Ewan choked on a sip of coffee as he read the latest paper. His eldest brother, Cailean, had left it folded to the column where J.P. spewed her gossip two times a week. He glared at the words on the paper again before setting it aside.

He sat in the large room in Cailean’s house that served as the kitchen and dining room. Near the door leading to the hall and sitting room was a good-size round table covered in a light-green cloth with flowers embroidered along the edge. A sink with a hand pump, a large Great Majestic stove, and an icebox were in the kitchen, along with a small wooden table for preparing food. A filled woodbox was by stove, while a hutch with dishes and linens stood along the wall leading to the hallway. Cupboards were filled with cooking instruments, pans and foodstuffs. A door to the side of the kitchen heading outside led to the livery and an outhouse.

“Damn woman,” he muttered. Ever since she had arrived in town in the middle of August, she had focused on him in every edition of her newspaper.

His sister, Sorcha, entered the kitchen and saw him reading about himself. “Serves ye right for antagonizin’ a woman with a printin’ press.” Sorcha moved to the stove and poured herself a cup of coffee, sighing with appreciation as she breathed in its scent. Her light-blue eyes shone with amusement as she witnessed her brother’s irritation. Her red-brown hair, tied in a loose plait, fell to her waist. Although her brothers were tall, she stood only an inch over five feet.

“How was I to ken she’d be such a pest?” He rubbed at his head. “No matter what she says here, now every mother in town will push her daughter in my direction. It’s as though the demon newspaperwoman kent, by sayin’ one thing, she’d cause the exact opposite to occur.”

Sorcha chuckled. “Aye, she’s a canny opponent, and so far ye are losing.” Her amused gaze watched her brother as he ran a hand through his hair. “Ye canna spend more time than ye already do at the saloons or the Boudoir, avoidin’ every available female and their mothers. Ye’d have to be rentin’ a room at either establishment.” She frowned as her brother failed to smile. “’Tis no concern, Ewan.”

He strode to the stove and refilled his coffee mug. “’Tis, Sorch. I like my life. I want to continue to live it unfettered by the demands of a wife and further responsibilities. I dinna want a gaggle of women followin’ me around or attemptin’ to trap me.” He shuddered. “Ye ken what almost happened to Alistair with that Jameson girl.”

Sorcha sobered. “Aye, although we ken it was more the mother than the girl. Because of her mother, Helen will be one of the first to pursue ye.”

Ewan shuddered. “Ye ken she’s as bad as her mother. I willna be forced to marry her.”

After setting down her mug, Sorcha grabbed her brother’s arms in a sort of long-armed hug until he looked at her. “Then be on yer guard, Ewan. She’s desperate, and ye dinna want her desperation to lead to yer misery.”

He nodded before kissing her forehead. “Thank ye, Sorch. Ye’ve always understood me better than Cail and Alistair.”

She shook her head. “Nae, I’ve accepted ye as ye are, not as how I wished ye were.” She squeezed his arms and let go.

He took two big gulps of coffee before leaving his cup in the sink and slipped from the room. He grabbed his hat and a jacket from the pegs by the front door and walked outside. He turned away from the town, walking past the livery and blacksmith shop toward the nearby sawmill. Ewan saw the new schoolteacher, Mr. Danforth, across the road attempting to corral the young children and shook his head as they raced around like wild beasts, ignoring Mr. Danforth’s quiet words to calm down.

Ewan walked a short distance along the road that led to the wide valley that spread out below the town. Large cattle ranches filled the valley, although a few intrepid homesteaders had staked their claims. Ewan inhaled deeply, sighing with contentment as the clean air filled his lungs. The scent of fresh pine and spruce permeated the air, while cottonwoods grew near the stream a short distance from the road. He heard the peck-peck-peck of a woodpecker but was unable to sight him in the trees.

He approached the sawmill and called out to Nathaniel Ericson who ran it with his friend Karl Johansen.

Nathaniel emerged from inside with a light covering of wood dust on his work-roughened clothes, a smile as broad as his shoulders. “Ewan,” he said as he held out his hand. After shaking Ewan’s hand, he rubbed at his head, sprinkling more dust on his shoulders. “I’ve your order ready.” He spoke with the long vowels of someone from Norway, although Ewan joked with him that Nathaniel’s English was better than his.

“Aye, thanks,” Ewan said. He saw his filled wagon, a team of horses hitched to the front, waiting to head into town and looked around in confusion.

“Your worker is flirting with Leena again.” Nathaniel laughed as Ewan frowned. “She made apple cake, and he accepted her offer of a piece.”

“Yer sister is too friendly,” Ewan muttered, earning another laugh from Nathaniel.

“Ya, she is, but she also knows she is to wed Karl soon. Her happiness is …” He squinted as he searched for a word before shrugging.

“Contagious,” Ewan muttered. “I canna help but feel my mood lighten when I am near yer sister.”

