Oliver (the Chapmans #2)
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
The book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. All rights are reserved with the exceptions of quotes used in reviews. 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 system without express written permission from the author.
Scriptures quoted from the King James Holy Bible.
Oliver (The Chapmans #2) ©2020 Christine Sterling
Cover Design by Virginia McKevitt, Black Widow Books
Editing by Carolyn Leggo and Amy Petrowich
www.christinesterling.com
1st Ed, 7/2020
Table of Contents
The Chapman Saga Family Tree
Preface
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Oliver
Oliver Chapman is living his best life; he has everything he needs, with no intention of getting married. That is, until a mysterious woman shows up on his ranch. Can a marriage of convenience lead to Oliver losing his heart?
A battered woman is the last thing Oliver Chapman expected to see when he was scouting on the range. He knew he had no choice but to take her home to his ranch to allow her to heal. But getting close to Willow is proving more difficult than the horses that run wild on the prairie.
Willow Stephens doesn’t trust men. She was used in payment by her brother for a gambling debt, and the man who owns that debt is one of the meanest she has ever known. When she kills a man in Flat River, Nebraska, she knows she must run. What she doesn’t count on is being rescued by a tall handsome cowboy, nor his family who will protect her with everything they have.
When the law comes looking for Willow, will Oliver make the ultimate sacrifice to protect her? Will he lose his heart and freedom in the process? Will Willow learn to trust Oliver enough to give him her heart? Can love conquer all things and let the truth set them free?
License Note
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-- Christine Sterling
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Acknowledgments
Thank you, Jesus, for helping write inspirational stories that reach all over the world. I am so grateful for your love and forgiveness every single day. For all the blessings you bestow every single day.
Always to my husband Dan, who is my protector and hero.
My incredible daughters, Rebecca, Nora, and Elizabeth, who have never once questioned my desire to write.
Carolyn and Amy, the best team an author could ask for. Thank you for making me look good! Any mistakes that are in the document are solely mine!
My writing sister, Lauren. Thank you for checking in every day to make sure I get my word counts!
Dedication
To anyone who has escaped an abusive situation.
Thank you to the Chapman Street Team for making this entire series possible!
These amazing individuals encouraged this writer through every chapter, every paragraph, every sentence. Your feedback has been invaluable in creating this series. I appreciate every single one of you!
Amy Petrowich
Dolores Howard
Jocelyn Logan
Laura Park
Lauren Sorgaard,
Marcia Montoya
Paulette Marshall
Rhonda Myers
Sandra White
Sandy Sorola
Sue Krznaric
Theresa Baer
Zeinab Dehayni
Zona Fannin
www.thechapmansaga.com
The Chapman Saga Family Tree
Prologue
September 1872, Flat River, Nebraska
Oliver Chapman was livid.
He urged Whiskey, his horse, to run faster towards the small town. Ellie’s words still rattled his ears.
He took her.
His only hope was that the he in question took her back to Miss Marcy’s, and didn’t ride out of town.
“Yah!” he yelled, digging his heels into the side of the horse. Whiskey snorted as if to say he also knew how important it was to get there quickly.
The one thing Oliver could be sure of is that she would be yelling at the top of her lungs the entire way through town. Unless the man gagged her. The thought tightened Oliver’s chest. He lifted one hand and rubbed his shirt, willing the burning to subside. He felt Whiskey speed up and Oliver quickly grabbed the reins with both hands.
He could feel the leather bite his palm. It was simply a momentary distraction as he tried to calm himself. The town was in the distance, and he could see a few men gathering around the outside of Flat River’s only shop.
Oliver pulled Whiskey’s reins, halting the horse in front of the mercantile. He looked at the small crowd. Several men were sitting in rockers on the wooden porch and a few others sitting on top of flour barrels.
Oliver didn’t recall ever seeing that many of Flat River’s citizens together in one location. Folks were friendly, to be sure, but not ‘let’s go sit on the porch of the mercantile’ friendly.
“Did you see her?” Several of the men nodded, a few shook their heads. Oliver groaned. “Which way did they go?” he demanded. None of the men responded. Oliver spied a man smoking a cigar, who looked everywhere but at Oliver. The man moved the rolled tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other. Oliver grimaced in disgust. “You,” he growled, pointing to the man. “You saw something.”
The man finally looked at Oliver. He removed the cigar with tobacco-stained fingers and spat on the ground. He gave a little shrug. “I don’t wanna get involved.”
