Miss Phipps and the Cattle Baron by Patricia Watters

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About the author:

Patricia Watters writes historical and contemporary romances that feature courageous, self-assured heroes with endearing flaws, and the gutsy women who capture their hearts, women, these unsuspecting males would lay down their lives for. An author with Harlequin and Avon-Harper Collins in the past, Patricia has published twenty-two romance novels, which include her 5-book UNWANTED AFFAIRS historical romance anthology, and her 13-book DANCING MOON RANCH SERIES, a contemporary western series that spans thirty years and two generations. She invites you to visit her website at http://www.patriciawatters.com/ and drop her a line. She responds to all notes.

What inspired you to write your book?

RESEARCH. I was fascinated by all the problems between the cattle barons and homesteaders in early Wyoming, as well as learning that women were just beginning to get into owning and editing their own newspapers in the first state to allow women to own property and vote, so I decided to set the story in Cheyenne, Wyoming. During my research I also learned that it was the first place in America where a woman was hung. The incident figures into the story, and my heroine with her newspaper is right in the middle of it the brouhaha between the cattle barons and the homesteaders.

Here is a short sample from the book:

CHAPTER 1</p>
<p>'Though the sex to which I belong is considered weak, you<br />
will nevertheless find me a rock that bends to no wind.'<br />
— Queen Elizabeth I</p>
<p>Wagon train camp east of Cheyenne, Wyoming – 1889</p>
<p>Priscilla Phipps dipped her pen into the last remaining drops of ink and continued with the final entry in her journal: Tomorrow we will travel the last twelve miles to Cheyenne. I am certain there will be a sizeable crowd to greet our thirteen bedraggled wagons when we arrive, but among them will also be three very angry men, whom I do not look forward to facing…<br />
"Miss Priscilla?" A deep male voice called from outside the wagon.<br />
Priscilla set aside her journal and poked her head through the canvas flap in the rear of the wagon and found her Negro pressman looking anxiously at her. "Yes, Jim?"<br />
"It's Miss Mary Kate. You'd best come quick. She's havin' one o' her cryin' spells again and she's callin' for you."<br />
Priscilla climbed out of the wagon and rushed across the dusty clearing to where the brides' wagon was parked, hearing anxious voices as she approached. Crawling through the rear flap, she found Libby Johnson, Abigail Chandler, and Edith Hogan hovering over a very distraught Mary Kate Burns. On seeing Priscilla, Mary Kate lamented, "I just can't do it, Miss Priscilla. I can't marry that man. It seemed alright when we first started out, but… well, you saw his photograph. He looks ornerier than a mule with burrs. And he's so old!"<br />
"Well yes, he did look a bit intolerant," Priscilla said. "But he's not all that old."<br />
"He's forty-one!" Mary Kate cried. "He's old enough to be my Pa. His eldest daughter's only four years younger than me. I don't care if he is some high up British cattle baron," she wailed, "I'd rather die an old maid like you than get stuck with the likes of him." She raised tear-drenched eyes to Priscilla. "Can I come work for your newspaper too?"<br />
Priscilla patted Mary Kate's hand. "Yes, of course." After assuring Mary Kate she'd take care of reimbursing Lord Whittington for travel expenses, Priscilla returned to her wagon and picked up her journal, making a small adjustment…<br />
…among them will also be three four very angry men, whom I do not look forward to facing. Mary Kate decided to join the other women who will be working for me, and I don't blame her one bit. Lord Adam Whittington might own half the cattle in Wyoming, but he did look mean. Actually, a kind of handsome mean. And not so old really, I being only two years his junior…<br />
At sun up the following morning, Priscilla went about her chores, preparing to move on, but unlike most mornings when she felt eager and energetic for the day ahead, she was beginning to feel the first twinges of uncertainty. Not uncertainty about the success of The Town Tattler—she knew the ins and outs of running a newspaper—but uncertainty because she'd be all alone when informing four men that their mail-order brides were backing out of their contracts.<br />
