The town of Cripple Creek was a relatively small town compared to the neighboring city, Victor, Colorado, however, it was a crowded and lively one. Flynn had moved to the town with his parents when he was a small boy. His father was certain that the move would turn their luck upside down, as luck had been mostly absent from their lives.
Flynn’s mother, Sarah, had been ill for a long time and Flynn’s father, Isaack, made the drastic decision to move the whole family across the country to seek a better life for them. Sarah died just after they arrived in Cripple Creek and then Flynn was alone with his father. That had been a lonely time, as Flynn’s father spent all his time in the mines, trying to find his fortune.
Any time he spent out of the mines, he was at the tavern. Little Flynn was left to his own devices, so when the time came when Flynn’s father suddenly died, the change wasn’t as abrupt as it ought to have been. But life became harder for Flynn.
Flynn detested the mines, and he never wanted to work there. He preferred being outdoors, and being a cowboy was perfect for him.
Flynn and Hart rode towards the town, side by side, Flynn towered over Hart. Not only was Flynn a very tall man, but his horse was also seemingly built for him, so next to others they often looked unnaturally big. But Hart didn’t mind, Flynn knew that.
Hart was a plump man, with a broad face that was never far from a smile. His eyes would crinkle as he wheezed with laughter and slapped his knee. Hart frequented the town’s tavern, where he was the life of the party. Flynn, however, had a quiet nature. His green, brooding eyes seemed to look right through people, which caused some people to be wary of him.
“You sure you don’t want to grab a drink with me?” Hart asked him again, as he tied his horse’s reins to the hitching post near the tavern. “You could meet a lady or two there,” he laughed.
“You know that’s not my kind of crowd,” Flynn said.
“Come on, you’re sure to have a little fun if you join us,” Hart tried to convince him but stopped at the look on his friend’s face.
“I’m sure,” Flynn replied as he dismounted his horse.
“All right then,” Hart said a little dejectedly. He walked towards the crowded tavern, and Flynn chuckled as he heard a joyful chorus of greetings from the tavern-dwellers. Flynn sauntered towards the post office, his heart beating a little faster. He was going to see if he had received any replies to his latest Mail Order Bride advertisement. This was his third one, and as of yet, he had received no response. He pushed open the door to the post office and entered.
“Good afternoon,” Sam Brown, the post officer said.
“Afternoon,” Flynn said in his low voice. “I came to see if I had any letters.”
“Let’s see, shall we,” Sam said as he began leafing through a large box filled with letters. His practiced fingers moved like spiders through the cream colored envelopes, and as he reached the end, he sighed. “Nothing in today,” he added sympathetically.
“Are you sure?” Flynn asked.
“Let me check one more time,” Sam said kindly. Once more, he leafed through the envelopes but said after he reached the end again, “Still no luck.”
“Alright then,” Flynn said, disappointed. “Thank you,” he added.
“You’re welcome, son,” Sam said.
Flynn left the post office feeling disheartened. He had turned thirty-three a few weeks ago and still there seemed to be a little chance of him getting married anytime soon. He looked towards the tavern. Screw it, he thought and walked directly towards the brown building. He slowly pushed the door opened and entered the rowdy room. Inside the tavern, the saloon area was full of people. Flynn spotted Hart sitting at the bar, and he hurried towards him.
“Flynn!” Hart exclaimed. “This is a surprise.”
“I figured one for the road could not hurt,” Flynn replied.
“Janine,” Hart called, his voice taking on an unnatural smarmy quality. Flynn had to stop himself from laughing. A curvy woman with tight brown curls waddled over to them. She had her hand on her hip and was wearing shocking red lipstick and a wicked grin.
“What will it be, sweetheart?” she asked Hart, but when she noticed Flynn, she bit her lower lip and sighed.
“Well, who do we have here?” she said, looking Flynn up and down. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”
“Flynn Morris.”
“Flynn Morris,” she repeated slowly. “I like it. Now where have you been hiding this one, Hart?” she teased.
Hart’s face turned a deep shade of magenta, and he spluttered, “He’s not the tavern kind of guy. If you know what I mean.”
“Not like you,” the curvy woman replied shrewdly.
“Yeah, like me,” Hart replied, mesmerized.
“You are a hoot, Hart, you are,” she laughed. “Now, what will it be Flynn Morris?”
“Whiskey,” Flynn replied. Janine poured him a drink and slid the glass smoothly over the polished bar towards him. Flynn caught it and took a large sip, enjoying the burning sensation as the liquid hit his throat.
“What brought you here?” Hart asked after a short pause.
“I wasn’t too keen on heading home just yet,” Flynn replied, still thinking about his disappointing trip to the post office.
“No replies?” Hart asked in a soft voice. Flynn didn’t respond but finished his drink in one gulp. He held up his glass, and the curvy woman returned and refilled it with a sultry wink.
“Don’t you worry,” Hart said consolingly. “A handsome devil like you will find a pretty little angel, of that I am sure.” Flynn chuckled into his glass but said nothing. Suddenly, he could not stand being inside the noisy tavern. Behind him, someone broke a glass and the whole room filled with roars of waves of laughter and wolf whistles as the curvy barmaid approached the man who had broken the glass and slapped him on the back of the head.
