Late night in Caisson found the lamps burning in the newspaper office. Even the saloons had quieted. Inside, Lady Holt wrote furiously.
Her face was flushed with the energy of creation. Behind her, Elliott toiled at setting type. Tomorrow would bring a brand-new world. Her empire would be established, and what better way to announce it than with a special edition of the newspaper?
Outside, lounging on the sidewalk, were four of her gunmen. The rest had gone with Jaudon to rid the region of the last of the interference to her empire. They would sweep through the Peale Ranch, then the Carlson place and lastly destroy Emmett Gardner’s ranch house, burning and killing. Tracking down any of the remaining ranch owners who lived would come next. Another day.
She chuckled when she recalled Tapan and Dimitry coming to her, asking for permission to ride a different direction. They were concerned John Checker and Rule Cordell might set a trap. How could she resist! She had kissed the curly-headed gunman and told him to hurry back. She would stay in town, at her apartment, after the newspaper edition was finished. They could celebrate. Together.
Rubbing her hands together to rid them of writer’s cramp, she examined the page before her. She had already finished the articles headlined TOWN ENJOYS NEW PEACE AS RANGER CAPTAIN SIL JAUDON COMBINES FORCES WITH RANCHER and ARREST WARRANTS ISSUED FOR EMMETT GARDNER, CHARLES CARLSON, MORGAN PEALE, JOHN CHECKER, LONDON FISS AND RULE CORDELL and LADY HOLT AGREES TO TAKE OVER THREE SMALL RANCHES AFTER OWNERS ARE KILLED.
Halfway finished was the story headlined GOVERNOR CITALE PRAISES RANGER CAPTAIN AND MAJOR RANCHER FOR FAST WORK IN QUELLING OUTLAW REBELLION.
Lying to her left was a blank sheet of paper with only the headline scratched on its top: BRITISH NOBILITY BRINGS WEALTH TO REGION. It would be a piece about her—with liberties taken as to accuracy. A third sheet contained the beginnings of a poem, entitled “Iva Lee, I wish you were here.” Several lines had been furiously scribbled.
She thought it would make a nice inset piece and planned to finish it later.
Elliott had created a new masthead as she requested. The
She had loved it. Jaudon wouldn’t return for several days and she hoped to have the newspaper on the streets of Caisson before he rode in victoriously.
A knock on the door brought her alert.
“Yes?” she asked without moving.
“It’s Wilson. Wilson Tanner. Thought you might like to take a break.” The voice from the other side of the door was syrupy. “I’ve got some fine Tennessee whiskey. For toasting.”
She smiled, rose and then stopped. “No, Iva Lee. I won’t drink until I’m finished. Yes, I know this is important.” Brushing her hair with her hand, she turned toward Elliott. “I’ll let him in, but now is not the time to celebrate.”
“
“Exactly.”
Opening the door, she smiled her most magnificent smile. “Come in, Wilson. As you can see, we are hard at work. It will be my grand announcement, so to speak. The grand announcement of my becoming the Queen of Texas.”
Looking disheveled, Tanner bowed and stepped inside, holding a bottle of whiskey in his hand. His own face was flushed from several hours of drinking.
“Well, I thought…perhaps, you’d like to take a break…from your writing. It is, indeed, a grand night—and one worth celebrating. Your greatness will soon be known throughout Texas—and beyond.” He made an exaggerated gesture, then quickly held his fist to his mouth to conceal a hiccup.
“Your kindness is most appreciated, Wilson,” Lady Holt said, returning to her desk. “Why don’t you leave the bottle and Elliott and I will toast…when the newspaper is done?” She smiled. “I’ve renamed it the
She pointed at the edge of the writing table. “You can leave it there, Wilson. That would be a sweet boy.”
The attorney-judge wasn’t certain how to react. He had hoped she might be interested in a more romantic time in the back room. Or at least, the promise of a clandestine meeting in her apartment later. Instead, he had only gotten a rather cold dismissal.
“I like it.”
“Wilson?”
His heart pounded and he turned around. “Yes, m’lady?”
“What do you hear…around town? How are…my people taking all of this?” Her face was full of joy.
He wiped his hand across his mouth. “Ah, what do I hear around town?”
Repeating her questions gave him time to think, but his hiccupping wasn’t helping his concentration. What should he say? That Margaret Loren was trying to raise a posse to run her out of town? Should he tell her that Dimitry’s killing of the blacksmith earlier had almost started a riot? That the only thing keeping a lid on things was the obvious fear of her retaliation against anyone who crossed her?
“I think…ah, I think the town is very pleased you have taken control.”
“Oh, very good, Wilson. Very good.” She looked down at her writing. “You may leave now.”
Outside, an attractive Mexican woman rode a spirited horse down the main street, heading for the hotel. Her ample bosom, covered by her blouse and a sarape, bounced with the movement of her horse. A sombrero, lying against her back, accompanied the rhythm and hid most of the trailing braid of long black hair.
Chapter Thirty-nine
“Hey, lady! We’d like some company. Come on over,” one of the Holt gunmen yelled from the sidewalk.
A disappointed Tanner stepped outside as the four hooted at the passing woman.
“Who is she?” he asked, admiring her shape as she rode toward the hotel.
“Who knows? Never seen her before,” the tallest gunman in a derby hat said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Probably a new whore.” The heavily sideburned gunman licked his lips.
“Let’s go over an’ welcome her to Caisson,” the third gunman with a thin mustache and a calfskin vest said, and laughed. “Get a free sample or two.”
The four men shook off the hours of boredom and focused on the newest distraction.
