For the Love of a Wounded Cowboy: A Historical Western Romance Book

by Cassidy Hanton

  Every delay set him further on edge. The rain was still pouring down all around him. The earth had visibly softened and as the lightning continued to fork across the sky, Quinn could see where pools had begun to form on the plain before him.

  He was tired. He could feel it now with the reduced pace. The desire to rest was tugging at him like a child on its mother’s skirts, pleading for attention. He was trying to swat it away, but the desire to listen was more powerful. He could feel himself wanting to give in.

  Find him!

  The voice was sudden and a shock to Quinn’s senses. He looked around him in confusion, pulling his shotgun from beside the saddle and drawing it to his eye, ready to fire, as he searched for where the voice came from. He turned in every direction as the horse continued on its course. His nerves were raw. The slightest hint of an attack and he was ready. It took Quinn several seconds to realize the voice was from his own head. Even then, he didn’t lower his weapon, just to be sure.

  Finally, when he was positive it had been his own thoughts urging him, Quinn lowered his shotgun. He didn’t put it back in its holster but instead laid it over his arm as he continued on his journey. It was probably best there.

  The horse was breathing heavily when they finally reached their destination. Quinn knew he had broken the beast, and he was sorry for that, but his job was important and nothing was going to stand in his way. He would see it to a good farm somewhere where its life could be easier, but in the meantime, he needed him.

  He stopped the horse far enough from the house so that the sound of his snorts could not be heard. Quinn watched the small house from a distance, studying it for movement. There was a single window on that side of the building and bright yellow light was filtering through the panes. It was an easy vantage point into the house. It also made it easy for anyone to see out. Quinn kept watching.

  He was unflinching as he watched. He needed proof that Victor was there before he went in, and there was no movement. It would defeat the purpose if he went in and found the place empty, and in the process let Victor know he had closed in on him. No. Quinn needed to be sure the man was there first.

  Another hour passed in silent vigil but Quinn would not be defeated. The horse, he suspected, was happy for the break. He hoped he enjoyed it. Quinn was tired, hungry, and saddle sore, none of which was going to ease anytime soon. It was all right. He was used to it. A shadow moved by the window and Quinn’s breath stuck in his lungs. Someone was in the house.

  He slid from his saddle, ignoring the pain of the action as he did so. He checked the two guns at his hips and then the shotgun in his hands. It was a Sharps Model 1874 Creedmore. Its long barrel glistened in the lightning. It was a single barrel, but more accurate than most rifles out there. You didn’t want to get close to Victor if you could help it. The further away the better and this gun was noted for its long-distance accuracy. It was why Quinn bought it. Otherwise, he still had his faithful Winchester. He took them both.

  He tied his horse to the nearest boulder he could find and made sure it was secure. He didn’t need the old boy running off on him now. Quinn then reached for his gun’s scabbard and slipped the Winchester onto his back. He kept the Creedmore at hand.

  His heart had begun to pick up pace as he strode toward the house. He could hear nothing but howling wind and the intermittent claps of thunder. It was as if the angels themselves were applauding the fact that he was finally about to get his man. Quinn wouldn’t accept any congratulations unless it came from Mary Hutch.

  His heart was drumming in his ears as he closed in on the property. He heard a string of expletives from within as glass shattered. He stopped in his tracks. It was Victor. He knew that voice anywhere. Quinn fought the urge to grin. I hope whatever it is cut you.

  He crept up to the window, ensuring he stayed beyond the reach of the light from within. He flattened his back against the house and continued to listen. He breathed several deep breaths before peeking into the room quickly and returning to his spot. Quinn’s eyes took in the room at a glance. Victor was there. He was in the room, distracted by a broken lamp. Now was his chance.

  Quinn ducked beneath the window and crept to the front of the house. He stood by the door and waited several seconds for his hands to steady. He’d waited a long time for this. He could hardly believe that the time had finally come.

