose, feeling the coldness of the opposite side of the bed. “I doubt he even sleeps with me anymore,” she whispered to herself. She looked at the clock and realized it was nearly eleven.

  After her slow ablutions, she dressed and then took a break in the parlor before walking to the kitchen to find a plate of breakfast in the warming oven. She read a note from Warren, frowning at his apology for leaving her alone for a few hours as he had to attend to business at his law office. She glared at it, wishing for his company, rather than a mere note.

  After eating, she wanted a nap. However, a knock on the door stilled her motions. Her breathing quickened, and she clung to the back of a chair. At the second knock, she sat on a chair and rocked herself, wrapping arms around her belly.

  She jerked when she heard someone enter the house. “Who’s there?” She grimaced at her weak, thready voice.

  “Helen?” Sorcha called out, entering the kitchen. “Why did ye no’ answer the door?” She frowned when she saw Helen shaking on the chair. “What happened? Ye’re as white as a sheet.” She touched Helen’s forehead. “Are ye relapsin’?”

  Helen stared at her with wide eyes. “You were there. That day. When he came to the door.” She saw understanding light Sorcha’s gaze. “You saw what he did.”

  “Aye. He was a brute an’ had no remorse for what he did to ye,” Sorcha said. “So, ye’ve finally remembered.”

  Helen nodded. “Yes. When you knocked on the door, I was terrified of opening it.” She shrugged and forced herself to rise, although her legs were wobbly. “Stupid of me, I know.”

  Sorcha pushed her back into the chair and turned to the stove to prepare a pot of tea. “’Tisn’t stupid, and ye ken that,” she snapped. “Ye suffered grave harm from that man. Ye have every right to feel as ye do.”

  “I need Warren,” Helen admitted as she bit back a sob. “Could you … ?” She swallowed the rest of her sentence. Sorcha squeezed her shoulder as she left.

  Helen waited in the kitchen with her eyes closed as the memories flooded back. Rather than fragments, entire scenes returned. Of her mother and her cruelness. Of Helen’s embarrassment with the MacKinnons. And of Warren. She opened her eyes as the front door burst open. She watched with wonder as her husband raced to her, flushed and breathless to kneel at her feet.

  “Nell, are you all right? Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll …” He broke off as he studied the expression on her face.

  “You said you loved me,” she whispered, her hand fluttering up to touch his cheek. “So many times you told me how much you cared.”

  His deep blue eyes shone with pain and that professed love. “Of course I do.”

  She shook her head, ignoring the agony that movement wrought. “There is no of course about that. My own mother barely esteems me. Why should my husband?” She bit back a groan as he rose, breaking her contact with him.

  “I’m not in the mood for games, Helen,” Warren said. “Sorcha said you were in distress.” His gaze roved over her. “However, you seem perfectly well to me. If you have no need of me, I will leave you and return to work.”

  “No,” she whispered. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.” She grabbed at air as she tried to grip his hand. “I … I’ve remembered, Warren.”

  Her whispered words caused him to still, and he faced her. “What have you remembered?”

  She swiped at her cheeks as she met his guarded gaze. “That I’m a coward. I’ve never been that strong.” She bit her lip. “The only things I ever did in my life in defiance of my mother was learn from the midwife …”

  He took a deep breath. “And?”

  “And love you.” She watched as he shook his head as though dumbfounded. “You know I love you, Warren.”

  “No, I don’t. You said you don’t even like me,” he whispered. “And nothing I did in the past week seemed to change how you felt.”

  She paused as she remembered being held in warm arms and an overwhelming sense of feeling safe. The special lotion for her scar near her ear. The kisses to her forehead when she was half asleep. She bit back tears. “It all mattered, but it could never change how I feel. I already loved you.”

  She pushed herself up to stand and grabbed his arms. “You can’t use a nearly comatose woman’s words against her. I don’t even remember saying such things.” She watched as he struggled with deep emotions. “I’ve forgiven you for words you don’t remember saying.” She felt him relax incrementally under her fingers. “I love you, Warren. I have for years.”

  She gasped as he pulled her to him, holding her tight. She wrapped her arms around him, grasping him just as tightly to her.

  “Why now? Why tell me now?” he murmured as he kissed the uninjured side of her head.

  “I remembered I had never told you. And I realized how selfish I was.” She pushed away and held his face between her palms. “What if I had died and had never told you?”

