by Natalie Dean
“Breakfast,” the young, dark haired deputy with a scar across his cheek said. He opened the door slowly and slid the tray in to her.
“Thank you,” she said quietly though the words were nearly lost as a loud voice she recognized echoed from the front room.
“You can’t keep her here any longer!” Sam was saying. The young deputy turned towards the front room in surprise. Nearly forgetting to lock the cell door before he did.
“Now, Sam, please, calm down,” Branson’s voice, lower, cut across Sam’s. “There’s no reason to- “
“You can’t keep me from seeing her at the very least,” he said.
Before Fiona could take stalk of what was happening, Sam had pushed his way into the small back room.
“Sam!” she exclaimed as soon as he arrived. “What are you- “
“You’re innocent,” he said excitedly, rushing up to Fiona waving a small piece of paper in his hands. “We’ve proved it! They can’t keep you here.”
“Now hold on a moment,” Branson said. “You haven’t exactly proven anything. The money could still be stolen.”
“I don’t understand,” Fiona said. “What’s going on?”
As she asked the question, a tall man with light brown hair stepped into the room behind the sheriff. Fiona vaguely recognized him as the town pastor.
“We received word from Tennessee this morning,” the pastor said. “Your father’s hideout was found two days ago. The money from his latest heist was found with him.”
“That’s proof that the money you…borrowed,” Sam said with a defiant glance at the sheriff, “…could not have come from that Applewood bank. And the pastor talked to the jeweler this morning. The bills you used to pay for the rings weren’t marked. So, there’s no evidence that they were stolen.”
“As I said, that doesn’t prove anything,” Sheriff Branson said harshly. “The boys in Tennessee may still want her back.”
“Even if they do,” the pastor said. “I doubt any judge worth his salt would allow her to be extradited back to Tennessee. And, even if you found one, you have no legal means of holding her here in the meantime.”
Sheriff Branson looked from the pastor to Sam, stuttering to come up with some sort of argument against this. When, apparently, none presented itself, he heaved a sigh and turned to Sam.
“Son, are you sure you want to stick up for her?” he asked Sam. Branson’s voice was so quiet that Fiona had to strain to hear him. “What I said was true. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. In my experience, it never does.”
Fiona’s cheeks flushed, and she looked down at her feet. When she thought about her father and grandfather, about her own theft, she couldn’t deny the truth in the sheriff’s words.
“That may be true in your experience, Sheriff,” Sam said. “But not in mine. I hope, one day, Fiona and I will prove you wrong. But, until then, I think it best if you let my bride out of that cell, and we’ll be on our way.”
The sheriff glanced from Sam to the pastor. Finally, with a large huff, he pulled the keys from his belt and the cell door clicked open.
“It looks like you are free to go, Miss Greyson,” Branson said, his eyes still narrowed in suspicion.
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Fiona answered, her eyes still fixed on her feet. “And, for what it’s worth…I’m sorry about what my father did to your brother.”
She glanced up just in time to see the older man’s eyes grow wide and his face drain of color. He stared at her for a long while before pursing his lips tightly and giving her a small nod in acknowledgment.
“Sheriff,” the pastor said suddenly. “I was wondering if you would walk me back to the church. I had a few things I wanted to discuss with you.”
Branson jumped at Pastor Rhodes voice and turned towards him as though surprised to see him there.
“All right then,” Sheriff Branson answered stiffly.
“Miller,” Branson barked at the deputy, who was standing forgotten in the back corner of the room. The boy straightened his stance immediately.
“Yes, Sheriff,” he said.
“Keep a watch on things in the front while I’m away. I shouldn’t be gone long.”
“Yes sir,” Miller said.
At that, the pastor led the way out of the small room, with the sheriff following in his wake.
A moment later, the deputy shot a confused glance at Fiona and Sam as he moved through the large wooden door and into the front room.
This left Fiona and Sam alone in the small room standing beside the newly emptied jail cell.
They stood silent for several moments, Fiona still staring down at her feet.
“We should get you back to the hotel,” Sam said finally. “I’m sure you’d like to sleep in a proper bed after last night.”
He offered her his arm and Fiona hesitated before taking it.
Neither of them spoke until they had walked down the small, wooden steps of the sheriff’s office.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Fiona said. “I was more than willing to accept the consequences of my actions.”
“What actions?” Sam asked stopping in front of the hotel and turning to face her.
“Even if that money wasn’t from the bank in Applewood, I know that my father took it from someone. And I took it from him,” she said. “I did not truly need it. You had given me plenty for the journey. The truth is…I took it because I wanted to get back at my father. Him and all his horrible…friends.”
Fiona looked down at her hands and began moving her fingers across her palm in an absent, almost frightened gesture.
“How does that make me any different from him?”
Suddenly, she felt a warm, gentle hand on her cheek. Sam’s fingers gently lifted her jaw until she was looking into his warm eyes.
