Her Montana Man. Cheryl St.John

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      His words took effect, and her expression changed. Madeline Holmes placed the cloth she’d been holding on the bar and, with precise movements, removed her apron, folded it neatly and set it down. She ran her palms over her skirt in a nervous gesture, then straightened and raised her chin. “He can’t make me do anything I don’t want to, can he?”

      “No, he can’t.”

      She walked toward the doors. Jonas followed.

      As she stepped out onto the boardwalk, Baslow’s severe gaze narrowed on her. His attention sidled over Jonas and Quay before fixing back on her as though the men were irritating flies he intended to swat later. “If you want to bring anything with you, get it now.”

      Her hands trembled, but with obvious deliberation she hid them in the folds of her skirts. Jonas cheered silently for her brave front.

      “I have a job now. And my own room at the hotel,” she said, her voice louder than he’d expected, though a slight tremble betrayed her nervousness. “I’m content to stay right here.”

      Baslow’s thunderous expression darkened even more noticeably.

      A few citizens had gathered on the boardwalk across the street and were watching the goings-on with interest. Wouldn’t be the first time a fight had erupted in front of his place, Jonas thought, his blood pounding with keen awareness, and it wouldn’t be the last. He had never minded a good fight to clear the air.

      “You choosing a life of whoring over comin’ with me?” Baslow bit out between clenched teeth.

      Jonas kept his mouth shut. He’d already told the man there weren’t any sporting women at his place, and everyone in town knew it. This was Maddie’s chance to speak her piece.

      “That’s what I felt like when I was with you,” she said, coming straight to the heart of the matter. “I don’t want to live that way anymore. I’m not your wife.” Her voice and demeanor showed renewed strength in her decision. “Nobody hits me,” she declared. “And I get a fair wage for a day’s work. I can take care of myself just fine.”

      Baslow headed toward Maddie. “I don’t know who fed you that hogwash,” he said, “but you belong to me, and you’ll do as I say.”

      She backed away.

      Jonas met him before he could reach the shade of the boardwalk. “Remember the brother’s war, Baslow? It’s against the law to keep slaves.”

      They stood three feet apart. Baslow’s right eye twitched with anger. Jonas’s palms tingled.

      “Get outta my way, mister, before you regret it.”

      “Can’t do that. Maddie’s my employee, and I take care of my people.”

      Baslow lunged toward Jonas. Jonas dodged his first attempt to reach him, spinning with hands locked together to land a blow on the back of the man’s neck.

      Caught off guard, Baslow fell to his hands and knees in the dirt, losing his hat. Slowly, he shook his head, and then scrambled to his feet to come after Jonas. The fight was on.

      The growing crowd pushed forward for a better look.

      Energized now, Jonas raised both fists and bent his knees in readiness. Baslow faced him and they squared off, circling in avid concentration. The man’s eyes bored into Jonas’s with contempt. Jonas studied his stance, his movements, waited to see how he hit. Faster than Jonas anticipated, Baslow landed a blow to Jonas’s shoulder that forced him to catch his balance and got him mad. He retaliated with a quick right that landed on the man’s jaw with a crack and drew a grunt from his opponent and a murmur from the crowd.

      Jonas didn’t feel the hits that came next, though he knew one landed against his ribs and another at his temple. Adrenaline lent him strength and numbed the pain. In the minutes that followed he used the reprieve to his advantage, skillfully finding opportunities to put down punches.

      Half-a-dozen solid hits later Baslow’s lip was bleeding. He had a cut over his left eye, and he was breathing hard. Jonas watched for and found an opportunity, hit his eye again, then positioned all his muscle into landing a blow to his gut.

      The man moaned and doubled over, dropping to his knees in the dirt. He glared up at Jonas, one eye red from streaming blood. “You got no right to keep Madeline.”

      “You’re finally right,” Jonas answered. “Nobody’s got a right to hold her. She’s free to leave, she’s free to stay.” He turned to Maddie, who’d been watching with both hands clasped under her chin. “You want to go?”

      She shook her head and released a pent-up breath. “No.”

      “You sure? ’Cause we don’t want any misunderstandin’s. You’re free to leave any time you want.”

      “I want to stay.”

      “There you have it.” Jonas’s knuckles were stinging now. “Need any more convincing?”

      Marshal Haglar parted the crowd and made his way to stand on the brick street a few feet away. He took in both men’s appearances. “What in blazes is goin’ on here?”

      Maddie immediately ran forward to explain what had taken place. When she’d finished, the marshal turned to the spectators. “That how it happened? Anyone see the whole thing?”

      Jonas couldn’t remember if anyone had been there during the initial exchange of words. He scanned the faces nearby. People had an aversion to getting involved, especially when a dangerous-looking fellow like Baslow glared at them as though daring someone to speak against him.

      The marshal eyed the crowd, and one after another, the bystanders glanced at the person beside them and then away. Jonas figured his reputation and position on the town council would have enough sway. He wasn’t a troublemaker, but he never ran from a fight, either. He didn’t want to put Warren Haglar in a bad position, and the indifference of the locals irritated him.

      Townspeople turned as movement caught their attention, and Jonas looked, too. From the opposite boardwalk, a slender woman in a blue-and-white gingham dress and a straw hat held the hem of her skirts above her shoes and stepped down onto the paving bricks. She walked to within four feet of the law officer. An unexpected tremor stabbed at Jonas’s belly.

      “I saw the entire incident, Marshal,” she said. “I saw that man ride up and shout for Mrs. Holmes.”

      Of course. Jonas’s three o’clock obsession. She’d been on the boardwalk the whole time. Eliza Jane Sutherland was rather tall for a woman, and on the rare occasion that she’d been without a hat, he’d seen that her hair was black and glossy in the sunlight. Jonas had never heard her speak more than a one- or two-word greeting, so now her magnificent silky voice, more than the words she spoke, caught and held his attention.

      “Mr. Black came out of his establishment and suggested that he—” she pointed to the scowling stranger “—leave.” Her bright amber gaze moved to Jonas.

      Something in his chest throbbed at the direct look, something ragged and weighty, something more alarming than facing a dozen angry men in the street.

      The marshal asked her several questions СКАЧАТЬ