Brokken Brother: Novella (Brokken Road Romance Book 5)

by Abagail Eldan

  Brokken Brother

  A Novella

  Brokken Road Romances

  Book 5

  Abagail Eldan

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Brokken Brother

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Brokken Brother © 2018 Sheila Hollinghead

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Any discrepancies in the timeline between Brokken Brother and the other novels in The Brokken Road series are entirely my doing. Working with several other authors and attempting to keep an unbroken timeline for when characters arrived in our fictional little town in Texas proved to be a challenge. In a few places, that timeline needed to be twisted a bit.

  There are also minor characters in this series who appear in several of the stories. As with the timeline, there may be discrepancies in how those minor characters are portrayed from book to book.

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  This is a stand-alone novella although it continues the story of Brokken Arrow. The story will finish in Brokken Redeemed, coming soon.

  Dedication

  Brokken Brother is dedicated to my husband who has always supported my dreams.

  Thank you, Carl!

  Chapter One

  Fritz Brokken turned his horse onto the Brokken Road and pulled up. He’d ridden long and hard, and both he and his horse were exhausted and dusty from the journey. He took a minute to pour water from his canteen onto his bandana and wiped away some of the dirt, even though the water was freezing cold. The temperature had plunged last night. With no coat, he shivered and rubbed the numbness from his arms.

  Not two days ago, he’d been told Klint Caper was in Brokken. Fritz had no idea which house he lived in or else he would have arrived in the dead of night and been in and out quickly.

  All he’d been told was that Klint worked at the Brokken Bank. Fritz chuckled at the irony before becoming serious again. As far as he could figure, his best plan of action was to ride boldly into town, right up to the very bank he’d stolen from—stolen the hard-earned money from the good folks of Brokken.

  Fear pounded in his ears, although he’d grown used to that during the War. His hands would remain steady; it’d only been when he’d volunteered as a sharpshooter that his hands had shaken. Shooting unsuspecting men was not something he could stomach. He’d requested a transfer after his first foray and was granted it quickly. Being Franklin Brokken’s son had its advantages then. Today, his father’s name was but one more hindrance.

  He shifted in the saddle, his teeth chattering, and heard the comforting creak. There was something solid about a saddle. It held you in place and kept you from sliding off the back of the horse. He patted the mare’s neck and spoke a few soothing words.

  They could do this, him and his horse. All he had to do was stay in the saddle. He steeled himself for the ride into town and urged his horse forward.

  He was surprised at the number of horses and wagons in town. He came to a stop outside the bank and dismounted. When he tied his horse to the hitching post, he whispered he’d be back soon. He prayed his words were true as he stepped onto the boardwalk and opened the door to the bank.

  Lydia Walsh counted out the money into the customer’s hand and bid him good day. With the customer’s departure, the lobby of the bank was left empty. He had not expected to see Lydia and observed her for a moment, his heartbeat quickening.

  She smoothed down her dressed and patted her golden curls before turning to face him with a smile plastered to her face. The false smile that didn’t reach her eyes faded away. Her lips parted, and her eyes widened when he strode toward her.

  Before he could speak, Deborah and Klint Caper came out of the conference room, their heads bent together. Fritz stopped and pulled his gaze away from Lydia.

  Deborah held a ledger. She blinked and thrust the ledger into Klint’s hands and ran toward her brother.

  “Fritz!” Tears streamed down her face.

  Fritz caught his sister in his arms and swung her around. His gaze met Lydia’s blue eyes, and his heart thundered in his chest.

  How he wished things could have been different, that he could greet Lydia, but she would only interfere with his mission. He wrenched his gaze away and hardened his resolve. He had to stay focused.

  WHEN FRITZ CAUGHT HIS sister in his arms and swung her around, Lydia remained frozen. Her still posture hid the emotions swirling inside—at least, she hoped it did. Fritz glanced at her over his sister’s shoulder but did not speak and neither did Lydia.

  Instead, with his arm still around his sister’s waist, he moved toward Mr. Caper and grasped his hand, “Klint! Fancy meeting you here.”

  His grin wide, Mr. Caper clasped Fritz’s shoulder. “Colonel Brokken, it’s good to see you.”

  The door swung open again, and Lydia startled.

  Sheriff Vic stepped over the threshold. “Fritz, you are under arrest.”

  She gasped although she should not have been surprised. Everyone knew the Brokken brothers had robbed the bank. What was surprising was how Fritz rode back into town, to risk his freedom, and for what? Lydia’s heart constricted when the look of distress appeared in Deborah’s eyes.

  Deborah looked from her brother to the sheriff. “Wait, Vic. How did you even know he was here?”

  The sheriff had one hand on the handle of her gun, still in its holster. “Lots of folks saw him riding boldly into town, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Calvin happened to reach me first.”

  A flash of anger appeared in Deborah’s narrowed eyes. She stepped between Fritz and the sheriff. Lydia longed to help her friend but had no idea how.

