time she stirred in his arms. âIs there any more whiskey?â she said in a shaky voice.
âProbably. You donât need it.â
âOh, but Iââ
âTrust me, Jess. Weâve both had enough.â He held her against him, his breathing ragged, then deliberately set her apart and strode out the door.
Jess stood without moving, touching her lips with her fingers and wondering what had just happened.
That night she dreamed she was walking through an ice-encrusted forest, feeling inexplicably light and happy, and warmed by a presence she could not see.
* * *
Cole bent over Jessamineâs latest Sentinel editorial page spread out on his desk and groaned under his breath. â...A self-righteous puffed-up politician with bread crumbs for brains and a peculiarly selfish predilection for boring his listeners.â
Whew! Not libel, but close. And today she seemed to be stuck on P words. Puffed up. Pretentious. Predilection. Heâd have to print some sort of rebuttal before Arbuckle went on the warpath.
He stroked his chin and began to plan the first page of his next edition. But after the other nightâs encounter with Jess, he discovered he couldnât put two thoughts together in a logical sequence.
* * *
Jessamine looked up to see Rosie Greywolf glide past the front window of the Sentinel office, glance to her right, then left, and slip noiselessly through the front door. The Indian woman washed dishes at the restaurant and was raising her two boys in a tiny cabin just outside town.
âPsssst, missy!â
âGood morning, Rosie. What can I do for you?â
âIs what I can do for you, missy. You listen.â
âYes?â Intrigued, Jessamine leaned forward. âIâm listening.â
Rosie studied Eli, seated on his stool, with suspicious black eyes. âThat one safe?â
âEli? Oh, yes, he is âsafe.â Eli works for my newspaper.â
âNo repeat?â
âRepeat what, Rosie? Tell me what you came to say.â
The woman twitched her long calico skirt. âI know something about Mr. Coffee Man.â
âYou mean Mr. Arbuckle?â
âHe big sneak. Have two wives.â
A snort erupted from Eli at the font case.
âHush, Eli. Rosie, what makes you think Mr. Arbuckle has two wives?â
âI also work at hotel. Coffee man live at hotel.â
âAnd?â
âLive at hotel with one wife. Sleep in big house in town with other wife.â
âHa!â Eli burst out. âGot hisself a whâa fancy lady.â
Rosie nodded. âHotel wife flat here.â She pointed to her ample bosom. âOther wife...â She made a curving gesture with both hands. âMore like Rosie.â
Eli practically crowed. âPretty juicy item, huh, Jess?â
âEli, do be quiet.â
âYou tell this in newspaper?â Rosie whispered.
âRosie, I canât print this. Itâs hearsay.â
âNo, missy. Is see -say. I see. You say.â
Jess sighed. She would dearly love to libel Mr. Arbuckle, but that was just what it would be, libel. As a responsible journalist she couldnât print a word of it. âRosie, I am sorry. But thank you for keeping your eyes open.â
The Indian woman leaned closer. âHear much at hotel. I keep watch for you.â With that, she slipped quietly out the door and moved past the front window and on down the boardwalk.
âToo bad ya cainât spread that all over page one, Jess. Thatâd fix Arbuckleâs wagon good.â
âIâve already fixed his wagon, Eli. You typeset my editorial about Mr. Arbuckle yesterday. I couldnât have been more pointed about that bloatedââ
She broke off as Conway Arbuckleâs bulky form barreled into her office. He stomped up to her desk and shook his pudgy fist in her face.
âYouâre gonna regret the day you wrote that tripe about me,â he yelled. He