  “No,” he rasped, pulling her close. “You cannot die, Nell.” He shuddered as he held her. “I cannot lose you.”

  She cried into his shoulder. “And I cannot lose you. But I know how fragile life is. I know the tenuous grip we have on it.” She kissed his neck. “I couldn’t bear for you to doubt how I feel.”

  He ran strong fingers down her back. “You are brave, Nell. Never doubt it.” He leaned away and kissed her, softly at first and then with more passion. He broke off their kiss, gasping, “Forgive me. I should save my passion for when you are healed.”

  She giggled and collapsed into his arms. “For now.”

  He kissed her shoulder and then walked her to their bedroom. “Lie next to me and talk with me. Let me hold you as you hold me.”

  She kissed his cheek and snuggled next to him once they were in bed together. “I had trouble believing all these wonderful memories were true, rather than dreams.”

  Warren held her closer. “Bears said something similar to me last week.” He nuzzled her head. “I will never stop showing you my love.”

  She smiled and traced a pattern over his chest. “I do believe you, Warren. I just have to fight doubts.” She raised her head and met his love-filled gaze. “Why hasn’t my mother come to visit me?” She frowned as she saw anger flash through his eyes.

  “Would you want her to?”

  She swallowed and then blinked as nodding still caused her head to hurt. “Yes. It would be nice to know she cares about me.”

  Warren sighed. “I barred her from the house. She first came here the day after you were injured, with your brother and cousin in tow, and I refused them admittance.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  He ran a hand over her cheek. “I was exhausted and terrified you would never wake. I didn’t have the strength to battle with her, and I feared your brother and cousin would cause trouble.” He paused as he saw her evident disappointment and further questions. “My caution was proved correct. They next visited when Sorcha and Fidelia sat with you.”

  Helen frowned as she felt a shudder ripple through him. “What happened?”

  “Your cousin pushed his way in, lifting Sorcha out of the doorway. The Jamesons made it clear they were going to … remove you to your mother’s house to care for you. Sorcha and Fidelia protected you.” His eyes glowed with anger. “Irene arrived in time to prevent any further attempt to remove you from our home and also prevented your mother from telling her lies.”

  Helen propped herself on her husband’s chest, her eyes wide. “They were going to kidnap me? While I was unconscious?”

  “Yes,” Warren said softly. “While I worked at my office on stupid land disputes and water rights arguments, I nearly lost you.” He traced a hand over her shoulder. “Do you know what my nightmares are?”

  She shook her head and then grimaced from the pain that movement wrought.

  “I wake in a panic that they removed you from me and that, when you awoke, with no memory, they were able to convi
nce you that everything we shared was a dream. Nothing more than a mirage.” His eyes glowed in agony. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you to them. If you chose them over me.”

  She smiled and cupped his face. “I would have to be comatose to ever want to be in my mother’s home again, Warren. My memory has returned. I remember everything. The good and the bad, and I will always choose you.”

  “Thank God,” he murmured, cradling her against his chest. “Rest, my love. Let me hold you as you sleep and heal.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Be beside me when I wake tomorrow.”

  “Always.”

  The following week, Jessamine’s article on Warren appeared, taking the townsfolk by surprise. She had varied weekly newspaper sections, most notably the News and Noteworthy, the Fact or Fiction and the True and Tantalizing. Interesting stories about the townsfolk were highlighted in the True and Tantalizing section, most often referred to as T&T.

  True and Tantalizing

  There once lived a young man, born to privilege and a well-respected family. By all outward appearances, he had everything one could wish for: Lavish carriages to take him wherever he wanted to go. Servants. Delicious food at every meal. Well-tailored clothes. And an education to envy. He was a smart child, bookish and withdrawn, and more interested in observing others than joining in their escapades.

  Rather than exulting in pride at the young man’s accomplishments, his father derided him for not excelling as his elder brother had in oratory pursuits and sports. Instead of encouraging the young man to pursue his interests in finance, his father browbeat him into the preordained path of the family law business. When his lauded elder brother died in a tragic accident, our young hero was blamed. Worse, he was expected to become his brother. To excel at what he detested.

  When his father, a respected lawyer and elevated figure in society, was found to be a thief, a cheat and a liar, our honorable young man cut ties with his family. He had determined the best way to honor those he had loved and lost was to act always with integrity and to champion those who were too often ignored. Thankfully he had learned what he needed from his father to live a successful life away from so-called good society.