Ashes and Memories (6 page)

“Mr. Weston used to pay me five dollars a week,” he informed her.

 Emma laughed at his boldness. “I’m afraid I can’t afford that much unless I can attract a few advertisers.”

Ralphy’s shoulders sagged at her words.

“Tell you what I can do though. I’ll pay you a penny for every copy you sell." She couldn’t afford even that much, but how could she turn him away? Everyone needed someone to care about them. Maybe she’d be that someone for Ralphy.

“Gee, I don’t know. I’d have to sell a hundred copies to make a dollar.”

“You got a job now?” she asked a bit harshly. By the looks of him, he was in no position to turn down a job, no matter how little it paid.

“Well, yeah. I wash glasses over at Mr. MacBride’s saloon,” Ralphy said with a shrug. “Wouldn’t want to give that job up. It pays a nickel a glass. Man could get rich on all them glasses.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to give up your job, Ralphy, especially on what I can pay." Emma tried to concentrate on what she was saying, instead of struggling with the question of why Reece MacBride would employ a child like Ralphy. “Anyway, newspapers have to be delivered first thing in the morning, and glasses have to be washed in the evenings. That oughtta work out fine.”

“Right,” he said with a smile. “A penny a copy?”

She shrugged. “That’s all I can afford right now.”

 Ralphy scratched his head, giving the matter considerable thought. “Okay, I can do that. When do I start?”

Emma turned around and picked up the bundle of folded papers, shoving them into Ralphy’s hands. “Right now. And I’ll give you an extra nickel if you’ll get here half an hour earlier next time and fold the papers. For now I hope to put out a paper twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays.”

“You got a deal, Miss....”

“Emma.”

“You got a deal, Miss Emma!”

“Start at the hotel, Ralphy!" she called as he hurried from the office.

“I know!" he shouted over his shoulder. “I know! Leave it to me, Miss Emma!”

Emma smiled as she closed the door. At least she didn’t have to worry about delivering the papers herself. Of course, now she had to make sure Ralphy didn’t try to cheat her.

If he’d been living on his own for two years, he must have learned a few unscrupulous tricks. No one could survive long on the mercy of strangers, at least not in her experience. When her father had answered the call to service, none of their neighbors had raised a finger to help her. Only Mr. Formby, her father’s elderly partner, had cared in the least what happened to her. The Formbys had opened their home to her, and for that she would be forever grateful.

 But if the only job Ralphy could find was washing glasses in a saloon, he hadn’t been very successful in rousing anyone’s mercy.

Except maybe Reece MacBride’s. Why would Reece hire a child to wash glasses when a bartender could do it as part of his job and he wouldn’t have to pay extra? Granted, a nickel a glass wasn’t much, but Emma never would have figured Reece MacBride for a man who did anything that didn’t profit him in some way.

But then she was beginning to suspect there were no easy answers to the question of why Reece MacBride did anything.

She didn’t trust him. True he’d helped her when she’d needed it. He’d even bargained with her on the rent when he didn’t have to. But there was something dark and perhaps a bit sinister about Reece MacBride, something frightening.

He was too unpredictable, too volatile. Though she’d only known him a day, already she’d seen the frightening suddenness with which he could change from indolent gentleman to implacable dictator to dangerous gunslinger.

The one constant in his character seemed to be arrogance, whether he was settling a dispute over money with a potentially violent adversary or bending a public official to his own will or commanding an entire town as if it were his private domain.

Always arrogant, always self-assured, always in complete control.

His offer of financial aid had been a devious effort to buy control of the newspaper. She shuddered to think what his reaction would be to her first issue. If she allowed Reece MacBride to dictate how and what she printed, her success, her very survival, would no doubt be assured. But how could she do that and maintain her self-respect?

As a journalist, she had a duty to tell the truth, to inform the people, a duty she took very seriously. And she resented the fact that he thought that because she was a woman he could sway her with his charm. Which brought her back to the real question -- why was maintaining such rigid control of this town so important to him?

