Cheryl St.John - Her Montana Man

“Don’t make me come in there and drag you out!” the man shouted.

“Looking for someone?” Jonas called easily.

“Stay outta this, mister. Ain’t none of your concern.”

Jonas walked several yards toward the hotel. “Well, seems it is my concern since you’re standing there hollerin’ at the front windows of my establishment. State your business, Mister…”

“Baslow. This your hotel?”

“That it is. Jonas Black’s the name. And you are?”

“I’m lookin’ to take a woman back with me. I want Madeline Holmes.”

“Is she your wife?”

The angry man deepened the scowl on his already craggy face, and his complexion reddened. “Ain’t none of your damned business what she is. All you need to know is that she’s comin’ with me.”

“I guess we can leave that up to Maddie, now, can’t we?”

At Jonas’s familiar use of her name, Baslow turned his whole body toward Jonas and squinted. “What’s she to you?”

“A good employee. I’ll go tell her you’re here and you can ask her directly what she’d like to do.”

The man jerked his head toward the saloon Jonas had exited. Quay still stood just outside the doors.

“She’s in there?” Baslow shouted. “Whoring?”

Jonas gestured to a brightly painted wooden sign that hung on the outside of the building. “No sportin’ women in my establishment. Maddie’s one of my housekeepers.”

“The hell you say. Madeline!” he roared, stalking toward the saloon.

Jonas frowned at Baslow’s belligerent tone and aggressive stance. Eagerness for the man to try to push past him so he’d have reason to restrain him made his fingers tingle and his blood pump.

Instead, Baslow gave him a wide berth, striding to face the open saloon doors.

Casually, Jonas turned and stepped past Quay into the dim interior. This time his gaze sought and found the dark-haired woman who’d stopped polishing the bar and stood in rigid fear, her eyes as wide as saucers, her face pale. “Frank,” she said on a dry rasp.

Jonas thought she might have been pretty once, before abuse and fear had added the appearance of more years to her narrow face. Using intimidation, the man had held her in his home and his bed for eight years. Breaking away had taken courage. Following through with her decision to escape would take even more.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Jonas assured her.

“Quay and I are right here. The whole of Silver Bend would see if he tried to force you away in plain sight. You don’t have to go back with him. He can’t make you. Tell him you don’t want to leave. Make it loud ’n clear so there are witnesses.”

Her frightened gaze moved from Jonas to the doorway. He’d seen the same bleak dread on too many faces, and it made his blood boil. “You’re free, Maddie. You have a job and can take care of yourself. You don’t need him. He has no control over you except what you give him. From here on out you can live your life any way you see fit. It’s up to you.”

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?”