by Ava Winters
“I should have come earlier,” she whispered to Peter.
“I told you that everyone would be here,” Peter reminded her.
Layla sighed. “I should’ve listened. I just thought I’d have time to get the saloon opened earlier since we’re closed for part of the day.”
Peter smiled. “It’s alright. I’ll keep you company.”
“The best company,” Layla replied. She reached over and took Peter’s hand, and he smiled at her.
They sat quietly together as, case by case, the matters of others were dealt with. An hour later, Layla was more than anxious and exhausted from waiting, but there was nothing she could do about it. If she left, she risked the chance that her matter would be called and she would not be there for it. She couldn’t do that.
“McCarthy,” the judge called aloud. It almost made Layla jump.
Her heart began to race as she got to her feet and approached the table where the judge was seated. “Yes, sir.”
The plump man looked over his crooked nose at her. His eyes were pinpricks behind his thick glasses, and his expression was so stern, it made Layla feel as if she was a child in school all over again. He reminded her of her first headmaster, who had a penchant for the paddle and didn’t give second chances on anything.
“Mrs. Layla McCarthy,” he repeated. His voice was grave.
“Yes, sir,” Layla replied. She did her best not to stutter.
The judge’s eyes lowered to the documents in front of him. “Mr. McCarthy isn’t here?” His head rose again as his eyes searched the room. He had no idea why Jacob wouldn’t be there. It wasn’t something he needed to know and definitely not something she was about to share. Layla’s only hope was that he would not demand her husband’s presence. If he did, then she didn’t know what she would do. Jacob would never come back to Richstone.
Layla turned slightly and glanced over her shoulder at Peter. He nodded at her encouragingly. Did he know what she was thinking? Lately, she was beginning to wonder if he did. In the weeks since their return, they had become even closer. Now, it felt as if they had always been together.
She turned back to the judge. “No, sir,” she answered quickly. “He isn’t here.”
The judge nodded his head and hummed slightly. “Do you know why it is that he felt he didn’t need to attend my court? What was more important?”
Layla’s heart began to thunder in her ears. “I do not know, Your Honor,” she replied. “He just didn’t come.”
The judge folded his hands in front of him. “I find his indifference to this court highly offensive. Let it be known that, whatever the cause, a plaintiff’s presence is not optional,” he stated angrily. “If I wanted to, I would demand his presence today.” Layla’s heart faltered. “However, I do not see why I should prolong this matter for you, Mrs. McCarthy, when you have been so patient with this court today.”
Layla released the breath that was burning in her chest. Thank God.
The judge looked over the documents before him once more. “I see that Mr. McCarthy has already signed the documents, and I see that you had no property between you. Is there nothing that you shared?”
“No, Your Honour. Nothing,” she answered quickly. Her fists tightened nervously at her sides.
Please. Please.
She recited her simple prayer in her head as she waited for the judge to continue. He sat silently, and each second that passed, Layla felt as if she was about to explode with anxiety.
The judge took a deep breath, scribbled something down, and closed the file before him. He looked up at Layla and her breath caught in her lungs. When their eyes met, she felt as if he was seeing right through her. Suddenly, he smiled, and Layla was shocked to find that it was a very warm smile.
“Mrs. McCarthy, I declare your marriage null and void,” he said finally. He smacked the gavel against the large table loudly. “Matter dismissed.”
Layla’s heart almost leaped out of her chest as he declared her marriage over. She turned to Peter as her chest began to burn. She wasn’t breathing and she couldn’t find her breath as joy began to make her dizzy. Finally, she exhaled deeply as she turned back to the judge.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” she replied. Layla turned from him, her heart still galloping, and walked back to where Peter waited for her. “Is that it? Is it really over?”
Peter smiled and nodded. “Yes.”
Instantly, relief washed over her like a flood. She knew it was over, but hearing him say it made it all real. “I thought there would be more to it.” She laughed nervously.
“Not when everything has been signed and agreed beforehand. Moreover, there was nothing to divide and no children to consider. You had nothing with Jacob.” Peter leaned closer. “But you will have everything with me.”
Layla suppressed a smirk as Peter led her out of the mayor’s office and out into the street. She hooked her arm through his as they walked boldly down the main street towards the church. Some of those they passed watched them questioningly, but Layla didn’t care. It didn’t matter to her what anyone thought.
They had a very special appointment that day, and they were already late. “Do you think everyone will still be there?” she asked as they walked briskly. She couldn’t wait to arrive. She hoped everyone would still be there, but if they weren’t, she wouldn’t be terribly disappointed. Peter would be there, and that was the most important thing.
