A Love Defying The Odds (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

  The pantry was now full, and Lillian was filled with a breath of fresh air, filled with hope and excitement. She took great care with her cooking, wanting everything to be perfect. The smell from the stew filled the house, and soon the added scent of fresh bread combined with it—a delicious mixture. This was her mother’s stew recipe, but she had not felt like making it for a long time.

  “Darling,” Dorothy said, appearing suddenly at Lillian’s side, “It smells wonderful.”

  “Thank you,” Lillian smiled, “It’s almost ready.”

  There was an almost painful domesticity in the air, with the familiar smell of the stew, mixed with the tobacco smoke from Uncle Jacob. It was as if the quiet that had settled over the house since Philip died was slowly lifting.

  “Oh, Lillian, I forgot to mention one other thing,” Uncle Jacob said as Lillian moved the heavy pot of stew onto the kitchen table.

  “What’s that?”

  “There is a fine young man that works for me,” Uncle Jacob began, “A business associate.”

  Oh boy, Lillian rolled her eyes.

  “He’s a good man, and I know that he is interested in marriage,” Uncle Jacob winked at her as he took a piece of bread from the basket.

  Interested in marriage? Now? Heavens… I have not even thought of such things, not since Father died. But I do not wish to disappoint Uncle Jacob.

  “Vincent is from a very nice family, and he is rather well off,” Jacob added, “Lillian, this food is simply too delicious.”

  “Thank you,” Lillian said, still processing her Uncle’s news.

  “So, what do you say?” Uncle Jacob asked her. Lillian looked at her mother, whose smile had faded a bit.

  “How about if I plan a little meeting with you two?” He added, with a shrewd glance to Lillian.

  Lillian gave her Uncle a forced smile. “Sure, I could meet him,” she said politely, “but please, only for a little while, I hope you understand.”

  “Of course, my dear,” Uncle Jacob grinned and laughed loudly. “Of course.”

  What have I gotten myself into? Who is this man?

  Chapter Two

  Utah

  Michael Flemming downed his whiskey in one gulp. He sat in a wooden chair that creaked as he slid his heavy boots across the filthy tavern floor. Michael decided to hurry over to the post office before they closed; he knew it might not open again very soon.

  Everything seemed to move at a slower pace here in Spring City, Utah. Michael had been traveling for almost two years now. He rode from city to city, town to town, taking in the vast American wilderness in all its splendor. Ever since he lost his mother at a very young age, he had a longing to explore—to discover.

  When he left, he did so not with the slightest idea of when—or if—he would ever return home to Rust Canyon. Being the sheriff’s son, made everyone look at him differently. And being brought up without a mother caused others to pity him, which he hated.

  He had kept mostly to himself growing up, going on long riding tours, just he and his faithful horse, Silver. He would often travel for days or even weeks, but his thirst for travel was never quenched. He always wanted to see more, to go further each time.

  Michael stood up, stretching his tired legs from sitting for so long.

  “One for the road?” the old tavern-keeper asked.

  “No, not this time, Jim.” Michael handed the gray-haired man a coin for his drink.

  “So, where you off to next?” Jim asked. “Cause, if you’re tired of the wandering life, my daughter thinks mighty highly of you.”

  “Well, your Cecilia sure is sweet, but I have not yet found where I’ll settle down.”

  “Suit yourself,” Jim chuckled as he picked up a glass and began polishing it.

  “I’m going to hurry to post office,” Michael said with a nod to his hat.

  “Take care,” Jim called after him.

  Michael bent down as he walked outside, his tall frame a little too long for the old door frame. He was a lean and athletic man with unruly brown hair and piercing green eyes. As he approached the post office, two young women walked past him, their arms linked. One of them blushed as she looked at him; the other smiled widely and batted her eyelashes at him.

  “Ladies,” Michael said, tipping his hat. They giggled but looked disappointed as he strode by. Michael was a very handsome man, and women were drawn to him. But he did not care much about that. Michael was on a quest to find his truth, his true meaning in life.

