Longing for the Tormented Sheriff

A Western Historical Romance

Cassidy Hanton

Edited by Maggie Berry

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

Epilogue

Extended Epilogue

Preview: The Cowboy’s Stolen Bride

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

A lady in danger. A lonely sheriff. And their only hope? A diary lost in time...

After the inexplicable death of her father, Lillian Walter lives a quiet life with her mother, struggling to make ends meet in a small city of Texas, Rust Canyon. Preparing to accept the marriage proposal of a man her uncle introduced her to, the arrival of the new sheriff turns her world on its axis.

Back in Utah, like a harbinger of change, a telegraph marks the end of Michael Flemming's lonely life. Now he has to return to Rust Canyon and become the new sheriff. His career suddenly finds him confronted with something a lot more dangerous than crime: love.

When a series of fires start terrorizing the town, Michael realizes that his new position comes with old baggage.

However, when Lillian goes missing, things get personal. With ominous notes arriving at his doorstep, Michael must face a foe with no material form: secrets. And a long-forgotten diary just might be the key.

There is only one problem: The diary has been lost for decades...

Prologue

Rust Canyon, 1888

The floor creaked as the old man absentmindedly pushed his foot into the hardwood. The room was completely dark, the only light coming from an oil lamp that sat precariously on a stack of books. The scratching of ink on paper echoed around the room, and the man sighed heavily.

Something very serious has happened, the old man worried.

I can feel it in my bones. I don’t believe in coincidences, never have. He is up to something.

His hand trembled as he dipped his pen in the ink jar, spilling tiny drops onto the tabletop. He closed his eyes for a moment before he continued writing.

I can see no other explanation, although it pains me even to write this. I need more information, although there is no doubt in my heart anymore. I will need to be careful, and I must speak with the Sheriff soon.

The wind howled outside, and a branch hit the window, causing the old man to jump in his seat.

I worry that he will stop at nothing. If everything I suspect is true, he will not stop for anything. But I have to think of my own family. I must do this for them. No one can know, except for Sheriff Flemming and me.

Chapter One

It was an early afternoon in the Walters’ house. And just like every ordinary day, it was the same motions for Lillian Walter: tie a red scarf around her hair, carry a bucket of water into the sitting room, kneel on a worn-out cushion, dip the white rag in soapy water, and scrub in a circular motion. Half-hour later, she swept an escaped lock from her forehead. This was a daily mindless chore. Could at least one day be different?.

“Lilli?” a shaky voice called from the kitchen,

“Yes, mother?” Lillian responded, still clutching the wet cloth.

“Would you help me, dear?”

She strode to the kitchen and caught the older woman struggling to keep the faded blue teapot with the wilted flower pattern from spilling hot water everywhere.

“Mother!” Lillian grabbed a kitchen towel and replaced the kettle on the stove. “What happened?”

“I was being silly,” Dorothy Walter winced at her predicament.

“Come here,” Lillian cooed and guided her mother to the kitchen chair.

“I was just going to make some tea, but the pot was so heavy…” Her voice trailed off as she closed her eyes.

“You should have asked me to help you.”

“My dear, I just wanted to be of some use.” Dorothy simpered, “You work so hard,” she added.

“This is hardly hard work.” Lillian hugged the older woman. “Getting to take care of my dear mother is a gift, not a chore.”

“You have always been such an angel.” Dorothy stroked her daughter’s cheek.

“Now, how about that tea?” Lillian lit the stove and carefully balanced the heavy kettle on the flames. She peered into the small pantry and noticed a small piece of pound cake. She grabbed plates, mugs, and the cake and placed them on the table.

“Look what I found,” Lillian gestured to the cake. Dorothy gave her a bereft look as she picked up a crumb that had fallen to the table.

“It’s one of Mrs. Calleigh’s cakes,” Dorothy whispered.

“Yeah,” Lillian nodded.

“She gave us so much food,” Dorothy chuckled. They sat in heavy silence for a moment, sadness creeping up its familiar head once more. Suddenly, the kettle whistled, signaling the water was ready.

“Let us not waste,” Lillian poured the hot water over the tea leaves. She breathed heavily, allowing the billowing steam from the water mask a tiny sob. This was the time for her to be strong—for both of them.

As she returned to the table holding the blue teapot with the wilted flower pattern, she noticed her mother staring at the empty chair in front of her. Lillian sat next to her mother and poured her some tea. Together they shared tea and cake in silence.

Lillian lived with her mother in their family home in Rust Canyon, a rather small but crowded town in Texas. Sandy plains surrounded the town. A small cluster of trees at the foot of the hill enclosed half of the town in a dense ring of green. The scenery was truly breath-taking, especially when the sunset cast an amber glow over the horizon.

Rust Canyon was filled with travelers, although it had its closely-knit group of permanent locals. The Walters lived close to the main street, just a few minutes away from the old church. When she was a little girl, Lillian had always loved hearing the chime of the church bells echoing through her window.

Nowadays, the church bells hardly seemed to chime any more. Or when they made a sound, it was curt and cold. The bells have rung in farewell too many times over the past months and now going onto years. Strange things had been happening in Rust Canyon—a string of bad luck.

First, there was the fire at the old barn on the outskirts of the town. Then the tragic fire at the poor Wesleys’ home. Lillian shuddered at the memory. The Wesleys were a family of five and ran the woodshop—or used to. Lillian had to remind herself that Finnegan Wesley, the father of the family, had died in the fire, and the locals whispered that he had fallen asleep with his pipe and caused the fire.

Later, Lillian guided her mother to the rocking chair by the fire in the sitting room. Before Lillian stood to finish with her chores, she double-checked that the fireplace crate was secured, and the flame was not too strong. After the accident at the Wesleys’ home, she had been afraid of fire.

Somehow, she felt that a fire was happening almost every month. But she knew it was untrue, although the General Store was shut down after the mishap with the oil lamp last week. Lillian’s usually cheery demeanor had somewhat dampened after the death of the old Sheriff Flemming.

No one could blame her. After all the mishaps and accidents, the unthinkable happened. Lillian’s father, Philip Walter, had been killed almost three months ago.

I cannot believe it has been so long. I still keep expecting him to walk in the door, putting his hat on the hook by the front door and sitting down in his chair. My darling father, how I miss you. I worry that Mother is just biding her time until she can join you in Heaven.

Philip Walter had been shot during a bank robbery, and his killer was still out there somewhere. Lillian’s father had been the only victim, and there had also been no witnesses that she knew of. Lillian worried that with Sheriff Flemming dead, no one would ever capture the monster who killed her father.

Lillian thought they could really do with some good news around here. She returned to the hallway and picked up the bucket again. She sopped up the wet rag, looked at the half-cleaned floor. She would have to boil more water to finish cleaning, and she would need to get dinner going soon. Looks like I’ll be waking earlier tomorrow, Lillian murmured to herself as she carried the bucket out to the back.

Now alone in taking care of the house, Lillian felt each task was growing heavier by the day. As she watched her mother wilt away into a ghost of her former self, she was overwhelmed by the responsibility and sadness. She pushed her mourning aside, afraid she would simply split in two if she allowed herself to grasp the deep mourning for her father fully. Lillian understood she needed to be strong for her mother.

She removed her apron from her slender waist and took off her red scarf. Her blond, curly hair billowed down her back. Just as she hung her apron by the stove, she heard a knock on the door.

* * *

“Hello?” a cheerful voice called from outside. Lillian hurried to open the front door.

“Uncle Jacob!” Lillian squealed in delight

“My sweet, sweet Lillian.” Jacob Frazier walked into the house, his hands full of parcels and packages.

“Allow me to help you.” Lillian took some of the parcels and laid them carefully on the kitchen table.

When he was finally free of his load, Jacob said, “Come here,” and he scooped Lillian in a tight hug.

“Who is it?” Dorothy called from the sitting room.

“It’s only me, Dorothy.” Jacob let go of Lillian and walked into the sitting room.

“Jacob! What a wonderful surprise,” Dorothy beamed, making to stand up.

“No, sit,” Jacob said hurriedly, “sit, my dear.”

“Can I get you anything to drink, Uncle?”

“Oh, you know I would kill for a cup of your famous coffee,” he said with a wink.

“Coming up.” Lillian chuckled and returned to the kitchen. She eyed the pile of parcels on the table.

He is too kind to us. Lillian began brewing the coffee. Since her father’s death, Uncle Jacob had been their rock, unwavering with his support and kindness to them. Lillian could not imagine how she and her mother would have made it without him these past months.

Uncle Jacob was Lillian’s father’s cousin and a wealthy businessman who owned a few buildings in Rust Canyon. He had only recently returned to the town after years of living in another part of the state.

Lillian brought coffee for her uncle and tea to her mother. She was pleased to see her mother smiling and enjoying her tea, a rare sight in the sitting room.

“I was just telling your uncle how very grateful we are,” Dorothy said to Lillian, putting down her mug.

“We really are.” Lillian echoed.

“That’s what family is for,” Uncle Jacob said kindly. “I’m just sad that I can’t do more. Since dear Philip died, I feel a deep need always to be available to you, a strong connection.”

“Oh, Uncle,” Lillian choked, “You have already done so much for the community here.”

It had been widely known that Uncle Jacob gave the Church Society a substantial amount to help support their good work, and he assisted the poor in Rust Canyon with housing and loans.

“That reminds me,” Uncle Jacob said, jumping up from his seat. “I brought gifts.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Dorothy followed Uncle Jacob to where he was rummaging through the parcels on the kitchen table.

Uncle Jacob gestured to the parcels. “The General Store is barely up and running. So, I figured I should bring you some groceries.”

“Heavens,” Lillian gasped, “Are all of these groceries?”

“Sure are.”

“How ever did you manage to purchase so much?” Lillian asked, “Surely, this cannot be from the General Store?”

“I helped old Davidson from the store,” Uncle Jacob explained. “He needed money to replenish his store, so I helped out.”

“You are a true gentleman,” Dorothy said.

“We can’t have a town with no store,” Uncle Jacob dismissed. “But I didn’t only bring food. Here you go.” He picked out two neatly-packaged parcels and handed one to Dorothy, the other to Lillian.

Dorothy held out a sewing purse. “This is too much.”

“Nonsense.” He smiled at her. “You mentioned the other day that your sewing supplies were old and worn…”

“I might as well have been talking about myself,” Dorothy interjected.

Uncle Jacob laughed. “Well, at least now you will have no excuse not to mend my trousers.” he teased good-naturedly.

“Thank you,” Dorothy said, “Thank you!”

“Do you like yours?” Uncle Jacob asked Lillian.

“Uncle Jacob,” Lillian was speechless. She held a dress of a gorgeous blue shade, with delicate pearl buttons up the side. It was by far the best dress she had ever had, and much better than her everyday clothing.

“Oh my,” Dorothy whispered.

“Now,” Uncle Jacob began, “Before you demand I return this,” he said with a knowing smile, “I want you to hear me out. Recently, I bought the Saloon-Hotel. We are in the process of refurbishing it, and it will be the talk of the town when we finish. However, I need an excellent cook to feed my workers and someone to help us clean the place, and I was hoping you would be willing to help us, Lillian.”

Lillian stared at her uncle, her mouth open.

“Of course, I will pay you,” Uncle Jacob continued, “And after the opening, you will have a job waiting for you at the hotel. That is, if you would like to.”

“I would be delighted to.” Lillian walked to him and giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, sweet Uncle.”

* * *

Uncle Jacob stayed with Lillian and Dorothy for the rest of the evening. He sat in the sitting room with his pipe, and Lillian put away all the supplies that he had bought for them. She could hardly contain her excitement of starting her new job. Lillian had not worked anywhere before, apart from taking care of the home.

Before her father died, she had toyed with the idea of training to be a schoolteacher, as she loved reading and children, but she could not be away from her mother. This offer would be absolutely perfect. The Saloon-Hotel was not far from their home, and she would still be very close to her mother.

The pantry was now full, and Lillian was filled with a breath of fresh air, filled with hope and excitement. She took great care with her cooking, wanting everything to be perfect. The smell from the stew filled the house, and soon the added scent of fresh bread combined with it—a delicious mixture. This was her mother’s stew recipe, but she had not felt like making it for a long time.

“Darling,” Dorothy said, appearing suddenly at Lillian’s side, “It smells wonderful.”

“Thank you,” Lillian smiled, “It’s almost ready.”

There was an almost painful domesticity in the air, with the familiar smell of the stew, mixed with the tobacco smoke from Uncle Jacob. It was as if the quiet that had settled over the house since Philip died was slowly lifting.

“Oh, Lillian, I forgot to mention one other thing,” Uncle Jacob said as Lillian moved the heavy pot of stew onto the kitchen table.

“What’s that?”

“There is a fine young man that works for me,” Uncle Jacob began, “A business associate.”

Oh boy, Lillian rolled her eyes.

“He’s a good man, and I know that he is interested in marriage,” Uncle Jacob winked at her as he took a piece of bread from the basket.

Interested in marriage? Now? Heavens… I have not even thought of such things, not since Father died. But I do not wish to disappoint Uncle Jacob.

“Vincent is from a very nice family, and he is rather well off,” Jacob added, “Lillian, this food is simply too delicious.”

“Thank you,” Lillian said, still processing her Uncle’s news.

“So, what do you say?” Uncle Jacob asked her. Lillian looked at her mother, whose smile had faded a bit.

“How about if I plan a little meeting with you two?” He added, with a shrewd glance to Lillian.

Lillian gave her Uncle a forced smile. “Sure, I could meet him,” she said politely, “but please, only for a little while, I hope you understand.”

“Of course, my dear,” Uncle Jacob grinned and laughed loudly. “Of course.”

What have I gotten myself into? Who is this man?

Chapter Two

Utah

Michael Flemming downed his whiskey in one gulp. He sat in a wooden chair that creaked as he slid his heavy boots across the filthy tavern floor. Michael decided to hurry over to the post office before they closed; he knew it might not open again very soon.

Everything seemed to move at a slower pace here in Spring City, Utah. Michael had been traveling for almost two years now. He rode from city to city, town to town, taking in the vast American wilderness in all its splendor. Ever since he lost his mother at a very young age, he had a longing to explore—to discover.

When he left, he did so not with the slightest idea of when—or if—he would ever return home to Rust Canyon. Being the sheriff’s son, made everyone look at him differently. And being brought up without a mother caused others to pity him, which he hated.

He had kept mostly to himself growing up, going on long riding tours, just he and his faithful horse, Silver. He would often travel for days or even weeks, but his thirst for travel was never quenched. He always wanted to see more, to go further each time.

Michael stood up, stretching his tired legs from sitting for so long.

“One for the road?” the old tavern-keeper asked.

“No, not this time, Jim.” Michael handed the gray-haired man a coin for his drink.

“So, where you off to next?” Jim asked. “Cause, if you’re tired of the wandering life, my daughter thinks mighty highly of you.”

“Well, your Cecilia sure is sweet, but I have not yet found where I’ll settle down.”

“Suit yourself,” Jim chuckled as he picked up a glass and began polishing it.

“I’m going to hurry to post office,” Michael said with a nod to his hat.

“Take care,” Jim called after him.

Michael bent down as he walked outside, his tall frame a little too long for the old door frame. He was a lean and athletic man with unruly brown hair and piercing green eyes. As he approached the post office, two young women walked past him, their arms linked. One of them blushed as she looked at him; the other smiled widely and batted her eyelashes at him.

“Ladies,” Michael said, tipping his hat. They giggled but looked disappointed as he strode by. Michael was a very handsome man, and women were drawn to him. But he did not care much about that. Michael was on a quest to find his truth, his true meaning in life.

A small bell tingled as Michael pushed open the door, and a man in a postal uniform turned around and smiled as he noticed who it was.

“Mr. Flemming,” the man exclaimed.

“Good afternoon,” Michael replied.

“You are just on time,” the man said. “I was about to close, and you have a telegraph.”

The man shuffled through a pile of telegraphs. After a few minutes of searching, he made a small triumphant sound and held out a white envelope.

“Here you go,” the man said, “all the way from Texas.”

“It must be my father,” Michael accepted the letter. “I told him I would stay here for a while.”

“You know,” the postal worker said, his whole demeanor changing, “My sister, Gwyneth, would not mind at all if you decided to make this town a more permanent resident.”

Michael chuckled as he opened the envelope and pulled out the telegraph. “I know she’s not much for the eye,” the postal worker continued as Michael unfolded the letter, “But she’s an excellent cook, and as you know, our mother is…”

Michael could not hear the rest of the man’s story. His ears were filled with a strange humming sound, and he felt as if a heavy stone was settled inside him as he read the telegraph.

Dear Mr. Flemming - stop - We regret to inform you - stop - that your father has passed away. - stop - Please return to Rust Canyon - stop - as soon as possible - stop - the funeral will be held on the third of June.—stop—Yours, sincerely, Pastor Williams.

Michael read and re-read the short text. His father was gone, and Michael had not been with him. He carefully folded the telegraph back into the envelope and put it in his pocket. The postal worker had finally stopped talking, as he noticed that Michael wasn’t listening to him.

“Are you all right there?” he asked.

“Uh,” Michael said slowly, “I need to get going, sorry,” and at that, he walked out. Once he was outside again, the fresh air burnt his lungs, and he didn’t know whether he wanted to curse or scream. A heavy, yet familiar, sadness filled his whole being, and he walked towards the small inn he was staying at. He would need to leave as soon as possible.

Michael couldn’t believe it… His father was gone, and they had not seen each other for such a long time. He had always imagined his father greeting him when he would finally return, with a painful hug and a bottle of gin.

This means I must return home, and I will have to take over the sheriff’s position. I know that was his wish, and I will not disappoint him.

* * *

The next day Michael stood at the train platform, his weathered bag on his shoulder, and the telegraph in his breast pocket. He had been forced to sell his horse to be back in Rust Canyon before the funeral. It had pained him to do so, but the old farmer that bought him needed a horse for his carriage, and the farmer was a kind man that Michael had been acquainted with since his first day here in Spring City.

A distant sound signaled that the locomotive was nearing, and Michael turned around to take one last look at his surroundings. A strange mixture of anticipation and sadness washed over him, and just a hint of excitement. Michael had been waiting for a change in his life. He just had not expected it to come at such a cost.

* * *

Lillian woke earlier than usual. Outside was still dark, but she was filled with excitement. Today was her first day working for her Uncle Jacob at the Saloon-Hotel. Lillian put on her new dress and tied a bow around her hair, keeping the golden locks firmly in place. Her cheeks were flushed, and her heart beat rapidly. She hurried to the kitchen to finish her morning chores before she would leave for work.

Heaven bless my darling Uncle, Lillian prepared breakfast for her mother.

Lillian wondered how the Saloon-Hotel was looking; it had been closed off ever since it went out of business last year.

Such luck that Uncle Jacob has come to live here, he has really benefitted the town with his clever dealings and business sense.

“My, my, you look like an absolute angel,” Dorothy said, appearing at the kitchen door.

“What are you doing up?” Lillian saw her mother was still wearing her dressing gown and clutching a knitted shawl around her shoulders. “It’s much too early.”

“Nonsense.” She waved her hand toward the door. “And you should get going.”

“I will just finish the bread.”

“My sweet Lilli, I can do that.” Dorothy smiled. “I’m not incapable,” she teased.

“You should not overexert yourself,” Lillian replied.

“I will be fine. Now get going.” Dorothy untied the apron from around her daughter’s thin waist. They were almost the exact same height. Dorothy’s light gray hair had once been the same color as her daughter’s, and she was sure Lillian would fit into all of her old dresses. Lillian hugged her mother and kissed her cheek.

“I will try to come back for lunch.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Dorothy laughed. “Just focus on your work.”

“Thank you,” Lillian called as she put her travel cape over her shoulder and fastened the hook. She tied her hat beneath her chin and walked out into the rising sun.

* * *

Lillian inhaled the morning air and sighed. She loved being out early and witnessing the town waking up. As she walked towards the main road, she saw Mrs. Smith, the seamstress, standing outside her house, dusting a large rug.

Lillian smiled as a few children ran past her, their little faces ablaze with laughter and mischief. She turned to the right next to the small post office, and there it was—the large Saloon-Hotel. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, and she could not understand why.

I feel ever so nervous, now that I am standing here. It is like I am walking towards my future, and the unknown has never before looked so tempting yet frightening. Lillian drew a deep breath to calm her nerves.

I am being silly. There is no reason to be nervous. I am going to work for my darling, Uncle Jacob. This is an honor to get to work beside him, to be able to help him. Why do my hands shake? Lillian looked down and observed her trembling hands.

Stop this, Lillian! I will go inside and stop worrying. I worry too much, anyway. And at that, Lillian dragged her feet forward, ignoring the inkling she had begun to feel in the back of her neck—the feeling as if someone was watching her.

From an early age, Lillian had been a very sharp young girl. Her father used to say that she was the best judge of character he had ever known. But this had caused her trouble before. Once when she was barely fourteen, she had refused to shake an older man’s hand, who her father had hoped to do business with.

Lillian could not explain why she refused, but she had the strangest impulse that the man was dishonest. As she had still been so young, she had said this out-loud within the man’s earshot. He had been very affronted and strode away, yelling about being insulted by a little girl.

Dorothy had chastised Lillian for embarrassing her father, and Lillian had hidden away, afraid of her father’s reaction. But he only told her that if his darling daughter didn’t trust him, then neither should he.

Although her father had not been cross with her, she overheard people discussing how poor old Philip Walter had missed out on a great investment. After that, Lillian made a promise to hold her tongue and be polite like a young woman ought to behave herself.

* * *

Lillian pushed open the door that led to the foyer of the Saloon-Hotel and entered. The insides of the old hotel looked nothing like it had done before. All around were men working: painting the railing, carrying huge and heavy looking tables across the room, and one man stood at the top of a wobbly looking stairs carefully fastening a glistening chandelier to the ceiling.

Lillian looked around for her Uncle. She was so mesmerized by the glittering chandelier that she did not notice the two men walking, with a large carpet rolled up between them, balanced on their shoulders. They did not notice her either, and as they turned to walk towards the stairs, one of them bumped into Lillian. She yelped and was pushed backward.

“Hey,” a voice behind her called at the men. Just when Lillian was sure she would crash into the floor, strong arms grabbed her.

“Huh,” the man holding the back end of the carpet turned around to see Lillian half-carried by the man who had yelled.

“You should watch where you’re going,” the man holding Lillian admonished.

“Sorry, sir,” the worker said sheepishly.

“You should be apologizing to this young woman,” the man retorted.

“Beg your pardon, miss,” the worker replied.

“I’m all right,” Lillian said, feeling a little embarrassed. The two workers hurried away from Lillian, and the man who had now carefully helped her regain her balance.

“Are you really all right?” the man asked kindly, and Lillian finally had the chance to see her savior’s face. The man was taller than her, but not by a lot. He had black hair that was carefully combed, wore an expensive-looking brown suit that must have been made elsewhere. By the look of the careful embroidery of his waistcoat and the gold chain that led from his waistcoat to his pocket, the ensemble showed the man had money to burn. The strange man smiled at Lillian.

“I am,” Lillian said and could not help but smile back, “thank you.”

“Your welcome, miss,” he replied, “Oh, I’m Vincent, by the way,” he added, putting out his hand.

“Vincent Hays.”

Lillian extended her hand, and Vincent took her delicate hand in his and brought it to his lips. He gave her a soft kiss, and Lillian’s breath caught in her throat. Vincent was very different from other men she had met. He was very attractive and seemed to be quite chivalrous. Just as Lillian was about to introduce herself, a booming voice was heard from the top of the stairs.

“Lillian!” Uncle Jacob called. Both Lillian and Vincent looked up as Uncle Jacob walked down the stairs.

“I see you have met my niece, Vincent,” he added.

“Oh, you’re Miss Walter?” Vincent said, a look of comprehension dawning on his face.

“I am, Lillian,” she responded, “Lillian Walter.”

“I should have realized,” Vincent said with a curious smile.

“How so?” Lilian asked.

“Well, your uncle has spoken so highly of his wonderful and lovely niece,” Vincent said, gazing into her eyes, “that I should have recognized you. After all, your uncle is not one to tell tall tales.”

Uncle Jacob laughed heartily, “My sweet Lillian. This is the man I mentioned,” he said with an unmistakable wink. Lillian blushed in embarrassment, but to her surprise, Vincent looked a little uncomfortable as well.

“How about I show young Lillian around?” Vincent asked Uncle Jacob.

“Oh?” Uncle Jacob said.

“Then we can all meet here after your meeting with the builders,” Vincent added pointedly.

“Of course, yes, my meeting…” Uncle Jacob spluttered. “That is a good plan, Vincent.”

“Please show Lillian around the hotel; she will need to see the kitchen, of course,” he added.

“It would be my pleasure,” Vincent said.

Uncle Jacob walked to the back, and Vincent turned to Lillian. “I am sorry about that,” Vincent said, “He is a good man, but he can be…” his voice trailed off.

“I completely agree,” Lillian laughed, “I am excited to see the hotel.”

“Well, let the tour begin,” Vincent said with a dazzling smile.

* * *

The train car shook as it moved across the wide spans of the beautiful, but wild-looking scenery. Michael stared out the window, a strange emotion filling his entire being. When he left Rust Canyon, he had been excited at the prospect of exploring the countryside and meeting new people.

He experienced a lot on his travels, and the prospect of taking over the sheriff’s position was not as daunting as it once had felt. Michael took out his father’s latest letter he had sent him and re-read it for the umpteenth time. His father had written about the usual brawls of the small business owners and who had gotten married—his not so subtle reminder that he would like his only son to get married. His father had briefly mentioned there had been a tragic fire.

Michael was about to put the letter back into his bag when he noticed something in the message. His father had crossed out something, which at first Michael had only thought this an example of his father’s terrible hand-writing, but now he realized this was a name.

Curious, Michael pulled out his worn-out bag and rummaged for the other letters his father had sent, searching for the first mention of a fire. Now that Michael thought about it, his father had mentioned many unusual accidents in his letters, but unfortunately, Michael though shamefully, he had not taken his father’s mentions seriously.

He found the letter he was searching for and gently opened it. His father had sent it nearly a year ago when Michael had been traveling in Arizona.

Dear Michael. Your latest telegraph only recently arrived with your new location, but I pray this letter will arrive before you head on to the next adventure. There has recently been a great fire; fortunately, there were no casualties. But this had a significant impact on the whole of Rust Canyon. The barn was ablaze for a whole night, casting a terrifying light over the town. I know you will think me an old man rambling, but it was like a warning. There is more to come; I am certain of it.

Michael put down the letter. Father was right; I did only think it him being paranoid. How cruel I was, not giving his thought more weight.

Michael compared the two letters. Two fires: the first one, a warning in his father’s opinion, the second one had a fatality.

Was my father on to something? What can this mean?

Chapter Three

The train was slowing down, and all around the carriage, Michael heard people standing up to gather their belongings. Everything he owned was in his bag, which had been his father’s. It was covered in patches and looked worse for wear, but Michael could not imagine ever replacing it—especially not now.

Michael pulled the bag over his shoulder as he exited the train. The station was covered in steam, which hurled up the dust, making it even less clear to see. He walked towards the busy main street, and more than a few people turned their heads in his direction. Michael ignored them and walked steadfastly towards the sheriff’s office.

How odd it feels being back. Somehow I expected a sense of domestic familiarity or even apprehension, but I feel… nothing. It was as if he never left, and everything was as it should be—and, of course, nothing was as it should be.

Michael jumped up the three steps and peered inside the empty looking sheriff’s office. He had not thought about how he would get in. He had been in such a rush getting back to Rust Canyon that he had not had time to send a telegraph announcing his return. Michael was about to walk to the back of the house when a voice called his name.

“Michael?” A familiar voice said behind him. Michael turned around and smiled for what felt like the first time since he received the news of his father.

“Benjamin,” Michael exclaimed. He walked down the steps towards an auburn-haired man, around ten years older than he was, with rounded shoulders and thin stature. Benjamin had worked as a junior sheriff for Michael’s father for the past seven years. Michael shook Benjamin’s hand, and the latter looked mournfully at him.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Benjamin said painfully.

“I jumped on the next train as soon as I heard about my father,” Michael replied.

“Your father was a great man,” Benjamin said earnestly.

“Thank you,” Michael replied, “He truly was.”

“I suppose you will be taking over?” Benjamin asked apprehensively as he walked towards the front door of the sheriff’s office, searching for the correct key on a ring of many.

“That was my father’s wish,” Michael said.

“You will be a fine sheriff,” Benjamin huffed with the strain of pushing the door open, which creaked loudly.

“Are you all right, Benjamin?” Michael asked, concerned.

“I…” Benjamin spluttered, “Well, truth be told, I have been swamped.”

“With what?” Michael asked as he looked around the familiar insides of his father’s office. My office, Michael reminded himself.

“Your father did not exactly leave clear notes of his investigation,” Benjamin sighed as he sat at a table littered with papers.

“Investigation?” Michael asked.

“Well, I suppose he was investigating something,” Benjamin replied. “I have been trying to make sense of his notebooks, but you know me, Michael,” he added, looking like an old man.

“I’m no sheriff, and nor did I ever pretend to be, but your father had been working on something.”

“Working on what?” Michael asked eagerly.

“He didn’t tell me, he said that no one could know, not yet,” Benjamin replied.

“Does it have something to do with the fires?” Michael said.

“I’m almost certain it did,” Benjamin replied, “After he died, I made sure to lock his notebooks in the safe, and this office has been out of use as well.”

“Where have you been working from then?” Michael asked.

“Oh, I have been riding around the town, and then people knew to find me at home if they needed anything,” Benjamin said, his voice falling.

“It didn’t feel right to be working from here,” he added lamely.

“Well, now I will need you here,” Michael said after a long pause. He knew his father had not always been kind to his junior sheriff. He had complained loudly about him and would often mention the way Benjamin worked too slowly. But Benjamin never let it get to him. He had been thrilled when he was hired, and no matter what Michael’s father said, he had been a great help.

“Thank you,” Benjamin replied gratefully.

“Now, let’s have a look at my father’s notebooks.”

* * *

Lillian stirred the oversized ladle, using all her strength to do so. The huge pot was bubbling on the industrial stove in the Saloon-Hotel kitchen. This was her seventh day working at the hotel, and although she felt absolutely knackered when she returned home, Lillian could not remember the last time she had felt this happy.

Well, happy might not be the right word.

She felt pleased to be helping, and the new environment was an exciting one. It felt good not having the constant reminder of her father all around her. And then, there was Vincent. Lillian smiled slightly. He had been such a gentleman to her this past week. Every day during the morning break, he came to see her. Uncle Jacob tended to make sure that Lillian could spare a moment to speak with him.

Lillian always felt slightly embarrassed when her Uncle hinted strongly that the two of them would make a nice match. He would constantly say, it was such a shame a girl like she had not yet tied the knot, and that Vincent had confided to him that he was ready to settle down.

Lillian didn’t know what to say to him. There had been other hopeful suitors before Vincent, but she had refused them all. She didn’t feel ready to get married, and none of them had been men that she would even consider to marry.

However, she had to admit that Vincent wasn’t anything like those men. He was kind and well-read, and every time Lillian wished the earth would open up and swallow her whole when Uncle Jacob was on his tirade about them marrying, Vincent would jump in and change the subject, giving her a small wink.

Vincent was very different from other men around here. He was handsome, well-educated, and came from a wealthy family. If Lillian married him, she would not have to work another day in her life.

My silly heart is always playing with my fate. I always imagined that when I would get married, I would marry the love of my life. But, that is surely only in the romance books I have read, it only happens in fairy tales.

One of the workers peered his head inside the kitchen. “It smells delicious, miss,”

“Why, thank you, Dennis. It’s very nearly ready.”

“That’s grand,” Dennis grinned and turned around. Lillian chuckled as she heard him yell: “Hold yer horses, gents, is coming it is.”

Lillian stacked the bowls in front of the large pot and put the large loaves of bread she had baked next to it. Soon the kitchen was filled with hungry workers, eagerly waiting in line to receive their lunch.

“I don’t think they have ever been so quiet,” Uncle Jacob joked as he walked into the kitchen.

“Well, they work really hard,” Lillian replied.

“As they ought to,” Uncle Jacob replied.

“I must say, Uncle,” Lillian said, “I am really looking forward to the opening.”

“You and me both. I just spoke with pastor Williams, and he has agreed to lead the opening with a prayer, to bless the house.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” Lillian exclaimed.

“The whole town is going to be here,” Uncle Jacob said proudly.

“And before I forget,” he added, “Vincent had hoped he might accompany you to the opening.”

“He did?” Lillian answered politely.

“I think he’s quite smitten,” Uncle Jacob teased.

“Oh…” Lillian replied quietly.

“It will be an excellent night, believe me,” Uncle Jacob said, and Lilian sighed with relief as he did not appear to have noticed her less-than-thrilled answer.

* * *

Lillian walked back home late that night. Everything was ready for the grand opening, which was the next evening. She was quite excited about the opening. All the staff had worked hard for the past week, making sure everything would be perfect. Lillian had been instructed to make sure all the bedrooms were clean, and the chambermaids all made the beds correctly, the way they did in the great big fancy hotels in the big cities.

The Saloon ballroom, where the opening would be held at, was the most beautiful place Lillian had ever seen, and the crown jewel was a magnificent light fixture that glistened and sparkled high up in the ceiling. Lillian was glad she did not have to work during the opening night; however, she was a little bit nervous about accompanying Vincent. She opened the front door to her home quietly, not sure if her mother had gone to sleep yet.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Dorothy said as soon as Lillian closed the door behind her.

“Hello, Mother,” Lillian replied, “I wasn’t sure you would still be up.”

“Oh, I wanted to see you before I went to bed.” Her mother smiled.

“Well, I brought you food.” Lillian put her small bag on the kitchen table. She pulled out a jar with leftover stew and some bread.

“You shouldn’t have,” Dorothy said.

“We had plenty left,” Lillian lied. This had been the large portion of her own lunch, but she knew her mother was not strong enough to cook anything.

“Well, God bless your sweet soul,” Dorothy said, stroking her daughter’s cheek.

Lillian sat next to her mother at the kitchen table, facing the permanently empty chair of her father’s.

“You know, your Uncle stopped by here,” Dorothy took a small bite of the bread.

“He did?” Lillian asked, surprised.

“He sure did,” Dorothy chuckled, “Look inside your room.”

Lillian looked puzzled but stood up and walked towards her room. On her bed was a thin, white box with a red bow across it. Lillian carefully untied the bow and removed the top. Inside was a dress. She pulled it from the box and gasped.

This was the most beautiful evening dress she had ever seen. It was a light shade of pink, silk brocade with delicate chiffon and lace sleeves. Lillian stared at the dress for a long while, before she laid it back into the box and carried it back to the kitchen.

“This is too much,” Lillian said as soon as she returned to the kitchen.

“What did he buy you?” Dorothy asked.

“Look at this,” Lillian said, putting the box on a small side table and showing her mother the dress.

“Oh, Lilli,” Dorothy gasped.

“It’s too much,” Lillian repeated, “I will have to return it.”

“My darling, your uncle wants you to wear it tomorrow,” Dorothy said, “He mentioned it when he brought the box.”

“He did?” Lillian asked.

“Yes.”

“Your uncle cares greatly about you, and returning this dress would only cause him pain,” she added.

“Perhaps you are right. But I will not know how to behave myself in such a dress.”

“My darling daughter, this dress is very pretty, but it wilts in comparison with your rare beauty,” Dorothy said.

“You always know what to say,” Lillian said and grinned sheepishly, “But you must promise to do my hair.”

“I would be delighted to,” Dorothy smiled, “And I might add, that this dress will not look out of place next to a certain gentleman, who I believe will accompany you tomorrow,” she added with a grin.

* * *

After his father’s funeral, Michael had barely moved from the sheriff’s office. He did not like to stay for long at the house; the constant reminders of his father were too much for him. These past days he had been perusing over the notebooks his father had left behind, and he wasn’t surprised by the way Benjamin had looked when Michael returned to Rust Canyon.

The notebooks were utterly confusing, and his father’s terrible handwriting did not do anything to help matters. But Michael did agree with Benjamin that this had something to do with the fires.

“Benjamin?” Michael called.

“Yes,” he responded at once.

“Where is the file on the Wesley fire?” Michael asked.

“Oh, wait a moment,” Benjamin said, hastily getting up and looking around the utterly chaotic mess of a desk he had.

“I’m sure I had it here somewhere,” he muttered.

I need more information, and not only from Benjamin. I need to hear from someone who might have noticed something. That’s what father always said; people always know more than they think they do.

“Just put it on my desk once you find it,” Michael said, “Say, Benjamin.”

“Yeah,” Benjamin said, turning around to face him.

“What is happening with the old Saloon-Hotel?” Michael asked.

“Well, the grand opening is tonight,” Benjamin said, “Jacob Frazier had re-built the hotel at record speed since the fire there last year.”

“That’s interesting,” Michael pondered.

“I’m guessing the opening will be filled with people?” he added.

“Absolutely,” Benjamin replied.

“Perhaps I should pay them a small visit,” Michael said thoughtfully.

“You want to cause a scene, don’t ya?” Benjamin asked with a chuckle.

“I just think it might be a good idea to see who’s going to be there,” Michael replied with a small grin.

“You are like your father, you are,” Benjamin said.

“How so?” Michael asked, curious.

“Well, he was never afraid of stirring the pot, so to say,” Benjamin replied, “If my missus is right, and mind you, she usually is, all the finer folk of the town is going to be at the Saloon-Hotel tonight. Even some of the people that do business here.”

“I think it is just what the doctor ordered. I’d say,” Michael said, standing up and grabbing his hat.

“You should head on home,” he added, “Give my regards to your family.”

“Oh, that would be great, thank you, sheriff,” Benjamin replied happily.

“How many children do you have, by the way?” Michael asked, “I think father once said that you had a round dozen, but I suspect he was exaggerating.”

“Sometimes it feels that way,” Benjamin laughed good-naturedly before he added, “I have four energetic boys that wreak havoc wherever they go but are still sweet as lambs.”

“Go see your family,” Michael said, touched by the way Benjamin’s face lit up when he spoke of his children.

“And I will go and see if I can’t go and wreak havoc somewhere,” Michael grinned.

* * *

Lillian entered the Hotel-Saloon, a nervous flutter filling her. She was wearing the gorgeous dress her Uncle had bought her, and her hair was tied back in an elegant knot, with a few strands of curly hair framing her face.

“Lillian!” Vincent called, appearing from the back where Uncle Jacob’s office was.

“Hello, Vincent.”

“Wow,” Vincent said as she untied her cloak, “Lillian, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Lillian said, blushing.

“Which makes this all the worse,” Vincent said, his face twisted with remorse.

“What does?” Lillian asked.

“I cannot accompany you tonight,” he replied sadly, “I must take the train tonight, for a business trip,”

“Oh,” Lillian said, feeling a little crestfallen.

“I had been looking forward to this evening,” Vincent said, taking Lillian’s hand in his.

“Me too,” Lillian said politely.

“Will you allow me to make it up to you once I return?” he asked.

“Of course,” Lillian responded.

“Thank you,” Vincent said happily.

* * *

Later that night, Lillian sat at the corner of the bar, sipping her drink. The opening had been a success, and Uncle Jacob and her mother had accompanied her. It had been a beautiful moment when pastor Williams blessed the hotel, and Uncle Jacob gave a powerful speech, welcoming a new beginning to Rust Canyon. But Lillian couldn’t help feeling a little down.

Although she had not been sure of her feelings towards Vincent, she did feel sad that they could not have had this evening together. The waiters moved gracefully around the room, refilling the guests’ drinks, and Lillian noticed her Uncle sitting at a table, surrounded by men that seemed to be as important as he was, roaring with laughter at her Uncle’s latest joke.

Lillian watched the couples on the dance floor, moving in time with the band that Uncle Jacob had hired for the night. At that moment, they were playing a cheerful piece, and the couples dancing swept across the dance floor.

How I would have liked to be dancing there with them, Lillian sighed as she took another sip of her drink. She had stood dutifully next to her Uncle during his speech and danced with him the first dance of the evening. Lillian had noticed quite a few men looking in her direction, but no one seemed to dare come over to her to ask her to dance.

Lillian had been wondering when it would not be considered rude of her to go home when she noticed a man enter the Saloon. At once, her eyes were fixed upon the tall man, who was swaggering over to her. Her heart fluttered, and she tried to calm her nerves as the handsome stranger.

Chapter Four

Lillian nervously put her glass clumsily on the table in front of her. The strange man caught her eye, and he purposefully walked towards her, easily dodging out of the way of the waiters carrying flutes of champagne.

“Evening, miss,” the man finally stopped in front of Lillian.

“Good evening,” Lillian replied, grateful that her voice had remained steadier than her hands.

What is wrong with me? Why do I feel nervous and flustered all of a sudden?

“My name is Michael.” He tipped her his hat. “Michael Flemming.”

“Lillian Walter,” she responded with a small smile.

“Pleased to meet ya’,” Michael said, “This is some evening,” he added after a brief pause.

“The Saloon-Hotel just opened.”

“The big grand opening,” Michael muttered.

“Yes,” Lillian responded a little more resolutely than she had meant. But Michael did not seem perturbed by her boldness.

“Such a grand hotel for a small town,” Michael added, looking around the people on the dance floor.

“It’s a busy town,” Lillian quipped back.

“It sure is,” Michael said, looking back at Lillian.

“Won’t you have a drink?” Lillian asked, signaling the bartender.

“Oh, no, thank you, miss,” Michael apologized, then he added, “Not while I’m working.”

Lillian observed him for a moment before she said matter-of-factly, “You’re the new sheriff.”

“That’s right,” Michael said with an amused grin.

“What gave it away?” he added.

“I can always tell people’s occupation,” Lillian added with a teasing smile.

What am I doing? He has such a draw to him that I cannot help myself…

“That’s quite an achievement,” Michael responded, carefully looking at Lillian as if he were memorizing her face.

“I saw your badge,” Lillian added with an amused grin.

Michael only chuckled and looked deep into her eyes. And suddenly, Lillian felt as if time had stopped moving. His gaze was intense, and she felt as if she ought to look away but was unable. Perhaps it was the single glass of champagne she had drunk or feeling emboldened after sitting in the corner watching people have fun; she was not sure.

“I wonder if you could assist me,” Michael finally said, looking away. Lillian felt as though she had just spun around like a peg top.

“How might I assist you?” she asked.

“I only took over the sheriff position very recently, and I am still catching up,” Michael began, “I want to know more about what has happened here in Rust Canyon.”

“But you want to know about the fires?” Lillian guessed. Immediately she regretted her presumption.

What must this man think of me… This is just like when I was young. I should hold my tongue.

But Lillian was surprised when Michael answered simply, “That’s right,” then he added, “I will be going around the town tomorrow, but this place seems to be as good a place as any, although I do feel a little underdressed.” He looked down at Lillian’s beautiful dress and gave her a warm smile.

“Well, most recently, there was the terrible fire at the Wesley woodshop, Lillian hurried to say as she felt her cheeks burning. “It was a real tragedy,” she added, and she told him about the terrible death of Finnegan Wesley.

“His poor wife, Agnes, she’s all alone with three small children,” Lillian said sadly.

“That’s awful,” Michael replied, sincerely.

“There was the fire at the old barn next to the train station, and of course, the fire here,” Lillian said.

“Here?” Michael said curiously.

“Yes, there was a huge fire here, almost a year ago,” Lillian explained, “It looks amazing now, don’t you think.”

