Sweet Surrender (Mercers of Montana Book 1) (4 page)

J
ackson paused
on the steps of the Rose Bower. The boardwalk was covered with a wide awning, and he was reticent to step into the blinding midday sun. In truth, he didn't know which way to go.

He could just walk out of town. The hike back to his cabin was long, but it would be refreshing after the complicated ties of Virginia City. Jackson gave himself a minute more to picture the tall pines, the low cabin that still smelled of fresh wood cuts, and the quiet of the clearing.

He sighed, knowing he should go to see the sheriff. Cinnamon was right about trouble starting again. It was not just isolated incidents scaring off the claim holders. Someone was making a calculated effort to buy up large swathes of land by any means necessary. Mysterious accidents, robberies, and violent misunderstandings were starting to look more like tactics than everyday happenings.

Whoever was carrying out the effort was not above hurting people, and therefore wouldn't respond to any idle or legal threats. He took a deep breath in and slowly exhaled, releasing the tension that had built up in his shoulders.

That was the exact reason the Knifemen had been formed in the first place. A festering wound couldn't be cured with external remedies. Its root had had to be prised out through careful, planned, deep slices made by a steady hand.

Jackson looked at his own hands. They didn't tremble, but his mind wavered at the thought of the blood he'd seen.

Shaking off the dark thoughts, he looked up and spied white lace. Olivia was still at the hotel window, seemingly entranced by the eclectic traffic on the Main Street. Jackson was glad he was still in the shadows and out of her view because he wanted another moment to study her.

She stood in the window like a portrait in a frame—beautiful. It was easier to see her like that instead of a living, breathing woman. How light she was in his arms, how delicate; the memory of her porcelain skin like silk under his rough fingers was enough to make Jackson ball up his fist. He couldn't let her stay. Virginia City was no place for a lady. It was still on the edge of lawlessness, and Jackson couldn't bear the idea of it touching her.

Striding out into the street, he headed straight for the hotel and winced. She's already afraid of Jackson Mercer. Better she find out who I am after she's on the next stagecoach. He’d send Thompson to buy the tickets, tell the ladies himself, and then set out to find their belongings before the stagecoach left.

"Whoa!" a voice cried as a huge white horse reared up.

Gray hooves sliced past his head and Jackson ducked. In a practiced move, he dodged around the horse and reached up to grab its bridle.

"Hello, Stratus." He patted the horse's muscular neck. "Hello, Mother."

"Jackson Mercer, what on Earth are you doing wandering through the middle of the street?" Abigail Mercer dismounted and smoothed down her skirts. "We almost ran you over."

"Good riding, Mother!" a youthful voice called.

Jackson peered over the white horse's withers and grinned at his sister Charlotte, who was Tyler’s twin. She sat astride a dappled gray mare. Her black hair escaped a hastily tied bonnet which shielded bright eyes dancing with mischief.

Abigail’s son tied both horses to the hitching post outside the hotel. "What brings you lovely ladies into town?"

"I might ask you the same thing," hissed Abigail, hands on her hips. She lowered her voice. "Did I see you coming from the Rose Bower? Can't you do one thing I ask of you?"

Jackson raised his hands in defense. "I met the stagecoach, Mother, and Charlotte's governess is safely ensconced in the hotel. She and her chaperone are having tea right now."

"Governess?" The ladies chorused.

Abigail grabbed her son's arm and tugged him aside. He rooted himself to the ground and continued to needle his sister. "Lady Tarrington is very proper. She'll have you corseted and buttoned up with lace gloves in no time."

"Mother, no! You can't be serious." Charlotte stomped her foot. “I won't do it. I won't let you tie me up and force me to be a lady." She shivered in the heat of the afternoon. "No, no, no! I will not …"

"Charlotte, go inside and get yourself cleaned up." One sharp look was enough to send the wild, young woman inside with a scowl.

Abigail turned on her son. "The Rose Bower in the middle of the day?"

Jackson groaned "It's not what you think, Mother."

Abigail's eyes flashed resentment. "I'd rather it was that than what I think. If you're working again …"

"Mother!" called Charlotte from the hotel doorway. "Mother, Thompson says the stagecoach was robbed!"

Jackson let his mother drag him inside to hear the news from the hotelier.

