Sweet Surrender (Mercers of Montana Book 1) (3 page)

T
he woman
with the bright red hair bounded straight toward them. "Hello, Lady Olivia!"

Olivia shuffled back a step or two. In her circles, it was the height of impropriety to speak to someone without a proper introduction. Her father warned her things were different in America, but being accosted by a fevered woman in an impossibly bright purple dress was too much.

Lady Dubuque remained composed. "Do you come from the Rose Bower?"

The fiery-haired woman turned to the older woman and grinned in acknowledgement.

"Then you must be Madame Travers."

The stranger's entire body jiggled as she nodded her head. "Yes, but call me Cinnamon. Everyone does," she said with an exaggerated wink.

Lady Dubuque turned to Olivia and smiled. "Lady Tarrington, may I introduce Madame Travers. My husband's company provided the furnishings for her … establishment. Dub signed off on the sale personally, as there was some difficulty. Some salesmen do not like to sell to…" Cinnamon cocked her head to a side "…women proprietors you see."

"Why, Lady Dubuque, I'm so happy to see you here in Virginia City! Your husband was a great businessman, and he knew a good investment when he saw it." The redhead bubbled on about Dub with unabashed delight. "It's so nice to meet you, Lady Olivia."

"Pleasure to meet you, uh … Cinnamon." Olivia waved a genteel hand in the air. "How terrible that salesmen hesitated to sell to you."

Cinnamon chuckled. "I'm certain it was less me and more the nature of my business."

Before Olivia could ask more, like how this woman knew her first name, she spied Cinnamon staring after the groom. His bright blue eyes were guarded as she greeted him with a squeal, and Olivia wondered at their connection.

Olivia nodded toward him. "The Mercers sent their groom to meet us at the stagecoach. We just stopped to stretch our legs before taking the carriage out to the ranch."

"The groom?" asked Cinnamon with a quick glance at Jackson. "So you haven't met Jackson Mercer yet?"

Olivia pressed her lips together. "No, not yet."

Cinnamon lifted her purple skirts and stepped around Jackson before looping one arm through his and hanging on. She looked up and asked, "Shall we tell her about husband-to-be?"

Jackson grimaced. "You knew of the betrothal?"

He knew he shouldn't be surprised. If someone's dog got a new collar, she was the first to know. Still, it rankled him that Cinnamon knew such momentous, personal news before he did.

"We're starved for good society here, Lady Olivia, so news of your imminent arrival traveled fast. I myself heard about it a couple of weeks ago and have been anxiously awaiting a glimpse of you." The jealous edge of her voice was smoothed over by her saccharine smile.

Jackson longed to untangle himself from her embrace, but he couldn't predict what Cinnamon would do next. If he didn't play her little game she would be insulted. At best, she would delight in telling Olivia his real identity. At worst, she'd stop working with him. Cinnamon was clever and notorious for getting her way. It was what made her Jackson's best informant and potentially his worst enemy.

C
innamon had made
her way out west by working in brothels. Her creamy white skin and bright red hair made her irresistible and therefore a very successful whore. She then used her ability to leverage any bit of information to work her way into a fortune. When she arrived in Virginia City, she bought a large corner lot and built the Rose Bower herself. She took on the name Madame Travers and became a major player in the city's economy.

Though their relationship had never been anything but business—Jackson would buy information from her—Cinnamon saw an opportunity for more. She set her sights on Jackson Mercer. The black sheep of the most respectable family in town was the perfect match for her, and Cinnamon made no secret of her plans to marry him and retire.

Olivia smiled at Cinnamon. "I'm so glad Lady Dubuque was able to make our introduction. I have no other acquaintances in town."

Cinnamon gave her a playful nudge. "I would've introduced myself anyway. Besides, I think you'll find some of your London formalities have gone by the wayside out here."

Olivia’s eyes twinkled. "Is it wrong to say I hope so?"

Jackson scrubbed the stubble on his chin to hide a smile. Lady Tarrington was full of pleasant surprises. Instead of being aloof and snobbish, she was genuinely interested in other people and the state of the community.

Growing up in Montana, Jackson had more opportunities than most to meet the upper echelons of society. His great grandfather had made a fortune in the production of tools and farming implements. Jackson's grandfather then took that base and more than doubled it when he traveled to Virginia City to set up a shop.

It was decent business in a brand-new settlement and established the Mercers as one of the founding families of the fledgling town. When Jackson's father took over, the gold rush had begun and every miner and hopeful panning for nuggets bought something from his store.