From the photographs though, there wasn't an appealing man among them, and on reading the letters the women received from the men, it was clear the men wanted housekeepers and mistresses, not wives to love and cherish, but Mary Kate was escaping an arranged marriage to a fat, balding butcher twice her age, Edith fancied herself an old maid at twenty-four, Libby was fleeing a dreadful scandal, and Abigail's step-father told her he was going to take care of her needs, now that she was a woman. Offering the women jobs gave them a way out of marriages none of them wanted, and a chance to find men who truly wanted wives and life partners.<br />
But of all the men she'd be facing at the end of today's long dusty journey, Lord Adam Whittington would unquestionably cause her the most grief. With wealth comes power, and giving Lord Whittington's bride-to-be a way out of their marriage contract would put the man on the opposite side of whatever business venture she, and the women she'd taken under her wing, were to engage in, but face Lord Whittington she would, and the encounter was only twelve miles ahead.<br />
***<br />
Adam Whittington poked his son in the back. "Stand straight so your new mother will look with favor on you," he said, "and hold up the flowers so she'll recognize us."<br />
Weldon Whittington straightened his eleven-year-old frame and tightened his fist around the flower stems. "Which one is she?" he asked.<br />
Adam scanned the dusty, weary-looking travelers who'd arrived with the wagon train while he was at the feed store. He saw single women who looked well past child bearing age, middle-aged couples unloading gear, and families with children running about, but there appeared to be no wagon with four single women of marriageable age.<br />
Catching sight of Clayton Rathborn, who was also expecting a bride, he headed toward him. "Rathborn!" he called out. "Did the women come in with this wagon train?"<br />
Clayton shook his head. "Shortly after the train pulled in, a couple of wagons left, one with a big Negro driving and a white woman walking, and the other with a woman driving and what sounded like women inside, but I figured they were folks passing through."<br />
Weldon tugged on his father's coat sleeve. "Can we go home then, Pa?"<br />
"Not until we find your new mother," Adam replied. "She has to be with this group since there are no other wagon trains expected for some time. Where are your sisters?"<br />
Weldon shrugged. "Last I saw, they were across the street reading something posted on the mercantile, then Alice went inside and Trudy went around back with Tom Rafferty."<br />
"You sure it was Tom Rafferty?" Adam asked, the heat of anger rising as he imagined the young bloke's hands on Trudy. Rafferty was one of his cowboys, and he had his sights on the cattle baron's daughter, but short of locking up Trudy, he didn't know how to handle the headstrong sixteen-year-old girl. He could get rid of Tom, but Trudy would set her sights on the next young cowpoke. She needed a mother to manage her, and he needed a woman in his bed on a permanent basis so he could keep his mind on running the ranch instead of finding the next willing female. As his wife, Mary Kate Burns would fill both needs.<br />
"It was Tom Rafferty all right," Weldon said. "He grabbed Trudy's hand and pulled her around behind the mercantile. She was laughing too."<br />
"She won't be laughing when I catch up with her." Adam rushed across the street, catching a glimpse of the posting on the mercantile as he passed but not stopping to inspect it. As he headed around the building he found Tom's lips about a breath away from Trudy's. Grabbing Tom by the arm and the belt, he hurled him aside and shouted, "Keep your bloody hands off my daughter!" He took Trudy by the elbow and tugged her back around the building. "Wait in the buckboard," he barked. "We'll take this up when we get home!"<br />
Trudy said nothing, just headed for the buckboard, and Adam stopped to inspect the posting, which read: Any man awaiting a bride please contact Miss Priscilla Phipps at the old Sentinel building at six o'clock this evening.<br />
Adam stared at the notice, wondering why the Phipps women would have the brides at the old Sentinel building. He'd heard the building had been sold to someone back east, but the place was so rundown he couldn't imagine why anyone would want it.<br />
Stepping inside the mercantile, he fetched fourteen-year-old Alice, who was eyeing a red silk corset with black ties. Snatching her away from the risqué thing, he herded her and Weldon onto the buckboard. Weldon sat on the box, and Alice and Trudy sat on the seat behind. Adam climbed up beside Weldon and took the reins. "After I pick up your new mother, she and I will go to the courthouse and get married," he announced to his offspring. "I'll expect the three of you to stay in the buckboard, and no fighting. I've waited three months for this woman and I don't want her leaving before we even get married."<br />