“It sure does,” Michael responded without taking his eyes of Lillian.

“There seems to be a cloud of misfortune over us,” Lillian said, looking at her hands.

“Why do you say that?” Michael asked.

“Well, there was, of course, the tragic loss of your father,” Lillian said, quickly glancing at Michael, “And then there was the robbery…” her voice broke.

“What robbery?” Michael asked quietly, but at that moment, Uncle Jacob came bustling towards the two of them.

“My dear Lillian,” Uncle Jacob said but stopped in his tracks as he noticed Michael and the somber look on his niece’s face.

“Lillian?” he asked, concerned.

“Oh, Uncle,” Lillian quickly cleared her throat and looked between Michael and her Uncle.

“This is Michael Flemming, our new,” she started, but Uncle Jacob cut her off.

“Our new sheriff, I presume?” Uncle Jacob finished and put out his hand, shaking Michael’s hand firmly.

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” he said. “Your father was a great man.”

“Thank you,” Michael said. Uncle Jacob’s gaze lingered on the new sheriff for a moment before he turned back to his niece.

“I have wonderful news,” Uncle Jacob exclaimed.

“Oh?” Lillian asked tepidly.

“Vincent decided he would stay one more night in town so that he could spend the evening with you,” Uncle Jacob said excitedly, “He will leave early in the morning instead.”

“W… wonderful,” Lillian spluttered, and suddenly she could not look in Michael’s direction anymore. The air felt clammy and awkward.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Michael said, standing up, “Thank you for your help, miss Lillian.”

“Of course,” Lillian responded, “Happy to,” she added in a half-whisper as Michael slowly walked away from her and Uncle Jacob.

* * *

“You look absolutely beautiful,” Vincent said, appearing from behind Uncle Jacob, dressed in a freshly pressed suit and his hair carefully combed back.

“Thank you,” Lillian said, forcing her to look at Vincent and not to follow the handsome sheriff with her eyes.

“Would you care to dance?” Vincent said, offering her his hand.

“I would be delighted,” Lillian smiled, and Uncle Jacob looked as if he would soon burst with excitement. They walked together to the dance floor, and Vincent guided her expertly across the dance floor.

“I do hope you will forgive me for my indecisiveness,” Vincent said.

“There is no need to apologize,” Lillian insisted, but Vincent continued.

“No, I must,” he said, “I knew you were looking forward to the evening, and I…” he hesitated for a moment, “and I wanted to be here with you.”

“I am glad,” Lillian said with a kind smile.

“Good,” Vincent said, looking relieved. They danced together as if they had done so many times before. Vincent was secure in his movement and gently guided her, and as he turned her around, a small group of people around them cheered and clapped. Lillian looked towards the crowd, and then she noticed Michael standing in the back, looking at her.

Oh my… I feel I should not be looking at him; it is not proper, Lillian chastised herself.

Vincent must have noticed her trepidation because he stopped dancing and looked at Lillian, “Are you all right?” he asked worryingly.

“I’m fine,” Lillian said, feeling embarrassed.

“Maybe we should step outside and get a little air?” Vincent suggested.

“That’s a great idea,” Lillian said thankfully. Together they walked to the front porch of the hotel, Vincent looking apprehensively at Lillian.

“Do you feel better?” He asked.

“I do, thank you.”

“This is actually better,” Vincent admitted. Then added at the puzzled look on Lillian, “Less noise, we can spend time together and actually hear each other.”

“And with no meddling uncle,” Lillian laughed.

“I’m grateful for your uncle,” Vincent said quietly, “Without his assurance that there was a very special woman I had to meet, I’m not sure I would have stayed longer here in Rust Canyon.”

“Is that so?” Lillian said, surprised.

“My business is mostly in the bigger cities, but I like it here,” Vincent said, looking intently at her, “The people are good,” he added. Lillian did not respond but smiled.

“How about we dance one dance before the night is over, and perhaps I might escort you home later?” Vincent asked, hopefully.

“Sounds good,” Lillian replied, trying to keep herself from looking in the direction of the hooves she could hear.

* * *

Michael rode away from the noisy hotel. The light from the ballroom lit up the main street, but he resolutely rode away towards his home. His horse was old and tired, his father’s old steed, but he knew the way home, which gave Michael time to reflect. He had hoped to get some answers tonight, but his mind was filled with questions now, and not all of them about the mysterious fires and deaths.

As he neared the road that led to his father’s old house, he had an idea. He pulled on the reins and steered the horse to the right to make it turn around. The horse grudgingly turned, and as Michael gently kicked its sides, the horse slowly moved faster.

Michael rode past the train station, towards the old barn that Lillian had mentioned. Something about it did not sit right with him, but he could not figure out what it was. As he neared the barn, or what was left of it, he looked around in the darkness. There was not much to see. The barn still stood up, but it was blackened and looked as if it would fall down at the slightest movement.

This should really be pulled down, Michael pondered as he tried to ride closer. The tall grass and large pieces of wood proved to be a bit much for the horse, though.

“Come on now, boy,” Michael muttered to the horse, trying to guide it past a large piece of wood. Michael kicked the horse a little harder this time, but the creature resolutely refused to move further.

“All right then.” Michael pulled back the reins, annoyed. Just as he was about to look away from the burning ruin of a building, he was sure he saw something move. As he peered into the darkness, the horse began moving, causing Michael to almost slip off the saddle.

“We are going. We are going,” Michael said, annoyed. He looked behind his shoulder, trying to see if there was something there, but he saw nothing.

“Let’s go home,” he said, and the horse sped up.

The ride back home was much quicker than he had expected. What was it about that barn? Why did Miss Lillian’s story remind me of it?

Once he was home, Michael jumped off the horse and gently guided it into the small stable. He removed the saddle and stroked the tired old horse.

“I’m going to need a new horse,” Michael chuckled as he walked into the house. It still felt strange being here alone. Michael had spent little time inside this house as he could when he was younger, and now he half-dreaded going here. Everywhere around him was evidence of his father. The messy kitchen still had dirty bowls on the kitchen counter, and the kitchen table was covered with a large map of the county.

Michael peered at the map, and that’s when he remembered what made him think of the barn. It was from his father’s notebook, and something he had mentioned in one of his letters to Michael, he couldn’t remember which one. Michael grabbed the bottle of bourbon from the top shelf and moved into the slightly less messy sitting room, carrying the notebooks and the letters with him.

He sat in the big chair, which had a large tear on the left armrest and exhaled deeply. There was so much to do, and still, he needed more answers. Tomorrow he would go around the town to get more responses. Someone knows more than they think; they always do.

I will start by going from house to house, that’s a good start. I wonder when I will be able to meet the sweet Lillian again, Michael thought with a small grin. No one has quite captured my attention as she did. I do hope our paths will cross sooner rather than later.

* * *

Lillian stood next to her uncle, who was laughing raucously at something Vincent had said, shaking his hand cheerfully. It was getting quite late, but people were still dancing and drinking in the ballroom.

“Vincent here tells me he offered to walk you home,” Uncle Jacob said, turning his to Lillian.

“Yes, he did,” Lillian responded.

“That’s a splendid idea,” Uncle Jacob said, “just wonderful.”

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Uncle,” Lillian stepped on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

“You are like an angel sent down from heaven,” Uncle Jacob replied, “Oh, and before I forget,” he added. “you should take the day off tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Lillian asked apprehensively.

“Certain,” Uncle Jacob said, “You have been working so hard these past days, and I want you to relax a little.”

“Thank you,” Lillian said emotionally.

“Should we get going?” Vincent said after a short pause.

“Yes,” Lillian replied. Uncle Jacob helped her put on her coat and waved them off as Lillian and Vincent began walking away from the hotel.

“I’m glad I decided to come,” Vincent said after they had walked in silence for a while.

“Me too,” Lillian said.

“You certainly know how to talk to my uncle,” she added with a chuckle.

“I grew up around men like him,” Vincent replied.

“Do you frequent many events like this one?” Lillian asked.

“Only when I have to,” he responded, then he quickly added, “tonight was the first time in a long while that I truly wanted to go to such an event.”

“That’s a very kind of you to say,” Lillian said, looking at the ground.

“Listen,” Vincent began stopping and taking her hand in his, “I hope I am not too presumptuous, but once I return from my trip, I was hoping we could spend some more time together, just you and me.”

“Oh, Vincent,” Lillian said and was unable to keep the hesitation out of her voice.

“I know it has not been long, but I hope that if you allow me, I might be able to show you how much I have begun to care for you, Lillian,” Vincent said softly.

Why is there a doubt in my heart? This man is kind and generous and is not like any other man I have met before. I will not let my family down… Not again.

“I would love to meet you once you return,” Lillian finally said. Vincent’s face transformed into a wide grin, and he took her hand to his lips.

“These two weeks are going to be the longest weeks of my life,” he cooed. They walked towards Lillian’s home and did not speak more about Vincent’s return. Lillian waved him from the front door, and he bowed low.

* * *

“Hello, sweetheart,” Dorothy said as Lillian closed the front door.

“Hello, mother. I thought you would have gone to bed already.”

“I wanted to wait for you,” Dorothy replied, “Your Uncle’s carriage driver went a little too fast on the way home,” she winced.

“Oh, let me heat some water for you,” Lillian said, taking off her coat and walking into the kitchen.

“What was he like?” Dorothy asked as she gingerly sat down at the kitchen table, “Your surprise visitor.”

“He was…” Lillian began her mind wandering to the evening’s past events, “Certainly different; he was unlike any other man I have ever met. I cannot explain it, but I felt such a strong connection to him like we had known each other in a previous life.”

“That’s nice,” Dorothy said distractedly, “I think a small glass of your father’s bourbon is appropriate tonight,” she added.

“I will fetch the bottle,” Lillian chuckled.

“But you didn’t mention this strong connection before,” Dorothy said as Lillian returned from the small pantry with the bottle of bourbon and two glasses. She sat down next to her mother and poured both of them a small amount of the amber liquid.

“I’m sorry?” Lillian said, looking at her mother, feeling confused.

“With Vincent,” Dorothy explained.

“Oh, yes… Vincent,” Lillian said slowly, but hurried to say, “He wants to see me again when he returns from his trip.”

“Oh, that’s lovely.” Dorothy took a sip of her drink, savoring the taste.

“Yeah,” Lillian whispered.

“Perhaps, there is much fortune in your future.”

“How so?” Lillian asked, glad that her mother had not noticed her slip-up before.

“If the gentle Vincent is as keen, as I believe he is, your life would be quite different than it is now,” Dorothy continued.

“Well, that’s true,” Lillian said thoughtfully.

“You would not have to work, and I guess his family has servants and big houses,” Dorothy mused.

“I should not be wondering about that now,” Lillian said, “and I like working,” she added quietly.

“I just want the best for you, my sweet Lilli.”

“I know, mother.” Lillian took a small sip of her drink. They sat in silence, facing the empty chair of her father as they always did. Lillian thinking about her slip up from a moment ago.

I did not even notice that I was talking about… The mysterious new sheriff. Oh, boy, what have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Five

Michael woke, feeling something sticking to his chin. He groaned as he sat up and looked around, confused as to where he was at the moment. He had fallen asleep reading. Michael pulled the piece of paper from his face and groaned as he stood up from the uncomfortable position he’s fallen asleep in.

“I need coffee,” he said to himself as he began heating water on the dirty stove, “And this place needs a proper cleaning.”

Since he returned home last night, he had been unable to sleep, his mind racing. He had pulled out his father’s notes and must have dozed off at one point. Michael had decided to go to the office and plan the day’s visits.

He was going to see the locals and try to get a better understanding of everything that had happened—all the fires and tragic deaths. Michael had an inkling that there was a pattern, but at the moment, he was too close to see it. He needed more information, and he needed coffee.

Growing up without a mother meant that Michael had learned to take care of himself very early. When he had been barely five-years-old, he knew how to make coffee for his father, and he had not been much older when he started having a cup himself. He was no cook, but he could make a decent stew that would last for several days. He would still always make rubbery eggs, no matter how hard he tried to watch them.

Michael rummaged for the coffee, while the hot water slowly began boiling. It was clear that his father had not spent much time, if any, to cook or even make coffee, Michael mused. He had found the coffee tin, which had a thick layer of dust on it.

I wonder what happened to Mrs. Green. She used to come over and clean for dad, from time to time, but it’s clear that she has not come over here in a long time. I should try to find her, although I have no idea where she might be.

There was much that Michael needed to find out. His wanderings in his youth made it so that he was not familiar with much of the folk from the town. With the constant stream of travelers, it was easy to keep out of people’s way. Michael made the coffee and decided to skip breakfast this time—not that he had much food anyway.

After he had downed two very hot mugs of coffee much too quickly, he put on his hat and left the house. His father’s old horse looked less than pleased when Michael entered the stable.

“Come on, boy,” Michael said, putting the saddle on the horse. The horse whinnied but remained still.

“That’s it,” Michael chuckled and led the horse out into the sunshine. He mounted and began moving, although much slower than he would have preferred.

I am definitely going to need a new horse, Michael thought as he began his slow descent towards the town.

Once he finally arrived at the sheriff’s office, Michael was surprised to see Benjamin sitting at his desk.

“I didn’t know you would be here today?” he said.

“I thought I’d come by, just in case you could use some assistance,” Benjamin said awkwardly.

“In fact, I could use your assistance,” Michael replied, “I had planned to go see some of the locals, to get some more information.”

“Sure, that’s a good idea,” Benjamin said, nodding eagerly.

“It’s probably a good idea if you ride with me,” Michael continued, “I’m not sure if everyone knows yet that I have taken over as sheriff.”

“They will know after today,” Benjamin chuckled.

“Come on,” Michael said, “we have many houses to see, and my horse moves at a snail’s pace.”

* * *

“She certainly was eager,” Benjamin grinned as they left the home of Mrs. Calleigh, the organists’ wife. This had only been the second stop of the day, but they had stayed at the Calleigh home for probably up to an hour.

The courtesy greetings and offer of a cup of coffee were to be expected, but Michael had not prepared for the constant mention of his father. “Your father was such a good man,” Mrs. Calleigh had said while stroking his cheek. “Don’t you agree?” she had then yelled loudly at her almost deaf husband. “What?” He had then replied, waking up from his nap. Mrs. Calleigh had insisted on giving them coffee and a pound cake.

Michael looked at the sky, “It’s almost noon, and we have only gone to two houses.”

“At least we will not go hungry today,” Benjamin said.

“You’ve got that right,” Michael said, “Let’s continue.”

Three hours had passed, and Michael was none the wiser. Everyone said the same thing, there had been a few fires, and at least one had died. The first fire happened approximately a year ago. Some suggested these were arson, others said it was an unfortunate coincidence, and one even mentioned the town had to be cursed.

“I don’t know about you, but I cannot eat any more cakes,” Michael said as they left the latest house.

“Is there ever too much cake?” Benjamin said.

“Yup, I think I just reached the limit,” Michael replied, “Who lives in that small house over there?” he asked.

“Oh, this is one of the abandoned houses Mr. Frazier bought,” Benjamin explained, dusting crumbs of his chest.

“There is someone inside,” Michael observed.

“I believe that Mrs. Wesley lives there now,” Benjamin said sadly.

“Let’s go see her,” Michael said, walking towards the house. He knocked on the front door and waited. He could hear the patter of running feet, and then the door opened slowly. Out peered a small boy, his blonde curls bouncing with his every move.

“Hello,” the boy said shyly.

“Hi there, son.” Michael bent down to speak with the boy. “Is your mama home?”

“Uh-huh,” the boy nodded, and as he turned around, a young woman, carrying a child on her hip, appeared.

“Hello?” she asked, “What can I do for you?” She had a sorrowful face and was very thin and pale.

“My name is Michael Flemming, and I’m the new sheriff,” Michael said.

“Oh, you’re old George’s son,” she said, a look of recognition dawning on her face.

“I am,” Michael said simply.

“Well, come on in,” she responded, backing to give them room to enter the small house.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer you,” she added.

“That’s no problem. We do not require anything,” Michael hurried to say.

“Well come and sit down,” Mrs. Wesley said, pointing to two weathered-looking chairs in the small sitting room.

“Mama,” a girl said as she walked into the sitting room. She was her mother’s twin in miniature and looked to be around eight.

“Yes, Sally.” Mrs. Wesley looked affectionately at her daughter.

“Who are these men?” the girl asked in a loud whisper.

“I’m Sheriff Flemming,” Michael said gently, showing her his badge, “And this is my associate Benjamin Hopper.”

“Are you going to find the man that killed my father?” Sally asked fiercely.

“Sally, please,” her mother pleaded, “Go take your siblings out to play, just while I speak with them.”

Sally looked as if she was about to object, but finally, she backed down and said, “All right then,” and she left the sitting room.

“I apologize,” Mrs. Wesley said nervously, “Her siblings are still so young, and they don’t really understand death, but she just gets angry…” her voice trailed off.

“We actually came here to talk about the fire,” Michael said, “I was hoping you might tell me what happened, or what you think happened.

“But only if you feel up to it,” he added hastily. Mrs. Wesley looked at them for a long while without speaking.

“I can talk about it,” she finally said.

“They say that he was smoking and fell asleep,” she began her voice shaky.

“This was at his shop, correct?” Michael asked.

“Yes,” Mrs. Wesley replied, “We lived above the shop… But that’s, of course, all gone now.”

“Were you and the children home when this happened?” Michael asked.

“No,” she answered with a muffled sob, “I took the children to see my parents. They only live in the next town, so I took the carriage.”

“And your husband could not join you?” Michael asked.

“No, he…” Mrs. Wesley shook her head, jerkily, “My husband is… was a very proud and stubborn man,” she said with a cold laugh. “The shop was struggling, but he would never admit it.”

“Money problems?” Michael asked.

“Yes,” Mrs. Wesley said, “He knew that if he came with us, my father would think the shop was in trouble and would offer us money.”

“But your husband did not want that?”

“He was sure things were going to be better after a while, he said we just needed to be patient,” she said, and her eyes were brimming with tears.

“I understand,” Michael replied, “Can I ask you about the other fires that have happened?”

“What about them?” Mrs. Wesley asked.

“Do you think there is any connection between these fires?” Michael asked.

“I don’t know what you are insinuating at, but I think it is time for you to leave,” Mrs. Wesley said, suddenly standing up.

“Of course,” Michael said, gesturing to Benjamin to stand as well.

“Thank you for allowing us to speak with you,” he added, “And I am very sorry for your loss, I truly am.”

Mrs. Wesley gave them a stiff nod and walked with them to the door.

She must know something. Or suspect something, the way she reacted, Michael thought as they walked back to their horses.

* * *

“Phew,” Benjamin said as they walked towards the horses, stroking his forehead with his handkerchief.

“I can hardly blame her,” Michael said, “She’s experienced such a great loss.”

“That’s true,” Benjamin agreed.

“Well, should we head over to the houses over there?” he added, nodding his head in the direction of a row of houses on the other side of the town.

“Yup,” Michael replied, adjusting his hat.

“We can start with the Walter family,” Benjamin continued.

“That name’s familiar,” Michael replied, loosening his horse’s reins.

“Oh, it was such a tragedy,” Benjamin explained, “Old Philip Walter was shot in a bank robbery, about three months ago.”

“It’s just his wife and daughter now,” he added.

“Lillian?” Michael asked and almost dropped the reins.

“That’s her,” Benjamin said, “Lillian and Dorothy. She sure is sweet,” he added with a contented smile.

Michael looked at him with his eyebrows raised.

“Lillian, I mean,” Benjamin quickly added.

“We should perhaps divide the houses,” Michael suddenly suggested. Benjamin looked curiously at him.

“Are you sure?” he said.

“Or better yet,” Michael added, “I’ll finish up for today.”

“Oh yeah?” Benjamin said, hopefully.

“It’s probably better that way,” Michael said, “gives me a chance to meet everyone, and you can go home to your family.”

“Well, I won’t say no to that,” Benjamin said happily, mounting his horse.

“See you Monday, chief,” he added as he began riding away, showing the decency to wait a moment before he started sprinting away. Michael chuckled to himself.

“Come now, lazy bones,” Michael muttered to his horse, “Let’s go.”

* * *

Lillian stood in front of the oven, carefully opening the door. Steam from the heat blew into her face, and she carefully moved her arm inside to take out the pie she had just made. She had taken full advantage of her day off. She woke up late and made an apple pie, her grandmother’s old recipe. Lillian loved it when she could make this pie. Usually, she did not have time to do it, but this was a wonderful, uneventful Saturday.

“This brings me back,” Dorothy said as she walked into the kitchen.

“How was your nap?”

“Oh, just wonderful,” Dorothy smiled, walking towards the pie that Lillian had placed on the window sill to cool.

“I’m so pleased Uncle Jacob gave me the day off,” Lillian said, “but I do feel bad that I’m not helping them clean after last night.”

“My darling,” Dorothy said kindly, “You are a hard worker, but you have to know when to relax.”

“I guess…”

“You should enjoy yourself,” Dorothy continued, as she carefully sat down at the kitchen table.

“And who knows, whether this is what your life will be one day,” she added with a wink.

“Mother!”

“Your Uncle keeps saying young Vincent is quite smitten with you,” Dorothy laughed.

“Oh…” Lillian spluttered. She felt warm, and her heart was rapidly beating as if it was preparing to jump from her chest, and her stomach clenched.

“Lilli?” Dorothy asked concernedly.

“I’m all right,” Lillian lied. Her mother looked as she was about to argue when someone knocked.

“I’ll get it,” Lillian said, grateful for the distraction. She untied her apron and walked towards the front door.

What is wrong with me? I feel as if I am ill, but she only made a little joke… Life being married to Vincent would undoubtedly make for a simpler and more comfortable life.

She was so caught up in her thoughts when she opened the front door that her breath caught in her throat as she noticed the man standing in front of her.

“Hello,” she whispered and dropped her apron. As she bent down to pick it up, Sheriff Flemming did so as well. Their hands met when they both grabbed the apron, and Lillian felt strangely as if a part of her belonged to him. She quickly stood up and stepped back.

“It’s good to see you again so soon, Miss Walter,” Michael said, tipping his hat.

“Likewise,” Lillian responded, her voice shaky.

“Would it be all right if I came in for a minute?” Michael asked after a short pause.

“Of course, of course,” Lillian spluttered backing to allow him to enter the home.

I feel as if I’m about to faint…

Lillian followed Michael as he walked into the kitchen, where a startled Dorothy looked up.

“Hello?” she asked curiously.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Michael said politely, “My name is Michael Flemming, and I’m the new sheriff here in Rust Canyon.”

“Of course.” Dorothy smiled as a look of understanding dawned on her, “You’re the spitting image of your father,” she added with a smile.

“Thank you,” he replied.

“I knew your father,” Dorothy continued, “He was one of a kind.”

“He truly was,” Michael echoed.

“I presume you hear this quite a lot, but I’m so very sorry for your loss.” Dorothy held her hand close to her heart, protectively.

“To lose someone dear, it takes away a vital part of your being,” she added, looking away from Michael.

“Thank you for your kind words,” Michael said genuinely.

“I came here, firstly, to introduce myself, but also to gather more information about the happenings these past months,” he added.

“It’s been happening for a year,” Lillian said, sitting next to her mother and gesturing to Michael to take a seat. He took off his hat and sat in her father’s old chair.

“I was thinking about it this morning,” she continued, “tomorrow it will be exactly one year.”

“That’s good information,” Michael said, looking intently at her, his unusually green eyes examining her.

“If you two don’t mind, it would truly help me if y’all could go over these events,” he added politely, “But do tell me if I am intruding.”

“Not at all,” Lillian responded, too quickly. Dorothy raised her eyebrows at Lillian, but she continued as if she had no control over her mouth.

“You should stay for some pie,” she blurted.

“Why I haven’t had homemade pie in ages,” Michael chuckled.

“Well, then it’s a match made in heaven,” Lillian responded with a grin. She avoided her mother’s eyes as she stood up to make coffee.

“That I don’t doubt,” Michael said softly.

“Oh, you’ll love it,” Lillian said, feeling her cheeks burn. She busied herself with the coffee tin, but she could hardly remove the lid as her hands shook nervously.

“So, tell me, sheriff,” Dorothy began, breaking the strained silence that had moved over the room, “How is the sheriff’s life treating you.”

“Truth be told, I have barely been a sheriff for a week,” Michael admitted, “but I do feel like I’m on the right track.”

“Are you married?” Dorothy asked curiously but was startled as Lillian dropped the coffee tin on the kitchen counter.

“No, ma’am,” Michael responded slowly, “I’m still waiting for the one.”

A shiver ran down her spine, and Lillian had to suppress the urge to whimper. Michael had briefly glanced in her direction, his gentle green eyes searching. She felt her chest tighten, and her mouth moved, but words failed her.

Stop this, Lillian! What is wrong with me? How can this man affect me the way he does, and this is just the second time I see him? I just promised Vincent I would wait for him, but the next day I feel as if I could run away with a complete stranger.

Chapter Six

Dorothy told Michael about the fires, and he was glued to every word. She had an excellent memory and could tell him when each fire happened with sharp details.

Lillian finished preparing the coffee and brought plates to the kitchen table. She relaxed as she thought about how her mother’s nosiness had finally come to good use.

Michael was speaking with her mother with interest, so his piercing eyes looked away from her direction. She couldn’t help but feel as if he watched her when she returned to grab the pie from the window. When she finally sat down, her nerves had calmed, and seeing her mother chatting away made her feel happy.

It’s been so long since I have seen Mother smile this way. It is as if Father had just returned home, and Mother was telling him a silly story. Father always listened carefully and would never make you feel as if your story was beneath him… Michael seems to be the same.

“Here you go,” Lillian said as she pushed a slice of pie in Michael’s direction.

“Thank you, Miss Lillian,” he responded sweetly. Lillian cut a slice for her mother and herself, and for a blissful moment, they sat in silence and ate. Lillian had to bite her lip to stop her grin when she noticed Michael closed his eyes at the first bite.

“Where did you learn to bake like that?” he asked, after slowly chewing the piece, “Girl, you must be an angel sent from heaven,” he added off-handedly. Dorothy grinned into her coffee cup, and Lillian took a shaky breath.

“Thank you,” she finally said, “It’s actually Mother’s recipe.”

“I got it from my mother,” Dorothy replied, “My mother would always bake with me on Sundays when I was a little girl, and that’s what I did with my sweet Lilli.”

“Lilli?” Michael said with amusement in his tone.

“Mother,” Lillian chastised, “It’s silly… She called me when I was a little girl but seems to have a hard time letting it go,” she added with a kind, yet exasperated look at her mother.

“You will always be my little girl,” Dorothy replied promptly.

“I think it suits you.”

“Her father used to roll his eyes when I would call her Lilli,” Dorothy said reminiscently.

“Oh, I forgot about that,” Lillian laughed.

“He always said that someone as darling and sweet as his Lillian did not need a sweet nickname,” Dorothy continued, “You were the sun and moon to your father,” she finished gently patting her daughter’s hand. They sat in silence for a while, as Dorothy seemed to wilt slightly. It was as if she was a flower that caught a glimpse of the sun’s beams, but as the light disappeared, she turned back inside herself.

“Would it be all right if I had another slice?” Michael said, breaking the increasingly tense silence.

“Of course,” Lillian laughed, cutting him another slice. She noticed her mother smile, but her smile did not reach her kind eyes.

“Well, you two,” Dorothy suddenly said, looking worn out and tired.

“I think I will retire to my room if you don’t mind,” she said, standing up.

“I hope I haven’t exhausted you,” Michael said.

“Oh, no such thing,” Dorothy said, “I haven’t been well since… Well, I need to rest.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Lillian said, moving to stand to, but her mother put out her hand.

“No, sit, dear,” she demanded.

“If you insist,” Lillian said hesitantly. Both she and Michael sat in silence as they watched Dorothy walk slowly out the hallway that led to her bedroom.

“I hope you don’t think me too forward, miss,” Michael said quietly, “But is your mother well?”

“She is…” Lillian began but stopped to consider what to tell him. Mother has not been well since father died, but that isn’t something I should share with anyone, especially not a stranger. But try as I might, I cannot push away my increasing trust in him. I cannot explain it, but I feel as if we have known each other in another life as if our souls connected.

“Forget it,” Michael said, pulling Lillian from her thoughts, “I was being intrusive.”

“No,” Lillian said quickly, “My father was killed nearly three months ago.”

“That’s terrible. I’m sorry for your loss,” Michael said sincerely.

“Thank you,” Lillian replied, looking at him again, “My mother was active and strong before he died, but now? She is barely a shell of her former self, and I worry about her.”

“She’s lucky to have you,” Michael said.

“We are lucky to have each other,” Lillian replied. She stood up and cleared the plates from the table. To her surprise, Michael stood too and handed her the mugs from the table.

“You don’t need to,” Lillian said quickly.

“I like to help when I can.”

“You should sit and relax,” she quipped back.

“When you live on the road, you appreciate home cooking and delicious pies, so the least I can do is hand you a few mugs,” Michael said gently.

“All right then,” Lillian chuckled.

“What’s it like traveling for such a long time?” she curiously added as she began drying the plates with a kitchen towel.

“It’s…” Michael began thoughtfully, “It can be lonely and tiresome, but,” he paused, looking at Lillian, “it can also be the most freeing experience. You just ride, and you meet new places and new people.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“But for me, it came with a price,” Michael replied darkly.

“Your father,” Lillian finished carefully.

“Yeah… I wasn’t here, and I regret it every day. I traveled for a long time, searching for something, but what ended up happening was I lost the only thing I truly knew.”

“I know the feeling,” Lillian agreed, “I feel as if I had all the time in the world to ask my father about anything. I think about all the time I wasted… I never even learned how to ride properly.”

“I could teach you,” Michael said instantly but quickly added: “Only if your mother would approve, and your Uncle, of course.”

“I don’t want to waste your time,” Lillian said, her nerves jumping up and down again.

“It would truly be my pleasure,” Michael responded, “In fact, I have been meaning to go and find a new horse for me. My horse is my father’s old horse, and he can be rather slow, but he would be perfect for you.”

“Really?” Lillian said, gleaming with excitement.

“How about we use the afternoon before the sun sets?” he added.

“I should ask mother,” Lillian replied, standing up from the kitchen table. She hurried down the hallway and practically skipped with glee as she returned from her mother’s room.

“Mother says it’s a wonderful idea,” she said happily.

“Well, miss,” Michael said as he stood and put on his hat again, “let’s go see your Uncle.”

* * *

Michael untied his horse’s reins and gently led it behind him, and Lillian walked beside him. He could not believe his luck.

How fortunate has this afternoon turned out. Even if her uncle disagrees, we will have the time together as we walk. She sure is sweet.

“What’s the horse’s name?” Lillian asked.

“Old boy,” Michael chuckled.

“That’s an amusing name,” Lillian giggled.

“Well, that’s what I call him,” Michael said, “I don’t think my father named him anything, to be honest.”

“That’s a shame,” Lillian said as she stroked the horse’s forehead.

“A good steed should have a good name,” she added.

“You should name it,” Michael suggested.

“Oh, no, I could not do that,” Lillian replied shyly.

“Of course, you should,” Michael said, “Otherwise it’s going to be called Old Boy,” he laughed.

“All right then,” Lillian said thoughtfully, “How about… Walt.”

“Walt?” Michael laughed, “How did you think of that name for a horse.”

“Well, I think he has a grace about him, but there is realness and loyalty in his eyes, like the great poet,” Lillian said thoughtfully.

“And perhaps also because he eats leaves of grass,” Michael teased.

“That too,” Lillian chuckled.

“Do you read much poetry?” Michael asked as they turned to the main street, near the Saloon Hotel.

“Whenever I can,” Lillian smiled, “My father gave me Walt Whitman, behind my mother’s back,” she laughed at the memory.

“Did she not approve?” Michael asked.

“She approved of more traditional poetry, I suppose,” Lillian replied but stopped talking as they were nearing the hotel.

“I will go and ask Uncle Jacob,” she added.

“Let me go with you,” Michael said, “I will tie Walt’s reins and join you,” he added with a wink.

* * *

Lillian pushed open the front door of the Saloon-Hotel. She walked inside, Michael following her, and looked around for her uncle. Roaring laughter from the Saloon told her where her Uncle was; his laugh was unmistakable.

“Uncle Jacob?” Lillian gently asked as she walked into the Saloon. Uncle Jacob sat at a table with men dressed in fancy jackets, everyone smoking a pipe. They looked curiously at Lillian, some smiling at her with an uncomfortable leer.

“Lillian, dear,” Uncle Jacob said, jumping from his seat, “I told you to have the day off today.”

“Oh, I know Uncle, it just I have a favor to ask,” Lillian said shyly.

“A favor?” Uncle Jacob asked, but his head turned as Michael appeared in the Saloon.

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” Michael said with a tip of his hat, which caused his Sheriff’s badge to glitter from the sparkling light from the chandelier. “Mr. Frazier,” he added with a small nod.

“Uh, Sheriff Flemming,” Uncle Jacob said uncertainly, “To what do we owe the pleasure.”

“Uncle,” Lillian hurried to say, “I had hoped that Sheriff Flemming might take me out for a riding lesson.”

“A riding lesson?” Uncle Jacob repeated.

“Well, Miss Walter mentioned she’s not too secure on a horse, so I offered to teach her,” Michael said, “That is, of course, if you do not have any objections.” Michael rested his hand in his belt, which caused his gun holster to become apparent.

Lillian wasn’t sure if he was aware of what he was doing, but the men at the table did not seem to be able to look anywhere near their direction, especially not at her. Lillian noticed how uncomfortable the men at the table looked and had to bite her cheek to hide her grin.

“I um…” Uncle Jacob began, “No, of course, I don’t have any objections, certainly not,” he finished, not looking absolutely convinced.

“Let’s continue this discussion out here,” he added, guiding from the Saloon.

“Lillian, you know how much I care about you,” Uncle Jacob continued.

“Of course, Uncle.”

“And I don’t want to deny you anything, not on your day off, but I do think that Vincent should know of this,” he said gravely, “When he returns,” he added.

“I will tell him, Uncle,” Lillian said happily, “I promise.”

“She will be home before sunset,” Michael assured Uncle Jacob, “You have my word.”

“Well, just be careful,” Uncle Jacob replied, looking a little bit more relaxed, “She is the most precious person in the whole world.”

“Oh, Uncle,” Lillian said emotionally and hugged him. She let go of him and walked out of the Saloon-Hotel, Michael following her at a respectable distance. Her heart was racing with the aspect of learning to ride and get to spend more time with Michael.

* * *

“I will help you up,” Michael said, loosening the reins. The short walk from the Saloon-Hotel had been silent, as they could both could feel Uncle Jacob staring after them.

“Thank you,” Lillian breathed as she took his outstretched hand. She shivered as she touched his warm palm and allowed him to lift her up on the saddle.

“I will sit behind you,” Michael explained, “and we will ride to a better riding range.”

“All right,” Lillian agreed. Michael pulled himself easily behind her. As he bent forward to pick up the reins, Lillian could feel his breath on her neck, and her heart missed a beat. Soon they were riding to the outskirts of the main street. They rode past the sheriff’s office, the burnt remains of the General Store until they were riding in tall grass up a small hill.

“Where are we going?” Lillian asked after a while.

“To the field by the old barn,” Michael said.

“Oh, why there?” Lillian replied.

“Soft grass and no one is looking,” Michael explained, then added teasingly, “So no one will see if you make a mistake.”

“Huh, what makes you think I will make a mistake?” she teased back.

“Nothing,” Michael chuckled, “You’ll be perfect; I don’t doubt.”

“All right then,” he said as he guided Walt to the small field by the abandoned barn, “Take the reins.”

“Now?” Lillian asked, sounding nervous.

“Yes, now,” Michael said calmly, “I will stay behind you to guide you.” Lillian took a deep breath and then took the reins into her shaky hands.

“Gently pull,” he said soothingly. Lillian pulled, and the horse moved forward.

“You should move with the horse,” Michael added, “But for now, just focus on steering. You are in charge, and the horse will wait for your direction.” As soon as he said it, Walt began moving faster.

“Oh no,” Lillian whimpered.

“Don’t be nervous,” Michael said, “Just pull back with a little more force.”

Lillian did as he said and laughed a tinkling laugh as the horse obeyed her. She tried making the horse turn and giggled with glee when it did so.

“Excellent,” Michael laughed, “You’re born to ride. Now I think you should try to ride alone.”

“What? No!” Lillian exclaimed.

“You’ll be fine,” Michael replied, “Just remember, you need to take control.” He moved his hand to pull on the reins, making the horse stop. He handed her the reins again and dismounted.

“I will be right next to you,” he added, looking intently into her eyes as he stood beside her, “I believe in you.”

Lillian felt as if she might faint with the passion and certainty in his voice. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, and when she opened them again, she smiled at Michael and gently pulled on the reins. She began moving forward, slowly trying to speed up, then quickly slowing back down. Michael walked beside her the entire time, and after a while, Lillian felt more confident. Michael moved aside when he noticed that she was trying to ride a little faster.

Michael’s sweet word reverberated in her mind as she began moving faster than she dared. She tried to make a sharp turn and couldn’t help but heartily laugh when she heard Michael whooping with her trick. All nervousness had evaporated. She trusted the horse and felt as if a guiding presence watched over her.

Is it you, my darling father, who watches over me now? I feel more connected to you now than I have since we lost you… I wonder what that means since I feel him more when Michael is around?

* * *

All too soon, it was the sun. It was starting to begin its descent down the horizon. Michael watched as Lillian rode circle after circle, the joy apparent in her beautiful face.

“We should be heading back before it’s dark,” Michael said.

“Yeah,” Lillian said breathily, slowing down as she rode toward him. She gave him a radiant smile, and Michael felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He had never seen anyone look as stunning and free as Lillian Walter did at that moment.

“Hold tight,” Michael said as he prepared to mount. He put his hands on either side of her small waist and grabbed the reins from her. Michael had to stop himself from holding her tightly close to him. He focused on the riding, and they did not talk. When they neared Lillian’s home, Michael heard Lillian groan heavily.

“Home, sweet home,” Lilian said tiredly.

“Let me help you down,” Michael said as he smoothly dismounted, holding out his strong arms to guide her down. As her small hand disappeared in his, Michael couldn’t help but allow himself to enjoy the feeling of touching her.

“Sheriff Flemming,” Lillian said as she regained her balance on the ground, straightening her dress, “Thank you very much for this afternoon.”

“It was truly my honor, miss,” Michael replied earnestly.

“I would never have believed I could ride the way I did today,” she added with a small smile.

“What can I say, you’re a born rider,” Michael replied.

“I better get back home,” Lillian said sadly.

“You have a good night, miss Lilli,” Michael grinned, tipping her his hat.

Lillian chuckled, “You too, sheriff,” she teased back. She slowly walked back to her home, not looking back. Michael turned around because, to his surprise, it hurt a little to see her leave… him.

Michael Flemming! Boy, am I in trouble now. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would meet someone like her… She is genuinely delightful, real, and wise—and promised to someone else!

Chapter Seven

Lillian stood in front of the small mirror in her room and combed her hair. It had been almost two weeks since her riding lesson with Michael. She was on her way to the Saloon-Hotel, and her nerves fluttered, as Vincent was returning to Rust Canyon any day now.

The new sheriff had become such a strong presence in her life in such a short time. Michael was a regular at the Saloon-Hotel, much to Uncle Jacob’s chagrin. He would order one drink, and sit and observe the patrons of the Saloon, every now and then asking people about the fires and events of this past year.

Lillian would never admit it aloud, but her favorite part of her day now was when the tall, handsome sheriff waltzed inside, his hand on his belt, the other ready to tip her his hat in greeting. Uncle Jacob had decided to give Lillian a job in the kitchen, after her help before the opening. She would prepare breakfast and occasionally help with cleaning the rooms.

Sometimes she was in charge of the desserts for the evening, which she really enjoyed. Lillian baked pies, loaves of bread and would try out more complicated desserts with the help from the Hotel cook, Charlie Banker. Charlie had been a cook at a large hotel in Dallas before he moved out to Rust Canyon. He would make intricate chocolate meringues with whipped cream that looked magical, and he was teaching Lillian.

* * *

“You look nice, dear,” Dorothy said as her daughter walked into the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Lillian beamed.

“I might walk to town later today,” Dorothy said as she sipped her coffee.

“Really?” Lillian asked happily.

“I’m feeling strong today,” Dorothy smiled, “I might go and greet your Uncle.”

“What a wonderful idea, mother,” Lillian said.

“Well, you best get going,” Dorothy said, “You don’t want to be late.”

“I’m going,” Lillian replied, tying her hat under her chin.

“What is that sound?” Dorothy said, suddenly listening intently. Lillian looked out the kitchen window and gasped. She hurried to the front door, Dorothy following her daughter. Outside stood Michael, clutching the reins of two horses: old Walt and another black steed that looked much younger and sprier.

“Morning, ladies,” Michael said with a tip of his hat.

“Morning, Sheriff,” Lillian replied, looking confused and flustered.

“I hope I’m not too forward,” Michael began, “But as I finally was able to buy a new horse, I figured it would be a shame to let Walt be alone in my small stable. I had hoped you might want to keep him,” he finished.

“What?” Lillian gasped.

“He took a liking to you, and after all, you gave him his name,” Michael replied.

“Why, sheriff, you are too kind, isn’t he, Lilli?” Dorothy exclaimed.

“No, it’s too much,” Lillian spluttered, “I cannot accept this.” Michael loosely tied the reins to a fence post and walked towards Lillian and her mother.

“I don’t want old Walt to hear this,” Michael said in a playful, mock-serious voice, “But I would hate for him to become jealous of the new steed.”

Lillian bit her lips together to stop her giggle, “Is that so?” she replied with a raised eyebrow.

“He needs gentler hands than mine,” Michael continued, looking Lillian in the eye.

“I don’t know…” Lillian’s voice trailed off.

“Truth be told,” Michael said sincerely, “He is too slow for me. I need a younger horse, but I would hate to have to put him down because he was my father’s horse.”

“Well,” Lillian hesitated, looking at her mother.

“I think it is a lovely gesture to your father’s memory,” Dorothy said, “You must come over for tea, as a thank you for your generosity.”

“I would be honored,” Michael replied.

“All right then,” Lillian smiled, “But I think I will still walk to the Hotel.”

“I will tie him here in the shade, there’s plenty of grass there,” Michael said, returning to the two horses.

“Lilli, dear, don’t you worry about a thing,” Dorothy said sweetly, “I will ask the Hendersons next door if we can’t keep Walt in their stable. They have the room, I am sure.”

“Thank you, mother,” Lillian replied, “Now I must hurry.”

Lillian walked towards Michael, who stood in front of his new horse.

“Can I walk with you?” Michael asked her.

“Of course,” Lillian replied.

“Your mother looks well,” Michael said as they walked the short distance from Lillian’s house towards the Saloon-Hotel.

“She really does,” Lillian agreed, “I’m ever so happy. I feel as if she is turning back into the person she once was.”

“I’m glad,” Michael said.

“Honestly,” Lillian began cautiously, “I think it might be in part because of you,” she said quietly.

“Me?”

“Yes,” Lillian chuckled, “You coming over to visit, has brightened her day, and for that, I am grateful, Michael.”

He looked at her intently. She had never called him Michael before. It had felt too intimate, not proper. But Lillian could not help herself; she knew deep down that she was falling for him.

