THE STUDS OF CLEAR CREEK COUNTY
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A BWWM Wild West series focusing on the romance and drama that goes on in 1895 Clear Creek County, California.
CHAPTER ONE
Clear Creek County, California 1895
With double-vision, her heart thrashing against her chest, and her body crumbling from fear, 24-year-old Billie Jean Wills held onto Sugar’s reins as the horse galloped across the vast land chasing whatever creature had spooked the golden mare.
Each second felt as long as a year as Billie Jean tried to grasp even the tiniest breath. She couldn’t see and her heart banged in her ears like a drum. She waved and kicked, praying to the God she held so dearly that Sugar would at least get tired.
But as they passed through more of the forest, the horse didn’t let up. She kept running, bucking and howling, and Billie Jean lost her grip on the reins and before her mind could comprehend it, she was flying into the air, finally able to scream while flinging her arms wildly. Her life passed before her eyes and she begged God that it was too soon for her to go and she surely didn’t want to die like this but before she fell to the ground and broke every bone in her body, two giant, gloved hands grabbed onto her waist and forced her upon another running horse.
With her hair flying in her face and still fighting for breath, Billie Jean held on to two robust arms covered in luxurious silk sleeves. He maneuvered her to where she sat in front of him, holding her underneath her bouncing bosom.
“Are you okay?” The stranger’s voice remained calm despite galloping on the horse. “Are you okay, Miss?”
“Y…” Billie Jean swallowed. “I…”
“Hold on.” The man pulled on his reins and the gray horse stopped. “It’s okay.” He climbed off his horse, and he was so strong he pulled her off at the same time. “Breathe.” He set Billie Jean underneath the shade of the massive sequoia trees. “Talk to me.”
Billie Jean huffed and puffed, yet to concentrate on his face.
“Here, hold my hand.” He cradled her hand in his and hers nearly disappeared because his was so much bigger. “Take a deep breath. In and out.” He breathed along with her, smelling of luxurious silk and polished wool. “Again.”
Slim with just the right amount of muscle, his thick leather-brown hair sported the fashionable side part, the sides longer so the ends curled forward. He reminded her of the other rich white industrialists in Clear Creek County: clean-cut, chivalrous, and she craved to know the thoughts behind his sizzling gray eyes, which stared upon her with the innocence of a child.
“Well, I gotta say you sure look good afraid.” Even his obvious high-class ways didn’t stop the lust in his eyes as he ogled her body. “I’ve never seen you before. Trust me, I’d remember if I had.”
As her adrenaline settled, she remembered this was a white man and she a colored woman and snatched her hand from his.
“Oh.” Curiosity lingered on his down-turned lips. “I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”
“No, sir.” Billie Jean exhaled, straightening the lengthy skirt of her emerald-green dress, her brown ankle-length boots drenched in dust like everything else in Clear Creek County. “I appreciate you helping me. Oh, God, Sugar!” Billie Jean jumped up and looked at the miles of greenery that surrounded them like a blanket, not seeing the horse anywhere. “She’s gone. Shoot! That was one of my uncle’s horses.” She touched her head, surprised that her black curls were still secure in her updo. “He’s gonna kill me!”
The stranger snatched off his glove and extended his hand. “Fisher Hines. And you are?”
“Billie Jean Wills.” She gave his warm hand a quick shake. “Nice to meet you, sir. And I can’t thank you enough.”
“Don’t worry about your horse.” He winked with confidence. “I’ll find her. She probably saw an animal that caught her attention.”
“Yes, sir.” Billie Jean sat back in the grass. “But Sugar was my responsibility, so I’d feel awful if I lost her.”
“Wills? You must be related to Greta Fay’s people.”
“Oh, you know my cousin?”
“I’m betting you won’t find a lot around here who don’t know her. She’s quite famous.”
“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”
He shrugged, his golden cufflinks shining in the sun. “Just don’t believe in stirring up trouble, is all.”
“You think she’s causing problems here, sir?”
“What would you call it?”
“I call it fighting for what’s right. For our people.” Billie Jean stuck her chin in the air. “I understand some disagree with the Negro fighting for their rights—”
“I have no problem with Negroes wanting all the rights they can get.” Fisher grabbed a handful of grass. “But it’s how she’s going about it that troubles me. People would listen to her more if she wasn’t so irrational.”
“You mean if she stayed in her place, sir?”
He squinted, teasing her with a slight grin. “Where are you from?”
“Los Angeles, California, sir.”
“Ah.” He exploded in a hearty laugh. “That explains it. I’m well aware of Los Angeles’ ways, but things are different here, Billie Jean. You stay around here long enough and you’ll learn that real quick.”
Clear Creek County, California 1895
With double-vision, her heart thrashing against her chest, and her body crumbling from fear, 24-year-old Billie Jean Wills held onto Sugar’s reins as the horse galloped across the vast land chasing whatever creature had spooked the golden mare.
Each second felt as long as a year as Billie Jean tried to grasp even the tiniest breath. She couldn’t see and her heart banged in her ears like a drum. She waved and kicked, praying to the God she held so dearly that Sugar would at least get tired.
But as they passed through more of the forest, the horse didn’t let up. She kept running, bucking and howling, and Billie Jean lost her grip on the reins and before her mind could comprehend it, she was flying into the air, finally able to scream while flinging her arms wildly. Her life passed before her eyes and she begged God that it was too soon for her to go and she surely didn’t want to die like this but before she fell to the ground and broke every bone in her body, two giant, gloved hands grabbed onto her waist and forced her upon another running horse.
With her hair flying in her face and still fighting for breath, Billie Jean held on to two robust arms covered in luxurious silk sleeves. He maneuvered her to where she sat in front of him, holding her underneath her bouncing bosom.
“Are you okay?” The stranger’s voice remained calm despite galloping on the horse. “Are you okay, Miss?”
“Y…” Billie Jean swallowed. “I…”
“Hold on.” The man pulled on his reins and the gray horse stopped. “It’s okay.” He climbed off his horse, and he was so strong he pulled her off at the same time. “Breathe.” He set Billie Jean underneath the shade of the massive sequoia trees. “Talk to me.”
Billie Jean huffed and puffed, yet to concentrate on his face.
“Here, hold my hand.” He cradled her hand in his and hers nearly disappeared because his was so much bigger. “Take a deep breath. In and out.” He breathed along with her, smelling of luxurious silk and polished wool. “Again.”
Slim with just the right amount of muscle, his thick leather-brown hair sported the fashionable side part, the sides longer so the ends curled forward. He reminded her of the other rich white industrialists in Clear Creek County: clean-cut, chivalrous, and she craved to know the thoughts behind his sizzling gray eyes, which stared upon her with the innocence of a child.
“Well, I gotta say you sure look good afraid.” Even his obvious high-class ways didn’t stop the lust in his eyes as he ogled her body. “I’ve never seen you before. Trust me, I’d remember if I had.”
As her adrenaline settled, she remembered this was a white man and she a colored woman and snatched her hand from his.
“Oh.” Curiosity lingered on his down-turned lips. “I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”
“No, sir.” Billie Jean exhaled, straightening the lengthy skirt of her emerald-green dress, her brown ankle-length boots drenched in dust like everything else in Clear Creek County. “I appreciate you helping me. Oh, God, Sugar!” Billie Jean jumped up and looked at the miles of greenery that surrounded them like a blanket, not seeing the horse anywhere. “She’s gone. Shoot! That was one of my uncle’s horses.” She touched her head, surprised that her black curls were still secure in her updo. “He’s gonna kill me!”
The stranger snatched off his glove and extended his hand. “Fisher Hines. And you are?”
“Billie Jean Wills.” She gave his warm hand a quick shake. “Nice to meet you, sir. And I can’t thank you enough.”
“Don’t worry about your horse.” He winked with confidence. “I’ll find her. She probably saw an animal that caught her attention.”
“Yes, sir.” Billie Jean sat back in the grass. “But Sugar was my responsibility, so I’d feel awful if I lost her.”
“Wills? You must be related to Greta Fay’s people.”
“Oh, you know my cousin?”
“I’m betting you won’t find a lot around here who don’t know her. She’s quite famous.”
“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”
He shrugged, his golden cufflinks shining in the sun. “Just don’t believe in stirring up trouble, is all.”
“You think she’s causing problems here, sir?”
“What would you call it?”
“I call it fighting for what’s right. For our people.” Billie Jean stuck her chin in the air. “I understand some disagree with the Negro fighting for their rights—”
“I have no problem with Negroes wanting all the rights they can get.” Fisher grabbed a handful of grass. “But it’s how she’s going about it that troubles me. People would listen to her more if she wasn’t so irrational.”
“You mean if she stayed in her place, sir?”
He squinted, teasing her with a slight grin. “Where are you from?”
“Los Angeles, California, sir.”
“Ah.” He exploded in a hearty laugh. “That explains it. I’m well aware of Los Angeles’ ways, but things are different here, Billie Jean. You stay around here long enough and you’ll learn that real quick.”
CHAPTER ONE
Clear Creek County, California 1895
“Ah!” Gladys Brown tripped as the heel of her black leather thigh-high boot got caught on the rugged ground. She fell, rolling over in the field multiple times. “Goddamn it!” And though she was being chased by Kit and two other numbskulls who worked for Carl Lansing, right now she was more pissed that they’d messed up her dress. “Fuck.” She struggled to stand, slapping dust from her body. “Kit, you done lost your damn mind!”
“Where’s the money?” Kit Adams rode up on his horse with Larry and Sig. “Come on, Gladys, give it up.”
“Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” Gladys stood wide-legged, rocking her hips from side-to-side. “I’ve been working for Carl for ten fuckin’ years. Have I ever stolen anything from him? I do a lot of shit, but stealing is below my paygrade.”
“All we know is the money was there when you went into the room,” Sig, the fat one, said. “Then you leave and it’s gone.”
“I don’t even know what money you are talking about!”
“The money Carl got from the trailer job.” Kit spit, his cowboy hat sitting crooked on top of his head. “Don’t play with me, bitch.”
Gladys chuckled. “Oh, you mean the money Carl stole? Carl thinks I stole the money he stole? Well, that’s rich, ain’t it?”