“Ya, and you know she will not be one of the women in the town who wishes to marry you.” Nathaniel laughed as Ewan glared at him. Nathaniel clapped him on the shoulder and led him into the small house next to the sawmill. Inside, Ewan watched with amusement as his worker’s joy turned to embarrassment at Ewan’s arrival.

“Sorry, boss,” Stephen said as he gobbled down the last of his apple cake. He rose and thanked Leena before sidling out the door to the waiting wagon full of lumber.

Ewan smiled at Leena who offered him a piece of apple cake. He nodded his acceptance and sat at the table. “I ken ye have work to do,” he said to Nathaniel. “Sorry to take ye away from yer duties.”

Nathaniel smiled. “We are mainly caught up on our orders. Do you have many new projects starting?”

Ewan took a bite of the cake and closed his eyes. “Delicious,” he whispered. “Aye, I’ve the house I’m workin’ on now and two more to try to complete afore winter. The framin’ is about done, and then we’ll work on the inside.” He watched as his friend fidgeted. “Are ye worried about the winter?”

Nathaniel nodded. “Ya, last winter was long, and we didn’t have much work. We’ve saved this summer, but I never know if it will last.”

Ewan nodded and took the last bite of the sweet cake. “If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.” He murmured his thanks to Leena and rose, leading Nathaniel outside. “The town is boomin’, but ye have to ken it could end at any moment.”

Nathaniel looked down the road that led toward the town’s main street. “We have the train here and ranchers. We aren’t dependent solely on the miners. Even if they disappeared, we’d still have a reason to survive.”

“I always love your optimism, friend,” Ewan said as he slapped him on his back. “I’ll be by soon when I need to place another order.”

He retraced his steps, passing by the livery on his way to a house behind Main Street and a short distance from Alistair and Leticia’s home. It was nearly behind the café, and he had a ready excuse to slip inside for his midday meal each day, rather than venturing the short distance home to discover what Sorcha had attempted.

Before Ewan entered the worksite, he was pleased to see his men busy unloading the lumber for this project. Half would travel to the house on the opposite side of Alistair and Leticia’s home. He nodded to the men as they piled the lumber inside and joined the man he considered his unofficial foreman. “Hello, Ben.”

Ben smiled and pushed a strand of longish pitch-black hair behind one ear. “How are things today, boss?” He watched him with a curious gleam and a hint of mischief in his gaze.

“That damn woman willna cease writin’ about me.” He glared at his friend as Ben burst out laughing. “It’s no’ as though I’m searchin’ for my ladylove.”

Ben wiped at his cheek and fought to maintain his composure. “I hope not. The Beauties at the Boudoir would be sorely disappointed.”

Ewan elbowed him in the side, smiling with satisfaction when Ben grunted in slight discomfort. Ewan looked around the room. “Looks as though the walls should go up today, and then we can work on the roof. I want this roughed in by the end of the month.”

Ben nodded. “I’ve got it under control here. You should go to the other worksite and make sure the lumber is delivered.” He tilted his head outside where two of the men chatted. “The men you hired this summer are good workers but still in need of guidance.”

Ewan slapped him on his shoulder, his boots thunking on the wide-plank pine floors. He put all thoughts but work out of his mind as he joined his men.

* * *

Ewan sat in the kitchen and read aloud the new section of the newspaper to Sorcha who glared at the empty coffeepot. She muttered about men who took the last cup and failed to make any more before she brewed another pot. “Ye ken ye’ll rip our stomach lining away with what ye brew.” He ducked as she threw a drying cloth at him.

“If ye can do better, then ye should make it,” she snarled. After a moment she shivered. “’Tis a horrid story ye were tellin’ in the saloon. Why would ye make up somethin’ like that? An’ why would she print it?”

Ewan laughed. “I did no’ make it up! All the men in the saloons tell tales about him. He still lives, and his name is Liver-Eating Johnson.” He smiled as his sister made a disgusted face. “He’s famous for evading capture by the Crow. And he fought for the Union in the Civil War. He’s a heroic figure.” He frowned for a moment. “I think he’s a sheriff somewhere in Montana now too.”

“I refuse to believe a man like him lived. I think the story is fiction. No man would act in such a way.” She shivered. “I canna imagine eatin’ livers like that.” She made another face.

“They killed his wife and bairn, Sorcha. He wanted retribution.” He smiled. “Life wasna easy in the West forty years ago.”

She joined him at the table. “It isna easy now, but we dinna go around carvin’ each other up. Nor do we turn them into folk heroes.” She pointed her finger at him. “An’ I dinna believe that man walked this earth. He’s a figment of yer imagination. Why are ye helpin’ that spiteful woman when all she does is write horrid things about ye?”

Ewan laughed. “Well, I look forward to hearin’ ye admit ye were wrong. And I’m no’ helpin’ her. The old-timers have taken a shine to tellin’ her tall tales. They gather around her stove an’ smoke a pipe as they recount how life was here years ago. She only says she heard it from me because it was her way of mentioning me in this paper.”

