by Lynn Landes
Stolen
Dreams
By: Lynn Landes
By:
Lynn Landes
Published by:
Landes Publishing
Edited by:
Shane Landes
Cover art by:
www.roseannawhitedesigns.com
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Lynn Landes
http://[email protected]/
All rights reserved.
Other titles by Lynn Landes:
Dust & Dreams
Perilous Dreams
The Angels Covenant
Covenant Breakers
Blood Covenant
Fae Queen
Shadow King
Serenity’s Song
Arctic Moon
Chapter 1
Chase slows his mount down with a soft tug on the reigns and stares around the valley laid out before him. The light breeze seems to whisper, "Welcome home," as it blows by him stirring the wildflowers beside the rocky trail. Wyoming calls to his soul. It's in the deep blue color of the sky, and the rolling hills that greet him in vivid shades of green with explosions of vibrantly colored wildflowers. It's in the jagged snow-capped mountains and lush, grassy plains with blue rivers twisting and turning through the land. Overhead, a hawk soars in the afternoon sun, beckoning him home.
“Soon,” he whispers and kicks his horse into a slow trot down the narrow trail towards the town in the valley below. When he reaches the bottom of the trail, the path turns into a road wide enough for wagon traffic. Loaded wagons, carts and other people on horseback pass him as he turns towards the busy street heading into town. Chase smiles to himself as the familiar smells and sounds greet him while he rides slowly into the outskirts of the town he grew up in. ‘Thankfully somethings don't change,' he thinks to himself as he trots up in front of the Sheriff's office. A final look around at the surrounding buildings has him swinging his leg off of his horse and stepping down to the hard-packed street. His horse paws at the dirt and nudges his shoulder as he ties the reigns off to the hitching post. Chase pats the solid muscle of his companion's neck, "It's fine. I'll be right back, and we'll get you some fresh water and feed."
Sheriff Cleveland Howe steps onto the covered porch of his office and welcomes Chase with a friendly wave. “Chase Rivers, I’ll be damned. Thought you might have got yourself killed already,” he teases and shakes Chase’s hand in a strong welcome.
“Not yet, Cleve. Just checking in before I head out to the ranch.” He smiles enjoying the warm welcome. Every dust covered bone in his twenty-seven-year-old body is sore from the long ride.
"Six months is a long time to be gone, Chase," his old friend states and turns to walk back inside the old office. At a stained solid wood desk, he gathers up some papers and turns to look at Chase. "Guess those bank robbers didn't just give up peacefully."
Chase smirks shaking his head, “Nope, they chose a box instead. Matters little to me, I get paid either way.”
Cleve laughs and hands a stack of wanted posters to his friend. "U.S. Marshall's pay must be good to keep you from home so long, but we're glad to have you back in one piece. Give these a look over before you go. You can have the first pick if you want." Twisting his black handlebar mustache, he looks the young man over thoughtfully.
Chase glances through the five wanted posters making a note of the faces and rewards, but he's not here to work. A shake of his head answers the Sheriffs look as he hands back the posters. "I appreciate the offer, but I've earned a break, and I mean to take it this time."
"I understand."
"Of course, if you need me, you know where to find me," The Sheriff laughter follows him out the door.
"Safe travels, Chase."
‘Time for a drink,' he thinks stepping out into the bright morning sun. Chase walks his horse to the corral at the end of the street and tips the boy one silver dollar to feed and brush down his old friend. The Dusty Boot Saloon is a short stroll from there. As he walks through town, people wave, and he dodges wagons and grins with pride at the town. His brother Dalton Rivers fought hard to bring a railroad depot through town, and it has changed things for the better.
It's early yet, and that means the saloon won't be too busy. Chase stomps his boots and knocks off the debris from his long canvas duster before he pushes through the swinging doors. He notices a card game starting in the corner with a group of four men. From the looks of it, the game is a serious one with cash on the table. His eyes track around the smoky room to look for familiar faces in the sun filtering in from the front windows. Chase almost stops when he recognizes an outlaw from one of the wanted posters in the Sheriff’s office.