“We got a witness that said you was in the room lookin’ at the money,” Larry, the puny one with the glasses, said. “You can’t get away, Gladys, so you might as well come clean.”
“You wanna search me, boys?” She held out her arms, and they all looked at her, licking their lips. “Did Carl put you up to this? I doubt it. He knows better.”
“Where’s the money, Gladys?” Kit hopped off his horse, rubbing his knuckles. “Tell us where it is or I’ll beat it out of ya’.”
“Really? You and what army?”
Kit pointed to the others, who didn’t look so confident. “Us.”
“Whoa, Kit, wait a minute,” Sig said. “You know how Carl feels about hittin’ the girls. Especially Gladys.”
“There’s two reasons you won’t hit me, Kit.” Gladys held her waist. “One is Carl will kill you
if you bruise up my face. Don’t nobody wanna pay for a girl with bruises so you’d be costing Carl money.”
Kit’s forehead wrinkled in thought.
“Second, lay a hand on me…” She lifted her dress and snatched the pocketknife out of her thigh holster. “And I’ll cut your dick into a million pieces and eat it.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” Larry clapped. “Damn, Gladys. Better be careful, Kit. She serious.”
“I take orders from Carl and not you,” Kit said. “He wants his money, and it’s my job to get it for him. Come on, bitch.” He got in a fighting stance, waving for her to approach. “Give me all you got.”
Gladys whirled around and high-kicked him, the spiked heel of her boot smacking him right in the nose.
“Oh!” Kit fell into the dirt, holding his face as the others laughed. “Fuck! Shit!” He punched the dusty ground. “Oh, hell.”
Gladys snickered, juggling the knife. “You want more?”
“Shit, gal.” He rocked, rubbing his face. “I think you broke my nose!”
“I ain’t broke it. Surely you ain’t done yet.”
“Naw, I ain’t done!” Kit jumped up and before Gladys could prepare, he ran into her like a bull, slammed his head into her stomach, and knocked her to the ground.
“Ugh!” Gladys dropped the knife and while scrambling, Kit got on top of her and slapped her so hard she was seeing double. But she quickly regained her senses and locked her hands around Kit’s throat.
He grunted, face turning red while veins popped out everywhere. “L… let go, bitch.”
“No, you let go.” She squeezed as hard as she could, hoping his head would bust wide open. “You slap me? Who the hell do you think you are? You gonna pay for that.” Gladys slugged him.
Kit rolled off of her in agony as she mounted him.
“You slap me, huh?” Gladys whopped him. “How do you like it, pussy?” She slapped him again. “Answer me?” She swatted him a third time.
Sig and Larry laughed their asses off.
“I’ll cut your dick off.” Gladys reached for her knife when Kit slugged her so hard she flew off him.
“Stupid cunt.” He got her knife, landed on top of her, and held it to her bosom. “Cut my dick off? Naw, I’m gonna cut off your tits, Gladys. Then no one will wanna fuck you.”
She spit in his face.
“Damn, bitch!” He slapped her again, and by this time her face was ringing from left to right. “The money, Gladys. Where did you hide it?”
A gunshot rang out, splitting the sky in two.
“Jesus.” Gladys turned her head to see a white man she’d never seen before in full-on black, including his cowboy hat and horse.
“I don’t like this picture.” The stranger trotted up on his shiny stallion. “Three against one? Especially when the one is a woman.”
Kit got off of Gladys, huffing. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Ah.” Gladys checked her mouth for blood. “You fuckin’ asshole, Kit. Keep your guard up because this ain’t over.”
“Are you okay, Miss?” the stranger asked her but she didn’t want nothing to do with him, either. “Did he hit you?”
“What if I did?” Kit charged the man’s horse. “This is none of ya’ business.”
The man pointed his pistol at Kit. “I’m making it my business. I suggest you all leave. Ain’t you got nuthin’ better to do than harass women?”
“No.” Gladys spit in the grass. “It’s Kit’s favorite pastime.
“I don’t know who you are, Mister,” Kit said. “But you done stuck your nose in the wrong thing. My boss won’t be too happy that you buttin’ in.”
“Your boss have a problem with me? Tell him to come find me.” The stranger tilted his head back, allowing Gladys to catch the sparkle in his greenish-brown eyes. “My name’s Ellis Kincaid, and I’ll be in town a while. Tell him to look me up.”
“Ellis Kincaid?” Sig asked. “Hey, you from Braesville? I’ve heard of you. Got family in Braesville.”
Ellis smirked at Kit. “You leaving, or do I have to make you?”
Kit squinted. “I’d love to see you try.”
“Very well.” Ellis pointed at the ground and shot three times.
All the horses jumped around wildly, whinnying and bucking. Sig and Larry struggled to hold on.
Ellis shot again, and Kit’s horse took off toward the woods. No surprise, Sig and Larry’s horses followed, with the men screaming as the horses carried them into the forest.
“Shit, you gonna pay for this, Kincaid!” Kit pointed at him, running backward. “Just you wait. You done messed with the wrong man!” He turned around and took off, yelling.
“Well, this is an interesting way to meet the locals, hmm?” Ellis looked down at Gladys with that lusty gaze all men gave her as he tipped his hat. “My name’s Ellis Kincaid, ma’am. You are?”
“Not interested.”
Staring at her bosom without shame, Ellis got off his horse and held out his hand. “Looks like you need some help.”
“Get away from me.” Gladys slapped his hand away and stood under her own power. “Go on ‘bout your business, Kincaid, and leave me alone.” Gladys stalked through the grass in the direction she’d come from.
“Is this how you are when a person rescues you?” Ellis got on his horse and rode alongside her.
“I ain’t need to be rescued.” She touched her stinging jaw. “Kit better hope I don’t swell up or Carl’s gonna kill him.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You handled yourself pretty good with them fools at first, but he was getting the upper hand. I’d think you’d be grateful I came around.”
She rolled her eyes despite enjoying the sound of his calm, husky voice.
“I don’t get it. Why so hostile to someone who helped you?”
“No one wants anything in life for free, especially men. They don’t rescue women without wanting something in return.” She felt his gaze on her hips. “I know what you want.”
Clear Creek County, California 1895
“Ah!” Gladys Brown tripped as the heel of her black leather thigh-high boot got caught on the rugged ground. She fell, rolling over in the field multiple times. “Goddamn it!” And though she was being chased by Kit and two other numbskulls who worked for Carl Lansing, right now she was more pissed that they’d messed up her dress. “Fuck.” She struggled to stand, slapping dust from her body. “Kit, you done lost your damn mind!”
“Where’s the money?” Kit Adams rode up on his horse with Larry and Sig. “Come on, Gladys, give it up.”
“Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” Gladys stood wide-legged, rocking her hips from side-to-side. “I’ve been working for Carl for ten fuckin’ years. Have I ever stolen anything from him? I do a lot of shit, but stealing is below my paygrade.”
“All we know is the money was there when you went into the room,” Sig, the fat one, said. “Then you leave and it’s gone.”
“I don’t even know what money you are talking about!”
“The money Carl got from the trailer job.” Kit spit, his cowboy hat sitting crooked on top of his head. “Don’t play with me, bitch.”
Gladys chuckled. “Oh, you mean the money Carl stole? Carl thinks I stole the money he stole? Well, that’s rich, ain’t it?”
“We got a witness that said you was in the room lookin’ at the money,” Larry, the puny one with the glasses, said. “You can’t get away, Gladys, so you might as well come clean.”
“You wanna search me, boys?” She held out her arms, and they all looked at her, licking their lips. “Did Carl put you up to this? I doubt it. He knows better.”
“Where’s the money, Gladys?” Kit hopped off his horse, rubbing his knuckles. “Tell us where it is or I’ll beat it out of ya’.”
“Really? You and what army?”
Kit pointed to the others, who didn’t look so confident. “Us.”
“Whoa, Kit, wait a minute,” Sig said. “You know how Carl feels about hittin’ the girls. Especially Gladys.”
“There’s two reasons you won’t hit me, Kit.” Gladys held her waist. “One is Carl will kill you
if you bruise up my face. Don’t nobody wanna pay for a girl with bruises so you’d be costing Carl money.”
Kit’s forehead wrinkled in thought.
“Second, lay a hand on me…” She lifted her dress and snatched the pocketknife out of her thigh holster. “And I’ll cut your dick into a million pieces and eat it.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” Larry clapped. “Damn, Gladys. Better be careful, Kit. She serious.”
“I take orders from Carl and not you,” Kit said. “He wants his money, and it’s my job to get it for him. Come on, bitch.” He got in a fighting stance, waving for her to approach. “Give me all you got.”
Gladys whirled around and high-kicked him, the spiked heel of her boot smacking him right in the nose.
“Oh!” Kit fell into the dirt, holding his face as the others laughed. “Fuck! Shit!” He punched the dusty ground. “Oh, hell.”
Gladys snickered, juggling the knife. “You want more?”
“Shit, gal.” He rocked, rubbing his face. “I think you broke my nose!”
“I ain’t broke it. Surely you ain’t done yet.”
“Naw, I ain’t done!” Kit jumped up and before Gladys could prepare, he ran into her like a bull, slammed his head into her stomach, and knocked her to the ground.
“Ugh!” Gladys dropped the knife and while scrambling, Kit got on top of her and slapped her so hard she was seeing double. But she quickly regained her senses and locked her hands around Kit’s throat.
He grunted, face turning red while veins popped out everywhere. “L… let go, bitch.”
“No, you let go.” She squeezed as hard as she could, hoping his head would bust wide open. “You slap me? Who the hell do you think you are? You gonna pay for that.” Gladys slugged him.
Kit rolled off of her in agony as she mounted him.
“You slap me, huh?” Gladys whopped him. “How do you like it, pussy?” She slapped him again. “Answer me?” She swatted him a third time.
Sig and Larry laughed their asses off.
“I’ll cut your dick off.” Gladys reached for her knife when Kit slugged her so hard she flew off him.
“Stupid cunt.” He got her knife, landed on top of her, and held it to her bosom. “Cut my dick off? Naw, I’m gonna cut off your tits, Gladys. Then no one will wanna fuck you.”
She spit in his face.
“Damn, bitch!” He slapped her again, and by this time her face was ringing from left to right. “The money, Gladys. Where did you hide it?”
