“We’ll have to think of something for her to do.”
“I can think of a few things.”
Turning at the sound of Victor’s voice coming through the still-open door, Charlene and Tyler watched him limp across the threshold, then close it behind him. “Should you be walking already?” Charlene asked.
Victor scowled. “I ain’t staying on crutches forever, young missy. I came with news for our Tyler here.”
“What would that be?” Tyler asked. “I told you I’m not staying on as deputy.”
“But you are still a bounty hunter, retired or not,” Victor replied, taking the stool to sit on with a gust of breath. “That means you get the reward money for them Dawson boys. Pert near ten thousand dollars.”
Charlene’s jaw dropped. “Ten thousand?”
“Yup.” Victor nodded. “Them three were worth a lot, more if Franklin Dawson had been with them. No one seems to know what happened to him, though. No one’s seen him.”
“He must be dead,” Tyler commented. “The Dawson’s would never split up.”
Victor agreed. “The federal marshals wired back the same opinion. He was seen a few weeks back, then poof. Gone. And the cash and gold we found in their saddlebags will go back to the bank in Gonzales. By the way, you can keep them four horses. They’re yours. Will help you on that ranch.”
Tyler shrugged. “I reckon I can always use them.”
Victor turned his gaze to Charlene. “Now I have a question for you, missy.”
“Me?” Charlene glanced at Tyler, then back to Victor. “What sort of question?”
“Yes, ma’am. I want your blessing to court your ma.”
Astounded, Charlene stared from Victor to her mother, then recognized the look on both their faces when she caught them gazing at one another across the room. The very same look she shared with Tyler. Too busy with her own love affair, she had obviously missed the signs of affection growing between Olivia and Victor.
“I’d be proud for you to pay court to my mother, Victor,” Charlene said, impulsively hugging the sheriff.
“Hey, now,” he squawked, patting her shoulder, obviously embarrassed. “No need to get all emotional on me. Your ma is a fine woman, and I seem to have gotten a bit attached.”
Charlene kissed his cheek. “So that’s what you meant about keeping her busy,” she said.
“Like I said,” Victor admitted, stroking his mustache. “I’ve grown rather fond of her. But I ain’t going behind your back. No, ma’am.”
Tyler shook Victor’s hand. “Very happy for you, you old geezer.”
“I ain’t that old, boy,” Victor flared. “Don’t you be calling me no geezer.”
Watching Olivia and Jean bicker, Charlene asked absently. “What will happen to the Miller boys now they’ve been tried and convicted?”
“The prison will be coming to pick them up by next week,” Victor replied. “Kevin and Dennis will be there for a long while. Ian will go to a boys’ farm. Maybe he’ll learn some manners in there.”
“He might,” Tyler said quietly. “If he’s lucky. But the world is a hard place, and I fear he’ll only grow as hard as it is.”
“Is there any hope for the others?” Charlene asked. “They’re just boys, they don’t belong in prison.”
“They’ll come out as men,” Tyler replied. “And meaner than ever.”
“Your man’s right,” Victor said. “They’ll be out someday, and then people better look to themselves.”
* * *
A month later, Tyler stood in front of the church, Victor and Harold beside him, as his glowing bride walked down the aisle to become his wife. Olivia, clad in a bright blue gown and glowing almost as much as her daughter, carried a bouquet of flowers to Charlene’s right. To her left, also in bright blue, strode Jean.
The small church, filled to capacity, also held seven tall Comanche warriors at the back, observing the ceremony that joined Tyler and Charlene in matrimony. While perhaps only Wintonta understood it, his friends smiled as they watched, and Tosahwi stood on two solid legs beside his father.
Speaking his vows, promising to love, honor and cherish his bride till death do them part, Tyler slid the small gold ring onto Charlene’s finger. Behind her veil, he saw her brilliant smile, the faint flush of her cheeks. Then she spoke her own vows: to love, honor and obey him – Tyler wondered absently if Charlene fully grasped that part – until death do them part.
“You may now kiss your bride,” the preacher said to him.
Grinning, Tyler lifted her veil, revealing her hazel eyes, her beautiful face. Bending, he kissed her tenderly, only half listening as the church exploded in applause. Both Victor and Harold thumped his back, forcing him to break away from her. “Wife,” he breathed.
“Husband,” she answered, her smile of happiness lighting the entire church.
Walking down the aisle, arm in arm with his wife, listening to the congratulations from the townspeople he had come to know, Tyler grinned, feeling as though he walked on air. A new life, a new ranch, a new wife. He didn’t think things could ever be better for him.
Outside the church, the crowd gathered, waiting for Charlene to throw her bouquet. Turning around so no one could accuse her of tossing it to someone in particular, Tyler watched as she threw it high and over her shoulder. Everyone turned to see where it would fall.