‘Damn,’ he thinks. It’s Silvino Del Pozo, Bandito Supreme, sitting at that table. He’s talking intently with two other men. Chase continues to the bar and orders a whiskey, not letting on that Del Pozo has been made,
“Welcome home, Chase.” Roy smiles and slides an old bottle to his friend.
“Thanks, Roy. Business been good?” Chase shoots the drink savoring the burn in his chest and pours a second one. He watches Del Pozo from the reflection in the mirrors behind the bar.
“Yep, better than ever.”
Chase turns slightly to watch the card game in progress.
“How long you in town for, this time, Chase?” Roy continues wiping down the bar top he smiles at Addie as she sidles up to Chase and slides her empty tray to Roy.
“Refill, Roy.” She turns her painted face to Chase with a teasing grin.
"Not sure, yet. That would depend on business." Chase can't help but smile back while he appreciates the view. Addie Dorsey is a wild ride, one that he has enjoyed in the past. A buxom blonde who isn't afraid to play as hard as she works. Her blonde hair is drawn up in a top knot with curls draping around her naked shoulders. The lacey red corset and skirt will undoubtedly bring the men flocking in tonight.
"When you get a minute, look me up, Chase. I know a few ways to cool a cowboy off from the hot, July sun." Addie grabs hold of the tray and maneuvers through the room, smiling and laughing at men who are trickling in the swinging doors.
Chase's smile fades as he sets the empty glass down and glances around the room, counting the number of patrons before looking at Roy. "I hate to do this to you Roy, but it looks like work has found me this time. Is Sassy close?” Roy knows what that means. Under the bar is his other favorite girl. Sassy is a double barrel shotgun, and she's always ready to cover his ass.
“Yep, she’s ready and willing, just say the word.”
“Good man. Send the kitchen boy to fetch the Sheriff. He’s going to need to be here shortly.”
Chase carefully puts the cork back into the whiskey bottle, and his silver eyes flash with a determined glint as he loosens his pistol in its holster. Gone is the teasing rancher and in its place, the U.S. Marshall.
The bar stool creaks as he stands, and the floor sounds hollow as he walks around the room. The voices of conversation follow him as he navigates towards the swinging front doors to see who else is coming into the bar. Not seeing anyone else, he turns smoothly, drawing the Colt Peacemaker on his hip, and aims it directly at Del Pozo’s head. “Silvino Del Pozo you’re under arrest. Manos Arriba!” (Put up your hands!)
Del Pozo doesn’t move, even after Chase repeats the command two more times.
Chase thinks, ‘Fuck, he’s going to be a hard case then.’
>
Addie is standing next to the table serving drinks when Chase pulls his gun. She stops dead, frozen in fear.
“I just wanted a damn drink,” Chase snarls and pulls a pair of manacles from his gun belt, tossing them onto the wooden table in front of Del Pozo.
"Put them on him!" Chase angrily snaps at Del Pozo's companion. The seconds tick by, and still, no one moves.
“Roy cover him with your shotgun,” Chase barks, “while I cuff him.”
Roy moves around from behind the bar to do as asked.
“Don't shoot!” The second man at the table shouts distracting Roy, giving Del Pozo the moment he needs.
Addie holds a trembling tray and starts to step back from the table when one of the men leaps up and jerks her in front of him. Her scream is short lived as he presses the gun to her throat.
“Looks to me like you are outnumbered, Amigo.” Del Pozo grins, “Drop your weapon!” He stands up slowly with his other companion. When Chase doesn’t respond the pistol is shoved under Addie’s chin and cocked.
“Not gonna happen,” Chase snaps.
"Chase, please," Addie pleads. Her eyes are full of fear, the makeup on her face is smeared from the man's rough hands.
