Run Into
The Wind
By Lynn Hubbard
Hiram, GA
USA
www.lynnhubbard.com
© Copyrighted 2009 by Lori Lynn Pound
All rights reserved.
Published by Lemon Press at Smashwords
www.lemonpresspublishing.com
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you want to share it with. If your reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Samashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this Author.
Editor: Stephen George
Cover Design by Lemon Press
Background Image by Lori Lynn Pound
Cover Photo Cowboy©
by Nolte Lourens - Fotolia.com
Cover Model: Jeandre Lindeque
www.noltephoto.co.za
“Right up there with Charlaine Harris.”
The intimacy scenes were pretty gratuitous and HOT!!! The book definitely held my interest. Overall, It was a very good story, right up there with Charlaine Harris (True Blood series). I was a little disappointed at the end because I was wanting the story to continue but isn’t that the test of a good book; always leave the reader wanting more !!!
~Myra D., Book Fanatic
Normally I don’t care for romances or westerns, but I loved "Run into the Wind". It was wonderfully written, contains mysteries, satisfying, and unforgettable... It is a novel you can fall into and get lost. Readers are going to enter a richer world. I envy them the trip.
~Cathy Yoder Farmer, Artist
Acknowledgements
I spent many hours doing research for this book. I read up on plants, train routes, Indians, geography, animals, pianos, composers, etc. I would like to send out a thank you to my advisors: Cliff Merrill, Lisa Fret, Jason Herrmann, Jessica Webb Baxter, Cathy Farmer, and Randy Nuttle. Thank you all for replying quickly to my frantic phone calls, facebook messages, emails, etc.
Prologue
Mississippi, 1882
She stared intently at the still water, not daring to whisper. A soft breeze blew, spilling several stray strands of her long brown hair into her face. Impatiently she whisked them away as they tickled her nose. She could see shadows through the murky water as she sat on the bank. A flow of bubbles erupted from the depths and she smiled slightly as she saw more, then felt a slight tug on her line. Realizing its mistake the fish flailed around, haplessly trying to get free. Its erratic movements caused the surface of the water to quiver. Patiently she waited just a breath longer, letting the fish tire out a little, as she had been so carefully taught.
“Ha!” she exclaimed into the still morning, as she jubilantly pulled her line out of the water. The large bass dangling from her hook was the biggest one yet.
“Sabrina!” a deep voice growled from nearby, “You’re supposed to be quiet. You just scared away the one near my line.” She looked over at the large ebony-skinned man sprawled next to her in the tall grass at the edge of the river. Although he was only two years older than she was, he was three times her size.
“Oh Samuel, you’re just jealous. Besides we already caught enough fish this morning to practically feed the whole town.”
“Yeah, and you caught most of them,” Samuel grumbled good-naturedly.
“Guess you taught me too well.”
“Guess you’re right. We better be headin’ back before your father starts looking for us. ‘Sides you gotta get ready for the festival,” Samuel said, not bothering to hide his grin.
Sabrina groaned; she hated town functions, mostly because she was forced to dress up, and Samuel, her best friend, was not allowed to go. She looked down at her mud-soaked britches and sighed. The town was having a dance and a fish fry at the town hall. Since her pa was a Marshall, she had to go.
Reluctantly, they clambered to their feet and pulled up their strings of fish from the water. Sabrina was struggling with her heavy load but Samuel knew better than to offer his help. He tossed his pole over his shoulder and the two headed toward Montgomery, their home. Montgomery was her mother’s maiden name, her father built the beautiful manor and named it after her mother out of devotion.
When Samuel was not working on the ranch he spent much of his free time with Sabrina, and loved her like a sister. His own sister had died from yellow fever years ago, and the only true family he had left was his mother. Samuel’s mother worked for Sabrina’s family also. She and Samuel had a small house set back behind Montgomery. Since Sabrina’s whole family was going into town, the help was given the day off to enjoy the festivities.
Sabrina sighed as she slowly picked her way along the well-worn path through the woods. It was no fair; Samuel wanted to go to the festival but his mother would not allow it, and she didn’t want to go but was forced to go anyway.
So bitter was Sabrina’s mood, she paid no attention to her surroundings even though it was a lovely morning. It had been an especially brutal summer, but the light breeze hinted that fall may come sooner than expected. The two traipsing through the woods were an unusual pair to behold but they both had the same passion for life and adventure, and this, especially, made them compatible.
As they neared the edge of the woods, they started to smell an odd scent. It lingered on the air for an instant and then it was gone. However, its effects were not. The brief whiff of smoke stopped them cold. Alma, Samuel’s mother, would have already had the wood stove up and running by this time, but it was not the sweet scent of the chicory wood that they smelled but something more frightening. Dropping the fish and equipment, they did not dare glance at each other as they quickly made their way up to the top of the knoll. At the peak, Sabrina stopped dead at the horrifying sight. Her home was on fire. She started to run but Samuel caught her and pulled her back down behind the tree line.
She started to fight him at first until she saw what he did: two strange men pulling Lydia, her older sister, from around the back of the house. She was kicking and screaming. Lydia kicked one of the men hard enough to gain her freedom. As she headed in Sabrina's direction, a single shot rang out, dropping her to the ground as the men chasing her caught up.
Sabrina gasped and covered her mouth with her hands to keep from screaming as she watched in horror. Her struggle with Samuel ceased as she sat in silent shock in the bushes. The scene was so surreal. The men seemed to be arguing among themselves. There were five in all, she would later recollect, but right then she did not notice. Her blood had turned to ice as she spotted the other body lying lifeless in the yard. She could make out her mother’s favorite yellow dress, now ruined from the red stain creeping across it; and her heart nearly stopped when she saw her father’s body softly swaying from the grand oak in the front yard. Then her world went black.
