Just Her Type (21 page)

“That's absurd!” she said, but with less heat.

“I don't think so.” He looked down into her eyes. “Sweetheart, if you don't fight for what is right, who will?”

“I'm doing what I can, as I can. I won't have Douglas murdered like Cameron and Pa.”

“And Doc Langhorne and Lacey?”

“Yes, don't you see? You must let me do what I think is right.”

“I'm willing to do that, if you
will
do what you think is right.”

“I—” Mackenzie froze as the door to the shop crashed open. When her name was shouted, she stared at Luke in horror. He put out his hand to her, but she rushed down the stairs.

She forced a smile as she stepped into the print shop. It faltered, for Connolly stood there. Two burly hands flanked him and were looking about with malicious anticipation.

“Good evening,” she said cautiously. “Can I help you?”

“Stop playing your games, Mackenzie!” Connolly snapped as he pulled off his gloves and tossed them to his men. He cracked his knuckles and smiled. “You know why I'm here.”

“Mr. Connolly, I—”

“Shut up!” he roared. She took an involuntary step backward as he pushed through the half-door. All pretense of gentility was gone. “You've had your say. Now you'll listen to me.”

“Mackenzie didn't write that article.” Luke put his hands on her shoulders. “I did.”

“No!” she gasped.

Connolly smiled icily. “Does it really matter whether you or Bradfield wrote it, Mackenzie? It was printed in the
Bugle
. You lied to me about your Eastern paper, Bradfield, but you can't lie this time. The
Bugle's
your newspaper, Mackenzie.”

“Yes.” Her voice trembled on the single word.

“Then you are responsible for what's printed in it.”

“Yes.”

“Mackenzie—”

Connolly ignored Luke. “Now, as the wounded party, I have two recourses. One legal, one we shan't speak of. How much are you worth? Libel is a very serious situation. This small enterprise has little of value, so you may find yourself working for me to pay off the debt.”

“If you see scant value in the
Bugle,
” she said, “there's little reason for you to go to the expense of a trial.”

“Mackenzie, don't let him bully you. He—”

“Can we discuss this without your employee?” Connolly asked, sneering at Luke.

“Yes, if yours leave, too.”

Luke snapped, “You're insane if you think I'm going—”

“Well, you are.” Turning to him, she kept her face composed. She did not doubt that Connolly's men were watching for any crack in her façade. “I trust you'll excuse us.”

Connolly laughed as his men went out to the porch, leaving the door open. “Run along, Bradfield. It's a good thing you don't work for me. I wouldn't take such lip from any two-bit paper pusher.”

Luke did not move until Mackenzie whispered, “Please.”

“All right,” he said, “but I'll be upstairs, Connolly.”

“You wound me, Bradfield. I've no intention of doing harm to Mackenzie.” He added when Luke went up the stairs, “I've told you my plans. What do you intend to do about this grievous situation?”

“Why don't you tell me what you want?”

“I thought you knew very well the price.”

“You want the
Bugle
?” She listened to her calm voice as if she stood outside herself and watched Connolly threaten all she had slaved for.

“I have had the papers drawn up. All you need to do is sign them.” He withdrew a sheaf from under his coat and forced them into her hands. “Of course, you may stay on as editor if you wish. I'll offer you a fair stipend as well as allow you to live upstairs.”

She lifted the pages and picked her way through the legal language. It repeated what Connolly was saying. Folding them up, she said, “No.”

His eyebrows pressed his forehead into wrinkles. “Did I understand you correctly?”

“Yes. If you think I shall let you take this opportunity to force me to turn the
Bugle
over to you, you are mistaken.” Straightening her shoulders, she held out the papers. “Nor shall I print a retraction of the article.”

“I'll have your business and everything else you own.”

She shrugged. “Fine. Take it.” Flinging the papers at him, she laughed. “What do you think the
Bugle's
worth without me? A few hundred dollars? I'll warn you that the building and the furniture upstairs have less value than the equipment here. Take it, and I'll put you out of business.”

