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Author's Note

I would like to apologize for any typos in this chapter. I seriously pulled an all-nighter to write this...I couldn't stop. Then by the time I got around to checking spelling and grammar I couldn't see haha. Occupational hazard.

Happy Reading

1885—Hill Valley

November 30th

5:05 am

Jackson Hubert was the kind of man who was used to getting what he wanted. For twenty-five years things had been handed to him. Money, land, women; he hadn't had to work for any of it. Jackson's life consisted primarily of drinking and gambling away his family's money, and he was very good at it. He never kept tabs on his debts personally, he had an accountant for that, but he imagined that he was the Silver Dove saloon's biggest investor. It was a very attractive lifestyle.

His family, particularly his father the mayor, had a different opinion. For reasons that escaped Jackson, they did not find his current situation altogether appropriate for the son of a public official. They had been hoping that he would sew his wild oats and then settle down with some delicate little mouse of a girl, have the expected number of children, and conduct himself as a man of his position ought. But at twenty-five, Jackson's wild behavior was beginning to try his family's patience, and three days previous Mayor Hubert had offered his son an ultimatum; marry a nice girl of decent social credibility or be cut off.

Jackson hated ultimatums. Especially ones that ended horribly no matter which route he chose.

The birds were just beginning to sing in the day. Jackson was fully awake, the bed was too uncomfortable for him to ever really fall asleep to begin with. He lay bare-chested, an arm under his head, listening to a dog bark somewhere below the window. Outside of his room the girls were moving about, their doors opening and closing as they sent their hung-over customers back to their wives for the day. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, blowing smoke out of his nose. Next to him, Bea stirred. The sheet covering her slipped low on her naked torso. Jackson stared unashamedly and puffed his cigarette.

"Isn't it a little early to be smoking?" Bea murmured, blue eyes twinkling.

Jackson smirked and passed her the smoke. She wrapped her cherry red lips around it, sucking in. He was suddenly very envious of the cigarette.

"Why are you up so early?" she asked.

"I couldn't sleep," he said, watching the smoke twist and curl around the locks of her golden hair. "Also, I have business this morning."

Bea rolled her eyes and dropped the butt of the cigarette into a half empty glass of whiskey on the bedside table. It died with a quick hiss.

Jackson pulled her to him and kissed her roughly. Bea slid on top of him, her ivory smooth body cool and inviting. His fingertips trailed down the sides of her thighs. Bea giggled into his mouth and ground against him. Jackson felt her heat, felt his own desire rising like mercury in a thermometer, and changed his mind. He didn't have time this morning; Bea would just have to wait. He had an appointment with Brown to have his horse shoed.

More importantly, he had an appointment with Brown's charming daughter…even if she didn't know it yet. Jackson had been quite taken with the girl (what had been her name? Abigail?) and knew his family would feel likewise. Now there was just the issue of charming her into marriage, but, in all honesty, how much of an issue would that be really?

Truthfully, Jackson felt a little bad for Bea as he rolled her off of him and back onto her side of the bed. She was convinced he was in love with her, he could tell by the way she looked at him. He thought love was stupid; a stupid emotion for stupid people, and consequentially Bea had diminished a little in his eyes. Still, he admired her ambition and cutthroat attitude and that kept her at the top of a very short list of people he could tolerate. Hurting her, as he knew a "socially acceptable" marriage would do, would bother him, but no more than a splinter or hangnail; sharp and biting to begin with but quickly forgotten. She'd get over it. It was all business.

Jackson slid out of bed and began getting dressed. Bea lay on the mattress like the Queen of Sheba, watching him.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"I have to get my horse shoed," he said. He poured water into the basin on the dresser top and splashed some on his face.

Bea was quiet a moment.

"I met Brown's daughter the other day."

"Yes, so did I."

Another pause; the scrape of Jackson's cutthroat was deafening. The air in the room was suddenly oppresive and heavy. He could feel Bea's eyes burning the back of his head, trying to see into his thoughts. Always suspicious, Beatrice.

When she spoke again it was quiet and fainting pleading.

"Shall you come tonight?"

"Don't I always?" Jackson asked, turning around, a mischievous smile playing on his mouth.

"No complaints here," Bea smirked.

Jackson left the Silver Dove a little after five thirty. He knew Bea would be at the window, watching him mount his horse. He didn't turn around.


Amelia woke up shivering. The bars on her stable/bedroom window were hardly enough to protect her from the early morning dew. She didn't even know it was possible for California to be so cold. Where was this during the day when they needed it?

Annoyed and awake, Amelia decided she might as well get up. She pulled a clean dress, a muted green cotton, over her head and attempted to put her hair up. It refused to cooperate, frizzing in strange places. Amelia gave up. She brushed through the strands with her fingers and let them hang loose on her shoulders. What does it matter, she thought with irritation, its 1885 and we're in a desert. Nobody looks good.

She gave a little start when she walked into the shop and saw Marty sitting awake on his cot. He was busy shoveling breakfast into his face and didn't see her until she was nearly on top of him.

"Oh," he said, a bit of food dangling from the corner of his mouth, "you're up early."

"Yeah, well, I didn't really have a choice," Amelia said, sitting on the edge of the cot. "It's a meat locker in my room."

Marty's face lit up.