1
Oklahoma, 1885
Sabrina wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her sleeve. The heat was unbearable. The horse she was working on neighed in agitation. “I know, boy, I’m hot too,” Sabrina said softly as she set the pail of water she was carrying in front of the thirsty animal.
“When you get done with the stallion you can take a break but be sure you have Miss Reynolds’ carriage ready for her by four o’clock,” Mr. Swanson said gruffly.
Sabrina nodded as she tried to hide a slight smile. Mr. Swanson was like a fond uncle to her; he acted stern but she knew he had a sweet spirit. She had worked for him for over two years. He owned the stables in Tulsey Town and she would never forget how he had found her sleeping in a stall one morning and offered her a job and a place to stay. The stable had a loft and Mr. Swanson said she could stay there as long as she needed.
To look at him in dusty chaps, with face wrinkled from many years in the sun, you would not think he was well to do. He had previously owned a large ranch outside of Tulsey. Not having any children to pass the place down to, he decided to sell and move to town. He purchased a saloon first, figuring people needed a place to relax. He was never good with people, though, so he built a corral with a stable and tended to horses that visitors tethered.
He spent most of his time at the stables. Horses were his true love and he was very knowledgeable. Sabrina had learned a great deal from him. He worked just as hard as she did, even harder some of the time. Sabrina had not decided if it was because of his love of horses or his unwillingness to go home that explained his dedication. He always told her that his wife was a shrew. She seemed nice enough to Sabrina, just very particular about everything her husband did, from where he was supposed to put his hat, to scrubbing his face and hands before dinner.
Along with her space in the loft, Mr. Swanson gave Sabrina a small salary, from which she saved as much as she could---not that she needed money for heaven’s sake; she was an heiress to a fortune. She just wasn’t able to access any of it, at least not without her brother finding out, and she definitely didn’t want that to happen.
Her brother, Warren, had been away at a college in the east studying law when the massacre occurred. She’d always supposed that the men had attacked her family for money. When they did not find much on the property, they must have been infuriated. They had never been caught. Yet. But that would change, Sabrina thought with determination, as she started to brush down the horse.
Her father, being the Marshall, had insisted that all his children learn how to shoot; but Sabrina was his only willing student. She loved riding out to the cliffs and firing off endless rounds. She was a crack shot with a rifle as well as a pistol. How she wished that she had brought her rifle with her that day.
Sometimes it was hard to keep the horrid scenes out of her mind. She was mad at Samuel at first for pulling her back, but she later realized that they would have both been dead if he had not acted so quickly. His mother was safe as well; she had gone into town earlier that day along with many of the hired hands to help set up for the fair.
Since Sabrina was sixteen at the time, the state gave her brother, Warren, guardianship over her. When Warren learned of the tragedy, he set off for home as soon as possible. He had already finished his degree and was working as an apprentice for a law firm in Boston. He was doing very well; he had graduated at the top of his class. After the fire, Sabrina stayed in the small cabin with Samuel and his mother. Luckily, it had withstood the heat from Montgomery, as did the bunkhouse, barn and stables. Although she had lost everything, she was determined to go on. She spent long hours laboring in the frigid temperatures. Part of it was because there was lots of work to do but the other reason was that it blocked out her sister’s screams from her mind.
If she did not think about the tragedy, then it was not real. Right? Therefore, she filled her days with cleaning the stables, training the horses, and helping with the tack. Her dad always loved horses and spent all his free time in choosing and breeding the very best ones. So this is what Sabrina did; this was her world. At least it was until Warren got home.
He showed up out of the blue one crisp winter day, appalled to find his little sister running around in trousers, her hair matted to her head with sweat as she ate dinner among the other ranch hands. He had been furious. “You must begin acting like a lady,” he had shouted. “Now you are not even acting like a proper young girl.” Tears stung her eyes as she recalled one awful fight with him.
“You cannot go running around like a ranch hand anymore. You are above that. Besides, if the town knew you were living out here amongst these men by yourself your name would be disgraced.”
“You think I care? This is my home and these are my friends. I will not leave no matter what any small-minded person thinks. If they don’t like it, they can go to Hell. Hell is not a fun place; trust me, I’ve been there.”
Sighing as she tried to clear her thoughts, she walked over to the water trough and used the sippin' cup to take a drink of the tepid liquid. At least it’s wet she thought, swallowing gratefully. Although she loved being outside, the heat affected her greatly. “Must have inherited it from mother,” she murmured, as she lifted the cup and let the water run over her head and down her back, wetting her shirt.
Abigail, her mother, had been from Boston. She was very adventurous in her youth and headed west against her parents’ wishes. Sabrina recalled her mother vividly. She was beautiful, with glorious strawberry-blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. Sabrina exhaled noisily, thinking of her own dark brown locks which were currently cut short to aid her disguise. Though she had her mother’s eyes, out of the three Lovett children, Sabrina looked most like her father. Warren would have traded his red locks with her in an instant, she thought, and smiled wryly.
Sabrina normally would not have taken the chance that someone would see through her masquerade and find out that she was a girl by the wet shirt clinging to her curves. But she was on her break and she was hot. Plus in this heat it would dry quickly, anyway. She went into a shady stall and sat down on the hay with her back resting against the rough wood. She gratefully closed her eyes as she listened to the regular sounds on the street: the trot, trot, trot of riders going about their daily business as they came to and from town lulled her into a deep sleep.