Chase hesitates, and his trigger finger twitches as he weighs the price of letting Del Pozo go over the cost of losing Addie.
Del Pozo stiffens in shock, stunned by the look in the Marshals eyes.
Sensing a standoff, the four men at the other corner table leap up and hightail it for the front door.
Chase seizes the distraction and shoots the man holding Addie in the face, covering her with his blood.
Roy turns with Sassy and lets go with both barrels of the 12 gauge. The impact sends the third man backward into a saloon table, splintering it to pieces. Roy dives for cover reloading, while Addie runs screaming from the bar.
Del Pozo makes a grab for Chase’s shooting arm just as his pistol fires, sending the bullet into the wooden wall with a thud. They struggle for a moment until Del Pozo punches Chase in the face, causing him to stagger back and knocking the pistol from the Marshals hand.
“Shit!” Chase yells and swiftly rolls away, leaping for his discarded peacemaker, and slams through the swinging doors into the bright July sunshine.
Gunpowder smoke from the shots add to the confusion in the dimly lit room, but it allows Del Pozo to draw one of his revolvers from his gun belt and follow Chase out the door.
Chase jumps behind a water trough, to dodge Del Pozo’s impending point-blank shot.
Sheriff Howe is running for the bar when he sees Chase dive for cover. He fires in the direction of Del Pozo forcing the man to dive behind a grain barrel.
Del Pozo leaps around the trough Chase is
using for cover and brings his pistol down to bear, just as Chase lifts his pistol and fires. In a cloud of smoke Chase's bullet strikes Del Pozo's pistol underneath the gun barrel, wedging against the cylinder and jams the gun. The force of the bullet violently drives the barrel of Del Pozo's own gun into his face, breaking his nose. He staggers away, wiping at the blood running down his face and runs, desperate to reach his horse and escape. A few staggered steps and he jumps on kicking it into a run. He yells at the people on the street to move and draws a second pistol from his saddle holster. His horse is galloping at full stride, headed out of town.
Chase scrambles up to meet Howe, who tosses his rifle to him. Sheriff Howe shoots his pistol at Del Pozo while Chase catches the Winchester rifle and turns. The fleeing horse is winged in the flank by the shot from the Sheriff and stumbles, tossing the bandit heavily to the ground. Del Pozo, spitting dirt and rocks from his fall, rushes headlong to a second horse that stands saddled nearby.
"For God's sake, Del Pozo, throw down your pistol!" Chase yells from down the street. "There's been enough shooting!"
Ignoring the plea, Del Pozo continues charging toward freedom. Chase smoothly shoulders the Winchester, levering a round into the chamber, aims, and pulls the trigger. The bullet hits Del Pozo with a sharp crack and tears through his left shoulder.
Wheezing, he staggers to his knees, coughing up bits of lung and blood. The badly wounded outlaw turns, regaining his feet and rushes his enemies. Del Pozo runs headlong with a crazed look in his eyes, straight for them, shooting wildly at the two lawmen.
Sheriff Howe shoots at Del Pozo while diving for cover and misses, sending chunks of dirt flying.
"Enough," Chase stands his ground and calmly chambers another round before taking careful aim. Del Pozo's shots can be heard ricocheting as they hit around the Marshal. At more than a hundred yards from his target, Chase fires. The spinning bullet makes a long, low arc, smacking into Del Pozo's forehead just above the eyes, spraying blood and bone from the back of his head. The bandit falls in a bloody heap on the hard dirt street.
No one moves for a moment as the smoke clears. “That was a hell of a shot, Marshal!" Someone in the crowd calls.
Chase stomps over to the Sheriff.
"Sorry about the mess. This one fell into my lap. All I wanted was a drink?" He reaches down and helps the Sheriff to his feet.
“No problem. You want to claim the reward?”
Chase looks at the crumpled body down the street and shakes his head, “Keep it." Chase runs a trembling hand through his long brown hair shoving his hat back on.