The Mercers didn't have a title or an impressive lineage, but they had a fortune and became the pinnacle of Montana society. The distinction did nothing to help Jackson's father with his drinking and love for women. The only thing Joshua Mercer did right was marry Abigail.

She took charge of the Mercer holdings, created the cattle ranch, and made certain her children had every educational advantage. Jackson himself had studied in London for a time, and there he met more than his fair share of titled lords and ladies, who scorned a rough American boy from a far west territory.

Now Abigail was making one more attempt to provide her children with everything. She was determined to see Jackson back into society, in the place she claimed belonged to him, and she would stop at nothing to get him there. Though, he had to admit, she might be on the right track with Lady Olivia Tarrington.

J
ackson stifled
a yawn as the women chatted about the furnishings of the Rose Bower and the dust of Main Street. As their conversation wore on, Olivia's eyes occasionally traveled to him. A shadow of a frown creased the middle of her forehead as Cinnamon entwined herself around him.

Lady Dubuque turned the discussion to parasols as Olivia stole another look at him. This time their eyes met; an arc of electricity zapped through his heart like a lightning bolt. Her prim, heart-shaped mouth widened into a confused pout. Would she look at him like that again when she found out he was her fiancé? He longed to brush his lips against hers, to slide an arm around that impossibly small waist, and claim her for his own.

Instead, it was Cinnamon's tightly-corseted waist that leaned against him, but if he insulted the madam it could jeopardize more than Olivia's opinion of him. Cinnamon was his best source, and her jealousy could well cause her to withhold the vital information she gathered. Still, he could no longer bear the idea of lying to Olivia.

Jackson rifled through his options. If he revealed Cinnamon's true identity, then perhaps all she would do is tell Olivia his name. There were one hundred ways it could backfire, but if he wanted to move forward with Olivia, this was the only way.

He cleared his throat. "Cinnamon doesn't believe in using parasols. She says it hides what a woman has to offer." He shrugged. "I suppose that's a smart business strategy for a brothel owner."

The women's conversation froze. In one swift movement he extricated himself from Cinnamon's arms. From the flash of anger in her green eyes, Jackson knew she realized he had put her on the spot. He held his breath as he waited to see what Olivia would say. She touched one gloved hand to her throat, as if trying to swallow her words.

Cinnamon crossed her arms against her ample chest. "I have to apologize for him," she muttered between gritted teeth. "He's always living up to his reputation …"

Olivia shook her head from side to side. "I'm used to being underestimated." She rolled her eyes and glared at him. "A common experience for us both, I'm sure. To be honest, I guessed at your profession when I first saw you."

Cinnamon slapped Olivia's arm. "If you didn't, then I'd be dressing wrong," She burst in to giggles and cocked at eyebrow at Jackson. "As he said, it's all part of the business strategy. Advertising."

Olivia raked her eyes over him and curled her lip. "Some people are overly concerned with social class, usually those that have none at all."

"Well said, Lady Olivia. I do believe you will fit right into our city." Cinnamon flashed her large, pearly white teeth. "Here it's not so much about social ranking as it is about reputation." She lowered her voice. "Speaking of, I suppose you've heard whispers of your fiancé's reputation?"

Jackson scowled as they strolled away from him, listening intently to Cinnamon. Her jealousy would get the better of her, he was sure of it. He clenched his fist. She of all people should know how little he cared for his reputation. He exhaled slowly and wiped his brow. In the end what people thought of him was not important. It was best for Olivia to find out now. Then they'll see how open a well-bred lady's mind can be.

"
P
eople seem to be
…" Olivia hesitated, as though choosing her words carefully "…afraid of him, is that true?"

"Oh, most definitely." Cinnamon peeped over her shoulder and raised her voice. "People joke that Jackson puts the ‘Mercer’ in mercenary, but no one ever laughs about it."

Olivia blinked rapidly. "Mercenary?"

"Rumor has it his particular services can be purchased. The butcher believes his brother hired Jackson to collect a debt from someone." Another glance over her shoulder told her Jackson was listening as intently as Olivia was. "When his brother couldn't pay Jackson, it suddenly appeared as if he was a blackmailer. He's in jail now and the only reason the butcher still works with the Mercers is because of Abigail."

"The poor man." Olivia patted her lips, lost in thought.

Cinnamon lowered her voice to a loud whisper. "And there are other things … I shudder to think on." She gave the groom a wink. "I'm sorry to say your fiancé is known to use violent means to an end. People have a way of … um … disappearing after being seen with him."