"Hey, you're talking to me! Does that mean hell has frozen over?" Marty was beaming. Amelia tried to glare at him but couldn't. She smiled despite herself.

"Marty, I'm sor-"

"No," Marty cut her off, wiping his face clean and scooting closer to her, "don't apologize. I mean, you can if you really want to, but I need to go first. I was a totally jerk, Aims. I felt bad for myself and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have said…well…anything that I said." He picked up her hand and held it gently. "I'm sorry I was an asshole."

He stared at her with large, sincere eyes. Amelia's heart melted. He was impossible to stay mad at…and she had really wanted to this time…

"You really were an asshole, Marty," Amelia said solemnly, brushing the hair back from his forehead. He smiled at her.

"Yeah…it was not good."

"You gave Biff a run for his money."

"That bad, huh?"

Amelia's grin widened. She moved closer to him, her mouth inches from his.

"Well," she whispered, "maybe not that bad."

Amelia lightly pressed her lips to his.

"Does this mean we're not fighting anymore?" Marty asked pulling away suddenly. Perhaps she had some sneak attack fight up her sleeve and this was all misdirection. It wasn't implausible; Jennifer had done it all the time. Amelia kissed him again, harder, and Marty knew he was in the clear. "Gotcha."

He grabbed her around the waist and the two of them tumbled back onto the cot. Amelia yelped and then fell into a fit of giggles as Marty nibbled the sensitive skin between her shoulder and neck. His tongue flicked across her earlobe and Amelia's breathing hitched. Marty took the flesh between his teeth, tugging lightly. He purred into her ear; a low, guttural sound that Amelia had never heard from him before. It sparked something in her and her blood ran hot. She leaned into him, wanting to feel more of his mouth on her skin. He obliged silently, kissing her down her chest, undoing the delicate buttons of her dress and tonguing the milky mounds of her breasts. Amelia mewed and arched her back. He slid his hands underneath her, scooping her skirts up around her thighs. His fingers twitched the band of her pantalettes.

"What if my father comes in?" Amelia asked breathlessly. Marty's hands started peeling away the thin layer of cotton concealing her.

"He went to the bathroom just before you came out," Marty said, snaking his way down her body. Amelia's pantalette's hung around her knees. "He took a Popular Mechanics with him. I'm betting it'll be a while."

With a roguish smile, Marty head disappeared under the pouf of her skirts. She felt his lips draw across the insides of her thighs and shuddered. He was dangerously close…too close…how had he gotten there? They had just been talking and then all of a sudden—

Amelia heard voices and sat bolt upright. Her knee connected with the side of Marty's head. With an oomph he fell backwards, clutching his right eye. She yanked her underwear up and clumsily rolled off of the cot and onto her feet.

"What the hell, Aims?" Marty asked, gingerly testing the area around his eye.

"Shh!" she said sharply, hurrying to the window above the workbench. "Somebody's outside. I told you we'd get caught!"

"First of all," Marty said, pushing himself back onto the bed and covering the bulge in his pants with a pillow, "you never said that. Second of all, we didn't get caught!"

"Shh!" Amelia said again. Marty rolled his eyes. "It's Dad and that Hubert guy. They're coming!"

Jackson Hubert, followed closely by Emmett, strolled casually into the shop. His gaze drifted idly from Marty, who nodded tersely, to the misshapen lump of the car before falling on Amelia. He smiled, the sun dried skin around his eyes crinkling, and Amelia felt her stomach jolt. She couldn't help it. Even the ecstasy of being made up with Marty couldn't change the fact that Jackson Hubert was impossibly beautiful.

"Good morning, Miss Brown," Jackson said huskily, offering her a slight bow of his head.

"Mr. Hubert." Amelia smiled back, a tint rising to her cheeks involuntarily. She caught sight of Marty out of the corner of her eye. He looked like somebody had just forced him to drink sour milk.

"I've just spoken to your father and he's agreed to let me take you out for the morning." Jackson's grin widened. Amelia looked at her father. He gave a disparaging little smile. She frowned at him. Jackson's smile faltered a little. "Is there something wrong? Is that disagreeable to you?"

Emmett was shaking his head violently over Jackson's shoulder. He mouthed words to her she couldn't understand but knew meant she had to go with him, like it or not. Amelia was confused. Hadn't her father said not to accociate with Hubert? Why the sudden change of heart?

"No," Amelia said, meeting Jackson's gaze again. "That will be just fine."

"Marvelous! I have my wagon out front. Hopefully by the time we return your father will have finished shoeing my horse."

"Of course," Emmett said with a nod. He mouthed a very clear "Thank You" to Amelia the moment Jackson looked away.

"Shall we?"

He offered Amelia his arm and she begrudgingly took it. Jackson might be ridiculously good looking and charming, but the vague allusions to his reputation had Amelia worried. Having to spend the morning with him hardly appealed to her. She shot Marty a withering glance. To her surprise his sour milk face had changed to one of high amusement.

"Have fun, Sis," he said, waving at her. Amelia noted his eye was already turning an angry red. Clearly, he was interpreting this as an act of karma. Well, you didn't want him to be jealous anymore, Aims...

Amelia stuck her tongue out at Marty. She could hear him laughing all the way to Jackson's rig.