Brokken Arrow
A Novella
Brokken Road Romances
Book 3
Abagail Eldan
Table of Contents
Title Page
Brokken Arrow (Brokken Road Romance)
Dedication
March 1867 | Easton, Missouri | Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
About the Author
Brokken Arrow © 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 Arrow 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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Dedication
Brokken Arrow is dedicated to my fellow Brokken Writers.
Thank you for all your hard work!
March 1867
Easton, Missouri
Chapter One
Chance Hale penned up the cow, scooped the bawling calf in his arms, and headed for the fenced area behind the barn. The momma’s cries joined with her calf’s, and their mournful din echoed those from the war.
He longed to press his hands against his ears, to drown out the sound, or release the calf and let it take its chances. Instead, he gritted his teeth and kept moving forward. His arms shook by the time he reached his destination, not solely from exertion.
With no time to waste, he worked feverishly to design a makeshift bandage from some old rags hanging at the front of the small barn. If he had checked to see Danny had done the job, he wouldn’t be taking care of a lamed-up calf. It had stepped in a gopher hole, one he had told his nephew, Danny, to fill. It was his fault. Something, Chance wasn’t sure what, had sunk its teeth into the lame calf, leaving a deep gash. He cursed his nephew.
Since he’d returned to Missouri, he’d worked feverishly to get the farm back up and running. This was the first calf of the year, coming early, before all the snow melted away. Each calf was precious, a way for his family to re-establish themselves. Little was left after the raiders, mostly deserters from the Confederacy, had taken what they wanted. Nine brothers had gone to War. Only two had returned, himself and his oldest brother, Daniel, his elder by fourteen years. Daniel, his wife, and their five children lived in the big house, out of sight of his small cabin.
And that’s the way he liked it—alone with peace and quiet. Too bad Daniel forced Danny to work with him, if work was the right word.
Danny, his brother’s namesake, had been born several years before the War. It’d been a shock to see the husky fifteen-year-old when Chance had returned home. When his nephew turned sixteen, he was already courting Miss Susie Elmore. They’d married last month, and Susie had moved into the family home with Daniel and his brood.
Chance finished his ministrations and carried the calf back to his mother whose smooth tongue reached for her calf before he’d entered the pen. The momma smelled of earth and hay, and this steadied him, eased the shaking of his limbs.
After Danny’s irresponsibility, he could not trust him to keep a close eye on the calf, to watch for infection. It would be one more thing to add to his list of chores.
Chance snorted in anger. Newly married, Danny had little time to help. Heck, since Chance had returned, he’d observed his nephew doing precious little besides courting and wooing Susie.
Chance frowned. To be fair, it wasn’t only the soldiers who’d had to endure hardships but also their families left behind, with so little to keep body and soul together. Who could blame Danny for wanting a wife and family? He shook his head. Courting and wooing were all well and fine, but that didn’t keep you fed.
Chance was short on patience with his nephew. The farm hovered on ruin. His brother Daniel with a leg amputated right above the knee, was content to sit on the porch and rock his life away. A missing limb need not have kept him confined at home, but Chance suspected basking in his wife and daughters’ care for him, wallowing in it, kept him from realizing the full extent of the farm’s precarious position.
The burden of rebuilding the farm, of getting the family back on their feet, fell to Chance, and he accepted the responsibility, needed it, as a matter of fact.
He walked to the pump to wash the blood from his hands. Blood stained his clothes, and even the fresh scent of water could not displace the odor swirling around him, clinging to him. The morning mist lifted and revealed the vista. The trees were bare although small green buds were discernible. The trees gave him a sense of safety and secluded him from the stares of his neighbors.
A creek ran not forty feet from where he stood, and the gurgling sounds almost made him forget the din of war. Over almost two years now, the War’s effects still rippled forth and tainted everything.
Before he had made it home from the War, his parents had been killed by raiders. Being the youngest, he had been left out of his parent’s will. He wanted to believe it was because his assignment had been particularly dangerous, and they hadn’t expected him to come back from the War. But more likely, they had disinherited him. He didn’t know; they’d never spoken of it.
Heat rose from his neck into his face, and he gritted his teeth. He’d make amends. With work and perseverance, he’d get the farm up and running.
The ministrations to the calf had thrown him behind, and he worked quickly to finish his chores. He took a moment to judge the position of the sun and reckoned he had enough time to grab another cup of coffee.
His home was small, only two rooms, although it suited him fine. He took his coffee to the table, planning to sit for only a moment.
Outside, his dog Rascal barked, quieted, and then a knock sounded at the door. It swung open, and he was surprised to see Daniel and Danny. Daniel had never entered the cabin since they’d returned from the War, but today, something had gotten him up and moving. Chance’s gut told him it did not bode well.
