A Western Tale of Love and Fate: A Historical Western Romance Book

by Cassidy Hanton

  “The job is never done until the man is caught,” Quinn answered, smiling. “However, that doesn’t mean that I can’t take a minute or two to pursue other things.”

  She nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s never a good thing to have only one pursuit in life,” she commented. “How is the hunt coming?” she asked as she stepped closer. She was dressed in a plaid dress and black boots. Her hair was in a single braid over her shoulder, falling to her ribs. She made a very pretty picture. The odd addition was the small child holding her hand. Quinn had seen the boy before at the saloon. He was the son of one of the waitresses.

  In the few short days Quinn had been in Shaniko, he had the opportunity to familiarize himself with the faces of the locals, including some of the beauties the town had to offer. Not that he was looking at the women with any intention, but observation, even in a cursory sense, came with the job.

  There were a few attractive women in town, but Zoe was by far the most comely out of all of them. She had a presence about her, a confidence which made her more appealing than the others who were timid and demure. They were the “find a husband” kind, while Zoe was something different. He found he liked that about her. Plus, she had those hazel eyes that made you take a second glance. Eyes you could get lost in if you didn’t take care.

  “Who is this young man?” he asked, as he looked down at the child who was half cowering behind Zoe’s skirts.

  “This is Timothy,” Zoe introduced. “Timmy, greet Mr. Mortensen.”

  The boy peeked out and then stepped forward, but just enough to face him, he kept the distance between himself and Zoe minimal. “Good day, Mr. Mortensen.”

  “Good day, Timothy. That’s a sound name. A Bible name,” he commented.

  “Yes, sir,” the boy agreed. “My Momma said he was an apostle.”

  “Your momma knows her Bible,” he said with a smile. He knelt before the boy so they could be on eye-level. “Are you living up to your name and doing good?”

  The child looked nervous. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But sometimes I git into trouble, but I don’t mean to. I just like havin’ fun, but then, my Momma gits mad because I dun somethin’ I wasn’t s’posed to.”

  Quinn chuckled. The boy was honest, that was always a good start. “Don’t worry, it happens to us all. I used to get in trouble, too, and my mother would scold me, but it was just so I’d know right from wrong.”

  “Which is important,” Zoe added. “If no one taught us, we’d do whatever we liked, thinking it was right. The ways of a man’s heart always seem right in his sight.”

  Quinn stood and looked at Zoe, a small smirk on his face. “I see his mother isn’t the only one who knows her Bible.”

  “You’d be right,” Zoe answered. She looked at Timothy. “We need to be going. I have to get him back to his mother.”

  “Which way are you headin’?” Quinn asked. Zoe made people feel at ease. Perhaps if he stayed close to her he’d get more information than he had on his own.

  She looked at him quizzically, but it was only for a moment. “The boarding house,” she answered. “His mother lives there.”

  She liked hiring women from the boarding house. Perfect. That was the one place that Quinn was unsure of. Getting access to female residents of the boarding house was a matter of delicacy. The matron would be cautious and getting past her would be a challenge. Also, Quinn did not want to be seen pursuing each woman individually. That could be complicated and Quinn did not need more of that. Chasing Victor was more than enough. However, an introduction from Zoe would almost eliminate that problem.

  “Mind if I join you?” Quinn asked.

  She smiled. “I had a feeling you’d ask that,” she replied. “Come on.”

  The three of them walked toward the boarding house as Zoe introduced him to those they passed.

  “Mr. Pritcher,” she said as they passed the general store, where a portly man, with a mustache several inches long, was putting out a sign. It read: “Today Only ten cents off all fabrics.” Several women were already considering the offer as he placed it for best visibility.

  “Miss Zoe,” he said with a smile. “We have a special today. Can I interest you in some fabric?” he asked. He had a distinctly eastern accent, New York or Philadelphia.

  “Perhaps later,” she said with an easy smile. “I have a parcel that needs to be returned to his mother.”

  “Hi there, Timothy! Have you been playing with firecrackers again?” the man mused.

  “No,” the boy answered. “My Momma took ‘em away.”

  Mr. Pritcher smirked. “I expect that happens when you set them off indoors,” he answered.

  “How did yah know I set ‘em off indoors?” Timothy asked in surprise. “You wasn’t there.”

  The older man chuckled. “I have spies,” he said. “And one of them told me you have a birthday coming up. If you’re good, you might find something special in my next shipment of toys.”

  Timothy’s eyes lit up like a lamp. “You serious?”

  “It depends on how good you’ve been,” Pritcher replied.

  “I’ll be real good Mr. Pritcher, I promise,” Timothy said grinning. Quinn noticed that he had a tooth missing.

  “I hope you know what you’ve done, Mr. Pritcher. He’s going to remember this,” Zoe said jovially.

  Quinn liked the sound of her voice as she spoke.

  “I expected as much,” the man replied.