“I have to admit that my favorite part of the day is when I get to see you…” Michael said, but an ear-splitting scream nearby caused them both to look around alarmed.

“Fire!” someone yelled.

“Oh, my goodness,” Lillian shrieked.

“Lillian, go!” Michael demanded, “Run to the Hotel.”

“I will take your horse,” Lillian said, thinking fast.

“Thank you,” Michael said, handing her the reins. Their fingers touched, and Michael looked at her briefly and stroked his thumb over the back of her hand before he ran away from her. Lillian took a deep breath to calm her nerves, and then she led the horse away from the cloud of smoke that was now filling the sky.

* * *

Michael ran in the direction of the smoke, tying his handkerchief over his mouth as he neared the billowing black smoke. All around were people running and screaming, children looking for their mothers, and panic. A group of people stood near the now aflame post office.

“Lord help us,” Michael whispered as he observed the burning house.

“Sheriff,” a man yelled, “Sheriff, I think there’s still someone inside!”

“Bring the buckets,” another man yelled. A terrifying scream could be heard from the inside.

“I’m going in,” Michael said, running without hesitation inside. As soon as he entered the flaming wreckage, the heat became almost completely unbearable. But he kept his head low, looking for the man inside.

“Here,” a shaky voice called from behind a large wooden counter, “I’m here.”

“Crawl towards me,” Michael called.

“I can’t,” the man said, “My leg…” A large piece from the ceiling cracked.

This whole place will collapse any moment, Michael thought as he looked around. He saw that he would have to go through the back as the door he had entered through was now ablaze. Michael hurried towards the injured man, covering his eyes with his arm.

“Can you stand?” he asked the man, which he now recognized as the Post Office Manager, John Hickley.

“I think so,” John replied, putting his weight on his uninjured leg, Michael supporting him. John winced as they stood but did not stop. They moved towards the back door, and Michael looked around.

“Is there anyone else inside?” he asked urgently, the sound of the crackling fire sounding ominous.

“No, only me,” John replied, biting his jaw with pain as his injured leg moved, “I hadn’t opened the office yet.”

“Good,” Michael said, “Now, on three, we are going to have to jump through the door.”

“All right,” John replied nervously.

“One, two…” A terrifying creak above them made Michael push them forwards, and they could not have been a second later. As they crashed through the door, the entire roof fell through. They landed with a heavy thud outside, and fresh air filled Michael’s lungs.

“Are you…” Michael coughed, “All right?” he asked between the heaving coughs.

“My leg hurts,” John replied, “But otherwise I’m fine.”

“Good,” Michael grumbled as he sat up.

“Everything’s ruined,” John said sadly.

“What matters is that you got out,” Michael said.

“I don’t understand what happened,” John continued, “I was sorting the letters when I smelled smoke. There were no candles lit, I just… I don’t understand.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Michael groaned. A group of people came running towards them, including the town’s physician, Doctor Samuel Littlefield.

“Hey doc,” Michael said, “John needs his leg mended.”

“Come on, men,” Doctor Littlefield commanded, “Let’s carry him to my office.” The men around him lifted John up and ran with him towards the doctor’s office.

“You should come too, sheriff,” he added.

“No, I’m fine,” Michael said as he stood up.

“You should let me examine you,” the Doctor said.

“Nah, doc, I’ll be fine,” Michael dismissed, “I need to help them put out the fire.”

“Well, I’m not happy,” Doctor Littlefield muttered but hurried after the men carrying John Hickley.

* * *

They managed to put out the fire in four hours. Michael ached all over after jumping through the door, but it was more pressing to keep the fire from spreading over to the other houses around the post office.

“Good job, everyone,” Michael said to the people around him that had been working hard, bringing buckets of water in rapid succession, which caused them to contain the fire. The Post Office was food for the light, with a new delivery of letters having arrived just that morning. This fire seemed to have more effect on the towns-folk than some of the others had, as their letters were now gone forever.

Michael walked away from the firey remains and looked around for his horse. For a moment, he could not remember where it was. Then his talk with Lillian before came flashing forwards. He groaned internally.

I cannot believe what I told her, and then I ran away. What must she think? Perhaps she was mortified? I will have to see her.

He walked towards the Saloon-Hotel, causing people to stare at his scorched clothes. He noticed his horse standing at the hitching post outside the hotel, biting grass.

“Come on,” he said to the horse as he untied the very loosely tied reins. Guess I will need to teach her how to fasten a horse properly, in our next lesson, he chuckled to himself. Michael mounted the horse and rode towards his home. He would need to wash the smoke away, and perhaps sit down for a moment. His side ached with every movement, but he knew he would not go and see Doc Littlefield for a mere scratch.

* * *

Lillian walked home, feeling nervous. She had hardly been able to work; she was so worried about Michael and the fire. Dennis, the hotel worker, had returned after a few hours, smelling of smoke, informing that the fire was nearly out, and John Hickley had been the only one inside, and he was going to be fine. Lillian wanted to ask about Michael but didn’t dare. After she had been wandering around the kitchen, Charlie, the cook, had sent her home, saying.

“Child, your kind soul needs to rest,” he had said, “Go home, I will finish here.” Lillian had thanked him without protest and gone home. The whole town smelled like smoke again, and she worried so much, but she could not really explain why. Something about this fire felt different than the others. Was it just because Michael had run away from her and into the fire? She pushed open the door of her home, and her mother greeted her with open arms.

“Come here,” Dorothy said, embracing her daughter. They walked into the kitchen, and Lillian noticed her mother had made a pound cake.

“You baked?” Lillian closed her eyes as she inhaled the sweet scent.

“I had to keep my mind distracted,” Dorothy replied, “I had just been speaking with Mrs. Henderson when we noticed the smoke.”

“It was terrible,” Lillian admitted.

“Come and have some tea,” Dorothy said, “I just made some.” Lilian sat down, and Dorothy handed her a steaming cup of tea.

“Thank you, mother,” Lillian smiled. A knock on the door caused them both to look at each other.

“I will go, you rest,” Dorothy said, leaving the kitchen. A moment later, she returned to the kitchen and was followed by Michael.

“Michael!” Lillian exclaimed, standing up.

“I hope you two don’t mind me coming here,” he said, sounding tired, “I just wanted to make sure you got home all right.”

“How are you?” Lillian asked worriedly.

“I will be all right,” Michael said with a small grin.

“Sit down,” Dorothy said, “I will get you some tea.” As she walked towards the stove, Michael looked at Lillian intently.

“I wanted to be sure I did not make you uncomfortable, before,” he whispered.

“Not at all,” Lillian replied, putting her hand on the table, close to his but not touching.

“You’re very special to me,” he continued, his words barely audible.

“Oh, Michael,” Lillian cooed, her heart racing.

“When we were putting out the fire, I could not help imagining the fire somehow reaching you…” his voice caught in his throat, “and I could not allow that to happen.”

“Michael,” Lillian repeated, and she had tears in her eyes. She felt like her heart would soon jump outside of her ribcage.

“Lillian, I…” Michael began but stopped at once as a loud knock on the front door sounded.

“Who on earth could that be,” Dorothy muttered and walked to the front door again. Lillian heard a voice outside, and then footsteps came nearer.

“Vincent!” Lillian said, surprised, staring at the man standing next to her mother. All of a sudden, the atmosphere became tense, and Vincent looked from the disheveled-looking Michael and Lillian in turn.

“I just got back today, and I heard about the fire,” Vincent said slowly, looking strangely at Michael, “I rushed over here to make sure you were all right.”

“I should head out,” Michael said, standing up, not looking at her.

“Oh,” Lillian said, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

“I’m glad you’re all right, Miss Walter,” he said politely to Lillian, walking slowly from the kitchen. Lillian heard the front door close, and she felt as if her heart was caught in between, crashing into a pulp.

“Lillian, dear, are you all right?” Vincent asked concernedly.

“Yes, Vincent,” Lillian said, trying to muster a smile, “This was just a long and frightening day,” she added.

“You should rest,” Vincent said, “Sit down, I will show you what I brought you,” he added with a kind smile.

“I should, you’re right,” Lillian agreed. Vincent sat next to her, and Dorothy brought him the cup of tea she had prepared for Michael. Lillian buried her feelings inside and focused all her attention on Vincent and his travel story, although her heart ached.

* * *

Michael rode away from Lillian’s house, feeling strange. It had been a bad idea to see her again, and, of course, he had to show up. Vincent Hays was from a wealthy family, well educated, and could offer Lillian the kind of life she deserved.

How could an angel like her ever be content with someone like me? No family, no wealth… It wasn’t fair to Hays for me to spend so much time with her; I knew she was promised to someone else—I just couldn’t stay away. No woman has ever affected me quite like Lillian Walters. But now I will let her be; I will not cause her trouble.

Michael couldn’t go home; he felt agitated and wanted to do something. If he’d still been traveling, he would pack and go to a new, exciting destination. But those days were over. He would honor his father’s memory and stay here in Rust Canyon. Michael was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he did not notice that he had ridden towards the burnt ruins of the Post Office. He dismounted and securely tied the reins to a hitching post nearby.

From what I have gathered, the other fires all happen late at night or during the middle of the night. But John was genuinely surprised. I will need to speak with him again, but I should investigate the ruins.

He walked around the demolished house, bits of burnt furniture were strewn around, as well as flecks of burnt paper. There had been a shipment with letters that morning, which was the reason Mr. Hickley had even been in the office that early.

Michael carefully stepped around, bending down to see the remnants of letters no one would ever read. And that’s when he noticed a large plank, which looked fairly unburnt. He pulled up, what he noticed was a large picture frame, the subject on the portrait unrecognizable, but beneath he saw an ink-well and a small rectangle, un-touched by the flames. Michael bent down and picked it up, his suspicion raised. In his palm was a pack of matches!

This picture frame was situated next to a window. I’m almost certain of it. This could mean this was no accident; this was arson. Who could do such a thing?

Chapter Eight

Lillian heaved as she pulled the heavy bag of flour on top of the kitchen counter. She was alone in the massive kitchen in the Saloon-Hotel and was preparing pastry for that night’s savory pie that Charlie Banker, the hotel cook, had planned for that night’s dinner. Life had slowly begun to take the shape of a routine, since the fire last week.

Every morning Lillian woke early to finish her early chores at home, despite her mother’s objections, “Lilli, I’m more than capable of doing this,” she had told her yesterday, untying the apron from around Lillian’s slender waist. Lillian would then strolled over to the hotel to assist with the morning rush, which included preparing breakfast and changing the linens in the room.

Lillian had to admit that she had not realized how affluential her uncle was, with the hotel almost filled every night, most of the guests traveling businessmen. Uncle Jacob had already hired five more maids, and Lillian’s responsibility was to oversee their work and cook for the workers.

Lillian loved cooking in this vast kitchen, with all its grand stove and straight and polished oak work surface. It was an excellent place to distract a troubled mind because Oh, boy was her mind troubled. As much as she tried, Lillian could not rid her mind of images of Michael appearing after the fire, his hair singed, and his face worn, but his eyes were blazing.

Lillian closed her eyes as she heard his voice reverberated “You’re very special to me” inside her, making her heart flutter. But Lillian had not seen Michael since that day. Not since his face fell at the appearance of Vincent. Kind, gentle, and caring Vincent, that wished to spend every lunch with her, who wanted to discuss literature and politics with her, the first man ever who stared at her intently as she spoke taking in every word she uttered.

Sweet Vincent, that hinted at a bright future for the two of them, without ever putting any pressure on her to reply to him. Dear Vincent, who simply was not the handsome sheriff that had taken a firm grip of Lillian’s heart.

What had she gotten herself into? Being with Vincent would be logical and would make both her and her mother’s life much more secure and safe. Still, Lillian could not help looking around, checking to see if Michael would appear at the hotel for lunch. How I long to see him, but he has apparently decided to keep his distance. Or was I perhaps mistaken? Did my foolish heart make me see what I wished to see?

Lillian was so preoccupied; she forgot to count the cups of flour she had been measuring into the huge bowl on the table.

“Careful, now child,” Charlie laughed good-naturedly as he appeared in the kitchen.

“What?” Lillian said distractedly, looking up, her hand stopping in mid-air with a cup filled with flour.

“I know we’ve been busy, but there’s no need to make pastry for the whole town,” Charlie grinned, gently putting the cup of flour back to the bag.

“Oh, no,” Lillian flustered, finally realizing her mistake, “Charlie, I’m so very sorry.”

“It’s no trouble,” he replied, “I think it was only two or three cups too many,” he smiled.

“I’m such a fool,” Lillian berated herself.

“Nonsense,” Charlie objected, “You have been working yourself to the bone, child.”

“Have you been talking to my mother?”

“Your mother is a wise woman,” Charlie said, “But I don’t need her to tell me what is apparent, sweet girl.”

“Apparent?” Lillian said nervously.

Charlie paused as he looked at Lillian, thoughtfully. Then after a while, he added, “You wish to please everyone, which causes you to leave yourself for last.”

“I like to help,” Lillian replied.

“You are like an angel sent from heaven,” Charlie smiled, “But you should make sure you don’t lose your wings for us mere mortals,” he winked.

“Now, let’s finish this pastry,” he added cheerfully.

* * *

Michael stretched as he walked into the messy kitchen. His hair stood on end, and his stomach growled with hunger. He didn’t have much food in the house, really only stale bread and coffee. He was sure there was a can of beans in the back of the small pantry.

I must go get some more supplies. I can’t just keep eating at the tavern, Michael thought, as he peered into the coffee tin. There was hardly enough coffee for one cup. He sighed and threw the tin on the kitchen counter.

I will go over to see Hopper. He mentioned something about wanting to speak with me yesterday.

His junior sheriff had kept his distance for the past week, and Michael could not complain. He had been silent and bad-tempered ever since he left the Walter home. He had allowed himself to hope, he thought bitterly. He knew Lillian was spoken for, was waiting for her suitor to return to Rust Canyon.

Michael had immersed himself into the investigation, to keep his mind away from Lillian’s sun-kissed hair, bouncing as she rode during their riding lesson… Michael grabbed his hat and left the house. Perhaps this day would prove more fruitful than these last, grim ones.

* * *

Lillian walked out from the kitchen after she and Charlie had finished the pastry. She was in a great deal better mood than she had been before after Charlie had told her silly stories about extravagant pies he had been asked to make at his previous position as a hotel cook in Dallas. Lillian could always count on Charlie to make her feel better. Lillian walked into the reception area, not noticing Vincent standing near the Saloon.

“Surprise,” Vincent said, happily walking towards her, causing her to almost walk into the reception desk as she startled.

“Oh, Vincent,” Lillian replied, confused.

“I thought I’d steal you away for a little while,” he said hopefully.

“Uhm,” Lillian hesitated before saying, “I should really be helping…”

“Come on,” Vincent pleaded, “Just sit for one cup of tea with me.”

“All right then.”

They walked towards the restaurant area and sat down at their usual table. One of the waiters came towards them, and Vincent quickly ordered for both of them.

“You look lovely today,” Vincent said.

“Oh, thank you, Vincent,” Lillian replied, feeling flushed.

“Mind you, I don’t think you can ever not be beautiful,” he added, looking intently into her eyes. Lillian felt like she couldn’t breathe and was relieved when the waiter brought their tea on a silver tray.

“Are you all right?” Vincent asked, concernedly, “Are you feeling unwell?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Lillian began, but Vincent continued.

“Are they overworking you here?” he said, looking angry.

“It’s not that, Vincent,” Lillian pleaded, “I think I just need some tea. This was a good idea,” she said soothingly, taking a small sip from her cup. But Vincent didn’t look convinced.

“I should perhaps have a word with your uncle,” Vincent said.

“I beg you not to,” Lillian said.

“Fine,” he replied.

“I just feel as if you have been feeling tired, ever since that fire the other day,” he added bitterly.

“I am sorry if I have not been a pleasant company,” Lillian apologized.

“You are always sweet,” Vincent smiled. They sat and drank their tea, and the silence was getting a little awkward.

“Now I have to get going,” Vincent said after he finished the last sip of his tea.

“So soon?” Lillian asked, knowing it would elicit a smile from him.

“I will see you very soon,” Vincent said, taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips, then added, “Tomorrow night?” Lillian nodded and stood up to walk him towards the exit. He had walked out of the hotel when Lillian suddenly noticed a familiar horse riding further up the road.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she observed Michael riding purposefully ahead. She quickly looked away, feeling the blush rush up to her cheeks and heart beat rapidly in her chest.

* * *

Michael rode distractedly towards Benjamin Hopper’s house. It was one of the oldest houses in the town, with a gorgeous view of the beautiful vista that surrounded the town like a shell. Hopper’s father had been the pastor in Rust Creek, up until the day he died, almost twenty years ago. Michael could remember the kind but stern man with a rounded belly, from when he was just a boy.

Pastor Hopper had been liked by all, and it had been a tragedy when he died, although it had not been sudden as he had been very old when he died. Benjamin had been the youngest of seven siblings, but he was the only one left in the town.

“Morning, Sheriff,” Benjamin said, surprised as Michael dismounted in front of his home.

“What brings ya here?” he asked.

“I thought I’d stop by before we’re bombarded with possible witnesses to the fire,” Michael chuckled. Lately, there had been a constant stream of people claiming they saw their neighbor, which they unsurprisingly didn’t like, burn down the post office, or sometimes it would be a wild theory about masked outlaws.

“The stories have been getting wilder,” Benjamin laughed, “Won’t you join us for breakfast?” he asked.

“That would be great,” Michael admitted, trying to keep the relief hidden from his face, “If it’s not too much bother,” he added.

“No, bother at all,” Benjamin replied happily and returned into the house.

“Fanny!” he called, “Add one more plate to the table.”

Michael walked into the warm house and was almost immediately crashed into by a small boy.

“Johnny,” Hopper admonished, “Watch where you go,” but the word had barely left his lips when two other boys came running down the hallway.

“Come on, boys,” called a voice from the kitchen. The boys ran away from their father’s stern gaze, giggling. Michael couldn’t help chuckling as he followed the four Hoppers into the kitchen. Benjamin’s house was the complete opposite of his own house. Despite the boys running around, the home was spotless, warm and had a delicious smell of sizzling bacon.

“Oh, who do we have here?” Fanny Hopper asked kindly, looking at Michael, “Sheriff Flemming, what a pleasure,” she smiled. Fanny was a short woman with dark hair in a long braid that shuffled back and forth as she spoke. Her cheeks were red, and she radiated warmth and maternity.

“Sit down, I will pour you some coffee,” she ushered. Michael obliged and sat down next to two of the Hopper boys. The oldest looking, stood next to his mother, helping her set the table.

“Ian!” Fanny called, “Come eat.”

“Our second oldest,” Benjamin explained, “He always has his nose buried down in a book.” As Fanny handed Michael a steaming cup of coffee, a boy entered the house looking startled, seeing Michael sitting at the table. Michael smiled at the boy, who was his father in miniature.

“Hello,” the boy said quietly but was soon drowned out as his three brothers began talking in a loud chorus.

“Boys, boys,” Benjamin started, but then he sighed and accepted the coffee mug his wife handed him. Fanny began filling Michael’s plate with bacon, cheese, and beans, to his great happiness. In no time at all, the four boys had left the table, after wolfing down their breakfast.

“Is it like this every morning?” Michael asked.

“Pretty much,” Benjamin chuckled.

“Boys,” Fanny exclaimed as a piercing scream and crying could be heard outside, following the sound of chaos.

“I actually wanted to ask you more about what you mentioned yesterday,” Michael said as silence filled the room since they were the only ones inside the house.

“Oh, yes,” Benjamin replied, alert, “I recently found out that just before the fire, John Hickley was offered to sell the post office.”

“Really?” Michael asked, “Who wanted to buy it?”

“I’m not so sure who it was,” Benjamin replied, “I’m not sure Hickley wanted me to know this, to be honest.”

“Why do you say that?” Michael said.

“Well, because I met him when I was out with the boys the other day. I asked him how his leg was, and we started chatting. Hickley said it was just his luck that the house burned down just as he was contemplating selling the house and moving the post office further up the street to a smaller building,” Hopper finished.

“And you think he didn’t want you to know this?” Michael asked.

“I’m almost sure,” Benjamin replied, “As soon as he said this, he went white and said he had to go rest his leg.”

“That’s very curious,” Michael pondered, “I wonder who wanted to buy the building.”

“I think it might have been Jacob Frazier,” Benjamin added, hesitantly.

“Frazier?” Michael said.

“I know I’m no investigator, but…” Hopper started, “But yesterday I saw Hickley shaking hands with old Jacob, looking pleased.”

“This is good work, Hopper,” Michael said encouragingly.

“Thank you,” Benjamin said, embarrassed, “It helps to be unmarkable because then no one notices you standing around,” he grinned.

* * *

Michael left the Hopper home, with a full stomach, and rode the short distance contentedly towards the ruins of the Post Office. To his surprise, men were carrying charred wood onto a large horse carriage, clearing away the burnt ruins. Michael wasn’t familiar with any of them, which was quite strange.

He dismounted his horse and tied it securely to a hitching post. As soon as his fingers touched the post, a vivid memory of Lillian flashed into his mind, of when she loosely tied the reins of his horse, barely making any difference than if she had just left the horse there. Michael shook his head, ridding himself of her dazzling smile, and tinkling laugh… Focus, Michael. This is more pressing.

Michael walked towards the commotion near the old post office and noticed Jacob Frazier speaking with a few of the workers. As he approached, Frazier turned around, dismissing the men and greeted Michael like an old friend.

“Sheriff Flemming!” Jacob exclaimed, “Good day.”

“Good day,” Michael replied curiously, “What is going on here?” he asked, looking around marveling at how little was left of the building that had once stood there.

“We are clearing this mess away,” Jacob replied boisterously.

“And why is that?” Michael inquired.

“Well, I bought this building, or what’s left of it.”

“What do you plan on building here?” Michael replied.

“I’m glad you asked, Sheriff,” Jacob said happily, starting to walk slowly away from the men working, Michael followed.

“I am planning on building a grand, new General store,” he continued, “With a great, big warehouse.”

“On the old General store lot?” Michael asked.

“Yes.”

“I will even make room for the Post Office next to the store,” Jacob added.

“That sounds like a good investment opportunity for you,” Michael said, looking intently at Jacob.

“One should always look for the light in the darkness,” Jacob said somberly.

“One could say you are benefitting quite well from other people’s darkness,” Michael quipped back.

“Sheriff,” Jacob said, slowing down as carriage rode slowly past them. Both men nodded silently to the Pastor and his wife, who waved them from the carriage.

“I do realize how it can appear when you gain from other’s misfortune, but do believe me that I only wish for good fortune for this town.”

“Tell me, Jacob,” Michael said, “How long have you lived here in Rust Canyon?”

“Oh, just about two years now,” Jacob replied, “I have always had a strong connection to this town, and in the end, the pull was too strong for me to ignore.”

“Can you tell, just to remind me,” Michael said shrewdly, “How many buildings do you own here in town?”

“I would say,” Jacob began pausing to think, “After I purchased the old post office, then I own eight buildings.”

“Eight buildings?” Michael asked, amazed.

“I have been fortunate in life,” Jacob said with a small smile, “And I only want the best for this town?”

“And you think you are what is best for this town?” Michael retorted.

“Not by a long shot,” Jacob laughed heartily, “My ego may be the size of Texas, but I would never go that far.”

“I heard that you allow Mrs. Wesley to stay in one of your houses,” Michael asked after a small pause. The two of them had walked towards the tavern in the short amount of time they had been speaking.

“It was such a tragedy,” Jacob said, sobering up, “I only did what I could—a small comfort.”

“That was kind of you,” Michael said, thinking about the young widow.

“It was nothing,” Jacob dismissed, and Michael was surprised to see that Jacob seemed not to want to talk about this particular good deed of his.

“It makes me sick to think of helpless women, struggling to make ends meet,” Jacob added fiercely, and Michael hummed his acknowledgment.

“Just like my sweet niece,” Jacob added, and Michael felt his body tense, “She was the apple of my cousin’s eye, she was, and I try to help her however I can.”

“Yeah,” Michael replied quietly, trying with all his mind not to think of Lillian, pushing the sweet image of her away from his mind. He had to focus… “She and Dorothy…” Jacob began speaking but was cut off from a cracking sound that made both of them turn around.

“GET DOWN,” Jacob yelled, and Michael swiftly managed to crouch away from a bullet from the gun that had just been fired at them. Michael glanced up and saw a man running away. Fury coursed through his body as he pushed himself up and sprinted after the gunman.

“Be careful,” Jacob called after him, still not managing to stand up. Michael ran as fast as he could muster, causing his muscles to ache under strain, but the man ahead of him was nowhere to be seen.

Who just tried to shot me? Or were they trying to shoot Jacob?

Chapter Nine

Lillian stood in the saloon, setting the table for the evening. She carefully laid down the polished silverware on the crisp white tablecloth, with great precision. She had been feeling bad about how she had treated Vincent before.

The poor man only wants the best for me, and I cannot seem to allow him closer to me. If I just stop thinking about Michael, perhaps I could learn to love Vincent. She sighed as she gently pushed a fork, so it aligned straight with the plate when she heard a sound like a gunshot.

“Was that a gun?” she heard someone yell. She hurried towards the reception and looked around nervously. Gunshots certainly weren’t unheard around here, but Lillian thoroughly disliked guns, always had.

“Keep working,” Charlie said, appearing from the kitchen, “Come on, people, we need to prepare for tonight.” The waiters and cooks began working again, but Lillian looked outside, feeling strange. Just as she was about a return to the saloon, she saw two men running outside. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she ran out.

One of the running men looked very much like Michael, but a commotion ahead caught her attention. She walked quickly towards the group of people and was startled as she noticed her uncle on the ground, clutching his back.

“Uncle Jacob,” she exclaimed, running towards him.

“Sweet Lilian,” Uncle Jacob gasped.

“What happened?” she asked nervously.

“I’m fine,” Uncle Jacob said.

“Were you shot?” Lillian asked, terrified, looking for signs of blood.

“No, no, child,” Uncle Jacob reassured her, “I just fell and hurt my back…”

“Oh, let me help you,” Lillian said, trying to help her uncle stand up, but he was too heavy for her to support him.

“… When Sheriff Flemming pulled me down,” he finished with a groan.

“Michael was here?” Lillian replied at once, “With you?”

“Yes, we were talking when someone tried to shoot at us,” Uncle Jacob grimaced.

“That’s terrible,” Lillian whimpered.

“You need not worry,” Uncle Jacob reassured, “We are both ok, he ran after the perpetrator. Now, I just need to rest a bit, and then I’ll be fit as a fiddle.”

“Let me go and find someone to help you stand,” Lillian said, standing up again and almost walking into Michael, who had returned, his chest heaving as he breathed heavily.

“Miss Walter,” Michael said with a tip of his hat, a little out of breath from running.

“Did you catch him?” Uncle Jacob called. Michael looked away from Lillian and walked towards Uncle Jacob, helping him stand up quickly.

“He got away,” Michael said angrily, “Are you hurt?”

“I just need to lie down for a bit,” Uncle Jacob said.

“Let’s walk you back to the hotel,” Lillian suggested, and she offered her uncle her arm for support. The three of them walked in silence towards the hotel. Once they arrived, Michael opened the door for them, guiding Uncle Jacob inside. At once, chambermaids and workers came running to help their boss.

“I will be all right,” Uncle Jacob said, sounding tired.

“Go, rest, Uncle,” Lillian said concernedly.

“I will,” Uncle Jacob smiled, but suddenly he looked quickly upwards, “My hat!” he exclaimed.

“I must have dropped it when I fell.”

“I will go fetch it,” Lillian said at once.

“I’ll go with you,” Michael said, finally looking at her again, “I need to go back and investigate.”

They walked side by side back toward where the shooting happened. “Are you all right?” Lillian finally asked quietly.

“I am,” Michael reassured. When they arrived at the place where Uncle Jacob had fallen, Lillian bent forward to grab her uncle’s hat. She picked it up and dusted it off, and when she turned, she noticed Michael peering at the wall of the house they stood in front of.

“That’s strange,” Michael muttered.

“What is?” Lillian asked.

“I found the bullet,” Michael explained.

“Why is that strange?” Lillian replied.

“Come see,” Michael gestured, pointing at the splintered wood of the wall.

“I don’t understand,” Lillian admitted.

“The shooter stood barely twenty feet away from us,” Michael said, “How could he have missed us by such a distance?”

“I’m glad he did,” Lillian said shyly.

“Me too, but look where your uncle fell,” Michael pointed, “Over there stood the shooter,” he nodded his head in the direction where the shooter had been, “And finally look where the bullet landed.”

Lillian noticed that the bullet had landed far away from where her uncle had been lying. “Why did he shoot this direction?” she asked.

“I think this was an inexperienced shooter,” Michael contemplated.

“How do you figure that out?” Lillian asked.

“This can happen when you are not familiar with the pullback of the gun,” Michael explained, “It could have jerked his hand back, which caused the far off bullet hole.”

“Thank the heavens,” Lillian muttered.

“Indeed,” Michael continued, “But it could mean the shooter is injured.”

“Really?” Lillian gasped, “Why would that happen?”

“The hammer can give you a nasty cut if you don’t know how to shoot,” Michael said slowly, “This will help me find the bastard. They will have a very distinct injury just above their thumb.”

* * *

Lillian ambled back towards the hotel. Michael was still investigating the bullet, and after his junior sheriff arrived, she quietly removed herself from the scene. People had gathered around, curious at seeing the new sheriff at work.

She could not fathom what was going on. First, there were the fires, then her father was killed, and now she almost lost Uncle Jacob and… Lillian didn’t dare to finish the thought.

My poor heart breaks at the thought that Michael might have been shot today. How I wish I could have embraced him tightly, to make certain he is well. But, I must not think this way. It is not proper.

Lillian entered the hotel where everything appeared as usual. The dinner service was still being prepared, and not many seemed interested anymore in the hustle and bustle outside. She walked to the back, to Uncle Jacob’s office, her mind racing. A sudden sound caught her attention. She turned around and saw the door that leads to the large file closet at the back of the office, creaking slightly.

“Hello?” Lillian said nervously. She stood still as a statue as she watched the door sway a little forward.

Is there someone behind the door? Why can I not stop my hands from shaking?

“Uncle Jacob?” she said, her voice trembling. Lillian carefully laid her uncle’s hat on the large wooden desk in the middle of the room; her eyes still fixed on the door that had moved. After looking at the door for a long while, Lillian turned to leave the office when she heard the floorboard behind creaking, distinctly.

White, cold panic rushed through her, and now she was sure she could hear someone breathing, a low rasping breath. But by some strength, that Lillian was not sure where it came from, she turned around and walked purposefully towards the closet. Her hand trembled as she slowly pulled the door open and peered inside. A sudden relief filled her, as she gave the messy closet, which was filled with various boxes and the shelves heaved under files and even more boxes, the once-over.

I surely am a tangle of nerves, Lillian laughed softly. It must be all the excitement of today, that has caused me to start imagining sounds and made me suspicious. I think I better head home.

Lillian asked Billy, from the reception desk, to inform her uncle that she went home, not wanting to disturb him from his rest.

When she returned home, a comforting smell greeted her once she entered the kitchen.

“Hello, dear,” Dorothy said as she stood in front of the stove, stirring a large wooden spoon in slow circles. Lillian was surprised to see the heavy, brass pot on the stove, which they seldom used and was kept up high in the pantry.

“What are you making, mother?” Lillian asked, kissing her mother on the cheek and peering into the pot, “And how did you manage to retrieve this monstrosity?”

“Oh, I have my ways,” Dorothy teased, “I was clearing away from the small shed behind the house, and I found this,” she gestured to a small stepping stool with three steps.

“Father’s stairs,” Lillian gasped, “I had forgotten about these.”

“Your father made this for me right after we got married. I could not reach the high shelves in the pantry, so he built this for me.”

“I used to play on this.” Lillian smiled, her mind flooding with memories of her childhood.

“I remember,” Dorothy replied, “After a while, I kept everything I used in the lower shelves, and I stopped needing the steps. And your father must have put it away.”

“I also remember him tripping over these more than once,” Lillian laughed.

“He would have been glad to put it away,” Dorothy reminisced.

“Are you all right?” Lillian asked cautiously. She could not remember her mother speaking about Lillian’s father without retreating inside herself a moment later.

“I am,” Dorothy replied simply.

“I’m glad, and I am looking forward to the soup.”

“Let’s eat early,” Dorothy suggested, “You look exhausted, my darling Lilli.”

“This was quite an eventful day.” Lillian sat down at the kitchen table and recounted the events of the shooting.

“Oh, Lord help us,” Dorothy simpered after Lillian had finished telling her everything, “A shooter…” her voice trailed off.

“I thought about father as well,” Lillian finished the unspoken question that hung in the air. Could this be the same person that killed Philip Walter?

* * *

“We should get going,” Michael said to Benjamin Hopper. They had been riding around town, trying to see any signs of where the shooter might have gone. Michael was confident that the shooter would have hurt himself, and they had gone to Doctor Littlefield to see if someone had come in with a wound on their hand. The doctor had not seen anyone with such an injury but assured them he would inform them at once if he would.

“You’re right,” Benjamin replied, “It’s getting dark.”

“What do you say about a quick drink at the tavern?” Benjamin added. Michael paused as he considered it before answering, “You know that sounds good.”

They rode towards the tavern and tied their horses securely at the hitching post. Inside the tavern were loud voices, and laughter filled the small building. As they entered, all eyes were on them, and suddenly everything became quiet, until someone shouted drunkenly, “Did you catch them, sheriff?” All at once, the room erupted into laughter and the talking resumed.

“Not just yet, Dennis,” Michael replied with a small grin, recognizing one of the hotel workers.

“I saw you running,” Dennis hiccupped, “Like a speeding train, you were.”

“Did you, by chance, see the shooter?” Michael asked curiously as Benjamin went to get them drinks.

“Nah, nah,” Dennis slurred, “I just saw you shoot past, phew,” he made a sound like a bullet, “Nothing but a dark blur…” his voice trailed off as he took a gulp from his glass.

“I was going to give you something,” Dennis continued, patting his jacket, “I can’t find it,” he chuckled, “Or remember what it was,” he added and roared with laughter.

“You take care now,” Michael said clearly, turning away from the drunken man and sitting down next to Hopper.

“What did old Dennis have to say,” Benjamin chuckled.

“Not much,” Michael let out a long sigh. He took a sip of his drink and felt the tiredness washing over him.

“This was quite a day, eh,” he added with a grimace.

“You certainly have been busy since returning,” Benjamin said, “and just think how much has happened in a short amount of time.”

“You got that right,” Michael agreed, “I just wished I would have returned here earlier.”

“If I would have just had the chance to speak with my father, if only just once. Then I would perhaps be closer to finding the people responsible,” he added bitterly.

“I hope I am not out of bounds,” Benjamin began slowly, “But perhaps this is how it was meant to be. Take me, for example. My father was beloved here, and I spent my entire life trying to live up to his legacy,” he spoke softer now, staring into his glass, “But even though I was with him towards the end, and I know what he expected of me, it did not make my life any easier. The loss is always just as great, and I do envy you because you did have the opportunity to go and find who you were and who you are now.”

“You are an excellent sheriff, Michael,” he finished.

“Thank you, Benjamin,” Michael replied, “You have been a great help.” For the remainder of the night, the two of them talked about the case and the town, and Michael felt a sense of belonging that he was not sure he had ever felt before. And that ignited his longing to find those who were terrorizing his town.

* * *

It was very dark outside when Michael rode his way home. His whole body ached from the long day of riding and running, and he just wanted to sleep. Benjamin kept surprising Michael. Once they had sat for a while at the tavern, he proved to be intuitive, although uncertain. Michael guessed this came from being around domineering men, like his father and Benjamin’s father.

Hopper lit up when he spoke of his children and was wiser than he appeared. Michael pulled the reins to steer his horse towards his house. And that’s when he noticed the light from inside his home.

I am sure I put out the lamp before I left this morning, Michael thought confusedly. The tiredness of the day and the few drinks he had drunk had slowing downed his senses. As he rode closer, he realized what he was seeing.

“What in the name…” Michael gasped, jumping off his horse. Now that he was nearer, he saw the flame inside, slowly filling the kitchen. He looked around for something to put out the fire but didn’t see anything at first glance. He pulled up his handkerchief, covering his mouth and nose and pushed open the door.

At once, the flame grew exponentially, reaching over and licking at the wall in the kitchen. Michael realized the kitchen table, or what used to be the kitchen table, was about to tip over, which would spread the fire over to the sitting room.

Father’s notebooks! Michael turned around, pulled open a wardrobe in the hallway, and grabbed a heavy, woolen blanket. Holding the blanket out, he stormed towards the fire and covered the aflame table. He kicked down the table and reached for a jug of water and splashed it at the wall. A loud sizzling sound indicated the fire was out. Michael stomped over the blanket, making sure that he had put out the fire completely.

If I had been a moment later back home, there would not have been anything left. But whoever did this might still be around? The fire was small… Michael ran outside and around the house, trying to see if he could make out movement in the vicinity. But it was pitch black outside now, the faint light from the moon was not enough to see further than a few feet.

“Goddamn it,” Michael cursed, returning to the house, and at once the smoke and smell of singed paper filled his nostrils.

He pulled up the blanket and groaned as he noticed one of the notebooks from his father that he had been reading the previous night. Now it was a blackened ruin. This book had been the latest one with his father’s contemplations about the fires.

Who was behind this? And were they watching him? Someone must have known he was away from his home but was not sure when he would return. Michael tried to think back to everyone that had seen him at the tavern. Was the perpetrator one of them?

He stepped over the burnt table and looked out the kitchen window, and his foot stepped on something small. Michael bent down and picked up a singed pack of matches. The same kind of matches he found at the Post Office.

This is a warning, I am sure. But that must mean I am getting closer to the truth. I will not let these bastards get away with this. I will find them, Michael’s thoughts grew angry as he turned over the pack of matches over and over in his palm.

Chapter Ten

Lillian felt apprehensive as she tied her coat securely around her the following morning. She had hardly slept during the night; she kept tossing and turning with images of faceless gunmen shooting everyone she loved. Lillian imagined her mother had as well not slept. She had heard her tiptoe past her room twice during the night and was sure Dorothy had stopped by her door.

Lillian imagined her mother debating whether to enter her room or not. She opened the front door quietly, as her mother was still sleeping. The morning air was warm, despite the cloudy sky. Lillian walked the familiar path towards the hotel.

“Morning, miss,” a tall man smoking a foul-smelling cigarette, who stood by the hotel entrance, said with a crooked smile.

“Good morning, Ray,” Lillian replied politely, “Welcome back,” she added stiffly.

“Thank you, little bird,” Ray replied, taking a step closer to her, making Lillian recoil slightly.

“Well, I expect my uncle will be pleased,” Lillian said, forcing her to stand her ground and not run away from the tattooed man.

“No doubt,” Ray chuckled, “No doubt indeed, little bird,” he said, taking another step closer to her and blowing smoke into her face. Lillian squared her jaw but did not move. Ray stared at her until he finally walked away. Lillian breathed deeply and hurried into the hotel.

Ray Jennings was her uncle’s assistance, and Lillian detested him. Thankfully, Uncle Jacob would usually send him on trips, so Lillian did not have to see him too much. But whenever he was in town, he would stare at her in an untoward manner and be constantly smoking these horrible cigarettes. Lillian would like nothing more than ask her Uncle to send Ray away, but Uncle Jacob always talked about how Ray had had a troubled life but had made a fresh start when Ray began working for him.

“Uncle Jacob,” Lillian happily said as she noticed her Uncle standing by the reception.

“There she is,” Uncle Jacob bellowed happily.

“How are you feeling?” she asked concernedly, “Should you not be resting?”

“My, dear,” Uncle Jacob chuckled, “I am fit as a fiddle.”

“I was so worried,” Lillian admitted.

“Worry not, child,” Uncle Jacob reassured.

“As long as you promise me you will be careful.” Lillian smiled reproachfully.

“I will if you promise to make me one of your magnificent pies,” Uncle Jacob winked.

“You got it,” Lillian laughed, feeling lighter than she had felt all day.

Lillian walked into the kitchen where Charlie stood, whistling while he peeled potatoes.

“Good morning,” he said happily as he noticed her.

“Morning, Charlie,” she smiled and began preparing the pie.

Later, Lillian carefully pulled out the pie from the piping hot oven. Charlie had shown her how to carve out beautiful decorations in the pastry, and Lillian gasped at the beautiful pie.

“Look at it, Charlie,” she said excitedly.

“It’s a beauty, that’s for sure,” he chuckled, looking up from his mountain of peeled potatoes, “You are an artist.”

“Well, you taught me. I cannot wait to show this to my uncle.”

“He is a lucky man to have a niece as sweet as you,” Charlie said.

“You are kind,” Lillian laughed as she carried the pie to a cooling rack on one of the large kitchen counters.

“The lunch is nearly ready,” Charlie continued, “Is your fellow meeting you again today?” he asked.

“Oh, Vincent… Yes, we are meeting later.” She had completely forgotten about it; she realized guiltily.

“You should go relax a little,” Charlie said, “I can manage here.”

“Thank you, Charlie,” she replied, untying her apron and hanging it on the hook on the wall. As she walked out towards the saloon, she noticed kids running around. A girl, a little older than the other two who were running around, came storming towards them and said bossily. “Mama said you should not run around.”

“Sally, where are you?” the thin, pale-looking Mrs. Wesley called, approaching the children.

“Here, mama,” Sally replied, trying to hold her siblings tight.

“You should take your brother and sister outside to play.” She gently pushed them towards the front door. “I will only be a minute.”

“All right,” Sally replied politely, “Come on,” she added sternly, “You heard what mama said. “The three children walked outside, and Lillian could hear the young Sally calling reproachfully after her brother as he ran away, giggling.

“Your children are sweet.”

“Thank you,” she said, “Could I have a moment to speak with you, Miss Walter,” she added in hushed tones.

“Of course,” Lillian said, curious at the strange look on Mrs. Wesley.

“Not here,” Mrs. Wesley said nervously.

“Come here,” Lillian replied, guiding her towards a back room, but Mrs. Wesley shook her head.

“No, outside is better,” she whispered.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Wesley?” Lillian asked.

“Yes, yes,” she dismissed, “It’s just, no one can… I don’t want to be overheard.”

“Let’s step outside,” Lillian said, and they walked towards the front door.

“I should not be here,” Mrs. Wesley said hurriedly, “I am making a mistake.”

“What do you mean?” Lillian replied, feeling anxious.

“I just cannot keep silent anymore,” Mrs. Wesley said, and now she was shaking like a leaf.

“You should sit down,” Lillian said, looking around.

“No,” Mrs. Wesley said and opened her mouth to keep talking, but suddenly she looked away from Lillian.

“This was a mistake,” she blurted out, “Forgive me, I should not have come here.”

“Mrs. Wesley?” Lillian said, but Mrs. Wesley gave her a mournful look and walked away from her.

“Mrs. Wesley?” Lillian called, but she didn’t turn around.

What on earth was that about? What did she want to tell me? Lillian thought, and the uneasiness washed over her.

“Lillian?” Uncle Jacob asked her, appearing behind her. “Who were you calling?”

“Oh, it was Mrs. Wesley,” Lillian said, “I’m not sure what this was about, to be honest.”

“Poor thing,” Uncle Jacob said, “She has been through so much.”

“She sure has,” Lillian replied sadly. Together they walked into the hotel again.

