“Come on,” he said to the horse as he untied the very loosely tied reins. Guess I will need to teach her how to fasten a horse properly, in our next lesson, he chuckled to himself. Michael mounted the horse and rode towards his home. He would need to wash the smoke away, and perhaps sit down for a moment. His side ached with every movement, but he knew he would not go and see Doc Littlefield for a mere scratch.
* * *
Lillian walked home, feeling nervous. She had hardly been able to work; she was so worried about Michael and the fire. Dennis, the hotel worker, had returned after a few hours, smelling of smoke, informing that the fire was nearly out, and John Hickley had been the only one inside, and he was going to be fine. Lillian wanted to ask about Michael but didn’t dare. After she had been wandering around the kitchen, Charlie, the cook, had sent her home, saying.
“Child, your kind soul needs to rest,” he had said, “Go home, I will finish here.” Lillian had thanked him without protest and gone home. The whole town smelled like smoke again, and she worried so much, but she could not really explain why. Something about this fire felt different than the others. Was it just because Michael had run away from her and into the fire? She pushed open the door of her home, and her mother greeted her with open arms.
“Come here,” Dorothy said, embracing her daughter. They walked into the kitchen, and Lillian noticed her mother had made a pound cake.
“You baked?” Lillian closed her eyes as she inhaled the sweet scent.
“I had to keep my mind distracted,” Dorothy replied, “I had just been speaking with Mrs. Henderson when we noticed the smoke.”
“It was terrible,” Lillian admitted.
“Come and have some tea,” Dorothy said, “I just made some.” Lilian sat down, and Dorothy handed her a steaming cup of tea.
“Thank you, mother,” Lillian smiled. A knock on the door caused them both to look at each other.
“I will go, you rest,” Dorothy said, leaving the kitchen. A moment later, she returned to the kitchen and was followed by Michael.
“Michael!” Lillian exclaimed, standing up.
“I hope you two don’t mind me coming here,” he said, sounding tired, “I just wanted to make sure you got home all right.”
“How are you?” Lillian asked worriedly.
“I will be all right,” Michael said with a small grin.
“Sit down,” Dorothy said, “I will get you some tea.” As she walked towards the stove, Michael looked at Lillian intently.
“I wanted to be sure I did not make you uncomfortable, before,” he whispered.
“Not at all,” Lillian replied, putting her hand on the table, close to his but not touching.
“You’re very special to me,” he continued, his words barely audible.
“Oh, Michael,” Lillian cooed, her heart racing.
“When we were putting out the fire, I could not help imagining the fire somehow reaching you…” his voice caught in his throat, “and I could not allow that to happen.”
“Michael,” Lillian repeated, and she had tears in her eyes. She felt like her heart would soon jump outside of her ribcage.
“Lillian, I…” Michael began but stopped at once as a loud knock on the front door sounded.
“Who on earth could that be,” Dorothy muttered and walked to the front door again. Lillian heard a voice outside, and then footsteps came nearer.
“Vincent!” Lillian said, surprised, staring at the man standing next to her mother. All of a sudden, the atmosphere became tense, and Vincent looked from the disheveled-looking Michael and Lillian in turn.
“I just got back today, and I heard about the fire,” Vincent said slowly, looking strangely at Michael, “I rushed over here to make sure you were all right.”
“I should head out,” Michael said, standing up, not looking at her.
“Oh,” Lillian said, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
“I’m glad you’re all right, Miss Walter,” he said politely to Lillian, walking slowly from the kitchen. Lillian heard the front door close, and she felt as if her heart was caught in between, crashing into a pulp.
“Lillian, dear, are you all right?” Vincent asked concernedly.
“Yes, Vincent,” Lillian said, trying to muster a smile, “This was just a long and frightening day,” she added.
“You should rest,” Vincent said, “Sit down, I will show you what I brought you,” he added with a kind smile.
“I should, you’re right,” Lillian agreed. Vincent sat next to her, and Dorothy brought him the cup of tea she had prepared for Michael. Lillian buried her feelings inside and focused all her attention on Vincent and his travel story, although her heart ached.
* * *
Michael rode away from Lillian’s house, feeling strange. It had been a bad idea to see her again, and, of course, he had to show up. Vincent Hays was from a wealthy family, well educated, and could offer Lillian the kind of life she deserved.
How could an angel like her ever be content with someone like me? No family, no wealth… It wasn’t fair to Hays for me to spend so much time with her; I knew she was promised to someone else—I just couldn’t stay away. No woman has ever affected me quite like Lillian Walters. But now I will let her be; I will not cause her trouble.