A gunshot rang out, splitting the sky in two.
“Jesus.” Gladys turned her head to see a white man she’d never seen before in full-on black, including his cowboy hat and horse.
“I don’t like this picture.” The stranger trotted up on his shiny stallion. “Three against one? Especially when the one is a woman.”
Kit got off of Gladys, huffing. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Ah.” Gladys checked her mouth for blood. “You fuckin’ asshole, Kit. Keep your guard up because this ain’t over.”
“Are you okay, Miss?” the stranger asked her but she didn’t want nothing to do with him, either. “Did he hit you?”
“What if I did?” Kit charged the man’s horse. “This is none of ya’ business.”
The man pointed his pistol at Kit. “I’m making it my business. I suggest you all leave. Ain’t you got nuthin’ better to do than harass women?”
“No.” Gladys spit in the grass. “It’s Kit’s favorite pastime.
“I don’t know who you are, Mister,” Kit said. “But you done stuck your nose in the wrong thing. My boss won’t be too happy that you buttin’ in.”
“Your boss have a problem with me? Tell him to come find me.” The stranger tilted his head back, allowing Gladys to catch the sparkle in his greenish-brown eyes. “My name’s Ellis Kincaid, and I’ll be in town a while. Tell him to look me up.”
“Ellis Kincaid?” Sig asked. “Hey, you from Braesville? I’ve heard of you. Got family in Braesville.”
Ellis smirked at Kit. “You leaving, or do I have to make you?”
Kit squinted. “I’d love to see you try.”
“Very well.” Ellis pointed at the ground and shot three times.
All the horses jumped around wildly, whinnying and bucking. Sig and Larry struggled to hold on.
Ellis shot again, and Kit’s horse took off toward the woods. No surprise, Sig and Larry’s horses followed, with the men screaming as the horses carried them into the forest.
“Shit, you gonna pay for this, Kincaid!” Kit pointed at him, running backward. “Just you wait. You done messed with the wrong man!” He turned around and took off, yelling.
“Well, this is an interesting way to meet the locals, hmm?” Ellis looked down at Gladys with that lusty gaze all men gave her as he tipped his hat. “My name’s Ellis Kincaid, ma’am. You are?”
“Not interested.”
Staring at her bosom without shame, Ellis got off his horse and held out his hand. “Looks like you need some help.”
“Get away from me.” Gladys slapped his hand away and stood under her own power. “Go on ‘bout your business, Kincaid, and leave me alone.” Gladys stalked through the grass in the direction she’d come from.
“Is this how you are when a person rescues you?” Ellis got on his horse and rode alongside her.
“I ain’t need to be rescued.” She touched her stinging jaw. “Kit better hope I don’t swell up or Carl’s gonna kill him.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You handled yourself pretty good with them fools at first, but he was getting the upper hand. I’d think you’d be grateful I came around.”
She rolled her eyes despite enjoying the sound of his calm, husky voice.
“I don’t get it. Why so hostile to someone who helped you?”
“No one wants anything in life for free, especially men. They don’t rescue women without wanting something in return.” She felt his gaze on her hips. “I know what you want.”
CHAPTER ONE
Clear Creek County, California
1895
“Oh!” Fiona Acres stumbled, her black lace-up boots getting stuck on the dusty road as three white men on horses burst through the woods and surrounded her.
Squeezing the handle of her leather suitcase, Fiona turned in a circle, looking at the men one-by-one.
“You new here, right?” The somewhat handsome one with the brown cowboy hat spit tobacco juice. “Yeah, ain’t never seen you before. Where you going, gal?”
“Hey, Kit.” The chubbier redheaded guy straightened his horse. “Bet she another Negro from Braesville coming to be a maid.”
The threesome laughed, spitting simultaneously.
“Maybe.” Fiona stuck her chin in the air. “Maybe not. I don’t see what business it is of yours.”
The one called Kit raised his eyebrows. “What did you say to me, gal?”
“I think you heard me, sir. Now, if you excuse me, I need to be on my way.”
The men blocked her with their horses.
“Yeah.” The black-haired one with the spectacles grimaced. “You must be from Braesville, talkin’ to us like that. Negroes sure are uppity there.”
“Yeah, well, we gonna fix that.” Kit massaged his large gloved hands. “In case you don’t get it, this here is Clear Creek County and you better remember your place or I’m gonna show it to you. Now where you going and I ain’t asking again.”
She tried to walk around the fat guy’s horse, but he stayed in place. “I’m going to work for Charlie Bernstein.”
“Bernsteins.” The spectacles guy scoffed. “So sick of them and the Lockes bringing in these out-of-town niggers.”
“So I was right?” Kit smirked. “You gonna be a maid? Bending down on your hands and knees? Messing up your back? How old are you?”
Fiona sighed. “Twenty-one.”
The men whistled.
“Young.” Kit licked his lips. “And ripe, huh? And pretty decent looking for a nigger.”
Fiona held her breath to keep from swatting him with her suitcase, but that wouldn’t have been a good idea no matter where she was.
“You could make a lot of money, gal.” Kit leaned forward, squinting. “Come see Carl Lansing for a real job.”
“Who’s Carl Lansing?”
“Just a businessman.” Kit sat up straight, his horse wiggling. “A very resourceful businessman.”
“Carl’s talent is making money,” the redheaded guy said. “And helping others as well.”
Kit scowled. “You really wanna be scraping by working for the Bernsteins?”
“Why not?” Fiona wiggled her shoulders. “It’s an honest living unlike what you’re talking about.”
Kit shrugged. “What do you think we’re talking about?”
“Come on.” Fiona batted her long lashes. “I might’ve just come from Braesville, but I ain’t been living under a rock. We got men like Carl Lansing, too.”
Spectacles snickered. “What do you mean by that?”
“It’s easy to tell he’s doing stuff under the table,” Fiona said. “I mean, if you guys work for him, then that’s a given.”
The men groaned as they looked at each other.
“I don’t want no part of what you guys are selling.” Fiona rushed away from them but once again, they blocked her.
“You don’t get it,” Kit said. “We ain’t asking.”
“Maybe you don’t get it, sir.” Fiona smiled. “But I ain’t interested in working with this Carl Lansing. Please leave me alone.”
Kit jumped off his horse. “I’m sick of your ass already.” He snatched her suitcase.
“Hey!” Fiona lunged at him but the guy with the glasses hopped off his horse and grabbed her. “Give me my bag!”
“Damn, look at this thing, Kit!” Redhead examined Fiona’s worn luggage. “Looks older than dirt. Ha, ha!”
“Stop it!” Fiona jumped and reached while the men tossed the suitcase over her head and
around her. “Give me my suitcase!” She lunged at Kit, who threw it to the redhead guy again. “Leave me alone!”
“Hey, leave her alone!” This teeny-tiny Negro girl with her hair sticking all over her head flew from across the road, in a thin linen dress and barefoot. “Get away from her, Kit!”
“Go on, girl.” He got in her face. “You better get out of here, Lovely Jo!”
The petite woman turned to Fiona, sweating and panting. “I’m Lovely Jo. You is?”
“Um, Fiona Acres. I just got here from Braesville.”
“Wish I could say you’ll enjoy it here.” Lovely Jo rolled her eyes at Kit. “But as you can see, there’s a couple of assholes runnin’ around the place.”
Fiona chuckled.
“Give it back, Kit!” Lovely Jo jumped up and down, reaching for the suitcase. “Come on. Ain’t you too old for this?”
“You better get outta here, gal!” He pushed her to the ground. “Get out the hell out of here, Lovely Jo!”
“Naw, the sheriff, right down the road. I’ll go get him!” Lovely Jo ran off like lightning. “Just hold on, Miss Fiona!”
Laughing, the men continued with their childish torturing.
“Come on, girl.” Kit dangled the suitcase in front of Fiona like she was a dog. “Come and get it. Come on.”
“You bastards! Give me my suitcase!”
Kit pushed her. “Come and get it, bitch—”
“Kit!”
The men stopped, their grins frozen on their faces.
An older man with silver hair, silver beard and his badge stuck on his belt underneath this pot belly, rode up on his horse with a mousy much younger man riding his own horse behind him.
“Ah, hell.” Kit groaned, snatching Fiona’s suitcase from the guy with the glasses. “Sheriff Snow. How you doing today?”
“Fine.” Snow squinted underneath his hat. “What are you doing, Kit? Besides being a nuisance with yourself, as usual?”
“A nuisance, Sheriff?” Kit smirked. “That ain’t nice.”
“They took my bag.” Fiona pointed to Kit. “And won’t give it back. I just wanna be on my way.”
Snow tossed his eagle-like gaze from Fiona to Kit. “That looks like one of them ladies’ suitcases, Kit. Not exactly yo’ style. Why don’t you give it back and be on your way?”
“We ain’t mean no harm.” Kit tossed Fiona the bag. “Wanted to welcome her to Clear Creek County.”
The other men snickered.
“The best welcome you can give her is to get going.” Sheriff spit. “About now.”
Kit bowed to Fiona. “I meant no harm, ma’am.”
She hugged her suitcase to her chest.
“Hope you enjoy your stay in our lovely town.” With that smug smile, Kit jumped on his horse and the three rode off in the opposite direction.
“You okay, ma’am?” the younger guy asked. “Oh, this is Sheriff Snow and I’m Mason.” He beamed with pride. “His deputy.”
“T… thank you.” Fiona watched Kit and the men fade in the dust. “They come out of
nowhere.”
“You handle yourself pretty good,” Snow said. “Kit’s just a bunch of talk. He came out of his momma bullying girls. Pay him no mind.”
Mason straightened his horse. “What’s your name, Miss?”
“Fiona Acres. I come from Braesville.” She pointed behind her. “Just got dropped off and was minding my business when them guys popped outta the wood like weeds. Was talking about some guy named Carl Lansing?”
Snow groaned. “That’s another one you’ll wanna stay away from. Ain’t nothing good come from no Carl Lansing.”
“They said he had a job I might want, but I knew it was bad news.”
“Yeah, Lansing is nothing you wanna be messin’ with,” Mason said. “You sure don’t want no job he’s offering.”
“Oh, believe me, sir. I have no intent on ever talking to this Lansing. I’m going to be working for the Bernsteins.”