“Now, what’s this about a pie?” Uncle Jacob asked with a wide grin on his face.

“Come with me,” Lillian laughed happily, and together they walked into the kitchen.

* * *

Michael pushed open the door of the tavern with force. He was angry and tired and wanted answers. Last night he had not slept at all as he cleared out the charred remains from the kitchen. He had bypassed feeling unsure about his own safety to feeling angry at those that kept doing these awful things. He wanted answers, and he was not going to leave this tavern until he had some.

“Morning, Sheriff,” Seamus Sandham, the tavern owner, said surprised, “I’m afraid we don’t open until later…”

“I need to know the names of everyone that was at this tavern yesterday,” Michael barked at Mr. Sandham.

“Names of everyone?” Mr. Sandham echoed startled.

“Yes,” Michael said simply, “I need to know who was here, around the same time I was.”

“Well…” Mr. Sandham started, looking flustered.

“You do realize I’m the sheriff in this town,” Michael replied angrily.

“Yes, of course, it’s just…” Mr. Sandham began, but Michael cut him off.

“Do you really think it wise to cross with me?” Michael spat, “Do you?”

“Certainly not,” Mr. Sandham quivered, “I just…”

“Just what?” Michael yelled at him.

“Sheriff,” said a voice from behind them. Michael turned around and saw Benjamin standing there.

“What?” Michael retorted.

“Let’s go to the office,” Benjamin said reassuringly.

“Hopper, I need to talk with him,” Michael said, gesturing angrily at Mr. Sandham.

“But I wasn’t…” Mr. Sandham tried again.

“You will answer my questions,” Michael half-screamed this time.

“Michael!” Benjamin said sternly, causing Michael to turn around to look at him. He had never heard Hopper raise his voice at him.

“He wasn’t here last night,” Benjamin said slowly.

“What do you mean?” Michael said.

“I wasn’t at the tavern yesterday,” the frightened-looking Mr. Sandham said.

“What do you mean?” Michael replied.

“My wife was here,” Mr. Sandham, “I can go and fetch her, but she’s with the children.”

“It’s all right, Seamus,” Benjamin said, looking intently at Michael, indicating he should follow him. Michael inhaled deeply and turned away from Mr. Sandham, feeling like he wanted to punch someone.

“Forgive me for my interference,” Benjamin finally said, once they had both walked a fair distance from the tavern.

“How did you know I was here?” Michael asked.

“I saw you rush past the office this morning, so I just followed,” Benjamin explained.

“Someone tried to burn down my house last night,” Michael said, “I was just barely in time to put out the fire.”

“And you think someone saw you at the tavern yesterday?” Benjamin guessed.

“Yes,” Michael retorted, “It had to be someone that saw me there… Has to be.”

“I agree,” Benjamin nodded, “Let’s go to the office, and I will try to go over everyone I can remember from last night.”

* * *

Benjamin had made coffee for them, and Michael was examining the two packs of matches. They were identical, with the same light brown material, with a colorful picture on one side, and the other side had letters, but the flame had singed away the name or word that was written there.

“This is strange,” Michael said.

“What is?” Benjamin asked.

“This side is completely singed,” Michael said, indicating the first pack of matches that they had found on the Post Office grounds, “And at first I believed it to be simply from the fire at the post office.”

“Yeah?” Benjamin replied uncertainly.

“But this pack,” Michael continued, holding up the other pack of matches, “Which I found in my home last night, it’s seared the same way as the other one.”

“That sure is strange,” Benjamin mused.

“I reckon that there is a name of a place on this pack, which the perpetrator does not want to be seen, in case the matches do not incinerate,” Michael finished.

“Perhaps we should show people the pack?” Benjamin asked, “See if anyone is familiar with the picture. It’s pretty distinct.”

“I’m not sure,” Michael hesitated, “I don’t want to unknowingly inform someone involved… I don’t know who I can trust.”

“You’re right,” Benjamin agreed.

“But I do think there is one person that we can talk to,” he added after a short silence.

“Who?” Michael asked.

“Old Dennis,” Benjamin said.

“Why him?” Michael asked.

“He is at the tavern most nights, I think,” Benjamin replied, “And I am sure he would know if there was someone unusual there yesterday. He might be a drunk, but he is an observant one.”

“All right then, let’s go talk to him,” Michael said, standing up and putting the two packs of matches into his pocket.

“I believe he’s working at the Post Office plot,” Benjamin said, following his boss outside.

Michael was feeling the lack of sleep as the burning sun shone high in the sky, as the two of them walked towards what was remaining of the Post Office. Michael was impressed when they arrived and noticed that there was almost no trace of the burnt ruins anymore.

“That didn’t take them long,” Michael said.

“Jacob Frazier is an expert in this, by now,” Benjamin pointed out. They looked around for Dennis but didn’t see him. A tall, brown-haired man sauntered towards them.

“Howdy,” the man said, tipping them his hat, “For what do we owe the honor, Sheriff.”

“We are looking for one of your workers,” Michael replied, instantly disliking the tattooed man, “Mr.?”

“You can call me Ray,” the man replied.

“You work for Mr. Frazier, isn’t that right?” Benjamin asked.

“Yeah, sure do,” Ray replied easily, “So which one of my workers broke the law,” he chuckled, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply.

“We just need to talk to Dennis,” Michael said icily, “He’s not in trouble.”

“What a pity,” Ray said with a mock-concerned look, “He didn’t show up for work today.”

“Is that so?” Michael asked.

“He’s quite unreliable, old Dennis,” Ray said, blowing smoke in Michael’s face.

“I would not do that if I were you,” Michael replied slowly.

“My mistake,” Ray smiled, “But I will let old Dennis know if he shows up again, that you wanted to see him.”

“Good,” Michael retorted and walked away from him, Benjamin hurrying after him.

“There is something very strange going on,” Michael said to Benjamin, “And we are going to have to find Dennis as soon as possible.”

* * *

Lillian stroked the bed cover, straightening it. This was the last room she had left to change the linens in, and she grabbed the dirty sheets and carried towards the laundry carriage.

“Thank you again for the help, miss,” one of the chambermaids said nervously.

“Of course.” Lillian smiled encouragingly. The young chambermaid had been given so many additional chores by Ray that she was nearly in tears when she realized she still had to make the beds. Lillian offered to help her, wanting to help her, and also she was using it as an excuse. Lillian was on her way to meet Vincent when the young maid met her, and Lillian asked one of the waiters to inform Vincent that she would be late for their meeting.

I cannot delay this any longer, Lillian sighed, I should go to Vincent and be honest with him. I cannot deceive him any longer. I just worry about what he will say when I admit to him that I have feelings for Michael.

Lillian had finally decided that she would have to tell him the truth. She was frightened of how he would react, but also how her uncle would react. She walked into the saloon where she saw Vincent standing, holding his jacket over his hand.

“I’m so very sorry for being so late,” Lillian said apologetically.

“That’s all right,” Vincent said, although he appeared rather stiff as he spoke.

“I was wondering whether you would care to take a short walk with me?” Lillian suggested. She did not especially want to have this conversation with Vincent at the hotel, where anyone could hear them.

“That sounds delightful,” Vincent smiled.

“After you,” he gestured for Lillian to walk ahead of him. They walked out of the hotel, and the sun was setting, creating a marvelous amber glow over the town.

“What a gorgeous sunset.” Lillian inhaled deeply, trying to calm her nerves.

“It sure is,” Vincent said, and again his voice was strained.

“Are you all right?” Lillian asked as they walked away from the hotel toward the church.

“It’s nothing,” Vincent dismissed.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Lillian replied, uncertainly.

“I actually wanted to talk with you,” she added, looking ahead at the silent bell tower of the church.

“What about?” Vincent asked.

“Vincent, I want to be honest with you,” Lillian said quietly.

“You should always be honest with me, sweet Lillian,” Vincent replied, trying to smile, but it came out as a grimace.

“Are you sure you are all right?” Lillian asked again, putting her hand gently over his jacket.

“Ouch,” Vincent winced loudly, causing his jacket to slip from his hand. Lillian noticed a bloody bandage over his right hand, just above his thumb. Suddenly she felt as if she had been doused in icy water.

“The hammer can give you a nasty cut if you don’t know how to shoot,” Michael had said, “This will help me find the bastard. They will have a very distinct injury just above their thumb.”

Lillian looked away from the wound and her mind was racing.

I must get away… This cannot be true! Why does he have a wound just like the one that Michael predicted?

“Oh, you poor thing,” Lillian said sympathetically, almost convincing herself that everything was all right, “What happened to you?”

“This,” Vincent looked at his hand, “This was just a silly shaving mishap. I tripped and dropped my razor.”

“You should have that looked at,” Lillian added.

“I will be fine,” Vincent smiled, “You should not worry about me.”

“Oh, dear,” Lillian said suddenly, looking alarmed.

“What is it?” Vincent said quickly.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” Lillian repeated.

“Tell me, what is wrong?” Vincent asked.

“I forgot to finish the loaves of bread for tomorrow’s breakfast,” Lillian lied, “If I don’t make them tonight, there will not be any bread available.”

“Surely, someone else can do it,” Vincent replied.

“Oh, but my Uncle Jacob will then think I cannot manage,” Lillian said nervously, hoping he would not see through her act. She paused to think before she added, “I was just so excited to see you that I completely forgot.”

“I have to go back,” she added miserably.

“Of course,” Vincent said understandingly, “Hurry back, I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

“Thank you, dear Vincent,” Lillian said with relief. She turned around and hurried away from him.

I must hurry to Michael; I need to tell him that Vincent’s the shooter…

But before she could think about which way she should be walking, someone grabbed her and covered her mouth, silencing her scream.

Chapter Eleven

Michael knocked on the door of the house he stood in front of. This was the third place he and Benjamin were looking at for any trace of Dennis. As he was a migrant worker, he did not have a permanent building to stay at, but moved from house to house, depending on the work. The workers that had been with Dennis from the beginning mentioned the house, most of them stayed in, but after Michael and Hopper arrived, there was no one around.

Michael knocked again, with more force and urgency this time.

“Hello?” he called, “This is Sheriff Flemming,” he added. There was no response.

“Should we head back?” Benjamin asked.

“Sure, I don’t think there is anyone inside there.”

“Or they do they do not wish to speak with the sheriff,” Benjamin pointed out.

“Fair point,” Michael ceded. “Let’s head over to the tavern; maybe he’s there.” Benjamin agreed, and they mounted their horses and rode back towards the town. The sun was setting now, and the blood-red sky made Michael feel uneasy.

“What do you know about that Ray fellow?” Michael asked Benjamin.

“He’s one of the men that came with Jacob Frazier,” Benjamin explained, “I heard some wild tales about him being an outlaw, but I think that’s just town-gossip.”

Michael hummed distractedly. The way Ray had said that Dennis didn’t show up to work was very disconcerting.

“You don’t think he’s an outlaw?” Benjamin asked, appalled.

“I can’t say,” Michael replied.

“Surely, someone like Jacob would not hire an outlaw,” Benjamin continued.

“It’s difficult to say,” Michael said, thinking about the tattoos on Ray’s arm. Something about them stirred his memory but couldn’t be sure what it was about.

“We need to focus on finding Dennis,” he added as they arrived at the tavern. They dismounted and fastened the reins to the hitching post.

Just yesterday, we did the exact same thing. Was there someone then observing me? And are they still watching me now?

Benjamin pushed open the door and entered the half-empty tavern. This was not the same tavern they had sat in the night before.

“Hi, Rosa,” Benjamin called, and the woman behind the bar looked up.

“Two nights in a row,” she teased back, “Should I be concerned, Benjamin?”

“No need to worry,” he replied, sitting at the bar; Michael followed him.

“I need to ask you some questions,” Michael said as he sat down.

“Sure thing,” Rosa smiled, “You fellas want a drink,” she said before adding, “On the house.”

“Not now, Miss Rosa,” Michael asked, but before he could continue, she said.

“You’re the one that frightened my poor Seamus this morning,” she said with her eyebrow raised.

“That’s why I’m here, actually,” Michael interjected.

“Are you going to frighten me?” she quipped back.

“No,” Michael replied simply, “I just need some answers… about your patrons here last night.”

“Ask away,” Rosa replied, looking amused.

“I need to know if there was someone here last night that you were not familiar with, or if someone unusual was here,” Michael said.

“The only unusual guest here last night was you, Sheriff,” Rosa responded at once.

“Are you certain?” Michael doubted.

“I am,” Rosa replied with ease, “I know my guests, and this ain’t a big town, sheriff.”

“Do you remember if anyone left the tavern unexpectantly?” Michael asked.

“Not really,” she said thoughtfully, “it was just the usual guests, mostly Frazier’s workers as well as a few locals.”

“Do you, by any chance, remember who left before we did?” Michael continued.

“Sorry, Sheriff. My memory is good, but not that good.”

“All right then,” Michael said, standing up, “Thank you for your help.”

“Any time, Sheriff,” she said, before adding, “You should speak with old Dennis, he might know.” Michael and Benjamin looked at each other.

“He remembers the darndest things, that man.”

Michael felt uneasy as they walked away from the tavern. Where was Dennis? Why did he seem to have vanished, just as he appeared to be the only one who might be able to give them more information?

Michael and Benjamin walked towards their horses, both seemingly immersed in their thought. Michael could not shake his guttural reaction that Dennis had not gone away on his own. But what could that mean? Could Dennis have been the one that started the fire? Admittedly, that was a ludicrous thought.

“Should we head back to the office?” Benjamin asked, pulling Michael from his reverie.

“Hmm?” he murmured. “Oh, no, I think I will ride around a bit longer. I want to use the time before it gets too dark outside.”

“All right then,” Benjamin, “Should I ride with you?”

“No,” Michael replied, “You should stay at the office. Someone might stop by and give us information.”

“Yeah,” Benjamin replied, not too convinced.

“At least you can have an eye on the street,” Michael said with a dry chuckle.

“Yup, I’ll do that,” Benjamin nodded.

“I will see you later tonight or tomorrow,” Michael said, untying the reins from the hitching post.

“You think you’ll be out all night?” Benjamin asked.

“Well, I don’t much like the idea of staying in my half-burnt home.”

“Yeah…” Benjamin replied, but he stopped dead in his tracks. Then suddenly, he hit his head with considerable force.

“Damnit!” he yelled.

“What is it?” Michael asked.

“Why didn’t I think of it sooner?” Benjamin said, annoyed.

“Think of what?” Michael replied anxiously.

“The valley near the town border,” Benjamin explained, but as Michael seemed to be none the wiser, he continued, “It’s where many of the misfortunate folks of the town would convene and drink.”

“Wait,” Michael said suddenly, “I remember that one. It’s the place where all the kids tried to go to, but no one dared to.”

“That’s the place,” Benjamin agreed, “I think it’s worth taking a look at,” he added.

“I agree. But it’s a long ride,” Michael said thoughtfully, “But I need answers. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Michael mounted his horse and rode towards the town border, with the setting sun glistening at the horizon.

* * *

Michael had been riding for a while; he was rapidly losing daylight. The amber sky seemed to be taunting him with the fact that time was passing quickly, and he was none the wiser about who tried to burn his house down. He turned by a large tree and sighed with relief as he noticed the distinct looking rocks that marked the small valley that Benjamin mentioned.

Michael could remember sneaking out to ride here when he was a boy, but his father had caught him once and knocked some sense in him. He could still remember the way his father held him and forbade him from ever going there again.

Michael, you must know that there are places, even here in Rust Canyon, which can be dangerous. Especially for a young boy like yourself, his father had said to him angrily. Michael had been furious at his father and gone over to the valley anyway. But he had been disappointed when he saw it. The other kids in the town had all talked about outlaws and criminals, but all he had seen were some harmless drunks shooting cans and drinking whiskey.

Michael slowed his horse down and dismounted, tying the reins to a tree trunk in front of him. He walked over to the valley mouth and peered down the small hill. They should hardly call this a valley, Michael mused as he looked around. There were cans all over and a few empty bottles.

This must be a haven when the tavern had thrown out the local drunks, giving them space to drink and ramble with each other in peace. Michael was about to return to his horse when he heard a faint rumbling sound nearby. He grabbed his gun and approached the sound. Behind a fallen log was a man sleeping, none other than Dennis, who laid there, reeking of alcohol, snoring loudly.

“Dennis,” Michael said, nudging him.

“Dennis,” he repeated, but Dennis was completely out of it. Michael had to make up his mind quickly as it was getting dark now.

I will have to bring him with me. There is no other way. I cannot leave him here. Michael sighed as he bent down to try to push Dennis up to a sitting position.

“Come on,” Michael gasped as he tried to pull him up, “Boy, oh, boy. You’re as heavy as a log, Dennis.” Michael finally managed to pull him to a half-sitting position, but he realized there was no way that he would be able to make Dennis walk to the horse. Michael took a deep breath before he heaved Dennis up and picked him up like a bag of potatoes.

“That’s it,” Michael groaned, walking slowly towards his horse, “Almost there…”

When Michael finally reached his horse, he dropped Dennis a little too harshly on the ground and stretched his aching back. The sun had almost completely set, and he was sweating wildly.

“This is going to be interesting,” Michael chuckled as he wondered how he was going to lift Dennis on top of his horse. He bent down to pick Dennis up again, and that’s when he noticed the abnormal redness around his mouth. He gently stroked over Dennis’ lip and noticed it was blood. Moreover, there was a strange mark on his top lip, which could have been the imprint of a bottle.

Why is he bleeding, with an imprint of a bottle, and is unable even to stand? Something does not add up here. I need to get him to safety.

* * *

Benjamin groaned, looking at the mountain of paperwork on his messy desk. He knew he ought to be more organized, but it had never been his strong suit. He had returned to the office, like Michael had instructed him to, wanting to do something more to assist him.

No one had come in. Which in itself was not too odd. Benjamin knew that if the townsfolk came by and only saw him sitting inside, there was a fair chance that they would return later, hoping to speak with Michael. This did not bother him, although he hoped that a witness was not avoiding the sheriff’s office because of him.

Deciding that he was not going to get more work done, he stood up, making sure all the windows were thoroughly locked before he left the sheriff’s office. He walked toward his horse, wondering what his wife had made for dinner, as his stomach rumbled loudly. Perhaps he should have invited Michael over, he mused, as he untied the reins of his faithful horse. He knew with certainty that his darling Fanny would undoubtedly have made enough food, the way she always cooked like they were a family of fifteen, not five.

Benjamin rode slowly, taking the time to look carefully around, hoping for a glimpse of Dennis, but he could not spot the old fellow anywhere. The road towards his home was dark, and he had to ride very slowly to avoid possible holes or loose rocks. Ahead, a little further than his house, he thought he saw movement by the old shed that had not been in use for a few years. Benjamin slowed even more and peered ahead. A man stood by the shed looking around.

Suspicious, Benjamin rode towards the man, riding past his house. The man noticed him and walked toward him.

“Good evening,” the stranger said.

“Evening,” Benjamin replied, “What are you doing way up here at this time of night?” he asked.

“Well, I am about to start work here in Rust Canyon, and I was taking a walk around this beautiful area, and I must admit I am a bit lost,” the man admitted foolishly.

“You took a walk up here?” Benjamin asked curiously.

“To be honest, I’m not really sure where I started my walk,” the stranger said looking embarrassed, “I must have been very preoccupied because suddenly I realized I did not recognize my surroundings.”

“Where are you staying?” Benjamin asked.

“Over by the log cabins by the train station,” the man replied.

“That’s quite a walk,” Benjamin mused, “Well, the way back is down this road,” he gestured the way that he had come from.

“Thank you, sir,” the stranger replied gratefully, “I do appreciate it. The folks here in Rust Canyon sure are kind.”

“Well, be safe,” Benjamin said, turning his horse around, riding back towards his house.

* * *

Lillian groaned as she slowly opened her eyes. She could not see anything, and her chest hurt with every breath. Gradually, panic filled her whole being as she tried to look around her unfamiliar surroundings. That’s when she noticed that her hands were tied securely with a silk scarf, as well as her feet. Lillian struggled against her bondage, but it was no use—she was completely stuck. There was a piece of cloth covering her mouth tightly, preventing her from making a sound.

Where am I? Why can I not remember how I got here? And why does my whole body ache?

Terrified, she tried to kick the wall near her feet, but her legs were tied together too firmly.

Lillian was slowly getting used to the darkness, and she forced herself to breathe deeply to calm her nerves. She was inside some sort of a shed; it was at least very small and damp. How long had she been out? Lillian tried to remember the last thing before she woke up here. She had been walking… Home? Was she at the hotel? The more she tried to think, the dizzier she got.

Then suddenly, she heard movement nearby, and the door was opened. There was darkness outside, and the tall, dark-clad man in front of her seemed to be looking at her, although she could not be sure. He was completely covered, from his gloves to the handkerchief over his face and his pulled down hat.

Lillian began screaming a muffled scream, startling the strange man. He hurriedly closed the door, encasing Lillian in darkness once more. She tried to scream louder, but it soon turned into a quiet sob.

Who is this man? Why has he taken me? I am so frightened… But I will have to be brave; I have to focus. But wait? What’s that sound?

The unmistaken sound of hooves and two men speaking could be heard. They sounded very close.

I will try to get their attention, Lillian thought, her heart pounding in her chest, and at once, she tried to kick the wall with all her force. She didn’t reach the wall, but her feet knocked over a bucket, or something similar, causing a clattering sound.

She strained her ears to listen, and she was sure the talking had stopped for a moment. But then, they began talking again, and Lillian tried to scream but to no avail. She heard the sound of retreating hooves, and hopelessness threatened to overcome her.

* * *

—The following morning—

Dorothy rose from her bed, holding her bad hip as she carefully stretched. She shuffled to the hook where she kept her robe. After tying the belt securely around her waist, she walked out to the kitchen. Dorothy had been having trouble sleeping lately, kept tossing and turning, and it had been especially bad this night. Something felt strange, but she had been too tired to think properly about it.

I do hope my dear Lilli got some rest last night. She has been working so hard, and still always finds time for her mother.

Dorothy walked into the kitchen, noticing the door into Lillian’s bedroom was closed.

I sure hope she did not go too early over to the hotel. I will have to have a word with Jacob about not overworking her.

She looked at the stove and was surprised to see that there was no prepared coffee waiting for her, which was strange. Lillian prepared the coffee for her every morning, even though she told her daughter again and again that there was no need, that she was perfectly able to make the coffee herself.

“She’s finally trusted me to make my own coffee,” Dorothy chuckled. She walked over to the pantry to fetch the coffee tin when she glanced over at the kitchen table. Something was not right. The night before, Dorothy had prepared Lillian’s favorite spiced bread. She had left a piece on a plate with a cloth over it for her to eat when she came home. And right now, the cloth was still over the plate, clearly untouched.

My Lilli would have cleared away the plate even though she wasn’t hungry. Something is wrong.

Dorothy hurried over to Lillian’s room and opened the door. The bed was still made and looked cold and unslept in. It did not look like anyone had slept in it last night.

Oh, dear heavens, what has happened? Where is Lillian?

Chapter Twelve

Dorothy paced back and forth, her heart beating so loudly that she felt as if it was about to jump out of her chest. She touched Lillian’s bed and recoiled her hand from the cold cover. Dorothy could not shake the uneasy feeling that something was very wrong. Lillian would never leave like this. Usually, she said a soft goodbye if Dorothy was still in bed when she was leaving for the hotel.

Perhaps she had to go early to the hotel? Dorothy tried to convince herself. Perhaps I am being silly? I will go to the hotel and see if she is there. Maybe she spent the night there? She did mention that she would have to work late last night… But why would she not return home? It does not make sense. We live so close to the hotel.

Dorothy hurried into her room and dressed. She could hardly button up the bodice of her day dress, as her fingers were numb and trembling. She felt a familiar tension creep up her chest, locking itself around her heart.

Please, Heavenly Father; let her be safe. Let her be at the hotel and me be a worried fool.

When Dorothy had finally managed to button up her dress, she walked as fast as her bad hip would allow her. As soon as she walked out into the morning sun, she hardly even felt the warmth, as her panic was freezing her inside. She walked a few steps until Mrs. Henderson from next door waved jovially at her.

“Morning, Dorothy,” Mrs. Henderson said cheerfully.

“Pat,” Dorothy said tensely, “Have you, by any chance, seen my Lilli?”

“Lillian?” Pat Henderson repeated, her cheerful smile vanishing at the worried look on her neighbor.

“I don’t know when,” Dorothy began, trying to push away the terrible thought—If she came home—far away from her mind.

“When…” she continued, “when she came home yesterday.”

“Oh, I’m sure it could not have been very late,” Pat replied sympathetically.

“I bet she just had to go early over to the hotel,” she added.

“I’m just so worried, Pat,” Dorothy admitted.

“Oh dear,” Pat said, putting her hand around Dorothy’s shoulders, “I will walk with you to the hotel.”

“Thank you,” Dorothy said gratefully.

“I bet she slept a little too late and had to rush out this morning,” Pat reassured her friend. “Was she out with her handsome suitor yesterday?”

“Vincent!” Dorothy gasped, “I completely forgot Lillian mentioned they had planned to meet.”

“That must be the reason for it,” Pat smiled. But Dorothy still could not shake away the ever-growing knot in her stomach. The two women arrived at the hotel after a very short amount of time, much to Dorothy’s uneasiness. Dorothy tried to push open the lavish-looking door, but all strength seemed to have left her.

“Come on, dear,” Pat said, opening the door for her. They walked inside, and Dorothy looked around frantically, grabbing a passing chambermaid.

“Have you seen my daughter today?” Dorothy asked desperately, “Lillian? Lillian Walters?”

“No ma’am,” the young chambermaid said timidly, “She has not been here today, I figured it was her day off.”

“Oh, heavens,” Dorothy wailed, but Pat thanked the maid, and put her arm around Dorothy.

“Come now,” she said, “Perhaps the girl was mistaken. Let’s go and ask in the kitchen. She works there, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, yes… She does,” Dorothy breathed. Together they walked towards the back of the hotel. As they were about to push the door open, a harassed looking man almost collided with them.

“Mrs. Walter?” Charlie, the cook, said bewildered, “This is truly a coincident.”

“Why do you say that?” Dorothy said desperately.

“Well…” he hesitated, “Your daughter did not show up this morning, and although I would be pleased if she took the day off to rest, it is very unlike her. I was about to go see you…”

Charlie startled as Dorothy sobbed and clutched her chest. “Mrs. Walter? Sit down, come here,” he said, guiding her to a small bench nearby the reception area.

“Get her some water,” he ordered the chambermaid who Dorothy and Pat had been talking to before.

“What has happened?” Charlie asked, handing her the glass of water the maid had come running with.

“I think my sweet, sweet Lillian is… missing,” Dorothy whimpered.

* * *

Michael walked over to the cot in the small spare room with a steaming mug of coffee. He had arrived home, very late last night, as it was very dark, and the combined weight of Michael and Dennis was proving a little too much for his young steed. Dennis had not even opened his eyes on the way back, which made Michael more certain that something was not normal about the state of Dennis.

“Dennis,” Michael said calmly. Dennis snored loudly and turned to his side.

“Dennis,” Michael repeated, a little louder this time.

“Whmhln,” Dennis mumbled incoherently.

“Come on now, Dennis,” Michael said, even louder, “Dennis, this is Sheriff Michael… Do you remember me?”

“Wha…” Dennis groaned, opening his eyes a little. He took a while to get accustomed to the light. After looking around, he turned to Michael.

“Sheriff?” he said groggily.

“Morning,” Michael said, handing him the mug of coffee, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a train,” Dennis said, slowly sitting up and accepting the coffee.

“Am I in the lockup?” he asked, taking a sip of the coffee.

“No,” Michael replied, with a chuckle. “You’re actually in my home, Dennis.”

“Huh, why is that?” Dennis asked.

“How much can you remember from the night at the tavern, the night we met?” Michael said calmly.

“Boy, not much,” Dennis groaned, holding his hand to his head, “My head is pounding.”

“Do you remember meeting me?” Michael continued.

“Sure, I do,” Dennis replied, “I always remember everything,” he said with a weak chuckle.

“So, what do you remember from that night?” Michael said tensely.

“It’s all a bit blurry, to be honest,” Dennis said thoughtfully, “That’s strange, Sheriff, sure is… I’m not to brag or anything, but I can hold my liquor.”

“Did you see anyone unusual that night?” Michael answered, “perhaps someone who left early.”

“I remember someone talking to me… They gave me a drink,” Dennis scrunched up his forehead as he tried to remember, “But, it’s all black. I don’t remember anything else.”

* * *

“We should go over to the ice,” Pat said anxiously.

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Charlie agreed and helped Dorothy stand again, “Come on now, up you go.” Dorothy stood on wobbly legs and tried to regain her composure.

“I wish I could go with you,” Charlie added, looking remorseful, “But I have to finish here…”

“Of course,” Dorothy said with a weak smile, “I understand. I know how kind you have been to my Lilli.”

“I just can’t help thinking if I had stayed later last night…” he began, but Dorothy cut him off.

“This is not your fault,” she said weakly, “Now I will go to the see Sheriff Flemming.”

Dorothy and Pat walked together the short distance over to the Sheriff’s office. They entered, and Benjamin Hopper looked up from his desk, which could hardly be seen due to papers cluttered all over the surface.

“Mrs. Walter!” Benjamin said curiously, “And Mrs. Henderson. This is a surprise.”

“Where’s the sheriff?” Dorothy asked, looking around.

“He hasn’t come in yet,” Benjamin replied, “Is everything all right?”

“My Lillian didn’t…” Dorothy began, but her voice failed her.

“Mrs. Walter?” Benjamin said concerned, walking over to the two women.

“What has happened?”

“I cannot find Lillian anywhere,” Dorothy said, unable to keep the tears at bay.

“Is she not at the hotel?” Benjamin said lamely, seemingly uncomfortable around the crying woman.

“We have already checked there,” Pat retorted. She was rapidly becoming irritated.

“When will Sheriff Flemming be here?” Dorothy asked desperately.

“I’m not sure…” Benjamin hesitated, but at that moment, the door to the Sheriff’s office opened and in walked Michael.

“Hello?” he said, looking at the odd scene in front of him.

“Oh, Sheriff,” Dorothy cried, “You have to help me!”

“What is wrong, Dorothy?” Michael asked.

“My Lilli is gone,” Dorothy whimpered, “She’s missing.”

“She’s missing?” Michael repeated gravely, then added quickly, “Where was she last seen?”

“I… I am not sure,” Dorothy’s voice was faltering, “She was at the hotel, and then she was supposed to meet with Vincent.”

“I must go,” Michael said, already turning around, “Let’s go,” he nodded in Benjamin’s direction.

“Please!” Dorothy called, “Allow me to come with you.”

Michael looked at the desperate woman pensively before he finally said: “All right then, come on.”

* * *

Michael had to remind himself to breathe. His whole world seemed to be upside down. Had this been the uneasiness that had been plaguing him ever since he could not find Dennis yesterday. Had he been aware, somehow, that Lillian was in danger. He was rushing towards the house that he knew Vincent was leasing.

He heard slight panting and turned around to see Dorothy struggling to keep up with him, clutching her hip. He slowed down to meet up with her. There was a faint ringing inside Michael’s head, and he felt his blood beginning to boil at the thought that Lillian could be missing. He had not needed more information than the desperate look on Dorothy’s face when he saw her.

Dear God, give me strength—to restrain myself… I will need it, Michael murmured as they neared the front door of Vincent’s house, and he knocked it with so much force it almost came off its hinges.

“Oh my,” he heard Dorothy mutter.

“Open the door!” Michael yelled, angrily, “Or I will kick it open.”

The door opened slowly, and Vincent appeared looking apprehensive in the doorway.

“Sheriff?” he said, surprised, “What’s going on?” Michael strode inside uninvited, causing Vincent to stumble backward.

“Dorothy?” Vincent asked confusedly, looking at her for some answers.

“Where is Lillian?” Michael barked at Vincent.

“Where is…” Vincent repeated, “What do you mean, where is she?”

“Lillian is missing, and you were the last person to see her?” Michael replied, squaring his jaw and clenching his fist.

“I don’t know where she is,” Vincent said nervously.

“Where was she when you last saw her?” Michael spat, not believing him.

“She had to…” he stammered,” “She said to me that she had to return to the hotel.”

“Return to the hotel?” Dorothy asked.

“Yes,” Vincent replied, stroking a lock of his usually slicked back hair, from his face with his right hand, “She said that she had to finish baking….” But he was unable to continue as Michael grabbed his hand forcefully.

“What is this?” Michael growled, looking at his bandaged hand.

“This?” Vincent muttered, “I… I hurt myself,” he said guiltily.

“How did you hurt yourself,” Michael said icily.

“Uhm… Shaving,” Vincent said unconvincingly. Michael chuckled dryly and ripped off the loose bandages, rage coursing through him.

“Liar!” He bellowed, “This is wound from shooting a gun,” Michael said, squeezing his hand, so Vincent gasped.

“You are the shooter!” he added, “You are the one that tried to kill me!”

“I.. I didn’t mean,” Vincent yelped, looking terrified.

“You didn’t mean?” Michael screamed, “What did you do to Lillian?”

“Nothing,” Vincent objected, “I would never…” But at this, Michael lost control of himself and pushed Vincent harshly up against a wall, pinning him tightly, pressing on his neck.

“Where is she?” Michael said enraged. Dorothy stood behind them, looking horrified, “What did you do to her you −?”

“I would never hurt her,” Vincent screamed, “I only meant to hurt you!”

“Why should I believe you,” Michael said, putting more pressure on Vincent.

“I tried to shoot you,” Vincent gasped, “Because she kept mentioning you… Kept looking at you—always searching for you.” Michael dropped Vincent down, breathing heavily.

“She told me that she forgot to finish her baking. That she had to return to the hotel or there would be no bread today… She said that she was worried her uncle would think she was not capable of her job,” Vincent finished.

“You’re coming down to the Sheriff’s office,” Michael said, turning Vincent around to handcuff him.

“You must know, Dorothy,” Vincent said, looking at her, “I would never do anything to hurt her; I love her.”

Dorothy looked away from both of them, tears falling in streams down her cheeks.

“Let’s go back,” Michael growled, pushing Vincent forward.

Michael, Dorothy, and the handcuffed Vincent returned to the Sheriff’s office after a quiet, short walk. People had stopped to stare at them, peering out of windows to get a better look at the odd trio crossing the main road. Michael yanked the door to the Sheriff’s office open and dragged Vincent inside.

“Benjamin!” he called. Benjamin came running, looking from Vincent and Michael in turn.

“Yes,” Benjamin said, apprehensively.

“Take this scum to the cell,” Michael spat, then added at the confused look on his junior sheriff, “He’s the one that tried to shoot Jacob Frazier and me.”

“I see,” Benjamin replied seriously, grabbing Vincent and guiding him towards the cell.

“We should tell Jacob,” Dorothy said suddenly.

“He cares about Lillian as she was his own,” she added sadly.

“I’ll go with you,” Michael replied.

“Benjamin, you need to stay here,” he added, turning around.

“Of course,” Benjamin said, “I will send a telegraph over to the Gatesville sheriff’s office.”

“Good,” Michael nodded then left with Dorothy. Rust Canyon did not have a jail, and therefore all prisoners were sent over to Gatesville, often by a bounty hunter.

Michael walked towards the hotel, noticing that Dorothy was growing ever more silent, and an empty look was painted over her kind face.

“I will find her,” Michael said, “I promise you, I will not rest until she is safely returned,” he added defiantly and truthfully. But Dorothy seemed to be in too much pain to be able to reply to him. They walked in silence toward the hotel, and to his great annoyance, some of the townsfolk walked behind them, observing them closely. They entered the hotel, and at once, the young chambermaid ran to the kitchen and called Charlie’s name.

“Did you find her?” Charlie said, out of breath from running from the kitchen.

“Dorothy?” he added, concernedly looking at her.

“We haven’t found her yet,” Michael replied.

“Where’s Jacob,” Dorothy croaked.

“I will fetch him,” Charlie said, turning away from them and walking to the back. After a short moment, he returned, now accompanied by Jacob.

“Sheriff?” he asked, and when he noticed Dorothy, he gasped.

“Dorothy? What has happened?”

“Oh, Jacob,” Dorothy vailed, throwing herself at him, clutching his shoulders as the tears began once more.

“What has happened, dear, Dorothy?” Jacob asked, holding Dorothy up.

“Lillian is missing,” Michael answered.

“What?” Jacob roared, “Are you certain?”

“I am,” Michael replied simply.

“Heaven above,” Jacob gasped, “We will have to go and search for her,” he said, leading Dorothy to a chair, helping her sit down.

“You!” he called to the young chambermaid, “Give Mrs. Walter a very strong tea, with a small swig of the good bourbon.”

“Yes, sir,” the maid replied, hurrying away.

“What are we going to do, Jacob,” Dorothy pleaded, “I can’t lose her.”

“We will find her,” Jacob said reassuringly, “I will close the hotel,” he added, looking at his staff.

“Our focus should be to find my niece.” The staff that had been observing the happenings scattered around with a chorus of ‘Yes, sir.’

“Jacob,” Michael said, “There is something that you should know.”

“What is it, Sheriff?” Jacob anxiously asked.

“I have just arrested Vincent Hays,” Michael continued, carefully observing Jacob’s reactions.

“You what?” Jacob bellowed, “Why on earth have you done that?”

“Vincent was the one that tried to shoot us,” Michael explained.

“Vincent?” Jacob gaped, “It cannot be true!”

“It is true,” Michael replied.

“I cannot believe it,” Jacob said incredulously, “Vincent?”

“He was jealous,” Dorothy said softly, “Oh, dear, Michael. How can we be sure it was not him who took her?”

“Nonsense, Dorothy,” Jacob said, “I don’t believe he could ever have done what this man,” he looked angrily at Michael, “is saying he did.”

“Well, as I am the sheriff in this town, it is not your opinion that matters,” Michael retorted.

“Please, do not argue,” Dorothy pleaded.

“I’m sorry, dearest Dorothy,” Jacob apologized, “I cannot think properly,” he looked back at Michael, “Forgive me. It’s just that, Lillian is the most precious person in this whole world.”

“It’s all right,” Michael replied.

“I will send my people out to search,” Jacob added.

“Good idea,” Michael agreed.

“Dorothy, I think you should go home to rest,” Michael said gently to her.

“I cannot leave,” Dorothy sobbed, “I will not be able to rest.”

“I understand.” Michael nodded sympathetically.

“I feel as if I have been cursed,” Dorothy said desperately.

“Why do you say that?” Michael asked.

“First, I lost my dear Philip, and now I am losing the light of my life as well,” Dorothy cried.

“Dorothy,” Michael said seriously, “I meant what I said before. I will not rest until I have brought Lillian back to you.”

Chapter Thirteen

Very soon, the whole town of Rust Canyon knew that Lillian Walter had gone missing. Michael rode across the main road, and everywhere he looked, he saw people huddled together, speaking to each other looking concerned. Lillian was well-liked by everyone, and it was apparent that the whole town was affected by her disappearance.

Benjamin had been swamped by worried mothers that wanted to know whether their children would be safe. Michael was desperately trying not to allow his own feelings for Lillian cloud his judgment. He had to stay strong; for her. It was getting dark outside, but Michael knew he would not be able to rest. He decided to return to the hotel one more time to see how Dorothy was holding up. Once he arrived there, he saw the hotel’s door wide open, and it was filled with people.

“What’s going on?” Michael asked Charlie, who was carrying a heavy-looking pot to the dining area.

“Mr. Frazier wanted to offer the people that were out there searching for Lillian, some food,” Charlie grunted as he put down the heavy pot on the large table in front of them.

“That’s generous of him,” Michael commented to which Charlie nodded, but moved passed him to fetch more food.

“Any news?” Jacob asked him seriously, appearing beside Michael as Charlie left.

“Nothing yet,” Michael replied, looking around the hall.

“This is some crowd, don’t you think?” Jacob said.

“Lillian is beloved here,” he added. Then someone called his name, and Jacob left Michael with a small nod. Michael was looking for Dorothy when he noticed someone outside, trying to catch his attention. He moved closer to the window and realized this was Dennis. He hurried outside.

“Dennis!” Michael said, “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t stay cooped up in your house, now could I?” Dennis mused.

“How are you feeling?” Michael asked.

“Like I've been battling a bear recently,” Dennis replied with a small chuckle.

“Say, Sheriff,” he added conspiratorially.

“Yeah.”

“I have been thinking about the night you asked me about,” Dennis continued, “And I can’t shake the feeling that I had meant to give you something.”

“You did say that,” Michael replied, now alert.

“Well, after I took off my socks earlier, I found it,” Dennis said.

“Found what?” Michael asked.

“This,” Dennis said, handing him a burnt letter.

“What is this?” Michael asked, examining the burnt remains of an envelope.

“When we were clearing out the old Post Office, I noticed that some of the letters had not quite burned,” Dennis explained, “And this envelope had this fancy looking stamp on it, so I thought I better bring it to you.”

Michael turned the envelope over and examined the faint outlines of the stamp that was present there. It had been sent from Gatesville, which usually meant it was from other sheriffs or possibly bounty hunters.

“Thank you,” Michael said.

“Now, I do hear there is food inside,” Dennis said, no longer focusing on the letter.

“You should go have some,” Michael replied, “But I am going to have to ask you not to drink tonight, all right?”

“If you say so. Although I do think that one or two drinks would make me feel brand new.”

“Just, promise me, Dennis,” Michael implemented.

“Sure, Sheriff,” Dennis agreed and left to go inside. Michael opened the burnt envelope carefully, trying to see if he would be able to read the letter. He managed to pull out the note but was disappointed to see that more than half of the letter had burned in the fire. What he could make out was a few words on the singed paper.

Dear Sheriff Flemm… On the lookout for… Fire… Many casualties… Reply… Careful… Rex… hunter…

What on earth could this be? The letter seems to be a warning of some sort. But warning about what? And from whom?

* * *

Michael turned around, looking around the crowd of people. Suddenly, he felt distrusting, wondering if any of the folks here could be responsible for all these tragedies happening. He decided to head back to the Sheriff’s Office, needing to get away from the crowd to try and find out who had sent him this letter.

He passed running children and noticed the oldest child of Mrs. Wesley trying to make her younger siblings behave themselves. When he approached the Sheriff’s Office, he saw Mrs. Wesley standing just outside the front door.

“Afternoon,” Michael said to her.

“Oh,” Mrs. Wesley turned around, startled.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” Michael asked her.

“I…” Mrs. Wesley began speaking, but then she seemed to stop herself.

“Mrs. Wesley?” Michael asked, taking a step closer to her. She stared at him, and there seemed to be an internal struggle within her.

“It’s, I uh, it’s nothing,” Mrs. Wesley finally said with a smile that did not convince Michael.

“Are you sure?” Michael asked gently.

“Yes,” she sighed, before adding, “How is the search going?”

“It’s, well,” now it was Michael’s turn to sigh and stutter, “We are working on all clues.”

“Good,” Mrs. Wesley said with relief, “She is such a wonderful person.”

“Yeah, she is,” Michael said quietly.

“Just don’t lose hope,” Mrs. Wesley said, looking in Michael's eyes, “Keep fighting the good and righteous fight. Remember that He will command His angels concerning you to guard you carefully.”

“Mrs. Wesley, do you kn…” Michael began but was interrupted by Benjamin that came running outside.

“Michael, I need to speak with you,” Benjamin said urgently, “I think I may have an idea where Lillian might be.”