  Zoe turned to Quinn. “Mr. Pritcher, may I introduce Mr. Quinn Mortensen. He’s staying in a town for a while. He’s on some very important business.”

  Mr. Pritcher turned to him with hand extended. “Mr. Mortensen.”

  “Mr. Pritcher,” Quinn answered as he took the man’s hand and shook it soundly. Mr. Pritcher might have looked soft and doughy, but his grip was firm and asserted.

  “What kind of business are you into?” Mr. Pritcher questioned.

  “I’m a bounty hunter,” Quinn said flatly. “I see to it that fugitives from justice get what they deserve.”

  Mr. Pritcher looked at Zoe and then his gaze returned to him. “Well, that is one interesting business to be in,” he commented. “And you’re here looking for someone?”

  “Yes,” Quinn answered as his hand immediately moved to retrieve the photo in his pocket. “This man.”

  Mr. Pritcher took the photo and looked at it carefully. He shook his head lightly. “He doesn’t look familiar, but if I see him I’ll be sure to let you know.” He was the first person to say so.

  Quinn took the picture back. “Thank you, I’d appreciate that.”

  They left Mr. Pritcher. Soon after, Zoe introduced Quinn to the women who were standing nearby. She was being a very good hostess, even outside the saloon. It was no wonder people regarded her as they did. They returned Timothy to his appreciative mother. She was feeling under the weather and the boy’s excited nature had prevented her from getting the rest she needed. Zoe, in an act that seemed customary to her, took on the responsibility of the boy for the day.

  They walked back toward the saloon. Evening was setting in and with it the town came to life, as did Zoe’s business.

  “Quinn, may I say something? And please don’t take offense,” Zoe commented when they were almost to the saloon.

  “Go ahead. I don’t offend easily,” Quinn replied calmly.

  “Good,” she said as she stopped in front of the bathhouse. “You smell.”

  An unexpected laugh leaped from Quinn’s lips at her frankness. “Well, that was unexpected.”

  “I know,” Zoe answered. “But I had to tell you. People in this town are very pleasant and won’t say a word, but I will. I have an arrangement with Mr. Cleaver, the owner of the bathhouse. My guests get a special discount. Use it as often as you like.” She turned and continued to walk.

  Quinn lingered in his spot and watched as Zoe sauntered away. He could not help the grin that lingered on his face. No, she was definitely not the mild-mannered type. He
followed after her. The saloon had already begun to fill when they arrived. Quinn followed Zoe into her office.

  “Do you play poker, Quinn?” she asked, as she pulled a deck of cards from her desk drawer.

  “On occasion,” he answered, as he took a seat.

  Zoe grinned and proceeded to shuffle the deck. “Faro?”

  “Are you betting?” Quinn asked.

  “Of course,” Zoe answered. “Ten cents a hand.”

  The game was keen but friendly, and the pot went both ways, one moment Quinn was winning and then the next, Zoe had a streak. In the end, they were both evenly matched, but it was Zoe who came out a few cents richer.

  “Well played,” she commented. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

  “I could eat something,” Quinn answered.

  Zoe smiled and got to her feet. “I’ll be right back. You can wait here.”

  Quinn watched the gentle sashay of Zoe’s hips as she left the room. He smiled to himself. It had been a quite a while since he had stopped this long to take in a game and admire a pleasant shape. His entire life had been the hunt, for five years his every waking moment had been Victor, and sometimes even his dreams.

  He forced himself from his seat and wandered toward the door. He opened it and looked out. The place was packed. In the time that their game had progressed the entire place had filled to capacity. It was the perfect time to question people. Drunk lips often spilled more than sober ones. However, for the first time, Quinn did not find himself in a rush to interrogate. He would wait for Zoe to return. He watched things for a few moments before turning back inside.

  “Mr. Mortensen,” the bartender called as he rushed toward him.

  “Wiley?” Quinn asked as he turned to the man.

  “Yuh know yuh were lookin’ fer that feller?” he said. “Well, I got a man who says he’s seen ‘im.”

  Quinn’s heart began to race immediately. “Show me.”

  Wiley led him to the bar where a miner was sitting with his cigar dangling from his lips.

  “That him?” Quinn asked. Wiley nodded.

  “Boucher, this here’s Mr. Mortensen. Tell ‘im what yuh told me.”

  The stalky man turned in his seat. “I know the man you be lookin’ for. They call him The Boar.”

  “Yes,” Quinn said eagerly. “Do you know where he is?”

  “He was out by the mines a few days back. I was panning when he passed through, said he was lookin’ for someone, but I don’t remember who.”

  “Can you show me where this mine is? What direction did he head in?”

  “Yes, and South, toward them Indian lands the government dun turned over,” the man answered.

  Of course, he would head that way. Victor’s mother had been an Indian. Quinn discovered that when he was investigating possible people who would hide the fugitive. It was her people who taught him to track. It was likely they would protect one of their own, even if he was a half-breed.