  A small bell tingled as Michael pushed open the door, and a man in a postal uniform turned around and smiled as he noticed who it was.

  “Mr. Flemming,” the man exclaimed.

  “Good afternoon,” Michael replied.

  “You are just on time,” the man said. “I was about to close, and you have a telegraph.”

  The man shuffled through a pile of telegraphs. After a few minutes of searching, he made a small triumphant sound and held out a white envelope.

  “Here you go,” the man said, “all the way from Texas.”

  “It must be my father,” Michael accepted the letter. “I told him I would stay here for a while.”

  “You know,” the postal worker said, his whole demeanor changing, “My sister, Gwyneth, would not mind at all if you decided to make this town a more permanent resident.”

  Michael chuckled as he opened the envelope and pulled out the telegraph. “I know she’s not much for the eye,” the postal worker continued as Michael unfolded the letter, “But she’s an excellent cook, and as you know, our mother is…”

  Michael could not hear the rest of the man’s story. His ears were filled with a strange humming sound, and he felt as if a heavy stone was settled inside him as he read the telegraph.

  Dear Mr. Flemming - stop - We regret to inform you - stop - that your father has passed away. - stop - Please return to Rust Canyon - stop - as soon as possible - stop - the funeral will be held on the third of June.—stop—Yours, sincerely, Pastor Williams.

  Michael read and re-read the short text. His father was gone, and Michael had not been with him. He carefully folded the telegraph back into the envelope and put it in his pocket. The postal worker had finally stopped talking, as he noticed that Michael wasn’t listening to him.

  “Are you all right there?” he asked.

  “Uh,” Michael said slowly, “I need to get going, sorry,” and at that, he walked out. Once he was outside again, the fresh air burnt his lungs, and he didn’t know whether he wanted to curse or scream. A heavy, yet familiar, sadness filled his whole being, and he walked towards the small inn he was staying at. He would need to leave as soon as possible.

  Michael couldn’t believe it… His father was gone, and they had not seen each other for such a long time. He had always imagined his father greeting him when he would finally return, with a painful hug and a bottle of gin.

  This means I must return home, and I will have to take over the sheriff’s position. I know that was his wish, and I will not disappoint him.

  * * *

  The next day Michael stood at the train platform, his weathered bag on his shoulder, and the telegraph in his breast pocket. He had been forced to sell his horse to be back in Rust Canyon before the funeral. It had pained him to do so, but the old farmer that bought him needed a horse for his carriage, and the farmer was a kind man that Michael had been acquainted with since his first day here in Spring City.

  A distant sound signaled that the locomotive was nearing, and Michael turned around to take one last look at his surroundings. A strange mixture of anticipation and sadness washed over him, and just a hint of excitement. Michael had been waiting for a change in his life. He just had not expected it to come at such a cost.

  * * *

  Lillian woke earlier than usual. Outside was still dark, but she was filled with excitement. Today was her first day working for her Uncle Jacob at the Saloon-Hotel. Lillian put on her new dress and tied a bow around her hair, keeping the golden loc
ks firmly in place. Her cheeks were flushed, and her heart beat rapidly. She hurried to the kitchen to finish her morning chores before she would leave for work.

  Heaven bless my darling Uncle, Lillian prepared breakfast for her mother.

  Lillian wondered how the Saloon-Hotel was looking; it had been closed off ever since it went out of business last year.

  Such luck that Uncle Jacob has come to live here, he has really benefitted the town with his clever dealings and business sense.

  “My, my, you look like an absolute angel,” Dorothy said, appearing at the kitchen door.

  “What are you doing up?” Lillian saw her mother was still wearing her dressing gown and clutching a knitted shawl around her shoulders. “It’s much too early.”

  “Nonsense.” She waved her hand toward the door. “And you should get going.”

  “I will just finish the bread.”

