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THAT'S ONE OF MY DAUGHTER'S NOVELS IN THE BACKGROUND! |
Hello folks,
I'm sharing Chapter 3 of Alias Jeannie Delaney - Book 1 - Go West, Girl! as a taster of what's to come from the first book of this trilogy. You can order the e-novel or paperback from Amazon. Thank you so much.
The afternoon sunlight bathed the foothills behind me in bright shades of sea greens, yellows and rusts, and a pair of hawks drifted overhead in a sapphire sky. My mount this time was Teddy, a roan Morgan horse who, though slightly playful, seemed to respect me and thankfully remained calm. We were walking the length of the creek, surrounded by a legion of wild flowers. The lazily sparkling water trickled at my side. Cool air brushed my face, and I breathed its virgin cleanliness. I looked behind me. On the one hand I wanted to gaze upon those foothills, and on the other I was half-hoping I would spot Jeannie at some point. My heart jumped. Two riders loped along the stream bank in the distance. Jeannie and a male companion. I nudged my horse beneath a thick knot of lime green cottonwoods hung with fluffy white seeds. The cotton drifted down, covering the ground, and deep shadows shrouded me. I wanted to watch them unnoticed for a moment.
They slowly approached. He was dark and attractive, wore a holstered gun and Levis, waistcoat and plaid shirt. A cowboy. My brief observation snapped to her and lingered. She wore rolled white shirtsleeves, blue jeans, tanned holster, red and white bandanna around her head and a fringed buckskin jacket slung over her shoulder.
They halted below me. Jeannie draped her jacket over her saddle horn, lifted her feet from her stirrups, swung a foot over the horn and landed on the ground. The young man dismounted more conventionally. He was slightly taller than her. She crouched beside the stream, dipped her palms into the water, rose and offered a drink to her horse. His muzzle moved against her hands as he drunk, then she stroked his head. She crouched again, filled a canteen, and stood up and drank, tipping her head back. She splashed water over her face, neck and chest, raised her face to the sun and closed her eyes. She raged sexuality.
The man turned her face and kissed her fully on the mouth. He spoke, touched her hand, remounted and rode on alone.
I took a breath and emerged from the trees. She looked up. She didn’t recognise me at that distance and her unblinking gaze worried me. Her hand splayed on her hip. I swallowed. I closed the gap between us, and recognition and seduction melted into her eyes and her cockeyed toothy grin flashed.
Laughter lines creased her face. “Howdy, darlin’. How’s the arm, huh?”
“Much better, thank you. And here’s your scarf.”
I unravelled it from my jacket pocket and handed it down to her, amazed at my emerging composed demeanour, even though my insides danced.
She thanked me and shoved it into a pants pocket. “That’s a Morgan horse ya ridin’. Ma namesake!” She grinned. “Enjoyin’ yer vacation, huh? No more shootin’s at yer, Ah trust?”
I laughed. “No, fortunately. And thank you, yes. But I wanted to thank you properly for what you did and return your bandanna.”
“Part of the job, darlin’.” She climbed back into her saddle and my heart wallowed, fearing closure. She grinned at me. “What’s yer name, gal, huh?”
“Kate Howard.”
“Wal, howdy, Kate Howard, an’ please call me Jeannie.” She leaned over and shook my hand. Her eyes chuckled. “D’ya drink, gal? Or are ya a strictly no alcohol lady? An’ may Ah call ya Kate? Formality an’ me sure ain’t pals.”
“Of course. And yes, I’d love a drink.”
“Thought ya might. Ya look the type. Want me to introduce you to the local saloon? Such as it is since that damn mayor took over. Meet some locals, bit like critters in a zoo! They’re harmless, and they’ll let you in if you’re with me.” She gestured with her head. “C’mon, let’s go git summat dangerously alcoholic down ya!”
I chuckled. Thank goodness I was beginning to relax. But then, as I rode at Jeannie Morgan’s side, my nerves returned. Never mind our glorious surroundings, the birdsong and that big, beautiful sky – I trembled like a jelly, my throat was parched and my heart pounded. I nervously babbled about my desire to live the western life, to throw off the shackles of womanhood. But she made me feel like the most important and interesting person in the world. She listened intently and watched me with that iridescent blue gaze. She would cross her eyes and blow raspberries. Her comic expressions, responses and gestures had me laughing out loud.