2
Brock Stafford reined in his horse outside of the saloon. He had been traveling for days and all he wanted was a good meal and a soft bed, preferably in that order. He took his hat and tried to beat as much dust off of him as possible as he walked up to the bar. At least no one minded the grime. It seemed as if the locals had more dirt on them than he did; and he definitely smelled a heck of a lot better, or at least he hoped so.
Automatically assessing the place, he quickly took in the shabby furniture, the faded wallpaper, the gouged wooden bar at the back. He nodded to the few people that bothered to look up and sauntered toward the rear.
"What'll it be?" the man behind the bar asked. He was drying some glasses with a dusty rag. "I'll have a sarsparilla and the biggest steak you got," Brock said, sitting down at the end of the bar with his back against the wall. This way he could keep an eye on the doorway. It was a habit he had picked up long ago; a habit that had saved his life more than once. The bartender lifted an eyebrow at his request as he shuffled around preparing the order.
“Very few people come in here and only order sarsparillas. Well, only one actually: that little fellow who helps at the stables. What’s his name?" He pondered as he filled up Brock's glass. Suddenly he snapped his fingers and grinned, showing off his blackened teeth. "Will! Will’s a nice young fella, kinda backwards, though.” There was an awkward silence. “You gonna be in town long?" Mac asked, setting down the rare steak in front of Brock.
"Planning on it," Brock acknowledged, as he cut a thick hunk of meat off. He preferred his steaks more dead, but he did not want to offend the man, especially when he still needed information.
"Is there a boarding house in town?" Brock asked between bites.
"Yes sir, Widow Hawkin’s place is just down the street. She does serve up a fine meal, too. Course if ya want some company we gotta lotta nice gals here," Mac said, motioning his head towards a couple of worn looking women sitting around a card table.
Brock smirked. "I'll keep that in mind." He finished his meal and put the money on the counter. Mac's eyes widened as he saw the generous tip. "Thanks, Mr...." The man hesitated. "Stafford, Sheriff Brock Stafford," Brock said, as Mac's eyes opened wider.
"Well Sheriff, everyone calls me Mac."
Brock nodded, heading back outside through the swinging doors. He rode down the street until he found a two-story house with an old weathered sign out front. Crudely carved into the wood were the words: Boarding House. He dismounted and walked up to the entrance, rapping lightly. After a few moments of silence, he could make out shuffling noises coming from behind the door which was soon opened by an older woman who appeared to be in her sixties.
"Good afternoon, sir, may I help you?" she asked, her smile taking years off her face. Brock instantly removed his hat, revealing his wavy black hair.
"I hope so, ma'am. My name is Brock Stafford."
"Ahhh, the new sheriff," Ms. Hawkins broke in "Well, do come in!" she said, ushering him into the parlor. "Would you like some coffee?" she asked, motioning for him to sit down on the settee.
"Oh, no ma'am," he replied smiling, wondering who could drink coffee when it is hotter than Hades outside. "I was wondering if you had any rooms available until I can find a place and get settled."
"Of course I do! You can have the room at the top of the stairs. The weekly price includes two meals a day and three on Sunday." She chatted away happily, as she led him up the narrow stairway to his room. The room had a small single bed layered with quilts, a small desk which held the wash basin and a small window facing the alley between that house and the one next door.
"This'll do just fine," He assured her, as he went to bring up what belonging's he had and stowed them away in the small bureau next to the window. He wanted to lie down and go to sleep but his horse came first. He sighed wearily as he quickly washed his face and neck and headed downstairs to tend to Troy. On his way in, he had spotted the livery stable at the end of the street, not too far from the Marshall's office. Looked like a good place to him.
Brock rode up to the stable only to find it void of life. He looked around irritated from his fatigue and then decided to tend to his own horse. He led his mahogany stallion inside and noticed an empty stall in the rear and headed over to it. He was about to open the stall door when he noticed a boy asleep in the corner. He cleared his throat and the boy woke, startled, and scrambled to his feet.
"I'm so sorry, mister, may I help you?" Sabrina stammered. After a quick glance up at the handsome man, she quickly turned all of her attention to his horse. Sabrina was glad that it was so hot; it helped explain the blush that suddenly colored her cheeks. It had been a long time since she had seen a man like him. He reminded her a little of her father. He was tall, and his clothes were dusty but clean. Since she did not get an answer yet, she reluctantly looked back up at his face. He stared at her intently as if looking into her soul as she waited for him to answer her question. Nervously she looked down, relieved that her shirt was completely dry. Well, maybe a little damp. She saw the long shadows through the open doorway of the stable and realized the sun was sinking in the sky and she gasped.
"Oh, my gosh! What time is it?" He looked at his pocket watch irritably.
“It’s three thirty."
"Oh no! Mr. Swanson is gonna skin me alive. I was supposed to have Miss Reynold’s carriage ready by four." She started out of the stable and stopped in her tracks, remembering the man and his horse. She bit her lip in indecision. It would take at least twenty minutes to rub down his horse and then another twenty five to get the carriage ready. She sighed, well first come, first served, she thought as she walked back over to the gentleman.
"I'm sorry, sir, let me tend to your horse," she said, walking over. He watched, impressed, as she spoke softly to Troy before actually touching him or attempting to take the reins from his owner. "He's a beauty," she breathed, looking up at the graceful animal. "What's his name?”
She took the reins and skillfully led him into a stall. The deep rumble of the man’s chuckle sent shivers down Sabrina's spine.
"His name is Troy, and my name is Brock Stafford."
Sabrina nodded to him. "They call me Will." She ran her hands over Troy's flank.
"He's dehydrated." She looked accusingly at Brock.
