A Love to Heal a Broken Heart: An Inspirational Historical Western Romance Book

by Lilah Rivers

  Doubt written across his face, Doyle asked, “Sheriff?”

  “Death, Doyle, kidnappings, murderers—but if you’re crying into your coffee over some woman you barely know, well, you may not be cut out for this job.”

  Doyle stood there as the sheriff spoke, his face getting redder as his breath got shorter.

  “I’m just saying, Doyle—” Scott explained, but his deputy cut him off.

  “No, that’s fine,” Doyle said, “I know what you’re just saying.” He turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

  Scott stood in the growing uncertainty of the stillness around him. The rising tension with Doyle was something he hadn’t counted on, nor welcomed. But he’d been tiptoeing around the subject for long enough, waiting for Doyle to pull himself together. Once it seemed he was unable or unwilling to do so, Scott knew he needed some prodding.

  Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything at all,he thought. And what am I going to do about this Giles? A litany of corrupt options flashed in Scott’s imagination, but he refused them all before they could take shape. A man in Scott’s position had power that could be used and misused in all manner of ways. Lesser men might be tempted to sink to those depths, inner and outer, making sure this Giles Devlin ceased to be a problem once and for all.

  But Scott couldn’t even consider such options. There was little that he could do, Scott came to realize. Jodi would make her own decision, and that would be the only one which mattered.

  And what kind of decision will that be, with Jodi come at from all sides, pressured beyond her own natural compulsion? If she’s liable to be swayed by such a man—or by any man—then perhaps that truly is the full measure of her devotion. And if that devotion can be so easily swayed, perhaps I shouldn’t try to affect it. She’d not be the woman for me, in that case. And I do not wish to marry a woman whom I must convince to love me, whom I must constantly charm away from memories of her past. That’s not love.

  But do I dare stand back and do nothing? And what of Doyle? Things are getting too complicated too quickly, and what’s coming next may be more than any of us are prepared for.

  Chapter 40

  Scott went over and over it in his mind. His heart was already convinced. He leaned back behind his chair, wooden chair creaking beneath him as he sighed.

  Fast, slow, he thought, things happen in their own time. Sure, things here have been chaotic. But beauty is often born of chaos, that’s the nature of things—that’s the nature of the law in a nutshell!

  Scott considered what he’d said to Doyle, words he’d meant and in the best way. But maybe I should have been listening more closely to my own words. If I’m not ready for the rigors of courtship, of marriage, of the most basic social interaction, what claim can I lay as the master of the local law? That’s the zenith of local intercourse; have I wound up the most un-capable candidate for the job, the least able to provide the duties required? After all these years and all my experience, if I cannot manage a courtship or mentorship, what can I manage? Is there any place in society for me at all, or should I go live in a cave, grow a wild beard and live off berries and trout?

  But that brought Scott’s imagination to Jodi.

  Can it be that I really have to say goodbye to that girl, to that dream? We seemed to come together so naturally, so happily. Why should I? Live in a cave, indeed! I’m just too used to living alone, is all. Forget that out-of-towner! I’ll find a way to deal with him in a way in keeping with my duties, my oath. I won't be intimidated—not by some Rhode Island dandy!

  He does know her, however,Scott admitted to himself. They have a shared history we don't have; same state, same social circle. Can she really be happy without those things? For a season, perhaps, but in the longterm?

  We’ll just have to find out, won’t we? No reason to decide ahead of time what’s going to happen. God is in control of the broad strokes, after all.

  But there were always the details to sort out, especially for a man in Scott’s position. He thought about Doyle, always his inferior—his junior, his employee, his eager student. He’ll come around surely, Scott assured himself. These things come and go, after all. But he also knew things were never that simple, that some things came without ever leaving, at least not without creating a massive, empty crater in their wake.

  Scott thought about Giles, his mind once again wandering to the subject of his rival. He’s still in town, Scott knew, and he may not leave for a good long while yet. In the meantime, do I just sit here and let him do whatever he chooses? I don’t have much choice, legally speaking, nor would I want it. But…

  The door flew open and Scott’s body went rigid, hand reaching for his gun. But before he could draw, Doyle himself shambled in, limping and clutching his right thigh. Scott sprang to his feet.

  “Doyle!” The prone deputy nodded with what looked like a strained smile as Scott cleared his own desk and let Doyle sit and stretch his leg out. The injury looked like a graze, just on the outside, but with Doyle’s hand on it Scott couldn’t be sure. “Doyle, what happened?”

  “Rustlers, Sheriff, just like we’d talked about.”

