by Sable Hunter
Wild West Series
By
Sable Hunter
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
King’s Fancy
All rights reserved.
Copyright 2017 © Sable Hunter
Cover by JRA Stevens
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. 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 express written permission from the author / publisher
Kingston Ramsay needs a good woman, even if he doesn’t know it yet.
Building a life in the wild west can get mighty lonely for a man who has vowed to never fall in love again.
Lonely days. Lonely nights. Lonely bed.
Lucky for him, he has friends who are determined to help him out. While King agrees to hire a housekeeper, his compadres decide he deserves more - a beautiful wife, ready and able to fill those lonely hours with all the excitement he can handle.
Not telling King about his surprise…might have been a mistake, for when Fancy arrives, she isn’t exactly what they bargained for when they arranged for a mail-order bride for their friend.
Half-starved and homeless, Fancy Grace is ecstatic for a chance at a family of her own. In her estimation, Kingston Ramsay, the man who has chosen her, is the epitome of perfection. She can’t believe her good fortune and is determined to make him the happiest of men…until she learns the truth.
Kingston didn’t choose her, he thinks she is there to make his bed, not warm it.
Determined to make the best of her bad situation, Fancy sets out to prove she can be exactly what King needs. She might not be a beauty, but she has plenty to offer the right man. Sparks fly in this battle of the sexes when these two strong-willed individuals clash. King is forced to reevaluate his definition of perfect when he learns a valuable truth - sometimes true beauty can only be discerned when looking through the eyes of love.
Contents
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
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CHAPTER ONE
PROLOGUE
Those who know great love can look back and marvel at the events which brought them together. Seemingly unrelated, tragically random events that set one’s footsteps on the path to their ultimate destiny. One might think these circumstances are coincidence, another may be convinced these moments were meant to be. Either way, both can agree…
Fate can sometimes have an odd sense of humor.
A Chance Meeting – New York 1848
“We want to go out and play, Father.” Kingston Ramsay brandished his toy sword, thrusting the blunt tip playfully toward his brother, Winfield.
“Not me.” Winfield grasped his stomach. “I ate too many prunes at breakfast.”
King made a face at the thought. “Prunes! No wonder you’re sick.”
John Howard Ramsay waved his hand at Kingston, his head bowed over a thick sheaf of papers. “Go, for God sakes, go. Stay in the courtyard of the hotel. When I go outside to call you in, you’d better be close enough to hear me or I’ll thrash you.”
“Yes, Father.” He gave one last look at Winfield. When his brother made a face at him, King shrugged and took off. His mother was at tea, his father was deep in business, and he had an entire morning of freedom. Checking in his pocket to make sure he had his lucky pieces, King ran from the room, grabbing a dark green cloth from a round side table as he went. Just before he reached the door, he threw it over his shoulders, knotting the cloth at his neck. “Now, I’m Robin Hood!”
Darting down the hall, he dashed around other hotel patrons as he sought to make his way outdoors. “Excuse me, excuse me, please.”
“Watch it, kid,” a uniformed hotel employee barked at him. “Why are you wearing a hotel tablecloth?”
“I take from the rich to give to the poor!” King called out as he dashed away. Dodging people on the sidewalk, he headed for the alleyway next to the Post Office. The Astor Hotel sat in the midst of New York City, a bustling metropolis as far removed from rural Tennessee as a place could be. To King, the city was magical. Full of new things – new sights, new smells, new people. Holding his sword close to his side, he bounded his way clear of merchants and patrons, all with one destination in mind.
When he was away from the crowd, King spun in a circle, one arm over his head and the other slicing the air with his sword. “On guard, King Richard. Give me all your gold!”
“Touche!”
The unexpected voice caused King to whirl around, his toy sword making contact with a wooden window prop stick. To his shock, the weapon was held by a girl, one no older than himself. Seeing the twinkle in her eye, he grinned, then they parried their strokes, jumping from one side to the other, their laughter ringing happily.
After the rowdy bout ended in a draw, he asked her with a voice full of mischief, “Do you have any gold?”
“Nary a penny, kind sir. Are you Robin of Locksley?”
King smiled. At eight, he didn’t normally play with girls, but this one spoke his language. “I am and who might you be?”
“Maid Marion, at your service!” She curtsied, holding out a worn, patched skirt, so faded, the material had no color. Bowing from the waist, the sunshine caught her hair, setting it aflame with light.
“Maid Marion, have you seen Little John on your journey?” He wondered if the freckle-faced little girl with the wide smile would fall into his play with ease.
“I have, Robin, he is deep in Sherwood Forest and asking for you.” She picked up a basket of apples. “Would you care for nourishment before we begin our quest?”
“I would!” He accepted a rosy red apple and bit into it with relish. His companion seemed happy at his willingness to share her bounty. “Thank you, Maid Marion.”
