Printer in Petticoats by Lynna Banning Page A

slapped yesterday’s Sentinel editorial on her desk.
    Slowly Jess forced herself to stand erect. If he was going to shoot her, he’d have a gun, wouldn’t he?
    â€œNo, Mr. Arbuckle, I do not regret what I wrote. The public has every right to—”
    â€œDon’t you talk back to me, you little bitch!”
    Before she could draw breath, Arbuckle pulled a shiny revolver out of his jacket pocket and aimed it straight at her heart.
    â€œEli,” she said, keeping her gaze fixed on the weapon, “get down behind the press.”
    Arbuckle’s gun wavered. “Either you print a retraction or—”
    â€œOr you will shoot me?” She didn’t like the crazed look in his watery eyes, but she worked to keep her voice steady.
    â€œDamn straight. Start writing!”
    â€œI am afraid I c-cannot do that.”
    He waved the weapon in her face, then dropped the barrel to point once more at her chest. “You can, and by God you will.”
    Jess remembered the look on Miles’s face when he had been shot, as if he was surprised. Lord have mercy, she would look just like that. All at once she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She wasn’t surprised; she was terrified. She wanted to be a good journalist, but oh, God, she didn’t want to die. She closed her eyes and tried to focus.
    And then she heard Cole’s voice. “Drop it, Arbuckle.”
    He stood framed in the doorway, a rifle aimed at Arbuckle’s spine. The man swung toward the door, but Cole stepped forward and knocked Arbuckle’s gun arm upward. The revolver arced out of his grasp and clattered onto the floor. Cole kicked it away, then smashed the rifle butt into the man’s jaw.
    Jessamine yelped. Cole looked over to see her holding Eli’s brass spittoon aloft. “Oh,” she said. And then “Oh,” again.
    He yanked Arbuckle to his feet and pulled his red face up close to his. “If I ever see you in this office again, I’ll kill you. You got that?”
    â€œS-sure, Sanders. Just a little misunderstanding between the lady and—”
    Before he could finish, Cole booted him out onto the boardwalk.
    â€œYou okay, Eli?” he called.
    â€œYo,” came a quavery voice.
    Cole scooped up Arbuckle’s gun and stepped behind the press. “Eli, can you handle a revolver?”
    â€œYep. Fought Indians one summer after the war, till I...well, I deserted. I keep a forty-four back of my font case, but I couldn’t get to it in time.”
    â€œKeep this one in your belt.” He laid the weapon in Eli’s unsteady hand. Then he moved to a frozen Jess and lifted the spittoon out of her hands. “What were you going to do with this anyway?”
    â€œH-hit him over the head. I was afraid he was going to sh-shoot you.”
    He just looked at her.
    â€œThank you, Cole. Thank you.”
    He nodded. “It was a good editorial, Jess.”
    â€œTh-thank you,” she said again.
    â€œChoir rehearsal again tonight,” he reminded her. “And don’t forget,” he said with a smile, “no corset.”
    Eli haw-hawed from his stool behind the press, and Jessamine started to bite her lips.
    Cole sighed. “And for God’s sake,” he murmured, “don’t do that, Jess. Otherwise I’m going to have another damn long night.”

Chapter Ten
    C ole sat at his desk, staring down at nothing and tried to order his brain to behave. It got like this sometimes, especially when he was stirred up about something. He was more than a little surprised that it was Jessamine Lassiter that triggered his memory this time.
    It had been a long, hot day, the kind of day Quantrill had favored for his raids. Only Quantrill came at night, when there was no moon and mothers and fathers had tucked their little ones in bed.
    The man liked fire, liked setting them. Some said he liked watching them burn. And he liked the sound of