Finding a Broken Cowboy
A Western Historical Romance
Cassidy Hanton
Edited by
Maggie Berry
Contents
About the book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Also by Cassidy Hanton
About the Author
About the book
Beatrice Foster loses the ground beneath her feet the tragic night her parents are killed. With the murderer still on the loose, she flees town to find refuge at her uncle’s ranch in Helena, Montana.
* * *
Nathan Walsh is a local hero and the most sought-after bachelor in town. Attractive but lonesome, he can have any bride he wants. Once he sets his eyes on Beatrice, he decides to shed his usual serious self and be playful instead.
* * *
Using him as a distraction from her painful past, Beatrice sees in Nathan the knight in shining armour she had always been waiting for...until the killer finds her for the second time.
* * *
With her life in danger, the couple must quickly solve the riddle behind the villain’s true motives. Soon they will realize that the true monster has been right in front of them all along...
Chapter One
New York, 1886
For the hundredth time, she tugged on her white gloves, making sure they stayed tight. The problem wasn’t the gloves, fixing them was just a nervous tic she adopted as a small girl.
The simple act of tugging gloves or straightening her perfect skirt helped her whenever she felt restless or troubled. She figured if she looked immaculate, she would feel balanced as well. But that evening, those rituals didn't help at all.
A full-length mirror stood in the corner of her room. She looked at her reflection and pouted. "Elaine, I do not like this hat.”
Elaine was Beatrice Foster’s elderly governess. Their relationship was close enough that Beatrice could count on Elaine not to placate her.
"I think it looks rather lovely, dear."
Beatrice pointed in the mirror and scowled. "I look like a child."
Elaine ran a comb through the dandelion-colored locks, then grabbed a small, delicate hat and centered it atop Beatrice’s head. This made her cheeks more apparent. “Why, I look like a cherub!”
It was rather ridiculous. After all, she had just celebrated her twenty-second birthday; she wasn’t a child anymore. She wanted to look like the young woman she was, not some porcelain doll. She frowned in the mirror.
Elaine was trying to be patient. "Would you like me to fetch you another one?"
Beatrice could count on Elaine being calm, and she was grateful to have this kind, reassuring woman as her teacher and consort. She softened her voice. "If you would be so kind." It wasn’t a surprise that Elaine would scurry off to do her bidding.
The hat wasn’t the problem, nor were the gloves. Or the rest of the attire, for that matter. The problem was her mind. Beatrice felt troubled.
By happenstance, she had overheard something she shouldn't have. And now, apparently, it was all she could think about.
"You are a mad woman, Beatrice," she told her reflection, as she pondered about everything.
Beatrice tried to remember how it all took place. That morning, she woke up stiff as a log in her favorite reading chair in the library. After sending Elaine away to retire for the night, Beatrice stayed up too late reading one of her father's most recent acquisitions. She adored reading any books she could get her hands on, and like many nights before, she seemingly fell asleep once tiredness overcame her. Benjamin Foster was a newspaper owner in the city of New York and a vivid reader as well. Somehow, he passed along that all-consuming passion and love down to his only child.
There was something ethereal, almost divine, in the lines of great authors. And to be immersed in their writings gave Beatrice so much pleasure and joy. Even though she would get scolded by her mother for looking so drained and pale again, Beatrice found the exchange worthwhile She could hear hushed voices from the other side of the walls, which meant the household was fully awake. Yet, one voice was more distinct than the others.
She slightly turned toward the back door and smiled. Her father was already in his study. He preferred to do some business at home first thing in the morning before going to work. That way he could spend a few precious moments with his daughter and wife during the day. He made sure he was always home in time to have dinner with his wife and daughter, but often he was home even before that, and then he and Beatrice would play some chess together or go for walks with her mother.
Benjamin Foster was a devoted husband and the best father a young woman could possibly want or need.
Beatrice stood up, somewhat awkwardly. Today her body did not like movement one bit, and when she stretched, she could hear some of her joints popping in protest. But at the same time, it felt splendid to move, so she continued stretching.
A part of her warned she ought to stop spending her nights in a chair or she would end up looking all distorted and wry like the man she saw selling and fixing clocks down at the city's market.
Yes, I mayhap end up like that, but I would be happy, she replied to herself cheerfully.
Beatrice started walking toward the door of her father’s study to say good morning to him, trying to unwrinkle her garments along the way to the best of her abilities, without much success, not that her father wouldn't know what she was up to at first glance, when she paused.
She recognized the distinct scent of very expensive and rare tobacco in the air. It tickled her nose with its sweet smell.
Her father never smoked, much to the disdain of his friends, so the familiar whiff could mean only one thing. “Uncle” Leaton, their family lawyer and a dear friend of the family was in there with him.
