Longing For The Tormented Sheriff (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

“Your Uncle keeps saying young Vincent is quite smitten with you,” Dorothy laughed.

  “Oh…” Lillian spluttered. She felt warm, and her heart was rapidly beating as if it was preparing to jump from her chest, and her stomach clenched.

  “Lilli?” Dorothy asked concernedly.

  “I’m all right,” Lillian lied. Her mother looked as she was about to argue when someone knocked.

  “I’ll get it,” Lillian said, grateful for the distraction. She untied her apron and walked towards the front door.

  What is wrong with me? I feel as if I am ill, but she only made a little joke… Life being married to Vincent would undoubtedly make for a simpler and more comfortable life.

  She was so caught up in her thoughts when she opened the front door that her breath caught in her throat as she noticed the man standing in front of her.

  “Hello,” she whispered and dropped her apron. As she bent down to pick it up, Sheriff Flemming did so as well. Their hands met when they both grabbed the apron, and Lillian felt strangely as if a part of her belonged to him. She quickly stood up and stepped back.

  “It’s good to see you again so soon, Miss Walter,” Michael said, tipping his hat.

  “Likewise,” Lillian responded, her voice shaky.

  “Would it be all right if I came in for a minute?” Michael asked after a short pause.

  “Of course, of course,” Lillian spluttered backing to allow him to enter the home.

  I feel as if I’m about to faint…

  Lillian followed Michael as he walked into the kitchen, where a startled Dorothy looked up.

  “Hello?” she asked curiously.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am,” Michael said politely, “My name is Michael Flemming, and I’m the new sheriff here in Rust Canyon.”

  “Of course.” Dorothy smiled as a look of understanding dawned on her, “You’re the spitting image of your father,” she added with a smile.

  “Thank you,” he replied.

  “I knew your father,” Dorothy continued, “He was one of a kind.”

  “He truly was,” Michael echoed.

  “I presume you hear this quite a lot, but I’m so very sorry for your loss.” Dorothy held her hand close to her heart, protectively.

  “To lose someone dear, it takes away a vital part of your being,” she added, looking away from Michael.

  “Thank you for your kind words,” Michael said genuinely.

  “I came here, firstly, to introduce myself, but also to gather more information about the happenings these past months,” he added.

  “It’s been happening for a year,” Lillian said, sitting next to her mother and gesturing to Michael to take a seat. He took off his hat and sat in her father’s old chair.

  “I was thinking about it this morning,” she continued, “tomorrow it will be exactly one year.”

  “That’s good information,” Michael said, looking intently at her, his unusually green eyes examining her.

  “If you two don’t mind, it would truly help me if y’all could go over these events,” he added politely, “But do tell me if I am intruding.”

  “Not at all,” Lillian responded, too quickly. Dorothy raised her eyebrows at Lillian, but she continued as if she had no control over her mouth.

  “You should stay for some pie,” she blurted.

  “Why I haven’t had homemade pie in ages,” Michael chuckled.

  “Well, then it’s a match made in heaven,” Lillian responded with a grin. She avoided her mother’s eyes as she stood up to make coffee.

  “That I don’t doubt,” Michael said softly.

  “Oh, you’ll love it,” Lillian said, feeling her cheeks burn. She busied herself with the coffee tin, but she could hardly remove the lid as her hands shook nervously.

  “So, tell me, sheriff,” Dorothy began, breaking the strained silence that had moved over the room, “How is the sheriff’s life treating you.”

  “Truth be told, I have barely been a sheriff for a week,” Michael admitted, “but I do feel like I’m on the right track.”

  “Are you married?” Dorothy asked curiously but was startled as Lillian dropped the coffee tin on the kitchen counter.

  “No, ma’am,” Michael responded slowly, “I’m still waiting for the one.”

  A shiver ran down her spine, and Lillian had to suppress the urge to whimper. Michael had briefly glanced in her direction, his gentle green eyes searching. She felt her chest tighten, and her mouth moved, but words failed her.

  Stop this, Lillian! What is wrong with me? How can this man affect me the way he does, and this is just the second time I see him? I just promised Vincent I would wait for him, but the next day I feel as if I could run away with a complete stranger.

  Chapter Six

  Dorothy told Michael about the fires, and he was glued to every word. She had an excellent memory and could tell him when each fire happened with sharp details.

  Lillian finished preparing the coffee and brought plates to the kitchen table. She relaxed as she thought about how her mother’s nosiness had finally come to good use.

  Michael was speaking with her mother with interest, so his piercing eyes looked away from her direction. She couldn’t help but feel as if he watched her when she returned to grab the pie from the window. When she finally sat down, her nerves had calmed, and seeing her mother chatting away made her feel happy.