“What?” Michael said, snapping around to look at his junior sheriff, “What do you mean?”

“Let me tell you about it inside,” Benjamin said seriously, glancing at Mrs. Wesley, who looked away from the two men and left. Michael watched as Mrs. Wesley hurried away, debating with himself whether he ought to follow her. Something about the way she behaved just now told him she might know more than she seemed willing to admit. But the thought of this new clue was more important. Michael hurried inside the Sheriff’s office, followed by Benjamin.

“Where do you think she might be?” Michael asked, “Did someone stop by here?”

“No, it’s… I am afraid I might have made a grave error,” Benjamin said, looking mortified.

“What do you mean?” Michael replied.

“Well, the night that you went to search for Dennis, I was riding home late that night, and I noticed someone—a man I did not recognize, standing by an old abandoned shed not far from my house,” Benjamin began, taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, “I approached the man, as he looked suspicious, but he told me that he had been taking a walk and got lost.”

“And you believed him?” Michael asked, unable to keep the harsh tones from his voice.

“I, I did, yes,” Benjamin admitted, “But when I think about this now, I think he might have been guarding something. I even remember hearing…” his voice trailed away as the guilt seemed to eat away at him.

“Hear what?” Michael impatiently said.

“A knocking sound or a clunking sound of some sort,” Benjamin grimaced, “I did not think anything of it then… but now!”

“I have to go there now,” Michael said, turning away from Benjamin and striding out of the office.

How could he not have taken a moment to investigate? Could Lillian have been there this whole time? Trapped in an abandoned shed… The thought sent chills down Michael’s spine. He had to hurry before he lost too much daylight.

* * *

Michael ran towards his horse, yanking the reins free from the hitching post. He mounted the horse and pulled hard on the reins and kicked the horse’s sides, making it jump ahead. He rushed across the main road, passed the old Post Office plot, which was now starting to resemble a house, with the outer walls already raised.

That was quick. Jacob Frazier doesn’t waste any time.

Michael rode on until he neared Benjamin Hopper’s house. He slowed down and looked around, trying to see the shed that Benjamin had mentioned. But he could not see anything. He rode up and passed Hopper’s house and the house next to it but could not see which shed he had been talking about, as there were sheds by each house, and further up the road was a small barn that looked abandoned, but he could not be sure.

I should have brought him with me… I don’t have the time to look at all the sheds around here.

Frustrated, he turned around, trying to stop at the place Benjamin had described when someone called his name.

“Michael? Is that you?” Fanny Hopper called, standing outside their house, holding a washing tub full of fresh laundry.

“Oh, afternoon Fanny,” Michael said.

“How is the search going?” she asked concernedly.

“That’s actually why I am here,” Michael said, dismounting his horse and approaching Fanny.

“Really?” she asked.

“Would you happen to know which of these sheds around here is an abandoned one?” Michael asked hopefully, “Your husband mentioned an abandoned shed not far from your house.”

“Oh, sure, that one,” Fanny smiled, “It’s the one near the Henderson’ barn, the one with the partially caved-in roof,” she pointed to a tiny shed in the distance. Michael peered in her direction and was amazed he had not noticed it before, but it blended so well within its surroundings that it wasn’t hard to pass it.

“Thank you,” Michael said gratefully, making to mount his horse again.

“I am praying for the safe return of Lillian Walter,” Fanny said seriously.

“Me too,” Michael agreed as he heaved himself up and began riding up to the shed that Fanny had mentioned. It proved tricky to ride towards the shed, as the road was full of holes and loose rocks. Finally, Michael decided to dismount his horse and walk towards the shed. He tied the reins to a nearby fence and walked the short distance. He was alert and had one hand on his gun.

Slowly he approached the shed, looking around to see if anyone was around. Carefully, he pushed the wooden door open, holding out his gun, ready to shoot. But inside was nothing. Michael grimaced and put his gun back into its holster. He entered the small shed and looked around. It was hardly possible to stand upright, so he crouched down, looking for any indication that Lillian might have been there.

The floor of the shed was filthy, but Michael noticed unusual marks in the dirt. Like the marks by dragging feet. He looked outside and saw footprints, but he could not be sure if they had been his or if they had been there before.

This is indeed suspicious. Is it possible that Lillian was here?

He took one last look inside, and that’s when he noticed something stuck to the bottom of a bucket that lay there sideways. It was a torn piece of fabric, light blue material that immediately conjured up a picture of a dress moving in the wind as Lillian rode joyfully in their riding lesson. Michael grabbed the piece of fabric, holding it close to him. This could prove that she had been here… but where was she now?

* * *

Lillian stirred as she heard a soft clanking sound near her. Icy cold panic coursed through her, yet again, but slightly eased as she remembered where she was. She had been moved from that horrible little shed, thankfully. Now she was inside a much bigger place with very high ceilings. Not that she saw much of it. She was tied up on a filthy mattress in one corner and did not see much as high planks of wood surrounded her. The room was cold and smelled foul.

Lillian sat up and noticed the small tray had been returned to her. It had a jug of water, bread, and a piece of cheese. She pushed it away from her, having no appetite. Again, her mind wandered over to Michael. Would he be able to find her? She was certain he would look for her. She could not explain it, but her heart knew he would look for her.

Oh, my sweet Michael. I cannot bear being here for much longer. I long for nothing else than to hold onto you, safely in your strong embrace.

The only thing that gave her strength was closing her eyes and seeing Michael’s piercing gaze, looking at her soul. She was waiting for him, but she didn’t know how long she could wait…

* * *

Michael stood up, fury the likes of which he had never felt before filled his every core. It was only slightly dampened by the pang of fear that sat like an icy lump inside his stomach. He could not think clearly with Lillian gone. He wished he could rip the person that had done this to her apart.

I swear it upon my parents' graves that I will come for you.

He hurried back towards the hotel. He had to confirm with Dorothy that this was from Lillian’s dress. But at the moment, he was not sure if that was the right thing to do. What if this was not from Lillian’s dress, and he would cause Dorothy more pain and suffering. He would have to be cunning and get her to confirm what she had been wearing.

He knew how fragile Dorothy was, and he would not cause her even more suffering. When he arrived at the hotel, he noticed that it looked abandoned. He then rode instead toward the Sheriff’s office. Once he entered, he saw the harassed-looking Benjamin sitting at his desk, peering over a large map.

“What are you looking at?” Michael asked, standing in front of Benjamin’s desk.

“Michael, you’re back!” Benjamin said seemingly surprised. He heard but had not noticed Michael enter the office.

“This is a map of the area; I have been adding in where Frazier’s search party has been already,” he added.

“That’s good,” Michael replied, “Do you know where Dorothy Walter is at the moment?”

“I think Mrs. Henderson took her back home,” Benjamin replied before he added, “Did you find anything at the shed?”

“Yes, a piece of fabric that might have belonged to Lillian,” Michael replied gravely.

“Really?” Benjamin answered with a pained expression.

“I will need to discuss it with Dorothy, she would know the color and fabric,” Michael said, dismissing the look on Benjamin’s face.

“I want you to know how sorry I am…” Benjamin began, but Michael cut him off.

“Look, Hopper, I cannot deny that I am disappointed, but what is important now is that we keep looking,” Michael said, “Also, it was good work seeing the shed, especially in darkness.” Michael had realized that if Benjamin had not known about the shed and the area, they would not have the clue they had now.

“I will stay here tonight,” Benjamin replied, “I will not let you down.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Michael responded.

“I want to,” Benjamin answered, “I know you will not rest until Lillian is found, and nor will I.”

“I appreciate that,” Michael said.

“There is actually something you might be able to help me with,” he added, getting the burnt letter from his pocket.

“What’s that?” Benjamin asked, looking at the singed envelope.

“Old Dennis said he found this in the Post Office ruins,” Michael explained, “He saw my name and an important-looking envelope and grabbed it.”

“How about that!” Benjamin said impressed, opening the letter.

“It’s hardly legible,” he added.

“I know it is a long shot, but perhaps you can try to figure out something from it,” Michael said.

“I will try,” Benjamin replied determinately.

“Thank you, Benjamin,” Michael said, “Now I must get going.”

* * *

Michael was once again riding, this time towards the Walters’ home. There was light in the kitchen window, and Michael could see movement inside. He dismounted and led his horse towards a fence, tied the reins, and stroked the beast's forehead.

“You have been working hard today, eh,” he muttered to the horse. He turned around, and as he was about to knock on the front door, it opened, and Pat Henderson walked outside, almost crashing into Michael.

“Oh, my word,” she gasped, “You startled me!”

“Beg your pardon, ma’am,” Michael replied politely, with a small nod of his hat.

“Nothing to worry about,” Pat smiled, “I was just heading over,” she nodded in the direction of her house.

“You are welcome to come over for dinner,” she added with a small wink, “You must be hungry after all this work.”

“I thank you for a kind offer, ma’am,” Michael said, “But I will have to say no.”

“Oh, well, you take care of yourself,” Pat said, walking past him, “And I do hope you find our dear Lillian soon.”

“You and me both, Mrs. Henderson,” Michael answered, gently knocking on the open front door.

“Mrs. Walter?” he called, “It’s me, Sheriff Flemming, can I come inside?”

“Of course,” Dorothy said, walking toward the front door, “Come on inside.”

Michael walked into the kitchen and was momentarily overcome with the smell, feel, and spirit of Lillian that surrounded the house.

“I wanted to ask you if you could describe what Lillian was wearing, the last time you saw her,” Michael asked.

“She was wearing her blue dress,” Dorothy replied at once, “The one with the pearl buttons,” she nodded absentmindedly.

“Was it a light blue color?” Michael asked.

“It was,” Dorothy replied, looking intently at Michael.

“What have you found, Michael,” she asked earnestly, “If you are trying to protect me, please don’t. I want to know everything.”

“Fine.” Michael took the blue fabric from his pocket. “I found a piece of material.”

“Can I see it?” Dorothy asked shakily.

“Of course,” Michael replied, handing her the ripped cloth. Dorothy accepted it with shaking hands. She carefully examined it, and her bottom lip began trembling.

“Oh, Lillian,” she sobbed.

“It’s hers,” Michael said, more to himself than Dorothy. She nodded her head, unable to speak.

“You will find her, won’t you?” Dorothy said between sobs, “You have to find her.”

“I will, Dorothy,” Michael said seriously, “I promise.”

Michael got up to leave, taking one last look at Dorothy, “Should I ask Pat to come back?”

“No,” Dorothy said, “I need some time alone.”

“I understand,” Michael said, walking out of the kitchen.

Where should I search next? Lillian was in the shed yesterday, but someone could have taken her far away by now.

He rode back to the sheriff’s office. Perhaps Benjamin had found anything useful after studying the map. When he entered the office, Benjamin was in the back, where Vincent was sitting in the jail cell. Benjamin had been bringing him a tray of food. Michael walked inside but looked down as he felt that he had stepped on something. It was a letter. He bent down to pick it up.

“What’s that?” Benjamin asked.

“I’m not sure,” Michael replied, “It was on the floor.”

“What?” Benjamin said, surprised, “I just walked back to the cell five minutes ago, and there was nothing there then.”

“That is strange,” Michael said, “I did not see anyone walk away from the office.” Michael carefully opened the letter and read it.

Sheriff Flemming. If you do not leave this town to never return again, Lillian Walter will die. You have until morning.

Chapter Fourteen

“Who could have sent this?” Benjamin said anxiously.

“I don’t know,” Michael replied, “But it is clear that the fire in my home and Lillian’s disappearance is connected. This is just like Father mentioned in his notes—this is much bigger than we can imagine.”

“What are you going to do?” Benjamin asked.

“I need to try to find out who knew that I had been spending time with Lillian,” Michael pondered, “Who would know that taking her would have more of an impact than taking someone else?”

“I would think Vincent here,” Benjamin said, “But there is no way he sent that letter, and he has not talked to anyone since he came here.”

“He might have accomplices,” Michael said, “I think I will have a little talk with him.” Michael walked to the back of the Sheriff’s office, where the two connected jail cells were situated.

“Hey,” Michael called, startling Vincent. He looked absolutely miserable sitting on the metal bench, his hair unkempt, and his clothes ruffled. He was clutching his right hand, the cloth he had used to cover it with soaked through.

“Benjamin,” Michael said, “Go fetch Doc Littlefield, he will have to take a look at his hand.”

“Sure,” Benjamin replied and turned around.

“Thank you for that,” Vincent replied with a weak voice.

“You need to tell me if you were working with someone,” Michael asked him calmly.

“What do you mean work with?” Vincent asked, “I work with many people; I’m a businessman!”

“Did you ask anyone to threaten me?” Michael asked, his voice now icy cold, “And know that I will tell if you are lying to me.”

“Of course not,” Vincent replied quickly, “Why would I do that?”

“You tried to shoot me,” Michael pointed out.

“I… I know, but I did not try to threaten you,” Vincent said desperately.

“I was jealous… She was kind and sweet to me, but she lit up when she spoke your name,” Vincent added bitterly, “I noticed her look at you, and she never looked at me that way. I was stupid, and I thought I could make all my problems go away if I shot you, but I made everything much much worse.”

“All right then,” Michael said, noticing Benjamin walking inside, accompanied by Doctor Littlefield.

“The Doctor will mend your hand now,” he added, turning around, greeting the doctor now walking toward the cell, holding his big, black doctor’s bag.

“I really do hope you find her soon,” Vincent said. Michael didn’t reply but left the office, yet again.

* * *

Michael knocked on the front door of the Walters’ home. He had decided to walk this time, allowing his poor horse to rest. The walk had also given him time to think more about the letter. Someone who had known about his connection with Lillian was trying, with increasingly more dangerous actions, to get Michael to leave this town.

There was no doubt in his mind anymore about there being a direct link between all the fires and the disappearance of Lillian. His father had been investigating this before he died, and he had wanted Michael to know what was happening. Although, he never wrote about it plainly. It was as if he did not trust someone would confiscate his letters.

“Sheriff?” Dorothy said, surprised as she opened the front door, “What are you doing back here so soon?”

“Can I come in, Dorothy?” Michael seriously asked

“Of course,” she said, moving to let him inside.

“Has something happened?” she asked, “Do you know where my Lilli is?”

“No, I don’t know where she is. Please, sit down.” Dorothy looked nervous, but she did as he asked.

“Not long ago, I received a threat,” Michael began, “Stating that if I do not leave Rust Canyon in the morning, that Lillian will be…” he hesitated before saying, “killed.”

“Oh, no,” Dorothy vailed.

“I want you to know that if I thought me leaving Rust Canyon would bring back Lillian, that I would…” he added, but Dorothy looked up, her face covered in tears.

“You cannot leave,” she said, “If you leave, I don’t think I will ever see my sweet Lilli ever again.”

Michael was slightly surprised she had not demanded that he leave her house and the state, at once. “I think there is a connection between the fires and Lillian’s disappearance.

“It’s this damned town,” Dorothy sobbed, “My darling Philip warned me once about it.”

“He did?” Michael asked at once.

“Can you tell me more about what he said?”

“It was, well, he had been agitated,” Dorothy began, “This was shortly before he died. He did not tell me what was bothering him so, but I could see it the way he could not sleep anymore. He would get up in the middle of the night, and I would hear him walking back and forth outside.”

“What did he say about Rust Canyon?” Michael asked.

“One night, he had been unwilling to eat, and he had been worried,” Dorothy continued, “He had a lot to drink that night. And he told me that we were going to leave Rust Canyon very soon.”

“Really?” Michael said, astonished.

“The next day, he was going to go to the bank to take out all of our money,” she said sobbing.

“That was the day he was killed,” she added and began wailing.

“Did he tell you that he was going to the bank to take out the money?” Michael asked.

Dorothy looked guiltily at her hands before she muttered, “No. I read it in his journal. I know I should not have, it was his private possession, but he had been behaving so oddly that I wanted to see what it was that weighed so heavily on him.”

“Do you have the journal?” Michael said.

“No,” Dorothy replied sadly, “After he died, I looked for it all over the house. It’s not here.”

“Do you think Philip’s murder is connected to all of this?” she asked nervously.

“I think it is very likely,” Michael said, “I would have to see this journal.”

“You can have a look in his study,” Dorothy said, “There are many papers there, which I have looked through, but I have not thrown anything away. It is as he left it.”

“Can you show me the study?” Michael asked, standing up.

“This way,” Dorothy said, leading him down the small hallway. She paused by a door and looked inside it, sighing heavily. It was Lillian’s room, Michael realized. He glanced inside, and his insides twisted as her scent greeted him as he walked passed the room. Dorothy then stopped in front of another door and opened it.

“Here it is,” she said sorrowfully. The room was a small one with a beautiful view from the window, which had a desk right below it. On the desk were papers all over and notebooks, very similar to the ones that Michael’s father used.

Michael picked one up and leafed through it. It had notes about the potential and past contracts, nothing that looked like the personal thoughts of Philip Walter. Michael opened the drawers but didn’t find anything that caught his attention. He tried to open the top drawer, but it was locked.

“Do you have a key for this one?” Michael asked.

“There is no key,” Dorothy said, “Philip mentioned that he had lost it a long time ago.”

Michael grabbed a letter knife from the table and pushed it between the drawer and the desk, moving it back and forwards. Finally, there was a clinking sound, and Michael was able to pull out the drawer.

“Hmm, I wonder what this is?” Michael said, picking up a carefully folded note. He opened it, and the only thing written there were numbers.

“Do these numbers mean anything to you?” he said, turning to look at Dorothy.

“No,” she said after looking at the piece of paper, “But, oh my,” she whispered, looking into the drawer. Very old looking letters, held together with a red bow, sat in the corner. She picked them up gingerly.

“He kept them,” she sobbed quietly.

“These are letters I sent him, first after we met,” she explained, “He was studying in Dallas, and we had fallen in love… I cannot believe he kept these for all this time.”

“He must have cared greatly about you,” Michael said.

“I think he would have liked you,” Dorothy replied, wiping her tears, “He always liked your father very much.”

“Were they friends?” Michael asked, surprised.

“Well, Philip at least always spoke very kindly about your father,” Dorothy said her focus on the letters in her hand.

“All right then,” Michael said, his mind full of questions, “I will go now.”

“Thank you again, Michael,” Dorothy said, “and remember, you are on the side of angels.”

Michael tipped his hat and hastily left the house.

These numbers could be coordinates.

* * *

Michael pushed open the door of the Sheriff’s office. He had half run from the Walters’ home, anxious to see if he could find the coordinates on a map. Benjamin looked up from his desk, which looked even more crowded if that was even possible. He had a high stack of old envelopes and was carefully examining them.

“Where’s the map?” Michael asked. Benjamin pointed to the map he had been perusing over earlier, clearly deep in thought. Michael grabbed the map and unfolded it onto the table. The numbers on the paper were not written in a row, so it was possible to start reading the numbers in many different ways.

I wonder if Philip wrote it this way deliberately? To make it difficult if anyone got a hold of this note?

Outside was getting increasingly darker, and the two men worked in silence. Michael had a notebook next to him, and he wrote down possible locations. There were already a few around Rust Canyon, but other combinations of the numbers were far away from here. The lack of sleep was slowly catching up on Michael, even if he tried to fight it with all his strength.

Michael opened his eyes, what felt like only a moment after he had closed them, but the sunlight that shone inside the window told him it was morning. He groaned as he sat up, realizing he had fallen asleep on top of the map. Michael turned around and saw that Benjamin had fallen asleep as well, still holding a pencil in his hand.

He looked down at what he had written down, and everything came back to him at once. The threat, the numbers from Philip’s note. Thinking fast, he grabbed the map, the notebook, a water canteen, and a piece of ham someone must have brought the day before. He walked out of the office, careful not to wake up Benjamin. Outside was no one, and Michael hurried to his horse. He had to get away, to make Lillian’s captors think he had left town. He needed more time.

* * *

Michael rode on a small backroad that led to his house. He was not sure how long he would be away, so he would need to grab a few more things from the house. He looked around before he entered the house, groaning at the smell of burnt wood that still permeated the house.

Michael grabbed his rucksack and filled it with the ham, map and water canteen, and grabbed the remaining cans from the empty looking pantry, as well as a bottle of bourbon and all the letters his father had sent him. He took a quick look at the map one more time, seeing where the first combination of the numbers would lead him. It was not far away, perhaps an hour riding. Michael left the house and hurriedly mounted his horse, hoping he would be lucky and find the correct location in the first try.

* * *

Benjamin woke up, confused as to why there was a pencil in his hand, and an envelope stuck to his chin. He sat up and realized he was still at the office. He looked around to see if Michael had noticed him sleeping when he saw that Michael was nowhere to be seen. A knock on the front door caught his attention. He noticed his wife walking into the office.

“I brought you some breakfast.” Fanny put a basket with eggs, bread, and a jug of milk on a chair next to Benjamin’s desk.

“You are an angel sent from heaven, that is for sure,” Benjamin said gratefully.

“I figured you had stayed here working, and I knew you would need food,” she said.

“You were right,” Benjamin replied, grabbing an egg from the basket.

“I brought food for Michael as well,” Fanny said, looking around, “I figured he would also be here?”

“He was here last night,” Benjamin said, “I don’t know where he is.”

“I’m sure he will back soon,” Fanny replied consolingly but was startled at the look on her husband.

“What is it, dear?” she asked concernedly.

“Oh, I hope I am wrong,” Benjamin said, standing up, looking over at the place where Michael had sat last night.

“What do you mean?” Fanny said.

“I just hope Michael didn’t leave town because of the threat,” Benjamin muttered.

“What threat?” Fanny asked, alarmed.

“Lillian’s captors told him they would kill her if he did not leave Rust Canyon for good,” Benjamin said seriously, looking at Michael’s empty desk.

* * *

Michael had been riding for much more than an hour. There was nothing around him that he imagined could be the place on Philip’s note—if it had even been a specific location. Perhaps this number was something completely different? But Michael could not believe that. Philip had kept that note safe in a locked drawer alongside letters from his wife.

This had to be more than a coincident. Michael stopped riding, taking a look at the other possible location from the coordinates. It was on the other side of the town, and he would need to make an extra detour if he wanted Lillian’s captors to think that he had succumbed to their threat. He sighed and took a sip from his water canteen. This was going to a very long day, and the sun was unusually hot today.

“Let’s go,” Michael said to his horse, dragging it away from the small enclosure it was standing at.

* * *

The burning hot sunbeams made the riding almost unbearable. The only good thing about this weather was that not many people were around. Michael had been riding for three hours now, the detour road he was riding on was a tricky and narrow road, which made the riding even slower. He was finally nearing the second location.

As he turned at a cluster of trees, he noticed a warehouse ahead. This could be it, Michael thought, and kicked his horse’s side to make it run faster. He slowed down around a half a mile away from the warehouse, not wanting to draw any attention his way. He tied the reins near a small stream of water, which his horse immediately began drinking from. Michael walked towards the small warehouse, pushing open the door to the side of it.

Inside was very dark and not many things were there. A few old saddles, a broken carriage, and an ancient-looking barrel. Michael walked towards the barrel and lifted the top from it. A cloud of dust covered his face, causing him to cough violently. When he finally managed to calm his lungs, he put his hand deep inside the barrel.

There was nothing but dust and dirt, but suddenly, at the very bottom corner, he could feel something hard. He pulled up a worn-out book, a journal. Michael opened the first page and saw Philip Walter’s name; He had found it!

Chapter Fifteen

Lillian twisted around, trying to get into a slightly more comfortable position. She groaned silently as her side ached from the awkward angle she had been sitting in on the mattress. She could sense that it was getting late, as coldness swept over the building she was in. Her hands trembled, and she swallowed the sob that tried to escape out of her lips. Lillian had been dozing on and off for the past few hours. Something about the eerie silence made her sit up.

All day she had been hearing movement outside and muttered voices. As much as she tried to make out what the voices were saying or who they were, it was no use. Whoever her captors were, they took care to stay close enough to observe her but just far away enough so that she could only every once in a while see their black-clad outlines. One of the men was slightly shorter than the other one, and the taller one seemed to be the one that was in charge.

Lillian observed the food they had brought her. The thought of eating it was despicable, but she would need to eat; she was going to need her strength. She sat up straight and pulled the tray of food nearer, rather clumsily with her hands tied together.

She broke a small piece of cheese and popped it into her mouth. Her mouth was so dry that she could barely chew. She took the water jug and drank from it, her body felt tingly after she had swallowed a near quarter of the pitcher in one sip.

At once, she felt much better. Her hands weren’t trembling anymore, and her mind felt alert. She tore a piece of the bread, somewhat awkwardly with her bound hands, and ate it. It was dry, but with the cheese, the taste was not too bad. With every bite, her thoughts calmed, and she felt a fiery breath of strength wash over her. She was not going to let them break her.

Lillian had known then, even if she had not admitted to herself at that time, that Michael was the first man that ever saw her for the woman she was. He had believed in her from the moment they met, and Lillian felt with a certainty she could not explain, that he would find her, and he would save her.

Now I will only need to find out who these men are that are keeping me here and why!

* * *

Michael sat inside the abandoned warehouse and read the journal. It was mostly a journal of Philip Walter’s life, his thought about his family, the life in Rust Canyon, his work, and the future. Michael quickly skimmed through the journal, trying to find any clues that could tie him to his father or could possibly explain how Philip had been mixed up with the fires. But to his great annoyance, there were no obvious clues or hints.

Near the very last journal entries, Michael could find the page that Dorothy had been talking about. Sure enough, there Philip wrote about going to the bank and taking out all their money. He talked about Rust Canyon not being safe and that he would stop at nothing. Michael wondered who Philip could be writing about? It was clear that it was someone he knew, judging by the way he wrote about him, but why would he not write the name?

This was all rather strange. The last few pages were written more hastily, and the writing was more erratic. In the beginning, the writing was straight and legible, but the last page had ink blots on it, and Michael suspected that Philip might have been drinking, judging by the small stain on the bottom of the page.

I do not understand this. Why was it so important for Philip to hide this journal?

* * *

Benjamin ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. He was at a loss of what he should do next. For the past few hours, he had been at the sheriff’s office, trying to busy himself with paperwork, but he could not concentrate. Fanny had left not long ago, begging him not to stay too late again.

Benjamin had told his wife he was not sure when he could head home. Without Michael, he felt useless, like he was suddenly missing a limb. But he had to focus; he would not let Michael down—again.

A loud knock on the front door caused him to jump to his feet.

“Flemming!” called Jacob Frazier, walking inside.

“Jacob,” Benjamin replied, “What can I do for you?”

“I came to see the sheriff,” Jacob said, looking around, “Where is he?

“He, uh…” Benjamin hesitated, “He’s not in at the moment,” he spluttered finally.

“Where did he go?” Jacob asked.

“I cannot discuss that at the moment,” Benjamin said, trying to keep his face stern.

“As long as he’s looking for my niece,” Jacob barked.

“He is,” Benjamin replied, swallowing nervously.

“When do you expect he will return here?” Jacob asked impatiently.

“Well…” Benjamin began, but Jacob cut him off.

“I cannot keep the hotel closed for another day,” Jacob said, “But I want to know where he is looking. I could spare a few workers; I just want to help.”

“I know you do.”

“You know, Hopper, that Lillian and her mother are the only family I have left. I cannot bear to lose them.”

“We will find her,” Benjamin said, trying to sound encouraging but failing.

“Just… Tell Flemming to come see me when he returns,” Jacob said.

“I will,” Benjamin replied.

As soon as Jacob left the office, Benjamin walked back towards Michael’s desk. He had taken the map. I just hope you have a plan, Michael.

* * *

I am sure there is something here, Michael thought, flipping through the journal again. Philip wrote about many places in his day to day musings. Some were just places that he had mentioned were of interest, or that showed potential. What could that mean?

Suddenly, Michael had an idea. He found the page he had just been reading and saw that Philip had written about the old barn that had been burned. The same one, his father, had mentioned. Philip said that it had great potential. Could it be that Philip knew it would be burned?

Hurriedly, Michael flipped through the book once more, looking for any indication of the other buildings that had been burned. And there it was.

This might be more than a simple concern of an old man. I think the Wesley shop is a prime example of a potential target. There have been signs. I will be alert and must remember to discuss this with S.

This is it… Philip had been writing about the burnt buildings. But how could he know that? And how did he know this… Also, who is this S?

Michael stood up and was about to close the journal when a name caught his attention: Lillian.

My sweet Lillian has yet again been causing Dorothy to worry out of her wits. Another man, someone not from around here, seemed quite keen on courting her. But my Lillian turned him down, in her ever so gentle way.

She had turned some stranger away. The mere thought that someone had thought they would be good enough for her sent Michael’s heart racing. He knew that no one could ever be good enough for this angel, but he was determined that he would try to be.

Michael stared at Lillian’s name for a moment before closing the journal and putting it in the inside pocket of his vest. It would soon be too dark to ride, and he wanted to ride toward one of the houses that Philip wrote about.

It was near the town boundary, on the opposite end to the valley, where he had found Dennis. There he would need to make camp for the night. Michael walked out of the warehouse and walked back toward his horse, still thinking about Lillian.

* * *

Benjamin heard a noise and loud voices arguing in front of the sheriff’s office during the late afternoon. The unmistaken sound of a fist hitting flesh, made him, somewhat hesitantly though, get up and go outside to investigate what was going on. When he came outside, he saw poor old Dennis on the ground, clutching his face. Above him stood Daniel Tillings, one of the workers on the only horse ranch in Rust Canyon. Daniel was fuming, his fist still clenched.

“You stay away from her,” Tillings bellowed, “Or I will finish you…”

“Woah, woah,” Benjamin said, stepping in front of the crouching figure of Dennis, “What is going on here?”

“Why haven’t you arrested this scum?” Tillings spat, pointing at Dennis.

“Why should I arrest Dennis?” Benjamin asked perplexed.

“It’s obvious he’s the one that took Miss Walter,” Tilling said. Benjamin stared at the man in front of him, completely dumbfounded.

“What on earth makes you say that?” Benjamin finally said.

“He’s up to no good,” Tillings said, his fury wearing off him. Benjamin smelled alcohol from his breath.

“You and I both know that Dennis is harmless,” Benjamin said stoically.

“He’s…” Tillings began, but all fight seemed to have left him. Benjamin took a step closer to him, not wanting to give the chatterboxes that had surrounded them, too much information.

“Where is this coming from, Daniel?” Benjamin asked quietly.

“They said he was after May,” Daniel hissed, “My May!”

“Who said that?” Benjamin said quickly.

“The fellas at the tavern,” Daniel said, “They told me he had been talking about how my May would be next…”

“That’s just the drink talking,” Benjamin said. “Now, go and sleep it off.”

Tillings didn’t reply but turned around and stumbled away, bumping into people that had gathered to observe the proceedings.

“Come on now, folks.” Benjamin bent down to help Dennis up. “There’s nothing to see here.”

Slowly people began to walk away, chattering animatedly of the scene they had just witnessed. Benjamin felt his face flush red as he heard two ladies say in a disapproving tone, “Where’s the sheriff? I wonder if he has had enough… Probably the pressure.”

Benjamin squared his jaw, trying to keep from lashing out at them. “How are you, Dennis?” he asked.

“Huh, you know me,” Dennis said with a bleeding grin, “It takes more than that to finish me off.”

“Come on, you can rest a bit in the office,” Benjamin offered. Dennis looked inside the empty office and turned to look at Hopper.

“Nah,” Dennis replied, “I’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure,” Benjamin asked.

“Sure am,” Dennis said, strolling away from him. Benjamin turned around and was startled to see Dorothy standing by the door.

“Hello, Dorothy,” Benjamin said tiredly.

“Where is Sheriff Flemming?” Dorothy said at once.

“Come inside,” Benjamin said thoughtfully, looking around. There were still folks around, trying to appear as if they had not just been eavesdropping.

Benjamin closed the door after they entered the office.

“Where is he?” Dorothy repeated.

“Michael is…” Benjamin began but stopped. He had no idea what he should tell her.

“Why has he not come by to see me?” Dorothy asked, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“Dorothy,” Benjamin began, “I… I cannot tell you much, but I can assure you that Michael is doing what he thought would be best for your daughter.”

“He left, didn’t he?” Dorothy stated timidly. Panic seemed to be slowly taking over her, and Benjamin just managed to rush over to her before she fell to the floor.

“Come on, sit down,” he said reassuringly, guiding her to a chair.

“He left because of the threat,” Dorothy stated.

“I can’t be sure, but we must not tell anyone about this,” Benjamin said imploringly.

“My Lilli,” Dorothy sobbed, “Without Michael, how will she ever come back.”

“We must have faith, Dorothy,” Benjamin said, “For you and I both know that Michael Flemming will not rest until Lillian has been returned safely to you.”

* * *

Later that night, Benjamin stood up from his desk, feeling exhausted. He had spent considerable time trying to calm down Dorothy Walters. She had agreed not to tell anyone that Michael had gone, but she had been but a shell of herself when he had walked her home about an hour earlier. This day had been a nightmare, Benjamin thought as he looked around the lonely looking office.

Not knowing where Michael was or when he would return to Rust Canyon weighed heavily on him. Suddenly, he could not bear to be at the office anymore. The darkness that was settling over the town felt traitorous and untrusting. He looked at all the files and notes from his and Michael’s investigation. After a moment’s pause, he collected all the documents together into a rucksack and took it with him.

He rode quickly home, looking around for any signs of anything unusual. There was light inside his house, and the familiar warmth filled him, instantly calming him. At least here, he knew everything was as it should be.

“Hello, dear,” Fanny said with a smile as Benjamin walked into the kitchen. She was clearing away in the kitchen, and the house was quiet like it always is when the boys are in bed.

“Hi.” Benjamin sat down with a heavy thud.

“I will fetch your dinner,” Fanny sat, walking towards the pot on the stove. She poured the delicious smelling bean soup into a bowl and put it in front of him, along with bread.

“Thank you,” Benjamin said, eating slowly, savoring every bite.

“Any sign of Michael?” Fanny asked.

“No,” Benjamin said, “And already there was a brawl outside the office, and Mrs. Walter does not seem to have much faith in me,” he muttered, “Or this town.”

“Benjamin Hopper,” Fanny said determinately, “You are a kind, loyal man, who is good in his job.”

“You are sweet,” Benjamin replied.

“I’m telling the truth,” she answered.

“I just don’t know…” Benjamin said, pushing away his bowl, not feeling hungry anymore.

“Papa?” said a small voice from the hallway.

“Come here, Ian,” Benjamin said to his son, that stood in the darkness looking nervous. Ian strolled towards his father.

“What is it, son?” Benjamin asked, patting the chair next to him.

“I can’t sleep,” Ian said quietly.

“Is it the same dream again?” Benjamin said, looking at his son.

“Uh-huh,” Ian nodded his head.

“It’s only a dream,” Benjamin said reassuringly, “We do not need to fear our dreams, although they can be frightening.”

“I also wanted to see you,” Ian whispered, looking away as if he thought he would be reprimanded for saying this.

“I am glad to see you, son.” Benjamin stroked his son’s auburn hair.

“Now you should go back to bed,” he added.

“All right, papa,” Ian said, standing up. He was still looking at his father when he tripped over Benjamin’s rucksack, causing all the notes and documents to spill all over the floor.

“I’m sorry, papa,” Ian said, terrified, beginning to gather up the papers.

“No need to worry,” Benjamin reassured, joining him to pick up the papers. Benjamin put the papers in an uneven stack on the kitchen table. Ian crawled under the kitchen bench to retrieve some of the smaller notes that had shot away.

“Here you go,” Ian said, handing his father the small pile of papers.

“Thank you, and now you should go to bed,” Benjamin said. Ian turned to walk away. He had walked a few steps when he bent down and picked up an envelope, handing it to his father.

Benjamin held out his hand, but Ian seemed quite mesmerized with the note.

“Ian?” Benjamin asked good-naturedly.

“Oh, sorry, papa,” Ian smiled, “It just such a fancy letter.”

“Why do you say that?” Benjamin asked curiously.

“Because of the sea waves,” Ian explained, pointing to the bottom of the envelope. Benjamin looked where Ian was gesturing. The imprint of the paper had a pattern, which was quite hard to make out. But when he looked closer, he could see how his son would think this was sea waves.

Suddenly, an idea struck into his mind. Michael mentioned that Dennis saw an important-looking envelope, a fancy one. How peculiar he would use the same description as Ian had. Benjamin turned the envelope and opened it. Inside was a letter from Dallas, and Benjamin nearly dropped it when he saw the signature: Rex Rodgers, bounty hunter. Rex… hunter… He had found it! He knew who had sent the letter Dennis found.

Chapter Sixteen

Michael rode ahead, nearing the place mentioned in Philip’s journal. It was a farmhouse, with an unusually large fence around the perimeter. In the looming dusk, the farm looked rather formidable. Michael slowed down as he neared the entrance, where he noticed that the front door had two wooden planks roughly nailed crisscrossed over it.

This was definitely very strange.

Michael dismounted and peered into the window of the house. There was a thick layer of cobwebs covering most of the window. Michael walked around the house and looked through all the windows, and the house looked cold and abandoned. He walked around to the barn, which he supposed must have been impressive at one time but seemed unsafe and derelict now.

This was all very strange, especially when he considered that this could not have been this way for a long time. Philip wrote about this in his journal a few months ago, not longer than a year ago. And now, this looked like no one lived here.

I should perhaps spend tonight here? Beats sleeping under the clear sky, at least, and I will have some time to investigate further.

Michael led his horse, who had been thoroughly enjoying the tall, unruly grass that grew all around the farm, into the stable. He took the saddle of its back and stroked its back and head.

“You certainly are a good one,” Michael said, chuckling as the horse smelled his vest, interestedly. Michael returned to the farm and walked to the back door, which was not nailed shut like the front door. Michael tried the doorknob, but it was locked. Feeling frustrated, he stepped up close to the door. With all his weight on his side, he pushed hard a few times until the door sprung open. A cloud of dust billowed into the air, and the floorboards creaked as Michael walked inside.

He wasn’t particularly happy with breaking into this house, but these were desperate times. This house had all the signs of a hasty retreat. Or perhaps escape? There was a chair that lay on its side in the kitchen, and Michael imagined people moving around, stuffing possessions into bags. Because although the house was completely furnished, there was nothing else here—no old pictures on the mantle, no books or a sewing basket, not even a hat on a hook near the front door.

The kitchen cabinets were open, and there were still mugs and bowls inside some of them. Michael peered inside the pantry and was surprised to find that it still had quite a few cans of beans and a tin of coffee. He grabbed one of the cans and blew away the dust.

He had not eaten anything today, and the residents of this house would likely not miss this can of beans. He opened it up and grabbed a fork from a drawer next to the stove. Cold beans weren’t his favorite type of dinner, but he certainly had eaten worse.

Michael sat down in a dusty looking armchair and rummaged in his rucksack, finally pulling out his father’s letters, which he had tied securely together with a leather string. Outside was almost pitch black now, the only light coming from an oil lamp that had been left behind, which was almost out of oil. Michael grabbed the bottle he had brought with him and took a generous swig from it. He opened one of the oldest letters from the pile.

Perhaps I can find some trace of father talking about the buildings and places Philip mentioned.

Michael was reading the third letter his father had sent him after he left. He had still been in Arizona, enjoying being away from Rust Canyon, seeing new places and people. He had been excited for a new adventure, although he had spent much of his time ignoring the pang of guilt he had felt every time his father sent another letter.

Michael sighed and took another swig from the bottle. The remorse of not being here when all this was happening was creeping up on him again. He had dismissed his father’s frequent letters, not writing back nearly as often, making excuses for being preoccupied. Michael had even felt as if his father sounded like… an old man, blabbering on and on.

Dearest Michael. The fall is about to arrive; I can feel it. There is change in the air, and I am not certain it will be for the better. Rust Canyon has an infestation. It is hard to know which houses are affected, and we must tread carefully, lest we carry vermin with us. It is unlike me to be interested in such activities, but perhaps it is my old age or simply my solitude. Yet again, I am stuck in the middle. There was a brawl between Mr. Wesley and the farmer upstate, Mr. Everett. I was close to putting both of them in the lock-up. As if neither of those needs a vermin issue, on top of everything else.

I am awaiting your next letter with great anticipation, son, and I do hope I will not have to wait quite so long this time.

Yours respectfully, S. Flemming.

Hang on… That doesn’t make sense. Why didn’t I notice that before? Michael thought, rereading the letter. What was it father would always call the criminals he caught and searched for his whole life—Vermin.

A vivid memory from Michael’s childhood popped up at once. Michael had been around eight years old at the time. His father had caught him and a friend sneaking from church to steal a bottle of cider from the general store. Michael’s friend, a skinny boy, called Joseph, ran away as Michael’s father appeared behind them, his intimidating glare enough to make all color drain from both of the boys’ faces.

He had dragged Michael back to the station, right in front of the jail cell, and made Michael look at the man sitting inside. Michael could not remember who it had been; all he remembered was that it had been some petty thief his father had caught red-handed.

“Are you going to end up like this one?” Michael remembered his father saying, “A liar and a thief? Nothing more than vermin?”

Michael had shaken his head, but looking confusedly at his father, whispering, “What is vermin?” His father had replied, “A rat, like this one. If you find one, there is undoubtedly another one laying around. You need to fill up all holes and find the nest. That’s what we do to vermin here,” his father had said, pointing his last words at the man behind bars.

This must be what his father had been referring to, Michael was sure of it. This story had been one of his father’s favorite, one which he re-told many times.

Mr. Wesley… Vermin issue? Michael muddled over. Not long after this letter, Mr. Wesley died. “Hard to know which houses are affected.”

There was a connection there. Philip wrote about houses having potential, and Michael’s father wrote about an infestation. This might be much bigger than he could have ever anticipated. Michael needed more information, someone who his father might have confided in. The trouble was who could he trust?

* * *

The following morning Benjamin walked determinately into the office. He began by checking up on his prisoner, who sat looking more miserable than ever before. Benjamin felt rather sorry for Vincent, but he would not lament when he would not be his problem anymore.

Benjamin needed to send a telegraph, but after the post office had burnt down, it was taking a much longer time than before to send and receive letters. He was about to stand up and go see John Hickley when someone burst through the front door of the office.

“What is going on?” Benjamin said, walking towards the ruckus.

“Hopper,” Jacob Frazier said with a booming voice.

“You cannot simply burst in here,” Benjamin said resoundingly.

“I am about to lose my mind,” Jacob said, “Where is the Sheriff?” He made himself likely to walk further into the office, but now Benjamin had had enough.

“Stop this, Jacob,” he rebuked.

“Now listen,” Jacob said icily, “I just went to see Dorothy, and she cannot get out of bed, I believe her concerns might prove too much for her.”

“You need to tell me where Flemming went,” he finished, breathing heavily.

“Jacob,” Benjamin said, uncharacteristically stern, “The Sheriff is doing his job…”

“His job is to be here,” Jacob cut him off.

“Jacob,” Benjamin repeated, but Jacob shook his head, turned around, and stormed out of the office. Benjamin walked after him, feeling his ears burning red. He was going to ask Jacob to come back inside to smooth things over, but Jacob hurled at him: “Has he perhaps given up?” Jacob spat.

“How dare you,” Benjamin heaved.

“He hasn’t been Sheriff for more than a few months, and when the going gets tough, he vanishes,” Jacob yelled, and there was a small crowd gathering around them.

“This is my family that is suffering. My niece, my sweet, darling niece, who has never so much as hurt a fly, is gone,” Jacob had to take a deep breath as the thought of Lillian seemed too much for him. When he had composed himself, he continued, “And now my cousin’s wife is withering away before my own two eyes. I want to know where our Sheriff is.”

