A Love Defying The Odds (Historical Western Romance) Read online

  A Love Defying the Odds

  A Western Historical Romance

  Cassidy Hanton

  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

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Preview: Longing for the Tormented Sheriff

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  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

  They were lost until they found each other...

  In a ghost town in Nevada, Lucy Jones is leading a Christian life helping orphans in need.

  An orphan herself, as soon as the orphanage she works at closes down, she has no other choice than to respond to a mail-order bride ad. When she finally meets her husband-to-be, he is nothing like the caring man she fell in love with through his letters…

  After his father’s death, Matthew Miller is running the successful ranch he inherited, in Tuckerrise, Nevada. Pressured by his mother to find a wife, he posts a mail-order bride ad and starts corresponding with the charming Miss Lucy Jones. His wounded soul has finally found a place to rest...

  But just before their longed-for meeting an accident strikes Matthew down. Failing to arrive at the station on time, he is devastated to see that his future bride is gone. Heartbroken and desperate to find her, he thinks he lost his one chance of finding true love.

  Until one day he recognizes her face in the crowd, strolling downtown with another man. A man he knows well…

  Prologue

  The sun had floated through the sky all afternoon without even the barest hint that it would sink down, baking the land with an oppressive glare. The dry grass crackled underfoot, the intense heat and lack of rain turning the edges of each sad blade a grayish brown.

  People in the bustling town of nearby Tuckerrise, Utah, had taken to cringing slightly whenever a pipe smoker struck a match or a cowhand flicked a spent cigarette to the ground, fearful that the fields in every direction would turn into a blazing wasteland.

  Outside the town, a humble homestead had sprung up in the emptiness. Once a place of hope and prosperity, despair had taken hold instead. In the darkness of an upstairs room whose windows were covered against the heat and the glare, a woman fanned her husband relentlessly, pausing only to wipe at his brow with a wet cloth from time to time. He smiled weakly every time he managed to open his eyes, still marveling at her beauty after all this time.

  “You don’t have to sit by my bedside, you know,” he whispered through cracked lips. “You don’t have to be here for this.”

  The woman didn’t answer at first, choking back tears as she realized what “this” truly meant. She swallowed—the pain of her dry throat reminding her that she hadn’t had anything to eat or drink that day—and smiled back at him.

  “What, and have you lie up here by yourself? I’m only playing nursemaid so I can get you well enough to finish your chores, you know!” she teased lightly, putting on a brave face for her husband’s sake. She was resolute that he would not be burdened with how deeply her heart was breaking.

  “It won’t be long now, I’m sure of it,” he answered before closing his eyes, the effort of those few words exhausting him.

  At the sound of his raspy snore, his wife allowed herself a few moments of tearful sorrow. She’d been as brave as she could be for all these weeks, ever since the doctor had said there was nothing that could be done. Still, there was a 200-acre ranch just beyond the darkened windows, and there was work to be done. How she would manage without her husband, she didn’t know… but she did know this much: she had no choice.

  After all they’d been through to buy and maintain this property, she was determined to stay put until they dug her grave. She owed it to their son, the lawful heir. She just didn’t realize she’d have to do it alone.

  Hours later, her husband opened his eyes again. He searched the room wildly, as if seeing things that no mortal could see. His wife startled from her sleep in the rocking chair beside the bed when she heard his soft moan.

  “I’m here, darling. What is it?” she asked quietly, determined that his final moments would be free from worry and pain.

  “They’re here for me, my sweet,” he said in a relieved voice so low she wasn’t sure he’d actually spoken, a thin smile pushing up the corners of his tear-filled eyes. “I can see ‘em. Can you? Don’t you be sad for me, ya hear?”

  “You know better than to ask that of me!” she answered sweetly. “I’ll never be happy again if you leave me, you know that!”

  “You have to be happy… for our boy…” the man answered, already closing his eyes, a look of contentment finally replacing the agonized mask he’d worn since being bedridden.

  “Well then, only because you asked nicely, I suppose,” she replied, her voice cracking slightly. The woman cleared her throat and dabbed at her tears, then smiled, knowing her husband was already beyond seeing her face.

  “Just… one thing,” he said, gasping for breath. “Don’t… don’t let our land go.”

  “Never, dear! They’ll have to drag me off this ranch!”