  “My sweet Lilli, I can do that.” Dorothy smiled. “I’m not incapable,” she teased.

  “You should not overexert yourself,” Lillian replied.

  “I will be fine. Now get going.” Dorothy untied the apron from around her daughter’s thin waist. They were almost the exact same height. Dorothy’s light gray hair had once been the same color as her daughter’s, and she was sure Lillian would fit into all of her old dresses. Lillian hugged her mother and kissed her cheek.

  “I will try to come back for lunch.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” Dorothy laughed. “Just focus on your work.”

  “Thank you,” Lillian called as she put her travel cape over her shoulder and fastened the hook. She tied her hat beneath her chin and walked out into the rising sun.

  * * *

  Lillian inhaled the morning air and sighed. She loved being out early and witnessing the town waking up. As she walked towards the main road, she saw Mrs. Smith, the seamstress, standing outside her house, dusting a large rug.

  Lillian smiled as a few children ran past her, their little faces ablaze with laughter and mischief. She turned to the right next to the small post office, and there it was—the large Saloon-Hotel. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, and she could not understand why.

  I feel ever so nervous, now that I am standing here. It is like I am walking towards my future, and the unknown has never before looked so tempting yet frightening. Lillian drew a deep breath to calm her nerves.

  I am being silly. There is no reason to be nervous. I am going to work for my darling, Uncle Jacob. This is an honor to get to work beside him, to be able to help him. Why do my hands shake? Lillian looked down and observed her trembling hands.

  Stop this, Lillian! I will go inside and stop worrying. I worry too much, anyway. And at that, Lillian dragged her feet forward, ignoring the inkling she had begun to feel in the back of her neck—the feeling as if someone was watching her.

  From an early age, Lillian had been a very sharp young girl. Her father used to say that she was the best judge of character he had ever known. But this had caused her trouble before. Once when she was barely fourteen, she had refused to shake an older man’s hand, who her father had hoped to do business with.

  Lillian could not explain why she refused, but she had the strangest impulse that the man was dishonest. As she had still been so young, she had said this out-loud within the man’s earshot. He had been very affronted and strode away, yelling about being insulted by a little girl.

  Dorothy had chastised Lillian for embarrassing her father, and Lillian had hidden away, afraid of her father’s reaction. But he only told her that if his darling daughter didn’t trust him, then neither should he.

  Although her father had not been cross with her, she overheard people discussing how poor old Philip Walter had missed out on a great investment. After that, Lillian made a promise to hold her tongue and be polite like a young woman ought to behave herself.

  * * *

  Lillian pushed open the door that led to the foyer of the Saloon-Hotel and entered. The insides of the old hotel looked nothing like it had done before. All around were men working: painting the railing, carrying huge and heavy looking tables across the room, and one man stood at the top of a wobbly looking stairs carefully fastening a glistening chandelier to the ceiling.

  Lillian looked around for her Uncle. She was so mesmerized by the glittering chandelier that she did not notice the two men walking, with a large carpet rolled up between them, balanced on their shoulders. They did not notice her either, and as they turned to walk towards the stairs, one of them bumped into Lillian. She yelped and was pushed backward.

  “Hey,” a voice behind her called at the men. Just when Lillian was sure she would crash into the floor, strong arms grabbed her.

  “Huh,” the man holding the back end of the carpet turned around to see Lillian half-carried by the man who had yelled.

  “You should watch where you’re going,” the man holding Lillian admonished.

  “Sorry, sir,” the worker said sheepishly.

  “You should be apologizing to this young woman,” the man retorted.

  “Beg your pardon, miss,” the worker replied.

  “I’m all right,” Lillian said, feeling a little embarrassed. The two workers hurried away from Lillian, and the man who had now carefully helped her regain her balance.