Benjamin was at a complete loss for what to say. He could see people putting their heads together, whispering. As he was silent for longer and longer, the whispering grew louder. But by some grace of God, Benjamin was saved the retort by the sound of an approaching carriage.

It was a small, black carriage, drawn by two strong looking horses. Bars covered the windows of the carriage, and two men sat accompanying the carriage. The carriage rider was a tall man with a grey beard, pipe between his teeth, and a patch over one eye. The other man seemed to be younger but had a bandana over his mouth, and his hat was drawn low.

“Howdy,” the grey-bearded man said.

“Morning,” Benjamin said to the strange man.

“Which one of y’all is Hopper?” The man asked.

“That would be me,” Benjamin replied.

“I’m Cleveland ‘the Blind’ Ramsey,” the man chuckled, gesturing to his eye patch when he said blind.

“Benjamin Hopper,” he said.

“I am here on official business,” Cleveland said, “Along with my associate,” he nodded to the other man, “From Gatesville Sheriff’s office.” Cleveland jumped down from the carriage and walked towards Benjamin, handing him an envelope. Benjamin opened it and saw the signature of the Sheriff in Gatesville and the confirmation of what Cleveland was saying.

In all the confusion since Michael had gone, he had not had the chance to even think about the telegram from Gatesville, informing that they would be sending someone over to pick up Vincent.

“We’re here to pick up your prisoner,” Cleveland said with a wide grin.

“Of course,” Benjamin replied, “Follow me.” He walked back into the Sheriff’s office, pleased to see that the arrival of these two men had at least taken the attention away from Michael not being present.

* * *

Michael woke early after a restless sleep. Throughout the night, he saw Lillian, hidden away in some horrible shed, calling his name over and over. Each time he approached her in his dream, she fell further away from him, crying and asking why he would not save her. Waking up in that empty house made him miss his half-burnt down one.

Although that was not really true. Michael stood up from the bed he had slept in and walked into the kitchen. Last night he had managed to light a fire in the stove, although it took him a very long time. He found the coffee tin and heated water. He was going to go out early and search for one of the other houses that Philip had written about.

Michael was sure that the best solution was to find someone who might know more, but the question remained—who that might be? He did not dare to go to the town just yet. Michael wanted to maintain the illusion that he had succumbed to the threat he had been sent. Otherwise, he feared that he would put Lillian in ever greater danger than she was currently.

Michael took his belongings and stuffed them into his rucksack. He grabbed another tin of beans and made sure there was no trace of his being in the house. Once he had fetched his horse, he rode ahead, down a beautiful road, covered by tall trees.

He was about to make a turn when he heard the sound of hooves approaching. He pulled back on the reins, staying in the clearing of a heavy branch, which hid him from the adjoining road. The sound grew louder, and finally, he saw a familiar figure riding, getting bigger and more apparent. It was Doctor Littlefield.

Michael observed the Doctor, trying to make up his mind. His father had always spoken highly of Doctor Littlefield. However, Michael wasn’t sure who he could truly trust. As the Doctor rode past the clearing that Michael was at, he made up his mind. I will have to take my chance; I cannot waste any more time. Michael rode ahead, causing Doctor Littlefield to slow down to a stop.

“Sheriff?” Doctor Littlefield said, surprised, “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I am looking for Lillian Walter,” Michael replied.

“Here?” Doctor Littlefield asked.

“Doctor,” Michael hurried to say, “I need to ask you a question.”

“Ask away,” the Doctor said, “Mind you, I have been over at the Johnsons almost all night, Amos Johnson had a nasty cut that was infected, so I would prefer to speak in my office, or later today…”

“I’m afraid that is not possible,” Michael interrupted him.

“Well then,” Doctor Littlefield said, “What would you like to know?”

“Not here,” Michael replied, “Follow me.” He turned around and rode back towards the abandoned house he had just vacated.

“Can I ask why we are going to the Everett farm?” Doctor Littlefield asked as they led the horses to the stable.

“I think it is wise if I do not tell you too much,” Michael said as he returned into the house, “But I will make us some coffee. Then I will need to ask you about what you know about my father’s last months.”

“I have been waiting for this,” Doctor Littlefield sighed, to Michael’s great surprise, “Now I am going to need that cup of coffee.”

Michael walked into the kitchen and began heating the coffee he had made earlier. He returned after a little while with two mugs of coffee and handed one to the Doctor that sat at the kitchen table, looking somber.

“Why did you say you have been expecting this?” Michael asked.

“Your father,” Doctor Littlefield began, “In the end, he was… Well, he was not like himself.”

“How do you mean?” Michael asked.

“I knew you father for a long time,” Doctor Littlefield continued, “And in his last months, he had begun to behave differently.”

“How so?”

“He was secretive, and he spent a majority of his time cooped up, either at the Sheriff’s office or in his home. But after the tragic death of Mr. Wesley, he came to me,” he said.

“What did he say to you?” Michael asked.

“He told me to make sure that you would be informed of his suspicions, in case anything ever happened to him,” Doctor Littlefield said, looking intently at Michael. “He said that you should know the truth about what was going on in Rust Canyon.”

The Doctor paused for a long while as he finished the last of his coffee.

“Truth about what?” Michael said impatiently. It was infuriating how long it was taking the man to say this.

“Your father said there was a curse over Rust Canyon,” Doctor Littlefield said calmly.

“A curse?” Michael gaped. This did not sound like his father at all. He had never been one to believe in anything supernatural or what he would always call it Old Wives’ Tales.

“My father said there was a curse over Rust Canyon?” Michael repeated in disbelief.

“I hope you forgive me for not telling you this sooner,” Doctor Littlefield said apologetically.

“When he came to see me, he had written it all down in his journal and told me that you must know about how all the signs point to a curse.”

“Curse,” Michael muttered, more confused than ever.

“I simply thought his mind was going,” Doctor Littlefield said sadly, “I had hoped I would never have to tell you about this, but I suspect he wrote about this in one of his journals. I did not want to tarnish his memory.”

Michael sat in stunned silence. A curse? It did not make sense. All the signs point to… Wait a minute. Something shifted in his mind, something that sounded very much like his father.

“Are you sure he said signs, point to a curse?” Michael asked, “Is it possible he said clues? All the clues point to a curse? “

“Uhm,” Doctor Littlefield hummed thoughtfully, “Now that you say it, yes, he might have said clues.”

That’s it! Michael knew what this meant, and it certainly did not mean a curse.

Chapter Seventeen

Lillian pulled her knees towards her, hugging herself. It was another morning, waking up in this hell. The ties holding her hands together were beginning to chafe her wrists, despite the soft silk material used. She had barely slept last night; she kept waking up thinking she heard sounds outside.

More than once, she had been certain that she was hearing the hooves of horses, but she did not dare to try and call for help. She was not really sure how long she had been held captive; it felt like it had been forever, but she thought it was more likely only a few days. The solitude had a strange effect on her. A stoic calm had taken over her. Lillian had been thinking up ideas to find out where she was and who had taken her. And possibly how to escape.

Lillian had become so frighteningly accustomed to these miserable surroundings that she did not even flinch as one of her captors appeared holding a tray of food. She noticed it was the shorter one. Lillian imagined that he was kinder, although it was hard to think about that when these two men did not display any sign of difference to her situation.

Still, the shorter one always lingered when he brought the food, his eyes shifting back and forth as if he was unable to look directly at her. Lillian watched him approach her, making up her mind.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice croaky and sore. The masked man stopped dead in his tracks, looking alarmed. “Please, can you take these?” Lillian murmured, holding out her bound hands. The man looked at her wrists and noticed the red chafing, and Lillian imagined that he made a wincing look. He put down the tray and pushed it towards her, avoiding her eyes.

“It hurts,” Lillian said, allowing some of her genuine fear she had been pushing away, reach the surface.

“Please…” she added pleadingly. He stopped, looking behind him nervously. Lillian was sure he was about to leave, or possibly slap her when he spoke.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“But could you…” Lillian tried again, but the man turned around quickly, shaking his head.

“I can’t,” he repeated and left the same way he had come.

Lillian pulled the tray of food towards her. She was surprised to see two eggs, a piece of fresh bread, and a large slice of cheese. Why would he have brought her a nicer breakfast today? He seemed genuinely concerned for a moment. Or was I just imagining it? Perhaps I can use that to my advantage? Lillian ate her breakfast, her mind racing.

* * *

Curse! Michael was mentally slapping himself. How had he not noticed this before? This was so typically his father, leaving secret notes and clues, never trusting anyone. This had made Michael’s father an excellent Sheriff but sometimes a terrible father. He never spoke in plain words, always leaving Michael to discover everything himself. He said that trust had to be earned, even in families.

How many times had he mentioned betrayals and disputes he encountered in his line of work? He wanted Michael to think critically and never to trust blindly. There is no greater curse that can incomber people than blind trust, he had said. Michael had never paid much attention to this side of his father. As his mother had died when he was young, he knew nothing else than his father’s strange ways. But in his later years, Michael had stopped noticing this at all, it seemed.

Did I abandon my father in search of my inner truth, my true purpose? Michael thought, bitterly. Doctor Littlefield had left around half an hour ago, and Michael still sat in the same chair, but in front of him were all of his father’s letters splayed in a big pile. He was organizing them in chronological order and had an empty notebook where he wrote down when his father first started mentioning something that could point to his suspicion.

His first letters to Michael were rather ordinary. His father asked how the trip had been, mentioned what was happening in Rust Canyon, and wished Michael luck in his travels. However, in the third letter, Michael noticed that his father began talking about the fire at the Wesley house, about this tragedy. Even that seemed strange now that Michael looked back at it.

The phrasing was odd, his father had certainly not been a sentimental man, and calling a fire a tragedy was not like him. Tragedies were human, caused by one person harming another. A tragedy was more like a curse.

At first, Michael’s father wrote about a warning. Then, he mentioned that the fire at the Wesleys’ had been a tragedy. He told Dr. Littlefield that all clues pointed to a curse was over Rust Canyon. Michael was certain that his father had believed these incidents that had happened were no coincidences and that they were connected somehow.

I wonder if Mrs. Wesley will be willing to speak with me? She tried to tell me something the other day. I should speak to her again.

Michael picked up his father’s letters again, folding them neatly and putting them back into his rucksack.

* * *

Lillian had come up with an idea, which was most likely a mad one, but it was all she had at the moment. She needed to figure out more about where they were keeping her, and she was counting on the sympathy she thought she had seen in the eyes of one of her captors. She waited patiently for her opportunity. She had surmised that the two men took turns guarding her.

That must be why she would hear hooves approaching and then retreating a little while later. She had not heard anything for a long while, and she prayed silently to God that the man be alone, and that the taller man would not be the one coming. She took a calming breath before she stood up, bracing herself in an awkward position by the nearest wall, and gave a prolonged piercing scream.

Very soon, the short man came running inside, clutching his rifle, and his chest rose up and down as he breathed heavily.

“What is going on?” he asked out of breath.

Lillian did not answer yet, standing still for a moment and shivering—convincingly.

“Why did you scream?” the man reiterated.

“R-r-r-rat,” Lilian stammered, still facing the wall.

“Rat?” the man repeated, lowering his weapon. Lillian nodded her head, turning around slowly. To her relief, the man looked a little bit amused. She looked at him, trying her very best to appear vulnerable, which, to be honest, was not difficult.

“There,” Lillian whimpered, gesturing to a place where the imaginary rat was.

“I don’t see anything,” the man said, looking where she had pointed.

“It was there,” Lillian continued, adding a little sob.

“Now sit down,” the man said, “I don’t see any rat here.”

“NO!” Lillian yelped, “I can’t stay here… I, I.. Oh, no, please don’t let me stay where there are rats. I beg you, please…” She sobbed and covered her eyes with her bandaged hands, crying most convincingly.

“Ah,” the man said uncomfortably, “Oh, don’t cry. I can’t take you anywhere,” he said.

“Please, I will behave, I just cannot be here, just anywhere else,” Lillian pleaded.

“Wait here,” the man said after a long pause. He left the room she was in, and as he left, Lillian did not dare to try and look at where he went, so she stood frozen like a statue. After a little while, he returned, looked uncertain.

“All right,” he began, “I will move you to another place, but you have to follow me and not make a sound.”

“I promise,” Lillian replied.

“I’m going to tie this around your eyes,” he said, producing another silk cloth from his pocket, like the one that held her hands.

“Please don’t,” Lillian whispered, truthfully now, “Please no more,” she added, showing him her sore, tied together hands.

“I have to,” he grumbled, approaching her. Lillian sobbed as he tied the cloth over her eyes.

“I am going to hold your arm,” he said softly. As soon as he touched her, Lillian flinched. He sighed and walked her out of the room. They walked a very short distance, and Lillian focused on her surroundings.

Three… Four… Ten… Eleven steps, I feel a slight breeze. Fifteen… Twenty-five.

They had stopped, and Lillian thought the number of steps over and over in her head. She must not forget them.

“Wait here,” the man said, pushing her towards a wall. This room felt much colder than the other one, and Lillian began wondering if this had perhaps been a mistake. Soon she heard a dragging sound and a loud thump.

“Here, let me,” the man said as he took off the silk cloth covering her eyes. She looked around at her new surroundings. It was very similar to the other room, except this one was smaller, colder, and smelled like burnt wood.

“No more talks about rats,” he added. He was about to turn around when he seemed to have a second thought. He walked towards her and took her hands in his. For a moment, Lillian froze in her tracks. But she relaxed once she realized that the man had loosened the silk around her wrists. And without a word, he turned around and left, closing the door behind him.

Fourteen steps from here, and a turn to the right. There lies my freedom.

* * *

Lillian had waited patiently until the dusk settled over their surroundings. Every minute felt dragged because she surely could not have waited for merely a day! Being in this new room gave her a tiny glimpse of the sky through a hole in the ceiling. As a result, the room was colder than the other one.

She remembered that around this time the night before, she had heard the hooves of horses, approaching this God-forsaken building. But she had a plan. She would try to run away; she could not stay here any longer—she had to try.

Lillian watched the sky turn darker and darker, but there was no sound of hooves. She was not sure if that was a good sign or not. She thought about Michael as if she could feel him thinking about her. She stood up gingerly. She had to watch her every step, as all sounds were magnified in the quiet of the night.

She had managed to loosen the cloth around her wrists even more, but not completely. Lillian took a step further and froze as the floorboard below her feet creaked loudly.

Her heart was beating so fast she was sure that it would give her away. But as no one came, she took a deep breath without making a sound. She took another step and gently pushed the door that kept her locked up forward. To her surprise, the door moved easily but revealed nothing but darkness. Her feet trembled in every step as she tried to walk in a straight line.

One… Two… Three. She heard a noise outside and nearly fell over. It was just a bird flapping its wings. She held out her bandaged hands to try to make out if there was anything in front of her. But there seemed to be nothing. It was if the building she was in was a barn or possibly a warehouse.

Seven… Eight… Nine. Each step she took felt like it took away a tiny piece of her strength. Ten… Eleven… Twelve

I cannot do this. My heart is racing too fast. This was a stupid idea; I should just return to the room, Lillian thought in a panic. She heard the far away sound of a wolf howl, and stood as if she was rooted to the spot. She was breathing rapidly, and she felt weaker.

But then she was transported back to that blissful moment with Michael on the horse. The panic she had felt when he first handed her the reins, but the security in knowing he was there for her. She clenched her hands, holding on to the silk cloth, imagining it was the reins. Her heart slowed down, and slowly, very slowly, she took another step. Thirteen… Fourteen.

Lillian turned to her right and peered ahead. Everything was so dark she could not make out anything, but after staring into the darkness for a long while, she thought she could make out the outlines of doors. Tiptoeing forward, with her hands outstretched, she walked. Finally, her hands touched a wall. She was at the end of the building.

* * *

Michael was riding on a back road near the town again. He would have to speak with Mrs. Wesley, and he had an idea of how he could do it without drawing attention to him. Before he had left the Everett farm, yet again, Michael had searched through all the cabinets in the house. He had found a brown, weathered-looking hat and a tattered and dirty looking jacket, which he supposed had been used to work around the farm, judging by the smell alone.

Wearing that, and with his handkerchief partially covering his face, Michael imagined he would be able to pose as a worker, or at least that was what he was hoping. He would need to speak with Benjamin first, to get some news. A terrible thought popped into his head as he saw the row of houses getting bigger the closer he came.

What if Lillian has been returned, and her captors see me? She could be in even more danger than before. He kept his head low as he passed two men on horses riding in the opposite direction. One of them nodded in his direction, and the other one muttered, “Afternoon,” and looked away from Michael disinterested.

His disguise had worked, or at least he hoped so. Or now, it would be truly tested. Michael noticed Mrs. Williams, the pastor’s wife, walking with her daughter across the road. Michael slowed down to let them pass.

“Thank you, young man,” Mrs. Williams smiled kindly and looked at Michael. For a moment, she paused as she looked at him, but then she walked on, chatting with her daughter.

If I can make it passed Mrs. Williams, I should be safe for now, Michael thought and rode purposefully towards the sheriff’s office. But here it became trickier. Many folks were walking around, people gathered in small-knit groups, talking with their heads together. It was too big of a chance for him to try to walk to the office. He rode a little further on and found a spot nearby the train station.

Here no one paid him the slightest attention. He dismounted and grabbed the journal he had been writing in earlier that day and wrote down a few lines, then tore the paper from the book. Michael looked around until he saw two young boys running around.

“Hey, kid,” Michael said to one of the boys, making sure to speak in a deep, raspy voice.

“Yeah?” One of the boys said, taking a step further to him. The other boy stayed where they had been playing.

“Want to earn a little?” Michael said, reaching into his pocket and grabbing a silver coin.

“Sure do!” the boy said gleefully.

“Run to the sheriff’s office and hand this to Officer Hopper,” Michael said urgently.

“All right, mister,” the boy said, looking at the coin, reaching out to grab it.

“Ah, ah,” Michael said, “Not until I can see you have delivered the note.”

“Fine,” the boy said, disappointed. He took the note from Michael and ran towards the office. In no time at all, the boy had returned with a smug look on his face.

“Hand it over,” he said with his palm outstretched.

“Here ya’ go, kid,” Michael chuckled and handed the boy the coin.

Now I just have to wait, he thought and mounted his horse again.

* * *

Lillian ran her hands over the wall, trying to find the door, taking in every sound she heard. She walked along the wall until finally, she touched something icy-cold made of metal; it was a latch. Excitedly she tried to find how the door would open. Slowly she pushed it but noticed she would have to pull it towards her. She found the end of the door, and as quietly as she could muster, she pulled the door a fraction.

Outside was just as dark it seemed; however, she could see the outlines of the moon in the distance, but not much else. She looked around, trying to see where her captors were situated.

I will have to open this a little more. Dear Lord in Heaven, give me strength. She did not breathe as she pulled the door a little bit more open. Now she could see better outside, and there he was. Sitting on a log, in a pile of debris, not far from the entrance where Lillian stood. She observed him, sitting there, with his head slouched down and his chest rising and falling slowly.

He’s asleep! Lillian realized. This is my chance. Gently she pulled the door even further open, just enough so she could slide through the opening. As the cold night air touched her skin, she realized just how bad the smell had been inside this horrible building. She looked around and took a step away from her sleeping captor.

She walked towards the end of the building, looking behind her in every step, lest he wakes up. But he snored gently, and Lillian felt relief start to calm her down. Making absolutely sure that he did not move, she turned the corner of the building, ready to run. But as soon as she took another step, she walked into something, or more accurately, someone.

Chapter Eighteen

“Well, well,” said the man Lillian had walked into. Blind panic took over her, and she screamed with all her might. She tried to run away but felt strong arms grabbing her and holding her tightly. She recoiled as the man holding her sniffed her hair, and she fought with all her strength to try and get free from him.

In the struggle, the back of her head hit his face, and she heard him curse loudly, and at that moment, he let go of her. At once, Lillian ran away as fast as her feet would carry her, not knowing where she was going. The pitch-black darkness obscured her way, and suddenly, she felt a sharp blow to the back of her head, and then everything went black.

A moment later, she felt someone pick her up and carry her back. She thought she heard voices arguing, something about a mattress, and she was sure she heard the hammer of a gun being dragged backward. But at the same time, she saw something different. It was her father standing by her, with his kind and warm smile. Lillian groaned and then closed her eyes, safe in her father’s embrace. She did not have any strength left anymore; all she wanted was to sleep.

* * *

Benjamin was by nature a calm man, but these past few days had him on edge, and the pressure of Michael being away weighed heavily on him. The townsfolk had begun to notice Michael’s absence. Since the bounty hunter came and picked up Vincent, there had been a steady stream of people walking passed the office, some casually looking inside, others walking inside and demanding to see the Sheriff. Although he had not been idle. Cleveland ‘the blind’ had given him a good idea once Benjamin saw inside the carriage Cleveland had. It was filled with Wanted posters, with a drawn picture of the wanted criminals.

Benjamin had asked him if he could keep one of them for his reference. Cleveland ‘the blind’ had given him a toothy grin and rummaged for a wanted poster in the side pocket of his long coat. “Here ya go,” Cleveland had said to Benjamin, “I have plenty of those.”

“Who was the man?” Benjamin had asked, looking at the Unclear drawing of a man with a large Stetson hat and a great big mustache.

“They call him Old Ghost,” Cleveland had said, “Because no one has been able to find him.”

“Or give a clear description of him.”

“So, he has still not been captured?” Benjamin had asked.

“Sure, has not,” Cleveland had replied, “Perhaps you ought to hang a few of these here.” He gave Benjamin a few more of the posters, each and every one of them with the large letters: WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE.

Benjamin looked at the poster again. He should not get distracted from everything that was going on, but there was something that bothered him about this Old Ghost. He had begun trying to sketch the man he had spoken to at the shed, that fateful night when Lillian was taken. Benjamin was a decent drawer, and he was trying to remember more details of the stranger.

He looked up from his work, observed the busy street, and noticed a young boy running towards the office. The boy ran inside and looked around.

Benjamin exhaled tiredly, guessing that someone had sent their son to check on the whereabouts of the missing Sheriff, but was surprised when the boy asked: “Are you Office Hopper, mister?”

“I am,” Benjamin replied, standing up.

“Someone asked me to give this to you,” the boy said, handing him a folded piece of paper.

“Who asked you to give this to me?” Benjamin asked, taking the note.

“I dunno,” the boy shrugged. He had already turned around as Benjamin opened the piece of paper and read the few lines written there. At once, he ran after the boy, clutching the note in his palm.

“Hey, kid!” Benjamin called, but the boy was already gone. He looked around, trying to see where the boy ran to, but the town was full of people today, and it was impossible to see where he might have gone. Benjamin opened the note and reread it.

We need to talk. I will be at the shed when the church service begins. - M.

Michael was back!

* * *

Once people began walking toward the church for this day’s service, Benjamin rode the way to his home. He rode passed his house, an uncomfortable feeling washing over him as he re-lived his conversation with the man, trying to stop his mind from spiraling down the waterfall of ‘what if’s.’ He dismounted his horse and approached the shed, looking around surreptitiously.

“Afternoon,” a familiar voice said to Benjamin, causing him to startle.

“Michael?” Benjamin said, looking inside the shed, finally noticing the crouching man inside there.

“We must talk,” Michael said urgently.

“Yes, I have to tell you…” Benjamin said, but Michael cut him off.

“Not here, it is not safe,” Michael said.

“We will go to my house,” Benjamin said, “Fanny and the boys are at church.”

“All right then,” Michael said, walking out of the shed.

“I barely recognized you,” Benjamin said, looking at Michael’s appearance.

“That’s at least something. I will leave my horse here; we never know who might be watching.”

“You should go in through the kitchen,” Benjamin said, “You can take the path that leads from behind here; no one will see you.”

“Good, I will do that,” Michael said, turning away. Benjamin rode the short distance to his home and tied his horse securely in the stable. Once he entered, Michael was waiting for him in the kitchen.

“Has there been any contact from Lillian’s captors,” Michael asked.

“No,” Benjamin replied sadly, “You must return here, Michael, just because they said that you had to leave doesn’t mean…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Michael interrupted him, “But this is bigger than I could have imagined, perhaps even bigger than I realize even now. So, I cannot return until I know who is behind all of this. Until I know that, I will lead them into a false sense of security.”

“Well, your absence is being noticed,” Benjamin said after a short pause. He stood up and approached the pantry in the back, bringing back a pitcher of beer, pouring them both a glass.

“I need to speak with Mrs. Wesley again,” Michael said, “And I will need to get to my father’s notebooks that are still at the Sheriff’s office.”

“But I am sure that whoever is behind this will have someone watching the office. I will have to find a way to go there.”

“There is no need,” Benjamin said, “I brought it all here.”

“And,” he added, standing up to a small desk in the sitting room, and pulling out the top drawing, first opening it with a key he had in his pocket. He picked up a stack of papers and notebooks. “I know who sent you the letter that Dennis found at the Post Office ruins.”

“Who sent it?” Michael asked, surprised.

“Rex Rodgers, bounty hunter,” Benjamin stated.

“He was sending me a warning,” Michael said after reading the note that Benjamin had handed him. He stood up and paced around the kitchen floor, “This bounty hunter warned me of casualties and fires, and I am certain that someone must have known he was about to send me a letter.”

“Someone knew?” Benjamin said, confused.

“Don’t you think it’s strange that the Post Office was burned in bright daylight, unlike all the other fires,” Michael said, “And it just happened to be on the day when the post was arriving. If someone knew that I was expecting a letter and wanted to make sure that I would not receive it, a fire is a convenient way to dispose of a letter—and to make a threat.”

“Wait,” Benjamin said, “Do you think that Hickley is involved in this?”

“I cannot help think that if John Hickley is as honorable as he seems that it would be difficult to steal a letter from him, or to bribe him to dispose of one,” Michael continued, “These fires have been used as a tool to control people, and I found Philip Walter’s journal that corroborates that. He knew that something was going on, as did my father.”

“Oh boy. Who would have thought that something like this could have happened here in Rust Canyon.”

“Hey,” he added, grabbing the poster that Cleveland ‘the blind’ had given him, “The bounty hunter that came to pick up Vincent gave this to me.”

Michael looked at it, and his mind was racing. Was this the man that Rex Rodgers warned me about? Is this the bastard who took my sweet Lillian?

After a long pause, Benjamin said quietly, “I had actually thought that I might put up flyers here, for the man that I saw by the shed.”

“Did you make this?” Michael asked, taking the drawing that Benjamin was half finished with.

“Yes,” he replied, “I was trying to remember how he looked like.”

Michael read out loud, “Description: Height around 5ft. 9in.; eyes grey; straight nose, light-brown hair; pale face and high broad forehead.”

“Yeah,” Benjamin said quietly.

“This is good work,” Michael said.

“Thank you,” Benjamin answered, “You said you wanted to speak with Mrs. Wesley?”

“Yes. I am sure she knows more than she told us, and I think she might be the missing piece,” Michael added, “She must have known something about the reason for the fire that killed her husband, or she suspects someone.”

“Will you go see her?” Benjamin asked.

“We will go,” Michael replied.

* * *

Lillian’s head was pulsing painfully. She tried to move, but her body didn’t respond like it ought to. She tried to open her eyes but only managed to push her eyelids up a fraction. The last thing she remembered was running towards freedom and then nothing—a flash of pain and arguing voices… Her head angrily throbbed as she tried to think.

What has happened? I cannot move, and I feel terrible. Come now, Lillian! Open your eyes, she willed herself on and forced her eyes open. The first thing she noticed was the filthy mattress, and a little in front of her, she saw black boots. A dull sense of dread coursed through her, although her weakened state made her unable to panic fully.

“She’s up,” a voice said in the distance. For a moment, Lillian thought it sounded familiar, but she heard a loud ringing inside her head and trying to find out whose voice it was, proved too much. She closed her eyes again and heard approaching footsteps.

“Stay!” the voice said, and then Lillian heard retreating footsteps.

For a long while, Lillian lay motionless, listening to the heavy breathing of the other person in the room. As she breathed in and out, the pain in her head lessened slightly, and her curiosity finally grew stronger than her fear.

Lillian opened her eyes again, and this time it was easier. She tried to sit up slightly, but that’s when she noticed that her hands and feet were tied together tightly. This explained why she couldn’t move; it wasn’t her lack of strength but these tight ropes holding her. Gone were the silk cloths, and the coarse rope chafed her delicate wrists.

“Water,” she mumbled, her voice cracking. The man who had helped her yesterday looked up startled as she spoke. Lilian was shocked to see that he was clutching his hand, which was bleeding.

“What…” Lillian began, but her voice broke. She paused for a while before continuing, “What happened?”

The man looked at his hand and shook his head, “I can’t talk to you,” he whispered, and Lillian noticed that he sounded scared.

“I understand,” Lillian said quietly.

Lillian wondered what could have happened to him. She thought it must have been that other brute. She had a strange memory of seeing her father and hearing the hammer of a gun pulled back. Is it possible this brute shot him?

“I need water,” Lillian said after they had stared ahead in silence for a long while. The man looked at her and to the closed door. He seemed to be battling with himself as he closed his eyes before he stood up and grabbed a water canteen from one of the corners of the room.

“Here you go,” he said, holding the canteen out so Lillian could drink from it.

“Thank you,” she whispered after taking a long sip. The man was close to her now, and Lillian thought he looked like a child.

“What’s your name?” she asked gently.

“I can’t tell you that,” he replied nervously.

“All right,” she said, resting her head back on the mattress. He stood up and walked back to where he had been standing before, gently sitting down, resting his head on the wall.

It is strange, but my heart aches for him. It does not make sense; he is my captor… But he looks miserable and has treated me fairly. I wish I had not tried to escape—I don’t know what I was thinking.

“Samuel,” the man suddenly said, very softly.

“My name is Samuel.”

* * *

Michael and Benjamin rode on a narrow back road toward Mrs. Wesley’s home. Even though most of the townfolks were at church, Michael had to be careful. They stopped and dismounted a fair distance away from Mrs. Wesley’s home. Michael made sure to cover his face with his handkerchief, looking around to see if anybody was watching them.

The street was quiet, and Michael gently knocked on the front door but was startled when the door pushed back at his touch. Something wasn’t right. “Mrs. Wesley?” Michael called, taking a step inside; Benjamin followed.

“Where is she?” Benjamin asked. Michael looked around; the house was a complete mess. One of the kitchen chairs had fallen over, and there were drawers open, and they were half empty. Michael looked into the bedrooms, and there, the beds were unmade, with cabinets open and empty.

“She’s gone,” Michael said.

“Do you think someone took her?” Benjamin contemplated, “And the children as well?”

“I don’t think so,” Michael said, “Look here,” he pointed to the cabinet, “Their clothes are gone.”

“Do you think she ran away?” Benjamin said.

“I am certain she knew something,” Michael continued, walking back into the kitchen, “She tried to warn me; I am sure she was about to tell me something.”

“Where could she have gone?” Benjamin said thoughtfully.

“I’m not sure,” Michael said, “But something must have happened that frightened her.”

“She must have noticed that you were gone,” Benjamin said.

“Why do you say that?” Michael replied.

“Well, there was a big crowd around the sheriff’s office when the bounty hunters came to pick up Vincent, and your absence was noticed,” Benjamin explained.

“If she thought I was gone, she must have thought that whoever’s behind this would come for her,” Michael said.

“What made you think she was about to confess something to you?” Benjamin asked.

“There was something about her, I just had an inkling,” Michael said, “And the last thing she said to me was that I was on the side of angels,” he tried to remember what she had said exactly, “He will command His angels concerning you to guard you carefully.”

“Luke, 4:10,” Benjamin replied at once.

“What did you say?” Michael said, looking at him.

“The passage,” Benjamin said, “It’s from Luke, 4:10. The Lord sent His angels to protect those who have committed themselves to His loving care, not those who want to put Him to the test.”

“From what passage did you say it was from?” Michael said urgently.

“What?” Benjamin said, confused, “Luke, 4…” but Michael cut him off.

“4:10,” he had marched towards a shelf in the sitting room, which had papers all around, and turned over books. One book was still upright; the Bible. Michael grabbed it and began paging through it.

“Come on,” he mumbled as he searched through the holy book.

“Here it is!” Michael said. In the margin of the passage, there had been written two words: Little Ivywood.

Chapter Nineteen

“You should stay behind,” Michael said to Benjamin as they hurried out of Mrs. Wesley’s house. Little Ivywood was Mrs. Wesley’s home town, which must have meant that she has returned to her parents. Michael wondered if she had planned on leaving him this clue for a long time.

“All right,” Benjamin said, “Be careful!”

“I will,” Michael replied. They quickly mounted their horses and rode in opposite directions. Michael pulled hard on the reins, and the horse shot forward. He had to get to Mrs. Wesley very soon because time was running out.

He had been riding for over an hour. The sun was high in the sky but would set soon. He could see a cluster of buildings in the distance and knew he would be there soon. He noticed an impressive looking farm, which was situated a little away from the town itself. What was it that she had said? My parents live just by the borders of the county. Michael pulled the reins and turned towards the large farm.

It was eerily quiet on the road that led to the farmhouse. The window shutters were closed, and the curtain drawn shut. This was very strange. Michael dismounted his horse and tied the reins to the large fence that surrounded the house.

I wonder if there is anyone home? The house looks almost abandoned. Could Mrs. Wesley’s parents have gone as well? He walked up the path to the front door and knocked. The sound echoed, and for a while, nothing happened. Michael was about to walk back when the door opened slowly.

“Afternoon,” he said, “My name is Michael Flemming, and I’m the sheriff from Rust Canyon.”

“How do you do,” the man at the door said. He was a stocky man, with red suspenders over his white shirt, and had a neatly combed white beard. He had smile wrinkles around his eyes, but his face was stern and serious now.

“I am looking for Isabella Wesley,” Michael continued, “Are you her father?”

“I am,” the man replied curtly.

“Marvin Hammond,” he added.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Michael said, “I do apologize for disturbing you on a Sunday, but this is urgent.”

“Is that so?” Mr. Hammond said skeptically.

“It is,” Michael replied simply.

“My daughter is not here,” Mr. Hammond said, biting his jaw as he spoke. Michael noticed how he clenched his fist and stepped to the sides, making sure to cover the opening inside his house.

“Mr. Hammond,” Michael said, “When did you last see your daughter?”

“When we buried her husband,” Mr. Hammond said, his knuckles turning white with the force he was clenching them.

“I understand that you are protective over your daughter,” Michael continued, “but if she is here, I must speak with her.”

“I already told you,” Mr. Hammond began, but Michael cut him off.

“I know what you said, Mr. Hammond; however, I think she is here,” Michael took a step closer to him.

“Stay back,” Mr. Hammond said urgently.

“Please,” Michael said, taking a small step backward.

“I will shoot you if you take one step closer,” Mr. Hammond growled, “I don’t care that you’re the sheriff from that devil’s town.”

“Devil’s town?” Michael asked.

“Nothing good ever happened in that town,” Mr. Hammond said, “And seeing as there was a man here earlier today, also claiming to be the sheriff from Rust Canyon, I’m going to ask you to leave my property.”

“What? Someone claimed to be the Sheriff of Rust Canyon?” Michael exclaimed.

“Yes, I am not inclined to believe you, Sheriff,” Mr. Hammond said with a sneer.

“At least the other one tried to look like a sheriff,” he added, looking at Michael’s clothes.

“Look,” Michael said, reaching for his sheriff’s badge, “There is an explanation for my clothing, but here, look,” he put out his badge for Mr. Hammond to examine.

“I’m guessing my impersonator was not able to show you this,” Michael added after Mr. Hammond had carefully examined the badge.

“Well, he left after I brought my gun,” Mr. Hammond muttered.

“I don’t know who came here before, but I am here because I desperately need to speak with your daughter,” Michael said earnestly.

“I have already told you that she is not here,” Mr. Hammond said definitely.

“All right then. Can you at least describe the man that came here earlier?”

“He wore all black, shorter than you, brownish hair,” Mr. Hammond explained, “Did not seem to stay outside much.”

“Why do you say that?” Michael asked, curiously.

“He was pale, as one of them city-boys,” Mr. Hammond said.

Shorter than me, brown hair and pale complexion. That sounds an awful lot like the description from Benjamin. Could the jerk that took Lillian have been here trying to get to Mrs. Wesley as well? Michael did not believe Mr. Hammond; he was sure he was hiding something. But he did not want to get into a gunfight with this man, who was most likely only protecting his family.

“If you do see your daughter, will you tell her I am looking for her,” Michael said, taking a step backward, “And tell her that I found the bible.” He began to walk away and had nearly reached his horse when he heard someone call his name.

“Sheriff Flemming!” Isabella Wesley called, standing close to her father.

“Come in.”

* * *

Benjamin entered the Sheriff’s office, and his thoughts were with Michael on his trip to Mrs. Wesley’s parents. He was so deeply immersed with his thoughts that he did not see Jacob Frazier that stood inside the office, waiting for him.

“Hopper,” Jacob said, making his presence aware to Benjamin.

“Jacob!” Benjamin yelled, clearly startled, “You nearly gave me heart failure.”

“I am sorry, old friend.” Jacob patted him on the shoulder. “I should have waited outside.”

“Was the office open?” Benjamin asked, looking around, trying to remember whether he had locked or not. He had been in such a rush to go see Michael that could not clearly remember locking, although he always did so.

“It was open, yes,” Jacob said, “I was hoping to see Flemming, I must say.”

“He is away,” Benjamin said vaguely.

“Look, Benjamin,” Jacob began, taking a seat in front of Benjamin’s desk, “I also wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize to whom?” Benjamin asked.

“To you,” Jacob explained, “I did not treat you like you deserve to be treated the other day, and I am sorry.”

“Thank you,” Benjamin said, feeling slightly awkward. He sat down behind his desk, shuffling around papers to avoid looking at Jacob.

“I know I have not taken the time to get to know you since I came to Rust Canyon, but that was a mistake,” Jacob said sincerely.

“I see,” Benjamin said.

“My family means the world to me, as I have told you, but this town also matters a great deal to me,” Jacob said.

“Rust Canyon has felt more like a home to me than any other place ever has.”

“I glad to hear,” Benjamin replied.

“I have not been able to work since my sweet Lillian was taken from us,” Jacob said sadly, “And now that Michael is missing, I must admit that I am losing hope of ever seeing her again.”

“Jacob, I think you know that Michael cares a great deal for Lillian,” Benjamin said, “He will not rest until he has found her.”

“That’s good to hear,” Jacob said, sounding relieved.

“But I am still very worried about Dorothy,” he added, the short-lived relief disappeared from his face.

“Has something else happened?” Benjamin asked.

“No, but she is refusing to open the door when I go over to see her, and her neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, says that she hasn’t left her house in a long time.”

“That’s not good,” Benjamin said concernedly.

“Perhaps she will speak with you?” Jacob asked, hopefully.

“Me?” Benjamin said agast.

“Yes, you,” Jacob said with a small smile, “your kindness and understanding manner might be what she needs right now.”

“I could try,” Benjamin said unsurely.

“Should we go now?” Jacob asked, looking intently at Benjamin.

“All right then,” Benjamin replied, standing up again. He walked from his desk, and Jacob followed him. They left the Sheriff’s office, and Benjamin made sure to lock the door this time. In silence, the two of them walked over to the Walters’ home. When they approached the house, Mrs. Henderson came running outside of her home.

“Benjamin!” she exclaimed, “Oh, is there any news?”

“Hi, Pat,” Benjamin groaned, “No, not now.”

“This is getting ridiculous,” Pat said, shaking her head, “This new Sheriff has only been here a few months, and then people start to go missing.”

“Pat, please…” Benjamin began but was cut off by Mrs. Henderson.

“I mean, where is he even? I have been talking to all my friends from church, and no one has seen Sheriff Flemming,” she said disapprovingly. Benjamin was about to reply to her when Jacob took a step closer to her, looking angry.

“How dare you try to undermine our sheriff, and with petty gossip,” Jacob scolded, “Have you no shame, Pat!”

“I…” Pat stammered.

“My family is reeling, but you think it is more important to talk behind the back of Sheriff Flemming,” Jacob added angrily.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Pat said nervously, “I apologize,” she said, looking between the two men. She turned around and hurried into her house again.

“Thank you,” Benjamin said, looking at Jacob.

“Of course,” Jacob said, “I realize it was slightly hypocritical of me, but this just made me mad.”

“I appreciated it anyway,” Benjamin said, knocking on the front door of Dorothy Walter’s home. There was no response.

“Dorothy!” Jacob called, leaning towards the door, “Please come to the door.”

They both waited, listening for any sound from inside, but they heard nothing. Jacob knocked again but Benjamin held out his hand as Jacob made himself likely to call Dorothy once more.

“Dorothy,” Benjamin said softly, his head very close to the door, “Can I come inside?”

After a little while, Benjamin decided to open the door. “Dorothy, it’s me, Benjamin Hopper. I am going to come inside now,” he called gently. Jacob walked behind him, and they both looked around, trying to see where Dorothy was. They walked into the kitchen and saw Dorothy sitting at the kitchen table, looking absolutely stricken.

“Dorothy,” Jacob exclaimed, walking towards her, but Benjamin grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“Wait,” Benjamin said, walking towards Dorothy. She was staring ahead with her eyes glazed over, and she was wearing a tattered robe and clutching a small blanket. Benjamin grabbed a chair and put it carefully down next to her.

“Dorothy,” Benjamin said softly, “You should go and rest.”

Slowly she turned her head looking at Benjamin, and she seemed almost surprised to see him.

“Did you find her?” she asked miserably.

“Not yet,” Benjamin said, putting his hand gently over hers, “but when she returns, you must have your strength.”

“When?” Dorothy whispered.

“Yes, when she returns,” Benjamin reiterated.

“I just don’t know,” she said.

“Well, I do,” Benjamin replied, “Now come on,” he said, standing up and helping her up. Dorothy stood up gingerly, clutching Benjamin’s arm for support. He strolled with her towards her bedroom. After a little while, Benjamin returned to the kitchen. Jacob stood looking at the chair Dorothy had been staring at.

“This is where Philip, my cousin, would always sit,” Jacob said sadly.

“She was finally starting to open up after he died, and now I worry if she will even live for much longer.”

“She has lived through much pain,” Benjamin said, “But she has strength, I know she has.”

“How can you be so sure?” Jacob asked.

“Dorothy reminds me of my mother,” Benjamin explained, “After my father died I was sure she would never smile again, or even get out of bed, but she just needed to deal with her sadness in her own way.”

“I wish I would have known your father,” Jacob said.

“He would have liked you, I think,” Benjamin replied, “We should probably give her privacy,” he added, looking around. Jacob nodded, and they got up and left the house.

“Everyone that I have heard talk about your father, mentions that he was a great pastor here in Rust Canyon,” Jacob continued. They walked back towards the town. Benjamin looked behind him and smiled a little when he saw Mrs. Henderson jumping away from the window where she had been observing them.

“You certainly had an effect on Pat,” Benjamin chuckled. Jacob looked around and sighed.

“I hope I wasn’t too harsh,” Jacob said.

“No, you were within your right, I think,” Benjamin replied.

“Did you never want to follow your father’s footsteps?” Jacob asked, “Become a pastor like him?”

“I did think about it,” Benjamin said, “But there was a stronger pull within me to help people.”

“You did not think you would have helped people by being a man of God?” Jacob asked curiously.