She snorted. “Most of ’em have been here less time than we have. She should ken better than to believe anything they say.”

Ewan smiled. “That’s the point, Sorch. I dinna think she cares if they are true or not. She just wants good stories that will sell and get the townsfolk talkin’.” He shrugged. “It got you riled.”

He ducked as she threw a napkin at him. He sobered as his gaze wandered to the door and livery. “I hope her tales dinna lead to problems for Bears.”

Sorcha frowned. “Why should they?”

“Ye ken what some say. That we are brave to have such a man as him livin’ in close proximity to us.” He smiled as Sorcha rolled her eyes. “Many in town are waitin’ to find us scalped some mornin’.”

“Well, then they’ll be waitin’ for a long time as Bears is from a peaceful tribe, and, even if he were no’, he’s a good man,” Sorcha said. “They have no right speakin’ about him as they do.”

Ewan nodded. “Aye, ye’re right. But his acceptance here is tolerated at best.”

Sorcha grumbled as she rose to pour herself a cup of coffee now that it was brewed. “I will never understand the desire to dislike based on appearances. I would rather ken the person first and have a reason for my distaste.”

Ewan smirked. “Like the Jamesons.”

She giggled. “Aye. Them and Tobias. An’ the Madam.” She shivered. “That woman is more horrible every day to her girls.” She bit her lip and shook her head.

“What do ye see, Sorch? I ken ye deliver many of the baskets now that Anna is tired with her condition.” He frowned when Sorcha shook her head again.

“The new doctor spends quite a bit of time there,” she whispered. “He has no reason to be there as Fidelia has no’ been abused lately, which is one less worry for Annabelle.” She paused as she thought about Fidelia Evans who was Annabelle’s sister and worked at the Boudoir where she was known as Charity. She raised troubled eyes to meet her brother’s concerned gaze. “I dinna like him. He doesna look at me as a person but as a thing. Do ye ken what I mean?”

Ewan nodded as he frowned. “Aye, an’ that’s dangerous for the women at the Boudoir. He could be there for other reasons, Sorch.”

“He talks about his medicines, their price, and their strength. I dinna ken what they’re for.”

Ewan shrugged. “Someone must be ill.”

Sorcha heaved out a gust of irritated breath. “A sick whore doesna have the money to have the doctor there almost every day, Ewan. I dinna ken what is goin’ on, but somethin’ is.”

Ewan rose. “Aye, well, ’tis good of ye to be concerned about Anna’s sister and the other women there, Sorch.”

“Will ye try to find out what is occurrin’ there?” She flushed at the question and the implied acknowledgment that her brother visited the Boudoir daily.

“Aye.” He stroked a hand down her arm. “Now I must away to work.” He winked at her and headed to his worksite. He had good men working for him, but he knew they worked more diligently when he was present.

He slipped on a jacket as a cold snap had moved in, killing most of the flowers and heralding an early start to fall. He detoured to the print shop and poked his head in, smiling when he saw J.P. alone, fighting with the old printing press. “How are ye settlin’ in then?” he asked. His smile broadened as she glowered at him.

She wiped her hands on a cloth and glared in his direction before she gave up on the press for the moment. “Fine. Just fine. If this old heap of junk worked, it would be even better.”

Ewan chuckled. “I heard that, if ye had a gentle touch, it worked better.”

She watched him with a flinty glare. “Don’t act charming. I don’t call you the town’s most disreputable gentleman for no reason.” She threw down the rag and stepped off the elevated area the press sat on. She zigzagged around piles of old newspapers, reams of paper to be pressed, and bulging file cabinets to sit at her desk. “Why are you here?”

He leaned against the wall. “What do ye think? Fact or Fiction?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is that it gets people talking and hopefully buying my paper.” She pointed to a pile by the door. “When that happens, then I’ll be happy.”

“Ye should put out an advertisement for tall tales. Ye wouldna have to pay the majority of the folk. They’d be delighted to see their tales in print.” He shrugged. “That way ye could mix yer fact with fiction. Most believe today’s was fact.”

“How can you accept today’s story as though it were normal?” She fought a shiver and then frowned at him as he laughed at her reaction. “This is how normal people react!”

“Nae, it’s how a soft woman, actin’ at bein’ hardened by life, acts. Ye’ll have to do a better job at convincin’ me in the future, now that I ken ye are no’ as I thought.” His eyes gleamed with triumph as though he had discovered a secret, and he would use it to his benefit.

“You know no such thing. I’ve seen things that would make someone like you, who’s only known privilege and harmony, cringe. You’ve never seen suffering. Hell, you’ve never suffered. How can you expect me to worry about your opinion?”

Ewan shrugged and flashed his mocking smile. “Aye, I’ve lived a charmed life. How could one such as I ever understand loss?” He winked at her, delighting in her aggravation at his actions and his words, and then sauntered out the door.