"What are we supposed to call her?" Alice asked. "Mary Kate or Mother?"<br />
"You will call her Mother," Adam replied, anxious to make that distinction clear. The children needed a mother, not a friend and confident who'd cater to their whims, and he was ready to turn over that thorny task to the Burns woman, who would be Lady Adam Whittington before the day was done. It could not come soon enough.<br />
"Is she going to stay in your bedroom with you tonight, Pa?" Weldon asked.<br />
Adam heard giggles from the girls in the seat behind him. He also wasn't sure how to answer Weldon's question. The boy was on the cusp of learning about a man's need and he'd be naturally curious about what went on behind the closed door to his father and new step-mother's bedroom.<br />
As for him, he hadn't had a woman since he entered into the marriage contract with Mary Kate Burns three months before and he was badly in need of her services, but she was still a virgin, and he wasn't sure he could hold back once he stripped her naked. If he lost control and took her roughly she could let out some questionable cries, which he didn't want to have to explain to his children. What's more, if he messed things up at the start and Miss Burns' first experience was a bad one, she wouldn't take to sharing his bed from then on.<br />
"Miss Burns will have her own room until we're better acquainted," he said, having made that hasty decision. "I haven't had a chance to court her properly, so she'll need time to get to know me. You'll understand better when you're grown."<br />
Alice placed her hand on the back of his seat, and said, "I don't understand why any woman would want to share a room with a man. They snore, most of them smell bad, and they look at women funny."<br />
Weldon glanced over his shoulder at his sister and said, with an officious air, "They have to share a room to make babies. Everyone knows that."<br />
Alice pursed her lips. "What do you know about making babies?"<br />
"I know everything," Weldon looked at his father. "Are you and Miss Burns going to make a baby, Pa?"<br />
Adam clenched his jaws. The conversation had drifted into shaky territory. Not only was Weldon becoming aware of changes taking place in his body, but Alice was quickly approaching womanhood, and Trudy was involved with a young buck who was primed for procreation and she wasn't fighting him off.<br />
"Miss Burns and I will make that decision together, after we're man and wife." Until now, Adam hadn't given much thought to extending the family, but the woman was young, so she'd naturally want children of her own.<br />
As for getting to know each other… Miss Burns would probably want some time. For him, a warm female body in his bed every night would take care of his problem just fine. All he'd expect of her, beyond that basic need, would be to monitor the children. If she turned out to be more, that would be all right too. In any event, she'd have no cause to complain. He had enough staff at the ranch to keep her comfortable while she managed the children's needs and monitored who they were with. At least, with a mother keeping a close watch, Trudy wouldn't be able to slip off with Tom again.<br />
"Where are we going now, Father?" Alice asked.<br />
"To the old Sentinel building to pick up your new mother," Adam replied, then clucked his tongue and set the horse heading down the street at a fast clip.<br />
***<br />
In the dim light filtering through several murky windows, Priscilla scanned the interior of the building, her eyes taking in floors strewn with mouse droppings, and time-worn walls where patches of plaster cracked and fell away, and a door hanging askew. The type cases were busted with ems scattered everywhere, tables and stools were in need of repair, and although the old Albion printing press stood in the middle of the room, its wood frame and platens were split and rotting from dampness, and the iron screw and other iron parts were so rusty the press was sure to be inoperable.<br />
Although she brought her father's Washington press and printing equipment with her from Missouri, when she offered to hire the brides, she intended on selling the Albion and other equipment to cover the added expenses involved in housing them. She had a moderate inheritance from her parents, and had factored in money for hiring two typesetters, a compositor, and a printer's devil, but she hadn't expected them to be women in need of a place to stay, which meant housing them there until they could afford to move into a boarding house.<br />