"The poor ladies, held at gunpoint …" Thompson was telling a wide-eyed Charlotte. "The highwaymen took all their belongings and then they ripped open the stagecoach door and …"

She gulped hanging on his every word. "And?"

"And … the only thing that stopped them was …"

"The quick thinking of the driver." Jackson gave the hotelier a dark, warning glance.

Thompson gulped but couldn't resist a little more gossip. "Lady Tarrington fainted in Main Street. I think the shock of meeting Madame Travers was too much for her."

"What on Earth?" Abigail twirled around and glared at Jackson.

He shrugged, "Virginia City's no place for Lady Tarrington. In fact, I'm sending her back on tonight's stagecoach."

"Thank God." Charlotte sighed. "I mean … Jackson's right."

Abigail rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Jackson's got it all wrong, like usual."

Thompson cleared his throat. "Mr. Mercer was good enough to escort that … um … woman back to the Rose Bower. I'm taking tea up to the ladies right now."

"Help Mr. Thompson with the tea, Charlotte. I need to talk to your brother."

Abigail encased Jackson's arm in an iron grip and led him up the stairs. She stopped in the hallway and turned, looking him straight in the eye. “I refuse to let you keep going like this, Jackson. I want a better life for you."

He yanked his arm away and flinched. "I don't deserve it, and you know it."

O
livia heard raised
voices outside the hotel room door. Perhaps it was the hotelier with the tea. She hurried to let him in, but paused with her hand on the doorknob when she heard his voice. The thrill of recognition sent a chill up her spine and her hands grew clammy. There was no mistaking it. The handsome groom was outside the door. She leaned her head against the wood to hear what he was saying.

His voice was muffled, but she made out the words. "A better life takes sacrifices."

"And you've made them. Now it's time to move on."

Olivia's heart sank, a woman's voice. Was it Cinnamon? No, she was definitely older. Who was she?

He spoke through gritted teeth. "I'm thinking of the family. I want what's best for my brothers and sisters. If that means I have to keep working, then I will."

Ear glued to the door, she hoped the heavy thumping of her heart wouldn't give her away. Was the connection she felt with the black-haired man imagined? The memory of his sapphire eyes meeting hers in a look of deep understanding made her heart beat faster as she strained to hear more.

His voice was louder now, more assured. "It doesn't matter what happens to me as long as they are safe. I only care that they can grow up happy."

"You deserve to be happy too." The woman's clipped tone was as clear as a bell. "Come back to the ranch, be with your family, get married."

Olivia gasped. Her hand slipped on the doorknob. Before she could save herself, the door swung open and she stumbled into the hall. Jackson caught her and in the confusion his rugged face broke into a sloppy grin.

Lady Dubuque rushed into the hallway and clapped her hands in delight. "Why, Mrs. Mercer, my friend. At last we meet!"

Olivia straightened herself out and with brightly blushing cheeks pushed Jackson's hands away. She smoothed down her dress and turned to meet her future mother-in-law.

"Please, call me Abigail." The woman's black hair was salted with silver, but her face was unlined and her cheeks carried a soft pink hue. There was something familiar about her crinkled blue eyes that twinkled in unmasked delight.

Lady Dubuque bustled in between them. "Abigail, please let me introduce Lady Tarrington."

Olivia extended her arm toward Abigail. "Please … Olivia. I'm so glad to finally meet you."

The groom's large hand was still on the small of her back, holding her steady, and her blush deepened. Olivia wiggled and tried to move away before Abigail Mercer noticed, but it was too late. The older woman gave them both an appraising look, and Olivia held her breath. It was as though the woman's sharp blue eyes could see right through her.

What would Abigail Mercer think of her attraction and connection with the groom when she was intended for her son?

"Lady Dubuque, I'm sorry your welcome to Virginia City has been such a mess." Abigail's eyes remained transfixed on Olivia and Jackson.

Olivia led the way into the hotel room, followed by the ladies. "Thank you for sending your groom to help us."

"Groom?" Abigail asked with a burgeoning smile.

Olivia's eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry, is that not the correct term? Driver?"

Abigail exchanged a curious look with Lady Dubuque and laughed. "Lady Olivia, please let me introduce you to my son, Jackson Mercer." She pointed at the groom who stood in the doorway.