He entered the nearby worksite and sighed as his men whistled at him as he walked in. They had begun teasing him after his frequent mentions in the paper and his title as “most disreputable gentleman.” After a moment he laughed. “Serves me right,” he muttered to himself.

“Someone’s waiting for you, D.G.,” Ben muttered around a mouthful of nails and nodded toward the back of the project.

Ewan frowned for a second and then caught the humor in Ben’s eyes and realized this would be his new nickname from his men. “Dammit,” he muttered, walking to the rear of the home. The outside walls were up and one interior wall to separate the spaces also stood. Soon they would move to another project before returning here to finish it after it became too cold to work outside.

His frenetic pace slowed when he saw a woman in a deep-blue dress awaiting him. Her wheat-colored hair was pulled in a tidy bun, while her dress and shawl did little to conceal her generous curves. At a few inches over five feet, she stood nearly a foot shorter than Ewan, plus eight years younger than his thirty.

He paused at the entrance to the room covered in wood dust and filled with pieces of lumber he hoped to salvage for another project. A saw lay near her right foot, and he frowned when her swaying brought her closer to it. “Ma’am,” he said. She turned to him, and he sighed. “Ye should no’ be here, and ye should take care no’ to step on that saw.”

His words had the opposite effect. She panicked and moved to stand on it. He leaped forward and grabbed her, his long arms tugging her toward him, and she fell forward against him and away from the saw. When she was out of danger, he pushed her from his arms. “Dinna go creatin’ fantasies in yer brain that I was so overcome with seein’ ye that I had to drag ye into my arms.”

She flushed at his harsh words and looked at her well-worn boots. “I’m sorry for intruding on your work. I was hoping to speak with you, but it is difficult to find you away from your usual pursuits.”

“If ye wanted to speak with me, ye could come by the house. I’m there every evenin’ for dinner.” He met her embarrassed gaze. “Of course ye would see my family, and I dinna ken if ye would like to hear all they would have to say to ye. They are none fond of ye an’ the way ye are intent on marryin’ a MacKinnon.”

She nodded. “I understand. However, I think you’ve failed to consider all I can bring to a marriage.” She watched him earnestly before hushing after he growled at her.

“Do ye have no pride?” He glared at her. “My men are all standing behind us, and, if ye havena noticed, they are no’ workin’! They are listenin’ to our conversation and what ye are sayin’. Ye will be the center of gossip again, Miss Jameson. An’ ye will be the topic of pity as another MacKinnon refuses to marry ye.”

She blinked away tears. “I refuse to believe I am unmarriageable.” She wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Nae, ye are no’. Plenty of men would be willin’ to marry ye, but with ye comes yer mother. An’ I dinna ken many who would be willin’ to take her on too.” He tilted his head to one side. “My brother said ye were desperate. Dinna do anythin’ foolish, Miss Jameson.”

She raised her head, her whispered words emerging with a mixture of defiance and bitterness. “You have no right to tell me what to do. I already have enough people in my life intent on controlling me.” She pushed past him and stormed out of the worksite.

Ewan scratched at his head and shook it before returning to work beside Ben. They worked in silence for a few minutes. “I ken ye heard most of it.”

“You fool. You said something, and then she started to whisper. We didn’t hear the end of your discussion.” Ben looked at him as though encouraging him to speak.

“Ye heard enough,” Ewan muttered. “I wonder when that lass will ever learn.”

Ben shook his head and reached for more nails. “That’s not the question, is it?” He met Ewan’s curious gaze. “It’s when will she have had enough. That’s when there will be hell to pay.”

Ewan fought a shiver and began to work in earnest, attempting to forget Helen Jameson.

* * *

That evening Ewan sat in the sitting room, staring into space as he acted like he was reading a book. He sat on the tufted settee, near the potbellied stove. Two straight-backed chairs were on either side of the stove and a small desk was in a corner. A pitcher of dried flowers sat on a corner of the desk, while a bookcase leaned against a wall next to the desk. He waited for dinner to be announced, and then he would head to the Stumble-Out or the Boudoir. He sighed as ennui filled him.

“Why the long sigh?” Cailean asked. He sat on a chair across from Ewan. Cailean had the tall lanky grace all the MacKinnon brothers shared. His hair was darker than Ewan’s but lighter than Alistair’s. Concern flared in his hazel eyes as he watched his youngest brother.

Ewan grumbled and set the book beside him. “I’m hungry.” He waited a moment, but Cailean was more patient. “That wee woman visited my worksite today!” He shook his head with incredulousness. “She kens no bounds of propriety.”

“Helen Jameson visited you at work?”

“Aye, she was waitin’ for me when I arrived. Did no’ even try to hide from my men that she was there. Who, by the way, have started callin’ me D.G.” He rolled his eyes as Cailean burst into laughter at that. “I am no’ disreputable!”

