Bought by the Lone Cowboy

by E. Walsh

  Mirabelle was a good listener. She didn't judge and she didn't disapprove when Jason said something she disagreed with. She was a warm, loving person and Jason looked forward to these evenings.

  It didn't take a genius to look at Jason and know what he was feeling. In the space of a few weeks Jason had fallen in love with Mirabelle.

  And he felt guilty for it. Mirabelle had recently lost a husband and she was essentially still mourning him.

  It would be a long time before she even considered courting anyone again; the farm and her children took up most of her time.

  And when she started looking for a new husband, she wouldn't choose Jason.

  It was going to get harder to stay here working for her when he wasn't allowed to confess his feelings.

  He didn't want to be disrespectful to anyone, dead or alive, by making moves on Mirabelle. But he wasn't going to turn away and leave her at the mercy of Bertrum Williams, who was still determined to get the farm at any cost.

  Jason couldn't believe the gall of the man. He had managed to sneak onto the farm earlier that day and had gone around to as many farm hands as he could, offering them money to leave so Mirabelle didn't have the men she needed.

  He had even approached Jason, his sneering attitude making Jason want to hit him. But Jason had kept himself quiet, refusing to even entertain walking away from Mirabelle, even with the money Bertrum was offering him.

  To him, Mirabelle couldn't be replaced with money.

  Finally giving up on sleep, Jason sat up and put his jeans and boots on, slipping on his shirt but not buttoning it.

  He was going to go for a walk around the yard and see if that helped. As he stood and looked out the window, he caught sight of a flash of white.

  He saw Mirabelle hurrying across the yard toward the barn, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders with her hair flowing loose behind her in the gentle wind.

  She looked like she was in a hurry.

  Jason immediately sensed that something was wrong. Retrieving his pistol from under his pillow, he hurried out the door to follow her.

  * * *

  Chapter Ten

  Mirabelle approached the barn, pulling the shawl tighter around her shoulders. Somehow it had gotten colder all of a sudden, a sharp wind whipping about her.

  She wished she had put a jacket on instead of a shawl but she was answering the message as quickly as possible.

  After putting the children to bed, Mirabelle had gone back downstairs and found a note shoved under the door. The note told her to go to the barn as soon as possible as they had something urgent to tell her and they wanted to say it away from listening ears. Jason's name had been scrawled on the bottom.

  Mirabelle was confused as to why Jason would leave a note rather than just calling her out. He hadn't had any problems talking to her at the house before. No sir, something wasn’t right. And she was determined to find out what it was.

  Wrapping the shawl tighter against her shoulders, Mirabelle pulled open the barn door and peered inside. It was too dark to see anything inside.

  She stepped through the door and called out. "Jason?"

  "Mirabelle!"

  Mirabelle turned to see Jason coming out of the bunkhouse. He had a pistol in his hand. Immediately Mirabelle felt a sense of unease. Something was wrong if Jason had his gun out.

  She opened her mouth, but was quickly stifled by a hand clamping over her mouth. She felt herself being yanked into the barn.

  An arm wrapped around her waist, clamping her hard against a warm, firm body. Mirabelle screamed and struggled, trying to kick back at her attacker.

  She froze when she felt the cold steel of a gun barrel pressing against her temple.

  "Stop struggling or I'll make sure you do more than hurt."

  Bertrum growled in her ear. Mirabelle couldn't believe it. While Bertrum had threatened to do anything possible to get the farm, she had had no idea he would go this far. She struggled against him.

  "Please, Bertrum. Let me go."

  "You had your chance." Bertrum said. He began to drag her towards the open doors at the back of the barn. "Now come on, we’re getting out of here."

  "Let he go!"

  Mirabelle nearly burst into tears when she saw Jason appear in the open doorway, his pistol pointed at Bertrum's face. She sagged in relief.

  "Jason!"

  Jason glanced at her for the briefest of moments and then focused back on Bertrum, who was trying to use Mirabelle as a shield.

  "Let her go, Williams."

  Bertrum snorted.

  "What are you going to do? You can't shoot me before I shoot her."

  Mirabelle bit her lip, resisting the urge to cry. She had never heard Bertrum speak like this before. She had never had a gun pressed to her head before. Jason didn't blink as he stepped slowly into the barn.

  "I will put a bullet right between your dark eyes,” Jason said, the pistol outstretched. "But you don't want to hurt her.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Jason took a step closer. “Because you care about her. I know you do."

  Bertrum pulled Mirabelle tighter against him. "I used to love her, but she was too stupid to realize it. Now? Her land means more to me than her life."

  Mirabelle stared at Jason, whose expression didn't change. How had he known that and she had no clue?

  "I didn't know, Bertie, I swear." His arm tight around her neck made the words come out in a whisper.