His smile faded. “You plan to put me out of business?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I'd be a fool to tell you that, Connolly.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Take the
Bugle
, and you'll see how quickly you will be left with nothing but a printing press and a stack of papers you can't sell.”

He put his forefinger in front of her nose. “If you think O'Grady will help you after you've been sleeping with Bradfield—”

Although heat scorched her cheeks, she said, “I don't want his help, nor do I need it.”

“Have it your way,” Connolly growled. He kicked aside the scattered pages. “I'll take this newspaper from you in court.”

“I shall see
you
in court,” she snapped. “Criminal court when the facts of this case are presented to the circuit judge. Will you be found guilty as an accessory before or after the fact, Connolly, or both?”

“No one's ever been convicted of rimrocking a few bleaters.”

She smiled as she leaned her hands on the half-door. Opening it, she stepped aside and motioned for him to leave. “Then it's about time, isn't it? Eyewitness accounts have a way of turning a jury's opinion.”

“Eyewitnesses? Who?” His fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides, and she knew he wanted to pull the pistol he wore beneath his coat.

“If I answered that question, I'd be as big a fool as you seem to think I am. By the way, if you're thinking of trying something to force the answer from me or Mr. Bradfield, I can tell you that we aren't the only ones who know.” Motioning again toward the door, she said, “Good evening, Connolly.”

His face turned a florid shade, but he grabbed his hat from one of the cowboys standing just outside the door. When the door crashed shut behind him, she closed her eyes and leaned forward, praying the wall would support her better than her knees.

Hearing Luke behind her, she turned to be enveloped in his arms. With a sob, she whispered, “I hate to admit it, but you were right.”

He sat her at her desk. Kneeling next to her, he sandwiched her hands between his. “Sweetheart, I went about it in the wrong way.”

“An apology?”

“I've been wrong once or twice.” His voice sobered. “The
Bugle
is your paper.” His hands rose to warm her cheeks now cold with frustrated rage. “I didn't want to argue more with you that night when I wanted so much to make love with you. Just like now.”

“How could you be thinking of that when I may be out of business soon?”

“How could I think of anything else when you're so beautiful and you defend this wayward knight like the bravest princess in the kingdom?” When she smiled, he kissed her upturned lips.

Something woke Mackenzie, something as nebulous as the dream it had interrupted. It had taken her so long to fall asleep, knowing when she woke she would be saying good-bye to Luke on the train platform.

The evening had been a kaleidoscope of visits by the friends Luke had made. Her plan to make their last night together wonderful had failed when she'd dissolved into tears when Luke had taken her into his arms. Lying in the bed, which would be hers alone again, he'd held her as she wept. His promise to write often and visit again did nothing to ease her pain.

She wished she could be like Douglas. Her son was furious. He could not understand why his baseball coach had to leave. He had stormed up to his loft and vowed not to come down until the train had departed. He had—

She could not breathe. She coughed. Sitting up, she hung her head against her knees. Why couldn't she breathe?

Luke tugged on her arm. “Get some clothes on. Fast!”

“Clothes?”

His face came close to hers, but something distorted it. She tried to push away the cloud and saw it billow. Not a cloud! Smoke!

“Douglas!” she cried.

“I'll get him.” Luke shoved her out of bed. “Go down the outside stairs. We'll be right behind you.”

Through the din of fear, she heard him shouting to Douglas. Tying on her skirt, she threw a blouse around her shoulders. She searched for the key to the door and struggled to put it in the lock. The coughing almost ripped her in half.

Fresh air erupted into the room as she opened the door. She raced down the stairs and turned to look at the print shop. Fire flickered through the windows.

“Get buckets!” she shouted as curious cowpokes poured out of the saloon. Lights appeared in windows along the street, and there were shouted demands to know what was happening.