He nodded in agreement. “We’ve traveled a very long way," Brock murmured, wondering why he felt guilty. He always took excellent care of his animals and here was this boy insinuating that he did not. He watched the boy get fresh oats and water for Troy and then head off to set up the carriage.
"I'll rub him down after he's better rested," Sabrina said over her shoulder to Brock. Brock shook his head as he headed out of the barn. He watched the young boy struggle to pull the fancy black carriage around so that he could align it with the horses. "Need a hand?" Brock questioned.. "No, thank you," Sabrina grunted as she pushed it into place with an extra hard shove. He watched amused as the boy scurried around, expertly taking down tack to fix it to two brown mares. She then led the ladies out of their stalls and hooked them up to the carriage. Sabrina had just finished checking their hooves and bits when a well-dressed lady in a bonnet swaggered up to them. She was attached to a nicely dressed man who Sabrina knew was her brother. She had never liked Sally but her brother seemed okay. His name was Thomas and she thought he was a little puny, but he seemed nice enough. He stopped by occasionally to check on their horses.
“Why who is this?” Sally Reynold drawled with a simpering smile as she spied Brock leaning against the corral fence.
“Stafford, Ma’am; Sir,” Brock said, tipping his hat to the pair.
She noticed he did not introduce himself as Brock as he had to her and wondered about it. Sabrina nodded to the woman as Thomas ushered Sally quickly up to the carriage. Sabrina kept her head down as she held the horses steady and Thomas helped his sister into the carriage and took the reins from Sabrina.
“Thank you, Will,” Thomas said, paying Sabrina for the horses’ board and giving her a nice tip. She thanked him without looking up and headed into the stable to finish caring for Troy.
"Who was that?" Brock asked, watching the carriage roll down the dusty street. Sabrina's brow furrowed.
“Why didn't you ask her yourself?" she said, biting her lip. She had a bad habit of saying what she was thinking. She sighed, wondering why he had not left yet. Brock was wondering the same thing as he watched her walk up to Troy's stall and unlatch the door. She first took a tool and cleaned around his shoes, removing tiny pebbles and as much dirt as possible. She checked the nails in his shoes and hammered in a couple that were loose. Grabbing a brush, she began the tedious yet soothing task of grooming the horse.
She started at his head and worked her way down, talking in a soothing tone to the horse the entire time. Brock strained his ears to hear what the boy was saying but he could not make it out. At some point he thought he was actually singing to the horse. Sabrina stepped back, looking at how Troy’s dark red coat shimmered in the dim light and she smiled at her work. Troy seemed much more relaxed.
She nodded. "Much better." Turning around quickly, she ran right into Brock’s chest. The force knocked her back into the wall and she cursed as she hit her head.
"Would you look where you’re going?" she grumbled, as she walked around Brock to put her cleaning items away. "Your horse is fine; you can go now."
At that moment, Mr. Swanson walked into the stable. "Will" he chastised, "that is no way to talk to a customer!"
Sabrina hung her head. "Sorry," she mumbled without looking at Brock. Mr. Swanson peeked into Troy's stall. "That's a nice piece of horseflesh. You know your animals, Mr...."
Brock smiled. "Brock Stafford, I'm the new Sheriff."
Sabrina's eyes widened at the word sheriff. She mouthed the words as she cringed. She immediately turned her back on him, sat down and started cleaning a saddle.
"Well how about that! Welcome to town Sheriff Stafford, I'm Jack Swanson; I own the livery and saloon."
"Nice to meet you. You've got a real good helper, Troy took right to him and Troy usually doesn't like anyone except me."
Jack nodded. "Yep, that young’un sure does have talent. I was quite lucky to find him."
Brock raised his eyebrow "You found him?" The two men turned as they heard Sabrina noisily get up and stomp out of the barn. Jack chuckled. "Will's a very sensitive boy. He don’t talk much and when he does it's mostly about horses. He could use a mentor,” Jack hinted and Brock nodded in thought as he left the barn and headed back to his room for a bath and some rest.
3
Sabrina headed down to the saloon, The Swan and the Swallow. Most folks just called it The Swan. She needed a drink. Since Mr. Swanson owned them both he allowed her to eat free since she didn't eat much anyhow.
"Hey, Mac," Sabrina said as she climbed up onto the stool by the bar. Mac was one of the few people in town with whom she felt comfortable.
"The usual?" he asked and she nodded. Seconds later, a cool sarsparilla was set down in front of her.
"Rough day?"
Sabrina nodded as she let the liquid run down her dry throat. She liked Mac. He never asked a bunch of questions about her past. He just accepted her as is and went on from there. He was like a grizzled old hermit. Sabrina took another long swig of her drink. She ordered some food and let her mind wander as she ate. She thought about the bustling town and how she had ended up there.
Sabrina was standing in what had been the parlor of her burned out home, dear Montgomery, with tears streaming down her cheeks
She watched the workers putting up the wooden frame to rebuild the house. The house could be replaced but her family would not be. All she had left was her brother, Warren, and Samuel and Alma. She had many cousins but they had their own lives and their own problems.
Upon learning of his family's death, Warren returned from the East to care for the ranch and his sister. Her mind was swirling with emotions; she was happy Warren was back but he was different somehow. He had only been back for three weeks and had immediately set upon rebuilding the stately home and erasing all memories of the horror, as if it had never happened.
And to him it hadn't. He had not seen his sister brutally shot down and worse. He had not seen his father and mother’s lifeless bodies lying side by side in the yard. Samuel had cut her father free from the tree with tears streaming from his eyes. Sabrina had not wept that day---she couldn't. She could not convince herself that they were really gone. She had sat next to them for hours as their blood ran beneath them and soaked into the earth---the same earth and land that her father and mother had worked so hard to shape and nourish. And she couldn't let them go. The townspeople came later on, drawn by the smoke from the still-crackling structure. Her home.