Olivia held her head and stumbled on the boardwalk, the dusty street tipping up sharply in front of her. Lady Dubuque gasped and reached out for her but couldn't break the young lady’s fall. As the edges of her vision closed in, strong arms encompassed her before she tumbled to the ground and lifted her up, as if she was nothing but a feather.

As her vision blurred into unconsciousness, Olivia saw the man with the ragged scar over his left eye. He’d stood in her father's doorway with a sheaf of papers in one hand and a pistol in the other. A debt collector, with no mercy in his black eyes. He’d threatened to take her father away, make him disappear, if the notes were not paid in full.

The next week he’d returned and her father handed over a letter that had just arrived. The debts were transferred, her father was safe, and Olivia was to leave immediately for Montana. The man with the ragged scar had laughed and wished her luck.

Through the smoky haze, Cinnamon's words rang clear and confident. "He's sold you into a land of gamblers, drunks, and lawless men, my dear. Odds are ten to one your new husband is one, if not all three of those things."

Olivia whimpered at the warning and sunk completely into oblivion.

"
O
h
, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Cinnamon closed her eyes and shook her head. "I shouldn't have told her such things."

"Nonsense. Lady Olivia is not one to faint from hearing unsubstantiated rumors," said Lady Dubuque with a flick of her hand. "She's exhausted from traveling and walking in the midday heat."

Swimming up through a thick fog, Olivia relaxed in to the muscular arms around her. A flash of sapphire eyes and the brush of black hair, she knew the groom held her. Her cheek pressed against the white linen of his shirt and his leg cushioned her from the boardwalk where she'd fainted. Every ladylike instinct fought to push away from him, but another wave of dizziness knocked the effort from her.

I just want to go home
, thought Olivia behind the safety of her shuttered eyes. A useless thought as her country home was sold and gone, another one of the many losses to her father's gambling debts.

"Where's home?" she mumbled.

The groom cleared his throat. "A small cabin a few miles up the ridge, amongst the pine trees."

For a moment she wished he would carry her there. She could almost feel the cool shade of the pine trees and smell the fresh breeze. The fog cleared and she sighed as the fantasy disappeared with it.

"I begged my father to buy a cottage in the countryside. We could've been happy there, but he chose town, closer to his club. Better for him as long as I pay for it." She clapped a weak hand over her mouth as she realized she'd spoke out loud. "I miss the air. I could breathe there."

Lady Dubuque hovered over Olivia. "What is she saying, poor dear?"

"Something about air … she can't breathe." Cinnamon's voice raised to a high-pitched squeak. "We should take her to the hotel and let her rest."

Lady Dubuque clapped her hands in agreement. "An excellent idea. Show me the way and we'll get it settled before moving her."

Cinnamon hesitated, watching how Jackson cradled Olivia, but Lady Dubuque pulled her away and scowled, and the two of them made their way to the hotel.

W
hen the ladies
turned their backs, Jackson gave into his temptation and brushed a harvest gold curl from Olivia's pale face. It caught on the rough calluses of his fingers, but the silkiness was as soft as he’d imagined her hair would be. She murmured again and his shoulders tensed.

Why didn't I think of letting her rest at the hotel? The question played over and over again in his mind. The poor girl had journeyed so far and he had only thought to drag her through town in the hot sun.

She was paying for her father's choices, and now his. The thought made him scowl even as his blue eyes traced softly over her delicate face. He didn't know how to care for her, even if he wanted to, and the best thing to do was find someone who could. Curious townspeople peered at them, but no one dared approach because of him. She deserved better, someone capable of caring for her—someone who knew how to love her.

Lady Dubuque hailed him from across the street, and Jackson hastened to his feet. Lady Olivia curled against his chest, a little dove in her white dress. He carried her easily into the hotel lobby. Lady Dubuque directed him to a room upstairs. It had been years since he set foot in the hotel, but Jackson gritted his teeth and took the steps two at a time.

The hotelier rested his steepled fingers on his chin and stared at Jackson. "An unexpected honor, I'm sure."

Jackson shot him a withering look. "You'll get your fee, Thompson, don't you worry."

The hotelier's face twitched and continued to ignore the ladies. "Your father's exact words. You'll forgive me if I don't believe you."

"I am not my father." Jackson pushed past the thin man into the hotel room. "Now get out."

