Michael was about to put the letter back into his bag when he noticed something in the message. His father had crossed out something, which at first Michael had only thought this an example of his father’s terrible hand-writing, but now he realized this was a name.
Curious, Michael pulled out his worn-out bag and rummaged for the other letters his father had sent, searching for the first mention of a fire. Now that Michael thought about it, his father had mentioned many unusual accidents in his letters, but unfortunately, Michael though shamefully, he had not taken his father’s mentions seriously.
He found the letter he was searching for and gently opened it. His father had sent it nearly a year ago when Michael had been traveling in Arizona.
Dear Michael. Your latest telegraph only recently arrived with your new location, but I pray this letter will arrive before you head on to the next adventure. There has recently been a great fire; fortunately, there were no casualties. But this had a significant impact on the whole of Rust Canyon. The barn was ablaze for a whole night, casting a terrifying light over the town. I know you will think me an old man rambling, but it was like a warning. There is more to come; I am certain of it.
Michael put down the letter. Father was right; I did only think it him being paranoid. How cruel I was, not giving his thought more weight.
Michael compared the two letters. Two fires: the first one, a warning in his father’s opinion, the second one had a fatality.
Was my father on to something? What can this mean?
Chapter Three
The train was slowing down, and all around the carriage, Michael heard people standing up to gather their belongings. Everything he owned was in his bag, which had been his father’s. It was covered in patches and looked worse for wear, but Michael could not imagine ever replacing it—especially not now.
Michael pulled the bag over his shoulder as he exited the train. The station was covered in steam, which hurled up the dust, making it even less clear to see. He walked towards the busy main street, and more than a few people turned their heads in his direction. Michael ignored them and walked steadfastly towards the sheriff’s office.
How odd it feels being back. Somehow I expected a sense of domestic familiarity or even apprehension, but I feel… nothing. It was as if he never left, and everything was as it should be—and, of course, nothing was as it should be.
Michael jumped up the three steps and peered inside the empty looking sheriff’s office. He had not thought about how he would get in. He had been in such a rush getting back to Rust Canyon that he had not had time to send a telegraph announcing his return. Michael was about to walk to the back of the house when a voice called his name.
“Michael?” A familiar voice said behind him. Michael turned around and smiled for what felt like the first time since he received the news of his father.
“Benjamin,” Michael exclaimed. He walked down the steps towards an auburn-haired man, around ten years older than he was, with rounded shoulders and thin stature. Benjamin had worked as a junior sheriff for Michael’s father for the past seven years. Michael shook Benjamin’s hand, and the latter looked mournfully at him.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” Benjamin said painfully.
“I jumped on the next train as soon as I heard about my father,” Michael replied.
“Your father was a great man,” Benjamin said earnestly.
“Thank you,” Michael replied, “He truly was.”
“I suppose you will be taking over?” Benjamin asked apprehensively as he walked towards the front door of the sheriff’s office, searching for the correct key on a ring of many.
“That was my father’s wish,” Michael said.
“You will be a fine sheriff,” Benjamin huffed with the strain of pushing the door open, which creaked loudly.
“Are you all right, Benjamin?” Michael asked, concerned.
“I…” Benjamin spluttered, “Well, truth be told, I have been swamped.”
“With what?” Michael asked as he looked around the familiar insides of his father’s office. My office, Michael reminded himself.
“Your father did not exactly leave clear notes of his investigation,” Benjamin sighed as he sat at a table littered with papers.
“Investigation?” Michael asked.
“Well, I suppose he was investigating something,” Benjamin replied. “I have been trying to make sense of his notebooks, but you know me, Michael,” he added, looking like an old man.
“I’m no sheriff, and nor did I ever pretend to be, but your father had been working on something.”
“Working on what?” Michael asked eagerly.
“He didn’t tell me, he said that no one could know, not yet,” Benjamin replied.
“Does it have something to do with the fires?” Michael said.
“I’m almost certain it did,” Benjamin replied, “After he died, I made sure to lock his notebooks in the safe, and this office has been out of use as well.”
“Where have you been working from then?” Michael asked.
“Oh, I have been riding around the town, and then people knew to find me at home if they needed anything,” Benjamin said, his voice falling.
“It didn’t feel right to be working from here,” he added lamely.
“Well, now I will need you here,” Michael said after a long pause. He knew his father had not always been kind to his junior sheriff. He had complained loudly about him and would often mention the way Benjamin worked too slowly. But Benjamin never let it get to him. He had been thrilled when he was hired, and no matter what Michael’s father said, he had been a great help.