  It wasn’t that she wanted to help Fritz. He’d ridden away without a word to her. And not a telegraph, not a letter, during all of these months. She scoffed. Why would she want a letter from a thief?

  Deborah looked to Lydia, as if for support, and then back to the sheriff. “If he rode into town, don’t you think that means something? Why would he do that? Don’t arrest him until you find out. Please.”

  Fritz remained composed, standing next to Mr. Caper. The only tell that he was agitated was a crease between his brows.

  Iron glinted in Sheriff Vic’s eyes as she pulled out the cuffs. “We can question him over at the jail.”

  Deborah grabbed her arm. “Do you need to cuff him?”

  The sheriff shook off her hand and moved toward Fritz who had remained silent until now.

  He took a step bac
k and raised a brow. “Do you mean to arrest me? For what?”

  Sheriff Vic all but shook a finger in his face. “Don’t play innocent with me, Fritz. You and your brothers robbed the bank.”

  His forehead furrowed. “Robbed the bank? Why would we do that?” He glanced to Deborah and back to the sheriff. Lydia could have sworn he was telling the truth, if she hadn’t known better.

  The sheriff grimaced and snorted. “You tell me, Fritz. Now hold out your arms.”

  Slowly, he did as he was told. “I assure you this is a mistake.”

  Sheriff Vic clicked on the cuffs, and Fritz lowered his linked arms in front of him. The cuffs emphasized the thinness of his arms. For the first time since he’d entered the bank, Lydia noticed he’d lost weight and wore no coat.

  Lydia puzzled over his appearance. She longed to believe him, longed with every ounce of her being, but how could it be a mistake? He’d been gone nine months. As far as she knew, he’d never contacted Deborah, certainly never contacted her, or anyone else in the town.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when Mr. Caper took her arm and pulled her to the wall at the back of the room. He probably felt as if they intruded on a family matter, as did she.

  Fritz looked around, as if confused. “Where are Curt and Karl? Curt sent me to New York, to apprentice under a friend of his.”

  “Apprentice for what?” Lydia asked, without thinking. Heat rose to her cheeks when the sheriff sent her a sharp look. She shrank farther into the corner and linked her hands in front of her.

  Fritz smiled vaguely in her direction before addressing the sheriff. “Curt wanted me to become a stockbroker. He hoped we could somehow infuse money into the town, help it to grow.”

  “And you stole the town’s money to help the town?” The sheriff’s eyes were incredulous.

  Deborah stamped a foot. “If that’s true, why didn’t you tell me? I’m your sister!”

  Lydia commiserated. Why hadn’t he told her, if the feelings he professed for her were true? His words only served to break her heart—no, it’d already been broken, split asunder, and was incapable of breaking further. She refused to shed another tear over Fritz Brokken. If he’d run off to New York without a word to her, with no explanation, how could things ever be the same between them?

  “I can explain...” Fritz said and shot her a sideways glance, as if reading her thoughts. His eyes clouded with pain.

  Deborah’s eyes glinted with anger, and lit anger in Lydia’s chest. “And not one letter from you! Not one word. And where are Curt and Karl?”

  Fritz looked abashed. “Curt and Karl were supposed to fill you in on the details.” He gestured with his hands, and it almost appeared his brown eyes glistened with tears.

  Lydia’s anger dissolved, and her heart constricted. Tears pricked the back of her eyes.

  The sheriff nudged him in the back. “You can tell the rest of your story in jail. Get going.”

  Chapter Two

  Fritz bit his bottom lip to stave off the tears. When was the last time he’d cried? The events of the last few months had taken a toll on him physically and emotionally. And seeing Lydia had made it more difficult to confront Deborah than he’d first imagined. The pain in the girls’ eyes was evident, and to know he was the cause troubled him.

  And then to walk down the boardwalk, with the cuffs drawing stares and town folks whispering, increased his agony. He did not recognize many of the people in the streets. He had expected the town to be sparsely populated, the way it had been when he’d left it.

  Without a coat, he shivered in the cold, although he suspected his shivering stemmed from more than the cold. His shoulders straightened, as if of their own accord. He was here on a mission and had to focus. His brothers needed him, and he would not fail.

  The sheriff walked behind him, her pistol holstered, although she occasionally pushed him along. Deborah and Klint followed until the sheriff pulled him to a stop. She inclined her head to his sister and Klint. “Go home, Deborah. Mr. Caper, you need to return to the bank.”

  Deborah was stricken. “Please. Let me go with you.”

  His sister’s distress constricted his heart, and to distract himself, he looked around at the curious faces watching from a distance. He hadn’t counted on this many men being in town. It’d be easy for the sheriff to get up a posse, if he even managed to escape.

  Sheriff Vic still contemplated his sister, a thoughtful look upon her face, and then she gave a nod. “Chance might show up at home... You’d better go to Abby’s.”