Mackenzie ran to the front door. She tugged on the knob. A curse burst from her lips as she realized it was locked. She flung a rock through the new glass and lifted the latch. Kicking the door aside, she raced into the smoke. Scorching heat nearly forced her back. Through the smoke, she could see the press. She pushed through the half-door and tripped over some damp rags. She raised one to her nose. Kerosene. This fire was no accident.

Fire licked the walls. She fought her way through the smoke to the press and knocked aside the boards next to the wheels. Thank heavens, Pa had had the foresight to plan for this emergency. She pushed. It refused to move.

“Come on!” she moaned. Fighting to breathe, she shoved again. “Move!”

Hands groped along the press. Luke shouted, “I'll get the press. You get out of here.”

“Douglas?”

“He's safe. Get out! Now!”

Mackenzie leaned her shoulder against the press. Luke shoved on the opposite side. More people swirled through the smoke to assist them.

She stepped aside as a man took her place. She loaded type, ink, and an armful of unscorched paper on the turtle. Her eyes burned from the smoke. Choking, she thrust the turtle forward. The
Bugle
was not going to be shut down.

Cheers met her as she pushed the wheeled cart off the porch. Skinny arms were thrown around her. With a sob, she grasped her son. Dropping to her knees, she hugged him.

Douglas grinned. “I'm all right, Ma. I even got my baseball out.”

Although she wanted to admonish him for stopping to get it, she could not. She had been more foolish when she had rushed back to rescue the press. Holding on to him, she searched the crowd for Luke.

“Luke's on the bucket brigade, Ma,” Douglas said. “Can I help?”

Wearily, Mackenzie nodded. She tried to stand, but collapsed. Someone attempted to assist her to her feet. The fire disappeared. The street disappeared. The voices and the fire disappeared. Everything vanished into a well as dark as the smoke pouring from the broken windows.

SIXTEEN

Mackenzie stared at the blackened ruins of the print shop. Reverend Manning had wanted her to stay in bed at Miss Howland's house until she recovered from whatever had made her faint. Without a doctor in town, he had had to accept her word she was fine.

She would not be recovering soon, however. What had been a suspicion for the past week was becoming certain. It had been almost eleven years since she last had suffered the dizziness and lack of appetite, but she could not forget the symptoms. That she and Cameron had had no other children had lulled her into believing her son would be an only child. She had been wrong.

She had not told Luke. She would not until he was back East. Then it would be his decision whether to return or not. After seeing him with Douglas, she knew he would be the best father he could for his child.

The Bentonville Bugle
needed to be rebuilt, but she was not sure how to manage it. Connolly controlled the mercantile and would not let her buy lumber on credit. Maybe she should ask Baker what he would charge for using the livery's tack room.

She heard a curse and smiled as Luke came around the corner. He left a cloud of gray ashes in his wake. “Here,” he said. “I brought this out last night, and Horace looked after it.”

Mackenzie took the framed photograph. The glass was cracked, but Cameron's picture was unharmed. “Thank you,” she whispered. “But you shouldn't have risked yourself for this.”

“I wish I could have saved more for you, sweetheart, but this was all I had time to grab before Douglas came down.”

She held out her hand to him. “Don't sound so forlorn. We've had to start from scratch before.”

“This is all my fault.” He stroked her hair.

“It's partially your fault and partially mine and all Connolly's.” She sighed as she leaned her head on his shoulder. “You missed your train this morning.”

“Carter will have to understand that I have to help you get back on your feet before I leave. Knowing you, Mackenzie, I'm sure you won't miss too many editions.”

She went to stand by the downed sign. “We won't miss a single issue. I have paper. I have type. I have ink. I have the press. At least I won't be lacking for news for Wednesday's edition.”

Luke smiled. There were depths to Mackenzie Smith which even he had not discovered. In defeat, she was stronger than before. Such strength awed him, especially when he remembered how the
Independent
had missed two editions during the Great Blizzard.

“Where's Douglas?” he asked.

“At the Benton House.”

“The Benton House?”

She smiled. “An anonymous benefactor has reserved two rooms and arranged for our board at the Benton House for the next week.”