“Morning,” his brother said, his gaze darting around the cabin.
Chance grunted in reply but didn’t move from his chair. His brother’s gaze landed on him.
Chance cleared his throat and motioned to the pot on the stove. “Would y’all like some coffee?”
Both shook their head. The tips o
f Danny’s ears were red and his eyes downcast. After a moment, Daniel paced around the room with his cane beating a rhythm. His movements reinforced Chance’s belief that his brother could have, should have, been doing more around the farm.
When Daniel had circled the room a couple of times, he nodded, as if satisfied, and turned to face his brother. “I’m just going to come out with it. Danny and Susie need your cabin.”
The words slammed into him like a gut punch. Emotions swirled, pushing his anger to the surface. He gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles whitened.
His brother took a seat and leaned his cane against its edge. “I reckon I could do with that coffee now.”
Chance glared into his brother’s face before pushing back his chair with unnecessary force. He poured the coffee and slid the cup to him, sloshing some out in the process.
Danny remained rooted to the same spot, his ears becoming a brighter shade of red when Chance directed his gaze in his direction.
Chance refreshed his own cup and blew across the top of the coffee. He watched the ripples as he forced the muscles in his face back to impassivity. Perhaps he was overreacting.
His brother leaned toward him. “Truth be told, little Susie is already expecting. We need to get them two settled before that young’un gets here.”
A pain, as sharp as any knife, pierced his heart. He didn’t take time to examine why but simply nodded. He decided to test the waters. “It won’t take long to build me a house. I don’t need much more than a lean-to.”
Daniel shook his head, and Chance’s gaze slid away, to a spot on the wall. He held himself in, waiting for the next blow.
Daniel coughed. “Nope. Won’t do. Won’t do at all for you to stay on this land. We got less than five hundred acres here, and I got more young’uns who be needing land.”
Chance’s breath released in a swoosh. He flattened his hands against the surface of the rough wood, as if he planned to propel himself across its surface. His voice remained level. “What are you saying?”
“You need to get out on your own. You ain’t more than twenty and six ...”
“Not yet twenty-four.” He held himself still and kept his breathing steady.
“Danny boy over there is fixin’ to have him a young’un. Done beat you to it, but heck, there’s plenty of women who might have you.”
Danny made a sound, halfway between a snicker and a cough. Chance let his gaze light on him for the briefest of moments and straightened. His eyes narrowed.
He took another sip of coffee that had somehow grown cold. He drank it anyway and set his cup down. “How am I supposed to make a living? Farming is all I know.”
His brother ran the back of one thumb across his lip and smiled. “You made a name for yourself in the War. Someone’s sure to help you out—heck, you could still use your skills.” His grin held something. As far as Chance could figure it was maliciousness.
A realization washed over him. His brother was jealous because he’d come through the War unscathed and had renown, unwanted as it was. His brother’s treatment of him was not solely a result of what Chance had done to his family.
He pushed back his chair with such force it toppled backwards. “I have chores to do.” Stiffly, without giving his brother a glance, he headed out.
His nephew stepped in his path. “We want you gone as soon as you can get out. Understand?” Danny had found his voice now that his father had done his dirty work.
Chance didn’t answer but pushed past. He jumped from the porch instead of using the steps. Rascal met him, and he patted the dog’s sides and allowed some of his anger drain away.
He headed to the barn to check the calf. A shock ran through him when it came into sight. It was stretched on its side with its tongue lolling out. His bandaging had done little good. The poor calf had bled out. The cow raised her head and let out a mournful moo.
Chance rested his forehead against a rough plank of the barn and closed his eyes for a second. He straightened his shoulders. He still had work to do.
DEBORAH BROKKEN AND Sheriff Victoria changed trains in Missouri. This train was smaller and reeked of sweaty bodies. Its black, belching seemed filled with hot anger and produced smells that made Deborah’s head ache. With each exhale of dark smoke, the trains pulsing matched the pounding in her head. She peered through the window, and for the briefest of seconds, she allowed her forehead to touch the cool pane, to ease the throbbing.
It was no surprise her head ached. For the past few weeks, she’d endured continual stress. Each day, she feared the sheriff would find her brothers. Equally, she feared they would not. Either outcome held heartache.
The yearning for her family had forced her to come with the sheriff, even if it led to her brothers’ imprisonment. She’d had high hopes of finding them among their German Pennsylvanian kin, and a scheme to escape with them had nebulously formed, but no one, it seemed, knew her brothers’ names, much less their faces.