  Scott thought, Rustlers? But he didn't have time to think much more. “Where? How many? What happened?”

  “Just two,” Doyle relayed, wincing in pain. “Just outside of town, not too far from the Alberston place, west about ten miles or so.”

  “Really? You’re sure they were rustlers?”

  Doyle sighed and winced again. “Not… not completely sure, I don’t suppose, no, but they didn’t want to stay and chat, that's for sure.”

  Scott gave it a little thought. “Could be any number of people. Any names come over the wire?”

  Doyle shook his head. “I just took ‘em for the rustlers giving us that trouble lately… you remember that? You said yourself there was evidence at the Burnett place.”

  There was no denying that, and no real reason to.

  “Did you hit ‘em? Either of the two?”

  Doyle shook his head, then had to shrug. “Not sure, tell you the truth. I shot back, you can know that. I didn’t see either of ‘em fall.”

  Scott knew what he had to do. “All right, I’ll go check it out.”

  “What? Why? I didn’t hit ‘em—”

  “Might have, could be a blood trail. Which direction did they head off in?”

  “West… no, south. They could be over the border by now.”

  Scott knew there was some wisdom in that. Besides himself, Doyle was the only law in town, and he was severely compromised. It was not the time to leave Angeldale.

  “Sure wish we still had a doc around,” Doyle groaned.

  Scott nodded, glancing around. “I’ll get the pastor, Beaumont.”

  Doyle threw out a little chuckle, grimacing in pain. “I don’t think I’m that bad off.”

  Scott laughed, too, just a bit. “He can help hold you down while we dress that wound.”

  His deputy shook his head. “Great. Things around here are just getting better and better.”

  Chapter 41

  Scott poured himself another cup of coffee, that tin cup seeming more and more like his only friend in Angeldale. He reviewed the matter of Doyle’s shooting, troubling thoughts following one after the other. Traces of the men would remain, but they wouldn’t stay for long. And in the meantime, Scott was down one deputy and was overstretched as it was. He had no support, too much territory to patrol effectively. And worse, with word of Doyle’s injury becoming more widespread, Angeldale’s vulnerability was growing worse. Weeks had gone by, one after the next, with hardly anyone taking notice. But the times were moving faster, things barreling toward their conclusions, with a speed and momentum Scott himself could hardly calculate, much less thwart.

  Are they moving too fast, too fast for me? Is that the man these times require? Is that what the lawman of tomorrow must be? Will there be too much crime for any man or group of men to handle? Will our basest instincts overr
un us as a country, as a race?

  So, while Scott reflected on what damage his own rule over the town had done and would go on doing, the evident results went on unraveling around him.

  The sheriff’s office door opened and Scott turned to see the fat, familiar figure of Mayor Trent Thorndyke stepping into the room, a permanent and unconvincing smile on his round face.

  “Sheriff Covey.”

  “Mayor,” Scott greeted, standing up behind his desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  The mayor waved him off, as if he knew the visit was no matter of pleasure at all—quite the opposite, more than likely. “How do you fare, Scott?”

  “Well enough. Anything I can do for you, Mayor?”

  The fat mayor smiled and nodded and, glancing at the coffee pot, gave it a point and a nod. Scott nodded and the mayor helped himself to a cup.

  “Just the coffee then?”

  Mayor Thorndyke forced a fresh smile and stepped toward Scott’s desk. “How’s your deputy doing?”

  Thoughtfully, Scott nodded. “Well enough. He’ll recover, that seems sure.”

  “Shame, him getting shot the way he did.” Scott nodded, saying nothing, and the mayor went on, “And no line on the rustlers?”

  Scott had to shake his head. “I think our young Hercules managed to drive them off.”

  Mayor Thorndyke nodded. “That’s what I’m hearing. Why, the way people are speaking, one might almost think your deputy was the sheriff and you, the deputy!” He chuckled uncomfortably, but it didn’t last. Scott was only grateful and glad of the fact. “Who knows how things will turn out?”

  Scott knew what the mayor, essentially his boss, was hinting at. “I mean,” Mayor Thorndyke went on, “part of it—a large part of it—is the public mandate, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Part of what?”

  “The sheriff’s duty, of course! And the sheriff needs the confidence of the citizenry in order to properly discharge those duties.”

  Scott nodded. “It surely helps.”

  “It surely does. And it only helps the mayor of such a place when the sheriff that he personally installed retains the public’s confidence, yes?”

  Scott sighed. “Yes. Though that is not to say that the public should decide who their sheriff is, based upon their own prejudices or pleasures. Or else… can’t the mayor himself be so manipulated, down to his choices of public servant?”