“Truth be told, I was worried I would not be able to help if I became a pastor,” Benjamin admitted.

“How so?” Jacob said.

“My father always told me that he knew from when he first heard a pastor give a sermon that that was what he wished to do,” Benjamin explained. “That the urge and certainty had been present within him for almost as long as he remembered. He knew that by becoming a pastor, he would be able to serve the Lord and help people.”

“Did you not feel that?” Jacob asked gently.

“I was never sure what my path should be,” Benjamin continued, pausing as a group of people walked past them. They stood near the hotel now.

“I nearly did become a pastor, just to fulfill my father’s wish. But then the Sheriff’s office was looking for a junior sheriff, and then I did feel an urge as if I was meant to be there,” Benjamin finished, looking slightly embarrassed.

“It can be difficult to live up to our fathers,” Jacob chuckled softly.

“You got that right,” Benjamin agreed.

“You would have made a fine Sheriff, Benjamin.” Jacob winked at him and walked towards the hotel entrance.

“I’m no sheriff,” Benjamin dismissed, “Besides, we have an excellent sheriff.”

“That we do,” Jacob replied, nodding his head, “We sure do.” He walked into the hotel, giving Benjamin a small nod. Benjamin turned around and walked back towards the Sheriff’s office.

* * *

“Mrs. Wesley!” Michael said, hurrying back to the house, but Mr. Hammond took a step in front of his daughter in a protective manner.

“Stay back,” he yelled at Michael, but Mrs. Wesley put a hand over her father’s arm.

“It’s all right, father,” she said, “Come inside.” Michael walked toward them, and when he came closer to Mrs. Wesley, he noticed that she was pale as a ghost and had tear stains down her cheeks. They walked towards the sitting room, and as they sat down, a woman entered the room.

“Who is this?” The older woman asked.

“It’s all right, mother,” Mrs. Wesley said.

“I’m Sheriff Flemming from Rust Canyon,” Michael said, taking off his hat.

“I will make tea,” Mrs. Hammond said, leaving the room. Something strange was going on. Mrs. Wesley’s father looked like he was about to burst with anger, Mrs. Hammond was wary and suspicious, and Mrs. Wesley looked even thinner if that was even possible.

“Why did you leave your home, Mrs. Wesley?” Michael asked.

“I could not stay there anymore,” she replied softly, “It was not safe.”

“But you knew I would try to find you?” Michael said.

“I tried to tell you, tried to warn you, but once I realized that you had gone, I knew I would have to get away,” Mrs. Wesley said.

“Warn me about what?” Michael asked.

“About the people behind the kidnapping of Lillian Walter,” she said, but her father shook his head.

“Don’t say anything else, Bella,” Mr. Hammond insisted.

“Mrs. Wesley, if you can give me any information to help me find Lillian, you have to tell me!” Michael demanded.

“I… I’m sorry,” Mrs. Wesley sobbed, “I wish I could.”

“What do you mean by you wish you could?” Michael yelled.

“I can’t risk it…” Mrs. Wesley began, but her sobs overcame her.

“You need to leave,” Mr. Hammond said irately.

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Hammond said as she entered the room, holding a tray with the tea. She put it swiftly on the table and sat beside her daughter, putting her arm around her.

“You heard what my husband said,” Mrs. Hammond said, “You should leave. Why should we help you when you weren’t able to keep her safe—to keep them safe.”

Suddenly Michael looked around the house. It had just struck him how odd it was that the house was so quiet.

“Mrs. Wesley, where are your children?” he asked, and his horrible suspicion was answered at once as Mrs. Wesley began vailing.

“They took them,” she sobbed, “They took my children away from me!”

Chapter Twenty

“Who took your children?” Michael asked urgently.

“I don’t know who it was,” Mrs. Wesley cried, “But they knew that I was going here, must have watched me leave. We rode here very early this morning, and when I was halfway there, a man dressed in black stopped the carriage holding a gun at me. I begged him to spare my children, to take me instead, but he held something over my mouth, and I must have passed out…” she could not continue for tears.

“This is horrible,” Michael gasped, “What happened next?”

“I came around a little later,” Mrs. Wesley sobbed. “But… But then the carriage was gone, with my children,” she vailed. Mrs. Hammond held her daughter tightly; tears were streaming silently down her cheeks.

“I walked towards my parents’ house, but I have no idea how long I was out.”

“What did they say to you when they stopped you?” Michael asked after a short pause.

“They said that I should have kept my mouth shut, they said they knew that I tried to warn you,” Mrs. Wesley said, looking at her hands.

How could they have known that she tried to warn me? Whoever is behind all of these, must have eyes and ears all over the town.

“I had just returned from feeding the animals when I saw someone walking down the path,” Mr. Hammond said, “When I realized who it was, I ran toward her. I wanted to run after them and kill them, but Bella stopped me.”

“They left this with her,” Mr. Hammond was shaking with anger, holding a note. It said: You better keep your mouth shut if you ever want to see your children again.

Anger filled Michael’s whole being, and he handed the note back to Mr. Hammond. “I will find your children,” he said, standing up, surprising both Mrs. Wesley and her mother.

“How?” she said.

“Tell me where they stopped you,” Michael said, “I will go there right now. This happened today, so there might still be some evidence.”

“They stopped me about two miles from here,” Mrs. Wesley said, wiping tears away from her face, “By the thick cluster of trees.”

“I know where it is,” Michael said, “I will go there now.”

“But how will you find them?” Mrs. Wesley said with a trembling voice.

“I have been investigating these people,” Michael answered, putting his hat on again, “You have to know that I will not rest until I have found the people behind this and put them away for a long time.”

“How did the man that stopped you look?”

“I can’t really remember,” Mrs. Wesley said, “It all happened so fast.”

“Was he taller or shorter than me, for example?” Michael asked.

“I think, shorter,” she said uncertainly.

“Do you think that the man that came here was the man pretending to be a sheriff is the son of a bitch that took my grandchildren?” Mr. Hammond said, fuming, “He was here? At my home! I should have shot him…”

“Mr. Hammond,” Michael interrupted, “Please,” he gestured to his wife and daughter that were visibly upset by his outburst.

“Sorry, my dear,” he said, walking towards his daughter, “But why would the man come here and pretend to be someone else? Surely, he would just have said who he was!”

“It is strange,” Michael agreed, “But I will go now.”

“I should go with you,” Mr. Hammond said.

“No! You must stay with them,” Michael objected, “If anything happens… you must be here to protect them.”

“You’re right,” Mr. Hammond agreed. Michael bade goodbye and hurried outside. What sort of monsters took children away from their parents?

* * *

Michael rode like the wind towards the place that Mrs. Wesley had mentioned. The sun was setting, and he would have little time to investigate. He kicked his horse’s sides to make it go even faster. He made the turn towards the thick cluster of trees and slowed down. He looked to see if anyone was around but soon realized it was impossible to find out.

This was the perfect place to wait and ambush someone; everywhere, there were large tree trunks, big enough to hide a full-grown man out of sight from the road. Michael dismounted and led his horse towards a large tree with a low hanging branch. He tied the reins, but loosely in case if he would need to ride away quickly—possibly in pursuit of someone.

He looked around the ground, and the first thing he noticed was wheel markings. The dry earth dusted very easily, but Michael could make out where Mrs. Wesley must have stopped and where the man rode away—with her children.

He was about to walk in the direction where the tracks seemed to lead when he heard the breaking of twigs nearby him. His hand shot to his belt, and he pulled out his gun, turning towards the sound. Near the turn in the road, he was sure he saw someone. Very slowly, he pulled back the hammer of his gun and crept towards the figure. His heart was racing, not with nervousness or fear, but with hatred and fury.

Was the bastard who did this here? Perhaps making sure that Mrs. Wesley didn’t return to Rust Canyon. He walked closer and stood behind a large tree. Michael crept to the side of it, peering at a man that was crouched down, seemingly examining the road. The man was dressed all in black, and Michael noticed he had light-brown hair, and when the man stood up, Michael could guess that he was shorter than he was. And the man was pale as the moonlight. All of a sudden, Michael jumped out at the man, holding out his gun.

“Get down,” Michael yelled, but the man grabbed his gun faster than Michael anticipated. The man pointed his gun at him, but Michael shot him, aiming for the man’s leg—he would have to make him talk. But he just missed him. The man was about to shoot when his gun jammed. Michael seized the moment and jumped on top of the man.

“Ahh,” the man groaned but managed to kick Michael off him. He punched Michael hard in the jaw once and was about to swing his fist a second time, but Michael managed to block his punch and kick him in the stomach. The man heeled backward, and Michael tried to grab his hands together. The man was surprisingly strong, and with seeming ease, he broke from his grip. Michael jumped at him again, this time managing to hold him down with his weight.

“Where are they?” Michael shouted at the man, pinning him down.

“What are you talking about?” the man grunted.

“The children, you scum,” Michael retorted.

“I don’t know,” the man gasped, trying to kick Michael off him.

“Stop,” Michael bellowed, but the man pushed him off. Michael pointed his gun at him, but the man stared at him, looking surprised.

“Sheriff Flemming?” he said.

“What?” Michael said confusedly.

“Don’t shoot,” the man said, holding his hands up.

“Why the hell shouldn’t I?” Michael spat.

“Sheriff Flemming,” the man said slowly, “My name is Rex Rodgers… I’m the bounty hunter that’s been trying to warn you!”

* * *

Lillian groaned as she tried to move. Her hands were aching now from the tightly wound rope, and she had a hard time moving around. She was tired beyond belief but was unable to sleep. Samuel had been walking in and out of the room for the remainder of the day, bringing her water once in a while. He looked bad and still clutched his hand close to his chest. Lillian didn’t dare try to speak with him again due to the frightened look on his face every time he heard a noise or a sound from outside.

He had been outside for a long time now, and as Lillian noticed the rapidly darkening sky, she wished that she was not alone. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Michael’s face, either beaming with pride like when she rode on her own for the first time or the crestfallen look she had noticed when Vincent had returned to her home after the fire at the Post Office. As her discomfort and pain increased, so did the look on Michael, she noticed.

I pray that you will find me, Michael. Please save me…

Lillian looked up to see Samuel returning to the room. He was white as a sheet, and the cloth he had over his hand was dripping with blood.

“Samuel,” she exclaimed, and to her surprise, he didn’t try to stop her from talking.

“This needs to be treated,” she added, looking at his injured hand.

“I can’t go anywhere,” Samuel moaned weakly, and Lillian gasped as he almost lost his footing.

“Please, sit down,” she pleaded. He did as told and sat down in front of her.

“Has he gone?” she whispered, looking at the door that led outside. Samuel nodded his head.

“You have to untie me so I can try to mend your hand,” Lillian said urgently.

“No, I can’t,” he said with panic in his voice.

“Samuel, I’m afraid that you will not make it if you keep losing blood,” Lillian replied.

“I don’t feel so good,” Samuel said weakly.

“Please untie me,” Lillian repeated.

“All right then,” he said, moving his uninjured hand to his boot and grabbing a small knife. Lillian gasped, but he began to use the knife to cut the rope from her wrists. After what seemed to be an entire lifetime, the ropes finally dropped to the floor. At once, Lillian took Samuel’s hand in hers and removed the cloth he had been using as a bandage.

There was an apparent gunshot wound on his hand, which would have to be treated by a doctor soon. Lillian thought desperately what she could do, looking around the sparse room. She noticed the water canteen and crawled over to grab it.

I don’t have anything to cover the wound, she thought, but then she realized what she could do. She tore away a long strip of her dress, just wide enough to cover the wound. She poured water over the injury, and Samuel hissed with pain.

“Be still,” she said, laying the clean piece of cloth over the wound. She began to wind the long strip of her dress in a circle after circle over his hand, making sure to tie it tightly enough. Finally, she tucked the end of the fabric, looking at her handiwork.

“It should be better now,” she said, “At least a little bit.”

“Why are you helping me?” Samuel asked, “After all we have done,” he said guiltily.

“I believe you should always help if you can, especially those that help you,” Lillian said.

“But I haven’t helped you; I have only harmed you,” Samuel said bitterly, not looking at her.

“I do not know the reason why you are here, but I cannot change what has happened,” Lillian replied, “and I cannot look at another person suffering and not help.”

“Even if that is a bad person?” Samuel asked.

“I don’t think you are a bad person, Samuel,” Lillian said and gave him a small smile.

“I wish I never came here,” he muttered, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said, gesturing to the room they were in.

“What do you mean?” Lillian asked.

“We weren’t supposed to keep you here,” Samuel said, “But…” he stopped himself just before he said the name of his companion.

“I shouldn’t be talking to you,” he said, backing away from her.

“Please don’t leave,” Lillian said at once, “I don’t want to be alone.”

“All right,” Samuel said hesitantly, “I’ll stay.”

“Thank you,” Lillian replied, “I can’t bear another cold night here on my own.”

* * *

“You sent me a letter,” Michael stated, looking at the man in front of him.

“I sure tried,” Rex said, gingerly standing up. Michael was still clutching his gun, still not quite ready to believe him.

“The letter was burned,” Michael said, standing up, looking at the man in front of him. He certainly fits the description that Benjamin had given, although he could not be certain if he would describe the man as with a broad forehead.

“Recently, a bounty hunter from the Gatesville sheriff’s office came to pick up a prisoner,” Michael said.

“Yeah, I was one of them,” Rex replied.

“Did you speak with my junior sheriff at that time?” Michael asked.

“I did not,” Rex said, “He spoke with my associate, Cleveland ‘the blind.’”

“I see,” Michael replied thoughtfully.

“Did you recently try to speak with Mr. Hammond, pretending to be me?”

“Well… I might have done something of that sort,” Rex chuckled, but Michael did not see any reason to smirk about this matter.

“Why should I believe you? If you are who you are, why would you need to deceive people into believing you are someone else,” Michael retorted.

“To be honest, I do this often,” Rex said, “And before you say anything, allow me to explain. When I say I am a bounty hunter, I usually get the door shut in my face.”

“So, you pretend to be a sheriff regularly?” Michael said in disbelief.

“I do, but I do it to gauge people’s reaction,” Rex explained.

“Gauge people’s reaction?” Michael repeated.

“When folks have nothing to hide, speaking with a sheriff is no issue, can even be a bit exciting,” Rex continued, “However, when people are hiding something or have done something bad, the sheriff is the last person they want to be talking with.”

Michael couldn’t help but chuckle, “As I said, my name is Rex Rodgers, I am a bounty hunter, and I do much work for the Gatesville Sheriff’s office. I have been working on finding a man that is only known as Old Ghost.”

“And I sent you a letter, a warning because I believed that Old Ghost might have infiltrated your town, or at least has some of his men working for him there.”

“Why do you think that?” Michael asked.

“Well, Old Ghost leaves a trail of fires and arsons. The body count is growing with every year, but so far, no one has caught him or even knows what he looks like,” Rex said, grabbing a pipe from his pocket and lighting it.

“I tried to send you a warning, but it seems I was too late,” he added, blowing smoke out slowly.

“And why are you here?” Michael asked.

“To try and find Mrs. Wesley’s children,” Rex said.

“How did you know they had been taken?” Michael asked.

“I have been investigating Old Ghost and his methods for a long time, Sheriff,” he said, “And this is what he does. He tries to bribe, and when that doesn’t work, he manipulates and blackmails people. He will stop at nothing to gain more, seize more power and money.”

“When I saw Mrs. Wesley had gone, I suspected she might have tried to escape, so I tried to follow,” Rex sighed, “But I was too late, they had already gotten to her.”

“Well, I am going to leave before I lose more sunlight,” Michael finally said.

“I will join you,” Rex said.

“You will?” Michael replied.

“You are not the only one that wants to catch these bastards,” Rex said coolly.

“Fine,” Michael said, “I am going to follow these wheel tracks.”

“Did they take her carriage?” Rex asked.

“Yes, they did,” Michael said and was surprised when he saw that Rex was grinning.

“Why are you smiling?”

“This means they are getting sloppy,” Rex said, “This means we will catch them.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Michael rode next to Rex. They moved slower than Michael would have preferred, as they had to watch that they were still following the carriage tracks. The sky was getting increasingly darker, and finally, they stopped being able to see the tracks. They slowed down, stopping at a crossroads that divided the road in two directions.

“Damn it,” Rex exclaimed.

“We are just going to have to go both ways,” Michael said.

“Let’s split up,” he added, looking at Rex.

“Yes, let’s do that,” Rex replied, pulling his horse towards the road that led to the right.

“Good luck,” Michael said, tucking on the reins encouraging his horse to move. He looked around at the narrow road. It was surrounded by a thick cluster of trees on one side and a rocky hillside on the other. He had to ride slowly as the sky was turning dark, and some of the lower hanging branches stroked and poked his arm and head.

This is much too tight for a carriage, Michael thought, wincing as a branch pulled back and shot back and hit him on the arm painfully. I should return to Rex… But Michael had barely formed the thought when a gunshot pierced the sky, causing birds to fly from nearby trees, and Michael’s horse jumped up in the air. Michael barely managed to hold on, narrowly preventing him from falling off his saddle.

“Calm down,” he said, soothingly to his horse, “Let’s turn back.” With some maneuvering, he was able to turn around on the narrow road, and he rode as fast as he could in the darkness and on the uneven earth. He reached the crossroads again and hurried forward, grabbing his gun from his belt. This pathway was much broader, and the road more worn.

Are we being ambushed? This would be a perfect place to lurk and wait for unsuspecting passers-by.

Movement ahead caught his attention, and he hurried along. In the distance, he noticed a small clearing, and a loud scuffling was happening very close by. Michael slowed down, inching towards the sound of the commotion. There was the carriage, haphazardly placed next to a large tree, and ahead was a small cabin, almost entirely hidden by the surrounding trees.

Michael peered ahead, making sure to remain out of sight. He saw Rex crouching behind a pile of tree logs, looking carefully at the house. Michael did not see anyone at the house at first. But then he noticed the rifle sticking out of one of the windows.

There was no way for Michael to ride ahead without catching the attention of the gunman in the house, and if he tried to return the way he came, they might still catch a glimpse of him—if they hadn’t already done so. Michael was thinking fast, looking around him. If he went on foot, he might be able to remain out of sight.

He dismounted and carefully walked closer to the house. He peered behind the tree, trying to figure if he could see where the gunman was and how many they were. As he skulked closer to the next tree, he nearly tripped on a protruding root and had to grab hold of a branch to keep from falling down, which resulted in a loud sound as the branch shook. But at that time, he heard Rex call: “Come out, now. There’s no place to run.”

In response, there was a deafening gunshot fired. Michael bent low and tried to see if Rex had been hit. Rex caught his eyes and made a gesturing movement to go behind the house. Michael nodded in agreement and slowly made his way around the house. He had to walk slowly and hold out his hand to keep him from walking into trees.

When he was at the house, he looked in Rex direction again, who looked behind the pile of logs he was hiding behind, just quickly enough to nod to Michael, before another shot was fired. Michael walked up to the cabin, which did not have any windows, or at least they were boarded up. He pressed his ear to the exterior wall and tried to hear how many were inside.

He did not hear anything, but he noticed that there was one window which had been boarded up, but the piece of wood covering the window was loose. Just as he was thinking about how he could pull on the wood panel without alerting the gunman inside, Rex began shouting.

“Come out, you coward,” Michael heard Rex say.

“Aren’t you man enough to face me,” he added with a jeer. Predictably, the gunman shot once more, and Michael used the cover of the noise to pull hard at the panel. It almost came off at once, and he just managed to grab it before it hit the window harshly. Come on, Rex… Distract him again. For a little while, there was nothing, but then Rex began shouting again. Michael pulled the loose wood panel off completely and noticed that the window was open now.

Carefully, he looked inside, holding his gun out, ready to shoot. At once, he lowered his gun as he saw inside the small cabin. By one of the windows on the other side, there was a man, dressed in black, his back facing Michael, aiming a long riffle out the boarded-up window, which had a small hole for him to peer through. In one of the corners, further away from Michael, he noticed three small children huddled together.

Two of the smaller children were hidden from view, their older sister, Sally, holding her arms around them in a protective manner. Michael rose up slightly, trying to catch the attention of the children. Slowly he waved at them until finally Sally looked up and noticed him. He held a finger over his lips, urging her to be quiet. She gasped when she noticed him, but quickly put her hand over her mouth.

Michael signaled to Sally that they should walk, very quietly, toward him. She shook her head, frightened, looking nervously at the gunman by the window. Michael thought for a moment before he mimicked a gun firing and then walking. He repeated this and looked intently at Sally.

Tears were streaming down her pale cheeks, but slowly she nodded her head. She bent down and whispered something in her sibling’s ear. At once, the golden-haired boy that Michael had seen once before, looked up his eyes wide. When he saw Michael at once, he began walking towards him.

Immediately, Michael shook his head, frantically looking between the boy and the shooter, but again, Rex called out, insulting the man for not going outside and fight him like a man. The shooter stood up, angrily grabbing his gun. Just before Michael looked away, he pointed down to the small boy, who, alarmed by the movement behind him, crouched down.

Michael moved his head very slowly so as if he could see inside the window, holding his gun—ready to shot. With horror, he saw the man look at Sally, but he did not seem to have noticed that one of the children had gone. His face was covered with a dark handkerchief, and his hat was pulled down low, so it was impossible to see his face.

The shooter punched open the window panel he had been shooting through, giving himself more room to shoot. Throwing caution to the wind, Michael stood up by the window, signaling the boy to come to him. The boy jumped to his feet, and Michael put out his arms, lifting the boy up and through the window. Michael put the boy down, looking around.

“Go hide behind that tree,” he whispered, “Don’t move until I say so.” The boy nodded his head rapidly, jumping behind the tree. Michael stood up again, gesturing to Sally to join him, who had already begun to crawl towards him, holding her sister tightly. The shooter was getting visibly angrier with Rex’s taunts, and just as brave little Sally lifted up her sister to Michael’s outstretched arms, he turned around.

“NO!” the shooter screamed, leaping back. Michael put down the little girl and yelled, “REX!” At once, the door to the cabin was kicked down, and in the momentary confusion, Michael bent down over the window-sill, grabbing Sally in his arms and pulling her out. At the same time, there were two gunshots, and Michael could feel as the bullet grazed past him. He bent down and carried the two girls to their brother.

“Stay here!” he commanded and ran back to the house. He looked through the window and saw Rex standing up after having fallen, and the black-clad shooter was running away, limping.

“Stop him,” Rex yelled, and Michael ran around the house. The shooter had managed to reach the carriage, but Michael was rapidly gaining on him. But just as he was about to reach him, the shooter turned around quickly, holding out the back of his riffle and jabbing it in Michael’s face.

A loud cracking sound and metallic taste filled Michael’s mouth as blood began to pour from his nose. When he looked up again, he saw the shooter riding away like a bullet—on his horse.

“Goddamit!” Michael cursed, kicking the ground with fury. Michael pinched his nose and used his handkerchief to stop the bleeding. He turned around and walked back towards the cabin.

“He got away,” he called to Rex, who just left the cabin. Rex had a black eye but seemed otherwise to be all right.

“Where are the children?” Rex asked.

“Behind the cabin,” Michael said, walking back to the tree where the children were huddled together.

“Come on, children,” he said, “Let’s go see your mother.”

Michael picked up the youngest child and carried it towards the carriage, still clutching the handkerchief over his bleeding nose. Sally and her younger brother followed, holding hands, joining Rex, who was trying to pull back the carriage. It had been hastily left on the side of the road, and getting it back would take some careful maneuvering.

Michael put down the child and began helping Rex pulling the carriage backward. After heaving it for a few minutes, they finally managed to get it on the road. The children climbed up but looked absolutely terrified.

“Hey,” Michael said soothingly, “Chin up! Do you know where we’re going?”

“Where?” The young boy said timidly.

“To your mama,” Michael said reassuringly, “At your grandparents’ house.”

“But…” Sally simpered, “What if the bad man comes there?” Tears filled her eyes, but she shook them away.

“Well, I have met your grandfather, and I think he would do pretty much anything to protect you,” Michael chuckled, and the three children smiled.

“He sure will,” Rex said, walking towards them.

“You better ride the carriage,” he added, “Since he took your horse.”

“The bastard,” Michael spat, as he securely closed the carriage door, and walked to the front.

“You should ride ahead with the children; I will stay here to investigate the cabin,” Rex said.

“Do you think you will find anything there?” Michael asked, “It looked pretty empty.”

“We managed to surprise them,” Rex stated, “They have always been three or four steps ahead of us, until now.”

“Good luck,” Michael said, “When will I see you next?”

“I will return to the Hammond resident soon,” Rex answered.

“All right then,” Michael replied.

“Be safe,” Rex added, walking back toward the cabin.

* * *

The carriage was heavy and moved slowly. Michael looked around him, constantly imagining that he was seeing movement in between the trees. When he was on the main road, he relaxed, but only slightly. He could hear the two younger children whimpering in the back of the carriage, Sally trying to calm them down.

Finally, he was riding down the long road that led to the farm of Mrs. Wesley’s parents. The sky was dark, but there was still light in the windows, and as Michael rode into the farmyard, the front door opened. Mr. Hammond appeared, holding his rifle, but when he saw who was riding the carriage, he lowered his gun and called inside: “Come out, Bella!”

After a short moment, the door flung open, and Mrs. Wesley came running outside, wearing her nightgown.

“Where are my children?” she cried, “What happened? Where are they?”

“Take a look,” Michael smiled, jumping down and walking to the back of the carriage opening the door.

“Mama!” the children screamed and jumped out of the carriage. Mrs. Wesley was crying tears of joy and hugging her children tightly, kissing them all over.

“Thank you,” she said, when she stood up, holding her youngest, and was barely able to walk as her two other children clung to each leg.

“You saved them! How can I ever repay you?”

“Let’s get them inside,” Michael said, “They need to rest.” All of them walked into the house, and Mr. and Mrs. Hammond embraced their grandchildren joyfully. Mr. Hammond demanded to give Michael a drink, and Mrs. Hammond pushed him to sit down in the kitchen to have something to eat.

As Michael had not eaten, well, he didn’t actually remember when he last ate, he accepted the food. He was finishing his second plate of sausages when Mrs. Wesley returned from putting her children to bed.

“They are finally asleep,” she said, sitting across Michael.

“How are they feeling?” Michael asked.

“Scared,” she replied simply, “But my Billy says that he’s going to be sheriff when he grows up,” she chuckled.

“And a fine one he will be,” Michael said.

“I need to tell you something,” Mrs. Wesley added thoughtfully, biting her lip, “You have no idea how this has plagued me. I tried to tell you, but… Well, I was nervous if telling you would cause problems, but I didn’t even tell you, and still, my children were taken away from me. I want you to find them and get them behind bars—all of them.”

“Who are they?” Michael asked, pushing his plate away from him.

“The thing is, I actually don’t know,” she grimaced, “But they were threatening my Finnegan. He didn’t tell me much, but he did mention that someone was trying to buy his property, and he refused them.”

“Someone tried to buy his shop?” Michael asked.

“Not the shop, no,” Mrs. Wesley replied.

“They wanted his father’s old warehouse,” she added.

“What warehouse is that?” Michael said urgently.

“It is just across the county border,” she explained, “It hasn’t been in use for years, and not many people know about it. But the land is large, and has great potential…” her voice broke, and she dried tears from her eyes, “Finnegan wanted to open a bigger woodshop there. Have inventory that he could store and expand more.”

“Can you tell me where this warehouse is?” Michael said.

“Yes, I can,” Mrs. Wesley, “But I am going to need a map.”

While Mr. Hammond went looking for a map, there was a knock on the door. Mrs. Wesley froze in her tracks, and Mrs. Hammond dropped the plate she had been drying. The resounding crack as the plate broke seemed to break the spell, and Michael stood up.

“I will go,” he said, walking to the front door. He held his gun ready, opening the door slowly. But when he noticed that it was Rex standing there, he lowered his gun.

“Come on in,” Michael said, opening the door to let him walk inside.

“That’s the chiseler!” Mr. Hammond bellowed, pointing at Rex, “Why are you letting him inside? This is the man that pretended to be the sheriff!”

“Please, forgive me,” Rex said, taking off his hat, “Allow me to introduce myself; Rex Rodgers. I’m a bounty hunter from the Gatesville Sheriff’s office.”

“Why did you try to deceive us?” Mr. Hammond demanded.

“I must admit, that I was hoping to get a quicker response from you, and in my experience, folks are more willing to speak with the sheriff, and not some bounty hunter,” Rex explained.

“I could not have saved your children without his help,” Michael said, looking at Mrs. Wesley.

“Thank you,” she replied softly.

“Did you find anything in the cabin?” Michael asked.

“No, not much. I’m not even sure this is one of their regular spots, it was almost completely empty.”

“What cabin was this?” Mr. Hammond asked.

“A small, secluded one, just off the crossroads,” Rex said.

“That must be the old hunting cabin,” Mr. Hammond said, “No one’s used it in years.”

“But they cannot have been there for long, ‘cause behind it is a popular riding track, and there is a clear view of the cabin from there.”

“Interesting,” Rex said, looking at Michael.

“They are getting careless,” Michael stated.

“Indeed,” Rex nodded, and then he handed Michael a small object.

“The matches!” Michael exclaimed, examining the small packet of matches that was exactly the same as the previous ones he had found after the fires. He turned it over and read the inscription out loud: “Emerald Creek Hotel.”

“Have you seen these matches before?” Rex asked curiously.

“I found them after two of the fires in Rust Canyon,” Michael explained, “But I wasn’t able to read the inscription before. But these are definitely the same; I would recognize this picture from anywhere.”

“We are getting closer to catching them,” Rex said triumphantly.

“You fellas should get some rest,” Mrs. Hammond said suddenly, “You must be dead tired.”

“I cannot,” Michael said gravely, “Once you show me where the warehouse is, I will ride out.”

“You should gather your strength,” Rex said, “Besides, you don’t have a horse.”

“I must go now,” Michael retorted, “Now they must know we are getting closer, and they might move Lillian, or even…” he wasn’t able to finish the sentence. The sudden image of Lillian screaming his name as a bullet pierced her chest filled his tired mind, and he had to shake it away.

“You will take one of our horses,” Mr. Hammond said, looking intently at Michael.

“It is clear that where you are meant to be now, and that is with her,” he added, “Now, mark on the map Bella, where that warehouse is. I will fetch the horse.”

“Thank you,” Michael said, sincerely.

I have to get to her in time… I cannot bear the thought of losing her.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Lillian stirred as she heard sound from outside. She had fallen asleep hunched over, and her whole body ached worse than ever. She looked up and was startled to see Samuel crouched in one corner of the room, clutching his wounded hand close to his chest. He was shaking all over, and he had his eyes closed, but Lillian could tell that he was not asleep. The bandages she had made were soaked in blood, and he looked pale and clammy.

“Samuel,” Lillian whispered, her voice hoarse and croaky. Samuel didn’t seem to hear her, or perhaps Lillian hadn’t really made a sound. It was difficult to tell, with the pounding in her head that grew more painful by the minute. Lillian heaved herself up to a sitting position and tried again.

“Samuel,” she said, a little louder this time. Now, Samuel did look up, and Lillian noticed that he looked confused and weak. He finally spotted her and seemed surprised to see her; for a moment, it even seemed as if he did not recognize her.

“We need to change the bandages,” Lillian said, growing more concerned by the state of her benevolent capturer.

“Samuel,” she repeated, but at that moment, a sound from outside grew louder. Samuel looked in the direction of the sound, and he tried to stand up, but he did not have the strength to move. The sound of someone walking around grew even louder, and Lillian could hear them curse loudly.

“Where is he,” the voice from outside said, and Lillian realized that she had heard that voice before, but she could not yet make out who it was.

The door to the room opened, and Lillian quickly lay back, grabbing the rope that Samuel had untied from her earlier and wound it loosely over her wrists, making it look like she was still tied.

“What are you doing?” the man spat, kicking Samuel in the leg.

“What…” Samuel mumbled, and Lillian opened her eyes slightly to see the other man pick Samuel up and shaking him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the man hissed, “Get out,” he pushed Samuel forward, causing him to stumble and fall. The man became furious and kicked him with all his might, resulting in a dull thud and a groan from Samuel. Lillian couldn’t stop the gasp from escaping her lips. The man turned around and strode towards her. Lillian cowered, trying to hide from the stampeding man, but as he was about to bend down, Samuel spoke.

“Don’t,” he gasped, trying to stand up, “Our orders were to keep her safe…” Samuel was unable to finish his sentence, and a violent cough overcame him.

“I’ll deal with you later,” the man growled and picked Samuel up again and threw him from the room. Lillian screamed as she heard the sound of punching and a veil of pain from Samuel.

Oh, dear God. This man is completely insane—what will he do next? I fear that this is the end…

* * *

“Michael!” Rex called. Michael stood outside the Hammond farm and was about to mount the horse that Mr. Hammond had brought him.

“Wait, just a moment,” he said, walking towards him.

“I have to go, Rex,” Michael forestalled him, “You know that the shooter will be going back to her, right now. He might even have moved her.”

“I’m not going to try and stop you,” Rex replied, “You need to be very careful.”

“I know,” Michael said, but Rex interrupted them.

“No, I mean, you need to re-evaluate how you are going to approach them,” Rex explained.

“How do you mean?” Michael asked.

“These aren’t your everyday criminals,” Rex continued, “They have gotten away with this for a long time, and they are very powerful—and ruthless.” Rex paused for a while and looked behind him at the Hammond house.

“I didn’t want to say this inside, but these men are monsters. They likely extorted Mr. Wesley before his death, and they might even have planned to burn down his workshop with his family inside.”

“Are you serious?” Michael exclaimed.

“In our investigation, there have been many that did not dare to talk to us. People that had already lost a family member, often in a tragic accident. These men are dangerous and will stop at nothing to achieve their goal,” Rex finished.

“I understand,” Michael replied thoughtfully. This information only lit the fire inside him to get to them and make them pay for their crimes.

“I will stay here till morning at least,” Rex said, “You never know if they will try to send someone else over here to finish what they started.”

“Good,” Michael said, heaving himself up onto the light brown horse.

“If you have not returned here near sunset, I will ride out to you,” Rex said.

“Let’s hope it does not come to that,” Michael sighed and pulled on the reins, and with a nod to his hat, he rode down the path away from the farm.

Michael rode on in the pitch-black darkness. The horse he was riding was rather slow but kept a steady pace. It was a strong workhorse, one that Mr. Hammond used for carrying the carriage and various jobs at the farm. Michael desperately wanted to sprint forward, but it was not wise. Mrs. Wesley had marked on the map where the warehouse that had been her husband was.

It was a long ride from the Hammond farm, and as she had only once been there, the directions weren’t as clear as Michael had hoped. According to the map, he had to be on the lookout for a small dirt road that was very easy to miss once he neared the county border. Michael had an uneasy feeling that if he would not get to the warehouse in time, he might lose Lillian forever.

The shooter had been furious when he noticed that Michael had managed to get the children away. He thought over and over Rex’s final words to him. They are powerful and ruthless. Michael had an inkling that Rex was still keeping something away from him about these criminals, something that might be too horrible to even speak about.

* * *

Lillian covered her ears to try to stop herself from hearing the horrible sounds from outside the room she was in. The other man was kicking Samuel over and over, and the gurgling sound she heard was truly too awful to bear. Finally, the sound of kicking stopped, and Lillian breathed easier, but only for a moment. To her horror, the insane man returned to her room, lighting a cigarette as he walked passed the threshold.

He looked at her, from under his black hat, his face still covered by the handkerchief. His eyes looked empty and cold, but Lillian noticed that his eyes were crinkled, like he was smiling. He had pulled the handkerchief to the side and drew a long breath from the cigarette.

His face was obscured by smoke when he exhaled, but Lillian could see that he did not look away from her for even one moment. A cold shudder ran down her spine, but she was as if paralyzed with fear. The man took a taunting step closer to her.

“Stay away,” Lillian screamed, curling into herself. The man laughed, hollow, horrible laughter. He took another step closer to her, towering over her.

“Don’t you worry little bird. I will deal with you later.” He threw his cigarette at her, turned around and left the room. Lillian squealed, as she avoided the still-lit cigarette. She was about to stomp it out when the sudden realization hit her. She knew; she finally knew who this was, and the realization made everything much, much worse. It was Ray, her uncle’s assistant.

Lillian’s mind was racing. How could this be? Why would Ray be keeping her here? It made no sense! Nevertheless, she was certain now, this was his voice, and she recognized the horrible cigarettes that he smoked. He had also called her little bird, Lillian cringed at the thought alone. She had always detested that man but always figured that her uncle had a good reason for keeping him around.

How could her uncle have been so mistaken? She thought back to the very first time she had met Ray. It had been not long after Uncle Jacob returned to Rust Canyon. Lillian thought with a pang that this had been when her father had still been alive. Lillian had been outside her home in the back garden hanging up the wash.

There had been a strong breeze blowing through the town, and Lillian struggled to hold the sheets in place as she grabbed a clothespin from her apron. More than once, the sheet flew up in her face or upwards, causing her to hold with all her strength lest it fly away.

She had just finished fastening a bed sheet with four clothespins and had bent down to pick up the final sheet from the laundry basket when a particularly strong gust of wind caused the sheet to slip from her hands. She had gasped and looked up to see where it had gone when she noticed someone walking toward her, carrying the now crumpled sheet.

It had been Ray, and he had sauntered towards her, ogling at her in an untoward manner. He had handed over the sheet but refusing to let go of it. His fingers had graced over the back of her hand, causing Lillian to jerk her hand away from him, making the sheet fly away yet again. Ray had chuckled and grabbed the sheet.

“You should be more careful, little bird,” he had said, handing over the sheet.

“Who are you?” Lillian had asked, her voice trembling. She had clutched the sheet towards her, backing away slightly from this strange man.

“Oh, I’m just here, looking for maidens in distress,” Ray had replied, with a wicked grin, “And I guess that I have found a fine one,” he growled. Lillian was about to scream for help when her Uncle Jacob appeared in the back garden.

“My dear Lillian! I see you’ve met my assistant,” Uncle Jacob had said in his booming voice.

“Uhm, yes,” Lillian had replied, trying to control her nerves. She hadn’t wanted to offend her uncle and had even thanked Ray for his help. Lillian shook her head at the memory. She hadn’t told anyone about this, but she had been certain even then that Ray Jennings was a bad seed.

* * *

The sky was growing lighter. It was not yet daybreak, but the dawn was quickly approaching. Michael slowed down and grabbed the map from his rucksack. He opened it and looked at the markings that Mrs. Wesley had written. Somewhere around here, the dirt road should be, but Michael could not see any signs of it. Had he ridden too far?

Mrs. Wesley had mentioned that the road was near a cluster of three trees that grew unusually tightly together. He should turn left there and then immediately turn to the right. Michael noticed a cluster of trees ahead, but when he looked further up the road, he saw a similar cluster of trees as well. Where should he go? If he made a wrong turn here, he might be too late. Michael doubted that the shooter would travel in broad daylight.

He looked at the map again but realized he would have to make a decision himself, as either pathway could be what Mrs. Wesley described. He packed the map again and rode ahead towards the first cluster of trees, hoping against hope he wasn’t making a possibly deadly mistake. There was no clear indication where he should turn to the right, so he turned blindly, beginning to ride through tall grass and rocky terrain. He would have to ride for at least two miles.

* * *

Ray was walking in and out of the house they were in, Lillian noticed. She could hear his retreating and approaching footsteps again and again, and she wondered what he could possibly be doing. He hadn’t closed the door to her room when he left her earlier. Lillian had been trying to move, as quietly as possible, towards the opening of the room. She wanted to see what Ray was doing.

She did not dare try to escape again, but she desperately wanted to see if Samuel was all right. She had moved to the far end of the mattress, but she was still unable to see anything.

I must stand up. I cannot sit idly by; I must know what is happening.

Very slowly, Lillian stood up, clutching the rope she still had around her wrists. She heard noise from outside, and she knew she would have to be quick. She tiptoed to the doorway of the room and peered outside. Very nearly, she managed to muffle her own scream at the sight that greeted her. On the floor, a few feet away from her, lay Samuel, covered in blood and not moving.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she looked outside and noticed Ray pacing around, smoking another cigarette. Throwing caution to the wind, Lillian hurried towards Samuel. She sat next to him and whispered softly: “Samuel?”

To her relief, he stirred, trying to open his swollen eyes, “Lillian,” he gargled.

“What did he do to you,” Lillian whimpered.

“Go…” Samuel murmured, “Hide.”

“I can’t,” Lillian sobbed.

“Must…” Samuel said, trying to sit up.

“No, please, lie still,” Lillian pleaded.

“I distract,” Samuel gasped.

“Is that so?” Ray said, suddenly appearing behind them. Lillian screamed and tried to crawl away, but Ray grabbed her by the hair.

“You still haven’t had enough, Sammy boy,” Ray taunted, and Lillian whimpered with pain as he held her tightly, “Well, I see that I will have to squash this traitor,” he spat.

“NO,” Lillian screamed, making Ray hold even tighter to her.

“And you!” Ray snarled, “I will have to deal with you sooner than I anticipated… Lucky me,” he growled, pulling her towards him and sniffing her hair luridly. Lillian shuddered violently at the close proximity of Ray, the stench making her nauseous.

“I have always wanted to get to know you better, little bird,” Ray panted in her ear, and Lillian felt rage course through her like fire. She drew a heavy breath before she smashed her head directly into his face, causing a loud cracking sound from his nose.

“Ahhh, you tottie!” Ray yelled, letting go of her as he clutched his nose, “You will pay for this,” he growled. Lillian ran backward, terror filling her as she had never before felt. Ray was quickly approaching her, looking deranged. He bent down to grab her again, but as he was about to sink his filthy hands in her hair again a loud, ringing gunshot caused both of them to look up.

A man stood in the doorway to the building; his dark silhouette looked impressive with the rising sun shining behind him. Lillian gasped as the man walked towards them, making out who it was.

“Let go of her,” Michael said icily, pointing his gun directly at Ray.

“Michael!” Lillian screamed, but Ray turned towards her and slapped her across the cheek. Michael ran towards him like a snorting bull, anger and fury blinding him. He even dropped his gun in his haste to grab the man that had hurt his Lillian. He jumped on top of the man, punching him with all his might. Michael ripped off the man’s hat and handkerchief, realizing who he was.

“Ray!” Michael bellowed, but his momentary bewilderment caused him to loosen his hold on Ray, who kicked him off him and put his hand on his belt, trying to fetch his gun. Michael lunged at him again, kicking him and trying to grab the gun as well. The two of them struggled to reach the gun, but finally, Michael overpowered Ray, pushing him on his side, pinching his hand. Ray yelled in pain, and Michael grabbed his gun.

His fingers grazed over the barrel, when Ray managed to turn around, narrowly snatching the weapon away from Michael. At once, he pulled the trigger. Michael felt a burning sensation on his arm, but he gritted his teeth and pushed Ray down, swinging his hand hard on the ground. The gun flew into the air and landed a far distance away.

Ray cackled and spat blood from his mouth, that was pouring from his nose. Michael gave him a blow to the abdomen, and Ray keeled over. Quickly Michael turned him around and pulled his hands and feet back. He took the rope from his belt and tied him up, like a bull at a rodeo. Ray thrashed around and tried to pull free, but Michael pulled the roped tighter and tied a secure knot. Ray was unable to move, but that did not stop him from trying.