The hot summer day had offered no comfort to the filthy young girl on her knees who had lost everything that was dear to her. Some of the women from town had come; they took pity on Sabrina’s shattered soul and led her off so she could wash the soot and blood off herself while the men cared for her family. They buried them on a knoll not far from the stables. She knew that they would have liked it there. They used to have picnics on the hill when Sabrina was younger.
A posse was sent out after the killers, but they were never found. Catching them would not bring back her family and Sabrina was too wrapped up in her own grief to consider others.
It took Warren three months to arrive and in his stead she had run the ranch with the help of Samuel and the others. The ranch hands had always been fond of Sabrina and admired her courage. They admired her even more as they watched her work from before the crack of dawn until long after sunset, only stopping long enough to grab an occasional bite. They were worried about her. She had never taken the time to grieve or feel her loss. It ate at her at night.
She awoke to horrible nightmares; her dark sunken eyes reflected the turmoil in her soul that her voice refused to speak and her pride refused to admit. Samuel had tried to get her to open up and to slow down but to no avail. He was forced to stand by helplessly as he watched her already sturdy frame turn harder and leaner than it should have.
Samuel was glad for that day in September when Warren came back; they all were. Warren had arrived and Sabrina had smiled for the first time since the butchery. He said he would stay in the bunkhouse with the other hands until the main house was finished. He was dismayed to see the state that his sister was in and blamed himself for not being there for her sooner.
She had changed so much in the years that he had been away. However, it seemed that the changes were more mental than physical. She was still the same height as she was when he had left. Their mother was a petite woman who was not afraid to stand up to any man or beast, and Sabrina was just like her in more ways than one. Not wanting his sister to live like a mule and grow up like a man, Warren made some rather rash decisions.
Sabrina felt a tear slide down her cheek, bringing her out of her trance. She quickly wiped it away glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Mac was over across the bar talking to Pamela, one of the saloon girls, and no one else paid her any attention, which was the way she liked it. Sniffing, she silently slipped out of her seat and out the door.
Brock awoke with the full light of day beaming through his bedroom window. He had not meant to sleep in. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes and stretched.
He got out of bed slowly, still groggy from the long day of riding the day before. He dressed and prepared for the day. Today was his official first day on the job. He pinned the bronze star to his chest and headed downstairs for breakfast. Widow Hawkins was running about serving her two other guests. She quickly came over and ushered him to a seat, introducing him to the others.
"This is Mr. Snyder; he's set up a temporary shop in the mercantile. He sells spectacles."
She motioned to the other gentleman who was much older and had a head full of gray hair. “This is Pastor Stevens; he's a permanent resident."
Brock nodded to the two gentlemen as he dug in to the fresh biscuits and gravy, smoked ham and fried eggs. He ate until he was full and pushed back his chair, thanking Ms. Hawkins for the wonderful breakfast.
He stepped outside into the morning heat and made his way down the boardwalk towards the Sheriff's office. The town was alive with the usual hustle and bustle. Some of the merchants noticed him and nodded or waved.
His office was on the same street as the livery stable and the bank. He unlocked the door with his key and stepped inside. A very sparse office with two cells greeted him. The cells were against the back wall and they each had a small mattress in one corner. One of the cell doors had fallen off its hinges and was propped up against the wall. It seemed as if the entire room was covered with a year’s worth of dust and grime, though the late Sheriff McAllister had only passed away two months earlier. He pulled back the once beige curtains and let some of the early morning light filter in through the dirty windows. He sighed. This was going to take a lot of elbow grease.
"Sheriff McAllister wasn't much into housekeepin'," a soft voice said from behind.
Brock spun around, searching out the owner of the voice and silently cursing himself for letting his guard down. He instantly recognized the young boy from the stables leaning against the open door frame. Brock raised an eyebrow as he noticed he had a bucket and a broom in his hand.
Sabrina said, "Mr. Swanson sent me; he thought you might need some help straightening the place up." She stepped into the dark room avoiding Brock's gaze as she looked around, taking in the enormity of the task in front of them.
The place had been shut up for months but that did not stop the mice and rats from moving in. There was an abundance of once important papers scattered throughout the room. The rats had shredded them for bedding. The roof apparently had several leaks; water had seeped in and molded the rest of the papers and mattresses. Sabrina scrunched her nose at the smell.
Brock made a sweeping motion with his arm indicating the entire place. "As you can see, I can sure use the help. I'm not really sure where to begin."
Sabrina sat down for a moment in a chair by the desk. A plume of dust lifted up from the moth eaten cushion she was sitting on. She tried to talk and ended up choking on the dust. Brock chuckled as he slapped Sabrina on the back a little too hard almost sending her sprawling onto the floor.
"Thanks," Sabrina muttered after she finally caught her breath. "Well, to start off, we need to get some light in here. You take down the curtains, and I'll start washing the windows."
Brock smirked as the little runt started ordering him about as if he owned the place. He shook his head. Well, the kid is helping me; guess I can follow a few orders. He walked over to take down the filthy curtains.
Brock reached up and unhooked the curtains, laying them in a heap by the front door. Sabrina walked outside and filled the bucket in the horse trough. Returning, she soaped up a rag and, standing on a chair, started soaping down the grimy windows one pane at a time.
