For The Love 0f A Wounded Cowboy (Historical Western Romance) Read online

  For the Love of a Wounded Cowboy

  A Western Historical Romance

  Cassidy Hanton

  Edited by

  Robin Spencer

  Contents

  A Thank You Gift

  About the book

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  A Western Tale of Love and Fate

  About the book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Also by Cassidy Hanton

  About the Author

  A Thank You Gift

  Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love.

  As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called Finding the Broken Cowboy. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping this link here.

  Again, thank you ever so much for your continuous love and support!

  Cassidy Hanton

  About the book

  He let her into his heart and she took away the demons of a lifetime…

  Desperate to escape her evil father, Amelia Donnel thinks her reply to a Mail-Order Bride ad may hold the key to her salvation. But when she meets the cowboy she’s been corresponding with all this time, she comes face to face with an unpleasant surprise: he seems unable to recognize her.

  Living a lonely life on his ranch, Oliver Gyles carries the burden of his deceased father’s darkest secret. With no intention of getting married, he is shocked to see a beautiful lady standing at his doorstep, looking for her fiancé.

  What starts as a misunderstanding, blooms into a myriad of emotions they couldn't have foreseen...

  But his father’s last wish haunts Oliver and the past comes back to take Amelia away from him. Fighting his demons to save his love while there’s still time, he will soon find out what really happened the night his father died in that fire...

  Prologue

  Rattleridge, Montana, 1890

  Oliver woke up coughing. White smoke filled the room and flames licked up the walls of the small ranch house. He leaped from his bed and rushed to his father’s room. It was empty. Where is he? Why didn’t he wake me up?

  “Pop!” He yelled amidst the sound of crackling flames and burning wood. “Pop!”

  There was no answer.

  Oliver rushed back into the living room and stood in horror as flames entirely engulfed the ceiling. Every wall was burning. The remnants of his father’s hunting trips were now smoldering and impossible to recognize. The moose head was just a burning black protrusion from the wall, the bear’s head had fallen to the floor, its snout barely visible amidst the flames. The smoke was suffocating and he coughed loudly as he tried to find his way through the black clouds and orange flames.

  “Pop!” he called again. Still, there was no response. His heart beat harder. I have to find him. Why is no one answering me?

  “Melvin!” he called, hoping his voice would reach the ranch hand who slept in the barn. There was only silence

  Oliver ran for the door as the ceiling beams cracked loudly. Embers rained down and he shielded his head beneath his arm. He yanked on the door and tumbled out of it, looking up in shock at the dark sky and the glowing flames. None of this seemed real. It was as if he was walking in a nightmare and trying to find his way out of it.

  A dark figure came out of the barn. “Pop?” Oliver rushed toward the figure.

  Melvin coughed loudly, “It’s just me.” He was tall and lank, in the firelight, yellow crowned his head.

  Oliver was frantic. His father was the only family he had left. “Where’s my father? Where is he?” His heart was beating so loudly he could barely hear his own voice.

  “I don’t know.” Melvin shook his head fiercely. “I was sleepin’ when the heat woke me. I just got myself outta there. I haven’t seen him.”

  “Pop!” Oliver called with renewed vigor. He started running toward the barn, “Pop!”

  “I’ll check the house,” Melvin called after him.

  The barn was burning, but Oliver braved the flames as he rushed in through the open doors. Smoke immediately filled his lungs and he began to sputter as he called out to his father. Every stall was empty. Fortunately, the horses had been pastured for the evening, but for now, all he wanted was to see his father safe and sound.

  “I can’t find him anywhere,” Melvin declared when they once again met outside the house. Oliver’s eyes turned to the building that was once their home. He swallowed hard. His father was in there, he knew it. He didn’t know how, but he was sure of it.

  Oliver ran for the front door but found his efforts thwarted by Melvin’s strong hands. “Stop! You’ll get yourself killed!”

  “I have to find him!” The young man yelled back as he extricated himself from the other man’s hands. Melvin didn’t understand. Oliver ran straightaway into the house. Pop must be hurt, badly enough that he could not speak or else he would have said something, called out to one of us by now. Pop needed him, and Oliver would not leave him.