“Which ones?” Mason grinned. “They’re about a hundred of them here.”
“Charlie Bernstein.”
“Ah, Charlie.” Dust fell from Snow’s beard as he scratched it. “You ain’t too far away. Want a ride? That way you don’t have to worry about Kit and the fellas showing up again.”
“Yes.” Fiona exhaled. “I’d appreciate that.”
“Hop on with Mason.” Snow turned his horse around. “We’ll get you to Charlie’s before you can blink.”
****
Fiona was glad to see that at least some myths about Clear Creek County seemed true. For example, folks said the whites were more tolerable to coloreds and, by the nice way Sheriff Snow and Mason treated her, it seemed accurate. She’d not hold Kit and those thugs against the town, for you had troublemakers everywhere, but Snow and Mason’s kindness reiterated her coming to Clear Creek County for a better life might’ve been the best decision after all.
“See that, Miss Fiona?” Mason pointed to the wooden mansion up ahead with its sharp towers and grand architecture. “That’s Charlie’s mansion.”
“My Lord. I’ve never seen a place so grand.”
“Welcome to the rich of the rich,” Snow said. “The Bernsteins practically own Clear Creek County.”
“What is Charlie like?” Fiona struggled to hold her suitcase. “Is he nice?”
Sheriff Snow grinned at Mason.
“What?” Fiona asked. “Did I say something funny, sir?”
“Oh, Charlie’s nice all right,” Mason said. “Especially to beautiful women. So I suspect you and him will get along just fine.”
Fiona sighed. She’d heard some things about Charlie’s appetite for women and had hoped they weren’t all true. She wanted a job not to be some white man’s concubine. If that ended up the case, she’d be back in Braesville so fast her head would spin.
“I just wanna work.” Fiona cleared her throat. “I’m a respectable woman.”
“Don’t worry, Miss Fiona,” Mason said. “Charlie wouldn’t pressure you into nothin’. He just like women a lot is all but what man don’t? He ain’t gonna be indecent with ya’.”
“That is, of course…” Snow spit. “Unless you give him a chance to.”
Clear Creek County, California
1895
“Oh!” Fiona Acres stumbled, her black lace-up boots getting stuck on the dusty road as three white men on horses burst through the woods and surrounded her.
Squeezing the handle of her leather suitcase, Fiona turned in a circle, looking at the men one-by-one.
“You new here, right?” The somewhat handsome one with the brown cowboy hat spit tobacco juice. “Yeah, ain’t never seen you before. Where you going, gal?”
“Hey, Kit.” The chubbier redheaded guy straightened his horse. “Bet she another Negro from Braesville coming to be a maid.”
The threesome laughed, spitting simultaneously.
“Maybe.” Fiona stuck her chin in the air. “Maybe not. I don’t see what business it is of yours.”
The one called Kit raised his eyebrows. “What did you say to me, gal?”
“I think you heard me, sir. Now, if you excuse me, I need to be on my way.”
The men blocked her with their horses.
“Yeah.” The black-haired one with the spectacles grimaced. “You must be from Braesville, talkin’ to us like that. Negroes sure are uppity there.”
“Yeah, well, we gonna fix that.” Kit massaged his large gloved hands. “In case you don’t get it, this here is Clear Creek County and you better remember your place or I’m gonna show it to you. Now where you going and I ain’t asking again.”
She tried to walk around the fat guy’s horse, but he stayed in place. “I’m going to work for Charlie Bernstein.”
“Bernsteins.” The spectacles guy scoffed. “So sick of them and the Lockes bringing in these out-of-town niggers.”
“So I was right?” Kit smirked. “You gonna be a maid? Bending down on your hands and knees? Messing up your back? How old are you?”
Fiona sighed. “Twenty-one.”
The men whistled.
“Young.” Kit licked his lips. “And ripe, huh? And pretty decent looking for a nigger.”
Fiona held her breath to keep from swatting him with her suitcase, but that wouldn’t have been a good idea no matter where she was.
“You could make a lot of money, gal.” Kit leaned forward, squinting. “Come see Carl Lansing for a real job.”
“Who’s Carl Lansing?”
“Just a businessman.” Kit sat up straight, his horse wiggling. “A very resourceful businessman.”
“Carl’s talent is making money,” the redheaded guy said. “And helping others as well.”
Kit scowled. “You really wanna be scraping by working for the Bernsteins?”
“Why not?” Fiona wiggled her shoulders. “It’s an honest living unlike what you’re talking about.”
Kit shrugged. “What do you think we’re talking about?”
“Come on.” Fiona batted her long lashes. “I might’ve just come from Braesville, but I ain’t been living under a rock. We got men like Carl Lansing, too.”
Spectacles snickered. “What do you mean by that?”
“It’s easy to tell he’s doing stuff under the table,” Fiona said. “I mean, if you guys work for him, then that’s a given.”
The men groaned as they looked at each other.
“I don’t want no part of what you guys are selling.” Fiona rushed away from them but once again, they blocked her.
“You don’t get it,” Kit said. “We ain’t asking.”
“Maybe you don’t get it, sir.” Fiona smiled. “But I ain’t interested in working with this Carl Lansing. Please leave me alone.”
Kit jumped off his horse. “I’m sick of your ass already.” He snatched her suitcase.
“Hey!” Fiona lunged at him but the guy with the glasses hopped off his horse and grabbed her. “Give me my bag!”
“Damn, look at this thing, Kit!” Redhead examined Fiona’s worn luggage. “Looks older than dirt. Ha, ha!”
“Stop it!” Fiona jumped and reached while the men tossed the suitcase over her head and
around her. “Give me my suitcase!” She lunged at Kit, who threw it to the redhead guy again. “Leave me alone!”
“Hey, leave her alone!” This teeny-tiny Negro girl with her hair sticking all over her head flew from across the road, in a thin linen dress and barefoot. “Get away from her, Kit!”
“Go on, girl.” He got in her face. “You better get out of here, Lovely Jo!”
The petite woman turned to Fiona, sweating and panting. “I’m Lovely Jo. You is?”
“Um, Fiona Acres. I just got here from Braesville.”
“Wish I could say you’ll enjoy it here.” Lovely Jo rolled her eyes at Kit. “But as you can see, there’s a couple of assholes runnin’ around the place.”
Fiona chuckled.
“Give it back, Kit!” Lovely Jo jumped up and down, reaching for the suitcase. “Come on. Ain’t you too old for this?”
“You better get outta here, gal!” He pushed her to the ground. “Get out the hell out of here, Lovely Jo!”
“Naw, the sheriff, right down the road. I’ll go get him!” Lovely Jo ran off like lightning. “Just hold on, Miss Fiona!”
Laughing, the men continued with their childish torturing.
“Come on, girl.” Kit dangled the suitcase in front of Fiona like she was a dog. “Come and get it. Come on.”
“You bastards! Give me my suitcase!”
Kit pushed her. “Come and get it, bitch—”
“Kit!”
The men stopped, their grins frozen on their faces.
An older man with silver hair, silver beard and his badge stuck on his belt underneath this pot belly, rode up on his horse with a mousy much younger man riding his own horse behind him.
“Ah, hell.” Kit groaned, snatching Fiona’s suitcase from the guy with the glasses. “Sheriff Snow. How you doing today?”
“Fine.” Snow squinted underneath his hat. “What are you doing, Kit? Besides being a nuisance with yourself, as usual?”
“A nuisance, Sheriff?” Kit smirked. “That ain’t nice.”
“They took my bag.” Fiona pointed to Kit. “And won’t give it back. I just wanna be on my way.”
Snow tossed his eagle-like gaze from Fiona to Kit. “That looks like one of them ladies’ suitcases, Kit. Not exactly yo’ style. Why don’t you give it back and be on your way?”
“We ain’t mean no harm.” Kit tossed Fiona the bag. “Wanted to welcome her to Clear Creek County.”
The other men snickered.
“The best welcome you can give her is to get going.” Sheriff spit. “About now.”
Kit bowed to Fiona. “I meant no harm, ma’am.”
She hugged her suitcase to her chest.
“Hope you enjoy your stay in our lovely town.” With that smug smile, Kit jumped on his horse and the three rode off in the opposite direction.
“You okay, ma’am?” the younger guy asked. “Oh, this is Sheriff Snow and I’m Mason.” He beamed with pride. “His deputy.”
“T… thank you.” Fiona watched Kit and the men fade in the dust. “They come out of
nowhere.”
“You handle yourself pretty good,” Snow said. “Kit’s just a bunch of talk. He came out of his momma bullying girls. Pay him no mind.”
Mason straightened his horse. “What’s your name, Miss?”
“Fiona Acres. I come from Braesville.” She pointed behind her. “Just got dropped off and was minding my business when them guys popped outta the wood like weeds. Was talking about some guy named Carl Lansing?”
Snow groaned. “That’s another one you’ll wanna stay away from. Ain’t nothing good come from no Carl Lansing.”
“They said he had a job I might want, but I knew it was bad news.”
“Yeah, Lansing is nothing you wanna be messin’ with,” Mason said. “You sure don’t want no job he’s offering.”
“Oh, believe me, sir. I have no intent on ever talking to this Lansing. I’m going to be working for the Bernsteins.”
“Which ones?” Mason grinned. “They’re about a hundred of them here.”
“Charlie Bernstein.”
“Ah, Charlie.” Dust fell from Snow’s beard as he scratched it. “You ain’t too far away. Want a ride? That way you don’t have to worry about Kit and the fellas showing up again.”
“Yes.” Fiona exhaled. “I’d appreciate that.”
“Hop on with Mason.” Snow turned his horse around. “We’ll get you to Charlie’s before you can blink.”
****
Fiona was glad to see that at least some myths about Clear Creek County seemed true. For example, folks said the whites were more tolerable to coloreds and, by the nice way Sheriff Snow and Mason treated her, it seemed accurate. She’d not hold Kit and those thugs against the town, for you had troublemakers everywhere, but Snow and Mason’s kindness reiterated her coming to Clear Creek County for a better life might’ve been the best decision after all.
“See that, Miss Fiona?” Mason pointed to the wooden mansion up ahead with its sharp towers and grand architecture. “That’s Charlie’s mansion.”
“My Lord. I’ve never seen a place so grand.”