She looked at the stairway leading to what would be their living quarters. If downstairs was any indication, she didn't look forward to what was up there. Jim was good with plaster, and he could paint the walls and fix the door and just about anything else that needed fixing, but first, the place would have to be cleared of the old press and broken equipment, and the type cases would have to be repaired.<br />
The sound of heavy footfalls on the porch outside caught her attention. Before she could react, the door swept open and a man's large frame filled the doorway. "I'm Adam Whittington and I've come for my bride," the man announced in a voice smacking of well-established British aristocracy.<br />
Priscilla felt a little flutter in her chest as she stared at the man. Tall and powerfully built, with a crop of untrimmed brown hair, penetrating brown eyes, and a shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders and thick chest, the man was more muscular than she expected. His face was also bronze from the sun, like he spent time outside more than the usual British cattle baron. "The brides aren't here" she said.<br />
A glint of impatience flashed in the man's eyes. "Then if you'll direct me to wherever they are, I'd like to collect my bride and be on my way."<br />
Priscilla's heart thumped in dismay. The set to the man's jaw and the firm line of his mouth told her he was used to having his way. Bracing herself for his reaction to her announcement, she said, "Well, the fact is, Lord Whittington, Miss Burns has decided not to marry you. She's working for me now. When the bank opens in the morning, I'll give you a bank draft reimbursing you for the cost of expenses for her journey, and that will terminate her contract with you."<br />
The man stood looking at her, hands clenched at his sides. "Where is she?"<br />
"I'm not at liberty to say, but the termination agreement in her contract with you was quite clear. Upon reimbursement of expenses, she'd be released from the contract. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."<br />
"Bloody hell you do! I contracted for a wife, and that's what I intend to have. Now, I'll ask one more time. Where is Mary Kate Burns?"<br />
The apprehension Priscilla felt moments before was replaced by anger. She wouldn't be intimidated by the man, even if he did own half the territory. "Like I said, I'm not at liberty to tell you where Miss Burns is, but if she were here to observe your rude and truculent behavior, and she had not yet changed her mind about marrying you, she'd certainly do so now."<br />
Before Priscilla could press her demand for Lord Whittington to leave, the second of the four men she was expecting stepped up to the open doorway. He removed his hat, revealing a balding head ringed by mouse-gray hair. "I'm Clayton Rathborn," he said, "and I've come to fetch Miss Johnson. I've got the wagon outside for her things."<br />
Priscilla recognized the man from a photograph he'd sent to Libby Johnson. With his ruddy complexion and pockmarked face, he was even less attractive than in his photograph. She backed around behind the old printing press, wanting to put something solid between her and both men as she said, "Well, you see, Mr. Rathborn, the fact is…" she paused to take a breath to settle the erratic beating of her heart…<br />
"Let me guess," Lord Whittington cut in. "Miss Johnson has decided to renege on her contract. Right?"<br />
"It was her decision," Priscilla said. "You will both be reimbursed for travelling expenses, and that's all there is to it."<br />
Lord Whittington stepped around the press and gazed at Priscilla. "No, Miss Phipps, that is not all there is to it. I contracted in good faith to take Miss Burns as my wife, and I expect her to honor our contract."<br />
Priscilla propped her hands on her hips and held the man's caustic gaze. "You're not bargaining for a mule, Lord Whittington, you're contracting for a woman to share your life, and your bed, and bear your children. For them, the prospect of finding love with the men they marry is important. There's nothing more to be said. You'll both receive your bank drafts when the bank opens in the morning. Good evening gentlemen." She stood firm, waiting for the men to leave.<br />