Michael couldn’t go home; he felt agitated and wanted to do something. If he’d still been traveling, he would pack and go to a new, exciting destination. But those days were over. He would honor his father’s memory and stay here in Rust Canyon. Michael was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he did not notice that he had ridden towards the burnt ruins of the Post Office. He dismounted and securely tied the reins to a hitching post nearby.
From what I have gathered, the other fires all happen late at night or during the middle of the night. But John was genuinely surprised. I will need to speak with him again, but I should investigate the ruins.
He walked around the demolished house, bits of burnt furniture were strewn around, as well as flecks of burnt paper. There had been a shipment with letters that morning, which was the reason Mr. Hickley had even been in the office that early.
Michael carefully stepped around, bending down to see the remnants of letters no one would ever read. And that’s when he noticed a large plank, which looked fairly unburnt. He pulled up, what he noticed was a large picture frame, the subject on the portrait unrecognizable, but beneath he saw an ink-well and a small rectangle, un-touched by the flames. Michael bent down and picked it up, his suspicion raised. In his palm was a pack of matches!
This picture frame was situated next to a window. I’m almost certain of it. This could mean this was no accident; this was arson. Who could do such a thing?
Chapter Eight
Lillian heaved as she pulled the heavy bag of flour on top of the kitchen counter. She was alone in the massive kitchen in the Saloon-Hotel and was preparing pastry for that night’s savory pie that Charlie Banker, the hotel cook, had planned for that night’s dinner. Life had slowly begun to take the shape of a routine, since the fire last week.
Every morning Lillian woke early to finish her early chores at home, despite her mother’s objections, “Lilli, I’m more than capable of doing this,” she had told her yesterday, untying the apron from around Lillian’s slender waist. Lillian would then strolled over to the hotel to assist with the morning rush, which included preparing breakfast and changing the linens in the room.
Lillian had to admit that she had not realized how affluential her uncle was, with the hotel almost filled every night, most of the guests traveling businessmen. Uncle Jacob had already hired five more maids, and Lillian’s responsibility was to oversee their work and cook for the workers.
Lillian loved cooking in this vast kitchen, with all its grand stove and straight and polished oak work surface. It was an excellent place to distract a troubled mind because Oh, boy was her mind troubled. As much as she tried, Lillian could not rid her mind of images of Michael appearin
g after the fire, his hair singed, and his face worn, but his eyes were blazing.
Lillian closed her eyes as she heard his voice reverberated “You’re very special to me” inside her, making her heart flutter. But Lillian had not seen Michael since that day. Not since his face fell at the appearance of Vincent. Kind, gentle, and caring Vincent, that wished to spend every lunch with her, who wanted to discuss literature and politics with her, the first man ever who stared at her intently as she spoke taking in every word she uttered.
Sweet Vincent, that hinted at a bright future for the two of them, without ever putting any pressure on her to reply to him. Dear Vincent, who simply was not the handsome sheriff that had taken a firm grip of Lillian’s heart.
What had she gotten herself into? Being with Vincent would be logical and would make both her and her mother’s life much more secure and safe. Still, Lillian could not help looking around, checking to see if Michael would appear at the hotel for lunch. How I long to see him, but he has apparently decided to keep his distance. Or was I perhaps mistaken? Did my foolish heart make me see what I wished to see?
Lillian was so preoccupied; she forgot to count the cups of flour she had been measuring into the huge bowl on the table.
“Careful, now child,” Charlie laughed good-naturedly as he appeared in the kitchen.
“What?” Lillian said distractedly, looking up, her hand stopping in mid-air with a cup filled with flour.
“I know we’ve been busy, but there’s no need to make pastry for the whole town,” Charlie grinned, gently putting the cup of flour back to the bag.
“Oh, no,” Lillian flustered, finally realizing her mistake, “Charlie, I’m so very sorry.”
“It’s no trouble,” he replied, “I think it was only two or three cups too many,” he smiled.
“I’m such a fool,” Lillian berated herself.
“Nonsense,” Charlie objected, “You have been working yourself to the bone, child.”
“Have you been talking to my mother?”
“Your mother is a wise woman,” Charlie said, “But I don’t need her to tell me what is apparent, sweet girl.”
“Apparent?” Lillian said nervously.
Charlie paused as he looked at Lillian, thoughtfully. Then after a while, he added, “You wish to please everyone, which causes you to leave yourself for last.”
“I like to help,” Lillian replied.
“You are like an angel sent from heaven,” Charlie smiled, “But you should make sure you don’t lose your wings for us mere mortals,” he winked.
“Now, let’s finish this pastry,” he added cheerfully.
* * *
Michael stretched as he walked into the messy kitchen. His hair stood on end, and his stomach growled with hunger. He didn’t have much food in the house, really only stale bread and coffee. He was sure there was a can of beans in the back of the small pantry.
