Cowboy of Mine Read Free Page A

his own ears, if he did say so himself. But then again, he also sounded raw and in need of...
    “Coffee?” A friendly woman’s voice rang out.
    A smiling black woman held open the door to the stagecoach stop across the street from the tavern. Jake suddenly noticed a small sign above the woman, probably an old white torn sheet with the word “Stop” on it. Must be the simple name of the stagecoach stop. The woman had a pink shawl wrapped tightly around her thin shoulders, and her forest green skirts pillowed around her legs.
    “You must be Mr. Cameron.”
    “Yes’m.”
    Her smile grew, like the sun rising and warming the land. “You have excellent timing. I’m Laura Casper. Tom Casper’s wife, the man you telegraphed for the position.”
    She was Tom Casper’s wife? Tom Casper owned Plateau, all the land, the coal, all the buildings, hell, everything here.
    Before he had time to ponder further, she beckoned with a wave of a hand. “Get in here, Mr. Cameron. It’s too cold to keep the door open.”
    “Sorry, ma’am.” He raced toward her, his long legs still angry with him, but he made them work somehow.
    She laughed, her chuckle as amiable as her smile and seemed to chortle even more as he passed her into the hot antechamber. Lord, it was a bit of heaven to walk into. That warmth. He hadn’t noticed how cold he was until now. The other benefit to walking into the Stop was the strong scent of coffee, always a good omen.
    The stagecoach stop was a long cabin. Inside to his right was a telegraph and desk with papers and ledgers strewn about. In front of him was a staircase to the rooms, one of which would be his, he hoped. To the left was the restaurant with an eight-foot pine, without one decoration. Must have gotten to cleaning the Christmas mess early. In front of the dining room was a small pub. It had the look of something back home in Scotland—quaint tables squished together, mismatched chairs, and a bar for serving the ale or whisky. Children and their parents would sit together, the parents with their tankards, while the bairns...Lord, what had he done when his da had been drinking? More than likely, trying to run away from the bastard.
    “Now, may I get you that coffee, Mr. Cameron?”
    “Yes, please.” He turned toward Mrs. Casper, trying to give her his own grin. It had been a while since he’d been in need of one, and his face felt too tight when he tried to curl his lips up.
    Mrs. Casper didn’t seem to notice but smiled and hummed as she strode toward a carafe on the huge desk. Placing a thick brown cup from a shelf down on the desk, she poured black brew into it, turning Jake’s smile more genuine every second.
    Ah, coffee. The elixir of the gods.
    “Cream, sugar?”
    He wanted to say yes to both, being a bit of a sweet tooth, and he loved the richness of cream. But he wanted to make a good impression and thought, for whatever reason, if he said no it would be for the better. While shaking his head, Mrs. Casper arched a lovely dark brow.
    “Sure?”
    Damnation, he hated his longings.
    “Actually, ma’am, may I have both?”
    She giggled. Actually giggled like a chit. “Oh, I like you already. Of course, you may have both. You’re our new sheriff.”
    “I haven’t hired him yet,” A gruff voice sounded from the pub.
    Jake turned to see a bear of a man rumbling toward him. A white bear of a man, who stared at Jake’s hat. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he’d had his Stetson on this whole time.
    In a flurry Jake whisked off his hat as Mrs. Casper handed him the dark rich coffee.
    “That’s my husband, Tom Casper. Honey, this is Mr. Cameron. You are going to hire him. He has manners.”
    Mr. Casper extended a meaty red hand as Jake caught it. The shake was firm and with enough exuberance it jangled Jake’s head. Casper wasn’t as tall as Jake, but he had a lot of flesh to make up for it. “They say manners can hide all sorts of defects.”
    Mrs. Casper sidled up to her husband,