  It’s been so long since I have seen Mother smile this way. It is as if Father had just returned home, and Mother was telling him a silly story. Father always listened carefully and would never make you feel as if your story was beneath him… Michael seems to be the same.

  “Here you go,” Lillian said as she pushed a slice of pie in Michael’s direction.

  “Thank you, Miss Lillian,” he responded sweetly. Lillian cut a slice for her mother and herself, and for a blissful moment, they sat in silence and ate. Lillian had to bite her lip to stop her grin when she noticed Michael closed his eyes at the first bite.

  “Where did you learn to bake like that?” he asked, after slowly chewing the piece, “Girl, you must be an angel sent from heaven,” he added off-handedly. Dorothy grinned into her coffee cup, and Lillian took a shaky breath.

  “Thank you,” she finally said, “It’s actually Mother’s recipe.”

  “I got it from my mother,” Dorothy replied, “My mother would always bake with me on Sundays when I was a little girl, and that’s what I did with my sweet Lilli.”

  “Lilli?” Michael said with amusement in his tone.

  “Mother,” Lillian chastised, “It’s silly… She called me when I was a little girl but seems to have a hard time letting it go,” she added with a kind, yet exasperated look at her mother.

  “You will always be my little girl,” Dorothy replied promptly.

  “I think it suits you.”

  “Her father used to roll his eyes when I would call her Lilli,” Dorothy said reminiscently.

  “Oh, I forgot about that,” Lillian laughed.

  “He always said that someone as darling and sweet as his Lillian did not need a sweet nickname,” Dorothy continued, “You were the sun and moon to your father,” she finished gently patting her daughter’s hand. They sat in silence for a while, as Dorothy seemed to wilt slightly. It was as if she was a flower that caught a glimpse of the sun’s beams, but as the light disappeared, she turned back inside herself.

  “Would it be all right if I had another slice?” Michael said, breaking the increasingly tense silence.

  “Of course,” Lillian laughed, cutting him another slice. She noticed her mother smile, but her smile did not reach her kind eyes.

  “Well, you two,” Dorothy suddenly said, looking worn out and tired.

  “I think I will retire to my room if you don’t mind,” she said, standing up.

  “I hope I haven’t exhausted you,” Michael said.

  “Oh, no such thing,” Dorothy said, “I haven’t been well since… Well, I need to rest.”


  “I’ll walk with you,” Lillian said, moving to stand to, but her mother put out her hand.

  “No, sit, dear,” she demanded.

  “If you insist,” Lillian said hesitantly. Both she and Michael sat in silence as they watched Dorothy walk slowly out the hallway that led to her bedroom.

  “I hope you don’t think me too forward, miss,” Michael said quietly, “But is your mother well?”

  “She is…” Lillian began but stopped to consider what to tell him. Mother has not been well since father died, but that isn’t something I should share with anyone, especially not a stranger. But try as I might, I cannot push away my increasing trust in him. I cannot explain it, but I feel as if we have known each other in another life as if our souls connected.

  “Forget it,” Michael said, pulling Lillian from her thoughts, “I was being intrusive.”

  “No,” Lillian said quickly, “My father was killed nearly three months ago.”

  “That’s terrible. I’m sorry for your loss,” Michael said sincerely.

  “Thank you,” Lillian replied, looking at him again, “My mother was active and strong before he died, but now? She is barely a shell of her former self, and I worry about her.”

  “She’s lucky to have you,” Michael said.

  “We are lucky to have each other,” Lillian replied. She stood up and cleared the plates from the table. To her surprise, Michael stood too and handed her the mugs from the table.

  “You don’t need to,” Lillian said quickly.

  “I like to help when I can.”

  “You should sit and relax,” she quipped back.

  “When you live on the road, you appreciate home cooking and delicious pies, so the least I can do is hand you a few mugs,” Michael said gently.

  “All right then,” Lillian chuckled.

  “What’s it like traveling for such a long time?” she curiously added as she began drying the plates with a kitchen towel.

  “It’s…” Michael began thoughtfully, “It can be lonely and tiresome, but,” he paused, looking at Lillian, “it can also be the most freeing experience. You just ride, and you meet new places and new people.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “But for me, it came with a price,” Michael replied darkly.

  “Your father,” Lillian finished carefully.

  “Yeah… I wasn’t here, and I regret it every day. I traveled for a long time, searching for something, but what ended up happening was I lost the only thing I truly knew.”

  “I know the feeling,” Lillian agreed, “I feel as if I had all the time in the world to ask my father about anything. I think about all the time I wasted… I never even learned how to ride properly.”

  “I could teach you,” Michael said instantly but quickly added: “Only if your mother would approve, and your Uncle, of course.”

  “I don’t want to waste your time,” Lillian said, her nerves jumping up and down again.