  Deborah had that look that Fritz knew only too well—fierce stubbornness, like when a snapping turtle got hold of you and wouldn’t let go until it thundered. The sheriff must have recognized it, too, for she pulled Deborah aside to speak quietly to her.

  Fritz took the opportunity to motion with his cuffed hands to Klint who moved closer. “Who is Chance?” he whispered.

  Klint gave a short laugh. “You know him. Chance Hale.”

  Heat crept up his neck. He knew him all too well. His breathing deepened, and he frowned. “What is he doing in Brokken?”

  Before Klint could answer, the sheriff turned back. “Get going. Fritz. Deborah’s coming with us. Mr. Caper, please return to the bank.”

  “You sure you don’t need help with this ruffian here?” His friend’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

  Deborah shot Klint a glare, and Klint winked. “Your brother and I go way back, Miss Brokken. He’s a fine man I’d trust with my life.”

  The muscles in her shoulders relaxed visibly. “I know he is. This is a mistake, and we’ll clear it up soon.”

  Her voice was loud enough to carry into the dusty street, and the chatter quieted. Klint’s eyes glazed and then he blinked as if a memory had come and gone, as it had to Fritz. Klint removed his coat and draped it over Fritz’s shoulders. The simple gesture produced a lump in Fritz’s throat, and he swallowed.

  Even the sheriff seemed affected, although she stepped closer to inspect the pockets without speaking.

  Fritz gave Klint a nod. “I did trust you with mine. And thanks for the coat.”

  “Get going now,” the sheriff said, giving a gentle touch on Fritz’s shoulder. She glared at Klint.

  But neither man moved for a moment. Klint’s eyes became serious. “Anything you need, let me know.”

  Only then did Klint turn to obey the sheriff. She wasted no time but hustled Fritz along until they reached the jail. Once inside, she motioned him toward the back and uncuffed him before opening the cell door. Fritz hated the thought of being locked up again, but he stepped forward into the cell. The door closed behind him with a solid click. A narrow window, set high, let in a thin stream of light. He paced around the small cell and willed himself to release the tension in his muscles.

  Deborah’s hands gripped the bars. “Please, Fritz. Tell us what happened.” Tears stood in her eyes.

  Lying to the sheriff was one thing. Lying to his sister was another. He bit his lip, and the sheriff pulled up two stools and positioned them outside his cell. “Sit, Deborah. We’ll both sit here and see if he can explain this situation to our satisfaction.”

  And Deborah took a seat and gave him an encouraging smile that did little to ease the queasiness he felt.

  LYDIA PEEKED OUT THE window, wringing her hands. As soon as Mr. Caper returned to the bank, Lydia locked the door and pulled the shade down.

  He raised a brow, his blue eyes sparkling, and moved toward her. “Does this mean what I think it does?”

  She backed away and gave a sigh of exasperation. His flirtation was a burden she bore with good humor, most of the time. His blue eyes made it difficult to stay mad for long. Today was different. “I wanted to ask you about Fritz ... Mr. Brokken.”

  Mr. Caper raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

  He didn’t make it easier for her. Instead, he moved around the counter and opened the ledger without speaking.

  Hating herself, she pushed the words out. “Did he ask ab
out me?”

  Mr. Caper’s eyes widened, and he tilted his head toward her, frown lines appearing. “No, Miss Lydia. Should he have?”

  Warmth crept into her cheeks. “Of course not. I thought he may have wondered what I was doing here at the bank.”

  Mr. Caper had not lived here when Fritz had been sweet on her. She’d forgotten for a moment.

  He grinned teasingly, and his eyes twinkled, but his words were softer, as if he noted her distress. “I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to him, not with the sheriff watching us like a hawk.”

  “Of course.” Warmth crept up her neck. She’d made a fool of herself over Fritz Brokken. When would she learn?

  She went to pull up the shade and unlock the door. She stamped down her embarrassment. “May I take my lunchbreak?”

  Mr. Caper studied her, his gaze serious for a change. “Yes, you can. Bring me back something, but Lydia ...”

  She’d snatched her coat from the wooden coat tree next to the front door and already had her hand on the brass door handle. She twisted her head to him. “Yes, sir?”

  A sternness settled on his features, a look she’d never seen before. “No gossiping. Understand?”

  She bristled, but something in his look warned her not to show her irritation. She simply nodded before she slipped out the door without taking time to fasten her coat.

  She headed toward Molly’s café and was stopped several times by curious friends and neighbors. She gave each one the same answer—a shrug. Mr. Caper had no need to tell her not to gossip—as if she’d gossip about Fritz, no matter how hurt and angry she’d been when he’d left without a word.

  She didn’t want to believe he’d stolen the town’s money, but what other explanation was there? Cold air nipped at her nose, and she pulled her coat closer around her and buttoned it with numb fingers. She was glad to feel the warmth of the restaurant when she opened the door.

  Molly met her with a smile. “You’re late for lunch today.”