Lady Dubuque’s belly jiggled as she winked at Olivia. So her chaperone had known all along. "Come dear, it's time you met your betrothed."

"
Y
ou're getting married
?" shrieked Charlotte. She clunked the tea pot she was carrying onto the precarious tray Thompson held and came flying into the hotel room. “Does this mean you're moving back to the ranch? When's the wedding?"

Jackson held up his palms over his face and backed into a corner. "Ask Mother."

“… what about Maria? Turning to Olivia she stared in earnest. “My sister … Mother here sent her off to finishing school.”

Olivia nodded and smiled at the young girl’s enthusiasm.

“Maria simply must be at the wedding … Mother?” She cocked an eyebrow at the old lady, whose tight smile withered.

“We can talk about that later.” There was an unmistakable finality to Abigail’s tone as she shot a look at Olivia, scrunched a handkerchief in her hand, and pursed her lips.

Charlotte gulped. “Of course, how could she not?” Shaking her head, she jumped up and clapped her hands. “So, she’s not my governess?”

Olivia's eyes widened. "Governess?"

Her intended sister-in-law spun and faced her. "Jackson told me you were to be my governess. He's always making jokes like that."

Abigail cleared her throat in an effort to contain her youngest daughter.

Charlotte's eyes gleamed. "Sorry, not that I would've minded you being my governess. You're wonderful." Lowering her head she added, “But I'm not so good at the prim and proper. I don't know who thinks corsets and lace gloves are a good idea … Oh, sorry … I mean, they're good for you."

Jackson stepped forward and held out a chair for Charlotte. "Slow down there, little sister."

She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at him, but then gathered her skirts up and flopped down on the chair. "We're just not used to real ladies around here. I mean, ones you actually have to call 'lady.'"

Olivia laughed. "We don't need to use titles."

"Quite right." Lady Dubuque nodded. "You are to be family, so there is no need to be so formal."

"Good gracious." Charlotte looked from Jackson to Olivia and back again. "How did this happen? I mean, how did you propose to a lady?"

Jackson tried to bite back a smile and raised his shoulder. "It's all Mother."

Lady Dubuque cleared her throat. "Actually, I'll take the credit." Jackson pulled out her chair, and she patted his cheek and sat down. "What else is a rich widow to do but make matches?"

Abigail smiled and nodded. "Lord Dubuque came to see the ranch back before you were born, Charlotte. They own the railcars we use to transport the cattle. He enjoyed the ranch so much that he began a correspondence."

"And when old Dub finally passed…" Lady Dubuque sighed "…I continued to write and we became friends. So when Lord Tarrington came to me with Olivia, I naturally thought of my dear Abigail and her son."

Olivia clasped her hands in her lap, glad Lady Dubuque glossed over the details so well. She gently raised her head and met Jackson's eyes that were filled with questions.

Only someone as trusting as Charlotte would accept their engagement as a natural connection. Her betrothed, on the other hand, surely knew lords didn't volunteer their daughters for such marriages. It wouldn't be long before he figured out her father had all but sold her to cover his own debts. Would she ever get used to the dark shadow of shame?

As Charlotte pressed for details and the ladies obliged with stories of their correspondences, Olivia studied the burly man from under her lashes. He was awkward, but that was simply because of his size, not a lack of breeding. The hotel room was too small for his wide shoulders as Jackson stooped to help his mother sit down. Reaching for a cup and saucer, so fragile in his large hands, he leaned against the far wall and listened.

Charlotte giggled. "And Jackson didn't even know?"

He shook his head. "Not until the stagecoach arrived."

Olivia shied away from his look as she sorted out the facts. His mother had arranged the engagement without his knowledge. She disapproved of his lifestyle and was trying to settle him down properly.

What of his reputation? The snippets she had heard from Cinnamon and the reactions of people around town? Obviously Abigail Mercer was trying to save him from himself and Olivia was the lifeline.

Then she remembered what she overheard in the hallway, the sacrifices Jackson was making for his brother and sister. People were afraid of him, and yet his younger sister adored him. He had taken Charlotte's teasing and relentless interest with gentle patience. Was this then his true self?

Their eyes finally collided, and Olivia was not surprised at the hard glint in his gaze. Jackson didn't want the engagement. That much was clear.