My nerves gradually slithered away again. “I understand the mayor’s a temperance supporter. That can’t be too bad a thing, surely?”
Jeannie sighed. “Ah wouldn’t object so much if the man weren’t such a goddamn hypocrite, weak asshole an’ bully. Pardon ma language. Ain’t teetotal any more ’n you or Ah. Man ain’t worth spittin’ on!” She grinned then changed the subject. “Jist a warnin’, gal – you’s classy and the critters in the shack that passes as a saloon ain’t. They’re all mouth an’ no brain in there. No fears tho’ – none of ’em would dare touch someone with me.” She regarded me. “Ain’t puttin’ you off, am Ah? Ya wanted western experiences, huh?”
I raised my chin. “As you say, I want these experiences and I shall have them.”
Jeannie chucked her head back and laughed. “And you shall indeed have ’em, huh?”
The fringes of town were upon us and long grey shadows filled the street. Folk bustled, children scampered and dogs barked. Horses stood patiently at hitching posts. The smell of wood fires and horse manure blended in the air. Folk spotting Jeannie waved and acknowledged her. She saluted and grinned in response.
A beaming young woman dashed towards us, gasping breathlessly. “Jeannie! Haven’t seen you in ages!”
“Emily, darlin’.” Jeannie leaned over and took the proffered hand. “How’s Stan?”
“He’s well. Come visit soon. Please.”
Emily reached up on tiptoe, gently pulled Jeannie’s arm so she bent right down, and kissed her cheek. I sensed that she would have preferred to have given Jeannie a lover’s kiss. My jealousy bloomed.
Emily departed and a bunch of children gathered around Jeannie. She uttered a mock sigh and smacked a hand to her eyes. “What?”
The nearest boy giggled. “Wanna hear a joke, Jeannie?”
She moved her hand to her thigh, elbow out. “Do Ah have a choice, huh? Ah figure not!”
She winked at me, then leaned over in her saddle and listened with a mock frown as the boy whispered into her ear. The others tittered.
Jeannie slapped her thigh, threw her head back and gave vent to genuine laughter. The icon tweaked a finger for them to move closer, cupped her hand to her mouth, bent over again and whispered to the band, her eyes and head swinging from side to side in fake guilt to check for disapproving eavesdroppers. “Got ma own joke. Ruder ’n yours. Don’t tell the grown-ups.” I chuckled as she related the joke.
The youngsters tossed back their heads in a burst of giggles. “You’re so rude, Jeannie!”
“Sure. Cain’t help meself.” She rumpled heads before they raced away, giggling.
I gazed at her.
She gazed back. “What?”
“You’re incredible.”
“They’re shit scared o’ me.”
“I can see that.”
I smiled, my eyes twinkling. Hers twinkled back.
“Should see ’em when Ah lose mah temper. Petrified, poor critters, huh?”
She looked up. “Ah, shit!”
Her expression froze and so did my heart. Approaching us was a clearly intoxicated man who’d acquired his booze from God knew where in this teetotal town. A flapping, sweat-stained light brown duster flapped around him as he wiped his sneering, moustachioed grin with a sleeve. He swayed, clutching a bottle by the neck, and a cigarette hung limply between calloused fingers. A pistol was stuffed carelessly into his belt. Jeannie sighed. Our path was blocked by him and some moving wagons. He staggered towards us, a sneer upon his heavily creased, weatherbeaten face. His gaze, deeply set beneath a shaggy half fringe, rode leisurely over her, then swivelled in speculation over me before returning to her. He dodged across, preventing her horse from getting past. “So not only d’ye have the quickest gun, Morgan, you also got yerself a purdy gal.”
She had gone completely poker-faced.
I swallowed as the man moved beside me and stared up at me, his grin revealing a row of baccy-stained teeth. He slid a sandpaper-rough hand beneath my skirt and my heart thundered. I grabbed and halted his hand before Jeannie, her face charged with circular eyes and a harsher sneer than his, leaned over in her saddle and dragged him away by the collar. She grasped his ear and twisted it – he yelped – then she freed a foot from her stirrup, planted the sole of her boot against his chest, sharply straightened her leg and booted him away.
She turned to me. “Okay, darlin’?”