"Cut from the same cloth," the hotelier muttered and raising his tone called, "you really think I'm going to leave you in here with that whore? This is a respectable establishment."

"It may be," said Olivia from Jackson's arms, "but you, sir, are not."

Startled at the strength of her words, Jackson put her down. Olivia swayed once, but she steadied herself spine erect like an iron rod. Olivia smoothed the front of her dress, pulled down her sleeves with sharp tugs, and cut the hotelier a sharp look of disapproval. "I expect my bags here immediately along with tea. Madame Travers is my guest, and I thank you to not address my groom.  You are dismissed."

Thompson stood in the doorway with his mouth hanging open. "Milady, you must not know who she is? Who
they
are …?"

Olivia stepped closer to the man, who looked much like a weasel in a wrinkled vest. "They are my guests and none of your business, or do you not know how to run a respectable hotel?"

"No, milady." Cinnamon shook her head, her lips in a tight straight line. "Don't make a fuss on my account. You need to rest from your journey, and I don't want to trouble you any further."

Lady Dubuque stepped forward and caught her arm before she swayed again. "Thank you, Madame Travers. Our man here will escort you back to the Rose Bower. No need for the bags, we'll only stay for tea so Lady Tarrington can rest. We wouldn't want to discomfort this man with our patronage."

Thompson swallowed hard, perhaps realizing he had lost the best customers his hotel had ever seen. "Tea right away, your grace. We have the best brews in all of Virginia City."

Lady Dubuque shooed everyone out the door and closed it firmly.

H
er back firmly against
the door Lady Dubuque stared at Olivia. "Now, dear, are you quite well?"

Olivia nodded despite the room spinning slowly in her periphery. Her heart was as heavy as lead at the thought that Cinnamon had gone and there was no way to find out more about her mysterious betrothed.

She made her way to the smudged window and pried it open a few inches. She stole a glance at Lady Dubuque and pretended she was there for the fresh air. She sighed as the groom escorted Cinnamon across the street.

Olivia had spoken to him of paying her father's debt, a terrible slip of the tongue, yet she felt her secret was safe with him. He, too, seemed to be paying for the decisions his father had made and the look in his eyes when he left told her they understood each other.

Lady Dubuque cleared her throat. "Quite a catch."

"Who?" Olivia turned a deep shade of crimson. "The groom?"

Lady Dubuque chuckled. "Shame you were unconscious when he caught you." She fanned her face with her hand. "He is a handsome one."

Olivia leaned against the chipped paint of the window frame. Cinnamon ran her hand over the groom's back and he stiffened. She bit her lip. Perhaps they had a dalliance.

The thought stuck a pin in her chest, and Olivia had to admit she found him very attractive.  His shaggy black hair gleamed as it caught the sun, and despite the mud on his boots, he was entirely too clean for a groom.

He did smell like leather, but also of pine. The thought brought back his words of the cabin. If her father had sold her into marriage, why could it not have been to someone like him? Then she'd be free … to breathe the fresh air, work outdoors, and put her hands to some use besides embroidery and fretful wringing.

Olivia's chest heaved with longing. If only he was rich like her betrothed or she was a free woman like the madam. Instead, here she was on the cusp of marrying a man she only knew through the fear and apprehension of others.

J
ackson glanced back
over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of white lace behind the dust-streaked glass of the hotel window. Lady Olivia spoke of paying for her father's choices. That stirred the dull ache of empathy in his heart again. He could shoulder the burden his father's ruined reputation placed on him and his family, but he could not bear the idea of Olivia carrying such a weight on her own.

"She'll be just fine." Cinnamon snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. "Only you would think a faint was real. You'd better get used to such womanly wiles with a thoroughbred lady in the house."

Jackson's hand balled into a fist. "She was not playacting."

The memory of Olivia limp in his arms washed over him and with it that sense of hopelessness again. He had no idea how to help her, even if he wanted to, and he was sure his aid was the very last she needed.  

Cinnamon sniffed. "So it's a love match then?"

"I knew nothing of it until she stepped off the stagecoach…” Jackson grimaced "…and I'm sure I'm the last one Lady Tarrington will agree to marry."

"Good." Cinnamon skipped through the double doors of the Rose Bower, whirled around, and batted flamingo pink eyelids at Jackson. "Then you can continue to be ignorant of your own betrothal and spend the rest of the afternoon with me."

She threw her arms around his neck and thrust him closer to her red-painted lips.  