  Bertrum snorted. "Don't play innocent with me. You had to have known. You had me and John vying for your attention when we were younger. We both wanted to marry you. You led us both on before you decided on John. Do you know how angry I was at that?" The gun pressed tighter against Mirabelle's head. "Furious."

  "I know what it's like to be jilted, Williams." Jason said softly. He sounded calm. Too calm. The pistol didn’t waver. "It's painful."

  "More than painful. John always had to be better than me. A better job, better land, better wife."

  He spat the last word out.

  "I couldn't keep a wife after losing her. I've been married three times and none of them lasted. They couldn't compare to Mirabelle and all of them knew it."

  Mirabelle felt Bertrum rub his cheek against her hair. "What I wanted was everything John had."

  "So you decided to take it." Jason's expression was calm, but the expression in his eyes was grim. "But John had to go."

  Mirabelle gasped. John's death wasn't an accident? How had Jason known? Her heart sank as she heard Bertrum talking.

  "I paid one of the hands to knock John off his horse when they were moving the herd. Make it look like an accident." He sounded almost boastful. "He didn't stand a chance."

  "So you had John out the way. But why try and buy the farm? That's the bit that I don't get. Why not just ask Mirabelle to marry you?"

  Mirabelle knew that answer already.

  "Because John left this farm in a trust rather than to me,” Mirabelle said, struggling to speak. “I'm the trustee until Micah is old enough to become the owner. Even if he married me, the farm would never belong to him."

  “That’s why I’m going to take care of your son next,” Bertrum said. “Then that old woman. I’ll enjoy killing her.”

  Mirabelle suddenly thought she was going to vomit. Bertrum had gone to a lot of trouble to selfishly gain what wasn't rightfully his. And John had paid the price.

  "I loved you first," Bertrum said, his breath hot against her ear. "But you kept turning me away. John poisoned you against me. But I'm going to make sure you know what real love is."

  The gun barrel pressed into her temple. Mirabelle knew she had to do something to save herself and her family. She screamed and twisted to one side. At the same time she drove a sharp elbow into Bertrum’s rib cage.

  She felt his grip loosen from her neck, then heard the crack of a single gunshot.

  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  Jason scooped up Mirabelle and carried her to t
he house. She locked her arms around his neck and struggled to catch her breath. Jason didn’t bother checking on Bertrum. He knew the son a bitch was dead.

  Mirabelle was trembling in his arms and Jason wished that he could take it all away. She had been through a traumatic experience and learned things that no woman should have to know about.

  When Mirabelle had been grabbed by Bertrum and held with a gun to her head, Jason's heart had nearly stopped. He had thought quickly on his feet, mostly guessing with what had happened and Bertrum’s motivation. And he had guessed correctly.

  He had also guessed correctly that Bertrum had a big ego and wanted to boast about what he had done, which had included getting rid of a love rival. Mirabelle shouldn't have had to hear it all, but it couldn't be helped. Ultimately, it was what drove her to take the action that saved not only her life, but his and her family’s.

  The gunshot had brought everyone running. Jason sent one of the men to get the sheriff and another to fetch Wanda. He asked Jeremiah to watch over Bertrum’s body until the law arrived.

  Mirabelle fainted dead away once they reached the safety of the house. Jason lay her on the sofa and refused to leave her side.

  After what had happened to her, he wasn't letting her out of his sight, not even when Wanda arrived. He was going to stay close and keep her safe.

  No one would ever harm the woman he loved.

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  Mirabelle lay on the sofa with a damp towel across her forehead. Jason sat on a stool by her side, holding her hand. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

  "It's all right,” he said quietly, gently stroking her hand. "It's over now. You're safe."

  Mirabelle put a hand to her forehead and stared into his eyes. “Is he, did you?”

  Jason gave her a nod. "He won’t ever bother anyone again."

  Mirabelle let out a shuddering breath and clutched his hand. "I can't believe this really happened. I had no idea he was capable of… murder..."

  "I’m just glad you’re all right,” he said, fighting back a tear. “I’m not sure what I’d do if anything happened to you."

  Mirabelle held out a hand to touch his cheek. Her eyes shimmered with tears. She gave him a smile that tugged at Jason's heart strings.

  "I don’t know how to thank you..."

  "You can thank me like this."

  Jason lowered his head and kissed her softly on the lips. Mirabelle kissed him back, running her fingers through his hair and clenching at the back of his head. Jason pulled away when he heard voices outside.

  “I better go talk to the sheriff,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. “You gonna be okay here?”

  "Only if you promise to come back soon,” she said with a smile.

  “Don’t you worry, ma’am,” he whispered as he leaned down for another kiss. "This old cowboy ain’t going anywhere."

  The End

  33. Laurel’s Heart

  By: Erin Walsh

  Laurel’s Heart

  © Erin Walsh, 2016 – All rights reserved

  Published by Steamy Reads4U

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it to the seller and purchase a copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Warning

  This book contains graphic content intended for readers 18+ years old.