He spun to face her, his hand grasping his ear. “Goddamn bitch!” Fury twisted his features. Shakily, he dragged the length of his pistol from his belt, cocked it and levelled it at her. His trigger finger squeezed. He was slow. Too slow. Jeannie’s shot blew his pistol skyward. His other hand smacked his bleeding palm. His gun crashed to the ground.
She manoeuvred her horse towards him, leaned forward and gazed down on him, her expression empty. Gun in hand, she crossed her arms over her saddle horn. “Shame on ya. Boy. Don’t force yerself on innocents. Huh? Be nice.”
The drunk, his palm clutched under an armpit, his expression tortured, spat on the ground.
She rolled her gun into its holster, turned towards me and released a short laugh. “Shut yer mouth, gal. Could get a crowd o’ gnats in there!”
I shook my head in disbelief.
She grinned. “Takes all kinds t’make a world, darlin’.”
“Does this kind of thing happen often?”
“All the time, darlin’. All the time. Heaps o’ guys out t’prove they’re better than me. They have t’get drunk first.”
“Miss Morgan!” A demanding tone.
“Oh, fer chrissakes.” She placed fingertips to her forehead and her head drooped. She took an enormous breath.
Several figures bore down on us. Reporters, all armed with notebooks and pencils. The youngest – skinny, pimply and braver than the others, closed in. His eyes were paper-thin, determined. He held his pencil in readiness. “Miss Morgan. How do you justify your actions? Your very presence draws in the troublemakers. How do you answer that?”
Another correspondent, older, emboldened, joined the first. “Miss Morgan, is this lady – one of your conquests?” He nodded at me.
A nearby citizen shouted, responding hotly. “Leave her be!”
I was of their kind. A correspondent. I briefly closed my eyes. Her expression was dense as lead as those men fussed around her feet, demanding answers and upsetting her horse. She controlled her mount, her look so ferociously chilled and unblinking that they backed away. Would I be damned, too?
We turned our back on them and rode out of town, onto a dirt track leading into the forested foothills, then urged our horses up a steep climb. We continued upwards for perhaps fifteen minutes, riding through naked brown earth then facing the grey rock of the mountain ahead. We dipped down again, and there, in a scrubby depression, stood a large log cabin, sheltered from winds, long buried in a copse of thickly growing lodgepole pines. A narrow gap in the trees permitted folk to reach the entrance.
Jeannie grinned at me. “This were a miner’s cabin. It’s barely big enough, but it’s so well hidden that the mayor ain’t never gonna find it.”
It was square and low, with a shallow-sloped roof and substantial walls built from peeling and yellowing brown logs. The raucous bedlam of drinkers from within filled me with apprehension. Two men slouched by the open door and grinned at her. She grinned back, then dismounted.
She winked up at me and offered a me helping hand. “Don’t worry, darlin’, Ah’ll look after ya. ’Sides, they’re mostly ma pals in there. Wouldn’t harm a fly. Wouldn’t know how, huh?”
I chuckled, took her hand and dismounted. I was no delicate miss, but it was a long drop.
The lounging men grinned broadly at Jeannie. “Howdy, gal.”
“Howdy, fellahs.”
“Who’s the girlfriend, huh?” Their eyes twinkled.
Hers twinkled back. “Mind yer biz.” She winked at me again. “Ain’t got the manners of a mule, have they, huh?”
She looped an arm through mine, I shivered at that touch, and we mounted the steps into the cabin. A deep gloom swallowed us and the sun struggled through grimy windows. Tobacco smoke, booze and strong saloon-girl scent saturated the place. For all that, the ambience was one of fun and jollity. A laughing young woman in a short and colourful frilled skirt and net stockings was seated on a cowboy’s lap. Another girl passed drinks to grizzled frontiersmen. A man played a foot-tapping song on a harmonica in a corner. As we entered everyone looked up and the mouth organ ceased.
A welcoming chorus filled the room. “It’s Jeannie!”
“Jeannie! Howdy gal!”
Would-be callers and whistlers eyed me, glanced at Jeannie, and held silent. She walked between the small tables with an upraised palm, and customers slapped and clasped it. The harmonica’s discordant note resumed its tune, and the girls smiled at Jeannie. The girl serving drinks reached Jeannie’s side and kissed her cheek. The girl had clearly reserved a special gaze for Jeannie; I’m certain she would never look at other women in that yearning way.