The trip had not been a complete waste. Her kinfolk had surprised her. So many still clung to the German way of life, and it comforted her to learn of it. Her father had been different than these relatives, probably because he’d been a cattleman in Texas, but even he had not completely abandoned his heritage.
Their ranch house, built of dark wood, had ornate carved railings and trim around the roofline. Neighbors had told him to paint his house white, to reflect away the hot rays from the Texas sun, but he’d refused. And somehow, the house was as cool inside as any Deborah had ever visited. The windows, situated according to his specifications, caught the slightest breeze.
She gave herself a shake to rid herself of her yearning. Her homesickness was not for the people ... not even for her grandparents, whom she often wished would go back to Boston. Her mother’s parents were Jacksons, not Brokkens, and they did not possess the Brokkens’ love for the ranch, the very place Deborah longed for. She was particularly homesick for the cabin, the Shooting House, her brothers had named it. She often rode her horse along the tree-lined stream that fed the lake. The path along the stream led to the cabin that held so many happy memories.
They were on the last leg of their trip, and she could endure, even if she had no place to rest her weary head. She longed to lean against Sheriff Vic and sleep. That wouldn’t do. Victoria was not the motherly sort and would be aghast at the suggestion. The sheriff was good to her, in her own way, and Deborah regretted that the journey had been a waste of time, money, and energy for her.
A man’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Ladies, if I’m not mistaken, this is my seat?”
His statement was a question, and Deborah and Victoria both gave him a nod of acquiescence. He had a ticket in his hand and held it out to them, as if to prove his claim. He stowed his case away, removed his hat, and took a seat across from them.
“How do you do? I’m Klint Caper.” He nodded at the sheriff and tilted his head toward Deborah.
She looked into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. She opened her mouth to speak but not a word emerged. She averted her gaze to regain her composure.
Chapter Two
To Deborah’s relief, Sheriff Vic was more composed. “We are well and you?”
The man smiled, and those sky-blue eyes twinkled. “I am very well, thank you.”. His gaze, filled with curiosity, traveled from Deborah to Victoria. He raised his eyebrows at the sheriff “I take it you’re a lawman? I beg your pardon—law woman?”
Sheriff Vic looked down at the star pinned to her vest. For a moment, Deborah thought she was going to buff it with the back of her shirtsleeve. Instead, she smiled. “Yes, sir, I am the sheriff of Brokken, Texas.”
Victoria’s eyes had brightened. She was as taken with this strange man as Deborah was.
The man’s dimples deepened. “Brokken, Texas? What a coincidence. I’m traveling to Brokken myself.” His smile revealed straight white teeth, and he canted his head in Deborah’s direction. “And is this your posse?” His grin was teasing, in
fectious.
Deborah found herself smiling in response and repressed a silly giggle. “No, sir. I’m only a rancher’s daughter.”
Sheriff Vic cast her a sideways glance with a warning in it and cleared her throat before Deborah could say more. “We were visiting some of Miss Brokken’s relatives.”
The man drew his brows down in thoughtful contemplation, probably wondering why Victoria was wearing the star pinned to her vest if they were only visiting. In a second, his face cleared, and he gave a nod, as if satisfied.
Victoria glanced again at Deborah, as if to judge her reaction, and then back to Mr. Caper. Her shoulders visibly relaxed. “I’m Mrs. English, and this is Miss Deborah Brokken.”
“Brokken? The same name as the town?” His gaze sought Deborah’s again.
The heat in her cheeks intensified, and she longed for a fan to clear away the blush she knew was there. She cleared her throat and spoke, her voice soft. “Yes, sir. My father established the town. Did you say you are traveling there?”
“Yes, I am.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a newspaper clipping. After he smoothed it out, he showed it to them, as if it was something he was particularly proud of. “I corresponded with a young lady by the name of Lavendar Lilley.”
This time, Deborah could not suppress her giggle. Victoria gave her a stern look, and Deborah lowered her eyes and bit her lower lip. What was wrong with her? She’d never behaved this way before.
The train slowly gained speed, and Deborah turned her attention to the folks on the platform waving goodbye. It was some minutes before she’d regained her composure, long after they were in open country. To quit behaving like a silly school girl, it was best to keep her gaze away from those sky-blue eyes. She half listened as Victoria greatly exaggerated Lavendar’s virtuous qualities.
A pang of jealousy over lucky Lavendar Lilley shot through her. Deborah had not wanted any part of the mail-order scheme, but that was before she had caught sight of Mr. Caper’s blue eyes, dark hair, and tall stature. The heat climbed to her cheeks again. Her grandparents would be appalled if they knew what she was thinking.
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