Flames flashed in front of Oliver’s eyes. He lifted one leg over the saddle and slid to the dirt. Before anyone could respond, he had moved to the porch and picked the man up by his shirt sleeves. The man’s eyes opened wide and his cigar fell to the floor.
“If you don’t want to get involved with a missing woman, you sure as heck don’t want to get involved with me.” The man nodded slightly as he licked his fat lips. “I’ll ask you again. Where. Did. The. Lady. Go?”
The man must have realized that Oliver was serious, as he made a coughing sound. “He dragged her that way,” the man said pointing across the invisible line that divided the residences and respectable businesses from the saloons and brothels.
“Much obliged,” Oliver seethed, releasing the man back into his seat. Giving a mocking tip of his hat,
he mounted Whiskey and tugged the horse’s reins towards the saloon and Miss Marcy’s.
It was hard to miss the house of ill repute. It was one of the largest buildings in town. Oliver could hear piano music, laughter, and occasional gunfire as he approached the establishment. The windows of the upper level were glowing, casting a soft light on the street below.
He didn’t have much time as the sun had already set and soon the streets would become dangerous. He needed to find her and get back to the safety of the ranch. Not only did he have to worry about men who had too much liquor and were itching for a fight; he needed to worry about the predators that made their way across the prairie after dark.
After the sun went down, cougars, coyotes, and foxes would be actively looking for an easy meal. Coyotes could easily bring down a horse if they were hunting as a pack. Oliver’s hand went to the gun strapped to his hip. He prayed he wouldn’t have to use it on a predator, or any of the men inside.
He dismounted his horse in front of the brothel and tied Whiskey to the post out front. As he took the three steps up to the swinging doors, they flew open and a man flew through the air, rolling down the steps to the dirt road below.
“Don’t you come back,” a man said, with his shirtsleeves rolled up and tied with black strings around his elbow. The man slapped his hands against his dark pants and went back inside.
Oliver could hear yelling from behind the wooden doors.
“You looking for someone, sugar?” a husky voice asked from the darkness.
“Yes ma’am,” Oliver said softly.
The woman moved closer. She lifted her hand and did a little walk with her fingers along Oliver’s arm. “Perhaps you are looking for Sweet Suzy? That would be me,” she giggled.
Oliver took off his hat. It was a trait his mother had instilled in him since he was a young boy. Always remove your hat in the presence of a lady.
Although Sweet Suzy didn’t appear to be the type of lady Marmee would be referring to.
“I don’t think so, ma’am.” Oliver put his hat back on his head. “I’m looking for a small woman with long black hair. Was wearing a blue dress.”
Sweet Suzy removed her hand as if Oliver had burned her. “What do you want her for when you can have all this?” She gestured down her sides.
Oliver looked at the wall behind Sweet Suzy, not allowing his eyes to roam. He focused on a bullet hole in the wood. “I’m looking for a woman in a blue dress,” he repeated.
Sweet Suzy huffed. “She ain’t here. Left a few weeks ago.”
“How do you know who I’m talking about?”
His hand sprang out and grabbed the soiled dove by the arm. He wasn’t rough, but he turned Sweet Suzy so she was forced to look at him. Her lifeless eyes looked out from underneath long lashes. They appeared sunken, with dark circles underneath. He noticed a faint bruising on her cheek, along with some yellow and purple bruising on her arm. She winced and yanked her arm back.
“I don’t.”
“I think you do. You know where she is.”
“He’ll beat me for talking to you.”
“Is he the one that did this to you?” Oliver pointed to her cheek.
Suzy lifted her hand to her cheek. “I can’t say anything.”
“Okay, don’t respond with words,” he growled. “Did you see a woman in a green checkered dress come in here a little bit ago?” The dove nodded. Oliver let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Is she in there now?” The woman nodded once more and pointed to the second floor.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
The woman disappeared back into the shadows as Oliver returned to the wooden doors. The sound of music and laughter was getting louder.
He hesitated for a moment, thoughts of his mother’s teachings rolling through his mind. Marmee made it perfectly clear that they would be in for the punishment of their lives if they ever ventured into such an establishment.
Oliver took a deep breath, mumbled a prayer for forgiveness, and slammed the swinging doors open wide.
Marmee was going to kill him.
Chapter One
Two weeks earlier
Willow Stephens quickly looked behind her to see if anyone was following.
She expected to hear dogs as she splashed through the creek. That is what Thomas threatened if she ever tried to leave Mr. Blackman. Her breathing was heavy as she trudged in the water.