That was a question for another day. She would have plenty of time to contemplate that question. Right now she wanted to bask in the satisfaction of producing her very first newspaper issue on her own. But she couldn't shake the unease that settled in the pit of her stomach when she tried to imagine Reece MacBride's reaction.

#####

Emma jerked around at the sound of the bell jingling on the outer door. With a deep sigh, she dropped the rag she’d been using to clean the printing press and headed into the outer office.

“It’s about time you got back here,” she said as she stepped through the office door. “You’ve been gone over two hours. I was starting to get --”

 She stopped dead in her tracks, her gaze riveted on Reece MacBride. He stood just inside the doorway, impeccably dressed as always, darkly handsome as ever.

This morning he wore a dark gray suit with a cutaway frock coat over a burgundy vest. And she wondered inanely how he managed to keep his white shirts so crisp and clean in this muddy place.

He probably had a personal laundress who did nothing but wash, starch and press them, she mused peevishly, trying to ignore the now familiar catch in her throat, a reaction he evoked by his mere presence. He swept the hat from his head with a half-smile, gazing around the room as if taking inventory.

“I am sorry to disappoint you,” he said in his slow southern drawl, stepping further into the room, his boot heels loud on the wooden floor. His spurs jingled like the sound of gold coins clinking against one another. “Your boy is at the hotel. I believe he is busy at present drinking a tall glass of milk and eating a big slice of freshly baked apple pie.”

Unease shuddered through her. Wiping her hands on her apron, she took a step toward him. But she stopped, her courage flagging in the next instant at the sight of a folded paper in his hand.

He laughed, a deep, throaty sound that sent a tremor through her body. Aware that he had seen something in her eyes that had revealed her disquiet, she averted her gaze quickly.

 “You do have some very strong opinions, don’t you?” he asked, tilting his head to one side as he studied her with languid intensity.

Emma tried to ignore the cunning smile that curved his lips, while she beat down the unease that trembled through her. “I kept my opinions to myself and confined my comments to the facts.”

“Miss Parker,” he said, strolling toward her as if he were walking through his drawing room, “hasn’t anyone ever explained the value of discretion to you?”

“Withholding the truth is not a matter of discretion." Emma swallowed hard, her heart racing. He was toying with her like a cat with a mouse.

“The truth,” he said sarcastically, a sardonic humor lighting his dark countenance. “The truth is you didn’t have to mention the discrepancy in the wanted poster and the money paid to Mr. Hill.”

“And why does this concern you?” she asked. “I never even mentioned your name and I made no accusations.”

She wasn’t proud of that fact. She’d taken the coward’s way out, making veiled insinuations about the sheriff, a hireling, instead of the man in charge.

 She’d tried to rationalize that she owed Mr. MacBride a debt of gratitude for stopping and helping her, burying her father for her. But the truth was the truth, and even though Reece MacBride was enough of a gentleman to offer help to a stranded woman, he just might be enough of a scoundrel to pocket three-hundred dollars that didn’t belong to him.

“The mere mention of impropriety is enough to cast aspersions on my sheriff.”

Emma took a step back, uncomfortable with his nearness and with the smoldering fire in his golden brown eyes that made it impossible to hold his gaze for very long. “Your sheriff.”

“I have a stake in everything that goes on in this town, Miss Parker -- everything, including what you print in your little paper.”

“If you are suggesting that I slant the news, that I overlook --”

“I am suggesting that what happened yesterday is not uncommon." Again he closed the space between them.

There was nothing threatening in his movements, his manner or his demeanor, nothing that should have set her nerves on edge or caused her heart to leap out of control.

“Bounties change,” he continued, his voice like a silken caress running down the curve of her spine. “Misinformation is circulated, sometimes intentionally, sometimes inadvertently.”

 “Well, if it’s so common, it shouldn’t matter if I report the incident. Besides, common or not, the people have the right to --” She stopped short, unaware she’d been retreating until her back made contact with the counter. He used his height advantage and the width of his shoulders to subtly but decisively intimidate her into silence.

“Don’t talk to me about the people’s rights, Miss Parker,” he said in the same soft, level tone he’d used since he’d walked through the door.