“You are most welcome, Robin.” She pointed to the end of the alley and to the street beyond. “Shall we be off to find your Merry Men?”
“Yes, I require their aid to protect the true King, Richard the Lion-hearted.” He thrust his sword up in the sky and scampered off after his new friend.
Over the next few hours, they laughed and played, their imagination running wild. They ran up and down the city streets, dodging an oyster stand, a root-beer seller, and a baker’s cart. “Wait, Robin, not so fast!” Marion called as she tried to dash across a busy street after him, only to be delayed while a horse drawn cab blocked her way.
“Catch me if you can!” he called as he raced down a sidewalk, knocking against a woman and earning a few choice words from a pipe-smoking businessman.
“Ruffian!” the irritated man yelled at King who called back an apology.
“So sorry!”
“Stop!” Marion called to Robin. “I’m out of breath and I’ve lost most of my apples.”
King slowed down so his playmate could catch up. “Why are you carrying a basket of fruit around with you anyway?”
“I
sell it to make money. For food.”
“Don’t you eat at home?” He couldn’t help his curious question.
The little girl shrugged her bony shoulders. “I don’t have a home. I’m an orphan, but I ran away from the orphanage. They were mean to me there.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” King felt sorry for her. He had a good home, even if he did have to share it with Winfield.
“I don’t mind. I like being on my own.” As they sat down on a curb, she took an apple from her basket and bit into it with a crunch.
“Where do you get them?” he asked, nodding at the red fruit.
“There’s a tree in the commons about fifteen blocks from here. I go really early in the morning and take what’s fallen to the ground and sell them all over the city.”
“Sounds fun.” It didn’t really. King didn’t think he could sell things. He hated asking people for favors. “How old are you, Marion?”
“I’m seven. You?”
“Eight.” They both nodded as if their age explained everything.
King was about to ask more questions when he was jerked to his feet roughly by someone from behind.
“Look what I found, Barry. A pretty boy. We like pretty boys, don’t we?”
The suddenness of the attack sent King into shock. “Put me down!”
“I don’t think so. You’re coming with us. There’s a man who’ll pay a pretty penny for the likes of you.”
King struggled against the cruel hands of the men trying to kidnap him. “Stop!” He didn’t get another word out before a dirty hand was clamped over his mouth.
“Leave him alone!” The pint size girl launched herself at the two men, biting, kicking, and scratching.
“Get her off me!” The burly one with the bowler hat tried to dodge Maid Marian’s teeth and sharp-toed shoes. “Little guttersnipe!”
Seeing his new friend fight so hard for him, King found new strength. The man was holding him off the ground, an arm so tight around his middle, it was like a steel band. Taking a deep breath, he slammed his head back hard, cracking his attacker right in the nose.
“Ow, fuck!”
When the other thug turned to see what was amiss with his partner in crime, King saw Maid Marion ball up her fist and hit her attacker as hard as she could between his legs.
“Goddamn!”
For just a split second, both children were free, and they took full advantage. “Run, Robin! Run!”
King took off after Maid Marion as she cut across streets, through buildings, and down alleyways. They put as much distance between themselves and the dangerous strangers as they could. Without even looking where they were going, King followed her without question. When they slowed down, he wasn’t surprised that she’d led him back to the Astor Hotel.
“What did they want?” he asked breathlessly.
“You.” She told him. “And not for a good reason, I’m sure.”
King was still shocked by what had transpired. “You saved me. Thank you. If I would’ve been by myself, I wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
Maid Marion blushed, which made her freckles stand out even more. “You’re welcome.”
They were standing near the ornate front of the Astor Hotel, the doorman was giving them the eye. “Hey, are you Mr. John Howards’ boy? He’s been looking for you!”
“Oh, fiddle,” King wiped his face. “I’m in so much trouble. I’d better go in.”
Maid Marion gave him a bow. “I enjoyed playing with you, Robin Hood.”
“What about you? Where will you go?” He remembered her telling him that she’d run away from the orphanage.
She shrugged her thin shoulders. “I’ll manage. There’s a bridge a few blocks away. Several of us kids sleep underneath it.”
“Son!” the doorman called King again. “Shall I escort you to your father’s hotel room myself? You shouldn’t be hanging around with that street urchin, you’ll probably catch a disease!”
King felt his anger rise. “Just a minute!” He felt embarrassed. “Don’t listen to him, you’re not an urchin.” Not that he knew what being an urchin meant.
Maid Marion giggled. “Actually, I think I am.” She backed away. “You take care. Will I see you tomorrow?”
Shaking his head, King was sorry. “No, I think we’re catching the train home tomorrow. My father’s business meeting was today.”
“Oh.”
Seeing her sad smile, King wanted to repay her in some way. Suddenly, he thought of the coins he called his lucky pieces. “Hold on.” Digging in his pocket, he drew out an old, old coin that his grandfather had given him before he died. “This is a coin issued by King Richard the Lion-hearted himself. It’s ancient, hundreds and hundreds of years old.”