Cailean swallowed a chuckle. “You’d better hope you are, if the mothers start circling after you. You’ve always been too charming.” He watched his brother with concern. “I know you hide in the saloons and the Boudoir to escape them and to ensure they leave you in peace. However, I fear your plan could be failing.”

“A woman should wait for a man to show interest,” Ewan sputtered.

“If that’s the case, you’ll be single forever,” Annabelle muttered from the doorway. She rubbed at her belly before rolling her eyes at her brother-in-law. “I’ve told you before, Ewan, how you need to have slightly more progressive ideas about women.”

Cailean shared an amused smile with his wife. “Helen cornered him at work today in front of his men.” His smile widened as his wife’s mouth dropped open. “Even you find that forward, darling.”

“I would never …” she muttered. “What happened?” She moved into the room and sat next to Ewan on the settee.

“She said I had no’ fully considered my options an’ the good fortune I would have were I to marry one such as she.” He glared at his brother and sister-in-law as they burst out laughing. “Ye think this is hilarious. But this is my life, an’ I ken the newspaper woman will hear about it.”

“Oh, after all the work you’ve done to cultivate the mystique of a scoundrel,” Annabelle murmured as she swiped at a cheek.

“A charming scoundrel,” Ewan said.

“C.S.,” Cailean muttered, earning a glare from Ewan.

“Dinna start,” Ewan said. He sighed and blew out a breath. “I dinna like that Helen is so desperate.”

Cailean sobered. “Aye, she is. And it seems to be worsening.” He flushed. “I know I should have told you this before, but I’d hoped nothing would come of it. Her mother cornered the reporter last week and wanted her to write a story about Helen’s upcoming nuptials. She was cagey about who Helen was to marry, but Mrs. Jameson wanted to ensure there would be plenty of newsprint spent on her daughter’s triumph.”

Ewan groaned. “She canna mean me. I willna marry her. I dinna care how eager she is to leave her mother’s home. I am no’ weddin’ the woman.”

Cailean shook his head. “No, you aren’t. We’d never want you to wed a woman you did not care for.”

Annabelle took Ewan’s hand. “We want you to wed for love.”

A shadow crossed Ewan’s face before he pasted on his carefree smile. “An’ ye ken that will never happen.” He squeezed Annabelle’s hand. “Is dinner ready? I’m starvin’.”

“And eager to escape the house tonight,” Cailean muttered. He watched as Annabelle rose and moved to the kitchen. “You won’t always be able to outrun your demons, Ewan.”

Ewan ignored his comment, laughed, and slapped him on the back as he followed him into the kitchen for dinner.

* * *

The door to the print shop slammed open, the glass in the door rattling before it was pushed shut. “Dammit, J.P., you can’t go around publishing this sort of thing,” Warren snapped as he paced around piles of paper on the floor. “I thought I had helped the town hire a reasonable reporter with experience, even if you are only twenty-seven years old. I’ve had one MacKinnon after another in my office badgering me about your articles.”

She looked up from typesetting her latest edition and shrugged. “If they were truly concerned, they’d ensure Ewan stopped acting in such a way as to garner the reporter’s attention.” Her red hair flowed down her back like a river of fire, pulled together with a loosely tied ribbon.

“There are libel laws, J.P. The MacKinnons are smart enough to know about them and to use them if needed.” He sighed as he ceased pacing and leaned against a wall near her raised printing press. “You could write about plenty of other stories in town where you didn’t have to focus on the MacKinnons.”

“So is it that I’m overstepping the boundaries of the law that concerns you or your friendship with the MacKinnons?” She raised an eyebrow, her gaze mocking in her assessment. “I will not be cowed into writing meaningless twaddle simply because there are those in town offended.”

“This could harm your status as a serious reporter.” He raised his eyebrows as though in warning.

She snorted as she turned away and sorted through a tray, looking for a specific letter. “As though that concerns me. I live in Bear Grass Springs, for heaven’s sake.” She found the letter and placed it in the typeset. “Do you know my sales have increased threefold since I started writing more on the N&N and F or F sections?” She smiled as she worked, her hands blackened by ink. “People like gossip.”

“They like news too,” Warren growled.

She blew out a puff of air. “I write plenty about the goings-on in the world. In the Territory. And I’ve yet to receive one letter or one comment when I’m walking through town about my news pieces. If the townsfolk want to focus more on the goings-on of their town and neighbors, who am I to complain?”

“You fuel gossip that could harm others, J.P. I thought better of you.”

She glowered at him as she leaned over the printing tray. “Then that was your mistake. I am a reporter and a damn fine one. I’m also a businesswoman, and I must make a living off my work. This may not be Saint Louis, but people are the same everywhere. What interests them is what will affect them. I will continue to publish what I know my reading public wishes to read.”