  He didn’t wait a second longer than it took his hands to still. He grabbed the handle of the door and swung it open in one fluid motion as he stepped inside. He raised the gun at the same time that Victor came up with his side pistol. The man was always ready. They stared at each other with guns raised.

  “Mortensen,” Victor growled in his bear-like voice.

  “Victor,” Quinn answered as both guns cocked.

  “How’d yah find me?” the burly man asked, as he pulled his other sidearm from its holster. His eyes never left Quinn.

  “I’ve gotten pretty good at tracking you over the years,” Quinn answered. “I just followed the stench.”

  Victor laughed snidely.

  Quinn’s jaw clenched. “It’s over, Victor. You’re going back to Boston to face your crimes.”

  The outlaw looked at him with the coldest, deadest eyes Quinn had ever seen, as a low, menacing warning was issued. “I don’t think so.”

  Chapter Two

  It was three in the morning but the saloon was busier than ever. A caravan was passing through town and with it came a ton of whistles that needed to be wet, something that made the establishment’s proprietor, Zoe Ferguson, smile with delight. The Red Stallion Hotel and Saloon was her pride, the result of hard work and long hours, and now she was reaping the rewards of it.

  At twenty-six she was a self-made woman. She had come to Oregon and the town of Shaniko on her own. The rush of men to the region with hopes of making it rich in gold was what supported her in those early days. She was twenty-years-old with nothing but a few dollars, a small bag of clothes and her cooking utensils. She added to that a dream and tenacity.

  She started cooking hot meals for the miners and set up a small outdoor restaurant. She parked the small wagon she had borrowed for the day near the mine. She then set out a table and a few chairs and rang the dinner bell. That first day twenty men came to dine at her makeshift mess hall, each paying a dollar for their meal. It wasn’t long before others came to join them. Soon, she had nearly fifty men coming to fill their bellies on a daily basis. A frugal woman, with a mind for business—something she learned from her former employers—it wasn’t long before she was able to buy the broken-down restaurant in town and turn it into what it was today.

  “Miss Zoe, can I get another one?” Lance, the local deputy sheriff, and a frequent visitor to The Red Stallion called as he raised his empty glass. He was a tall man, sturdily built, who liked his face neatly shaven and his whiskey on the rocks. He was single, had never been married, though he had proposed to her more than once when he was drunk. Most of the men in the saloon had.

  Zoe was a favorite amongst the men in town mostly, she suspected, because of all the ladies in the small town of Shaniko, she was the one with the most mystery. Men liked to solve puzzles. It didn’t hurt that she had one of the best figures in town, either, and that wasn’t just her opinion.

  She smiled at Lance and the large space between his front teeth as he grinned back at her. “I’ll get Liza right on it,” she answered with a smile that belied the nervous twisting in her stomach.

  “Why can’t you do it?” Lance asked as he reached out to take hold of her hand. Clearly, the whiskey was going to his head, but she allowed him to take her hand.

  “Because I have other business to take care of. You aren’t my only customer, you know,” she teased as she gently pulled her hand away and carried on about her business.

  “I’m yer best customer,” he called after her.

  Zoe shook her head and laughed lightly as Liza approached her. “Give the deputy three more shots, but water them down by thir
ds,” she instructed seriously. Lance had a place in town and getting drunk wasn’t becoming of a lawman. It was his one failing. He loved his job and his drink a little too much for her tastes.

  “Yes, Zoe,” the blonde replied as she looked past her. “He’s really putting them back tonight ain’t he?”

  Zoe nodded as she looked at Lance compassionately. “It’s the anniversary of his sister’s death,” she stated. “He always gets this way on this day.” She turned back to Liza. “Make sure and do what I tell you. Watered down by thirds.” She gave the woman a pointed look.

  “By thirds,” Liza repeated before she turned to the bar to get Lance his drink. Zoe watched her, and made sure Liza did what she was instructed, before taking a stroll around the room.