“I better get going,” Flynn said as he downed his second drink and stuck his hand in his pocket to get his money.
“No, no, no,” Hart argued. “Drinks are on me,” he said to Flynn. He then turned around and yelled, “Drinks are on me!”
The men cheered and clapped and Hart joined a group of men playing cards. Flynn stood up and walked towards the exit.
“No, surely you’re not leaving, are you?” the curvy barmaid asked him, blocking his way.
“I’m afraid I must, miss,” Flynn said politely.
“And we have barely gotten to know each other,” she said sycophantically.
“There’s not much you’re missing,” Flynn replied with a small grin.
“Oh, I think that is a lie if I ever heard one,” she replied with a wink. “Well, I will be missing ya,” she added with a flicker of her lashes.
“Have a good evening,” Flynn said with a tip of his hat. He moved aside from Janine and pushed the door open. As soon as he was outside, he breathed in the fresh air. Hart was right. I’m not a tavern-kind-of-guy, he mused as he walked away from the too-crowded tavern. Flynn preferred solitude if this was the alternative.
Flynn strolled towards his horse. He could hear Hart’s laughter from the tavern as the doors opened and closed. As he neared the hitching post, he noticed a group of men standing in front of the wall of the post office. They appeared to be reading something that was hanging on the wall. Flynn turned in the direction of his horse, away from the men when their talk caught his interest. He pulled his hat low and walked towards the men, intrigued.
“Oh man, three silver coins,” one of the men huddled by the wall fretted.
“This is by far the best prize they have ever had,” another man shouted, and the group of men roared with laughter.
“You got that, right!”
“Did you see this Boone?” The first man said to a man who had just left the tavern. Boone Jenkins swaggered towards his friend and pushed another man away to get a closer look. This gave Flynn a clear look at the advertisement that had been hung on the wall. It was a flyer for the
annual Big Windy Competition. Flynn read the description.
Like usually there was a marksmanship contest, rifle match, horse racing… he skimmed over the text, but as he read the bottom of the advertisement, he stopped dead. The prize this year was Aurelia Nelson’s hand in marriage.
“Aurelia Nelson is the prize?” Boone said eagerly; his friend chuckled stupidly. “She will be mine,” Boone added. Flynn observed Boone as he tore the flyer off the wall, much to the displeasure of the rest of the crowd. Boone Jenkins was the son of a mining tycoon, and he was very wealthy. He was younger than Flynn and almost a foot shorter, but he had a confidence about him that only being brought up in prosperity could explain. Flynn had thoroughly disliked him ever since he saw him terrorizing small children when Boone was a teenager. No one dared stand up to him, out of fear of persecution from the town’s wealthiest family.
Flynn walked away from the post office and noticed another flyer for the competition hanging on the wall of the general store. He looked around before he grabbed the flyer and hastily put it in his pocket. He returned to his horse, loosened the reins, and mounted. He wanted to hurry home to read the flyer without any interruptions.
* * *
The road towards his house was a narrow, strewn with rocks and tall grass. Few people traveled this road, but Flynn liked that. He kicked his horse up the steep hill that led to his home. He had built his house with his two hands and it wasn’t much, but it was strong and sturdy.
He dismounted and brought his horse into the small stable. He took his time to take off the saddle, brush his horse, and fil his water bucket. His horse was his livelihood and he took great care of him. After he added fresh hay to the stable and hung the saddle on the wall, he finally entered his home.
Flynn turned on his small oil lamp and peered inside the pot on the stove. The stew he had made the day before still smelled fine, he thought as he rekindled the fire in the stove. As the stew heated, he brought a bottle of beer from his small pantry and took a swig. He brought out the flyer from his pocket and straightened the crumpled up paper.
This could be my chance, he thought as he read the name Aurelia Nelson again and again. Could she be my future wife?
3
Aurelia sat outside the house churning butter. She could see her father riding towards the farm and focused all her attention on her labor. Lately, she had spent all her time doing chores, and with such precision that she hardly had any time to relax. Gone was her longing to have time to herself in the evening and sew.
She worked from the moment she woke until she could scarcely keep her eyes open. Her brothers had noticed this sudden change in their sister, and Billy was very worried. Aurelia’s mother had been unusually quiet since her husband made the announcement to their daughter a week ago.
Gary Nelson rode into the farmyard, slowing down as he saw his daughter. He sighed as he dismounted, noticing the stern look on her face.
“Good day, daughter,” he called.
“Hello,” she greeted him, her voice emotionless.
“Fine,” he muttered and put his horse into the stable. When he returned, Aurelia was getting up, carrying the churner.
“I have good news,” Gary said.
“Is that so?” Aurelia said coldly.
“We have over fifty applicants for the competition this year,” he said proudly. “We haven’t had that many in years!” he added.
“What wonderful news,” Aurelia replied, her face hard, as she turned around and carried the churner inside the house, leaving Gary alone. But he followed her inside the house, looking angry.
“It is good news,” he said as he entered the kitchen. “You should be happy that so many men want to marry you!”