“Thank you,” Benjamin replied gratefully.
“Now, let’s have a look at my father’s notebooks.”
* * *
Lillian stirred the oversized ladle, using all her strength to do so. The huge pot was bubbling on the industrial stove in the Saloon-Hotel kitchen. This was her seventh day working at the hotel, and although she felt absolutely knackered when she returned home, Lillian could not remember the last time she had felt this happy.
Well, happy might not be the right word.
She felt pleased to be helping, and the new environment was an exciting one. It felt good not having the constant reminder of her father all around her. And then, there was Vincent. Lillian smiled slightly. He had been such a gentleman to her this past week. Every day during the morning break, he came to see her. Uncle Jacob tended to make sure that Lillian could spare a moment to speak with him.
Lillian always felt slightly embarrassed when her Uncle hinted strongly that the two of them would make a nice match. He would constantly say, it was such a shame a girl like she had not yet tied the knot, and that Vincent had confided to him that he was ready to settle down.
Lillian didn’t know what to say to him. There had been other hopeful suitors before Vincent, but she had refused them all. She didn’t feel ready to get married, and none of them had been men that she would even consider to marry.
However, she had to admit that Vincent wasn’t anything like those men. He was kind and well-read, and every time Lillian wished the earth would open up and swallow her whole when Uncle Jacob was on his tirade about them marrying, Vincent would jump in and change the subject, giving her a small wink.
Vincent was very different from other men around here. He was handsome, well-educated, and came from a wealthy family. If Lillian married him, she would not have to work another day in her life.
My silly heart is always playing with my fate. I always imagined that when I would get married, I would marry the love of my life. But, that is surely only in the romance books I have read, it only happens in fairy tales.
One of the workers peered his head inside the kitchen. “It smells delicious, miss,”
“Why, thank you, Dennis. It’s very nearly ready.”
“That’s grand,” Dennis grinned and turned around. Lillian chuckled as she heard him yell: “Hold yer horses, gents, is c
oming it is.”
Lillian stacked the bowls in front of the large pot and put the large loaves of bread she had baked next to it. Soon the kitchen was filled with hungry workers, eagerly waiting in line to receive their lunch.
“I don’t think they have ever been so quiet,” Uncle Jacob joked as he walked into the kitchen.
“Well, they work really hard,” Lillian replied.
“As they ought to,” Uncle Jacob replied.
“I must say, Uncle,” Lillian said, “I am really looking forward to the opening.”
“You and me both. I just spoke with pastor Williams, and he has agreed to lead the opening with a prayer, to bless the house.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” Lillian exclaimed.
“The whole town is going to be here,” Uncle Jacob said proudly.
“And before I forget,” he added, “Vincent had hoped he might accompany you to the opening.”
“He did?” Lillian answered politely.
“I think he’s quite smitten,” Uncle Jacob teased.
“Oh…” Lillian replied quietly.
“It will be an excellent night, believe me,” Uncle Jacob said, and Lilian sighed with relief as he did not appear to have noticed her less-than-thrilled answer.
* * *
Lillian walked back home late that night. Everything was ready for the grand opening, which was the next evening. She was quite excited about the opening. All the staff had worked hard for the past week, making sure everything would be perfect. Lillian had been instructed to make sure all the bedrooms were clean, and the chambermaids all made the beds correctly, the way they did in the great big fancy hotels in the big cities.
The Saloon ballroom, where the opening would be held at, was the most beautiful place Lillian had ever seen, and the crown jewel was a magnificent light fixture that glistened and sparkled high up in the ceiling. Lillian was glad she did not have to work during the opening night; however, she was a little bit nervous about accompanying Vincent. She opened the front door to her home quietly, not sure if her mother had gone to sleep yet.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Dorothy said as soon as Lillian closed the door behind her.
“Hello, Mother,” Lillian replied, “I wasn’t sure you would still be up.”
“Oh, I wanted to see you before I went to bed.” Her mother smiled.
“Well, I brought you food.” Lillian put her small bag on the kitchen table. She pulled out a jar with leftover stew and some bread.
“You shouldn’t have,” Dorothy said.
“We had plenty left,” Lillian lied. This had been the large portion of her own lunch, but she knew her mother was not strong enough to cook anything.
“Well, God bless your sweet soul,” Dorothy said, stroking her daughter’s cheek.
Lillian sat next to her mother at the kitchen table, facing the permanently empty chair of her father’s.
“You know, your Uncle stopped by here,” Dorothy took a small bite of the bread.
“He did?” Lillian asked, surprised.