  The Red Stallion Hotel and Saloon was the only one of its kind in Shaniko. There was a small boarding house down the road, but that was mostly tailored to the mail-order brides that the new marriage board was bringing in by the coach-load. Zoe couldn’t imagine being one of them, coming to a strange place to be dependent on some man they had never met. It just didn’t make sense to her and Zoe tried to do what was sensible.

  The hotel took up the entire top level of the two-story building. The bottom floor was the saloon, fully equipped with a bar on one side of the room and a small platform on the other, where a piano was set up. Most nights Hank Flanders played to entertain the guests, but on special occasions, Tilly Swan would sing. She was a petite woman with a nightingale’s voice. When she was singing there wasn’t a seat or an empty glass to be found in the house.

  The main floor was covered with round tables, each with at least four chairs around it. Made it easy for a hand of poker that way, and everyone in town liked poker, except for Reverend Dean. He didn’t like much. On the top level, the stairs forked left and right, each side leading to five bedrooms, one of which was always occupied—Zoe’s. It was the one at the end of the hall on the right, the one with the best view. She was heading in the opposite direction that night.

  Anxiety knotted her stomach as she did one more turn around the room, though she never looked it. A smile was permanently painted on her delicate features hiding all of her true feelings inside. Once she was sure everyone was having a good time and wouldn’t notice her, she ducked into the kitchen.

  “I need a basin of hot water for upstairs,” she instructed the cook. It had been a while since Zoe had prepared a meal herself in the saloon. Now she had two cooks who made her recipes to her specifications.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Weyland Tanner answered as he wiped his hands in his apron and went over to the stove. He took the pot that was at the ready with hot water and poured some into one of the large basins from under the sink. “Do ya want me to bring it up for ya?”

  “No,” Zoe replied shortly. “I can handle this myself. Customer’s really testy about people,” she explained. Weyland nodded and went back to work. Carl, the other cook, didn’t even look up. He was the kind of man who minded his own business, even when it was going on right in front of him. She liked that about him. In many ways, he was just like her.

  Zoe protected her hands with a dishcloth as she took the basin out. She gave the room a cursory glance to make sure no one was watching. They weren’t. She headed upstairs.

  Her heart was beating hard in her chest as she turned left at the top of the stair and approached the second last door. She stood outside it for a moment as she took several cleansing breaths to calm herself.

  “It’s me,” she said just loud enough for Victor to hear her over the thunder and lightning. Years had passed since she last saw him, but every once in a while, he entered her mind and she wondered what had become of him. Six years was a long time. Still, when he had arrived half an hour before, wounded and demanding her help, she had to oblige. Zoe hoped the storm would pass soon so he would leave.

  A second later Zoe heard movement on the other side of the door before it opened a crack, and a large dark eye peered out at her. The door then swung open briefly to allow her in before it was immediately closed behind her.

  Zoe walked over to the small table in the corner and set the basin down. “I brought the hot water,” she stated as she turned to the large man who was standing behind her. His shirt was bloody down the left arm, as was the front. She looked at him pitifully.

  “What?” he growled.

  “Just look at you. How did you do this to yourself?” she asked as she stepped closer to inspect the wound. His left arm was hanging limply at his side. Blood was dripping from the tips of his fingers. She sighed as she took his hand in hers. “Let’s patch you up. Sit in the chair.”

  Victor did as he was told. He always did what she told him. He took a seat beside the table as Zoe brought the lamp closer. She pulled open the drawer and removed the needles she’d hidden there earlier. She took one out and looked at the point. They were brand new and had never been used. She regretted this was the way they were going to be christened.

  “Are you sure you don’t want some whiskey or some bourbon? This is gonna hurt.”

  Victor shook his head. “Just do it.”

  “Fine,” she answered with a huff. “Don’t say I didn’t want you to.”

  She ripped his shirt from wrist to shoulder to expose the wound. She wrinkled her face at the large hole that was in his arm. She looked at Victor—it was clear to her that this was no trapping accident as he’d claimed. Someone had shot him, but she knew better than to ask. Victor wasn’t a man who liked to answer questions and he liked it even less when people asked them.