The fabric of her skirt was soaked, making it difficult for her to quickly maneuver in the flowing water. She noticed the water wasn’t as high just around the bend as several large flat rocks were causing the water to slow down.
She took a step and winced as the sharp edge of a rock pressed against the arch of her foot. She wished she had time to find where her shoes were hidden before she ran. She sighed. Wishes wouldn’t help her now.
Moving her toes in the water, she felt for a smoother place to set her foot. She gingerly put her foot down and then took another step. She repeated the process, toeing the water, all the way to the large flat rocks.
Climbing on one of the large rocks, she stood and surveyed her surroundings. There! The creek appeared to be feeding into a larger body of water.
Perhaps she was near a river. If she were, she knew she could follow it to the next town. She wished she had paid more attention to Kitty and the other girls at Miss Marcy’s when they talked about how far it was between towns.
Being at Miss Marcy’s wasn’t her choice. Miss Marcy appeared to have a kind heart towards the girls that worked for her. Her only interaction with the madam was when Miss Marcy brought supper to Willow in the evening. Miss Marcy was the kind of woman her mother taught her to stay far away from.
Her mother died when she was twelve, leaving Willow and her brother, Thomas, in the care of their father. Her mother was the sweetest woman alive. She never had a disagreeable word to say to anyone.
Willow was convinced her mother died to get away from her husband. Willow understood and often dreamed of getting away.
Their father was a fire and brimstone man. He was an important man in their congregation and was all about appearances. He insisted on pious behavior from both of his children.
He would lead the blessing at the luncheon that occurred after Sunday services and engage the men in conversation. Then they would head home.
It was the same routine. Lunch at the church, ride home in silence where her father would silently point to the house. Willow would go inside and get the leather strap from the fireplace and present it to her father.
As he beat her, he would recite a list of infractions from the previous week or that morning. Sometimes it was for burning the edges of the fried chicken; other times it might be using too many potatoes in the potato salad; it might be for looking at a boy at church or daydreaming during school.
If there wasn’t anything, he would find something. Sometimes Willow believed he beat her just because she was breathing too loud. She learned not to cry or whimper, as it would only incite him more.
Once he was done, her father would return the strap to the wall and order her to start dinner.
He always waited until Sunday afternoons to inflict his punishment. Willow realized that it was so the bruises could dissipate before services the following week. Appearances.
The worst beating was when her father overheard her asking about a new woman in the congregation.
That woman was a soiled dove and was seeking redemption; she wanted to turn her life around. Unfortunately, the women of the congregation were not welcoming.
That evening Willow’s father beat her twice as hard. To beat the devil out of her, he would say, and to ensure that she would never lead a life as the painted ladies had.
Her brother managed to forgo such treatments. It was different for men, she mused.
She never forgave her father for those Sunday afternoons, and she never forgave her mother for dying.
Willow scoffed as she continued to look around. If he coul
d see her now, she thought. What would he think about how she turned out?
Maybe he was right. Perhaps she did have the devil in her. After all, she’d just killed a man.
Her father died of pneumonia and then it was just Willow, and her brother Thomas. She sold eggs and milk from the cow to make ends meet, while Thomas went to the gambling halls to try his luck at cards. Willow tried to warn him and begged him to pray and that God would provide.
She watched the goodness leave her brother every time he sold an item to feed his card addiction. By the time the bank came to claim the property and house, issuing an eviction notice, Thomas was completely unhinged.
He stole the last bit of her egg money and went to try his hand against some new men that came to town. She was surprised and terrified when he returned with a dark broody man who demanded that Willow cook dinner.
“He owns you now,” Thomas explained.
When she looked at Thomas, to question the request, she was met with the palm of the stranger’s hand against her cheek.
That was her introduction to Mr. Blackman.
Willow was traded in payment to settle Thomas’s debt. Her brother had gambled her away. After dinner, she was allowed ten minutes to pack and say goodbye.
She left with a small carpetbag containing a calico day dress, her hairbrush, and her mother’s Bible. It was the only thing she had left from her mother. Thomas had gambled everything else of value.
It didn’t take long for Willow to realize Mr. Blackman was the vilest of men that she had ever known. He wasn’t above cheating at cards. He wasn’t above coming to bed completely drunk, and he wasn’t above abusing women when the purpose served him.
Thankfully, he had yet to try to touch her or take her virtue. They traveled around the country, normally staying in a city for one or two days at a time. Then they would quickly leave, sometimes in the middle of the night.
Oliver Page 1