Warren clamped his jaw shut. After a moment he asked, “Even if you destroy others’ reputations in the process?” He flushed as her sharp gaze focused on him for the first time.

“Is there something more you aren’t telling me? Will your relationship with Sorcha MacKinnon be affected by my articles?” She looked chagrined for a moment before amusement shone from her eyes. “I thought her more of a firebrand than that.”

Warren pushed away from the wall. “Talking to you is worse than speaking to a brick wall. You’ll never see another’s point of view.”

“Not when you are attempting to prevent me from publishing what I want. I have every right to print my articles, Warren.”

He huffed out an agitated breath and spun to leave. He looked over his shoulder at Jessamine. “One day I fear you will regret your actions. And you will have no one to blame but yourself.”

* * *

That evening Jessamine locked up her print shop. She paused on the boardwalk in front of her shop, watching as men entered the Stumble-Out and a few wagons rumbled down Main Street. She nodded to Mr. Finlay as he made a show of locking up the front door of the bank.

As she turned toward the café, she jumped as a figure emerged from the shadows of the buildings. “Gettin’ friendly with the banker?” Walter Jameson drawled as he stood in front of her. Although not a tall man, he loomed over her short frame. The muscles in his shoulders and arms flexed as he crossed his arms across his chest, a testament to the hours he had recently spent toiling in the nearby mines.

“Please allow me to pass, Mr. Jameson.” She took a step to walk around him, but he matched her move, his mocking grin meeting her glare.

“Now why should I do that for the woman intent on ruining my sister’s life?” He spat a thick wad of chewing tobacco near the tip of her boot and took a step closer to her.

She ignored his attempt to intimidate her and held her ground. “I should think that was your role. You’ve done a wonderful job of it so far.”

He bent down, his fetid breath mixed with coffee and whiskey wafting over her face. “How dare you imply I am not concerned about my sister’s welfare.” His greasy brown hair fell over his shoulders but did not obstruct the fire in his brown eyes.

“You will never convince me that your concern for your sister is genuine. I know men like you.” She shook her head with disgust as that comment made him puff up with pride as though she had praised him. “You see her as valuable as long as you hope to gain something from her.”

She gasped as he gripped her arm in a punishing hold. “Your articles are making her a laughingstock in town. They are ruining her reputation. You must cease writing about her.”

She jerked on her arm but was unable to free herself. “If you are that concerned, perhaps you should speak with the lawyer about a lawsuit.”

Walter scowled. “That man is contemptible and will never be worthy of my sister.”

Jessamine frowned in confusion as she attempted to discern the riddle of his words. “Is that because you are unable to manipulate him as you would like?” Her cognac-colored eyes lit with amusement as she saw agreement in his gaze. “I’ve always wondered why you never encouraged your sister to approach Mr. Clark.”

Walter opened his mouth as though to say something and then clamped it shut again.

“There is a story here,” she murmured.

He leaned forward until she arched away from him, her arm still in his hand’s vise. “You will cease your interest in my sister. She will marry a MacKinnon this time.”

“What happens if she doesn’t?” Jessamine asked, ignoring the ache in her arm.

“She will discover what happens when she disappoints Mother and me.” He smiled malevolently as Jessamine shivered at his words.

After a moment she leaned forward as though desirous of a more intimate conversation with him. She saw interest flare in his eyes a second before her boot heel struck the toe of his boot. She wrenched her arm free as he yelped in pain. “Don’t ever think to hold me against my will again, Mr. Jameson. For I believe the lawyer is respectable. Perhaps it is you who is beneath our regard and thus not worthy of speaking to the lawyer.”

She pushed past him, walking at a rapid pace toward the café.

* * *

Ewan entered the café and sat at a table toward the middle of the room. He nodded to Harold and sipped appreciatively from a cup of coffee placed in front of him. He had foregone a lunch at home and had decided to visit with Harold and Irene while also grabbing a quick meal. He leaned back in his chair as he listened to the men near him debate the latest newspaper article.

One man doggedly argued for fact, while the other dug in his heels that it was fiction.

“All’s I know is that I’ve seen that ghost a time or two,” the man behind Ewan said in a deep voice. “I hate bumping into it after I leave the Waterin’ Hole.”

“You see it because you’re leaving the saloon! You’re too drunk to know what you’re looking at,” said his friend in a slightly higher-pitched voice.

“No, I’ve seen that cougar, and it’s always a harbinger of ill will,” the first man said. “Besides, you should not speak ill of the dead. Mr. Bachman suffered at the hands of Mr. Erickson before he died.”

The friend snorted. “They were drunk scoundrels, and you know it. I’ll think what I like about our town founders. That journalist didn’t even bother to mention our other town founder in her tale.”

Ewan fought a smile and met Harold’s amused glance as he ignored the bickering friends. “What do ye think?” He nodded his thanks for the coffee refill and the bowl of venison stew with a thick piece of bread.