He stood so close the deep timbre of his voice shuddered through her body and stole her breath. The smell of fine tobacco and soap clung to him, a heady, purely masculine combination that touched something deep inside her, some elemental perception beyond the simple sense of smell.

“The people have the right to live peacefully in the community of their choice,” he continued. “These people have chosen to live in Providence, and so have I. What you’ve done is stir up suspicions that have no basis in fact.”

“I know what I saw,” she asserted, aware of the danger simmering just beneath his surface calm, aware, too, of the battle raging inside her between fear and attraction.

His smile deepened, touching his eyes briefly. “Well, I’m sure you are wise enough to know that you cannot always believe everything you see. Perhaps you should verify your facts before you put them in print.”

 Her blood pulsed through her veins, her heart racing. And for all her agitation, he remained supremely calm, coolly confident. She wanted him to believe she was just as unaffected, but the truth was painfully evident in the husky, muffled quality of her voice when she spoke again.

“What you mean is I should check with you first, isn’t it?”

“Your words, Miss Parker.”

“You can’t tell me what to print." Emma managed to regain some of her poise, though it didn’t come through in her voice. He was just a man, after all. But when she looked into those piercing amber eyes, sometimes she got the impression she was glimpsing Lucifer himself.

“That’s where you are wrong, Miss Parker. You see in my town, I can do just about anything I like.”

He never raised his voice. He didn’t need to. No doubt he could bring a man to his knees with the power of those eyes.

“Including censoring the news?" The unease in her soul turned to dread because she knew the answer. He controlled the sheriff, a circuit judge and at least half a dozen dangerous looking men who would do whatever he told them to do, even if that meant usurping the sheriff’s position. Controlling her small newspaper was nothing.

“I am willing to overlook this unfortunate little... incident... this time,” he said, choosing to ignore her question. “We will just pretend it never happened. But you would be wise to remember who owns this fine building that provides you with a location from which to issue your little paper. Good day, Miss Parker.”

Donning his hat, he turned to go.

Emma sighed with relief. He was leaving, and she would be able to breathe again and sort out what had just happened. But something perverse inside her caused her to call after him, “What are you trying to hide, Mr. MacBride?”

Reece faced her again, his head tilted at that insolent angle she was beginning to anticipate.

Cocking one slashing brow, he smiled. “Hide? Miss Parker, I made no deal with the judge, if that’s what you are referring to. I have nothing to hide, but suspicion is an ugly thing. It can grow out of proportion. I am only suggesting that you find some way to sell newspapers other than speculation and sensationalism.”

He touched the brim of his hat, bowing slightly before he made his exit, leaving Emma to gape after him.

She couldn’t move, could scarcely breathe for the fierce hammering of her heart. He hadn’t threatened her and yet she’d felt threatened in more ways than she could name. Her woman’s body still resounded with reaction to the power of his virility, while her soul recoiled from the cold ruthlessness in his eyes, a ruthlessness that sent a shiver of dread through her trembling body. And she cursed herself for her weakness, for allowing him to intimidate her, even as she questioned her sanity for ever defying him in the first place.

 She’d barely regained a measure of balance when Ralphy burst through the door a few moments later, his face red from running.

“Sorry I was gone so long, Miss Emma,” he gasped. Digging in his coat pocket, he produced a handful of coins. “Here’s your money -- four dollars and fifty cents.”

Emma took the money in wordless astonishment.

“Mr. MacBride helped me figure out how much I owed you,” he explained, smiling broadly.

“You sold them all?” she asked, bristling at the idea that Reece MacBride knew her business, knew about her arrangement with Ralphy. It was just one more thing he could use against her in this war she sensed brewing between them.

Suddenly the importance of what Ralphy had said sunk in. He’d sold every copy of the paper. Fifty copies, and he’d sold them in less than two hours.

Let Mr. Reece MacBride try and stop her, she thought with a smile. Next time she’d print twice as many, and if they sold as fast, she’d double that. Why, in no time at all the Providence Advocate could become a daily.