"Cinnamon, please. We've never … and now's not the time to start." Jackson pushed her off of him.

She laughed "Oh? I beg to differ …"

Jackson turned to leave.

Cinnamon clapped her hands at the bartender and called out to Jackson's retreating back. "So you've decided to help the sheriff?" She was never one to hide her emotions and though her voice was even he knew she was furious at Jackson's refusal.

Jackson turned around and glared at her. She flashed a coy smile.

The bartender grabbed a bottle of whiskey off a top shelf and ran it over to Cinnamon. The look he gave Jackson was anything but empathetic as he swiped out a pair of glasses, slid them next to the bottle, and retreated to the far end of the bar.

Jackson knew in her mind they were a perfect match: the black sheep of the best family and the brothel owner. He could see it too.

Cinnamon was attractive despite the bright colors and heavy paint. He had once seen her fresh from a swim in the river, red hair dark from water weighing down heavy curls and slicked against her creamy skin. It snaked down past her full, perky breasts and narrow waist to her rounded hips, leaving nothing to the imagination and accentuating her charms.

She was also fearless and protected the girls in her brothel like a mother bear. No man in Virginia City took on Madam Travers, and strangers quickly learned her temper was as fiery as her hair.

Her reach in town also extended from one end to the other and into every household. Even the Mercers. Jackson had been seen with Cinnamon often enough, and no one would ever believe it was work.

She sold information and had been integral in creating the vigilante group that had defeated Virginia City's corrupt sheriff and ring of lawlessness. Now she was a staunch supporter of the new sheriff and through her the Knifemen still had enough to do, so they could not fully disband. It was better his family thought he was in love with a whore than know he was still working as a Knifeman.

Jackson shrugged. "The sheriff doesn't need me unless he's tracking down who robbed the stagecoach this afternoon."

Cinnamon sipped her whiskey and shook her luscious curls. "A few frocks and a couple of baubles." She stuck her lip out. "I'd say it was the robbers’ loss."

Jackson's eyes narrowed. "You know something about it?"

"I might…" she ran her tongue over her lips with her eyes wondering carelessly to the opening of his shirt "…but the price is higher than you'd like."

His eyebrows knitted. "We agreed when we started working that we wouldn't mix—"

Cinnamon slammed her glass down on the bar. "I've never needed to buy stud services." Her lip curled into a snarl. "Jackson Mercer, you flatter yourself too much."

Jackson threw back his whiskey shot and gently dropped the shot glass next to hers. "I thought you appreciated having a man need you in other ways." He looked into her eyes and smiled. "If you know something about the robbery, tell me."

"All I know is your name was enough to scare off the robbers." She broke into tinkling laughter. "I wonder if your little lady in white put a handkerchief to her forehead before she breathed your name. Or was it just before she fainted?"

"You have no reason to tear into Lady Tarrington. In fact, from the way you two acted, I thought you'd be the first to help your new friend."

"Please. She's very sweet, but exchanging pleasantries in the street is as close as we'll ever get. Unless …"

"Unless what?"

She leaned over and slipped her hand into his shirt and onto his bare chest. "You two don't work out and she needs a place to stay. I know hundreds of men that would stake their entire claim against a night with her."

Jackson recoiled and stood up, throwing the barstool crashing down on to the wooden floor. "If you have nothing useful to say, I'll thank you for the drink and get back to the hotel."

Cinnamon spun on her stool and gave a brittle laugh. “So you're actually considering marrying her. You think she'll go through with it when she finds out about you?"

He shook his head and swallowed. "That's all behind me now."

"Except for the fright your name gave those men on the road today. Like I said, all you have to do is go out and look for your fiancée's things. Some patsy will be waiting to make sure you get them back easy." Cinnamon wagged a finger at him. "Just remember, you don't have to hurt the sap."

Jackson lowered his head. "I don't hurt people."

"Sounds like I might be the only one that believes that." Cinnamon hopped off her barstool. "Speaking of people getting hurt, the sheriff needs to talk to you. Someone is trying to scare off claim holders."

Jackson raised his shoulders. "That's been happening since gold was found here."

"Not like this." A shadow passed across her eyes. "It's getting bad, Jackson. This is cold, calculated."

This was good information. It was comforting to know that she had her ear to the ground and that Lady Tarrington's arrival did not change Cinnamon's willingness to share. Jackson relented and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "We won't let anyone take over again. I'll talk to the sheriff."

Cinnamon squeezed his arm. "Good man."

Jackson wished it was true.