Not sure what to do next, Brock picked up the broom and started to vigorously sweep up the dirt and paper on the floor. Before long, a huge dust cloud filled the room. The dust burned his eyes and filled his nostrils and he tried not to cough. He heard the boy coughing; then suddenly he was in Brock’s face.
"What are you doing?" Sabrina demanded, grabbing the broom away from the shocked man. "Don't you even know how to sweep?"
Brock felt his face turning red with anger; first, he was ordered around; then he was yelled at for no reason. Someone needed to teach the boy some manners.
"Listen, I'm the Sheriff here! I’m in charge! This is my office and I say what gets done and by whom, do you hear me?" The boy eyed him angrily for a second, then smirked.
"Fine,” Sabrina said, dropping her rag in the bucket and walking out the door.
Brock's eyes widened in surprise. He was expecting the boy to back down and apologize, not leave. "Whatever,” he growled as he kicked the bucket in frustration. He cursed as the bucket tipped over and spilled water all over the floor, turning the thick dust into mud.
Sabrina stomped up the boardwalk to the stable. She was muttering under her breath as she walked right past the smiling Mr. Swanson.
"Finished already?" he called after her as she entered the barn. Sabrina ignored him and went up to her favorite horse, Star. She belonged to Mrs. Swanson but she'd never ridden her, at least not to Sabrina's knowledge. She ran her hand over the mare's smooth nose as she whispered, “Hey girl, you appreciate me, don't you?" The horse neighed as if in response and Sabrina smiled.
She had always loved horses, and had been around them all her life. They were such beautiful, graceful animals. She continued rubbing down the horse with a brush using long soft strokes. It always calmed her down, along with the horse. The nerve of that man! Just because he's good looking and a Sheriff he thinks he can order people around. She started brushing faster. She could feel her face turning red. Did I just say he was good looking?
You idiot! she scolded herself. You can't risk blowing your cover over some pretty face. Moreover, he is a Sheriff, for pete's sake! If he found out who I really am he would turn me over to Warren in an instant. Life just isn't fair. Especially for women.
The only acceptable jobs out there were cooking, whoring, or teaching. She wasn’t interested in teaching, and she could not cook. In addition, she had too much pride to become a painted dove. At least she had too much at the moment---who knew what the future would hold?
She heard heavy footsteps approaching and heard someone talking to Mr. Swanson. Recognizing the voice she walked over and leaned against the rough wall so that she could hear without being seen.
Mr. Swanson grinned widely as the younger man walked toward him. He was covered in dust from head to toe. So much for his bath yesterday.
"Mornin' Sheriff."
Brock nodded as he tried to think of what to say to the man. He wanted Will to help him but he did not want to apologize to the boy.
"Thank you for sending Will over this morning,” he finally blurted.
Mr. Swanson chuckled, "You'll have to thank him. It's his day off; he can do as he pleases."
Brock looked at him in surprise. The boy volunteered to help him? He felt like an ass.
Mr. Swanson continued as he heard Brock groan. "Boys a fine worker, though he can get a little cocky."
"You can say that again,” Brock agreed. After Will had left he’d tried to continue cleaning but had just managed to make it worse, if that was possible. He had put more water on the floor to help clean up the mud before realizing that it just made more mud. Now most of the floor was covered with it as well as the curtains, which he used in an attempt to soak up the excess water.
"He's in the barn if you want to talk to him."
Brock tilted his hat and headed inside. Sabrina heard him coming and hurried back over to Star, who grunted at her, annoyed that she had stopped rubbing her halfway through. She quickly started brushing Star's other flank as she felt Brock come up behind her.
She ignored him as he coughed to announce his presence. Not getting a response, Brock felt his anger rising again but forced himself to calm down. He probably could have hired one of the local ladies to clean it; well, at least he could have before the mud incident, but for some reason he wanted Will to help him.
Maybe he felt sorry for the lad. Heck, at this point he'd be willing to pay whatever the boy asked. Brock walked up and put a hand on his shoulder. She turned around quickly and looked up. "What do you want?" she spat out, not sure why she was so angry.
"I was wondering if you would help me clean up my office."
Sabrina raised an eyebrow, surprised that he would stoop so low as to ask her for help. Sabrina sighed as she looked up at his imploring face. She almost smiled. Surely he couldn’t feel helpless, especially with those colts strapped to his waist. Her eyes inadvertently darted to the area between the colts and she felt her face turning red as she looked away.
"Thought you wanted things done your way,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her defiantly.
Brock frowned. "Well, I guess my way wasn't such a good idea after all."
"Oh, all right! But you’re buying me lunch," Sabrina said in mock exasperation.
Brock chuckled. "Deal, I don't suppose you can eat that much,” he said, eyeing her small frame. They headed back up to the boardwalk to begin their task.
Sabrina stumbled along the street heading towards the Sheriff's office. She was having a hard time trying to keep up with Brock’s long stride. Frustrated she stopped abruptly and started strolling along at a leisurely pace. Why the heck was she in a hurry to clean up his mess, anyway? And why the heck did she volunteer for the job twice? I must be getting dense, she thought. See? I'm even talking to myself now.
She passed a shop and stopped suddenly, noticing a new blue silk dress in the window. She had never liked wearing dresses and had only done so under threat or force, but this dress was a beauty. She could imagine herself in it at a grand ball dancing with a tall dark handsome man who looked an awful lot like Brock. In fact, she could see Brock’s face in front of her looking at her strangely. She realized that she was seeing his reflection on the glass in front of her and turned around quickly, scowling at him. "What?" she said gruffly, lowering her voice. She could feel her face reddening and she looked away quickly, heading towards the office at a medium pace. Brock followed her, walking slowly.
"I was afraid you got lost."