“Chase!” Addie shouts from behind. Sheriff Howe walks away to begin the cleanup.
“Not now, Addie.” Exhaustion beats at him and a headache pounds in the back of his eyes. Her hand on his arm turns him. His eye twitches when she speaks to him again, in a grating, screechy voice.
"What the hell was that?" She glares up at him, "You were gonna let him shoot me?"
"Addie, you're talking nonsense," Chase explains.
"You hesitated, Chase!" she jabs a finger into his shoulder.
Silver eyes glance down at her, and he's startled for a moment by the blood staining her shoulder and face. "Addie, you should go get cleaned up."
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Addie’s fury is picking up steam. “What kind of monster are you that you would have to think about my life, over some bandits.”
“Well, Addie, I would say I’m the monster that just saved your well-used ass.” Turning to walk back to the Stables he doesn’t react to her swift inhale.
Before he can take two steps, she looks at him and softly whispers, “Chase, you’ve changed. There was a time when we were friends. You stay away from me.” Addie spins and races home to wash off the blood of the dead outlaw.
Chase thinks about what Addie said as he rides out of town. Part of him knows that she's right. War does that to a man. Compassion, empathy, and most human emotions seem to be buried deep. He wonders what it'll take to bring about the rebirth of his soul.
Chapter 2
England
Bronnah steps out of the nursery and walks quickly in the direction of the dormitories. It's late, and she put in a ten-hour day caring for the children in the infirmary. She takes the stairwell in the brick building. The dorm housing the Sisters of Charity students sits just below the children's floor. Mostly for ease of access. Her stomach growls, reminding her that she hasn't eaten since breakfast. Just as she reaches for the door handle, it opens, and she is forced to jump back to avoid being struck. A deep male laugh sends chills of dread through her body.
This workhouse is home to the most wretched souls in England. Surprisingly enough, many who end up as inmates are highly educated, including doctors, and lawyers. Tall, dark, and handsome, Davey O’Connell was a lawyer until he gambled away his fortune and job. His sneer causes her stomach to cramp as his eyes trail up and down her body.
“Davey, why are ya on this side of the dorms?” Bronnah snaps. The lilt of Ireland should be warning enough. The Sisters made her work hard for years to hide it, but it sneaks out when she’s upset.
"That's no way to greet your future husband, Bronnah. Didn't you miss me?" The stench of a
le and desperation invades her nostrils, and she tries to back away to scoot around him. Davey clamps onto her upper arm with a grip of steel and shoves her hard against the rough brick wall.
Bronnah's eyes fly open wide in shock. "Let go of me, Davey. I've told you, I will never marry you!"
"The winds of change are blowing, Bronnah. Once you're mine, I'm going to fill your fairy eyes with so much pleasure. I've dreamt of you." He grinds his body up against her and whispers, "I've fantasized about tasting your juicy lips. Do you dream of me too?" He lowers his head to kiss her and Bronnah's patience snaps.
His nose cracks the moment her forehead strikes it, and blood erupts down his face. Davey releases her and stumbles backward with a screech of pain and outrage, giving her just enough space to slam her knee up into his balls. Davey falls to his knees grabbing his crotch, and she leans down to speak to him.
“Aye, Davey. I’ve dreamt of crushing your bullocks more than once. Never touch me again, ya arrogant ass!”
He starts to laugh before she reaches the door. “You’ll come crawling to me soon enough. I heard them talking about you last night. You’re out of time. You should consider my offer.”
Bronnah rushes out and down the hall limping into her room, closing the door softly behind her. Trembling with rage, tempered with fear she walks to a small table with a wash basin. Staring into the mirror, she is shocked at the spray of blood on her forehead and apron. Her habit may be drab, but she takes pride in keeping it clean. Jerking off the headpiece she lifts the apron off quickly and sets it to soak in the basin. Next, she scrubs her face to wash away the stain.