“Welcome to the rich of the rich,” Snow said. “The Bernsteins practically own Clear Creek County.”
“What is Charlie like?” Fiona struggled to hold her suitcase. “Is he nice?”
Sheriff Snow grinned at Mason.
“What?” Fiona asked. “Did I say something funny, sir?”
“Oh, Charlie’s nice all right,” Mason said. “Especially to beautiful women. So I suspect you and him will get along just fine.”
Fiona sighed. She’d heard some things about Charlie’s appetite for women and had hoped they weren’t all true. She wanted a job not to be some white man’s concubine. If that ended up the case, she’d be back in Braesville so fast her head would spin.
“I just wanna work.” Fiona cleared her throat. “I’m a respectable woman.”
“Don’t worry, Miss Fiona,” Mason said. “Charlie wouldn’t pressure you into nothin’. He just like women a lot is all but what man don’t? He ain’t gonna be indecent with ya’.”
“That is, of course…” Snow spit. “Unless you give him a chance to.”
CHAPTER ONE
Clear Creek County, California
1895
Christopher James busted through the double oak doors of the Locke Mansion and down the wood steps, passing the fancy horse-drawn carriages from Clear Creek County’s richest citizens.
Christopher ripped off his bowtie just as he made it to his female horse Doll Face and the rickety, open-carriage that wasn’t anywhere near as fancy as the others. He patted Doll Face on the head and jumped into the carriage just as his father ran out screaming.
“Christopher!” Bass James tottered toward the carriage as fast as he could for a man in his upper sixties, his ratty cowboy hat flopping on his head. “Get out that carriage, son! I mean it!”
“No, Papa. I’m not going back in there, so you might as well save yourself a trip!”
“Have you lost your mind?” Bass’ bottom lip poked out through his bushy gray beard. “All you have to do is play the part like ya’ been doing, son. Minnie Locke is head-over-heels in love with you and that ain’t changing. We are on our way.” He slapped his dirty palms. “Just a little while longer and you’ll be married to one of the richest women in the country.”
“I don’t care.” Christopher yanked off his waistcoat and threw it in the back of the carriage. “Is this what you really want for me, Papa? Lying and scheming to get some broad’s money?”
“I want us to have the best, finally! I’m sick of struggling. You done had it too good, boy. You don’t know what it’s like to be so poor you can’t even guess when you gonna eat. When I was a youngin our house didn’t even have no roof. I been slaving working my fingers to the bone since I was ten years old, so you didn’t have to. Scrapin’ and sacrificing because I wanted you to have a life better than I ever would.”
“Stop saying this is for me. This is for you.” Christopher pointed at him. “I don’t give a damn about the Locke money and I don’t wanna marry Minnie!”
“Sh.” Bass stomped his feet. “Look where we are.” He spread out his arms. “Look. We in front of a mansion at a party with all the high society of Clear Creek County. These people normally wouldn’t spit on us, but we’s here now. Inside the mansion, eating their fancy foods, shooting the breeze with the richest of the rich. If you telling me that don’t mean nothing to you, then you a
damn fool and I don’t believe it, Chris. You want this just as much as I do.”
“I thought I could do this.” Christopher panted, his muscular chest burning from adrenaline.
“But I respect Minnie too much to do this to her.”
“I don’t understand you. Most men in this town would kill themselves to be in your boots.” Bass pointed to the house. “Minnie is a young, beautiful, very rich woman and you can just let that go? Oh, no. Not as long as I’m breathing you ain’t. You ain’t gotta love her because she loves you and that’s what’s important. You just gotta ride with it, Christopher, and once you get to that preacher, everything will become clear.”
“No, I… I gotta get out of here.” Christopher grabbed the reins. “I can’t even breathe around here.”
“Boy, you’ll have so much money you can buy a breath if you play your cards right.” Bass hit the carriage, causing Doll Face to neigh. “I’m not letting you ruin your future or mine. Now get off this carriage and come back inside and stop embarrassing the James' name.”
“I’m embarrassing our name? Papa, you can go on back in there and tap dance for the Locke’s money if you want to, but not me. Get in or if not, find another way home.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Bass’ hat wobbled as he shook his head. “You can’t do this, Chris. You can’t!”
“Oh no?” Christopher commanded Doll Face to go. “Watch me.”
****
“Whoa, pretty girl.” Christopher pet Doll Face as he left her in the grassy field and walked in the moonlight toward the lake.
He broke leaves off shrubs as he passed. He didn’t know what to do. All he knew was he couldn’t go through with this scheme of marrying 23-year-old Minnie Locke for her money. Sure, she was beautiful. One of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen and had a body under those regal dresses that could bring a man back from the dead. But none of that mattered if Christopher didn’t love her.
He stopped a few feet from the lake when he heard humming.
Hell, who was here? He hadn’t been to the lake in weeks, but he usually had the place to himself when he came to think. He walked closer and peeked from around the tree.
The first thing that popped into his mind when he saw her was sex. He hated that, but he was a man and that’s what he thought of.
She sat on the grass all prim and ladylike in her long, dark-green walking skirt and lacey, long-sleeve button-down blouse. The moonlight shined onto the lake and in return, the blue and white waves sparkled across her light-brown face.
She looked like a brown porcelain doll with her clothes all perfect and her raven-black hair swept up in an elegant updo. Pearl earrings shining and he wondered where a colored girl got such trinkets.
“Are you just gonna stand there watching me, sir?” she asked. “Or are you gonna be a gentleman and introduce yourself?”
He cleared his throat. “Uh, you see me?”
“Yep.” She wiggled her feet in her black leather boots. “You got a name or not?”
Christopher stepped out, feeling himself blush all over. “My name is C…” For some reason, he didn’t wanna give her his real name. Perhaps it was fear of how he’d be looked at conversing with a colored girl in this fashion, but he decided on giving a fake name instead. “My name’s Cal Ray.”
She turned her swanlike neck, and he almost fell to his knees, just looking into her sensual eyes.
He recognized her immediately.
“You’re Greta Fay Wills.” He swaggered toward her, playing with a leaf. “The Negro activist.”
“You mean public enemy number one in Clear Creek County?” She turned up her cute little pouty lips. “You wanna run now?”
“Heck, naw.” He plopped down in the grass so fast he bruised his backside. “Why would I?”
“Because I’m trouble.” Two long ringlet curls bounced on both sides of her face. “The town’s higher-ups are trying to put the squeeze on me to shut me up. But they can’t stop me. I’m the Harriett Tubman of Clear Creek County.”
Christopher snickered, sitting with his knees up. He couldn’t ignore how she smelled like raisin bread pudding, and he loved raisin bread pudding. “What do you mean the higher-ups are out to get you?”
“I’m teaching Negros around here they deserve better and the folks in charge don’t like that. So they resort to threatening and throwing unkind looks my way at every turn.”
“They can’t be threatening you. That’s against the law.” He poked her arm. “You should tell Sheriff Snow.”
“Sheriff Snow?” She scoffed. “Yeah, he got his ideas about Negroes, too. What does he care?”
“Yeah, he got his thoughts and they ain’t all right, but he’s a fair man. Can’t nobody say he ain’t fair.”
“I don’t care about myself.” She crossed her legs at the ankles and he tried his best to get a peek at her stockings. “It’s my family I worry about. My parents and my two older brothers. All they do is go to work and love each other. They don’t mess with nobody, but they get threats too.” She exhaled. “If something happened to them, it would be all my fault and I can’t live with that.”
“Ain’t fair you putting that all on your shoulders.” He rubbed against her. “Between you and me, I love what you do.”
She looked at him.
“Yeah, you’re so strong, Greta Fay. Shoot, there’s men around here who’d be afraid to stand up and fight for anything. And look at you. Got damn near the whole county against you and they don’t want nothing to change. But you still fighting.”
She batted her thick lashes. “Your hair is so yella.”
He touched it, caught off-guard. He didn’t know if she meant it as a compliment or what. “Do you like yella hair?”
“It’s just strange.” She squinted. “You see women with yella hair all the time, but not men. Why is that?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Everyone in my family has yella hair. My momma, she dead, but she had yella hair. My daddy had it too, but it’s all silver now.” He broke off a blade of grass. “My kids… I reckon they’ll have yella hair too. When I have some, I mean.”
“Maybe.” She leaned up. “Maybe not. Depends on the woman you have them with.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a offer, Miss Greta Fay?”
She laughed. “No.”
He grinned.
“But you never know who you’ll fall in love with.”
“Don’t laugh, but I’m jealous of you.” Christopher looked out into the lake. “You standing up
against the whole town and I can’t even stand up against my father.”
“Why do you need to?”
“I’m thirty-two and my daddy still tries to run my life. Then I try to tell him not to and I
feel guilty because of all he done for me. Can I ask you a question?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Sure.”
“If you could do something that would give you and your father a better life, but it involved lying and scheming, would you do it?”
“No.”
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“Don’t have to because I wouldn’t do it. If you gotta lie and scheme, then it’s not worth it. It’s not real.”
“Yeah, but what if your father has worked like a dog his whole life so you didn’t have to? Wouldn’t you not want him to struggle?”
“Look, my daddy is a blacksmith. So he got his own business, and that man struggled from the bottom up because you know as well as me a lot of white people ain’t going to no Negro blacksmith. But he’s survived, and that business has put food on the table since I was a little girl. I don’t know about your daddy, but mine is full of pride and he’d never want me to lie or sell out my principles for him. No matter how much he was struggling. If your daddy really loves you, Cal, he won’t ask you to do it either.”
“That’s not fair. My daddy loves me. It’s just… he’s had a hard life.”
“He ain’t had no life hard as my daddy because he white.” She rolled her eyes. “And so what? Life ain’t supposed to be easy. Unless you a Locke or a Bernstein.”
He grinned. “Ain’t that the truth? So, what do you do when you ain’t fighting for Negroes? Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No, uh…” She dropped eye contact. “That ain’t nothing I’m worried about right now.”
“What a shame.” He touched her back, snickering. “Is it a chance I could warm you up on that?”
“My daddy would kill me if I dated a white man.”
Christopher narrowed his eyes as he brought his lips in for a kiss. “Thank God I ain’t interested in your daddy.”