Maid Marion took the coin, her eyes wide. “Oh, my goodness. Are you sure? This must be priceless!” She held her hand back out for him to retrieve his gift. “You should keep this.”
He covered her hand with his. “No, I want you to have it. You risked yourself for me. You could have run when that man grabbed me, but you stood and fought by me. Just like Maid Marion would have done for Robin Hood.”
Tears gathered in Maid Marion’s eyes. “I’ll never, ever part with it. Thank you so much. You are a true friend, Robin Hood.”
Footsteps from behind told King the doorman was coming to force him inside. “Take care, Maid Marion.”
She held up her hand and waved to him. “Goodbye. I hope to see you again, someday.”
At the doorman’s urging, King made his way to the door. Just before he stepped inside, he glanced back to wave at his friend one more time.
To his dismay, she was gone.
King was halfway up the stairs to the fourth floor when he realized he didn’t even know her name.
King – Tennessee, Late Summer of 1865
Study War No More
The sun rose behind a bank of fog on the last day before the men arrived home. Seven long weeks of journeying through a war-ravaged countryside were coming to an end.
And now they were walking home.
A mistaken sense of duty and a misguided yearning for adventure had lured them away from family and friends, sent them out of the mountains for the very first time, dropping them into a bloody war. For the most part, luck and their mother’s prayers ducked them under bullets and cannon fire, sheltered them from the enemy, and protected them from typhoid and small pox.
And now they were going home.
When Johnny comes marching home again
Hurrah! Hurrah!
We'll give him a hearty welcome then
Hurrah! Hurrah!
The men will cheer, and the boys will shout
The ladies they will all turn out
And we'll all give thanks
When Johnny comes marching home.
Jericho’s low, rumbling baritone voice set the hopeful mood as what remained of the Cumberland Guards, the Eastern Unit of the 9th Calvary, headed south along the Appalachian Trail toward home. None knew what their future held, but they all expected it to be better than the misery and destruction they’d abandoned on the battlefield.
Captain Kingston Ramsay, leader of the ragtag band, didn’t say much as they trudged along. He kept his chin up, a smile hidden just under the surface of his expression. Once he reached Knoxville, his life would officially begin anew. Love and happiness awaited him in the arms of his beautiful fiancée.
As he walked with his hand in his front pocket, King rubbed his lucky piece. He attributed this old coin with bringing him safely through the war. His gaze drifted from man to man, heroes all. They’d left Tennessee as boys and they were returning as men. Their number had been eleven in the beginning, only seven remained. The names of the four they’d lost were forever burned into his memory. Pat Jenkins. Roy Schneider. Frank Dole. Harry Meeks. King would’ve traded places with any one of them if he could have. He’d promised their mothers and fathers he would protect them, but when he made the vow, he’d had no idea of th
e horrors they’d be facing.
One by one, he surveyed them, his men, his responsibility.
To King’s left, two of his lieutenants, Jericho Wright and Boone Roberts, regaled one another with talk of the luxuries they hoped to enjoy once they reached their families’ homes in Sevier County. Their lighthearted words hid the atrocities the two men had witnessed.
Jericho was the best shot King had ever seen. He’d been recruited as a sniper almost from the beginning. He’d made a kill with a Whitworth rifle from thirteen hundred and ninety yards. The feat was lauded, but the young man’s death haunted Jericho. The Union soldier had been but a boy, barely sixteen years old.
Boone nodded. “I intend to take a long bath and make myself a decent cup of coffee. I’m tired of the weak-ass mess I’ve been drinking, I miss the chicory coffee I used to drink in New Orleans.” He raised his head and sniffed the air. “I can almost smell it now.”
King chuckled and hoisted his rifle to his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure that’s not coffee you smell, Boone. I think there’s a polecat in the bushes.”
King knew Boone was a tough son-of-a bitch, he’d had to be to survive. Raised in a New Orleans brothel, Boone had spent his childhood defending himself and his mother from the cruel jibes and worse, usually from the wives and children of the men who frequented the establishment. During his time in the war, he’d been captured and sent to Elmira, known as Hellmira to the inmates. The prison camp in southern New York state was one of the many blackspots on what King considered to be a useless war. He’d been horrified to learn how two observation towers were constructed for onlookers to gaze over the wall. Citizens paid fifteen cents to look at the inmates. Concession stands located by the towers sold cake, peanuts, and lemonade to the gawkers, while the prisoners inside the camp starved to death. Boone had been lucky, one of the few who successfully escaped by tunneling under the wall using a spoon.
“Well, I plan on sleeping a week in my feather bed,” Jericho said as he tossed a pine cone at a squirrel scampering up a sweetgum, then automatically picked up another cone to toss in the air like a ball. “The only reason my feet are gonna touch the floor is if I have to take a piss or fetch another jar of moonshine from the kitchen.”
