Longing For The Tormented Sheriff (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

  Lillian had known then, even if she had not admitted to herself at that time, that Michael was the first man that ever saw her for the woman she was. He had believed in her from the moment they met, and Lillian felt with a certainty she could not explain, that he would find her, and he would save her.

  Now I will only need to find out who these men are that are keeping me here and why!

  * * *

  Michael sat inside the abandoned warehouse and read the journal. It was mostly a journal of Philip Walter’s life, his thought about his family, the life in Rust Canyon, his work, and the future. Michael quickly skimmed through the journal, trying to find any clues that could tie him to his father or could possibly explain how Philip had been mixed up with the fires. But to his great annoyance, there were no obvious clues or hints.

  Near the very last journal entries, Michael could find the page that Dorothy had been talking about. Sure enough, there Philip wrote about going to the bank and taking out all their money. He talked about Rust Canyon not being safe and that he would stop at nothing. Michael wondered who Philip could be writing about? It was clear that it was someone he knew, judging by the way he wrote about him, but why would he not write the name?

  This was all rather strange. The last few pages were written more hastily, and the writing was more erratic. In the beginning, the writing was straight and legible, but the last page had ink blots on it, and Michael suspected that Philip might have been drinking, judging by the small stain on the bottom of the page.

  I do not understand this. Why was it so important for Philip to hide this journal?

  * * *

  Benjamin ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. He was at a loss of what he should do next. For the past few hours, he had been at the sheriff’s office, trying to busy himself with paperwork, but he could not concentrate. Fanny had left not long ago, begging him not to stay too late again.

  Benjamin had told his wife he was not sure when he could head home. Without Michael, he felt useless, like he was suddenly missing a limb. But he had to focus; he would not let Michael down—again.

  A loud knock on the front door caused him to jump to his feet.

  “Flemming!” called Jacob Frazier, walking inside.

  “Jacob,” Benjamin replied, “What can I do for you?”

  “I came to see the sheriff,” Jacob said, looking around, “Where is he?

  “He, uh…” Benjamin hesitated, “He’s not in at the moment,” he spluttered finally.

  “Where did he go?” Jacob asked.

  “I cannot discuss that at the moment,” Benjamin said, trying to keep his face stern.

  “As long as he’s looking for my niece,” Jacob barked.

  “He is,” Benjamin replied, swallowing nervously.

  “When do you expect he will return here?” Jacob asked impatiently.

  “Well…” Benjamin began, but Jacob cut him off.

  “I cannot keep the hotel closed for another day,” Jacob said, “But I want to know where he is looking. I could spare a few workers; I just want to help.”

  “I know you do.”

  “You know, Hopper, that Lillian and her mother are the only family I have left. I cannot bear to lose them.”

  “We will find her,” Benjamin said, trying to sound encouraging but failing.

  “Just… Tell Flemming to come see me when he returns,” Jacob said.

  “I will,” Benjamin replied.

  As soon as Jacob left the office, Benjamin walked back towards Michael’s desk. He had taken the map. I just hope you have a plan, Michael.

  * * *

  I am sure there is something here, Michael thought, flipping through the journal again. Philip wrote about many places in his day to day musings. Some were just places that he had mentioned were of interest, or that showed potential. What could that mean?

  Suddenly, Michael had an idea. He found the page he had just been reading and saw that Philip had written about the old barn that had been burned. The same one, his father, had mentioned. Philip said that it had great potential. Could it be that Philip knew it would be burned?

  Hurriedly, Michael flipped through the book once more, looking for any indication of the other buildings that had been burned. And there it was.

  This might be more than a simple concern of an old man. I think the Wesley shop is a prime example of a potential target. There have been signs. I will be alert and must remember to discuss this with S.

  This is it… Philip had been writing about the burnt buildings. But how could he know that? And how did he know this… Also, who is this S?

  Michael stood up and was about to close the journal when a name caught his attention: Lillian.

  My sweet Lillian has yet again been causing Dorothy to worry out of her wits. Another man, someone not from around here, seemed quite keen on courting her. But my Lillian turned him down, in her ever so gentle way.

  She had turned some stranger away. The mere thought that someone had thought they would be good enough for her sent Michael’s heart racing. He knew that no one could ever be good enough for this angel, but he was determined that he would try to be.

  Michael stared at Lillian’s name for a moment before closing the journal and putting it in the inside pocket of his vest. It would soon be too dark to ride, and he wanted to ride toward one of the houses that Philip wrote about.

  It was near the town boundary, on the opposite end to the valley, where he had found Dennis. There he would need to make camp for the night. Michael walked out of the warehouse and walked back toward his horse, still thinking about Lillian.