"Well, this isn't a cattle drive! I don't walk as fast as you do. Why should I hurry to help clean up your mess anyway?" She mumbled the last part to herself but he heard anyhow.
"Didn't look like you were walking at all. Looked like you were gawking at a dress. Is there a girl you’re sweet on?" Brock asked, smiling.
"One more word and I'll be walking the other way," Sabrina retorted and Brock hid a grin. He was used to people respecting him, or at least fearing him, but this boy did neither. Will seemed to be quite confident in his abilities, which was very rare in a boy his age. 'Course a kid had to grow up fast out here to survive. Brock estimated him to be about thirteen or fourteen years old since it didn’t appear that he needed to shave. But he seemed so much more mature.
The pair arrived outside the office and Sabrina waited impatiently while Brock unlocked the door. He cringed as he opened it slowly. Sabrina's eyes widened and her mouth fell open at the devastation she saw before her.
"What have you done? I left you alone for ten minutes!" Her boots squished on the muddy floor as she looked over the room. Mud was splattered everywhere and the once dirty curtains were in a filth-sodden pile next to the overturned bucket.
"I had a little accident," Brock explained.
Sabrina turned on him, her voice rising with every word. "An accident? The fall of Rome was an accident! This is a disaster! It's going to take days to clean this up."
"I'd be willing to pay you,” Brock offered hopefully, still unsure why he was begging this boy to help him or why he really wanted him to say yes.
"No thanks, I already have a job!” Sabrina sighed at the look of desperation on his face. She covered her face with her hands and groaned. She could not pass over an animal in need, even if it was human. “Oh, all right! Let's just get started? You wash the windows inside and out and I guess I'll start on the quagmire." She gave Brock a look, daring him to say anything. He just shrugged as he picked up the bucket to get more water.
Brock decided it was safest to start on the outside. It was a bit humiliating to be seen washing windows as the townsfolk walked by with whispers and grins, but he refused to back down from his promise. At least he didn’t need a chair, he was tall enough to reach all of the windows without one. He thoroughly soaped and rinsed them twice for good measure.
“So you’re the new Sheriff,” a feminine voice stated from behind him. He turned, noticing the lady who had rented the carriage previously. She was with the same man.
“Yes, ma’am,” Brock said tilting his hat to her.
“I didn’t realize who you were yesterday. I’m Sally Reynolds and this is my brother, Thomas. Our father is the doctor,” she said with a haughty tone.
Brock forced a smile as he sighed inwardly. Women like her just screamed trouble. Suddenly a large wet mass flew out of the open doorway and splattered close to the lady’s feet. Speckles of must splattered her dress.
Sabrina grinned as she heard the squeal from Sally. She really had no idea what had come over her. She’d dealt with her many times in the past and had never gotten upset with her better than thou attitude, but when she heard her talking to Brock a strange feeling crept over her. Without thinking, she’d grabbed the sodden curtains and tossed them outside.
She heard Brock apologizing profusely, explaining that Will had not seen her standing there. Then Sabrina heard her walking off in a huff, with her underling of a brother following after her, muttering apologies to Brock for her behavior.
Sabrina expected another confrontation with Brock when he stepped inside the office and was surprised and disappointed when he came in chuckling.
“I take it that you don’t like the Reynolds.”
Sabrina forced a look of surprise on her face. “The Reynolds stopped by? I hadn’t realized.”
She had scraped off the first layer of sodden debris and shoveled it into the door-less cell to be removed later. It would be easier to move when it was dry. She had then tried to soak up the remaining mud, working backwards from the corner so that it would be not be full of muddy footprints when it dried.
She stretched out her aching back like a cat and looked over her handiwork. “Well, I guess that’s all we can do until the floor dries. I’ll take the drapes down to the creek later and see if I can salvage them.” She paused. “I guess you don’t need pretty curtains for a jail,” Sabrina said sarcastically.
Brock shook his head “Well, let’s go get some food and then you can show me where the creek is and I’ll lend you a hand since it’s my mess.”
Sabrina nodded and headed toward the saloon. Brock stopped her. “We’ll eat at the boarding house. The last steak I had at the saloon tasted like shoe leather.”
Sabrina laughed. “Mac must not like you very much; he’s a great cook. He used to run the chuck wagon back when Mr. Swanson had his ranch.”
Brock huffed and headed up the steps to his temporary home. Mrs. Hawkins was in the kitchen fixing lunch for herself. Seeing him enter with his guest, she smiled and added two more plates.
Sabrina hungrily wolfed down the chicken and dumplings. They were made the same way Alma made them: rolled out and cut. They somehow tasted better than the dropped dumplings Mac made, less doughy. She dipped the still warm hoe cakes in the broth and took a huge bite. She looked up and found Brock watching her amused. She glared at him and wiped the crumbs off her face.
“What?” she muttered as a spray of dry bread crumbs fell from her mouth. Her mother would have been appalled if she’d seen her eating like that but Sabrina had to keep up appearances.
“And to think I imagined you wouldn’t eat that much,” Brock said, as he wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin.
“Leave him be; he’s a growing boy,” Mrs. Hawkins said, patting Sabrina on her arm. She forced a smile at the older lady.
After lunch they packed up the muddy curtains and stopped by the livery for horses. Brock rode Troy and Sabrina rode Star. Mr. Swanson allowed her to take Star out whenever she wished.
They were quiet as they rode and Sabrina’s thoughts again drifted to the past. She was thinking about the last time she saw her brother. They had several horrible arguments. Warren wanted Sabrina to go back to Boston with him and stay in a boarding school with other young women of her stature. He would leave Daniel, their current foreman, in charge of the ranch. Sabrina was adamant that she would not go. She would not leave her home and family to go up North to some girls’ school to learn “to be a lady.”