  “Wiley,” Quinn said, as he turned toward the man. “Tell Miss Zoe I’m sorry, but I have to go.” He pulled out several coins. “This should cover the cost of my room for a while. Tell her I’ll be back.”

  “What’ere yuh say,” Wiley answered as he took the coins and slid them into the pocket of his waist apron.

  “You ready to leave?” Quinn asked the man beside him unceremoniously.

  “Yes, sir,” he answered as he got to his feet. “I do what I can to help the law.”

  Quinn smiled to himself. He was sure it was less about the law than the prospect of collecting part of the bounty on Victor’s head, but that didn’t matter. Quinn would gladly share the prize if it meant Victor Norton returned to Boston and the hangman’s noose.

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Six

  Zoe was not a woman who was bored easily or often. Never, in fact, but since Quinn’s abrupt departure from Shaniko, there was a distinct void in her life. It was unexpected and unwelcomed. She had not realized that he had come to occupy so many of her hours. What was worse, now that he was gone, those hours were still occupied with thoughts of him, and of worry.

  Wiley had informed her of the man who had news of Victor’s whereabouts. Why had he come into her saloon? Why could he not have left well enough alone? If he had, then Quinn would still be searching town for clues, instead of chasing Victor down to wherever he was hiding. It was a pursuit that was dangerous for them both.

  “Pour me a drink.” she instructed Wiley, as she leaned back against the bar. She was looking at the empty room and wondering what that night would be like. The past few nights had seen more people than ever before. A new vein had been struck and men were coming into town eager to change their new wealth for cash and to spend it on the little pleasures Shaniko could provide.

  The amount of money being spent in town was making all of the residents very happy, including the ladies from the boarding house. Reverend Dean was going to be a very busy man for the next few weeks. The newly rich were finding themselves brides on every corner. Even Zoe had received some offers. She had never been proposed to by so many drunken miners than she had in the past two days. Still, even that could not distract her from the possible fates of Quinn and Victor.

  “There you go,” Wiley said, as he pushed a glass in her direction.

  “Thank you,” Zoe said, before taking a sip. The dark liquid rolled over her tongue with an even, bitter sweetness. Sarsaparilla was Zoe’s drink of choice while on the saloon floor. People didn’t know she didn’t drink liquor, only her staff. What would it look like if a saloon owner refused to knock one back with her patrons?

  Alcohol dulled the senses and she liked to be alert. In a business where the inebriated got rowdy quickly, it was always best to have a level head about you.

  “I’m going in my office. Let me know if anyone comes by,” she told Wiley as she set the empty glass back on the bar top.

  “Anyone in particular?” the barman teased.

  Zoe smirked. “Just let me know.”

  “Yes, Miss Zoe,” Wiley replied with some amusement.

  Zoe sat at her desk and tried to go over the stock list, but it was useless. Quinn’s face kept appearing in her mind, the oval face that had been covered in stubble when they met; his skin lightly tanned from days and days riding on the open range; his uneven black hair that just met his shoulders. Several times she had been tempted to ask him to trim it, but she just let it be. If he liked it, who was she to say otherwise? She prayed he never found Victor. It would be a terrible thing to see such handsome features marred.

  Victor’s story was little known. Zoe had heard it from his own lips late one night when he had gotten blind drunk. It was the first and only time she had ever seen him in such a state. It was in that frame of mind, that he told her it was the anniversary of his mother’s death, and told a story he might never have otherwise.

  Victor was a product of his circumstances. His father was a vicious man, who took an Indian woman as his wife but treated her more like a slave than a person. No one could tell him differently, not if they wanted to keep breathing.

  Vincent Norton’s rage was something everyone, including the sheriff of their small town, used to fear. Victor never told her where he was from. However, he told her that there, everyone knew there was no stopping his father once he got angry, and it took nothing at all to get him there. His son knew better than anyone what it was like. Victor had suffered at his father’s hands as much as his mother.

  His father’s barbarism had sent a young Victor into the woods, alone and with nothing to help him, on the order to bring back the pelt of a wolf or not to come back at all. Miraculously, the child had done as commanded, but it had transformed him. Then his mother died.

  Everyone believed that Vincent killed his wife. However, he said she ran off, and with nothing to prove otherwise, there was nothing for anyone to do. Victor knew, but as an eleven-year-old boy, he could do nothing about it. Her death left Victor alone with his
father, until one day when Victor was eighteen, his father disappeared as well. No one looked for him. Zoe wondered if that meant that Victor had repaid his father the kindness that he had shown his mother, but knew better than to ask. She had not been sure she even wanted to know.

  Zoe pitied Victor. She pitied the child who never knew peace, who watched his mother murdered at his father’s hands. He was a boy who became everything he hated most. However, he would show no pity to Quinn, and the bounty hunter shared his feelings. There would be no happy endings for any of them if someone didn’t stop, but neither of them would be the first to relent. The thought pained her.