Speak My Love Read online

  SPEAK MY LOVE

  By

  Barri Bryan

  © copyright May 2005, Herb and Billie Houston

  Cover art by Kat Richards, © copyright May 2005

  ISBN 1-58608-543-3

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  Chapter One

  Milo Stanton or Confessions of a Gunslinger

  Cactus Gulch, Texas September, 1877

  Milo Stanton strode across the floor, turned and assumed a Napoleonic stance. He was not a tall man but his bearing and manner gave him an appearance of height. Facing the fair-haired younger man who sat behind a table on the other side of the room, he asked incredulously, "Are you sure you read that right?"

  The younger man struggled to suppress a smile. "I am positive." He stared down at the book that was opened on the table in front of him. "I read it to you verbatim, Your Honor."

  One month ago Milo Stanton had been sworn in as the duly elected mayor of Cactus Gulch, Texas, but he had spent his younger years as a gunfighter. He often bragged that he'd discovered during those lean and troubled times that his menacing stare could intimidate more readily than the six-gun that he wore strapped to his leg. He aimed his threatening gaze in the other man's direction. "What's verbatim?"

  The younger man twisted in his chair. In both appearance and manner he was the antithesis of Milo Stanton. Ian Alwin was tall, fair and slender of build. His facial features were reminiscent of a Greek god's, smooth, symmetrical and perfectly formed with a wide sensuous mouth and pale blue eyes that were framed by incredibly long thick lashes. There was about him an air of refined sophistication that made him seem strangely out of place in the mayor's spacious but crudely appointed office. "It's Latin meaning word-for-word."

  Milo's gaze softened. "I hired you 'cause you could speak and read English." He pointed to the open book. "Forgit them foreign words and read again what you just read, and go slow this time."

  Ian cleared his throat, bowed his head and began to read being mindful to enunciate carefully and clearly. His cultured, melodic voice floated out into the room giving expression and significance to the words he spoke. "Bradwell v. Illinois, 'The civil law, as well as nature herself, has always recognized a wide difference in the respective spheres and destinies of man and woman. Man is, or should be, woman's protector and defender. The natural and proper timidity and delicacy which belongs to the female sex evidently unfits it for many of the occupations of civil life. The constitution of the family organization, which is founded in the divine ordinance, as well as in the nature of things, indicates the domestic sphere as that which properly belongs to the domain and functions of womanhood. The harmony....'"

  Milo held up one hand. "It sure sounds good but it don't make any more sense the second time around. Can you sort of sum all that up for me?"

  Ian closed the book. "In 1873 the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that the Illinois State Supreme Court could deny a woman named Myra Bradwell the right to practice law in that state simply because she was a woman."

  "I'm a son-of-a-bitch." Milo retraced his footsteps, sat at the table across from Ian and tapped the closed book with his forefinger. "That is what Rawhide is citing in his petition to close down Flossie's place?"

  Ian nodded. "He argues that if the state of Illinois can deny a woman the right to practice law in that state based solely on the fact that she's a woman, then the City Council of Cactus Gulch can deny Flossie and her girls the right to practice prostitution in this city solely because they are women." He shrugged. "It's a specious argument at best."

  "And a stupid one," Milo concluded. Turning his head to one side, he asked, "Who the hell else besides a woman would practice prostitution?" He was on his feet and pacing again. "What the hell is a specious argument?"

  "A specious argument is a...," Ian almost said a fallacious argument. He caught himself in time. "Misleading argument, I don't think the petition will carry a majority in the council."

  "Hell no, it won't carry a majority but that ain't the point. I can't bring up a petition to close down Flossie's place and ever hope to get elected to a public office in Cactus Gulch again."

  Ian was reluctant to tell his already testy boss what else Rawhide Murray was recommending but he knew he must. "That's not the only proposal Mr. Murray has submitted to the city council, Your Honor."

  Milo stopped pacing and stood very still. "Shit fire! Don't tell me the bastard has come up with some other hair-brained suggestion."