“Happy?” Aurelia said with disbelief.
“Yes,” her father retorted. “You should be happy that you are helping your family.”
“By being won like a piece of meat,” Aurelia bit back.
“Don’t you dare speak to me with that tone,” Gary fumed.
“I’m sorry,” Aurelia replied slowly and turned her back towards him. “May I be excused?” she asked quietly.
Gary was breathing heavily, but he grunted his approval. Sophia appeared from the backdoor, carrying a basket full of vegetables.
“Oh dear,” she said. “What happened?”
“Aurelia disrespected me,” Gary spat. “She knows not of our struggles… Of how little we truly have,” he sighed, all the fight gone from him. Sophia put the basket of vegetables on the kitchen counter and approached her husband.
“She will understand,” she cooed. “You just have to give her time.”
“There is not much time left,” Gary said emotionally.
“I know, dear,” Sophia said sympathetically, sitting next to him and taking his hand in between hers.
“I am harsh with her because I have to… She does not realize how much this hurts me,” Gary said very quietly. “She does not realize how this breaks my heart…”
“Aurelia is as stubborn as you are,” Sophia said kindly. “One day, she will know why we did this.”
“Why I did this,” Gary interjected.
“No, my darling,” Sophia said. “We are one, you and I. This might not have been my idea, but I stand beside you, always.”
“You are kind, my sweet Sophia,” Gary said.
“Now we must hope that the best man wins,” Sophia said, and she was unable to hide the worried look that painted her face.
* * *
Flynn woke too late. The sun was high in the sky, and as he turned on his side, he groaned. He had laid awake for a long while, listening to the howl of the foxes and the sound of the crickets. That in itself was mighty unusual for Flynn. Most nights, he would get home, fix himself some dinner, and fall asleep as soon as his head fell on his pillow.
But now… Now he thought of little else other than the upcoming competition. It had consumed his mind, and the intensity of his thoughts was keeping him distracted. He wanted very much to compete. The idea of finding a wife this way was an alluring one. His mail-order bride advertisements had got him nowhere.
Flynn sat up in the small bed and stretched. He walked into the kitchen and took a bite of the stale bread on the kitchen table. Every day was the same, Flynn thought, as he poured the boiling water over the coffee pot. He longed for a change, for someone to share his life with.
Just as Flynn was about to leave the house a little while later, he turned around to look at the competition flyer again. After a moment’s hesitation, he returned to the kitchen and carefully folded the paper and put in his pocket.
Flynn rode towards the river where the cattle herd he was steering that day were gathered. He worked for many farms, roaming from one herd to the next, as most of the cowboys in the county did. As it was spring, he was mostly riding up the land with the animals, moving them between the grazing fields. Today he was riding with Hart again. The blazing sun was ruthless and the cattle hurried towards the shade of two large trees and drank from the river. He had hardly been able to focus on his duties as his mind kept wandering back to the flyer in his pocket. He caught himself whispering her name. Aurelia! Aurelia! He liked how it fell off his tongue. Flynn dismounted his horse and walked towards the river. He bent down and cupped his hands to splash water over his face.
“Phew,” Hart said as he dismounted his horse. “The sun sure is burning today.”
“Yup,” Flynn replied.
“You should have been at the tavern yesterday,” Hart said as he stroked his sweaty forehead with his handkerchief. “Everyone is talking about the Nelson competition.”
At that Flynn turned his head sharply in Hart’s direction. “They are?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Hart said. “Boone Jenkins was boasting yesterday about how he was sure to be the winner.”
“He said that, did he?” muttered Flynn.
“You know what he’s like,” Hart continued. “All bark and no bite,” he chuckled. Flynn felt
his determination for entering the competition soar like an eagle. When he didn’t speak, Hart continued, “But he is a swell rider, I must say.”
“Do you think you’ll enter?” he asked Flynn. At the question, Flynn unconsciously moved his hand over the pocket he kept the flyer in, but Hart noticed nothing. He was too busy fanning himself with his hat.
“I don’t know…” Flynn finally said. “And you?”
“It’s not for me,” Hart laughed. “I would rather spend my hard earned money on a bottle of gin, and besides, I want a woman who doesn’t expect me to be the very best at anything,” he finished and roared with laughter.
Flynn could not help but chuckle. “I think I might sign up,” he admitted.
“That’s great!” Hart exclaimed. “Boone might be a fine rider, but I’m sure he’s not half the lassoer you are.” Flynn grabbed his rope from the saddle and began tying the lasso knot.
“Come on, show me what you got,” Hart said with a huge grin. Flynn gave him a crooked smile and suddenly threw the rope into the air, causing Hart to gasp in surprise. Flynn turned the looped rope in a circle after circle before he finally slowed it down. He grabbed the rope again and adjusted the knot, and now he lassoed it around himself, so the circled band looked like a wagon wheel twisting around him. Hart put his fingers between his lips and whistled loudly in appreciation.
“What else are they competing in?” Hart asked.
“Riding, shooting, and…” Flynn paused as he tried to remember what the flyer had said. “Oh, yeah, whiskey-drinking.”
Caught Between Love And Duty Page 30