  Beams lay across his path as Oliver returned inside the burning house. He could no longer tell wall from flame and the smoke was so thick his lungs felt as if they were burning. He rushed to-and-fro amidst the falling debris, shielding his head with his arms as best he could. He patted out flames as they caught his pants, burning his hands.

  Oliver stared at the kitchen door. It was surrounded by flames. He steeled himself, picked up his leg and kicked it as hard as he could. Instantly, the weakened wood gave way as flames leapt in every direction. He could feel the heat against his leg, but he had no time to think of it. His father’s body was half-hidden behind the stove.

  “Pop!”

  Oliver could scarcely think. His hands moved of their own will as he attempted to stamp out the flames that covered his father’s body, his own hands feeling the sting of the fire.

  “Wake up, Pop!” He yelled as he tugged on his father’s charred garments. He moaned slightly at Oliver’s attempts to rouse him but did not stir.

  Guthrie Gyles was a large man, almost twice his son’s size, but there was nothing in the world that would stop Oliver. He bent his knees, grabbed hold of his father’s limp body and hoisted him over his shoulder. Every muscle ached and his leg wobbled under the strain of his weight. A rain of flames fell upon them as they crossed the living room. The brave young man yelled out in pain as he felt his skin burn, but he did not stop. He could not stop. His father needed help and there was no one else. He made it to the door and finally fell under his father’s weight.

  Oliver heard the sickening crack of the roof giving way as Melvin rushed to their aid. They dragged the large man’s body from the burning building.
Oliver was in tremendous pain. His arm was an angry red, the skin melted through at some points, with dark charring in others. He paid no heed to it. His father was in much worse condition.

  “Pop?” The same burns that marred his arm covered his father’s body. His clothes were stuck to his skin, and some of his hair was gone, lost to the flames.

  “Pop?” he called again. His father groaned.

  “You got to wake up, Guthrie!” Melvin looked out at the perimeter of the property and leaned in close to the burned men. “I got a bad feelin’. Somethin’ ain’t right about this.”

  Guthrie’s son looked around him. He understood his friend. Now that the threat of losing his father had passed, he was wondering how the fire had started at all. They were very careful. How had his father wound up in such a state on the kitchen floor that he could not escape the flames? His gaze met Melvin’s.

  “Someone did this,” he stated. His brow furrowed. “But who?”

  Melvin shook his head. His father groaned.

  “Pop?” he called again as he focused on him. His father continued to moan in pain, but slowly, his eyes opened and he looked at him. Oliver felt relief fill him. “That’s it, Pop, open your eyes. I’m here. Melvin’s here. Everything’s gonna be all right,” he assured his father.

  His father raised a shaky hand and grabbed his arm. He tried to speak but faltered.

  “Don’t talk, Pop. We’re gonna get you out of here. Get the doc to look after you.” He searched the night. The horses were out in the pasture, if the fire hadn’t spooked them. It would take him more than half an hour to retrieve them, and even then there were no saddles. It was going to be difficult to get his father on a horse in his state, but he had to try.

  “Melvin, keep an eye on Pop. I’m gonna try to get the horses,” he stated. Melvin nodded his agreement, and Oliver started to stand, but his father stopped him.

  “Son,” he said in a breath so low that Oliver could hardly hear it.

  “What is it Pop? I won’t be long. I need to get the horses so we can get into town. You need help.”

  “There ain’t no help for me,” his father whispered as he continued to grip his arm. “This is my last rodeo,” he continued. He grimaced in pain.

  Oliver wanted to help him. He had to. He was the only family he had.

  “Don’t talk like that,” he urged. “You’ll be just fine once the doc takes a look at you.”

  “No, I won’t,” his father continued. “Before I die, I need you to know the truth. I need you to know why this happened.”

  Oliver’s brow knitted. “What’re you talking about? Know what?”

  His father’s eyes turned to Melvin momentarily. What did the other man know that he did not? He stared at them both as he waited for an explanation.

  “My past,” his father answered. He coughed hard and groaned in pain.

  “Your past? What’re you talking about?”

  He could think of no one who would want to harm his father or them. They lived a quiet life since his mother’s death and had done everything to make the small ranch what it was together. It was all they had, their great dream, and they had worked tirelessly to make it come true. Why would anyone want to do this to them?