I must go get some more supplies. I can’t just keep eating at the tavern, Michael thought, as he peered into the coffee tin. There was hardly enough coffee for one cup. He sighed and threw the tin on the kitchen counter.
I will go over to see Hopper. He mentioned something about wanting to speak with me yesterday.
His junior sheriff had kept his distance for the past week, and Michael could not complain. He had been silent and bad-tempered ever since he left the Walter home. He had allowed himself to hope, he thought bitterly. He knew Lillian was spoken for, was waiting for her suitor to return to Rust Canyon.
Michael had immersed himself into the investigation, to keep his mind away from Lillian’s sun-kissed hair, bouncing as she rode during their riding lesson… Michael grabbed his hat and left the house. Perhaps this day would prove more fruitful than these last, grim ones.
* * *
Lillian walked out from the kitchen after she and Charlie had finished the pastry. She was in a great deal better mood than she had been before after Charlie had told her silly stories about extravagant pies he had been asked to make at his previous position as a hotel cook in Dallas. Lillian could always count on Charlie to make her feel better. Lillian walked into the reception area, not noticing Vincent standing near the Saloon.
“Surprise,” Vincent said, happily walking towards her, causing her to almost walk into the reception desk as she startled.
“Oh, Vincent,” Lillian replied, confused.
“I thought I’d steal you away for a little while,” he said hopefully.
“Uhm,” Lillian hesitated before saying, “I should really be helping…”
“Come on,” Vincent pleaded, “Just sit for one cup of tea with me.”
“All right then.”
They walked towards the restaurant area and sat down at their usual table. One of the waiters came towards them, and Vincent quickly ordered for both of them.
“You look lovely today,” Vincent said.
“Oh, thank you, Vincent,” Lillian replied, feeling flushed.
“Mind you, I don’t think you can ever not be beautiful,” he added, looking intently into her eyes. Lillian felt like she couldn’t breathe and was relieved when the waiter brought their tea on a silver tray.
“Are you all right?” Vincent asked, concernedly, “Are you feeling unwell?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Lillian began, but Vincent continued.
“Are they overworking you here?” he said, looking angry.
“It’s not that, Vincent,” Lillian pleaded, “I think I just need some tea. This was a good idea,” she said soothingly, taking a small sip from her cup. But Vincent didn’t look convinced.
“I should perhaps have a word with your uncle,” Vincent said.
“I beg you not to,” Lillian said.
“Fine,” he replied.
“I just feel as if you have been feeling tired, ever since that fire the other day,” he added bitterly.
“I am sorry if I have not been a pleasant company,” Lillian apologized.
“You are always sweet,” Vincent smiled. They sat and drank their tea, and the silence was getting a little awkward.
“Now I have to get going,” Vincent said after he finished the last sip of his tea.
“So soon?” Lillian asked, knowing it would elicit a smile from him.
“I will see you very soon,” Vincent said, taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips, then added, “Tomorrow night?” Lillian nodded and stood up to walk him towards the exit. He had walked out of the hotel when Lillian suddenly noticed a familiar horse riding further up the road.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she observed Michael riding purposefully ahead. She quickly looked away, feeling the blush rush up to her cheeks and heart beat rapidly in her chest.
* * *
Michael rode distractedly towards Benjamin Hopper’s house. It was one of the oldest houses in the town, with a gorgeous view of the beautiful vista that surrounded the town like a shell. Hopper’s father had been the pastor in Rust Creek, up until the day he died, almost twenty years ago. Michael could remember the kind but stern man with a rounded belly, from when he was just a boy.
Pastor Hopper had been liked by all, and it had been a tragedy when he died, although it had not been sudden as he had been very old when he died. Benjamin had been the youngest of seven siblings, but he was the only one left in the town.
“Morning, Sheriff,” Benjamin said, surprised as Michael dismounted in front of his home.
“What brings ya here?” he asked.
“I thought I’d stop by before we’re bombarded with possible witnesses to the fire,” Michael chuckled. Lately, there had been a constant stream of people claiming they saw their neighbor, which they unsurprisingly didn’t like, burn down the post office, or sometimes it would be a wild theory about masked outlaws.
“The stories have been getting wilder,” Benjamin laughed, “Won’t you join us for breakfast?” he asked.
“That would be great,” Michael admitted, trying to keep the relief hidden from his fac
e, “If it’s not too much bother,” he added.
“No, bother at all,” Benjamin replied happily and returned into the house.
“Fanny!” he called, “Add one more plate to the table.”
Michael walked into the warm house and was almost immediately crashed into by a small boy.
“Johnny,” Hopper admonished, “Watch where you go,” but the word had barely left his lips when two other boys came running down the hallway.
Longing For The Tormented Sheriff (Historical Western Romance) Page 8