“You’re different,” he said. “Because of what you just told me. You were willing to accept the consequences of your actions. While your father and his gang keep trying to defend themselves and escape the law, you are more than willing to admit when you’ve done wrong. You are willing to change, and they are not. That choice is what makes you who you are.”
That tingling sensation returned to her spine, and her heart lifted at these words.
“And you still want to marry me?” she asked. “You wouldn’t rather have some nice, simple girl. A girl whose past isn’t quite so…complicated?”
A wide grin spread across Sam’s face as he gave a bright chuckle.
“Fiona,” he said. “I didn’t fall in love with you because you were nice or simple.”
“Why did you fall in love with me?” she asked quietly.
“I fell in love with you because you were brave and smart and witty,” he said. “I could see that even in your letters. And I know I could never love anyone else. And, there is no other woman in the world who I would wish to marry.”
His hand on her jaw moved to caress her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into his warm touch.
As he gently moved her forward and met his lips with hers, Fiona knew that the same was true for her. There was no other man in the world who she could possibly love as much as Sam Jenkins.
Epilogue
It was a small wedding.
Even so, the bells rang happily in the chapel as the bride and groom, newly made man and wife, rushed down the aisle and into the wagon waiting to take them to the home they would share.
As Mrs. Sam Jenkins gave her hand to her husband so that he could pull her up into the wagon, she glanced around at the crowd still smiling and cheering.
She spied Mrs. Matthews, the hotel owner, smiling with tear tracks running down her face. Just as the old woman had promised Fiona they would be before the ceremony even began.
“I am certain I will cry,” she’d told Fiona as she helped the bride dress in her Sunday best. “I always do at weddings, you know.”
She could see the jeweler and various shop owners she had met in town. There were also several ranchers with their
wives.
All were smiling, clapping and cheering the newlyweds.
All, that is, except one face.
Sheriff Branson eyed the wagon with his arms folded across his chest. His small eyes still narrowed in suspicion.
Fiona supposed it was progress that he had allowed himself to come to the wedding at all. She knew she should be grateful. However, that glare still filled her with a small amount of righteous indignation.
After all, if she could make peace with her past, there was no reason the sheriff could not make peace with it as well.
“He still doesn’t care for me,” Fiona told her husband as they rode off towards Sam’s small apartment behind the newspaper office that they would now share.
“Give him time, Fiona,” Sam said. “Pastor Rhodes is still speaking to him. Eventually, he’ll learn that you are not his enemy.”
“I suppose,” Fiona said slowly. “I should be pleased that his deputies are now longer following me around the town.”
“That,” Sam said pulling the wagon to a stop outside their small apartment. “Is a very good thing. Especially today.”
With a playful smirk, he jumped down from the wagon before offering his hand to Fiona.
Fiona took it. As soon as she stepped down, Sam enveloped her in a tight embrace. She returned it whole heartedly pressing herself against him and letting out a happy sigh.
It was a long time before he pulled away and looked down at her.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Jenkins,” he said.
A wide smile spread across Fiona’s lips. As she reached up to kiss him, she said a little prayer of thanks to God. After a lifetime of feeling out of place, she was finally right where she belonged.
THE END
MY COWBOY HERO
Copyright 2017 by Kenzo Publishing - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document by either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited, and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
My Cowboy Hero
A Western Romance Novella
Book Description
“If you’re still breathing, then you can still fight.” That’s what he said to me. The words were like fire. They burned through me and lit me up.
Mariana hated the thought of being married off to someone she didn’t know. Since he was well off, she thought she might be okay with it, but nothing prepared her for this. And now…she’s pregnant.
Then there's Liam. He's beautiful and rugged at the same time. She feels so comfortable around him. And even better than his good looks and easy conversation is the fact that he makes her feel safe and loved. She never knew what love was until she met him.
Liam thinks Mariana’s a bit stubborn and sassy, but that’s part of what he likes about her. He feels that the life she lives doesn’t have to be her fate. He plans to make her see that she doesn’t have to take it.
Will Mariana get to be with the man of her dreams? Or is she doomed to this life she’s living?
TABLE OF CONTENTS
MY COWBOY HERO
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
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
“You certainly have a beautiful daughter, Arnold.”
From a very young age, that’s what people always said about me. The comments echoed in my head like a mantra. I was beautiful, and my brother was strong and handsome. Those words and those expectations set the stage for the rest of my life.
I came from a wealthy family who expected me to conduct myself like a lady. I was to sit quietly, my ankles crossed, and my body strapped into a corset I could barely breathe in. When men cast lustful glances in my direction, I was expected to smile sweetly and accept it because one day, one of those men might be my husband.