Disappointed groans filled the air from those young women who attended the ceremony as Olivia Quinn found the flowers falling into her arms. “I don’t believe it,” she said clearly over the applause of the crowd of well-wishers.
“I reckon we’re next,” Victor said, thumping Tyler on the back.
Charlene laughed. “Have you asked her yet?”
“Planning on it,” Victor said, gazing across the townsfolk at his new love, his heart shining in his eyes.
Charlene kissed his cheek. “I can’t wait to start calling you ‘Father.’”
“Now you hold on there, young lady,” Victor retorted, glaring. “I ain’t your pa and I ain’t about to take his place. I just want to marry your ma.”
“Well, you better go ask her,” Charlene said, giving him a small shove. “This is the perfect time.”
After accepting the congratulations of the guests, Tyler walked with his wife toward the buggy garbed in bright ribbons and bows, a single black horse hitched to it. Holding her hand to his mouth to kiss, Tyler asked, “Are you ready to go home?”
Charlene smiled up at him. “Home. It has such a nice ring to it. Our home.”
“With the ranch next door up for sale,” Tyler said, smiling, “maybe we need to buy it. Make ourselves a real cattle ranch.”
“I’d be happy with what you already have,” she said, lifting herself up to kiss him. “But if that’s what you want, then that’s what I want.”
He helped her up into the buggy’s seat, piling her wedding train in with her, then climbed up himself. Picking up the reins, Tyler clucked to the horse, setting it into a quick trot up the street past the people still waving and yelling.
They passed Victor, who cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “She said yes!”
The End?
Extended Epilogue
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A sweet treat from the Wild West…
Turn on to the next page to read the first chapters of Finding the Broken Cowboy, a sweet and clean Western historical romance with a happily-ever-after!
Finding the Broken Cowboy
Chapter One
New York, 1886
For the hundredth time, she tugged on her white gloves, making sure they stayed
tight. The problem wasn’t the gloves, fixing them was just a nervous tic she adopted as a small girl.
The simple act of tugging gloves or straightening her perfect skirt helped her whenever she felt restless or troubled. She figured if she looked immaculate, she would feel balanced as well. But that evening, those rituals didn't help at all.
A full-length mirror stood in the corner of her room. She looked at her reflection and pouted. "Elaine, I do not like this hat.”
Elaine was Beatrice Foster’s elderly governess. Their relationship was close enough that Beatrice could count on Elaine not to placate her.
"I think it looks rather lovely, dear."
Beatrice pointed in the mirror and scowled. "I look like a child."
Elaine ran a comb through the dandelion-colored locks, then grabbed a small, delicate hat and centered it atop Beatrice’s head. This made her cheeks more apparent. “Why, I look like a cherub!”
It was rather ridiculous. After all, she had just celebrated her twenty-second birthday; she wasn’t a child anymore. She wanted to look like the young woman she was, not some porcelain doll. She frowned in the mirror.
Elaine was trying to be patient. "Would you like me to fetch you another one?"
Beatrice could count on Elaine being calm, and she was grateful to have this kind, reassuring woman as her teacher and consort. She softened her voice. "If you would be so kind." It wasn’t a surprise that Elaine would scurry off to do her bidding.
The hat wasn’t the problem, nor were the gloves. Or the rest of the attire, for that matter. The problem was her mind. Beatrice felt troubled.
By happenstance, she had overheard something she shouldn't have. And now, apparently, it was all she could think about.
"You are a mad woman, Beatrice," she told her reflection, as she pondered about everything.
* * *
Beatrice tried to remember how it all took place. That morning, she woke up stiff as a log in her favorite reading chair in the library. After sending Elaine away to retire for the night, Beatrice stayed up too late reading one of her father's most recent acquisitions. She adored reading any books she could get her hands on, and like many nights before, she seemingly fell asleep once tiredness overcame her. Benjamin Foster was a newspaper owner in the city of New York and a vivid reader as well. Somehow, he passed along that all-consuming passion and love down to his only child.
There was something ethereal, almost divine, in the lines of great authors. And to be immersed in their writings gave Beatrice so much pleasure and joy. Even though she would get scolded by her mother for looking so drained and pale again, Beatrice found the exchange worthwhile She could hear hushed voices from the other side of the walls, which meant the household was fully awake. Yet, one voice was more distinct than the others.
She slightly turned toward the back door and smiled. Her father was already in his study. He preferred to do some business at home first thing in the morning before going to work. That way he could spend a few precious moments with his daughter and wife during the day. He made sure he was always home in time to have dinner with his wife and daughter, but often he was home even before that, and then he and Beatrice would play some chess together or go for walks with her mother.
Benjamin Foster was a devoted husband and the best father a young woman could possibly want or need.