He stood up abruptly. "I'll bring the carriage around and get the horses ready." He turned to Olivia. "I'd send for the groom, but we don't have one, milady." His mouth twitched.

"Jackson! Don't be rude." Abigail's chin trembled. "I'm sorry, Lady Olivia."

Ignoring the flush that had crept across her cheeks, Olivia shook her head. "No, please, I should apologize for my mistake." She cleared her throat. "I didn't realize who you were and I'm sorry for my assumptions."

Jackson frowned at her. His face had darkened as the women discussed the engagement, like a man watching his cell door closing. "Unless you would rather I found you tickets for the next stagecoach?"

"Enough." Abigail crossed her arms. "Lady Dubuque and Lady Olivia are our guests. They will be staying with us at the ranch."

Jackson flexed his jaw and pursed his lips. "Then I'll bring around the coach for our
guests
." He shut the hotel door behind him with a bang.

Lady Dubuque patted Olivia's hand. "Not to worry, dear. All men are a little skittish when it comes to marriage."

Olivia nodded and laid her empty tea cup on the table. As she recalled the events of the day, she knew that she had to talk to Jackson alone. If he was against this marriage, it was worse than she thought. She would have to give him a way out or find herself forever tied to a cowardly man who didn't want her.

J
ackson opened
the carriage door for Olivia. "I would prefer to ride. Ms. Charlotte, may I borrow your dappled gray?"

"Marvelous idea!" Lady Dubuque held out a hand for Jackson to help her into the carriage. "I would love a chance to catch up with Abigail and get to know this charming Charlotte."

Charlotte scowled. "Can I ride Stratus?"

Jackson shook his head at the ladies. "It's rough terrain. My mother is an accomplished rider and familiar with the trail. She'll be on the gray."

"Nonsense, Jackson." Abigail glared at him. "Lady Olivia grew up in the country and is most likely the finest rider of us all."

He winced. "Fine or not, she'll not be riding the rough trails out to the ranch."

Olivia straightened her shoulders and marched down the steps. Toe to toe with Jackson, she tipped her head back and leveled an icy glare at his chin.

She thrust out a gloved hand at him. "All I ask is a hand up, sir."

Seemingly annoyed at being outnumbered by the ladies and being ordered about by a tiny slip of a woman, Jackson shrugged and grabbed her by the waist. He swung her through the air onto the back of the dappled gray mare as she bit back a shriek that threatened to escape her lips. Landing awkwardly, she almost slipped off the western-style saddle.

"Charlotte doesn't ride side-saddle, milady." He smirked.

Olivia lifted her nose in the air. "I am sure I can make do."

Breathing a sigh of relief when he turned away to assist the other ladies into the carriage, Olivia struggled to bring her right foot over the mare's neck and keep her skirt at her ankles. The heavy pleats she had cursed earlier in the heat were now a blessing as she was able to sit astride the dappled gray horse and still have enough fabric to cover her modesty.

Once her feet were in the stirrups and her skirts were arranged, Olivia was relieved by the ease with which she could balance. The carriage clattered down the cobbled street and the gray mare settled in to an amble. Her face flushed with excitement. They may be following the slow progress of the carriage, but she was riding astride and reveled in the freedom it gave her.

"A good rider?" Jackson asked, bringing the snorting white stallion up close.

Her eyes gleamed. "Excellent."

She was about to ask the first of one hundred questions she had for her potential husband when Jackson cut her off.

"Then follow me." He nudged the white stallion into a trot, up a steep side path.

O
livia pursed
her lips but followed, never one to back down from a challenge. The side path led up to the top of a ridge, but she had no time to enjoy the view of Virginia City. Jackson urged his horse into a canter and veered off through the trees. She kicked the dappled gray mare into action and caught up with him.

"Short cut?" she asked, coming abreast of his towering white horse.

He shook his head. "Not quite."

Olivia pulled up abruptly as the trees ended in a steep, rocky embankment. Jackson charged down the crumbling path, no wider than a footpath, and Olivia gulped before putting her heels to the mare again. At the bottom, Jackson urged the white stallion across a shallow stream and through another tight copse of trees.