My father was one of the first men to settle California, and he built an empire on the gold he fished out of rivers and dug out of the ground. He spent his younger years working himself into the ground, and it all paid off. We had a vast fortune and neither I, nor my brother, ever knew anything other than luxury.
Many men made their fortunes out west. It was a thriving society that easily rivaled the East in terms of culture and extravagance, and I was right in the center of it all. I spent my youth going to dances and being paraded in front of men with round bellies, lecherous desires, and heavy pockets. I was a commodity before I even understood what my lot in life was going to be.
My long, golden hair and emerald eyes made men turn their heads. My ivory skin was closely protected by my mother who rarely let me go outside and never without a hat. She wanted to keep my skin as smooth and white as porcelain. My delicate figure was guarded just as closely. I ate very little and when I did, I took nibbling bites that never seemed to satisfy my hunger. My fingers were delicate and only good for pouring tea and stitching. Everything about me was delicate and borderline frail. My mother, who always held her head high, waist sucked in with a corset, always told me that if I wanted to be a true lady I needed to have a slight figure and robust morals.
There was one other thing women were expected to be; stupid. No one ever said it directly, but I’d heard my mother say “books will be the downfall of women,” more than once. Even though my mother didn’t care for me to read, I did it anyway. I wanted to learn about the world. I wanted to learn more than cross stitching and the proper way to serve tea. I didn’t want to be a proper woman.
I spent my entire life trying to avoid the trope of getting married and having as many children as possible, but I was never brave or confident enough to leave my comfortable life behind. I would watch women married to farmers and ranchers and be jealous of them, knowing I would never have their freedom. The only way I could fight my fate was to be as disinterested in marriage as possible, but that wouldn’t be enough.
It was the day of my eighteenth birthday, and I shifted on the padded seat of the carriage, clutching a single suitcase that I’d filled with books. I was on my way to meet the man I had been married off too. I had not even known of the arrangement until my father sat me down at his desk and instructed me to sign the paper in front of me. It was a marriage license, and I knew I couldn’t refuse.
That’s what brought me here, to this dreary mansion. The driver offered his hand and helped me out of the carriage, leading me to the heavy oak and brass doors. I lifted the knocker and let it fall, wincing at the metallic sound that was so loud it scared the birds out of the nearby trees.
A tall, gangly man in a butler’s uniform opened the door and swept his hand towards a grand staircase. I watched as a grey-haired man in a velvet lounging robe waddled down the stairs. He was almost as round as he was tall and I couldn’t help the way my heart dropped into my stomach. This man, Reynold Harvey, made his way to me slowly, panting and out of breath by the time he reached me. It was clear he’d spent his time wallowing in decadence. The overwhelming smell of his cologne burned my nose and made my eyes tear up. I coughed and turned my head from him. That was the first mistake of many.
“How dare you!” he roared.
I flinched and looked up, gasping as his fat, sausage-like fingers tangled in my hair. He yanked me down until I hit the cold, stone floor. I yelped as pain shot through my knees, but the staff just looked away. It was almost as if they were used to seeing this sort of thing.
“You will curtsey when you meet me!” he snarled.
&nbs
p; His yellowed teeth were bared, and every word that left his lips was dripping with hatred. I hadn’t been here but two minutes, and I was already considered a failure as a wife.
“I-I’m sorry!”
He yanked my hair again, and I screamed as hot, searing pain radiated through my entire skull. His eyes were fixed on me, his cheeks red from the effort it took to make it down the stairs.
“You will call me ‘lord, ’ and you will present yourself as a proper lady! Now try again!”
He released my hair, and I rose on shaking legs, afraid that if I even breathed wrong, he might hurt me again. My curtsey was shaky, but it seemed good enough for him.
“I-I’m sorry, my lord,” I whispered.
He snorted and shook his head. “Get her out of my sight,” Reynold said, waving his hand. “Take her to her room.”
The butler nodded and took my arm, leading me up the grand staircase. He moved quickly, patting my arm in a weak attempt to comfort me. I wasn’t sure there was anything anyone could do to comfort me right now.
Chapter Two
The first week in the mansion was absolute hell. No matter where I was, or what I was doing, I was on my toes, ready to skitter away at even the slightest sound. I was terrified of what my husband was going to do to me and I was terrified of angering him. The only comfort I had was the fact that I had my own room. I could hole up in it and lock the door, praying that he wouldn’t try to come in.
I was young and inexperienced in the ways of marriage. My mother had sat me down shortly before I was sent away and explained to me that my husband would want to lay with me. That was all she told me. She said that he would take my clothes off and I needed to let him do whatever it was that men did to their wives. I couldn’t argue, and I couldn’t refuse him. He was my husband, and it was my duty to keep him happy.
The conversation made little sense to me at the time, but as evening drew closer, I was starting to feel a chill run up my spine. I couldn’t explain why, but I was afraid of what was to come. Something in my gut told me that it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