She smiled, then jerked forward. “Shoot. What time is it?” She got out her pocket watch. “I gotta go! My parents will be steaming if I don’t get back before nine.” She jumped to her feet. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Cal Ray. I’ll see you!”
“When?” He stood and grabbed her arm before she could run off. “When can I see you again?”
“Um, I’ll be back here tomorrow evening. Is that good with you?”
“Yeah.” He stroked her hand, his member hardening. “That’s real good.”
She pulled her hand free. “Bye!” She ran off, waving.
“Hey, you know our names rhyme, don’t you?” Christopher yelled. “Cal Ray and Greta Fay! Sounds like somebody’s tryin’ to tell us something!”
“Bye now!” She disappeared into the woods.
“Ah.” In a daze, Christopher plopped back down on his ass, thinking about the beauty he’d almost kissed. “I’ll kiss you next time, Greta Fay. Just you watch.”
Clear Creek County, California
1895
Christopher James busted through the double oak doors of the Locke Mansion and down the wood steps, passing the fancy horse-drawn carriages from Clear Creek County’s richest citizens.
Christopher ripped off his bowtie just as he made it to his female horse Doll Face and the rickety, open-carriage that wasn’t anywhere near as fancy as the others. He patted Doll Face on the head and jumped into the carriage just as his father ran out screaming.
“Christopher!” Bass James tottered toward the carriage as fast as he could for a man in his upper sixties, his ratty cowboy hat flopping on his head. “Get out that carriage, son! I mean it!”
“No, Papa. I’m not going back in there, so you might as well save yourself a trip!”
“Have you lost your mind?” Bass’ bottom lip poked out through his bushy gray beard. “All you have to do is play the part like ya’ been doing, son. Minnie Locke is head-over-heels in love with you and that ain’t changing. We are on our way.” He slapped his dirty palms. “Just a little while longer and you’ll be married to one of the richest women in the country.”
“I don’t care.” Christopher yanked off his waistcoat and threw it in the back of the carriage. “Is this what you really want for me, Papa? Lying and scheming to get some broad’s money?”
“I want us to have the best, finally! I’m sick of struggling. You done had it too good, boy. You don’t know what it’s like to be so poor you can’t even guess when you gonna eat. When I was a youngin our house didn’t even have no roof. I been slaving working my fingers to the bone since I was ten years old, so you didn’t have to. Scrapin’ and sacrificing because I wanted you to have a life better than I ever would.”
“Stop saying this is for me. This is for you.” Christopher pointed at him. “I don’t give a damn about the Locke money and I don’t wanna marry Minnie!”
“Sh.” Bass stomped his feet. “Look where we are.” He spread out his arms. “Look. We in front of a mansion at a party with all the high society of Clear Creek County. These people normally wouldn’t spit on us, but we’s here now. Inside the mansion, eating their fancy foods, shooting the breeze with the richest of the rich. If you telling me that don’t mean nothing to you, then you a
damn fool and I don’t believe it, Chris. You want this just as much as I do.”
“I thought I could do this.” Christopher panted, his muscular chest burning from adrenaline.
“But I respect Minnie too much to do this to her.”
“I don’t understand you. Most men in this town would kill themselves to be in your boots.” Bass pointed to the house. “Minnie is a young, beautiful, very rich woman and you can just let that go? Oh, no. Not as long as I’m breathing you ain’t. You ain’t gotta love her because she loves you and that’s what’s important. You just gotta ride with it, Christopher, and once you get to that preacher, everything will become clear.”
“No, I… I gotta get out of here.” Christopher grabbed the reins. “I can’t even breathe around here.”
“Boy, you’ll have so much money you can buy a breath if you play your cards right.” Bass hit the carriage, causing Doll Face to neigh. “I’m not letting you ruin your future or mine. Now get off this carriage and come back inside and stop embarrassing the James' name.”
“I’m embarrassing our name? Papa, you can go on back in there and tap dance for the Locke’s money if you want to, but not me. Get in or if not, find another way home.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Bass’ hat wobbled as he shook his head. “You can’t do this, Chris. You can’t!”
“Oh no?” Christopher commanded Doll Face to go. “Watch me.”
****
“Whoa, pretty girl.” Christopher pet Doll Face as he left her in the grassy field and walked in the moonlight toward the lake.
He broke leaves off shrubs as he passed. He didn’t know what to do. All he knew was he couldn’t go through with this scheme of marrying 23-year-old Minnie Locke for her money. Sure, she was beautiful. One of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen and had a body under those regal dresses that could bring a man back from the dead. But none of that mattered if Christopher didn’t love her.
He stopped a few feet from the lake when he heard humming.
Hell, who was here? He hadn’t been to the lake in weeks, but he usually had the place to himself when he came to think. He walked closer and peeked from around the tree.
The first thing that popped into his mind when he saw her was sex. He hated that, but he was a man and that’s what he thought of.
She sat on the grass all prim and ladylike in her long, dark-green walking skirt and lacey, long-sleeve button-down blouse. The moonlight shined onto the lake and in return, the blue and white waves sparkled across her light-brown face.
She looked like a brown porcelain doll with her clothes all perfect and her raven-black hair swept up in an elegant updo. Pearl earrings shining and he wondered where a colored girl got such trinkets.
“Are you just gonna stand there watching me, sir?” she asked. “Or are you gonna be a gentleman and introduce yourself?”
He cleared his throat. “Uh, you see me?”
“Yep.” She wiggled her feet in her black leather boots. “You got a name or not?”
Christopher stepped out, feeling himself blush all over. “My name is C…” For some reason, he didn’t wanna give her his real name. Perhaps it was fear of how he’d be looked at conversing with a colored girl in this fashion, but he decided on giving a fake name instead. “My name’s Cal Ray.”
She turned her swanlike neck, and he almost fell to his knees, just looking into her sensual eyes.
He recognized her immediately.
“You’re Greta Fay Wills.” He swaggered toward her, playing with a leaf. “The Negro activist.”
“You mean public enemy number one in Clear Creek County?” She turned up her cute little pouty lips. “You wanna run now?”
“Heck, naw.” He plopped down in the grass so fast he bruised his backside. “Why would I?”
“Because I’m trouble.” Two long ringlet curls bounced on both sides of her face. “The town’s higher-ups are trying to put the squeeze on me to shut me up. But they can’t stop me. I’m the Harriett Tubman of Clear Creek County.”
Christopher snickered, sitting with his knees up. He couldn’t ignore how she smelled like raisin bread pudding, and he loved raisin bread pudding. “What do you mean the higher-ups are out to get you?”
“I’m teaching Negros around here they deserve better and the folks in charge don’t like that. So they resort to threatening and throwing unkind looks my way at every turn.”
“They can’t be threatening you. That’s against the law.” He poked her arm. “You should tell Sheriff Snow.”
“Sheriff Snow?” She scoffed. “Yeah, he got his ideas about Negroes, too. What does he care?”
“Yeah, he got his thoughts and they ain’t all right, but he’s a fair man. Can’t nobody say he ain’t fair.”
“I don’t care about myself.” She crossed her legs at the ankles and he tried his best to get a peek at her stockings. “It’s my family I worry about. My parents and my two older brothers. All they do is go to work and love each other. They don’t mess with nobody, but they get threats too.” She exhaled. “If something happened to them, it would be all my fault and I can’t live with that.”
“Ain’t fair you putting that all on your shoulders.” He rubbed against her. “Between you and me, I love what you do.”
She looked at him.
“Yeah, you’re so strong, Greta Fay. Shoot, there’s men around here who’d be afraid to stand up and fight for anything. And look at you. Got damn near the whole county against you and they don’t want nothing to change. But you still fighting.”
She batted her thick lashes. “Your hair is so yella.”
He touched it, caught off-guard. He didn’t know if she meant it as a compliment or what. “Do you like yella hair?”
“It’s just strange.” She squinted. “You see women with yella hair all the time, but not men. Why is that?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Everyone in my family has yella hair. My momma, she dead, but she had yella hair. My daddy had it too, but it’s all silver now.” He broke off a blade of grass. “My kids… I reckon they’ll have yella hair too. When I have some, I mean.”
“Maybe.” She leaned up. “Maybe not. Depends on the woman you have them with.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a offer, Miss Greta Fay?”
She laughed. “No.”
He grinned.
“But you never know who you’ll fall in love with.”
“Don’t laugh, but I’m jealous of you.” Christopher looked out into the lake. “You standing up
against the whole town and I can’t even stand up against my father.”
“Why do you need to?”
“I’m thirty-two and my daddy still tries to run my life. Then I try to tell him not to and I
feel guilty because of all he done for me. Can I ask you a question?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Sure.”
“If you could do something that would give you and your father a better life, but it involved lying and scheming, would you do it?”
“No.”
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“Don’t have to because I wouldn’t do it. If you gotta lie and scheme, then it’s not worth it. It’s not real.”
“Yeah, but what if your father has worked like a dog his whole life so you didn’t have to? Wouldn’t you not want him to struggle?”
“Look, my daddy is a blacksmith. So he got his own business, and that man struggled from the bottom up because you know as well as me a lot of white people ain’t going to no Negro blacksmith. But he’s survived, and that business has put food on the table since I was a little girl. I don’t know about your daddy, but mine is full of pride and he’d never want me to lie or sell out my principles for him. No matter how much he was struggling. If your daddy really loves you, Cal, he won’t ask you to do it either.”
“That’s not fair. My daddy loves me. It’s just… he’s had a hard life.”
“He ain’t had no life hard as my daddy because he white.” She rolled her eyes. “And so what? Life ain’t supposed to be easy. Unless you a Locke or a Bernstein.”
He grinned. “Ain’t that the truth? So, what do you do when you ain’t fighting for Negroes? Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No, uh…” She dropped eye contact. “That ain’t nothing I’m worried about right now.”
“What a shame.” He touched her back, snickering. “Is it a chance I could warm you up on that?”
“My daddy would kill me if I dated a white man.”
Christopher narrowed his eyes as he brought his lips in for a kiss. “Thank God I ain’t interested in your daddy.”
She smiled, then jerked forward. “Shoot. What time is it?” She got out her pocket watch. “I gotta go! My parents will be steaming if I don’t get back before nine.” She jumped to her feet. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Cal Ray. I’ll see you!”