  The mayor nodded, rubbing his fat chin. “You remain formidable as always, my friend. But you are a public servant, after all, and as such you do serve the public.”

  “But I do not answer to them,” Scott pointed out. “I answer to the law.”

  Mayor Thorndyke tapped Scott’s shoulder. “As a matter of simple, political fact, Scott, you work for me.” A long silence passed between them, prohibiting Scott’s disagreement. “But I hear you’re answering to a more… intimate authority.” Scott didn’t even bother to respond, and he didn’t have to. The mayor went on, “This new woman, the baker, guest of the Burnetts, they say—”

  “They?”

  “My constituents, Scott! They say that you’re spending time in her company.”

  Scott turned away. “Let them gossip as they like.”

  “It’s no matter of mere gossip, Scott. You’ve been seen on the streets with her… dancing… on a Sunday!” Scott turned, but stopped himself before the mayor could add, “Or am I wrong?”

  Scott could not contradict the mayor, but he knew it would hardly matter if he did.

  Thorndyke added, “It’s not that a man doesn’t deserve a wife, Scott, but you have to keep your head in the game, eh? Finding a girl is one thing, but… rustlers in our midst and you did nothing?”

  “I did a good deal more than nothing,” Scott retorted in an angry snap. “It was my investigation which revealed their possible presence in the area, near the Burnett ranch. I sent my deputy to investigate and wanted to take a closer look myself, but I couldn’t abandon my post!”

  The mayor nodded. “All good excuses, I’m sure.”

  “Excuses? I’ve never made excuses in my life, Mayor Thorndyke, you know that.”

  After a long, suggestive silence, Mayor Thorndyke replied, “Then why start now?”

  Chapter 42

  Amy was spending the day in bed while Jodi hustled around the house doing her chores. Amy hated to have her friend work so hard, and she hated even more that she had to lay in bed and do nothing. She had never been that type of person and never wanted to be—and never would be, if she could help it.

  But at the moment, Amy just couldn’t help it, so she had to accept it.

  Clinton stepped into the room and sat down on the bed with a comforting little smile. “How do you feel?”

  “Fine, but I’d like to get out of bed.”

  “When your dizzy spells pass, you can get up and do a jig!” They shared a little chuckle, Clinton setting his hand on her swelling belly. The summer was getting hotter, and Amy had started keeping a damp towelette on her forehead. Clinton looked into his wife’s eyes, and though Amy smiled, she knew she couldn’t convince her husband that everything would be just fine, that she and their child would be perfectly happy and healthy.

  Doubt was growing in Amy’s mind, in her heart and in her soul, and that very real worry was becoming impossible to ignore or deny. The dizzy spells were getting more frequent, longer, and more disorienting. The old midwife kept warning them to send Jodi away, that she was a cursed woman who was bringing ill-ease to the household and disease to their unborn child.

  And though there was some unexpected stress surrounding her friend’s stay, Amy knew that it wasn’t so severe that it could be causing the spells. In any case, Amy had invited Jodi and she wasn’t about to turn her out—especially not with that Giles Devlin still in town, waiting to pounce on her. He’d use any sign of weakness to swoop in and provide the so-called rescue that he longed to offer, making him indispensable to her; which is what he’d have to be in order to ever win her back.

  “Time’s going by so fast,” Amy remarked. “Thank goodness Jodi’s here, no matter what that midwife says.”

  Clinton nodded. “Jodi’s a blessing, that’s for sure. I wish there was more I could do to clear up all this nonsense for her.”

  “You’ve done everything you can,” Amy assured him. “You’re a good man, a good friend.”

  Clinton could only shrug. “Maybe you’ve been a good influence on me.” They shared another little chuckle. “But these things, they seem to be taking on a life of their own. Deputy Hollett’s become a local celebrity, it seems. I saw him in town the other day, riding down the thoroughfare, tipping his hat to every lady he passed. And they were receptive to him, there’s no doubt; all giggles and coy little glances from under their bonnets.”

  Amy shook her head. “He must be happier than a pig in slop!” They chuckled again. “What about Scott?”

  Clinton’s smile melted away with a little sigh. “His star seems to be on the wane, to tell you the truth. People seem to think he’s… ineffectual. He never did find the rustlers who shot his own deputy, after all.”

  Amy rolled her eyes and shook her head. “It’s a big country, Clinton, they could have disappeared to almost anywhere. It’s not his fault.”

  “You don’t have to convince me,” Clinton told her. “I’d still put my money onJodi winding up with Scott and staying here in Angeldale, if I were a betting man.”