Planks supported on barrels, spittoons at their base, served as a bar. Baccy juice copiously stained the floor where it had missed the spittoon. Posters of curvaceous young women hung above the bar, and bottles lined a shelf below them. Mac, now behind the bar, wiped glasses and winked at me. I smiled back. Jeannie leaned over the counter and I stood modestly at her side. She grinned at me.
“Beer, darlin’? Said ya fancied the frontier experience. The is rough, darlin’, real rough. Still fancy tryin’, huh?”
I responded emphatically. “Yes!”
She grinned her cockeyed grin. “Good on ya, gal.”
We carried the drinks to a table and she draped her jacket over the back of her chair, turned the chair back to front and flopped down on it, resting her arms over the back. Gosh! If only my family could see me now. Yet I glanced uncomfortably at our fellow drinkers. Several stared at me. She followed my gaze and the starers went smartly back to business.
She chuckled. “Relax, gal. They won’t bite you if you don’t. We don’t often get a real lady in here, huh?”
I gave a hoot of laughter. “A real lady!”
I peered suspiciously at my beer. She grinned at me and I took a big gulp. It tasted minty. Not that bad, actually.
She chuckled. “Take yer time, darlin’.”
She gulped hers and savoured it, swirling it around her mouth.
I chuckled. “I suppose you’re used to it? Do you like it?”
“Ain’t sure like’s the right word, darlin’, guess it grows on yer.”
For just a moment I reflected on her beauty, despite this indelicate occasion. Surprisingly she carried grace, not coarse masculinity, and she swaggered and strode, but didn’t stomp or carry bulk. Small wonder that both genders were magnetised by her.
She delved into her jacket pocket, withdrew a box of matches and a slim, silver case, flipped it open and removed a slender cheroot. “Fancy a smoke, darlin’?”
“Not for me, thank you.”
She bit the end, ungracefully spitting it to the floor – I chuckled at that – and placed it between her lips. She struck a match, bent her head, lit up and blew smoke to the ceiling. I grinned and shook my head. She glanced at me, her eyes crinkled.
“What … ?”
The door banged open and a tall, thin, sallow-faced man wearing a broad-brimmed hat strode in, weaving from side to side. Inebriated. Yes, it was clear that in order to confront her so-called tough men had to get drunk first. His long black coat flapped open to reveal two pistols strapped to his middle. Everyone tensed and turned to stare at him. The harmonica ceased again. He approached our table.
Jeannie inhaled. “Oh Christ. Waddya want, Miller?”
“Jeannie Morgan. Thought I’d find you here. Wanna see ya in action. They say certain things gets ya goin’.”
He folded his arms and she gazed coldly up at him, her own arms rested over the chair back. “Who’s ‘they’?”
“People.” He flicked a glance at me. “Fancy this gal, eh? Pretty, ain’t she?”
Jeannie barely blinked. “Sure prettier than you.”
“I know what gets ya goin’.”
“Do ya now?” Something was gently simmering beneath her blank demeanour.
He bent over, placed the palms of his hands flat on the table and stared into her face. “Yup. Insults t’family n’ pals fer one. Bein’ mean t’animals fer another.”
She took a draw on her cheroot and blew smoke into his face.
He stood upright, wandered over to me, grabbed my face in his hand and tried to kiss me. His breath stank and his open mouth felt disgusting. I tried to shove him off.
The next I knew was that Jeannie was on her feet. “Miller, get yer hands off —”
He turned round and slammed a fist to her jaw, hurling her to the floorboards. The room remained stunned. He gazed in triumph at her down there.
She swiftly recovered, cradled her jaw and got to her feet. “Fuck you, Miller!” She closed the gap between them, then flung an uppercut fist to his jaw. It clunked his teeth together and launched him backwards against another table, upsetting several beers, and on down to the floor. She pursed her mouth, cradled her fist with her other palm then shook that punching fist. “Shit …”
Customers roared their approval. “That showed him, gal!”
Miller creaked to his feet, his mouth twisted in hate. He dragged a gun from his belt and, straight-armed, pointed it at her.
My heart burst. Oh, no … she doesn’t deserve this. My breathing went mad. I trembled, bent down and withdrew my new Derringer from my boot. I stood up and fired it into the air, making a sharp popping sound. The bullet packed a serious punch and effectively holed the ceiling. Everyone gawped at me.