“When?” He stood and grabbed her arm before she could run off. “When can I see you again?”
“Um, I’ll be back here tomorrow evening. Is that good with you?”
“Yeah.” He stroked her hand, his member hardening. “That’s real good.”
She pulled her hand free. “Bye!” She ran off, waving.
“Hey, you know our names rhyme, don’t you?” Christopher yelled. “Cal Ray and Greta Fay! Sounds like somebody’s tryin’ to tell us something!”
“Bye now!” She disappeared into the woods.
“Ah.” In a daze, Christopher plopped back down on his ass, thinking about the beauty he’d almost kissed. “I’ll kiss you next time, Greta Fay. Just you watch.”
CHAPTER ONE
Clear Creek County, California
1895
Most people ran to the law, not from it. But Lovely Jo was an uneducated Negro girl in 1895 California and the law would never be her best friend.
With her eyes glued to the ranch miles ahead, she ran with the speed of a stallion, pushing her way through overgrown field grass, dipping in and out of the congested woods whenever she heard a gallop of a horse or male voices yelling in the distance.
Could’ve been the Duke Brothers, the Sheriff or anybody else itching to get their hands on her so they could claim that bounty on her head.
Lightheaded with sore feet, bruised knees and hunger pains tearing through her stomach, Lovely Jo ran so fast it felt like her organs were crushing together. With each sprint, she held her breath, her only goal was to get to Dusty Bowles’ stables.
She ran inside Dusty’s empty, stale-smelling stables, stumbling over hay that looked like it had been there for years. She couldn’t remember the last time Dusty had horses other than Jansen. Rumor was, he’d gambled all his animals away and might have to do the same thing with his entire ranch if he didn’t find some money soon.
But that was his problem, not Lovely Jo’s. She had her own problems and
right now it was finding a place to hide until she could rethink how the heck she was gonna get out of Clear Creek County without being lynched for murder.
Lovely Jo entered the last stall, closed the door and crouched in the corner. Corroded with the smell of old manure and the walls stained with horse piss, this stall was still ten times better than the woods.
Panting, she hugged her knees to her chest as two large cockroaches crawled from underneath the hay.
She prayed to God she wasn’t wrong about Dusty Bowles. He’d always seemed to be a good, honorable man. Treated her kindly and even acted like he had feelings for her. It was dumb for her to think that seeing he was a white man with so many problems and she was a Negro maid. The last thing on his mind was Lovely Jo. But he was her last chance and if she had to hide out in these filthy stables for the rest of her life… she would.
****
Dusty Bowles wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he had damn good instinct. So when he returned home that afternoon after getting his new boots from the town shoemaker, he got the feeling someone was on his property.
Jansen bucked and neighed as Dusty pulled on his reins, parking the carriage in front of his barely standing wooden shack of a house.
After petting Jansen to get him to settle down, Dusty hopped out of the carriage, got his Winchester rifle and stalked through the dusty grass, coming upon the stables. He dipped his head inside, hearing the hay rustling. He’d lost his horses months ago, but the place still smelled like urine and horse shit.
With his cowboy hat made of beaver fur slipping over his narrow forehead, Dusty crept toward the first horseless stall, crunching hay under his brand new boots.
“Henry Jr., is that you?”
Dusty’s ranch was the go-to place for Henry Jr. and his rowdy friends to hang out in and
sneak nips of Henry Sr.’s whiskey.
“Henry?” Dusty checked the second stall and saw no one there, either. “Boy, we had this conversation too many times.” He inched toward the third stall. “I don’ told you to stay off my property. Yo’ daddy promised me.” Dusty checked the fourth stall. “You want me to treat you like a man? I’ll treat you like a man. Get out here, Henry. Now!”
He didn’t expect a young woman to emerge from the last stall, hay cascading from her brown skin.
“Fuck me.” Dusty lowered his gun, spitting off to the side. “Lovely Jo Johnson? What in the Sam Hill are you doing here?”
Nineteen, a virgin. At least that’s what Dusty assumed, but you never could be sure how pure a black servant was with their white employers.
Her white cotton dress had seen better days. Dirt on the hem, and hanging from her shoulders for dear life. The flimsy garment had a split because of whatever she’d been doing and not by the person who made it.
“Well, you gonna answer my question, girl?”
“I’m sorry for coming without permission.” She tugged at her frizzy hair tangled with hay. “I
been hiding for three days. Ain’t had no food or nothing. Been drinking outta ponds.”
“Why the hell not?” He groaned. “And why you come all the way out here? The Bernsteins must be going out of their mind wondering where you at.”
She looked down, her black lace-up boots still intact at least.
“We be here all day if you don’t start answering my questions. You on private property. If I get Sheriff Snow, you’ll—”
“Mr. Bernstein’s dead,” the words shivered from her blistered lips, that he guessed got that way from walking for days in the Clear Creek County sun. “He dead!” She burst into tears, holding what was left of her dress at the sides. “The law thinks I done it, but I didn’t, Mr. Bowles.” She shook her head, black eyes begging. “I swear!”
“Bernstein is dead?” Dusty took a second to digest the information.
Ronald Bernstein was just one of the many rich Bernsteins in town and he and Dusty had a weird relationship. Ronald was okay to spend a little time with and shoot the breeze, but he was a manipulative man who’d stab his own ma in the back if he could get something out of it. So while Dusty considered him a friend, he hadn’t ever trusted him. He also wasn’t surprised someone would kill him. A man like that was asking for it.
“Tell me what happened.”
“No time for that!” Lovely Jo looked at him with the desperation of a child who’d lost her mother. “I need help. I need you to take me out of the county and to my uncle in Braesville.”
“Are you out of your mind, girl? I ain’t taking you no place. I want no part of this.”
“But you got to! I tried to go on my own but I got no sense of direction.” She sniffled and despite the grit covering her face and her looking an ungodly mess and smelling even worse than he did, Dusty still wanted to fuck her. “Please, Mr. Bowles. You always been a kind man to me when you come to the house and play cards with Mr. Bernstein. Not like the other white people who ignore me or be just straight mean.” She looked into his eyes. “I always felt like you… cared.”
He dropped his wide shoulders, her suffocating gaze knocking the wind out of him.
“You won’t get in any trouble, please.” She put her hands together. “I’m begging you! If you don’t help me, I’ll be hung in the town square. I can’t go back out there with the sheriff and the Duke brothers.”
“The Duke brothers are in this?” Dusty sighed, scratching under his hat. “If they’re looking
for you, no way you’re getting out of Clear Creek County.”
“Everybody looking for me! You’re the only one I can depend on. I got a bounty of a thousand dollars on my head!”
Dusty jerked upright. “A thousand dollars?”
Sniffling, she nodded. “Mr. Bernstein was a very well-respected man, and he done a lot for the county. They gon’ get their money’s worth on my head.”
“Hmm.” Dusty stroked the brown stubble on his square chin, his fingernails black with ranch dirt. “A thousand dollars?”
As Lovely Jo went on about her innocence, Dusty hated himself for what he was about to do, but he’d made his mind up the minute he heard about that one thousand dollars. Hell, he was struggling under debt that no matter what he did, kept growing.
It was his fault. He’d blown his money on Clear Creek County’s favorite pastime, gambling. Because shit, there wasn’t nothing else to do around there. Clear Creek County was a speck of dust in life and on the map. Men worked, went to the saloon or gambled. That was it.
That first time he sat at that card game, he thought he had it won. Was the cockiest thing in the world because he was an excellent poker player. That and ranching was the only thing his daddy taught him. But just like everything else, Dusty’s cockiness got in the way and he became addicted. Pretty soon, he was betting money he didn’t have and if he didn’t come up with some cash to pay off his debts, he wouldn’t have a ranch to live on within a few months.
Hell, he couldn’t let that happen.
He was damn attracted to Lovely Jo, but if it came down to her or him, it sure as hell wasn’t
gonna be him.
“Mr. Bowles?” Lovely Jo’s eyebrows slightly pushed together. “Are you listening?”
He just looked at her, hoping his conscience stepped in and talked some sense into him. It didn't.
Dusty grabbed her by her arm and dragged her out of the stables.
“Stop!” She lost balance, sliding on her backside in the dust. “No! No!”
“I’m sorry.” He pulled her to the carriage. “Lord, please forgive me.” He tried to pick her up,
but she gave quite a fight despite how petite she was. “Stop fighting me!”
She knocked his hat off.
“I don’t wanna hurt you, girl!”
“No!” She kicked as he grabbed at her boots, her dress flying up. “Don’t do this please, Mr. Bowles! Please!”
He got her off the ground and threw her over his shoulder.
By this time, Jansen was bucking and neighing like someone was trying to kill him.
“Stop!” Lovely Jo kicked as Dusty threw her into the carriage, got his hat, and climbed the driver’s seat.
“Why are you doing this? I thought you’d help me!”
“I’m sorry.” He fixed his hat on his head. “But I’m a desperate man, Lovely Jo. I can’t lose everything my family worked for. This here ranch… it’s all I have.” He grabbed the reins.
“Wait!” She touched his shoulders, and he relaxed. “They’ll kill me for something I didn’t do. You can have that on your conscience?”
“How do I know you didn’t do it?” He spit into the air. “Huh? That’s just you saying so.”
“Why would I kill Mr. Bernstein? The man that paying me my wages? It makes no sense!”
“Maybe he was messing with ya’.” He avoided eye contact. It was killing him to hear her beg, let alone having to look at her. “Come on. We all know what white men do with their black
maids—”
“No! I’m a virgin!”
He squeezed the reins, realizing his assumption about her was right after all.
“Yes.” Her voice deepened, and it didn’t sound so desperate right then. “I’m a virgin. Will that help, sir?”
He slowly turned and looked at her over his shoulder. “What are you talking about?”
“Forgive me, Mr. Bowles, but I think you know. When you come to the Bernsteins, I see how you look at me. It ain’t just kindness.” She stroked her dress, lips shivering. “You want me. Don’t you?”
He squinted. “What if I did? I’m sure I ain’t the only man that do.”
“But you the only man who will help me.” She spread her legs under her dress. “As God is my witness, you can have me. I’m offering you my virginity.”
“What?” He scoffed. “What kind of nonsense is this?”