“He sure did,” Dorothy chuckled, “Look inside your room.”
Lillian looked puzzled but stood up and walked towards her room. On her bed was a thin, white box with a red bow across it. Lillian carefully untied the bow and removed the top. Inside was a dress. She pulled it from the box and gasped.
This was the most beautiful evening dress she had ever seen. It was a light shade of pink, silk brocade with delicate chiffon and lace sleeves. Lillian stared at the dress for a long while, before she laid it back into the box and carried it back to the kitchen.
“This is too much,” Lillian said as soon as she returned to the kitchen.
“What did he buy you?” Dorothy asked.
“Look at this,” Lillian said, putting the box on a small side table and showing her mother the dress.
“Oh, Lilli,” Dorothy gasped.
“It’s too much,” Lillian repeated, “I will have to return it.”
“My darling, your uncle wants you to wear it tomorrow,” Dorothy said, “He mentioned it when he brought the box.”
“He did?” Lillian asked.
“Yes.”
“Your uncle cares greatly about you, and returning this dress would only cause him pain,” she added.
“Perhaps you are right. But I will not know how to behave myself in such a dress.”
“My darling daughter, this dress is very pretty, but it wilts in comparison with your rare beauty,” Dorothy said.
“You always know what to say,” Lillian said and grinned sheepishly, “But you must promise to do my hair.”
“I would be delighted to,” Dorothy smiled, “And I might add, that this dress will not look out of place next to a certain gentleman, who I believe will accompany you tomorrow,” she added with a grin.
* * *
After his father’s funeral, Michael had barely moved from the sheriff’s office. He did not like to stay for long at the house; the constant reminders of his father were too much for him. These past days he had been perusing over the notebooks his father had left behind, and he wasn’t surprised by the way Benjamin had looked when Michael returned to Rust Canyon.
The notebooks were utterly confusing, and his father’s terrible handwriting did not do anything to help matters. But Michael did agree with Benjamin that this had something to do with the fires.
“Benjamin?” Michael called.
“Yes,” he responded at once.
“Where is the file on the Wesley fire?” Michael asked.
“Oh, wait a moment,” Benjamin said, hastily getting up and looking around the utterly chaotic mess of a desk he had.
“I’m sure I had it here somewhere,” he muttered.
I need more information, and not only from Benjamin. I need to hear from someone who might have noticed something. That’s what father always said; people always know more than they think they do.
“Just put it on my desk once you find it,” Michael said, “Say, Benjamin.”
“Yeah,” Benjamin said, turning around to face him.
“What is happening with the old Saloon-Hotel?” Michael asked.
“Well, the grand opening is tonight,” Benjamin said, “Jacob Frazier had re-built the hotel at record speed since the fire there last year.”
“That’s interesting,” Michael pondered.
“I’m guessing the opening will be filled with people?” he added.
“Absolutely,” Benjamin replied.
“Perhaps I should pay them a small visit,” Michael said thoughtfully.
“You want to cause a scene, don’t ya?” Benjamin asked with a chuckle.
“I just think it might be a good idea to see who’s going to be there,” Michael replied with a small grin.
“You are like your father, you are,” Benjamin said.
“How so?” Michael asked, curious.
“Well, he was never afraid of stirring the pot, so to say,” Benjamin replied, “If my missus is right, and mind you, she usually is, all the finer folk of the town is going to be at the Saloon-Hotel tonight. Even some of the people that do business here.”
“I think it is just what the doctor ordered. I’d say,” Michael said, standing up and grabbing his hat.
“You should head on home,” he added, “Give my regards to your family.”
“Oh, that would be great, thank you, sheriff,” Benjamin replied happily.
“How many children do you have, by the way?” Michael asked, “I think father once said that you had a round dozen, but I suspect he was exaggerating.”
“Sometimes it feels that way,” Benjamin laughed good-naturedly before he added, “I have four energetic boys that wreak havoc wherever they go but are still sweet as lambs.”
“Go see your family,” Michael said, touched by the way Benjamin’s face lit up when he spoke of his children.
“And I will go and see if I can’t go and wreak havoc somewhere,” Michael grinned.
* * *
&nbs
p; Lillian entered the Hotel-Saloon, a nervous flutter filling her. She was wearing the gorgeous dress her Uncle had bought her, and her hair was tied back in an elegant knot, with a few strands of curly hair framing her face.
“Lillian!” Vincent called, appearing from the back where Uncle Jacob’s office was.
Longing For The Tormented Sheriff (Historical Western Romance) Page 3