"What's with the limp, old friend?" Beatrice could hear her father making the inquiry.
"Oh, nothing, just a silly accident," Uncle John replied instantly, proving Beatrice right. "But I do believe I look more dashing with this cane," he continued lightly. "What do you think?"
Beatrice could just picture him striking a pose, and she stifled a laugh. On the other hand, her father laughed wholeheartedly.
"That you do," he replied eventually.
Once the two men settled, they moved straight to business. Beatrice had fully intended to leave and not eavesdrop. But something said was catching her attention and preventing her legs from moving.
"I did everything you asked of me, Benjamin. It is done, here is your copy," Mr. Leaton said. "But are you sure that was the right thing to do?" He challenged. "I know we had this conversation before…"
"Of course," her father's robust voice prevented the lawyer from saying anything else. "Beatrice is my only child and she deserves to be the sole heir of every cent I earned in my lifetime."
Beatrice recoiled upon hearing that. Me? He wants me to inherit everything? Her mind started spinning like a merry-go-round.
Benjamin Foster was a self-made man. In their society, people considered them nouveau-riche type of people, but they were still well respected and accepted. That being said, even though she wasn't familiar with their state of affairs, she knew the inheritance must be rather substantial. To be in charge of all that felt impossible to her, and she held her breath to stay quiet.
&n
bsp; "Don't you think her husband should look after everything, once she gets married?" Uncle John tried again.
"A husband?" Benjamin Foster objected. "Never. Everything will still be hers and her children's after she gets married. Every man should earn his own wealth, not depend on his wife's," her father was adamant, and she loved him for it.
Her father was known for having very progressive thoughts. Beatrice presumed that was due to the fact that he worked with the best of people, intellectuals, while running the papers. But still, this dictate surprised even her.
In a good way, of course.
"Maybe you're right," Uncle John finally said, thereby ending the discussion.
Beatrice knew nothing about news, let alone how to begin to run one of the most prestigious papers in the city of New York and beyond, for that matter. The mere thought of being responsible for everything gave her the shakes.
Oh, snap out of it, Beatrice Elisabeth Foster, will you! Beatrice heard the tiny voice in her head go off again. This is the new era and women are capable of doing everything men already do. None of them was born knowledgeable.
Besides, if she managed to learn to play chess with her father, and write with both hands in cursive for sheer amusement, she could most certainly learn the ins and outs of a prosperous business. With time, of course. And that thought calmed her down even further.
"So, I will learn," she tried to convince herself.
Beatrice very much hoped her father would have a long and flourishing life, and she would do her best to learn from him everything she needed about his special brand of craft. She would be of great assistance to him and never a burden.
If he entrusted this unto her, then she was going to honor it with due diligence and make him proud.
Elaine now returned with the replacement hat and Beatrice had to smile, temporarily forgetting about everything else. That woman really knew her the best.
Looking at the lavish blue hat Elaine presented her with, Beatrice approved. "I think that one will go just nicely with the rest of my assembly,"
"I thought so, too," Elaine replied. "Miss Beatrice?" Elaine continued, stopping Beatrice from pulling the pins that were holding her current hat on.
"Hm?" She asked absentmindedly.
"Your father is calling for you," Elaine informed her, and only when she mentioned it did Beatrice hear her father's voice.
I must be awfully late, Beatrice scolded herself.
She immediately left her room and leaned over the balcony to look at the great entrance below where her father stood with her mother.
Sarah Foster, her dear mother, was dressed immaculately and lovely as ever. Her father was quite dashing as well. They looked such a handsome pair dressed in their finest for the family outing.
"Yes, Daddy?" Beatrice asked.
He looked up and a smile appeared on his stern face. "Are you done dressing up, my dear?" He inquired. "We really don't want to miss the first act."
Beatrice nodded. "Almost. I just need to change my hat," she informed in all seriousness.
"I think that one looks beautiful on you," her father replied.
Beatrice smiled in return, sending him a kiss. "Then I shall leave it on, for you," she replied.
While she descended, he placed her kiss over his heart and bowed ever so slightly. That was something they did from time to time, ever since she was a little girl.
She really loved her father dearly and with all her heart. Beatrice couldn't fathom she could ever love another man in the future with the same intensity. Even though she secretly hoped she would. She loved her mother as well, but it was a slightly different thing.
Overall, she loved her life very much. But in the quiet of her bedroom, she sometimes wished it was a bit more adventurous.
The moment the three of them stepped outside and started walking a short distance toward their carriage, a maid appeared in front of Beatrice, startling her.
"Good evenin', Miss," she curtsied. The maid looked a bit flushed as if embarrassed to be there, tightly wrapped inside her shawl.