The branches caught her hair and tore at her dress, yet Olivia kept up. As they burst out onto a barren stretch of prairie, Jackson put Stratus through his paces. Olivia leaned into the mare's neck and dug her small heels into the horse's sides. The valiant horse tugged at the reins, and Olivia gave her head. They streaked across the low scrub bushes and pulled ahead of Jackson, whose horse bucked in surprise.

"Hold up, hold up!" he called.

Olivia turned back and scowled at him, encouraging her horse on. Jackson clenched his jaw and urged Stratus in front of the gray mare. The white stallion bumped a tall shoulder against her nose, forcing her to slow.

"Come now, Mr. Mercer, I thought you were testing my skills."

He leaned over and put a gloved finger to her lips. Shocked into silence at the touch, Olivia looked where he nodded. A thin line of smoke drifted up from the trees near the stream. Jackson took her reins and led her into the thicket a full fifty yards away.

"Stay here," he said and jumped down from his horse.

Adrenaline still pumping from the wild ride, Olivia slipped off the dappled gray mare. She tied the two horses to a tree. Almost silent in her velvet slippered shoes, Olivia followed Jackson through the trees toward a camp fire.

A sharp look over his shoulder commanded her to drop down into a clump of ferns. He disappeared into the clearing, and she made out men's voices. Unable to make out the conversation, she crept forward toward the source.

Amongst the thin trappings of a hastily made camp, a weak fire sputtered next to an unused blanket and a bundle of lumpy bread. Underneath a tree, a tattered sheet and a few branches did little to hide the cart piled high with steamer trunks and valises.

"Who hired you?" Jackson growled, and Olivia felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle in attention.

A balding man swallowed profusely. "N-no one. I just … I just … saw an opportunity and took it."

"You couldn't stop a nosebleed much less a stagecoach. And you're telling me you carried all those things here by yourself?" A vein in Jackson's forehead throbbed with vigor.

The balding man nodded, his lips trembling. Jackson lifted him up by the collar with one hand and shook him so hard his teeth rattled.

Jackson's eyes narrowed. "Liar. Witnesses said there were two men at the robbery. And I'm willing to bet you weren't one of them. So, tell me, who hired you?"

A whimper escaped the man. He quivered and writhed but said nothing.

There was a chilling scrape of metal and the flash of a blade. Jackson held the knife up, turning it this way and that in the sunlight. A glimpse of sapphire blue on the silver of the blade made her blood freeze.

Jackson dropped the balding man, who crumpled into a heap at his feet. Sheathing the knife, he swore under his breath. "Lucky I'm in a hurry or we'd talk more … seriously. Now get out of here and don't ever come back."

The older man scrambled to his feet and fled. Jackson didn't give him a second glance. His eyes burned through the leaves that shielded Olivia and heat sprang to her cheeks. She turned to run for her horse, but it was too late. A twig cracked beneath her foot and he stormed directly toward her.

"I told you to stay back." He grabbed hold of her elbow.

Olivia's eyes flashed indignation. "Why?  So you could hurt that man?" She broke away from his piercing gaze. "He wasn't one of the highwaymen."

"No, but he knows who they are." He hauled her back toward the horses.

She threw her free arm into the air. "Does it matter? You recovered our things."

"It matters. You want highwaymen thinking they can rob anyone that comes along the road? There was an edge to his laugh. "Where's the justice in that?"

Olivia wrenched her elbow free and pulled her sleeve down with a sharp tug.  "Justice matters, but using violence as a means to an end is not the way."

For a moment his eyes softened, but he turned away, muttering under his breath. He grasped her around the waist and tossed her back onto the mare before untying the reins from the tree. He leapt into the saddle and led the way at a canter.

Her heart beat as fast as the horse's hooves at the thought of him wielding that wicked knife. She had thought perhaps the townspeople's reactions and wild tales were fantastic gossip, but now she was not certain.

Jackson Mercer was unpredictable, dangerous, and the last thing he wanted was her around. Olivia swallowed hard and pushed away thoughts of what might happen if he decided to rid himself of a bothersome wife.

They rode in silence until they topped a crescent moon-shaped ridge. In the valley beneath loomed a sprawling white ranch house nestled amongst tall trees.

Jackson thrust his chin toward it. "Mercer Ranch."