  Ian breathed deeply before saying, "Two more hair-brained suggestions to be exact, sir."

  Milo dropped onto a chair and ran his fingers through his hair. "They can't be any worse than the proposal to close Flossie's. Tell them to me and say it in language I can understand."

  Ian gritted his teeth. "You know the little shop in the back of Pete's Saloon, the one with a big array of," he cleared his throat, "sex toys and graphic pictures and stories?"

  Milo smiled as he nodded. "There ain't a man in Sagebrush County that don't go there now and again. A lot of women know about it, too."

  "Rawhide proposes to close it down. He cites as his basis for this action a federal law that forbids trade in and circulation of obscene literature."

  Milo groaned deep in his throat. "That's gonna go over with the city council like a tub of shit in church." Once more he ran a rough hand through his bushy hair. "Go ahead, tell me the other proposal."

  Ian got a firm grip on the side of the table. "He wants to pass an ordinance against sodomy." Milo's questioning glance made Ian add, "Against buggery."

  Milo's face had turned a pasty white. "That suggestion is going to rile a particular group of residents in Cactus Gulch something fierce. What in the hell does he cite to back up that one?"

  Ian explained, "Many states have laws making buggery illegal."

  Milo smiled. "We got him on that one. We're a city government. We can't go usurping authority over the state legislature."

  Ian shook his head as he broke the sad news that Rawhide had a basis, of sorts, for this argument too. "Mr. Murray contends in this petition that when The United States legislature failed to pass a constitutional amendment that acknowledged its dependency on God and recognized the Bible as the foundation of its laws then it became incumbent on individual citizens to step in and work for appropriate laws to protect the local citizenry." Once more a blank stare from Milo led him to explain, "Such a constitutional amendment was proposed and defeated in 1873."

  Milo was pacing again. "The crafty old bastard is hell-bent on causing trouble and he knows just how to go about doing it. Hell, if I alienate all the people in Cactus Gulch who either buy from Pete's store, are customers at Flossie's place or have a sex preference that don't please Rawhide, I won't have any supporters left."

  Ian wondered why his boss didn't just tell Rawhide Murray what he could do with his petitions and be done with the entire matter. The only logical answer to that question was that Milo was afraid of Rawhide and that was absurd. Rawhide Murray was sixty-five years old, five feet two inches tall, weighted one hundred and thirty two pounds and wore glasses to correct his near sightedness. In a stand-off against Milo, be it with guns or fists, Rawhide wouldn't have a prayer.

  Milo asked, "You got any ideas about how I can get out of this mess?"

  Ian failed to see the problem and he said so before adding, "You can tell Rawhide where he can put his petitions or you can introduce them, then oppose them openly and forget it."

  Milo stopped pa
cing. "It ain't that simple. Rawhide's gonna have his say, one way or the other. Don't forget he owns the town's only newspaper. And once these proposals are brought up folks will start taking sides and raising hell."

  Ian reminded his boss that there were other, less legal and more lethal, ways to shut Rawhide up permanently.

  Milo hung his head. "I can't do that either."

  Before caution could stay his tongue, Ian said, "Surely you're not afraid of Rawhide Murray."

  "I ain't afraid of no man that ever lived." Milo pointed to the holstered six-gun that hung on a hook above his desk. "See that weapon?"

  Ian nodded as he gazed at the Colt Peacemaker with its finely wrought pearl handle. "It's a fine gun."

  "That six-gun pretty much tells the story of my life." Milo made his way to his desk and sat behind it. "I lived by the law of the gun for a lot of years. There still ain't a man in this state that's faster on the draw than me and my aim is deadly." He raised his arms and flexed his muscles before doubling his left hand into a massive fist and shaking it in Ian's direction. "This here fist is six months in the hospital." Dropping his left hand he did the same thing with his right. "This here fist is sudden death. Does that answer your question?"

  Ian admitted reluctantly, "Not really."