Beatrice stood up, somewhat awkwardly. Today her body did not like movement one bit, and when she stretched, she could hear some of her joints popping in protest. But at the same time, it felt splendid to move, so she continued stretching.
A part of her warned she ought to stop spending her nights in a chair or she would end up looking all distorted and wry like the man she saw selling and fixing clocks down at the city's market.
Yes, I mayhap end up like that, but I would be happy, she replied to herself cheerfully.
Beatrice started walking toward the door of her father’s study to say good morning to him, trying to unwrinkle her garments along the way to the best of her abilities, without much success, not that her father wouldn't know what she was up to at first glance, when she paused.
She recognized the distinct scent of very expensive and rare tobacco in the air. It tickled her nose with its sweet smell.
Her father never smoked, much to the disdain of his friends, so the familiar whiff could mean only one thing. “Uncle” Leaton, their family lawyer and a dear friend of the family was in there with him.
"What's with the limp, old friend?" Beatrice could hear her father making the inquiry.
"Oh, nothing, just a silly accident," Uncle John replied instantly, proving Beatrice right. "But I do believe I look more dashing with this cane," he continued lightly. "What do you think?"
Beatrice could just picture him striking a pose, and she stifled a laugh. On the other hand, her father laughed wholeheartedly.
"That you do," he replied eventually.
Once the two men settled, they moved straight to business. Beatrice had fully intended to leave and not eavesdrop. But something said was catching her attention and preventing her legs from moving.
"I did everything you asked of me, Benjamin. It is done, here is your copy," Mr. Leaton said. "But are you sure that was the right thing to do?" He challenged. "I know we had this conversation before…"
"Of course," her father's robust voice prevented the lawyer from saying anything else. "Beatrice is my only child and she deserves to be the sole heir of every cent I earned in my lifetime."
Beatrice recoiled upon hearing that. Me? He wants me to inherit everything? Her mind started spinning like a merry-go-round.
Benjamin Foster was a self-made man. In their society, people considered them nouveau-riche type of people, but they were still well respected and accepted. That being said, even though she wasn't familiar with their state of affairs, she knew the inheritance must be rather substantial. To be in charge of all that felt impossible to her, and she held her breath to stay quiet.
"Don't you think her husband should look after everything, once she gets married?" Uncle John tried again.
"A husband?" Benjamin Foster objected. "Never. Everything will still be hers and her children's after she gets married. Every man should earn his own wealth, not depend on his wife's," her father was adamant, and she loved him for it.
Her father was known for having very progressive thoughts. Beatrice presumed that was due to the fact that he worked with the best of people, intellectuals, while running the papers. But still, this dictate surprised even her.
In a good way, of course.
"Maybe you're right," Uncle John finally said, thereby ending the discussion.
* * *
Beatrice knew nothing about news, let alone how to begin to run one of the most prestigious papers in the city of New York and beyond, for that matter. The mere thought of being responsible for everything gave her the shakes.
Oh, snap out of it, Beatrice Elisabeth Foster, will you! Beatrice heard the tiny voice in her head go off again. This is the new era and women are capable of doing everything men already do. None of them was born knowledgeable.
Besides, if she managed to learn to play chess with her father, and write with both hands in cursive for sheer amusement, she could most certainly learn the ins and outs of a prosperous business. With time, of course. And that thought calmed her down even further.
"So, I will learn," she tried to convince herself.
Beatrice very much hoped her father would have a long and flourishing life, and she would do her best to learn from him everything she needed about his special brand of craft. She would be of great assistance to him and never a burden.
If he entrusted this unto her, then she was going to honor it with due diligence and make him proud.
* * *
Elaine now returned with the replacement hat and Beatrice had to smile, temporarily forgetting about everything else. That woman really knew her the best.
Looking at the lavish blue hat Elaine presented h
er with, Beatrice approved. "I think that one will go just nicely with the rest of my assembly,"
"I thought so, too," Elaine replied. "Miss Beatrice?" Elaine continued, stopping Beatrice from pulling the pins that were holding her current hat on.
"Hm?" She asked absentmindedly.
"Your father is calling for you," Elaine informed her, and only when she mentioned it did Beatrice hear her father's voice.
I must be awfully late, Beatrice scolded herself.
She immediately left her room and leaned over the balcony to look at the great entrance below where her father stood with her mother.
Sarah Foster, her dear mother, was dressed immaculately and lovely as ever. Her father was quite dashing as well. They looked such a handsome pair dressed in their finest for the family outing.
"Yes, Daddy?" Beatrice asked.
He looked up and a smile appeared on his stern face. "Are you done dressing up, my dear?" He inquired. "We really don't want to miss the first act."
Beatrice nodded. "Almost. I just need to change my hat," she informed in all seriousness.
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