“It doesn’t matter,” Peter replied. “As long as there is someone to be a witness, it doesn’t matter who else is there.” He stopped suddenly and turned to her. “I don’t care if there is only the priest and his wife. I’m marrying you today,” he assured her. “I won’t wait another minute.”
Layla laughed as her cheeks became hot. His eagerness to make her his wife mirrored her own eagerness to earn the title. She wanted nothing more than to be Mrs. Layla Jones. It would be the fulfilment of a lifelong dream—to marry a respectable man who loved her.
They resumed walking and Layla found that her heart grew warmer with every step they took. It was finally happening.
They arrived at the small church to find everyone they cared about still there waiting for them. Bill and his wife sat near the back with big smiles on their faces. Lucy and the other staff from the saloon were there. They had opened early, but had closed for the wedding. And in the front pew, wearing her best dress and hat, was Annabelle.
“Took yah long enough,” the older woman teased as they sat alongside her.
Layla smiled. “Sorry to make you wait,” she replied.
“Yes, Reverend,” Peter added as they neared where the priest was standing. “Things took a little longer than expected.”
Revered Peat smiled. “I saw the number of people waiting at the mayor’s office. It’s quite alright; we were happy to wait. A union before God should not be rushed by any means,” he continued. “Now, if you two are read, we can begin.”
Layla had no bouquet or wedding dress. Annabelle had wanted to make her one, but she had refused. Annabelle had already done enough by buying her new dresses. She wasn’t about to expense her any further, no matter how much Annabelle assured her that it was her pleasure to do so. It didn’t sit right with Layla.
Instead, she wore a pretty, light blue dress that had been one of Annabelle’s most recent purchases for her. Her hair was pinned up in a neat chignon and her new shoes were polished to a high shine. Peter was wearing his Sunday best, and he looked more handsome than ever to her eyes. His dark hair was slicked against his head, and his beard was neat and trimmed.
They had no wedding party. There had been no time to plan it. Once the judge’s visit was confirmed and the documents for the divorce received, everything was decided immediately. They met with Reverend Peat and he agreed to marry them. Annabelle decided they would have a reception at her house, and then it was a matter of ensuring the divorce was ratified by the judge. It was unconventional and not what most women might have wanted, but it was perfect in
Layla’s mind. She’d had all of the frills in her last wedding and the end of it was far from the joyous beginning. She'd rather have a simple start and an amazing ending. She knew she was getting that with Peter.
“I require, and charge you, as ye will answer on that dreadful Day of Judgment when the secrets of all hearts will be disclosed, that if there be any impediment why these two persons may not be joined together in holy matrimony, ye are to declare it,” Reverend Peat declared.
Layla’s heart was stampeding in her chest as she waited to hear if anyone would speak. She half expected to hear Jacob’s angry voice declaring that she could not marry Peter, but it never came. There was silence in the church behind her, and a few seconds later, the priest continued with the ceremony.
“I, Layla McCarthy, take you, Peter Jones, to be my lawful wedded husband,” she recited after the priest. Her cheeks were hurting slightly from smiling so much, but there was no chance of removing the grin from her face. She was far too happy to restrain it. Peter’s smile matched her own as he promised his love and devotion to her minutes later.
Tears rolled quickly down Layla’s cheeks as she listened to him speak. Her heart was overflowing with love and joy. Annabelle handed her a handkerchief and Layla dabbed her eyes. It was useless, however—the moment she dabbed away her tears, more followed. Annabelle had to do the same.
Layla’s heart danced as Peter placed the thin gold band on her finger. Peter’s was larger, and as she placed it on his finger, she started to laugh as her happiness felt as if it would explode from her. Peter looked at her and smiled as he interlocked their fingers and turned toward the congregation at the reverend’s command.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Revered Peat declared as he stood behind them and Peter and Layla faced the small gathering of their closest friends and family, “I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Peter Jones. Sheriff, congratulations,” he said with a chuckle. Layla looked back and smiled.
There was applause as everyone present got to their feet to celebrate their marriage. Layla grinned beside her husband as she stood on his left. He looked at her and placed a sweet kiss on her lips to the cheers of their friends.
Layla felt her cheeks grow hot when their lips parted and her eyes turned to their loved ones. They had never shown such affection in public before, and she couldn’t hide her bashfulness.
Peter led her toward the doors of the church and Layla felt as if she was walking on clouds. Every step she took felt light and hopeful, like she was walking into something infinitely more wonderful than she could imagine. They were starting a new chapter in their lives, and there was nothing but good ahead of them.