  Milo leaned back in his chair, put his booted feet on his desk and looked toward the ceiling. "I grew up hard, Ian. My mamma died when I was a little shaver. My papa was a gambler. I never had a chance to go to school. I was fifteen years old before I learnt my ABCs. I wouldn't have done it then if a pretty little school teacher hadn't took me in and taught me how to read and write." Remembering made him smile. "She taught me a lot of other things too."

  Ian could imagine but he failed to see how Milo's tragic childhood and early love life were relevant to Rawhide's petitions. Nevertheless he nodded and urged, "Go on."

  Milo was caught up in his reminiscing. "I never had a home or any ties. From the time I was seventeen-years-old, I lived my life going from town to town and shoot-out to shoot-out. I never figured I'd live to see thirty. Then one day I woke up and realized that I was might nigh forty-two-years-old and still hale and hearty. I took that as a sign that it was time to stop totin' a gun and start being a law-abiding citizen." His feet dropped to the floor. "So I came to Cactus Gulch. I knew most of the folks here had pasts they were running from too. I settled down, opened a general store and got active in local politics. I led the drive to get the petition signed to have this area declared a county. I even went to Austin and spoke before the legislature. When we got county status, I worked even harder to see that Cactus Gulch was declared the county seat. Still I was surprised when I got the nod to run for the mayor of the city."

  Ian thought that Cactus Gulch had a long way to go before it could claim the status of 'city'. He kept that notion to himself.

  Milo stood and came around the corner of his desk. "I knew I didn't have a chance to get elected, what with not being able to read real good or write worth a damn." He moved across the floor and came to stand across the table from of Ian. "Then you agreed to be my assistant. So I guess I owe my being here to you."

  A lump rose in Ian's throat. His reasons for agreeing to be Milo's assistant had been selfish ones. Still, since he'd taken on the rather precarious position of aide to the mayor, he'd grown to respect and genuinely like Milo Stanton. "In turn you have been a stanch and faithful friend to me."

  Milo's handlebar mustache twitched and his heavy jowls reddened. "I am about to impose on that friendship. I need your help." He stepped back. "I know you are wondering why I don't just tell Rawhide to go to hell and take his petitions with him."

  Ian pushed his chair back, stretched, yawned and glanced toward the clock on the wall. It was almost five o'clock, which meant they could close shop and go home. "Yes, I do."

  "If I don't introduce the petitions, Rawhide will just put them in his newspapers and besmirch my good name in the process. If I do introduce them, I'm gonna be forced to take a stand and that means trying to argue legal stuff that I don't know nothing about. People are going to start saying 'Did you read this or have you reviewed that?'" Milo paced across the floor and paused to lean against a bookcase. "See these books? I can't read half of them. They are here for show. But even if I ain't got a lot of book learning, I know about people. If Rawhide introduces these cockamamie notions to the city council it will split this town into factions that will eventually defeat its progress and stymie its growth."

  Ian had to concede, although he hadn't thought of it before, that what Milo was saying was true. "You are an astute--a smart man."

  Milo smiled. "Yeah, but I still can't read."

  Ian was aware of that fact too. He wondered where this conversation was headed. "I know that."

  "You do, but a lot of other people in this town don't and I don't aim for them to find out." Sighing, Milo moved back to his desk. "You're still wondering why I'm being so easy on old Rawhide. Well, it's this way, it's not Rawhide that I care about, it's his daughter Priscilla."

  Ian had seen Rawhide's daughter at the Mayor's inauguration. She was a statuesque beauty with an hourglass figure, ebony colored hair, velvet brown eyes and an exquisitely beautiful face. She also appeared to Ian to be haughty and cold. "You want to impress Priscilla Murray?" It seemed unlikely to Ian that Priscilla Murray would give Milo Stanton a second look.

  "I want to do more than impress her; I want to court her with the hope that she will someday be my wife."

  Even though his better judgment told him to keep his opinions to himself, Ian felt constrained to hint, as tactfully as possible, that maybe his friend should not entertain false hopes. Genuine concern for Milo made him daring enough to tag that hint with a bold question. "Don't you think that you should get to know Miss Murray before you decide that you want to spend the rest of your life with her?"