Miller grinned. “Woah, lady … !” He chuckled and raised surrendering arms, his pistol still in his hand.
He and Jeannie stared with bemusement at me.
I glared into his ugly face, placed my pistol on the table, and swept both of my hands apart, my palms down and flat. “Enough! No more! Just … stop. Please.” I breathed heavily. “Why can’t you just leave her alone?” I began to gabble. “I’ve only just met Jeannie, but I’ve seen so much good about her, and it needs to be brought into the open. To try and stop men like you from attacking her. The public needs to know.” I paused, then inhaled. “My newspaper …”
I snapped my mouth shut and bit my lower lip. My face burned.
Jeannie’s gaze rounded on me. She breathed deeply and heavily.
Miller chortled. “You a damn reporter, lady?”
Her gaze imprisoned me. Her chest rose and fell. “Thought you were some sweet, innocent gal. Ya really had me fooled … and that don’t happen often.”
Miller gave a belly laugh and swung his slimy gaze over me. “The truth? Ya wanna know the truth? Woman’s a crazed killer. Yet fer some reason folk still go fer her. Ah mean, jist look at her.” He gestured towards her. “Superb body. No corsets. Man’s shirt. No hourglass, no stick, neither. No deputy ever looked like that!”
Jeannie paid no heed to him. She was too intent on me. Her frosted gaze snared me, her teeth were clenched.
But then her gaze swung from mine and ensnared his. “Shut it, Miller.”
Miller switched on his smile. “You should appreciate compliments. Look at you. Nice figure. Natural. Boys don’t have much waist, so you sure ain’t no boy.” His booze-gorged eyes celebrated his riveted audience. “You’re all erotic desire. Folk go crazy, not knowing how to handle you.”
His attention snapped back to me, by now sitting, numbed. “Go on, lady, write that! Are you jealous of her? Don’t you wish you were like her? Or would you like her to make love to you? You’d love it. All women do. So do men … Jees!” He banged a fist on the table, staggered to the door and went out.
Silence plugged the space. Then the harmonica resumed its tune and folk carried on as before.
Jeannie slumped onto her seat, utterly drained. Her teeth were clenched and her palm flattened to her chest. “Fuck.” She stared at me and flicked a dismissing hand at me. “Go, lady. Fuck off.”
A weakened heart will surely hasten the end of her days. So said the newspapers. I stood up and departed. Mac watched me and winked at me in sympathy. I’m relieved to leave the saloon, yet desperately sorry. I nudged my horse towards town. Dusk was gathering. A lilac veil masked forest and land, and a pale yellow band cut the heavens. Crows cawed, and below me, beside the woods, a young deer peered curiously at me then bounded back into the trees. Tomorrow I would return east. Back to propriety, as much as I could put up with, and my job. I had to be thankful for that.
Hooves pounded the ground behind me. I twisted round.
Jeannie called out. “So you were gonna write some truths, huh? That’d be novel. Never had anythin’ like that before, no siree.” She nudged her horse closer, drew on her cheroot and exhaled smoke. “Ain’t never had an offer from a pretty gal before, either.” She reached my side. “So what’s in it fer me, Kate Howard, and what’s so different about your offer, huh?”
Her gaze broke me.
I swallowed, inhaled. “I’ve followed your story all my working life as a journalist and I want to tell the truth about you. I’ve seen the real Jeannie Morgan and her troubles. Folk need to know you and your story, about your family. I want to write a novelised account. I need to do it.”
“A whole damn book, huh? If ya are, ya gotta do it right. Capeesh? They love the dirt about me. If you’re gonna write summat, give it to ’em in a barrel load.” A mischievous grin emerged, and she looked at me and winked. “Physical pleasure, honey. Ah adore it. They love it. Let’s give it to ’em. Make it pretty. No second-rate shit.”
I swallowed.
She grinned. Teased me. “I trust ya, Kate Howard, p’raps cuz y’are dead cute!” She winked at me.
That grin set my heart thundering. I steeled myself to meet her gaze and encountered challenge.
She leaned over, touched two fingers beneath my chin, kissed my cheek, proclaimed “Ciao!” and galloped back to the cabin.
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