They stepped outside with their loved ones close behind them. Their friends and family applauded as Layla and Peter turned to each other and kissed once more. Layla gazed into Peter’s eyes. “It seems I needed saving, after all.”
“Layla…”
“And I’ve never been happier to have been so wrong,” she finished with a huge grin. “I love you, Peter.”
“I love you,” he replied before he pressed his lips to hers once more. Layla wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Today was the start of the rest of their lives.
THE END?
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Blurb
"He joined her on the porch, wanting to kiss her. Is this what it would feel like to come home to her in the evenings?"
When Luke Houston, a rough bounty hunter, rides into Haven Ridge, following the trail of a notorious outlaw, he wasn't expecting to face love and death in this small town in Colorado.
There he will meet the strong-willed and fierce Millie Thomas, a woman whose troubled father is accused of a murder he didn't commit.
As both fight demons from their pasts, they will find themselves coming closer to one another, and they will struggle to uncover the truth before the next murder hits the town.
When they confront the mayor of Haven Ridge, Deacon Owens, they don't know his plan is almost completed, and they are players in someone else's game.
And when the future of the whole town is at stake, will they be able to expose mayor Owens before he gets to them?
A Bounty on Their Scarred Hearts
STAND-ALONE NOVEL
A Western Historical Romance Novel
by
Ava Winters
Prologue
The sun was finally westering and the dust settling as Sheriff Harvey Roach urged his horse toward The Saloon. Haven Ridge, Colorado had exactly one watering hole and that was The Saloon, aptly named by the townspeople even before there was much of a town there.
After dismounting and tethering his horse, Leon, to the post, Sheriff Roach surveyed the main road through the small but growing town. Most of the men had either headed home for the day or had landed inside The Saloon for poker, women, drinks, or all three. Most evenings were quiet until the sun went down—that’s when the trouble usually started. With the road mostly empty and the smell of evening meals cooking, Harvey suspected the evening would be a quiet one.
Pushing his hat back, Sheriff Roach stepped through the batwing doors. The interior was dim after being out in the sun all day and Harvey gave his eyes a moment to adjust while he stood by the doors. His ears didn’t need to adjust, though. He could hear a familiar voice from the far end of the bar.
Clyde McCormick, the bartender, poured a drink and tilted it toward Harvey. “Need to wet your whistle, Sheriff?” His look told Harvey he was probably going to need it before the evening was done.
Nodding to the patrons playing poker to his left, Harvey made his way to the bar and took the drink. “Just sarsaparilla, Clyde. Don’t need any alcohol in me from the looks of it.” He nodded toward Isaac Thomas at the far end of the bar.
Clyde nodded and scoffed. “Been in here for a few hours now. He’s been drinking the whole time. Bemoaning the loss of his wife, but she’s been dead a year now, ain’t it time he moved on from that? He’s starting to affect my business, Sheriff.”
Harvey watched Isaac and drank from his sarsaparilla, enjoying the tangy sweetness. Isaac stumbled backward, tripping over his own foot, and hitting the floor hard. The fall winded him, but he was back on his feet a second later, railing at the men who were laughing at him.
“He’s making a darn fool of himself.” Clyde shook his head in disgust and turned away from Harvey to replace a glass on the shelf.
One of the laughing men reached out to pat Isaac on the shoulder, a quieting, soothing gesture that said ‘hey, we’re only joshing you, Isaac’ and Isaac slapped his hand away.
“Don’t be condescending to me, you little half-wit. Ain’t you ever heard of respecting your elders?” Isaac’s voice boomed through The Saloon. His gray hair had tufted out on the sides and stood out comically.
Harvey watched the situation disintegrate and found nothing comical about Isaac’s appearance. Clyde was right. He was making a fool of himself. Too drunk to stand straight. This was possibly the worst Isaac had ever looked. He pitched and yawed as he tried to sustain his balance.
“Aw, come on, Isaac, he didn’t mean no harm,” offered another of the men.
; “It’s Mr. Thomas to y’all. That’s respect! None of you have shown me any respect since my wife died.” Isaac’s voice lost its authority as the man began to sob.
One look at that wreck of a man and Harvey knew there would be no reasoning with him in that state. The only person who could still get through to him, at least some of the time, was his daughter Millie. She used to be the apple of his eye, Harvey thought, shaking his head. He wondered if Isaac thought about those times any more or if he had given up on what he had loved most in life besides his wife.
Tapping the glass, Harvey tossed Clyde a coin. “Thanks.” Sighing, he put his hat back on his aching head. Taking one last look over his shoulder as he headed for the door, he saw Isaac, sobbing and reaching for yet another drink from the bar.