  Milo leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. "That's my intention. I'm going to court Miss Priscilla and win her heart and then claim her hand in holy matrimony."

  Ian couldn't believe that practical, pragmatic Milo Stanton was talking like a lovesick school boy and behaving like a smitten fool. "And just how do you plan to do that?"

  He was rocked back on his heels when Milo said, "That's where you come in." When Ian opened his mouth to protest Milo held up one beefy hand. "Just hang on and hear me out. I've thought on that for awhile. Miss Priscilla was educated at Miss Tabitha Hockley's Girl's School over in Austin. She knows proper etiquette and manners. Her mamma was a fine aristocratic southern lady." Milo rubbed his thumb along his chin. "I don't know nothing about how to woo a well brought up blue blood lady like that. But I do know that all women, leastways all women I've ever known, are charmed by pretty words and you can speak prettier than anyone I ever heard talk before."

  "Me?" Ian's voice rose in surprise. He had an uneasy feeling that Milo was headed for disappointment, maybe heartbreak and he didn't want to jeopardize his well paying and rather prestigious position by having any part in a project that seemed doomed to failure. "I don't know what I could do."

  Milo was quick to reply, "There's lots you can do. I got a plan that I want to tell you about."

  Ian pushed himself to his feet. "Can it wait?" He pointed to the clock. "It's past office hours."

  Milo's turned to gaze at the clock on the wall. "So it is." Standing, he motioned with his hand. "Let's go over to Mother Murphy's Diner. I'll buy you a steak and a beer and then I can tell you what I got in mind."

  Ian reasoned that sooner or later he'd have to hear Milo's plan and at this moment in time a steak and a beer sounded much better to him than the fat back and beans he knew he'd get if he went home to Mrs. Clayborne's Boarding House. The fact that Milo would pick up the tab seemed an added bonus. He reached for his hat. "Let's go."

  Milo held the door for Ian before pulling it shut and locking it securely.

  The two men stepped onto the wooden sidewalk and turned in the direction of Mother Mu
rphy's Diner. As they walked Milo waved one arm in an all encompassing gesture. "Can you believe that I'm mayor of this fair city?"

  Ian's gaze traveled along the line of shabby store buildings and down the dusty unpaved main street, all the way to the blacksmith's shop that stood at the bend in the road and saw nothing that resembled fair. "Cactus Gulch hardly meets the minimum standard attributed to a town. It has a long way to go before it can be considered a city."

  "But we're gonna get there," Milo argued and then added as an afterthought, "That is if old Rawhide don't go and mess things up before we even get started." He pointed to the newly constructed Sagebrush County Courthouse that sat in the center of the town square. "Ain't she a beauty?"

  If ornate equated to beautiful the court house was indeed a beauty. Ian admitted on a quick breath, "It's different."

  They passed the First Bank of Cactus Gulch, Millicent's Millinery, Sewing and Alteration Shoppe and Doctor Smith's Apothecary. People along the way nodded and spoke friendly greetings to Milo.

  As they approached the bakery, the smell of freshly baked bread floated out to tease Ian's nostrils and waft through his senses, stirring old memories. He was transported back to another time in another place. Unbidden sadness suddenly assailed him. He was pulled back to the present by Milo declaring, "Yes sir, that's our next stop on our way up."

  Ian slowed his pace and tried to pull his scattered thought together. "Are we making a stop at the bakery?"

  Milo huffed, "I ain't talking about no bakery. Our next stop is at the Sagebrush County Court House. As soon as I serve out my term as mayor I aim to run for county commissioner. After that who knows, I might run for the state legislature. You stick with me Ian and I'll make it worth your while."

  Until now Ian had not realized the size of Milo's ambition or the extent of his grandiose dreams. Reflexively he replied, "You can count on me, Your Honor." Reaching for the sagging restaurant door, he held it open.

  As they entered the diner, Mother Murphy, who was nobody's mother and a Murphy only by benefit of matrimony, rushed to greet them. "How do, Mr. Mayor."