Her mother taught all of them including Samuel to read, write, do their math and play music. She didn’t need any more schooling. She felt that Warren just wanted to get her married off so he wouldn’t have to deal with her and she told him so. Warren was unreasonable, to say the least, but Sabrina found herself a week later on a train to Boston with a chaperone. Warren had to work out some details with the ranch and would follow later. She was to stay with her Aunt Betty, her mother’s sister, until Warren arrived.
Her mother came from a wealthy family. It was old money---they could trace their roots back to English royalty---or so she was told. She never had to think about money before; everything was always provided for her. Warren had given her some extra money for items during her trip and she kept it secure in the pocket of her skirt. Yes, she was wearing a skirt begrudgingly. She intentionally wore a big fluffy skirt to conceal the pants she wore underneath.
She had devised a plan and it did not include her going to Boston. That was about three years ago. She waited ‘til her chaperone was asleep and hopped off the train as it neared the next station, and Will was born.
It didn’t work out exactly the way she planned. She was initially going to contact her cousins but she was scared that they would take Warren’s side. She drifted from town to town keeping up her disguise. It was just safer that way. Since her father was a Marshall, she had heard her parents whispering together at night about things that sometimes happened to young girls in rough towns so she was very careful.
She eventually wound up in Tulsey Town. Exhausted and nearly out of money, she took refuge in the stable during a winter storm. Mr. Swanson found her in the morning and the rest was history. She didn’t know if Warren was still looking for her, but she didn’t want to take any chances.
One day she happened to overhear someone telling Mr. Swanson that Warren Lovett was an attorney for the new circuit court Judge. She guessed he took that position to keep searching for her so he could ruin her life again. But this was her new home and her new family and she did not want to leave.
Her horse neighed softly and Sabrina forced herself back to reality. It seemed like lately she had been thinking more about the past than the present. She would have to try to stay more focused, especially around Brock. His eyes and ears were much more keen than Mr. Swanson’s.
“Almost there. So how did you end up in Tulsa?” Sabrina asked, breaking the silence.
“Mostly just lookin’ for a nice place to settle. I’ve been drifting like a tumbleweed for years now. I’m looking for someplace to plant my feet. I heard about the opening and here I am.” Brock turned to Sabrina and smiled so brightly she had to turn her head.
“It does have a certain charm that whispers home. I don’t have much family left so I kinda feel like the town I live in is my family.” Sabrina’s brain suddenly told her mouth to shut up. She had kept her secret by not talking to anyone about her past. Most townsfolk had been too busy to notice Will, much less drum up a conversation with the boy, which is a good thing because Will had not grown an inch in the two years that she had been there. That in itself was very unusual for a boy. She should have moved on by now, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Brock didn’t make a reply, and Sabrina was happy to see the creek in the distance. At least cleaning the curtains would give her something to concentrate on besides looking at Brock. She couldn’t help it. He was perfect: tall, muscular, handsome, smart, everything she would want in a man. And he thought she was a boy. Great.
They pulled up to the creek and ground-tied their horses. They’d had several bad storms lately and the creek was at its brink. The water was rushing fast, which would make it easier to clean the curtains.
Brock lifted one eyebrow, looking at the water. “How deep is this creek?”
“About a foot normally; maybe two feet now. You aren’t scared of water, are you?” Sabrina asked with a mocking tone in her voice. He glared at her.
“I just have respect for mother nature is all.”
Sabrina grinned as she rolled up her pant legs to her knees and took off her boots; she left her socks on to help with traction on the moss covered rocks. She grabbed one end of a panel and gestured for him to grab the other end. She waded in first. Carefully picking her way across the slippery rocks on the bottom, she turned and instructed Brock to dunk the unfurled cloth into the water in time with her. The swift water aided their task and soon the curtain was back to a dingy beige color. They twisted the cloth between them, wringing out what excess water they could. Sabrina crossed back over, holding the clean cloth up high. Brock grabbed it and spread it out over some nearby bushes to dry.
Sabrina’s arms were tired; the water put more force on the cloth than she had predicted and her muscles were starting to burn. Not wanting to show her fatigue, she grabbed the next panel and headed back across the creek.
They repeated the procedure until Brock pulled a little too hard when they were rinsing it and Sabrina cried out as she lost her footing. The water grabbed her and carried her downstream at a surprisingly fast pace. Brock jumped back onto land and ran down, trying to catch up to Will. The creek had a sharp bend up ahead and Sabrina was washed up onto the bank.
Brock leaped over the creek to the other side. He ran up and rolled her over onto her back with worry spread across his face. Sabrina broke out into laughter
“That was so much fun! You’ll have to try it!” she said to Brock, her green eyes sparkling as she looked up at him with water dripping down her face.
Brock’s whole I told you so speech went right out of his head when he looked into Sabrina’s eyes.
He stared captivated at her green eyes. “I never noticed your eyes are green.” Sabrina’s eyes turned sad and she got slowly to her feet. She normally kept her hat pulled low to cover her unusual eye color. Looking around, she spotted her hat caught on a branch nearby at the edge of the creek and plopped it on her head.
She felt a shadow pass over her and looked around to find Brock near.
“Didn’t mean to upset you,” he said softly.
Sabrina sighed. She was not acting like a boy right now. Shrugging, she finally replied. “My mom had green eyes; she and my family were murdered. That’s how I ended up alone.”
“Indians?”
Sabrina snorted, “No, Indians would have been more merciful.” Turning she made her way back down to their horses to finish the last curtain.