  If you are under 18 years old, or are not comfortable with adult content, please close this book now.

  * * *

  Chapter One

  Laurel Ennis

  Sacramento, California

  18th March, 1873

  The knock came unexpectedly.

  Laurel Ennis, settled comfortably in one corner of the settee, raised her eyes from the book in her hands, eyebrows drawing together. She hadn’t ordered anything, and if it were her father back from his tour of the local railroad station he would not have knocked.

  “Come in,” she called softly.

  As she spoke, she rose, brushing a fall of dark curls back from her shoulder, and set the book she had been reading on the side table.

  The door opened to reveal a young man in the blue coat of the Sacramento police force. His expression was soft, almost pitying. Laurel’s hand caught suddenly at the wooden arm of the couch on which she’d been seated.

  “What is it?” she asked. “What’s happened?”

  “Miss Laurel Ennis?” he asked, as though he hadn’t heard her questions.

  “Yes. Yes, I am Laurel Ennis. Now tell me what has happened.” Her voice caught in her throat. “At once, if you please.”

  “I’m afraid it’s your father, Miss,” he said, and her knuckles went white with tension on the arm of the settee. His eyes dropped, then lifted to hers once more. “There’s been an accident.”

  *

  Accident, Laurel thought days later, standing at the edge of the dark opening in the earth as they lowered her father’s coffin into its embrace, was such an innocuous term, especially given the fact that her father was crushed by a train that had somehow jumped out of gear.

  Such an unexpected thing, this accident, but how quickly it could change the course of a life. It had irrevocably altered hers.

  She would not return to Virginia. The executor of her father’s estate had attempted to convince her, but there was nothing left for her in Richmond. Her mother was long dead, her sister settled in Richmond with her husband and child.

  No, she thought, looking out over the neat lines of headstones just joined by her father’s. This was where she would stay.

  The gold rush had ended, but there must still be some adventure left in this state where so many had come to find their fortune.

  California had given her its worst.

  Surely its best was yet to come.

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  Joseph Beyer

  outside Sacramento, California

  24th March, 1873

  Rain dripped from the eaves of the little farmhouse, tapping against the wood of the porch steps and hitting the grass with a near-silent rustle.

  In the darkness of his bedroom, Joseph Beyer lay staring up at the shadows that moved across the ceiling with the swaying of the tree outside his window.

  The bed felt cold with just him in it.

  It had been nearly a year since Rachel passed, but some nights it still felt like a matter of days, as though he might reach out and find her beside him after all.

  His neighbors urged him to remarry – if not for himself, then for his children – but he couldn’t imagine sharing his life with another woman.

  He couldn’t imagine letting anyone ever take Rachel’s place.

  And yet… There were the children to think about.

  With Emmaline Haney wed and expecting a child of her own, he’d need to find Sarah and David a new caretaker, someone to watch them during the long days he spent out in the orchards.

  The abrupt sound of a child crying broke in over the patter of the rain, and Joseph sighed.

  Maybe someone who could stay full time, soothe Sarah when she woke in the middle of the night so he could get the sleep he needed before an early morning.

  Pulling himself from the bed, Joseph walked down the darkened hall to the children’s room.

  Next ti
me he was in Sacramento, he decided as he took the crying baby into his arms, he would put an ad in the paper.

  He may not be able to give the little ones a new mother, but he would find someone who could care for them.

  Someone who could offer his children, at least, a woman’s gentle touch.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  There were jobs for well-educated young women in Sacramento, but Laurel found, as she looked over them, that none of them seemed particularly appealing to her.

  She had no desire to take up work as a store clerk or an office assistant. She had, in fact, little need to work at all; her half of the inheritance from her father’s estate had left her quite well off.

  But Laurel had never particularly taken to sitting about doing nothing. Nor had she any desire to flaunt such wealth as she had.

  Widowed farmer seeks live-in caretaker for two children ages 4 years and 1 year.

  Laurel paused, her gaze sliding back to the advertisement it had almost passed over.

  Fair salary, the ad went on. Room and board provided. Address Joseph Beyer, Sacramento Post Office.

  Laurel had never set foot on a farm. It would be, she thought, looking down at the ad again, an adventure of sorts, and she had always enjoyed caring for children.

  After only a moment’s thought, she took a piece of stationary from its drawer and began her reply.

  Dear Sir,

  I am an educated young lady of 19, recently relocated from Richmond to Sacramento, and in need of employment. I have some experience with children, in the person of my niece, Ida Anne. I am a hard worker and an honest one, and promise to always offer my best. It is my hope that you will find me suitable for the job you require.

  Sincerely,

  Miss Laurel Ennis

  For a moment she sat, rereading the reply. Then, satisfied, she picked it up, waving it to let it dry before she folded it into an envelope and called up the bell boy to take it down to the post.