  * * *

  Benjamin heard a noise and loud voices arguing in front of the sheriff’s office during the late afternoon. The unmistaken sound of a fist hitting flesh, made him, somewhat hesitantly though, get up and go outside to investigate what was going on. When he came outside, he saw poor old Dennis on the ground, clutching his face. Above him stood Daniel Tillings, one of the workers on the only horse ranch in Rust Canyon. Daniel was fuming, his fist still clenched.

  “You stay away from her,” Tillings bellowed, “Or I will finish you…”

  “Woah, woah,” Benjamin said, stepping in front of the crouching figure of Dennis, “What is going on here?”

  “Why haven’t you arrested this scum?” Tillings spat, pointing at Dennis.

  “Why should I arrest Dennis?” Benjamin asked perplexed.

  “It’s obvious he’s the one that took Miss Walter,” Tilling said. Benjamin stared at the man in front of him, completely dumbfounded.

  “What on earth makes you say that?” Benjamin finally said.

  “He’s up to no good,” Tillings said, his fury wearing off him. Benjamin smelled alcohol from his breath.

  “You and I both know that Dennis is harmless,” Benjamin said stoically.

  “He’s…” Tillings began, but all fight seemed to have left him. Benjamin took a step closer to him, not wanting to give the chatterboxes that had surrounded them, too much information.

  “Where is this coming from, Daniel?” Benjamin asked quietly.

  “They said he was after May,” Daniel hissed, “My May!”

  “Who said that?” Benjamin said quickly.

  “The fellas at the tavern,” Daniel said, “They told me he had been talking about how my May would be next…”

  “That’s just the drink talking,” Benjamin said. “Now, go and sleep it off.”

  Tillings didn’t reply but turned around and stumbled away, bumping into people that had gathered to observe the proceedings.

  “Come on now, folks.” Benjamin bent down to help Dennis up. “There’s nothing to see here.”

  Slowly people began to walk away, chattering animatedly of the scene they had just witnessed. Benjamin felt his face flush red as he heard two ladies say in a disapproving tone, “Where’s the sheriff? I wonder if he has had enough… Probably the pressure.”

  Benjamin squared his jaw, trying to keep from l
ashing out at them. “How are you, Dennis?” he asked.

  “Huh, you know me,” Dennis said with a bleeding grin, “It takes more than that to finish me off.”

  “Come on, you can rest a bit in the office,” Benjamin offered. Dennis looked inside the empty office and turned to look at Hopper.

  “Nah,” Dennis replied, “I’ll be all right.”

  “Are you sure,” Benjamin asked.

  “Sure am,” Dennis said, strolling away from him. Benjamin turned around and was startled to see Dorothy standing by the door.

  “Hello, Dorothy,” Benjamin said tiredly.

  “Where is Sheriff Flemming?” Dorothy said at once.

  “Come inside,” Benjamin said thoughtfully, looking around. There were still folks around, trying to appear as if they had not just been eavesdropping.

  Benjamin closed the door after they entered the office.

  “Where is he?” Dorothy repeated.

  “Michael is…” Benjamin began but stopped. He had no idea what he should tell her.

  “Why has he not come by to see me?” Dorothy asked, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

  “Dorothy,” Benjamin began, “I… I cannot tell you much, but I can assure you that Michael is doing what he thought would be best for your daughter.”

  “He left, didn’t he?” Dorothy stated timidly. Panic seemed to be slowly taking over her, and Benjamin just managed to rush over to her before she fell to the floor.

  “Come on, sit down,” he said reassuringly, guiding her to a chair.

  “He left because of the threat,” Dorothy stated.

  “I can’t be sure, but we must not tell anyone about this,” Benjamin said imploringly.

  “My Lilli,” Dorothy sobbed, “Without Michael, how will she ever come back.”

  “We must have faith, Dorothy,” Benjamin said, “For you and I both know that Michael Flemming will not rest until Lillian has been returned safely to you.”

  * * *

  Later that night, Benjamin stood up from his desk, feeling exhausted. He had spent considerable time trying to calm down Dorothy Walters. She had agreed not to tell anyone that Michael had gone, but she had been but a shell of herself when he had walked her home about an hour earlier. This day had been a nightmare, Benjamin thought as he looked around the lonely looking office.

  Not knowing where Michael was or when he would return to Rust Canyon weighed heavily on him. Suddenly, he could not bear to be at the office anymore. The darkness that was settling over the town felt traitorous and untrusting. He looked at all the files and notes from his and Michael’s investigation. After a moment’s pause, he collected all the documents together into a rucksack and took it with him.

  He rode quickly home, looking around for any signs of anything unusual. There was light inside his house, and the familiar warmth filled him, instantly calming him. At least here, he knew everything was as it should be.