  “That’s my best girl!” he whispered. “I want… our son…”

  A lanky boy who’d been sitting quietly outside the open door jumped to his feet, hurrying to the bedside.

  “I’m here, Pa,” he said in a shaky whisper. He clutched his father’s hand, but it was so cold.

  “Son…” the man wheezed, slowly turning his head and forcing his eyes to focus on the boy. The corners of his mouth lifted in the barest of smiles. “My son… take care of…”

  A coughing fit prevented him from finishing his words, but there was no need. Tears pooled in the boy’s eyes, but his voice was strong. “I will, Pa. I’ll take care of Ma and the ranch and everything. Don’t you worry!”

  “Shhhh, rest now, dearest. I know,” she said, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on her husband’s cheek. “I know what to do, and so does he. This will be his ranch when he’s all grown, I’ll make sure of it.”

  Her husband smiled, sinking back even further into the feather pillow as all strength left his frail body. The sickness had taken everything he had, but his mind had stayed sharp until the end. He gave his wife’s ha
nd one last squeeze.

  “My best girl…” he said, and then his fragile breaths came no more.

  Chapter One

  By the flickering light of a hand-dipped candle that rested in an old tin cup, a young woman sat and wrote.

  Her blond curls were pulled back from her pale face and piled on top of her head, but several tendrils had escaped from their pins. Her gray-blue eyes were focused intently on the page in front of her, a deep frown creasing her otherwise beautiful face.

  Dear Diary,

  I find myself at a loss these days, as there are fewer students now than ever before. The school, which has always been home to me, feels empty and unloving, as there are no more than a handful of children to tend. Our dear little outpost is all but empty, save for myself and the students and only two proprietors. The post no longer comes this far, and the only supplies we have are those which we can manage to forage for ourselves.

  To our good fortune, Mrs. Mayhew is a handy shot with her husband’s old rifle. She has kept us in meat all year, but she talks from time to time of heading back east to her family. I know she will not leave us to fend for ourselves, but as soon as the last of the students is hired on at a farm or consigned to the factories, I know she will not be far behind.

  Mr. Popwell is kind enough to allow us to keep a garden on what’s left of his property, and even comes out most days to lend a hand. We repay him in pole beans and corn that we pick, and he is kind enough to refuse twice before taking a meager portion so that we may save face. But I worry what will become of us if he closes the general store and returns to his people in Missouri.

  Other than that, there is nothing.

  Though my uncle sent me here under grievous circumstances, I’ve come to enjoy the beauty of this town. “Town” might be a lofty word for Shortcrag, even back in its glory, but Nevada had so few towns that were double the size.

  Now, with the mine closed and the prospectors all packed up for richer fields, there is nothing left save our school and the shacks that house our thin bones!

  I received word that the schoolmaster would not be returning in the fall. That means I, alone, will care for and instruct the few children in my charge, or at least until they are assigned homes elsewhere. It’s a frightening idea, to be sure. I was a good enough student in my day, but I’ve had no need to advance my learning. I don’t know that I’m fit to teach others!

  Instead, I shall have to just do my best for them and make sure they are well cared for. What I lack in educating them, hopefully I will more than make up for in kindness, love, and prayer!

  Lucy Jones startled at the sound of crying, and she closed her pencil inside her small book to save her place. She stood up and smoothed her long skirts before leaving her downstairs room to seek out and soothe the tears.

  At the top of the old wooden staircase, she turned to the left, certain that it was a girl who was crying. Upon entering the girls’ room, she ignored the ten empty beds until she came to the ones farthest from the door.

  “Betty? What’s the matter?” Lucy asked, reaching for the girl tenderly and cradling her in her arms.

  “I want my ma!” the little girl cried, still mostly asleep. “Where’s my ma?”

  “Yer ma’s long gone, silly,” another girl called out, disgruntled at being awakened in such a way.

  “Hush, Annie. That is not a kind way to speak to someone in distress,” Lucy said sharply. Her voice softened as she turned to Betty and said, “But she’s right, Betty. It’s only a dream. Your mother isn’t here, I’m afraid.”

  “But I want her!” the girl wailed, her face crumpling with fresh tears and anguish. “My pa said they would come back for me!”

  “Your father won’t be able to return either, my dear,” Lucy explained gently.