To her dismay, the third of the four men appeared. From his mutton chop whiskers and mustachio she knew it was Jethro Bottoms, Abigail Chandler's intended. Before he could speak, Priscilla said, "Mr. Bottoms, Miss Chandler has changed her mind and she will be reimbursing you for expenses and terminating your marriage agreement."<br />
"The hell she is!" Jethro Bottoms shouted. "I've waited three months for the damn woman and I'm not goin' home without her. Where is she?" He started up the stairs.<br />
Priscilla called after him. "She's not in this building, and if you decide to cause trouble you'll find yourself sitting somewhere you won't wish to be."<br />
Spittle spewed from the man's mouth as he said, "Are you threatenin' to have me arrested if I make a claim on my bride?"<br />
Priscilla glared at the man. "Yes, Mr. Bottoms, I'm doing precisely that!"<br />
Veins standing out in his neck, he said, "You haven't seen the last of me. I have two young'uns needin' lookin' after, chickens to feed, a cow that needs milkin', a cabin that needs cleanin' and a garden that needs plantin'. And I just paid ten dollars for a new feather mattress. There will be a woman in my bed before the week is out!"<br />
"That may be," Priscilla said, "but Miss Chandler will not be that woman. Meanwhile, I suggest you start looking for a child-minder, a farm hand, and a mistress. You are no bargain as a husband."<br />
Jethro Bottoms mumbled a string of expletives under his breath, shoved his way between Lord Whittington and Clayton Rathborn, and stormed out the door. When the other two men didn't budge, Priscilla said in a firm tone, "Good evening gentlemen. I'll be at the bank promptly when it opens, and if either of you know Mr. Frank Gundy, please inform him that Miss Edith Hogan will also be working for me, and he too can be at the bank when it opens."<br />
Clayton Rathborn shoved his hat on his head and stomped out, but Lord Whittington remained. "Is there something more you want?" Priscilla asked.<br />
"Yes, as a matter of fact there is." Lord Whittington scanned the room, and as his gaze made a slow zigzag path across the floor, Priscilla knew he was sizing up the broken type trays and limitless little lead blocks of type scattered across the warped wood floor boards. Then his eyes came to rest on the old Albion press. "If you intend to start another newspaper in Cheyenne you'll find your competitors very unfriendly," he said, his voice holding a hint of warning.<br />
"I'm not worried about unfriendly men," Priscilla replied. "The world is filled with them."<br />
Lord Whittington placed his hand on the bar of the old press and gave it a shove, but the giant screw, locked from rust and disuse, refused to turn. A look of satisfaction crossed his face. "Running a newspaper isn't something a woman can manage on her own." His eyes flitted over her. "I assume you're on your own."<br />
Priscilla lifted her chin. "And why would you assume that? Is it because I'm a rather plain-looking maiden lady well past my prime, or because you believe a woman without a man is incapable of pursuing a man's profession, even if that profession is suitable for a woman?"<br />
He eyed her with irritation. "I believe women are capable of running certain businesses, but running a newspaper is a dangerous business. Not only does it take physical strength, but it's common for editors to lash out at each other in back-alley terms, disputes often ending with knives or bullets."<br />
"I'm aware of the dangers," Priscilla countered. "I grew up helping my father run his newspaper. Granted, it was a small-town paper, but we faced the same criticism and threats larger papers face."<br />
A puzzled frown crept across Lord Whittington's brow. "Then you actually do intend to start a newspaper?" Plainly he hadn't taken her seriously, until now.<br />
Priscilla ratcheted her chin up another notch. "That is precisely why I bought this building and moved here."<br />
"But Cheyenne already has several newspapers, and they will not look favorably on yet another paper starting up."<br />
"If you're referring to the Cheyenne Daily Leader and the Cheyenne Daily Sun, I'm familiar with both papers. It's my understanding they serve the interests of the Wyoming Stock Growers Association, which makes me curious. Why would you think a mere woman starting a small paper would be in danger here?"<br />
He gave her a look of tolerant understanding. "It's not that you're a woman. It's anyone starting a newspaper, but a woman is naturally more vulnerable than a man."<br />