  “It would truly be my pleasure,” Michael responded, “In fact, I have been meaning to go and find a new horse for me. My horse is my father’s old horse, and he can be rather slow, but he would be perfect for you.”

  “Really?” Lillian said, gleaming with excitement.

  “How about we use the afternoon before the sun sets?” he added.

  “I should ask mother,” Lillian replied, standing up from the kitchen table. She hurried down the hallway and practically skipped with glee as she returned from her mother’s room.

  “Mother says it’s a wonderful idea,” she said happily.

  “Well, miss,” Michael said as he stood and put on his hat again, “let’s go see your Uncle.”

  * * *

  Michael untied his horse’s reins and gently led it behind him, and Lillian walked beside him. He could not believe his luck.

  How fortunate has this afternoon turned out. Even if her uncle disagrees, we will have the time together as we walk. She sure is sweet.

  “What’s the horse’s name?” Lillian asked.

  “Old boy,” Michael chuckled.

  “That’s an amusing name,” Lillian giggled.

  “Well, that’s what I call him,” Michael said, “I don’t think my father named him anything, to be honest.”

  “That’s a shame,” Lillian said as she stroked the horse’s forehead.

  “A good steed should have a good name,” she added.

  “You should name it,” Michael suggested.

  “Oh, no, I could not do that,” Lillian replied shyly.

  “Of course, you should,” Michael said, “Otherwise it’s going to be called Old Boy,” he laughed.

  “All right then,” Lillian said thoughtfully, “How about… Walt.”

  “Walt?” Michael laughed, “How did you think of that name for a horse.”

  “Well, I think he has a grace about him, but there is realness and loyalty in his eyes, like the great poet,” Lillian said thoughtfully.

  “And perhaps also because he eats leaves of grass,” Michael teased.

  “That too,” Lillian chuckled.

  “Do you read much poetry?” Michael asked as they turned to the main street, near the Saloon Hotel.

  “Whenever I can,” Lillian smiled, “My father gave me Walt Whitman, behind my mother’s back,” she laughed at the memory.

  “Did she not approve?” Michael asked.

  “She approved of more traditional poetry, I suppose,” Lillian replied but stopped talking as they were nearing the hotel.

  “I will go and ask Uncle Jacob,” she added.

  “Let me go with you,” Michael said, “I will tie Walt’s reins and join you,” he added with a wink.

  * * *

  Lillian pushed open the front door of the Saloon-Hotel. She walked inside, Michael following her, and looked around for her uncle. Roaring laughter from the Saloon told her where her Uncle was; his laugh was unmistakable.

  “Uncle Jacob?” Lillian gently asked as she walked into the Saloon. Uncle Jacob sat at a table with men dressed in fancy jackets, everyone smoking a pipe. They looked curiously at Lillian, some smiling at her with an uncomfortable leer.

  “Lillian, dear,” Uncle Jacob said, jumping from his seat, “I told you to have the day off today.”

  “Oh, I know Uncle, it just I have a favor to ask,” Lillian said shyly.

  “A favor?” Uncle Jacob asked, but his head turned as Michael appeared in the Saloon.

  “Afternoon, gentlemen,” Michael said with a tip of his hat, which caused his Sheriff’s badge to glitter from the sparkling light from the chandelier. “Mr. Frazier,” he added with a small nod.

  “Uh, Sheriff Flemming,” Uncle Jacob said uncertainly, “To what do we owe the pleasure.”

  “Uncle,” Lillian hurried to say, “I had hoped that Sheriff Flemming might take me out for a riding lesson.”

  “A riding lesson?” Uncle Jacob repeated.

  “Well, Miss Walter mentioned she’s not too secure on a horse, so I offered to teach her,” Michael said, “That is, of course, if you do not have any objections.” Michael rested his hand in his belt, which caused his gun holster to become apparent.

  Lillian wasn’t sure if he was aware of what he was doing, but the men at the table did not seem to be able to look anywhere near their direction, especially not at her. Lillian noticed how uncomfortable the men at the table looked and had to bite her cheek to hide her grin.

  “I um…” Uncle Jacob began, “No, of course, I don’t have any objections, certainly not,” he finished, not looking absolutely convinced.

  “Let’s continue this discussion out here,” he added, guiding from the Saloon.

  “Lillian, you know how much I care about you,” Uncle Jacob continued.

  “Of course, Uncle.”

  “And I don’t want to deny you anything, not on your day off, but I do think that Vincent should know of this,” he said gravely, “When he returns,” he added.

  “I will tell him, Uncle,” Lillian said happily, �
��I promise.”

  “She will be home before sunset,” Michael assured Uncle Jacob, “You have my word.”

  “Well, just be careful,” Uncle Jacob replied, looking a little bit more relaxed, “She is the most precious person in the whole world.”