  She turned to the basin and the cloth she had brought up. She dipped the end of it into the water and then began to clean the wound as best she could. She took the needle she had inspected and threaded it. She dipped it and the thread in the hot water, sliding it through to make sure the thread was hot. She looked at Victor hesitantly.

  “Do it,” he ordered.

  Zoe bit her bottom lip and stuck the needle in his arm just below the opening of the wound. She grimaced as she felt the slow tug of the thread through his skin. Victor didn’t flinch.

  Twenty-two times she had to thread the needle through his flesh, and each time she felt it inside of her, while Victor never uttered a word. She couldn’t believe how stoic he remained. It was almost as if he felt nothing.

  “There,” she said after she knotted the last stitch and cut the thread. She put the needle aside and looked at her blood-stained fingers. She swallowed hard as Victor looked at his arm.

  “You did a good job,” he said, as she turned to the basin to wash her hands.

  “Thank you,” Zoe replied nonchalantly. “How long are you gonna need to stay?” The room was occupied but she wasn’t making anything from it, and this was her business, not her house, and Victor wasn’t exactly her friend.

  “Just tonight,” Victor answered. “I’ll be on my way before dawn.”

  She looked at him questioningly. “What’re you into?”

  His dark eyes rose to her face. “Nothing you need worry about,” he answered.

  “You can’t just show up here whenever you like,” she sighed. “You’re puttin’ me in a position. I have the deputy sheriff downstairs, and it’s clear to me whatever you’ve gotten yourself into is something he’d be really interested in knowing and I want no part of it. You understand?”

  Victor got to his feet immediately, his hulking form dwarfing hers as he stood up. Zoe took a step back.

  “It’s nothing yah have to worry about,” he said in a low tone. “Forget I was here.”

  Zoe swallowed down her discomfort. Though she knew Victor would never hurt her, the mere size of the man was enough to make anyone nervous.

  “Clean this up,” she instructed him as she moved to leave. “Toss the water out the window or else people will ask questions. I’ll come for the basin once downstairs clears out.”

  Victor stopped her before she reached the door. He grabbed her arm gently and stood behind her. His voice was a whispe
r in her ear. “Don’t forget, Zoe. You owe me.”

  She turned her head so she could see the side of his hairy face. “I know,” she answered gently. “You helped me once, and every debt must be repaid. I’ll do my part.” She looked down at where Victor held her arm. He released her and she continued to the door.

  Once outside, she released the breath she’d been holding and closed her eyes as she tried to calm herself. She had work to do. She put her smile back in place, and pulled her auburn hair over her shoulder, before going back downstairs.

  Six years ago, when Zoe was new to Shaniko, she found herself in trouble. Her efforts to feed the miners and build her business had resulted in a few of them becoming on friendly terms, as was expected. Unfortunately for her, a few of them thought her business’ profits were the perfect supplement to their own pockets. They were new to town and saw more profit in robbing her than in panning for gold.

  She was alone, closing up for the day, when they appeared. There were four of them. They demanded the money, which she was not about to give up. She had worked too hard for it. Still, she was not entirely sure how she was going to get out of her predicament.

  They overpowered her after a struggle. Zoe was able to make the nose and mouth of one man bleed, with the help of a skillet, before she was tackled by another. She scratched and clawed at them the entire time they held her down. It was soon clear they wanted more than just money. The look in their eyes was something Zoe would never forget. She was praying with all her might for God to save her, when Victor showed up.

  He had become a regular to her restaurant whenever he was in the area. He ate there nearly every day and they had come to an understanding, a strange sort of friendship. She respected him and he did the same in return. She had never been so happy to see him, charging in like a bull to her rescue. He had heard their plans and lingered to keep an eye on her. It was then that she made a vow that whatever he needed, she would do, to repay him for what he had done. It was only now that he had called in her debt.