"I don't feel vulnerable in the least," Priscilla said. "After all, Miss Abigail Scott Duniway established The New Northwest in Portland, Oregon and has made a success of it without being threatened, as did Miss Laura DeForce with the Daily Leader down in Stockton, California. And not far from here, Gertrude and Laura Huntington have the Platte Valley Lyre. But I don't believe you fear for my safety. I think you have other concerns. Perhaps an ax to grind because women are starting to infiltrate a field dominated by men. Or maybe you're concerned I might penetrate your association's publishing empire and steal their subscribers and advertisers."<br />
To her surprise, the hard line of Lord Whittington's mouth softened with a half-smile, which had the odd effect of bringing heat rushing up Priscilla's face to settle in her cheeks like hundreds of tiny hot prickles. The corner of his mouth tipped up further as he eyed the old Albion. "Not if that's the press you intend to use."<br />
"It isn't," Priscilla assured him. "I have my own press. I expect to have it in operation before the week is done. My newspaper will be called The Town Tattler, and I invite you and the other members of your cattlemen's association to become subscribers. After all, it's always good business to know what your opponents are about."<br />
An amused glimmer came into the man's eyes. "And in what way do you believe your paper to be a threat to the Cheyenne Daily Leader or the Cheyenne Daily Sun?" he asked.<br />
Priscilla bristled at his condescending manner. "Because there's an excellent chance The Town Tattler may be in opposition to them. I travelled across the country with homesteaders who believe you cattlemen want them driven out of the territory."<br />
"I'll keep that in mind. And the brides you've taken possession of? Will they be operating the press you brought along?"<br />
"No, I have a pressman who's well trained in its operation. The women will be setting type, something women, with their smaller more nimble fingers, are more adept at doing than men. Now, as you can see," Priscilla said, spreading her arms as if to encompass the entire room, "I have a lot of work ahead of me before we can move my equipment into the building, so I ask that you leave now so I can begin the task."<br />
Lord Whittington turned and stepped onto the porch of the building, but as Priscilla was about to close the door, he braced his hand against it, and said, "Tell Miss Burns I expect to hear directly from her that she wants to break our contract. She will not find a better arrangement than what I offer. My ranch house is large and comfortable, and my house on 17th Street is suited for entertaining, with double parlors and a dining room that can accommodate large dinner parties. It also has an impressive library, master suites on both the ground and second floors, and five other bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, along with servants to see to running the house."<br />
As he waited for her response, it came to Priscilla that Lord Whittington was actually a very nice looking man, handsome in fact, and if it weren't for his advanced age, which really wasn't all that advanced, he might be an acceptable husband for Mary Kate. Now that she was standing closer to him, his shoulders looked even broader than when he entered the building, and the hard line of his mouth had relaxed some, making him seem approachable…<br />
Actually, if truth be known, he had an… interesting mouth…<br />
For a long, absent moment she imagined herself in the grand house he'd talked about, sitting on a bed covered in silk sheets, with a light wrapper draped around her shoulders. Lord Whittington would walk in and push the wrapper aside and kiss her shoulder, and the wrapper would drop away and she'd be wearing nothing under it…<br />
Her breath quickened, and her heart started a staccato beat.<br />
Steeling herself from such outrageous notions, she said, "You present a tempting offer for many women, but I'm afraid Mary Kate Burns has made her decision. Good evening." Priscilla shut the door with more force than intended, but the man set her on edge, caused her to have thoughts no decent woman should have, least of all a spinster nearing forty who'd never had intimate relations with a man in her life. Who'd never even kissed a man. But when she stood looking at Lord Whittington she'd felt an almost uncontainable urge to reach out and touch him…<br />
Along with a pressing need to remove him from her presence, which she'd done in no uncertain terms. Tomorrow she'd face the ramification of her brash action in shutting the door in his face. For now, she fanned herself with her hand, wondering what was coming over her.