  She was unable to count how many times she’d had to say those words to one of the children over the years, and it stung every time. Mostly it was because she remembered falling asleep in one of these very beds at these children’s young age, weeping each night for her parents, for anyone who would take her away and give her a home.

  These children cannot possibly understand, and how could they? Lucy thought. They know nothing of life outside of Shortcrag, only the fragments of memories they hold onto from before they were sent here.

  “Are you gonna be my ma?” Betty asked, hiccupping as her sobs began to wane.

  “Oh, no, dear. I’m far too mean to be anyone’s ma!” Lucy joked, hoping to make the child smile.

  “That’s not true!” Annie argued, awake now and turning on her side to face them. “You’re the nicest lady I’ve ever known!”

  “I’m afraid I might be the only lady you’ve ever known. How do you know all other ladies aren’t far kinder than me? Far prettier? Far more likely to make ham and sorghum for breakfast in the morning instead of cornmeal cakes?”

  “Are we really? Are we having ham?” Betty asked, her anguish forgotten for a moment.

  Lucy shook her head. “I’m afraid not, I was only having some fun. But I’d certainly eat my fill of ham if we had it! And I might not share any with naughty little girls who don’t go to sleep!”

  She began tickling Betty until the little girl broke into a fit of wild laughter. Even Annie, usually so bitter and serious, started laughing.

  “Now, morning does come at the same time every day,” Lucy said more seriously. “We have a lot of chores to do, too, so you have to get your sleep now. All right?”

  “Yes, Miss Lucy,” the girls said in unison.

  Lucy smiled and tucked them under their thin covers. She smoothed their hair back from their faces and bade them goodnight, then crept back down the stairs, hoping the three boys in the room across the stairway had not been disturbed.

  Back downstairs in her room, Lucy cast a glance at her diary, but her heart was no longer in it. Betty’s dream had only rekindled the old hurt that stayed buried in Lucy’s heart, refusing to leave or be erased. It’s not that she carried any ill-will towards her uncle for sending her here at such a tender age; after all, the man was already advanced in years and in failing health when her own parents had succumbed to measles. No one would have blamed him for washing his hands of her plight.

  Instead, he’d secured a place for her here. The years had been brutal and lonely, mostly due to the harsh schoolmarm who’d been in the position when Lucy had first arrived. Over the years, as she’d grown up and become more capable, the pain of her loss eased only slightly. She’d found that helping others made the emptiness she felt fade a little, and it became her solace.

  Now, with only the few young souls left in the town of Shortcrag, Lucy’s obligation was not lessened. She cared for these children as though they were her own family, and in many ways, they were. Their hopeful faces each morning as she prepared a meager breakfast were more familiar to her than that of any blood relative. Their tired smiles as she tucked each one into bed at night were the only images that kept her from being wholly alone in the world.

  The weariness from the day’s labor made Lucy’s bones ache and let a melancholy mood settle over her. If only I had a real family, I’d make sure they never wanted for anything, never suffered for affection.

  The sound of a gentle knocking on the front door pulled Lucy from her melancholy. Knowing it had to be one of the few residents left in Shortcrag—Mrs. Mayhew or Mr. Popwell, or perhaps one of the other outlying ranchers or miners who stubbornly refused to give up their claim—she hurried to the door and opened it a little.

  “Evening, Miss Lucy!” Mrs. Mayhew said brightly, beaming at her from the front porch.

  “Good evening, ma’am! What brings you out at a time like this?” Lucy asked, looking over the eccentric woman’s shoulder to make sure that everything was all right.

  “Oh, just doin’ a little more foraging, you know how it is! Nighttime is the best time for goin’ after rabbits. Here, I brought ya these. This’ll keep those little ones’ bellies full!”

  The older wom
an held up a handful of rabbits, their soft fur streaked red with blood. There had been a time when Lucy would have recoiled in horror at the sight, but now her veins flooded with relief. There would be food on the table tomorrow night, a hearty stew if she could manage some vegetables from their garden plot.

  “Oh my, you are a saint on earth! You and Mr. Popwell are the only ones keeping us all from starvation!” Lucy exclaimed. “Here, come in. I’ll put them in the kitchen and get to skinning them. I’ve got some broth left over from supper if you’re hungry?”