  “My life wasn’t what I told you,” his father answered. “I wasn’t the man I led you to believe. I did my best to be a better man for your mother,” he stated. “But it doesn’t erase the man I was before her…and after her.”

  Oliver was confused. What was his father saying? What did he mean that he tried to be a better man? What had he done? What was he hiding?

  His father sucked in a ragged breath. “I have done some terrible things in my life, son. Horrible things. Things I will forever regret. Now, they’ve caught up to me…to us.”

  He raised his eyes to Melvin, but the older man refused to look at him. It was clear to Oliver that he knew all of this, but like his father, had kept it a secret from him all of this time.

  “It doesn’t matter, Pop. None of it matters,” he insisted.

  “It does,” his father countered. “It won’t end here,” he continued.

  His jaw clenched in anger. “Don’t try to talk any more. You have to be all right,” he continued despite his anger. “You have to make it through this.”

  His father shook his head lightly. “No, son. You need to hear the truth. You need to know. It’s time I told you my secrets, but first, I need you to promise me that you will not repeat my mistakes. That you will stay out of the trouble I always found myself in.”

  “Pop…”

  “Promise me,” his father demanded. “You must do it. I promised your mother I’d take care of you. I tried, but after today, I don’t think I’ll be around to guide you anymore. I need to know that you’ll be all right.”

  “I’ll look after him,” Melvin interjected. “You just keep still now. You need to rest. Mind your strength.”

  His father closed his eyes, his breath shallow. He was getting weaker by the second. Oliver could see it. His father was dying. He would not prolong his agony, or allow him to pass with whatever it was that was burdening him. Oliver’s hand trembled as he closed it into a fist. “I promise, Pop.”

  His father’s eyes opened slowly, but not entirely. He looked at him and smiled weakly. “Then it’s time you knew the truth.”

  Chapter One

  Thinvale, Idaho, 1893

  Life was never easy for Amelia Donnel. She could remember no time in her life when things went well, when her father showed her love or affection. He never spoke a kind word to her from the day she was born. No matter what she did, it was never good enough for him. She could never find favor in his sight.

  She knelt beside her bed and looked at the empty jar, which once held several months of savings. Amelia had worked tirelessly as a maid for the mayor and as a barmaid in the local saloon to save that money. She hoped to use it to make a better life for herself.

  Tears stung her eyes but anger kept them from falling. She clenched her fist tightly. She thought she had hid it so well, but it was clear that she had not hidden it well enough. There was only one person who could have taken it.

  Amelia got to her feet, with the jar in hand, and rushed from her bedroom. He wasn’t going to get away with this. She wouldn’t let him. He was always taking, but not this. She wouldn’t allow him to take this.

  “What have you done with the money?” she demanded the moment she stepped into the living room. The Donnel house was small, even for their town. There was one room, which served as their living room, dining room, and kitchen. To the right were two small bedrooms, each barely able to hold a bed far less any other furniture. The first belonged to her father, and the second was Amelia’s.

  Her father sat in the corner, his legs spread wide, a bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers as it hung between them. He didn’t look around at her entrance.

  “Father?” Amelia yelled. Her breath was rapid and her pulse beat so loudly that it was a constant din in her ears. How could he do this? Why did he do this?

  He glanced at her with dark eyes. “What are you going on about?” he drawled. He brought the bottle to his lips and took a long drink. “What money?”

  “You know what money!” Amelia challenged. She couldn’t believe he could be so callous about it. “Do you know how hard I worked to earn that money?” She inhaled a deep breath. “What did you do with it?”

  Her father took another long drink. He smirked as a dribble ran down his chin. “What does it matter to you what I do with my money?”

  Amelia’s eyes grew large at his statement. “Your money?”

  “Yes, my money,” her father continued. “Anything in this house belongs to me.”

  “No one would ever believe it since you don’t do anything around here,” she retorted. “And that wasn’t your money, it was mine. Now, what did you do with it?” She stalked toward him and held out her hand. “I want it back.”

  The smack filled her ears moments
later as her father slapped her hand away from him. Amelia clutched her throbbing hand with the other as she glared at him.

  “There’s nothing to give you,” he said with a smirk. He laughed at her and took another drink.