“I need your help!” She leaned forward. “I didn’t kill Mr. Bernstein. I promise I didn’t—”
“Lay down!” He pushed her and jumped into the back of the carriage.
Dusty couldn’t say what he was thinking as he yanked up her dress, revealing her dusty drawers. But Lovely Jo needed to learn you never promise a man your body if you ain’t willing to pay up.
Clear Creek County, California
1895
Most people ran to the law, not from it. But Lovely Jo was an uneducated Negro girl in 1895 California and the law would never be her best friend.
With her eyes glued to the ranch miles ahead, she ran with the speed of a stallion, pushing her way through overgrown field grass, dipping in and out of the congested woods whenever she heard a gallop of a horse or male voices yelling in the distance.
Could’ve been the Duke Brothers, the Sheriff or anybody else itching to get their hands on her so they could claim that bounty on her head.
Lightheaded with sore feet, bruised knees and hunger pains tearing through her stomach, Lovely Jo ran so fast it felt like her organs were crushing together. With each sprint, she held her breath, her only goal was to get to Dusty Bowles’ stables.
She ran inside Dusty’s empty, stale-smelling stables, stumbling over hay that looked like it had been there for years. She couldn’t remember the last time Dusty had horses other than Jansen. Rumor was, he’d gambled all his animals away and might have to do the same thing with his entire ranch if he didn’t find some money soon.
But that was his problem, not Lovely Jo’s. She had her own problems and
right now it was finding a place to hide until she could rethink how the heck she was gonna get out of Clear Creek County without being lynched for murder.
Lovely Jo entered the last stall, closed the door and crouched in the corner. Corroded with the smell of old manure and the walls stained with horse piss, this stall was still ten times better than the woods.
Panting, she hugged her knees to her chest as two large cockroaches crawled from underneath the hay.
She prayed to God she wasn’t wrong about Dusty Bowles. He’d always seemed to be a good, honorable man. Treated her kindly and even acted like he had feelings for her. It was dumb for her to think that seeing he was a white man with so many problems and she was a Negro maid. The last thing on his mind was Lovely Jo. But he was her last chance and if she had to hide out in these filthy stables for the rest of her life… she would.
****
Dusty Bowles wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he had damn good instinct. So when he returned home that afternoon after getting his new boots from the town shoemaker, he got the feeling someone was on his property.
Jansen bucked and neighed as Dusty pulled on his reins, parking the carriage in front of his barely standing wooden shack of a house.
After petting Jansen to get him to settle down, Dusty hopped out of the carriage, got his Winchester rifle and stalked through the dusty grass, coming upon the stables. He dipped his head inside, hearing the hay rustling. He’d lost his horses months ago, but the place still smelled like urine and horse shit.
With his cowboy hat made of beaver fur slipping over his narrow forehead, Dusty crept toward the first horseless stall, crunching hay under his brand new boots.
“Henry Jr., is that you?”
Dusty’s ranch was the go-to place for Henry Jr. and his rowdy friends to hang out in and
sneak nips of Henry Sr.’s whiskey.
“Henry?” Dusty checked the second stall and saw no one there, either. “Boy, we had this conversation too many times.” He inched toward the third stall. “I don’ told you to stay off my property. Yo’ daddy promised me.” Dusty checked the fourth stall. “You want me to treat you like a man? I’ll treat you like a man. Get out here, Henry. Now!”
He didn’t expect a young woman to emerge from the last stall, hay cascading from her brown skin.
“Fuck me.” Dusty lowered his gun, spitting off to the side. “Lovely Jo Johnson? What in the Sam Hill are you doing here?”
Nineteen, a virgin. At least that’s what Dusty assumed, but you never could be sure how pure a black servant was with their white employers.
Her white cotton dress had seen better days. Dirt on the hem, and hanging from her shoulders for dear life. The flimsy garment had a split because of whatever she’d been doing and not by the person who made it.
“Well, you gonna answer my question, girl?”
“I’m sorry for coming without permission.” She tugged at her frizzy hair tangled with hay. “I
been hiding for three days. Ain’t had no food or nothing. Been drinking outta ponds.”
“Why the hell not?” He groaned. “And why you come all the way out here? The Bernsteins must be going out of their mind wondering where you at.”
She looked down, her black lace-up boots still intact at least.
“We be here all day if you don’t start answering my questions. You on private property. If I get Sheriff Snow, you’ll—”
“Mr. Bernstein’s dead,” the words shivered from her blistered lips, that he guessed got that way from walking for days in the Clear Creek County sun. “He dead!” She burst into tears, holding what was left of her dress at the sides. “The law thinks I done it, but I didn’t, Mr. Bowles.” She shook her head, black eyes begging. “I swear!”
“Bernstein is dead?” Dusty took a second to digest the information.
Ronald Bernstein was just one of the many rich Bernsteins in town and he and Dusty had a weird relationship. Ronald was okay to spend a little time with and shoot the breeze, but he was a manipulative man who’d stab his own ma in the back if he could get something out of it. So while Dusty considered him a friend, he hadn’t ever trusted him. He also wasn’t surprised someone would kill him. A man like that was asking for it.
“Tell me what happened.”
“No time for that!” Lovely Jo looked at him with the desperation of a child who’d lost her mother. “I need help. I need you to take me out of the county and to my uncle in Braesville.”
“Are you out of your mind, girl? I ain’t taking you no place. I want no part of this.”
“But you got to! I tried to go on my own but I got no sense of direction.” She sniffled and despite the grit covering her face and her looking an ungodly mess and smelling even worse than he did, Dusty still wanted to fuck her. “Please, Mr. Bowles. You always been a kind man to me when you come to the house and play cards with Mr. Bernstein. Not like the other white people who ignore me or be just straight mean.” She looked into his eyes. “I always felt like you… cared.”
He dropped his wide shoulders, her suffocating gaze knocking the wind out of him.
“You won’t get in any trouble, please.” She put her hands together. “I’m begging you! If you don’t help me, I’ll be hung in the town square. I can’t go back out there with the sheriff and the Duke brothers.”
“The Duke brothers are in this?” Dusty sighed, scratching under his hat. “If they’re looking
for you, no way you’re getting out of Clear Creek County.”
“Everybody looking for me! You’re the only one I can depend on. I got a bounty of a thousand dollars on my head!”
Dusty jerked upright. “A thousand dollars?”
Sniffling, she nodded. “Mr. Bernstein was a very well-respected man, and he done a lot for the county. They gon’ get their money’s worth on my head.”
“Hmm.” Dusty stroked the brown stubble on his square chin, his fingernails black with ranch dirt. “A thousand dollars?”
As Lovely Jo went on about her innocence, Dusty hated himself for what he was about to do, but he’d made his mind up the minute he heard about that one thousand dollars. Hell, he was struggling under debt that no matter what he did, kept growing.
It was his fault. He’d blown his money on Clear Creek County’s favorite pastime, gambling. Because shit, there wasn’t nothing else to do around there. Clear Creek County was a speck of dust in life and on the map. Men worked, went to the saloon or gambled. That was it.
That first time he sat at that card game, he thought he had it won. Was the cockiest thing in the world because he was an excellent poker player. That and ranching was the only thing his daddy taught him. But just like everything else, Dusty’s cockiness got in the way and he became addicted. Pretty soon, he was betting money he didn’t have and if he didn’t come up with some cash to pay off his debts, he wouldn’t have a ranch to live on within a few months.
Hell, he couldn’t let that happen.
He was damn attracted to Lovely Jo, but if it came down to her or him, it sure as hell wasn’t
gonna be him.
“Mr. Bowles?” Lovely Jo’s eyebrows slightly pushed together. “Are you listening?”
He just looked at her, hoping his conscience stepped in and talked some sense into him. It didn't.
Dusty grabbed her by her arm and dragged her out of the stables.
“Stop!” She lost balance, sliding on her backside in the dust. “No! No!”
“I’m sorry.” He pulled her to the carriage. “Lord, please forgive me.” He tried to pick her up,
but she gave quite a fight despite how petite she was. “Stop fighting me!”
She knocked his hat off.
“I don’t wanna hurt you, girl!”
“No!” She kicked as he grabbed at her boots, her dress flying up. “Don’t do this please, Mr. Bowles! Please!”
He got her off the ground and threw her over his shoulder.
By this time, Jansen was bucking and neighing like someone was trying to kill him.
“Stop!” Lovely Jo kicked as Dusty threw her into the carriage, got his hat, and climbed the driver’s seat.
“Why are you doing this? I thought you’d help me!”
“I’m sorry.” He fixed his hat on his head. “But I’m a desperate man, Lovely Jo. I can’t lose everything my family worked for. This here ranch… it’s all I have.” He grabbed the reins.
“Wait!” She touched his shoulders, and he relaxed. “They’ll kill me for something I didn’t do. You can have that on your conscience?”
“How do I know you didn’t do it?” He spit into the air. “Huh? That’s just you saying so.”
“Why would I kill Mr. Bernstein? The man that paying me my wages? It makes no sense!”
“Maybe he was messing with ya’.” He avoided eye contact. It was killing him to hear her beg, let alone having to look at her. “Come on. We all know what white men do with their black
maids—”
“No! I’m a virgin!”
He squeezed the reins, realizing his assumption about her was right after all.
“Yes.” Her voice deepened, and it didn’t sound so desperate right then. “I’m a virgin. Will that help, sir?”
He slowly turned and looked at her over his shoulder. “What are you talking about?”
“Forgive me, Mr. Bowles, but I think you know. When you come to the Bernsteins, I see how you look at me. It ain’t just kindness.” She stroked her dress, lips shivering. “You want me. Don’t you?”
He squinted. “What if I did? I’m sure I ain’t the only man that do.”
“But you the only man who will help me.” She spread her legs under her dress. “As God is my witness, you can have me. I’m offering you my virginity.”
“What?” He scoffed. “What kind of nonsense is this?”
“I need your help!” She leaned forward. “I didn’t kill Mr. Bernstein. I promise I didn’t—”
“Lay down!” He pushed her and jumped into the back of the carriage.
Dusty couldn’t say what he was thinking as he yanked up her dress, revealing her dusty drawers. But Lovely Jo needed to learn you never promise a man your body if you ain’t willing to pay up.