“What I think and what I know are two entirely different matters,” Harold said with a laugh. “That young journalist is smart. Someone fed her a tale about Liver-Eating Johnson, and you all enjoyed it.” He watched as Ewan flushed with embarrassment. “He never had no wife living in the wilderness, and the only Indians he had problems with were the Sioux.”

Ewan frowned. “Now ye’ll tell me that his name was no’ Johnson.”

Harold shrugged. “It’s easy to reinvent yourself in a place like our Montana Territory. I imagine a man such as he did the same.” He chuckled. “To make that man’s actions sound honorable, oh, what a farce!”

Ewan crossed his arms over his chest as he studied Harold for signs of trickery. “How did he earn his name?”

Harold shook his head. “How would I know? I imagine some fool he was with gave it to him, and it stuck. Why is Fast-Draw Larson called that? We all know he’d be dead before his pistol left his holster if he were ever in a duel.”

Ewan huffed in frustration. “Ye’ll no’ distract me from this discussion. Is that Johnson no’ a lawman now?”

Harold shrugged. “I think he was for a time near Billings. He might still be. But he was no hero and he never outsmarted an Indian tribe.”

Ewan blew on a spoonful of the hot stew as he again focused on his meal. “I imagine yer grandsons ken him.”

Harold shook his head. “They have no reason to know the sheriff of Red Lodge.” Then he laughed. “And, if they do, I don’t want to know about it.” He watched Ewan. “What do you reckon about the newest tale?”

“Seems fiction to me. I walk home late most nights, an’ I’ve never seen a ghost.” He shivered. “But I ken ye shouldna doubt them. That’s when they make themselves known, ye ken?”

Harold laughed. “You Scots always were superstitious.” He slapped Ewan on the back. “I would say I wouldn’t put such a yarn past either one of those men. Except they would have found a way to make money off of it.” Harold chuckled. “If it had happened, the poor beast’s pelt would be enshrined in the Hall!” He fought another chuckle and moved on to the next table.

After eating, Ewan returned to the worksite behind the café which buzzed with his men working and with conversation about the cougar ghost. Consensus among his men was that there most likely was a ghost but that the man would have stabbed the cougar, not broken its neck. “So ye think it’s both fact and fiction?” Ewan asked as he swiped a hand over his forehead, smearing wood dust into his sweat.

Ben nodded. “Yeah, that would make the most sense. Nothing else does.”

Ewan laughed. “The whole story sounds like a pile of horse dung to me.” He scratched at his head before hefting a board.

Ben shrugged as he held the board in place, and Ewan began to hammer. “Perhaps, but it’s a darned good story. I can’t wait to see what she writes next week.”

Ewan studied Ben a moment, frowning at the excitement in his eyes before he glanced at his men. “Are ye intent on purchasin’ her paper now?”

Ben nodded. “It doesn’t cost much, and I had to wait until almost noontime to read the copy passed around today. I want to see what she publishes next week.” He called out to one of the men to bring Ewan more nails.

Ewan nodded his thanks as he continued to hammer in the board with ease and efficiency. “I wonder if this will finally bring her success.”

Ben’s smile broadened as he watched his friend. “Among her News and Noteworthy column, the town’s fascination with you, and now with this newest section, I think she will be as successful as a small-town newspaperwoman can be.”

* * *

Ewan knocked on Alistair’s door, slapping his brother on the shoulder as he answered. He shucked his jacket and hung it on a peg by the door before following his brother into the living area to the right of the main hallway. The house was similar to Cailean’s, with a sitting room on one side of the house and a large room with a kitchen and dining area on the left. A staircase in the hallway led to three bedrooms upstairs, rather than four as in Cailean’s house.

Ewan warmed his hands over the stove for a moment before sitting in a chair beside Cailean. “Why did ye want to meet with us here rather than at the family house?”

Alistair shrugged. “Leticia wanted time with Anna, and Hortence likes to play with her aunt, Sorcha. Seemed easier for us to meet here and to let them have their time without us at the bigger house.” He smiled as he thought about his wife, Leticia and daughter, Hortence. “Hortence was restless, and I dinna think she would have been happy remainin’ here.”

“Ah, wee Hortence. She’s a good lass,” Cailean murmured.

Alistair nodded as he thought about his daughter, whom he had considered his own long before he had formally adopted her. “Aye, although I worry she’s sufferin’ due to that journalist.”

Ewan frowned. “Why? That woman hasna written more about her after that horrible comment in the newspaper the first week she was in town.” He shook his head as he thought about Jessamine picking on a young girl because her father was a thief and a liar. Thankfully, the MacKinnons were well respected, and Alistair had made it clear he considered Hortence his daughter. Few were willing to risk angering Alistair, and Jessamine had never written about her again.

Alistair stared at the stove a moment and swallowed as though trying to control his rage with as much ease. “I’d forgotten how cruel we were when we were children.”

Cailean furrowed his brow. “Were we cruel?”