  “Are you really all right?” the man asked kindly, and Lillian finally had the chance to see her savior’s face. The man was taller than her, but not by a lot. He had black hair that was carefully combed, wore an expensive-looking brown suit that must have been made elsewhere. By the look of the careful embroidery of his waistcoat and the gold chain that led from his waistcoat to his pocket, the ensemble showed the man had money to burn. The strange man smiled at Lillian.

  “I am,” Lillian said and could not help but smile back, “thank you.”

  “Your welcome, miss,” he replied, “Oh, I’m Vincent, by the way,” he added, putting out his hand.

  “Vincent Hays.”

  Lillian extended her hand, and Vincent took her delicate hand in his and brought it to his lips. He gave her a soft kiss, and Lillian’s breath caught in her throat. Vincent was very different from other men she had met. He was very attractive and seemed to be quite chivalrous. Just as Lillian was about to introduce herself, a booming voice was heard from the top of the stairs.

  “Lillian!” Uncle Jacob called. Both Lillian and Vincent looked up as Uncle Jacob walked down the stairs.

  “I see you have met my niece, Vincent,” he added.

  “Oh, you’re Miss Walter?” Vincent said, a look of comprehension dawning on his face.

  “I am, Lillian,” she responded, “Lillian Walter.”

  “I should have realized,” Vincent said with a curious smile.

  “How so?” Lilian asked.

  “Well, your uncle has spoken so highly of his wonderful and lovely niece,” Vincent said, gazing into her eyes, “that I should have recognized you. After all, your uncle is not one to tell tall tales.”

  Uncle Jacob laughed heartily, “My sweet Lillian. This is the man I mentioned,” he said with an unmistakable wink. Lillian blushed in embarrassment, but to her surprise, Vincent looked a little uncomfortable as well.

  “How about I show young Lillian around?” Vincent asked Uncle Jacob.

  “Oh?” Uncle Jacob said.

  “Then we can all meet here after your meeting with the builders,” Vincent added pointedly.

  “Of course, yes, my meeting…” Uncle Jacob spluttered. “That is a good plan, Vincent.”

  “Please show Lillian around the hotel; she will need to see the kitchen, of course,” he added.

  “It would be my pleasure,” Vincent said.

  Uncle Jacob walked to the back, and Vincent turned to Lillian. “I am sorry about that,” Vincent said, “He is a good man, but he can be…” his voice trailed off.

  “I completely agree,” Lillian laughed, “I am excited to see the hotel.”

  “Well, let the tour begin,” Vincent said
with a dazzling smile.

  * * *

  The train car shook as it moved across the wide spans of the beautiful, but wild-looking scenery. Michael stared out the window, a strange emotion filling his entire being. When he left Rust Canyon, he had been excited at the prospect of exploring the countryside and meeting new people.

  He experienced a lot on his travels, and the prospect of taking over the sheriff’s position was not as daunting as it once had felt. Michael took out his father’s latest letter he had sent him and re-read it for the umpteenth time. His father had written about the usual brawls of the small business owners and who had gotten married—his not so subtle reminder that he would like his only son to get married. His father had briefly mentioned there had been a tragic fire.

  Michael was about to put the letter back into his bag when he noticed something in the message. His father had crossed out something, which at first Michael had only thought this an example of his father’s terrible hand-writing, but now he realized this was a name.

  Curious, Michael pulled out his worn-out bag and rummaged for the other letters his father had sent, searching for the first mention of a fire. Now that Michael thought about it, his father had mentioned many unusual accidents in his letters, but unfortunately, Michael though shamefully, he had not taken his father’s mentions seriously.

  He found the letter he was searching for and gently opened it. His father had sent it nearly a year ago when Michael had been traveling in Arizona.

  Dear Michael. Your latest telegraph only recently arrived with your new location, but I pray this letter will arrive before you head on to the next adventure. There has recently been a great fire; fortunately, there were no casualties. But this had a significant impact on the whole of Rust Canyon. The barn was ablaze for a whole night, casting a terrifying light over the town. I know you will think me an old man rambling, but it was like a warning. There is more to come; I am certain of it.