"Mary-Luce," Beatrice recognized her immediately. "Is everything all right?"
Mary-Luce was a maid of her dear friend Marigold Thompson.
The maid started nodding vigorously. "Oh, yes, Miss, but Mistress told me to give you this." She presented Beatrice with a personally written note.
Her father looked at her with interest and slight amusement as she read the note.
Marigold asked her to come to her house at once. I can't excuse myself now, Beatrice thought to herself in exasperation.
Beatrice paused before replying, "Tell your Miss that I cannot comply with her request at the moment. But I will make sure to call on her tomorrow."
Mary-Luce looked like she wanted to say something in return and Beatrice understood why. Marigold could be quite tenacious at times.
Still, this was pretty out of character, even for her, which made Beatrice slightly worried about her friend. Did something happen? she had to wonder.
"What is it, my dear?" Her father wanted to know.
"Oh, nothing, Marigold just wants to see me."
"It's quite all right, my dear, you can go."
"Benjamin!" her mother protested, but Beatrice was focused on her father.
Beatrice looked into her father’s eyes. "Are you sure?"
And he smiled at her. "Of course! Go and take care of your friend," he encouraged.
"But what about the play?"
He just waved with his hand as if that was of no concern to him. "Go and see Marigold. You can join us later."
Beatrice liked that idea very much. "All right, Daddy."
"Just don't overstay your welcome," her mother cautioned.
After kissing her parents on the cheek goodbye, Beatrice gestured Mary-Luce to follow her.
A part of her was actually quite curious to see what this was all about; with Marigold, you could never tell. She was her best friend in the entire world ever since they were little, and Beatrice loved her profoundly, but sometimes she had such a flair for the dramatics.
Once there was a time she refused to leave her room for an entire week, simply because she saw another girl in the park dressed in the same dress she wore.
Beatrice altered the attire herself then, even though Marigold wanted to throw it away, so her friend could look one of a kind in it, which made Marigold quite happy.
Swiftly, the two girls arrived at the Thompson residence. It wasn't that long of a stroll since the two families were neighbors. Marigold greeted her by the door and hugged her profusely without preamble. Beatrice was startled by the suddenness of her actions but returned the gesture in kind.
"Are you all right?" Beatrice wanted to know.
"I am marvelous!" Marigold singsonged, still refusing to let go.
"What on earth is going on, Marigold?" Beatrice prompted. "I was on my way to the theater when you dragged me here."
Marigold sighed. "I saved you from watching that same boring thing again."
Beatrice actually liked watching that same boring thing but held her tongue. "Will you please tell me what is going on?" Beatrice tried again.
Finally, Marigold released her, and her smile was radiant. Marigold was always cheerful, but Beatrice never saw her like this before. Beatrice presumed she had some very fortunate news to share with her. Her high spirit made Beatrice smile in return.
"Oh, Beatrice," Marigold exclaimed. "I am so happy, I could just burst from joy!" she announced. She took both her hands with hers, moving them toward the parlor. "You are the first one I wanted to share my news with."
"So please do." The suspense was killing Beatrice.
Marigold practically jumped with joy as she continued speaking. "Captain Archer is going to propose to me at Milton's ball!" she squealed with delight, clearly overcome with joy, and Beatrice was right there with her.
"Oh, Goldie, I am so very happy for you," Beatrice replied, using a pet name for her friend. Still, there
was a fleeting thought that saddened her. Even though she was more than happy for her friend, she still felt like she was losing her. Because after today, nothing could be the same between them.
Chapter Two
Beatrice immediately felt guilty for having such foolish thoughts. Of course they would be the best of friends forever, always in each other's lives.
Marigold is getting married. Beatrice still couldn't believe it.
And yet, it fit perfectly with her friend's character. Ever since they were little, she dreamed about a lavish wedding. On many occasions, Beatrice played the dashing prince that would come and ask for her hand in marriage.
And now, that child's fantasy is becoming a reality.
"I am so very happy for you, Marigold," Beatrice said in all sincerity.
"Me too," Marigold beamed.
She spent the next half hour telling Beatrice everything about the dear Captain Archer as if that was the first time she heard about the man and had not already known him. Beatrice did not mind. It was joyous to her to see Marigold that happy.
"And he didn't look nervous at all speaking with my father..." Marigold continued with her narrative, unaware of her little musings.
And it didn't strike Beatrice as odd that all of this transpired. Captain Archer and Marigold had been courting for quite some time now, and were seen together in many locations, all over the city.
"Mother bought me the most marvelous dress to wear for that ball."
"I am so happy for you, Marigold." Beatrice felt the need to repeat her sentiment. "For the both of you. I am certain your life together will be most fortunate," and that was no empty phrase.
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