  “Hello, dear,” Fanny said with a smile as Benjamin walked into the kitchen. She was clearing away in the kitchen, and the house was quiet like it always is when the boys are in bed.

  “Hi.” Benjamin sat down with a heavy thud.

  “I will fetch your dinner,” Fanny sat, walking towards the pot on the stove. She poured the delicious smelling bean soup into a bowl and put it in front of him, along with bread.

  “Thank you,” Benjamin said, eating slowly, savoring every bite.

  “Any sign of Michael?” Fanny asked.

  “No,” Benjamin said, “And already there was a brawl outside the office, and Mrs. Walter does not seem to have much faith in me,” he muttered, “Or this town.”

  “Benjamin Hopper,” Fanny said determinately, “You are a kind, loyal man, who is good in his job.”

  “You are sweet,” Benjamin replied.

  “I’m telling the truth,” she answered.

  “I just don’t know…” Benjamin said, pushing away his bowl, not feeling hungry anymore.

  “Papa?” said a small voice from the hallway.

  “Come here, Ian,” Benjamin said to his son, that stood in the darkness looking nervous. Ian strolled towards his father.

  “What is it, son?” Benjamin asked, patting the chair next to him.

  “I can’t sleep,” Ian said quietly.

  “Is it the same dream again?” Benjamin said, looking at his son.

  “Uh-huh,” Ian nodded his head.

  “It’s only a dream,” Benjamin said reassuringly, “We do not need to fear our dreams, although they can be frightening.”

  “I also wanted to see you,” Ian whispered, looking away as if he thought he would be reprimanded for saying this.

  “I am glad to see you, son.” Benjamin stroked his son’s auburn hair.

  “Now you should go back to bed,” he added.

  “All right, papa,” Ian said, standing up. He was still looking at his father when he tripped over Benjamin’s rucksack, causing all the notes and documents to spill all over the floor.

  “I’m sorry, papa,” Ian said, terrified, beginning to gather up the papers.

  “No need to worry,” Benjamin reassured, joining him to pick up the papers. Benjamin put the papers in an uneven stack on the kitchen table. Ian crawled under the kitchen bench to retrieve some of the smaller notes that had shot away.

  “Here you go,” Ian said, handing his father the small pile of papers.

  “Thank you, and now you should go to bed,” Benjamin said. Ian turned to walk away. He had walked a few steps when he bent down and picked up an envelope, handing it to his father.

  Benjamin held out his hand, but Ian seemed quite mesmerized with the note.

  “Ian?” Benjamin asked good-naturedly.

  “Oh, sorry, papa,” Ian smiled, “It just such a fancy letter.”

  “Why do you say that?” Benjamin asked curiously.

  “Because of the sea waves,” Ian explained, pointing to the bottom of the envelope. Benjamin looked where Ian was gesturing. The imprint of the paper had a pattern, which was quite hard to make out. But when he looked closer, he could see how his son would think this was sea waves.

  Suddenly, an idea struck into his mind. Michael mentioned that Dennis saw an important-looking envelope, a fancy one. How peculiar he would use the same description as Ian had. Benjamin turned the envelope and opened it. Inside was a letter from Dallas, and Benjamin nearly dropped it when he saw the signature: Rex Rodgers, bounty hunter. Rex… hunter… He had found it! He knew who had sent the letter Dennis found.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Michael rode ahead, nearing the place mentioned in Philip’s journal. It was a farmhouse, with an unusually large fence around the perimeter. In the looming dusk, the farm looked rather formidable. Michael slowed down as he neared the entrance, where he noticed that the front door had two wooden planks roughly nailed crisscrossed over it.

  This was definitely very strange.

  Michael dismounted and peered into the window of the house. There was a thick layer of cobwebs covering most of the window. Michael walked around the house and looked through all the windows, and the house looked cold and abandoned. He walked around to the barn, which he supposed must have been impressive at one time but seemed unsafe and derelict now.

  This was all very strange, especially when he considered that this could not have been this way for a long time. Philip wrote about this in his journal a few months ago, not longer than a year ago. And now, this looked like no one lived here.

  I should perhaps spend tonight here? Beats sleeping under the clear sky, at least, and I will have some time to investigate further.

  Michael led his horse, who had been thoroughly enjoying the tall, unruly grass that grew all around the farm, into the stable. He took the saddle of its back and stroked its back and head.

  “You certainly are a good one,” Michael said, chuckling as the horse smelled his vest, interestedly. Michael returned to the farm and walked to the back door, which was not nailed shut like the front do
or. Michael tried the doorknob, but it was locked. Feeling frustrated, he stepped up close to the door. With all his weight on his side, he pushed hard a few times until the door sprung open. A cloud of dust billowed into the air, and the floorboards creaked as Michael walked inside.