Burke's Rules. Pat Tracy

“You know I would do the same for you.”

      What Burke knew was that his friend was so besotted with his new wife that she had him wrapped around her little finger.

      “I’ll take care of it.” The skin at the back of Burke’s neck started tingling again.

      Chapter Two

      

      

      A powerful knock rattled the front doors of Jayne Stoneworthy’s new residence and school. She withdrew her head from the crate of books she was unpacking and sneezed twice. The workmen had left for the afternoon, and this was the first peace she’d had since they’d descended that morning with hammers pounding.

      She looked toward the floral-etched glass panels installed yesterday. The shadowy figure of a man was visible. Perhaps one of the workmen had forgotten something. She weaved her way through the chaos of stacked lumber, sawhorses and sacks of nails. Two-by-fours of various lengths lay where they’d been cut. Even her upstairs bedchamber, the one area she considered habitable, had been invaded by the sawed-off portions of wood. The foreman’s prediction that within two weeks the torn-apart great room would be transformed into a parlor, business office and three classrooms seemed overly optimistic.

      Having accepted there was no way to look her best while immersed in the renovation project, Jayne didn’t bother brushing the dust from her apron or tucking the tendrils of hair skimming her cheeks beneath her white kerchief.

      She opened the glass-paneled door and looked up, then up some more, to fully take in the mountainous man standing before her. Roughly dressed, the gargantuan man resembled Paul Bunyan come to life. He definitely wasn’t one of the workmen.

      “May I help you?”

      “Oh, that you can, girly-girl.” His black mustache and beard rippled as his booming voice filled the room. “I quenched my thirst at the Plucked Turkey. Now I’m itching for some sweet female comfort.”

      Though certainly the largest, this wasn’t the first man to arrive with the mistaken belief the saloon she’d recently purchased was still in business.

      She craned her head to gain a better view of the jovial face revealed beneath a battered brown felt hat. “You’ve come to the wrong place.”

      He walked through the doors, leaving them open behind him. She tried to hold her ground but would have had better luck trying to block a mud slide.

      “I see things are in an uproar. I don’t mind a little dust.” Thick fingers closed around her waist, whisking her through the air, he plunked her onto the long bar counter carved from the trunk of a pine. “No need to apologize. So you ain’t fixed for cavorting. With that yeller hair of yours and those big green eyes, I can overlook you needing a bath.” He raised a massive arm and sniffed. “Truth be told, I’m not so fresh myself.”

      “I do not have yeller hair. It’s light brown.”

      “Naw, you’re wrong. Your hair’s as yeller as a shiny gold nugget.”

      “No, you’re wrong,” she said briskly. “I want you to leave.”

      He gazed at her with such dopey goodwill she couldn’t be angry. Even so, his interruption was putting her behind schedule. She had a dozen things to accomplish before her head could hit the pillow that night, not that she planned on getting much sleep. Since moving in, she’d learned that the street came alive after dark with boisterous men converging upon the nearby saloons.

      “Listen...” She broke off. “What’s your name?”

      

      “Newton Timothy White. Most folks call me Newt. Maybe you heard of me. I found a vein of the prettiest gold you ever did see. My mine’s The Lucky Lasso, on account of I always wanted to be a cowboy, but never could find a horse big enough to carry me, for long anyway.”

      “Well, Miner Newt, pay attention.”

      Grinning sappily, he leaned forward. “Sure thing, pretty filly.”

      “This building is no longer a saloon. There’s not a drop of liquor on the premises and even if there were, there’s nary a ‘girly-girl’ to serve it.”

      The man’s features sagged dramatically. She was put in mind of a hound dog. She doubted this affable, if somewhat inebriated miner, represented a threat to her safety.

      “Ya mean this here ain’t the Wet Beaver anymore?”

      She nodded. “Several weeks ago it became the Stoneworthy School of Tutoring for Young Ladies.”

      The miner’s bushy eyebrows climbed to the outer reaches of his broad forehead. A vibrant red blush swept the portion of his face not carpeted by his lush mustache and beard.

      He ripped the hat from his head, mangling it between gigantic hands. “I’m beggin’ your pardon, miss. I had no idea the Wet Beav—” He broke off, his blush deepening to purple. “I mean to say, I... Oh, Lordy, you’ve got to forgive me. I didn’t mean any offense, honest I didn’t.”

      Jayne scooted forward and jumped down from the bar. Newt’s reaction was similar to that of others who’d visited the building in the mistaken hope of sharing a drink and some conversation with a dance hall girl. It astonished her how differently the male population of Denver treated her when under the misapprehension that she served drinks in a saloon. Even more amazing was that a few words could transform her in their eyes from a notorious sinner like Belle Starr to a respectable personage akin to Betsy Ross.

      “It’s all right, Mr. White.” She wondered how long it would take him to pull himself together and depart. There was that list of chores.

      “No, it ain’t,” he said morosely. “I never in my life have disgraced myself with a lady. If my sainted mother knew what I’d done, she’d turn me over her knee for a good paddling.”

      Jayne doubted even his saintly mother had a knee big enough to turn him over it. She patted his arm and tried to usher him to the door. “We won’t tell her. It was an honest mistake.”

      He continued to maul his hat. “I should have knowed right off by looking at you that you weren’t no good-time gal. Why, it’s as plain as the sparkle in your green eyes that you’re a lady, right down to your brown leather shoes—even if you are lookin’ a mite worse for wear.”

      If she was offending the sensibilities of wild and woolly miners, it was time to pay attention to her appearance. “Mr. White, why don’t you visit another tavern? I’m sure there’s lots of...um...‘good-time gals’ who’ll help you spend your gold.”

      He frowned. “You’re not supposed to know about such women.”

      “Don’t be silly, how could I not be aware of them? What with their fancy clothes and big-feathered hats, they’re impossible to miss.”

      “You’re supposed to pretend you don’t know about them.”

      “All right, we’ll just say you’re going for a walk.” She pulled experimentally on his arm. Nothing happened. “You are going, aren’t you?”

      “I don’t like the idea of you alone here. Some other feller might come along and make the same mistake I did. You could be in big trouble, Miss...” He paused, his rough-cut features solemn. “What’s your name?”

      “Stoneworthy.” What on earth was she going to do with a three-hundred-pound knight who preferred plaid and denim to shining armor? “Actually, this has happened before, and I’ve been just fine.”

      His expression remained disapproving. “I’ll fix that. What did you say the name of your school is?”

      She obliged him by repeating the information. He headed for the doors that had remained open throughout their confrontation. It disturbed her that any passerby could have overheard the ridiculous exchange with her uninvited visitor. If