Ewan shrugged as he stretched his legs in front of him and slouched in his chair. “We teased wee Angus MacDonald for believin’ his father a great war chief.”

Alistair winced. “Poor wee bugger was naught but a bastard. Needed to believe in somethin’, and we lorded over him that we went home to our own da every night.” He sighed. “This is what I mean.”

“Teasin’ never killed anyone, Alistair,” Cailean said.

“Nae, but it can kill your spirit. An’ I’m afraid ’tis killin’ wee Hortence’s, an’ she’s just seven years old.” He shared a worried glance with his brothers. “Ye ken how Hortence doesna like her red hair? How the children tease her about it?” The brothers nodded. “I learned today it has only worsened since that journalist arrived.”

Ewan sighed. “Ye canna blame the poor woman for havin’ red hair!”

“Nae, but she isna makin’ friends. An’ she acts outside the bounds of propriety. There are whispers she kens more than she should about the Boudoir.” Alistair glared at Ewan as he burst out laughing.

“I’ve never seen the woman there, an’ I’m there most nights. I imagine those rumors were started by men she spurned. Or by Mrs. Jameson.”

Cailean tilted his head to one side as though in deep contemplation. “Either way, it doesn’t help Hortence. She already battled terrible teasing with her red hair last year. What do the children say now?”

Alistair clenched his jaw and then his fist, his eyes a molten brown. “That she willna ever marry, as no man could love a red-haired woman. That she will end up alone, like the journalist, despised and unwanted.”

“Eejits!” Ewan yelled. “How can they say such things to a wee lass?” He frowned as he looked at Alistair. “Hortence kens none of that’s true, does she no’? She kens we love her and always will?”

Alistair shrugged. “I think so, but she has doubts.”

Cailean growled. “She should only have certainty.”

Alistair rose and paced. “’Tis near to tearin’ Leticia’s heart out,” he rasped. “An’ my own. I dinna ken how to soothe this hurt.”

Ewan rose and grabbed his brother by the shoulder. “Ye do what ye’ve always done, Al. Ye show them yer love every day. With yer constancy. Yer kindness. Yer compassion. This will pass.”

Alistair shook his head. “I fear too many remain angered over Leticia’s deception this summer. I should have kent better than to believe a party and a piece of cake would soothe their ire.”

Cailean snorted. “No one in this town is above reproach. If we don’t know that, we soon will with all the reporter is publishing.” He sat in deep thought a moment. “From what I hear, the new teacher has little control over the classroom, and many parents are yearning for the days when Leticia was the teacher. That sentiment will spread, and her deception will be forgotten as the townsfolk remember her dedication to the children she taught.”

Alistair sighed and sat again. “I hope what ye say is true, Cail. But waitin’ for that day is a challenge. An’ I canna wish for Leticia’s agony to ease at the expense of the new teacher.”

Ewan shook his head. He remained standing and leaned against a window frame. “Do ye ken I’ve never seen him in command of his students when I walk by the school? I pass by frequently on my way to the sawmill. All I see is chaos an’ mayhem.”

Cailean shared a rueful look with Ewan. “I wonder how long he’ll remain in Bear Grass Springs?”

Alistair sighed. “An’ the problem is no’ that we need a new teacher. It’s that we need a second. Forty-four students is too much for one, and Leticia kent that. If we had money for another teacher, everything would be different.”

Ewan shrugged. “You ken there are those in town who dinna want to spend the money on the one teacherage, never mind two.” He shook his head. “How do they think the wee ones will succeed if they are ignorant?”

Cailean snorted. “Ignorant and uneducated are two different things, and you well know it. Plenty of those same people who would deny the children an education had one, and they are the most ignorant in town.” He sighed. “However, from what I hear at the livery, townsfolk are most interested in other improvement projects. If all the tax money were focused on the school, there would be discontent.”

Alistair sighed. “Aye, especially considering we are plannin’ to add a gamblin’ tax.” He shook his head. “Timmons eyed my pitchfork with a bit too much interest today when he visited the livery. Seemed interested in stabbin’ me with it.”

Ewan scoffed as he thought about the owner of the Stumble-Out Saloon. “He’s too worried about the profits he makes from the gamblers.”

Alistair shrugged. “’Twould be a help if that reporter were less sharp tongued and in favor of what we propose. Instead she seems most interested in inciting unease and mistrust.”

Ewan moved to sit next to his brothers. “Aye, Warren couldna have done a worse job in his choice of reporter. However”—he made a motion with his hand as though returning to their original topic—“’tis no’ her fault she has red hair, no more than it is Hortence’s. An’ although I dinna like all she reports, she should no’ be judged by appearances any more than anyone else.”

Alistair snorted. “Perhaps. But she should ken that someday she will wish for friendship, rather than animosity.”

Cailean nodded. “Aye.” He smiled as Ewan looked pleased at the prospect of the reporter receiving her just deserts.