“You’re going to regret this, Flemming,” Ray spat. Michael stood up, ignoring Ray. He walked towards Lillian and helped her up. She looked so frail and was shaking like a leaf. She held his hand, and silent tears were streaming down her cheeks. Michael’s relief of finding her safe was almost too much. He pulled her towards her and kissed her fiercely.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The kiss seemed to expand on for seconds, which then turned to minutes, which could have been years. Or that was at least how Lillian felt. Suddenly, all panic was gone, and she felt no fear. Michael had found her, and he was here with her now. She clung on to him, and Michael held her securely—protecting her from the evils that surrounded them. When they finally broke apart, Michael stared into her eyes, and Lillian saw only warmth and love.

“You found me,” she whispered, still holding onto his strong arms.

“I was not going to rest until I found you,” Michael breathed, observing her face as if trying to remember every feature of her appearance.

“I’m shaking,” Lillian said, noticing how her hands trembled, “Oh, but you’re hurt,” she said, looking at his arm.

“This is just a flesh wound,” Michael dismissed, looking at where the bullet grazed him.

“I need to get you away from here,” he added.

“How did you find me?” Lillian asked.

“That’s a story for another time,” Michael said, looking away from her and glancing angrily at Ray.

“I still cannot fathom that you are here,” Lillian said in disbelief, “I fear that I will wake up in a moment to have all of this have been a dream.”

“This is no dream,” Michael reassured her, taking her hand in his, “I am here.”

“Oh, Michael,” she whispered, wiping away her tears with her free hand.

“It makes my blood boil, that after all this time, it was Ray Jennings that was behind this,” Michael said angrily.

“I don’t understand it… He has been my uncle’s assistant for years. Uncle Jacob trusts him explicitly and…” her voice trailed off, and a look of horror appeared on her frightened face.

“What is it?” Michael asked, concerned.

“His… Years,” Lillian muttered.

“Lillian?” Michael asked again.

“Uncle Jacob,” Lillian said simply, “No.”

“What do you mean?” Michael said.

“I… I think,” Lillian stammered, “I think my uncle might be the one behind all of this!”

“Jacob Frazier?” Michael retorted, thinking fast.

Jacob Frazier, who had seemed worried out of his mind after Lillian disappeared; who had helped with the search, and warned Michael when Vincent tried to shoot him… Jacob, who had directly benefitted from all the fires and strategies and had arrived in Rust Canyon just months before the first incidents began happening. It all made sense, Michael thought.

How could I have been so stupid? Michael reprimanded himself.

“Of course,” Michael exclaimed.

“The fires must be his wrongdoing,” Lillian said.

“He is the one that purchased the burnt lots and planned on rebuilding the town; he has slowly been taking over the town,” Michael replied.

“That must mean…” Lillian hesitated, “Is it possible that Uncle Jacob’s behind my father’s murder?”

“It might very well be,” Michael said, “Hold on, let me show you something.” He walked back to where he had dropped his rucksack and pulled out Philip Walter’s journal.

“This was your father’s,” he added, handing Lillian the book. She took it with trembling hands.

“Father,” she exclaimed softly. She leafed through it and looked up at Michael, confused, “I don’t understand.”

“Your father knew that something was going on,” Michael explained, “He had realized that someone was behind the fires and he had found a pattern, of possible targets.”

“He did?” Lillian gasped.

“I think he was working with my father on this,” he continued, “But I don’t have any proof of that. My father sent me letters with a coded warning about tragedies in Rust Canyon, and it correlates with your father’s writing.”

Lillian was about to close the journal when she noticed something. She opened the journal again and looked carefully at the book cover.

“What is it?” Michael asked.

“This is just uneven,” Lillian said, looking at the leather fastening that covered the journal. “I know father liked to bind his own books, but it would often cause the pages to misalign. Sometimes the pages would stick together.” She gently pulled on one of the pages, which turned out to be two pages, crammed together.

“Hot dang!” Michael exclaimed, “What does it say?”

Lillian straightened the page and read her father’s words, her voice shaking: “Something very serious has happened—I can feel it in my bones. I don’t believe in coincidences, never have. He is up to something.

I can see no other explanation, although it pains me even to write this. I need more information, although there is no doubt in my heart anymore. I will need to be careful, and I must speak with the Sheriff soon.

I worry that he will stop at nothing. If everything I suspect is true, he will not stop for anything. But I have to think of my own family. I must do this for them. No one can know, except for Sheriff Flemming and me.”

Lillian finished reading and had tears streaming down her cheeks again. Michael walked closer to her and stroked away the tears.

“He must have been talking about Uncle Jacob,” Lillian sobbed. Michael put his arm around her when Ray growled from the ground.

“Your father deserved what he got,” Ray spat.

“How dare you,” Michael bellowed.

“You are as dead as a doornail, once your uncle finds out what you know,” Ray cackled.

“What do you mean?” Lillian said.

“I mean, you should have stayed away, then everything would have worked out,” Ray retorted.

“You better start talking,” Michael growled, crouching down next to Ray.

“Huh, who’s going to make me?” Ray taunted, but he gasped as Michael pushed his knee tightly onto Ray’s back.

“Speak!” Michael commanded, pushing harder down, causing Ray to gasp harder.

“Fine,” he gargled, and Michael loosened his knee slightly.

“Your father thought that he could leave Rust Canyon, and take away all his money with him,” Ray began, “Frazier wasn’t about to let you go out of his sight.”

“Let me go?” Lillian asked.

“Your uncle knew what having you around could mean,” Ray growled, “A fair little maiden, which he could offer to one of his investors. He had been waiting a long time for you to grow up, and he wasn’t going to let your father ruin this business deal.”

“What!” Lillian gasped, and Michael was shaking with rage.

“Your uncle waited until your father tried to withdraw his funds from the bank, and then we staged a robbery,” Ray said gleefully, “Oh, I waited a long time for him, I sure did.”

“You killed my father!” Lillian yelled.

“Oh, I wish I had,” Ray continued, “But your uncle demanded it be him… He wanted to look your father in the eye when he shot him.”

Lillian felt the world spinning around her, and she lost her balance. Michael leaped up and caught her just as she was about to faint. This was too much. Uncle Jacob killed my father! How can he have been this cruel? And he has deceived us all this time.

“Lillian?” Michael said worryingly, “Come on now, please, my sweet.” He had helped her sit down and was stroking her cheek gently.

“I cannot believe it,” Lillian cried, “How can he have done this?”

“I don’t have the answer to that,” Michael replied, “But you have my word that he will not get away with this.”

“You have no idea what you are getting yourselves into,” Ray bellowed, but Michael stood up, looking annoyed.

“I have had enough of you,” he said, picking Ray up and walking towards the room Lillian had been kept in. He threw him on the mattress and closed the door behind him, barricading it with a piece of wood.

“Lillian,” Michael said gently, “We should get away from here. I will deal with this scum later,” he nodded in the direction of the room he had just vacated.

“All right,” Lillian agreed.

“Come on now,” Michael said, helping her stand up.

“What about Samuel?” Lillian asked suddenly, looking at the still figure lying on the ground.

“Who’s Samuel?” Michael asked.

“He is,” Lillian said, “He helped me, Michael, and this is what Ray did when he found out.” Michael looked at the mangled appearance of the young man. He bent down to see if he was breathing.

“But he is one of them?” Michael said, looking at Lillian.

“Samuel is a kind man,” Lillian continued, “He cut my ties loose, and he took care of me,” she pleaded.

“All right then.” Michael heaved Samuel up, who was unconscious and carried him out of the warehouse. Lillian walked closely behind him, carrying his rucksack. Once they reached outside, the sun was shining, and the sky looked beautiful. Lillian stopped to gaze at the horizon, and she inhaled deeply, enjoying the sun’s rays on her skin. Michael found his horse, tied to the back, and another one as well, which must be Ray’s horse.

“I should take all the horses with me,” Michael pondered, “Are you well enough to ride?” he asked.

“I am,” Lillian said, surprising herself with her determination.

“Of course,” Michael smiled, “I would not expect anything less from you.”

* * *

Michael led the way back from the warehouse. He was riding his horse again, who had seemed pleased to see his owner again. Michael had managed to heave Samuel up onto the horse he took from Ray, but he rode closely beside him to keep him from falling off. He had fastened the stirrups tightly around Samuel’s feet to keep him in place.

Behind them, Lillian rode on Mr. Hammond’s calm and steady steed. Michael looked around constantly, trying to see if anyone was observing them; they were, after all, a conspicuous trio. Once they reached the cluster of trees that Mrs. Wesley had marked on the map, Michael slowed down to a stop. It was now morning, and they could expect to meet people on the road, which could be fairly hectic during this time of day.

“Here, take this,” Michael said, handing Lillian his jacket and handkerchief.

“What should I do with this?” Lillian asked, accepting the clothing.

“Put it on,” Michael continued, “And you should cover your hair.”

“Why?”

“We still don’t know who we can trust, and I don’t want anyone to know that we have found you,” Michael said.

“I understand,” Lillian replied thoughtfully, “But are we not going back to Rust Canyon?”

“No,” Michael replied simply.

“Where are we going?” Lillian asked.

“We will go back to Little Ivywood,” Michael said, as Lillian put on the jacket and tied her hair back and covered with the handkerchief.

“Little Ivywood?” Lillian said, surprised.

“Mrs. Wesley’s parents live there,” Michael explained.

“Oh, I see,” Lillian said.

“Ready?” Michael asked gently.

“How do I look?” Lillian asked with a small grin.

“You look as beautiful as ever,” Michael replied at once.

“You are sweet,” Lillian smiled, “I sincerely doubt that.”

“You could not look bad even if you tried,” Michael quipped back playfully.

“Smooth-talker,” Lillian teased and pulled on the reins to keep moving.

They only met two riders during their ride, and apparently they were disinterested in these fellow travelers, even seemed a little put off by their dirty, and in Samuel’s case, bloody appearance. Michael kept his head bowed and mumbled, “Good Morning,” to them.

One of the two riders looked at Lillian’s dirty and ripped dress curiously but seemed to think not much of it. Both Michael and Lillian sighed a breath of relief once they had passed the two riders and picked up the pace as much as they could.

“Do you think they recognized us?” Lillian asked concernedly.

“I don’t think so,” Michael replied, looking behind him at the retreating form of the two riders, “But we should hurry in any case.”

“We turn here,” he added, pointing to the road that led to the Hammond farm.

Michael felt a small sense of foreboding as he rode, again, the road that led to the farmhouse. But his feeling of mistrust evaporated once they approached the farmyard, and the sound of children laughing and playing met them. They stopped playing as they saw the new arrivals, running to their grandfather, who sat in front of the house, with his rifle in his lap. Mr. Hammond stood up, holding out his weapon but lowered it when he recognized Michael.

“Bella, come here,” he called towards the house. In a little while, Mrs. Wesley and her mother appeared from the house.

“Morning,” Michael greeted them.

“I think a good cup of coffee would do us all good,” he added with a smile, gesturing to Lillian.

“Miss Walter!” Mrs. Wesley exclaimed, running towards her, “You’re safe, thank the Heavens.”

“Come on down,” she helped Lillian dismount the horse, “Look at you,” Bella stroked Lillian’s cheek and cried silently.

“I will heat water for you so that you can take a bath,” Mrs. Hammond said. The three women walked together into the house, and Mr. Hammond walked to the horse Lillian had been riding. Lillian turned around to look at Michael before she entered the house. She gave him a dazzling smile and chuckled as the three children came running after them, curious about their new guest.

Michael dismounted and stretched, wincing slightly as his whole body ached and stung from the lack of sleep and his recent fight with Ray. The sound of hooves could be heard, and Michael looked up the road he and Lillian had just arrived from. Rex was riding towards them, looking pleased as he noticed Michael.

“I thought I saw you,” Rex said, dismounting and joining Mr. Hammond and Michael.

“Who is this?” he asked, pointing to Samuel.

“This is one of the captors,” Michael replied.

“This is one of them?” Mr. Hammond interjected angrily.

“Apparently, he helped Lillian, and this is the consequences for his kindness,” Michael explained.

“Let’s get him down,” Rex said, and together the three of them carried the still half-unconscious man towards the stable.

“We can keep him here, I don’t want him frightening the women or the children,” Mr. Hammond said, looking at the bloody and swollen face of the young man.

“I also don’t much fancy having this man in my house, no matter what young Miss Walter says,” he added sternly.

“That’s understandable,” Michael said.

“He could prove useful,” Rex said, “If we can keep him from the men responsible for this, he might be a valuable source of information for us.”

“I know who is behind this,” Michael said, looking at Rex, “It’s Jacob Frazier.”

“Jacob Frazier?” Rex repeated, furrowing his brows, “Are you certain?”

“I am,” Michael said simply, “His crony, Ray Jennings, was the one that took Lillian.”

“Where is Ray?” Rex asked.

“I had to leave him at the warehouse,” Michael replied.

“We should not leave him there,” Rex said, pacing back and forth.

“I agree,” Michael said, absentmindedly stroking over his injured arm, “I will be ready to ride back soon.”

“No,” Mr. Hammond said, “I will ride with Rex, you need to rest young man.”

“That is a good idea,” Rex agreed.

“No, I should go,” Michael objected, but Mr. Hammond cut him off.

“You look dead on your feet, and besides, you should stay with your girl,” Mr. Hammond said fatherly.

“He’s right,” Rex said, “You are of no use if you do not rest and gather your strength.”

“But what should we do with Ray?” Michael asked,

“Let me take care of that,” Rex said.

“I just returned from the local post office here in Little Ivywood, where I sent a telegram to the Sheriff’s office in Gatesville,” he added.

“What did you did you tell them?” Michael asked.

“I told them we needed more men here, but I wrote it in code,” Rex said. They were walking out from the stable, leaving Samuel there to rest, after Mr. Hammond had laid a tattered blanket over him.

“Why in code?” Michael asked.

“I have the suspicion that these people,” Rex began, “Jacob Frazier,” he corrected himself, “Have someone on the inside in the post office.”

“Really? What makes you say that?” Michael replied.

“The way your father wrote in his letters to you was most conspicuous, and I find it strange that when the warning letter I sent you, was supposed to arrive, the post office in Rust Canyon burns down,” Rex continued. “It was by a pure chance that I arrived in Rust Canyon, to pick up a convict after your junior Sheriff sent us a letter. It became clear that you were nowhere to be found at that time, and after a little investigation, I realized that you never received my letter.”

“It all fits,” Michael said thoughtfully.

“Now, we should go and get this Ray fellow,” Rex said, looking at Mr. Hammond.

“Let’s get that mongrel,” Mr. Hammond said determinately.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Lillian walked into the warm and charming home of the Hammonds. Isabella Wesley stood beside her, and Lillian realized that Isabella had her arm around her, ready to grab her if she fell. Mrs. Hammond had gone up the stairs to prepare the bath. Suddenly, Lillian was overwhelmed by everything, as if she didn’t have the power to keep up appearances anymore. Without warning, she tripped and nearly fell, but Isabella was ready and caught her.

“Come here, sit down,” Isabella said, guiding Lillian to a comfortable armchair in the sitting room.

“Oh, thank you,” Lillian whispered, “I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s the shock,” Isabella explained gently.

“I felt absolutely fine before, but now I seem to have lost all my strength,” Lillian said.

“Sally, dear,” Isabella called to her eldest daughter, “Fetch Miss Walter a glass of water.”

“Yes, Mama,” Sally replied, walking purposefully to the kitchen.

“She is such a good girl,” Lilian smiled.

“She sure is. I think she likes to have something else to think about.”

“What do you mean?” Lillian asked.

“Didn’t Michael tell you?” Isabella replied, surprised.

“Tell me what?” Lillian replied.

“Well, they, um…” Isabella began, but her voice caught in her throat, and she shook her head angrily.

“What’s the matter?” Lillian asked gently, “You don’t have to tell me anything you do not wish to divulge.”

“No, you should know,” Isabella said, pulling herself together.

“They… These men,” Isabella began, “They took my children.”

“What?” Lillian exclaimed, “How terrible!”

“I was fleeing, but I was ambushed,” Isabella continued, “And they took my children,” she wiped her tears away.

“If Michael hadn’t been looking for you, if he hadn’t been so very determined to find you, no matter what, I worry that I would have lost them… for good,” she sobbed.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Lillian said, pulling the other woman towards her in a tight embrace, “You must have been so scared.”

“I was,” Isabella cried, but reluctantly pulled herself from Lillian.

“But, I am so very sorry for what happened to you,” Isabella said miserably.

“You don’t need to pity me,” Lillian said, trying to reassure her, but Isabella shook her head.

“It’s my fault that they took you,” she said angrily.

“I don’t believe that,” Lillian said confidently.

“I tried to warn you, but I didn’t dare to,” Isabella couldn’t look at Lillian anymore, “I was a coward, and they took you.”

“Stop that, Isabella,” Lillian said determinately, “My uncle is behind all of this, and he was never going to let me be free.”

“Your uncle?” Isabella said, turning around to face Lillian again, “Mr. Frazier?”

“Yes,” Lillian replied sadly, “He betrayed my whole family, and I think it is good that you didn’t manage to warn me.”

“Why do you say that?” Isabella said, shocked.

“Well, because from what I have heard about my uncle, he is ruthless and has committed terrible crimes,” Lillian continued, “And if they would have found out that you warned me, possibly helping me to escape, I dread to think what would have happened to you or your lovely children.”

“I still feel guilty,” Isabella said after a long pause.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Lillian said, smiling at Sally, who had tentatively approached the two women. By the worried expression on the little girl’s face, she had apparently been listening.

“Thank you,” she added to Sally.

“You are right,” Isabella said, sitting down and pulling Sally towards her and hugging her.

“The bath is ready, Miss Walter,” Mrs. Hammond said, walking down the stairs. Lillian took a large sip of water and soon another until she had completely finished it.

“Wow, you were really thirsty,” young Sally giggled.

“I was,” Lillian said, “But right now, I cannot think of anything as wonderful as a warm bath,” she smiled and gingerly stood up. Isabella offered Lillian her arm, and together they walked up the stairs.

* * *

Michael observed Mr. Hammond and Rex riding down the road and turned slowly around. Being still and letting others do the work was uncomfortable, but if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to ride for a minute longer. Before he entered the house, he looked into the stable where Samuel lay, still sleeping.

They would need to get Doctor Littlefield over here to take a look at him, but he wasn’t sure how they could do that and remain unscrupulous. Once Michael had made sure that Samuel was, in fact, still breathing, he slowly sauntered towards the house. When he entered, there didn’t seem to be anybody around.

“Hello?” Michael called.

“Oh, there you are,” Mrs. Hammond said, appearing from the kitchen.

“ Miss Walter is upstairs,” she added, noticing the look on his face, “You should sit down. I will give you a cup of coffee.”

Michael followed her into the kitchen and sat down at the kitchen table. His arm was beginning to sting him a little, and he grunted, annoyed when he tried to move his arm forward.

“You are hurt,” Mrs. Hammond stated, as she handed him a steaming mug of coffee.

“It’s nothing more than a flesh wound,” Michael dismissed.

“Well, you should nevertheless allow me to take a look at it,” Mrs. Hammond said sternly. Michael couldn’t help himself from chuckling. She spoke with authority, but her words were filled with motherly warmth and concern.

“Thank you,” he finally said, enjoying every sip of the coffee.

“You certainly have influenced our Billy,” Mrs. Hammond smiled as she sat opposite Michael, clutching her own mug of coffee.

“Is that so?” Michael chuckled.

“He has not stopped talking about you since the moment he woke up,” Mrs. Hammond said, looking to her right, where a curly head could be seen shaking with giggles.

“He wants to be a sheriff, he does,” she added loudly, and at her words, Billy stood up from where he had been hiding, with a wide grin plastered on his face.

“There’s the young sheriff,” Michael said with a wink.

“I’m gonna be just like you,” Billy said eagerly, “Ride on my horse and catch all the bad guys.” He mimicked a gun and began running around the kitchen, firing at invincible bad-guys.

“Now go upstairs and help your mother.” Mrs. Hammond ruffled her grandson’s hair playfully.

“All right, grandma,” Billy grinned and leaped from the room.

“He certainly seems to have recovered from his ordeal,” Michael said, observing the boy running up the stairs, tripping, and then running again.

“He is too young to really know what happened,” Mrs. Hammond said, her smile faltering, “But my sweet Sally, she woke up every hour screaming, terrified the men were coming to take them away again.”

“We are going to make them pay,” Michael said seriously, “You mark my word.”

“I believe you,” Mrs. Hammond replied with a small nod, “After what you have done for our family, we will never be able to repay you.”

“There is no need for anything of that sort,” Michael dismissed.

“You should at least allow me to take a look at your arm,” she added, standing up to fetch a small basket with her medical supplies.

“Sure,” Michael said and stood up to take off his shirt. The sleeve clung uncomfortably to his wound, and once he ripped it free, it began bleeding again.

“Here, allow me,” she said, taking a clean cloth and pressing over the wound. Slowly she cleaned the wound, taking great care in keeping pressure on the wound. Finally, she applied a yellow-looking ointment, which made Michael hiss with pain.

“What is that?” he said through gritted teeth.

“It a remedy for wounds, which my great-grandmother made,” Mrs. Hammond said, and she began covering the wound with a white cotton cloth.

“It works wonders, but does hurt like the dickens,” she chuckled, “You are done.”

“Thank you,” Michael said, standing up.

“Let me fetch you another shirt,” she said, taking his filthy one with her, “We should simply burn this one.”

“I don’t mind,” Michael replied.

“Well, I do,” Mrs. Hammond said and walked to the back room, behind the kitchen. After a short while, she returned with a clean white shirt and handed it to him.

“It’s the least we can do,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you again, Mrs. Hammond,” Michael said, but suddenly had an idea, “I think there is something else you could do.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“In your stable is a young man, very badly injured,” Michael began, “He is one of the captors that took Lillian; however, he tried to help her. Lillian begged me to bring him along. We are going to see if we can have him help us, but he is in bad shape.”

Mrs. Hammond looked at Michael for a while, thoughtfully. Finally, she said, “ Miss Walter trusts him?”

“Yes,” Michael replied simply.

“I will take a look at him,” Mrs. Hammond said.

* * *

Lillian relaxed in the warm water, allowing the stress and pain of the past day’s ease from her aching body. The warm water felt wonderful, but it did magnify her injuries. She observed her red and chaffed wrists, and as she looked down her legs, she noticed many bruises and small cuts from her time in that horrible warehouse.

Suddenly, she couldn’t stand being in the water anymore. She stood up from the grandiose bathtub and put on the robe Isabella had left for her. She sat on the bathtub ledge and tried to suffocate the feeling of panic and dread that had washed over her like a dark cloud on a sunny day. Lillian felt unsteady, and she grabbed the bathtub ledge for support. She hardly heard the soft knock on the bathroom door.

“Lillian?” she heard Isabella calling softly.

“Can I come in?”

“Yes,” Lillian replied softly, not sure if Isabella had even heard her. The door opened slowly, and Isabella entered, carrying a folded dress in her arms.

“I brought you some clothes,” Isabella said, but when she saw Lillian, she put away the clothes and hurried toward her.

“Come on now,” she said consolingly, “Let’s get you dressed.”

“Yeah,” Lillian said softly, standing up. Isabella helped her get dressed, and once she began buttoning up the dress, she took a look at Lillian’s wrists.

“Oh, dear,” Isabella sighed, “Allow me to mend these.” The two women walked from the bathroom, towards a room at the far end of the hallway. Isabella opened the room and guided Lillian to sit down on the bed.

“You poor thing,” she said, “Let me fetch mother’s medicine basket. I will return in a short while.”

Isabella left the room, and Lillian could hear her children following their mother, asking loud questions about the pretty woman with the torn dress. Lillian chuckled and stood up to look at herself in the mirror. The dress Isabella had given her was a plain, but a pretty everyday dress, cream-colored, with lace trim at the neck and near the sleeves.

She observed herself in the mirror, noting how tired she looked and how very pale her complexion was. Nevertheless, her cheeks had a tinge of pink, and her eyes were wide awake. She had survived, and being here at the Hammond house was energizing her, slowly but surely.

Lillian missed her mother an awful lot. Dorothy must be worried out of her mind. And to think that Jacob would no doubt be right there at her side, comforting her as he did after father died, Lillian thought bitterly. She looked again at her reflection and noticed that her eyes had a glint in them, and she felt a sense of rage that drove away all fear.

“I’m back…” Isabella said as she re-entered the room, but she looked surprised to see Lillian standing in front of the mirror.

“Are you all right?” she asked tentatively.

“I will be,” Lillian replied slowly.

“You look different,” Isabella pointed out as they sat down on the bed, and Isabella rummaged through the basket, finally taking out a small jar with yellow ointment.

“I was feeling very unsure and powerless before, but something shifted inside me,” Lillian said. Isabella listened and began to apply the cream on her sore wrists slowly.

“I thought about my mother, and I realized that I will need to be strong—for her.”

“You really are amazing,” Isabella said in awe, rolling the cotton cloth around Lillian’s wrists, “To come out of a hellish experience like the one you went through, stronger than before.”

“I never felt truly alone, while I was there,” Lillian reflected.

“Well, I admire you,” Isabella chuckled, “And now I think you should come and have something to eat. My mother hinted strongly before that a certain sheriff was pacing back and forth, restless to see you,” she smiled.

* * *

Lillian walked down the stairs, feeling more like herself. Isabella had given her a brush, and for the first time in days, Lillian combed through her light locks, enjoying the normalcy she felt with this simple task. Although the dress was old-fashioned, it fit her nicely, and the skirt moved back and forth in every step, making her think of dancing. Once she entered the kitchen, she noticed Michael. He stood by the kitchen window and was looking outside, waiting for someone.

“Hello,” Lillian said softly and grinned as Michael turned around so fast he nearly tripped.

“Wow!” Michael gazing at her in awe.

“You look… beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Lillian smiled shyly.

“I see I wasn’t the only one who got new clothes,” she said, pointing to his shirt.

“Mrs. Hammond insisted,” Michael said, slowly walking towards her.

“They really are a sweet family,” Lillian replied, her heart beating fast. Michael looked at her wrists and took her right hand in his. A rush of warmth flowed through her when they touched, and she could hardly breathe as he pulled her towards him, and ever so gently stroked over the bandages. He brought her palm to his lips and kissed it gently. He then repeated the same action with her left hand.

“I’m sorry you were hurt,” he whispered.

“I will heal,” Lillian replied softly.

“I will make them pay for what they did to you,” Michael said fiercely, and Lillian shuddered at the intensity of his words.

“Oh, Michael.” Lillian trembled and slowly they moved even closer. But before their lips could meet, Mrs. Hammond came bustling into the kitchen.

“You’re down, how wonderful,” Mrs. Hammond said happily, seemingly unaware of the situation she had just walked into.

“Thank you for everything,” Lillian said, taking a small step away from Michael.

“My dear, I’m just so happy that you are safe,” Mrs. Hammond smiled, “Please sit down, there’s pie. I just came back inside to fetch hot water for young Samuel.”

“How is he?” Lillian asked.

“Don’t you worry about that,” she dismissed kindly, smiling as her daughter and grandchildren entered the kitchen, “Bella dear, do finish setting the table.”

“Of course, mother,” Mrs. Wesley smiled, and Mrs. Hammond left the kitchen carrying a basin full of hot water.

Lillian sat down, but Michael hurried to the window, “They’re back,” he said, and opened the back door next to the stove. Lillian stood up nervously and was about to follow him when Mrs. Wesley stopped her.

“Please, dear, you should not overexert yourself,” she said concernedly.

“Will you look?” Lillian asked her timidly.

“Of course,” Mrs. Wesley said, moving to the kitchen window. Outside Rex and Mr. Hammond were riding up the farmyard, and on the back of Rex’s horse lay a man, bound and gagged.

“Oh, my.”

“Did they bring him here?” Lillian asked nervously, “Did they bring Ray Jennings here?”

* * *

Michael hurried towards the two men, his blood pulsing. Ray looked pitiful, laying there like a sack of potatoes.

“How did it go?” Michael asked.

“Not too bad,” Rex chuckled, “This one over here tried to escape.”

“Is that so?” Michael said.

“Yup,” Rex dismounted and looked with disgust at Ray, “He had somehow managed to untie his hands and had pulled himself out of the room he had been in.”

“But we caught him, now didn’t we,” Mr. Hammond said to Ray with a sneer.

“Good job,” Michael replied.

“We should move this scum to the pigsty, cause that’s where he belongs,” Mr. Hammond said with a wide grin.

“I have no issue with that,” Rex agreed. Together, he and Michael carried Ray to the small, smelly pigsty that was just behind the stable.

“If I had it my way, we would throw him into a river,” Mr. Hammond spat, “But Rex here has said that he should pay for his crimes.”

“I have to agree with Rex here,” Michael said, “Although I do agree that his neck deserves nothing but the noose, in my opinion.”

“Let’s leave him here,” Mr. Hammond said, closing the door and bolted it with a heavy iron rod.

“That’s quite a lock,” Michael said.

“We used to have a hog that tried to kick down the door every night,” Mr. Hammond explained.

“It is hog and scum proof,” he added with a laugh, and together they returned to the house.

Michael walked into the kitchen and saw that Lillian looked anxious.

“We have him locked up, and he will not get away,” Michael told her.

“Soon, my colleagues will arrive here, and they will take him away,” Rex added.

“But now we need to decide what our next step should be,” Michael replied thoughtfully.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“The thought of Ray being so close is truly frightening,” Lillian admitted quietly, looking at the kitchen window, from where you could see the top of the Hammond’s pigsty.

“He will never again be allowed near you,” Michael said fiercely, taking her hand in his own.

“I always had a bad feeling about that one,” Lillian continued, holding Michael’s hand for support.

“I should have known. Why else would Uncle Jacob have hir…”

“Stop that,” Michael interrupted, “Do not blame yourself in any way.

“It just, how could I not have known that my very own flesh and blood was this evil,” she said sadly, “How could he have fooled me? I absolutely loved him, he was a rock for mother and me, and we never suspected a thing.”

“Lillian,” Rex began, “For a long while, I have been after a man known only as ‘Old Ghost.’ No one knew who he was, or to be completely honest, no one dared to say who he was. This is a man that has played people and deceived them.

Many no doubt felt fooled after trusting this man only to find out their family was in danger lest they give up their property, money, or information. My point is that you and Sheriff Flemming here are the first who have been able to make him falter, and we are closer to capturing him than ever before.”

“Has he been doing this for a long time then?” Lillian asked.

“For years and years,” Rex replied, “We do not how long precisely, but my fellow bounty hunter has been after ‘Old Ghost’ for almost two decades.”

“Two decades?” Michael repeated astonished.

“He has been doing this my whole life,” Lillian gasped.

“It makes my blood boil,” Michael said angrily, but at that, the three Wesley children came into the room.

“There he is, Sally,” Billy Wesley said in a carrying whisper, pointing at Michael, “I’m gonna be a sheriff just like Flemming.” Everyone laughed, and the tension that had set over the room as they discussed Jacob evaporated.

“Well, everyone,” Mrs. Wesley said, looking over the group of people, “I think you should all sit down and have something to eat,” she smiled at the lot of them and gestured to the kitchen table. There she had laid the table with a pie, a loaf of bread, eggs, ham and a pitcher of milk.

“Y’all heard the lady,” Mr. Hammond grinned, and they sat down.

It was very crowded at the table, and Lillian sat next to Michael, and every time they moved the slightest, their arms brushed.

“This is delicious, Isabella,” Lillian said after finishing her egg.

“Oh, do eat more,” Mrs. Wesley said, concernedly, “You are skin and bones.”

“You sound like my mother,” Lillian replied, but her smile vanished at her words.

“I cannot imagine what she has gone through,” she added after a long pause.

“Your mother is a strong woman,” Michael said reassuringly.

“But how will she react when she hears about Uncle Jacob,” Lillian said.

“I think, once she has been reunited with you, she will be able to handle almost anything,” Michael replied and gave her hand a small squeeze.

“I want to go see her.”

“I’m afraid that’s not ideal,” Rex said seriously.

“I agree,” Michael interjected.

“Jacob most likely does not know that you have been found, although I do think it won’t be long until he realizes something is up,” Rex continued, “We need to use that to our advantage.”

“How?” Lillian asked.

“Somehow, we will need to lure Frazier into a false sense of security,” Rex said thoughtfully.

“I have an idea,” Michael said, “You should ride back to Rust Canyon and inform my junior sheriff that you will be leaving town.”

“How will that help?” Mr. Hammond asked skeptically.

“I suspect that if Jacob has eyes and ears all over, he will know about Rex’s departure soon enough,” Michael explained.

“Do you suspect your junior sheriff of working for Frazier?” Mr. Hammond asked, shocked.

“Absolutely not,” Michael replied quickly, “But given how Jacob has always been two or three steps ahead, he must have a way of getting the information he should not have.”

“That’s a good idea,” Rex replied.

“I will then ride to town as well,” Michael said, “I got away with my disguise once, I should be able to do so again.”

“NO!” Lillian exclaimed loudly, startling Mrs. Wesley, “I apologize for my outburst, but you cannot go riding there, alone.”

“My dear Lillian, I will be careful,” Michael started, but Rex interrupted him.

“Actually, I happen to agree with Miss Walter,” Rex said.

“Even if Jacob does not yet suspect that we are on to him, he is bound to be on constant alert. The second sighting of an unidentifiable man could be very suspicious.”

“Also, we don’t know when that mongrel in my pigsty was supposed to make contact with Frazier,” Mr. Hammond said.

“That’s true,” Rex agreed, “He might be expecting Ray any minute, and once he does not return, Jacob might send someone to investigate.”

“I need to speak with Samuel,” Michael said thoughtfully.

“What are you thinking?” Rex asked curiously.

“If we can get more information about the way Samuel and Ray contacted Jacob, we might have a way to buy us some more time,” Michael said.

“You mean…” Rex began, nodding his head in understanding.

“Yeah, if we can make Jacob think that Ray has a good reason for being away…” Michael said.

“… Being close to catching you, for example,” Rex finished.

“Precisely,” Michael replied.

“I could inform your assistant that I have a lead that is bringing me away from Rust Canyon,” Rex said.

“We will need to speak with him first, though,” Michael said thoughtfully.

“Mrs. Hammond?” Michael added suddenly, as she walked into the kitchen looking concerned.

“Yes?” Mrs. Hammond replied as she took off her apron and pinned it on a hook next to the back door.

“How is our young man in the stable?” Michael asked.

“He is not well, not well indeed,” she replied sadly.

“I thought that we should perhaps move him inside?” Mrs. Hammond asked her husband.

“You want that man in the same house as the children?” Mr. Hammond retorted.

“Your grandchildren would do good to see that people can make up for their mistakes,” Mrs. Hammond replied fiercely.

“You call that a mistake?” he scoffed.

“That young man might not make it through the night,” Mrs. Hammond whispered, so the children that had begun playing next to the kitchen table wouldn’t hear.

“What?” Lillian gasped.

“I’m sorry dear,” Mrs. Hammond said regretfully, “His injuries are bad. He has a nasty gurgling sound in his lungs, and the poor boy looks as though he was hit by a train. I have set his injuries as best as I can, but he will need a doctor.”

“Is he awake?” Lillian asked timidly.

“He is sleeping at the moment,” she replied.

“That’s it,” Michael said at once, pounding his fist on the table, “I will have to ride to town, to fetch the doctor.”

“You cannot,” Lillian pleaded, “What about what Rex said?”

“I have no choice,” Michael said, “We will need information from Samuel, and if we do not get a doctor, we might lose our chance.”

“But if Jacob sees you, he will know something is wrong,” Lillian exclaimed.

“Lilli!” Michael began.

“I have an idea that might solve the issue,” Mr. Hammond thundered, stopping Michael’s next retort.

“I will ride to Rust Canyon,” he continued, “I will ask Doctor Littlefield to pop over to take a look at my missus. It is not unusual for me to ride to town, and if that damned uncle of yours, Lillian, thinks that his lot still has my grandchildren, he will hardly think anything of it if we wish the Doc-man to comfort my wife’s, weak heart,” he winked at his wife who raised her eyebrow but was unable to hide her smile.

“That’s it,” Michael said, “Rex,” he turned to look at the bounty hunter, “You should ride now, so the timing is not conspicuous.”

“I will,” Rex said seriously.

“Now, let’s make it work,” Michael said seriously.

* * *

Michael walked with Rex to the stable, along with Mr. and Mrs. Hammond, who walked to Samuel at once. Rex loosened the reins of his horse and led the horse to the farmyard.

“When you speak with my junior sheriff, you should hand this to him,” Michael said, handing Rex a small folded note.

“I hope there is not information that might compromise us here,” Rex replied seriously.

“No, it’s not,” Michael reassured him, “Benjamin will know what it means, but no one else.”

“Good.”

“But if you ride along the backroads, you will be able to reach back here by nightfall,” Michael said.

“I will not ride back to the Hammond farm just yet,” Rex said.

“Where will you go?” Michael asked.

“There is a place, approximately two hours away from Rust Canyon, where I will wait for my colleagues,” Rex continued.

“When will you return?” Michael said.

“If all goes well, in two days. They will have received my telegram by now, and they will ride out at once,” Rex explained, “I will not return until I have backup.”

“Be safe,” Michael said, shaking hands with Rex.

“And to you,” Rex said, mounting his horse, waving to Lillian. Mrs. Wesley and her children stood in the doorway, and then he rode off.

“Let me help you,” Michael said to Mr. Hammond that was preparing to lift Samuel. He hurried to them, and together, he and Mr. Hammond carried the injured young man out of the house.

“The children should not see him,” Mr. Hammond said to his wife, who nodded her head in agreement. She walked towards the house and ushered her children to the back garden.

“I don’t want to go there,” Billy said vehemently.

“Come now. We can feed the chickens together.” At her words, the three children looked excited and followed their grandmother to the back of the house. Mrs. Wesley and Lillian hastily moved from the doorway as Michael and Mr. Hammond approached them.

The two women walked to the back of the house, where the spare room was. Mrs. Wesley pulled the bedsheet away, and Michael and Mr. Hamond gently laid Samuel on the bed. The bright room made his injuries even more real, and Lillian cried silently in the corner of the room.

“You poor, poor thing.” She pulled the covers over him and gently stroked over his swollen cheeks. Mrs. Hammond had bandaged his worst injuries, but he was covered in bruises, and in every breath, which seemed to cost him substantially, a soft rasping sound could be heard.

“Now, I should get ready,” Mr. Hammond said, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.

“Where’s your mother?” he asked Mrs. Wesley, “I’m going to the stable again.”

“In the back with the children,” Mrs. Wesley replied, “I will fetch her.” She left the room, and Mr. Hammond followed.

“Are you coming?” Michael asked Lillian, who still stood by Samuel’s bed.

“I think I’ll stay with him for a little while,” Lillian said, and her voice was frail.

Lillian sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the man in front of her. Samuel had seemed so unsure and lost when they were at the warehouse.

“I’ll be outside.” Michael gave her a loving look, before quietly leaving the room.

Lillian wondered if he had a family. She did not have his last name, so if he died that night, they would not be able to inform anyone of his passing. Damn you, Uncle Jacob… How many lives have you ruined with your greed?

* * *

Michael walked to the stable and helped Mr. Hammond prepare his horse. Mrs. Hammond came after a little while, and she pulled her husband into a tight embrace.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” she insisted.

“Of course, I will,” Mr. Hammond replied, kissing her on the cheek.

“Don’t take any risks,” she said sternly.

“I’ll be good,” he grinned, “Now, let go of me, woman,” he teased and took the reins of his horse.

“See you soon,” Michael said.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Mr. Hammond said to his wife, and with surprising ease, for a man that age, he jumped up on his horse and rode away from them.

* * *

“Let’s go inside and wait,” Michael said to Mrs. Hammond.

“This must be hard for you,” she said as they walked back to the house.

“What is?” Michael asked.

“To be here,” she continued, “To stay away from the action.”

“I’m not…” Michael began, but she cut him off gently.

“I only mean, I can see that you do not want others to be in harm’s way,” she explained.

“You noticed that?” Michael asked.

“I think that you are never pleased unless you are the one to face danger head first, the thought of others suffering when you remain behind, is nothing short of torture.”

“Well, you’re not entirely wrong,” Michael admitted.

“You should know that remaining still and waiting, requires a great deal of courage,” she smiled, “And wisdom as well.”

“It just makes my blood boil to think that someone might be harmed because of my actions,” Michael said quietly. They had entered the sitting room.

“You are a good man, Michael Flemming,” Mrs. Hammond said as she sat down in one of the armchairs in the corner.

“That is true,” Lillian said, appearing in the doorway to the room.

“How are you feeling?” Michael asked.

“Strange,” Lillian said, sitting down on the small sofa that faced the window. “Seeing Samuel again made everything feel more real.”

“Dear, you have been through so much,” Mrs. Hammond said, picking up her sewing basket.

“What do you say to a little sewing? I always feel that when I require distractions, a little sewing always seems to do the trick.”

“You know what, that sounds wonderful,” Lillian chuckled. Mrs. Hammond handed her a square of fabric and a needle with thread.

“Are you sewing a quilt?” Lillian asked.

“I am,” Mrs. Hammond smiled, “For my Bella,” she explained.

“I gave her a quilt when she got married, but after the fire, well, she lost everything.”

“What pattern is it?” Lillian asked.

“The eight-pointed star,” Mrs. Hammond said, “I hope the star will guide her, just like the star of Bethlehem helped the wise men find our Lord and savior.

“That’s beautiful,” Lillian smiled.

The two women sewed in silence for a long while. The quiet was disrupted when they heard Billy yell at his mother.

“Mama,” the boy called, “I don’t want to have a laydown, I’m not tired,” he said with a yawn.

“Come now,” Mrs. Wesley said encouragingly, “I’ll sing you a song.”

“But mama, I want to see the black horse,” Billy objected.

“What black horse?” Mrs. Wesley asked.

“The one that’s coming now,” Billy explained, “Look?” He pointed out the window. At once, everyone looked up, and Lillian shrieked.

“Who is that?” she asked nervously, looking at Michael.

“Isabella,” Michael said urgently, “Take the children upstairs.”

“What’s happening?” Mrs. Wesley asked, frightened.

“We don’t have time, just go upstairs,” Michael commanded, “And you must keep them silent.”

“All right,” she replied and took Billy in her arms and ran up the stairs.

“I wanna see the horse, mama,” Billy screamed.

“Hush,” Mrs. Wesley pleaded with her son, who seemed to realize that there was something wrong.

“Where’s your sister?” she asked, as she had put Billy into their room with his younger sister Mary, “Where’s Sally?”

Michael stood by the window, out of sight, and peered outside. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he noticed the young girl in the kitchen, clearly visible from outside.

“Lillian,” Michael whispered, “Go to Samuel’s room and stay there.”

“But…” Lillian began.

“There’s no time,” Michael interrupted, “Go!” He commanded and pulled the curtains shut.

“Sally!” Mrs. Hammond said desperately. They could hear the approaching sound of hooves, and Michael saw that Mrs. Hammond was shaking.

“Mrs. Hammond!” Michael said determinately, “You will need to go to the door.”

“What?” Mrs. Hammond yelped.

“If this is one of Jacob’s men, then hopefully, they are coming here to remind you that they still have the children,” Michael said.

“Hopefully?” Mrs. Hammond repeated.

“Let’s not think about anything else right now,” Michael said. He tiptoed to the kitchen, trying to look outside without being seen.

“Sally!” Michael whispered. The young girl looked around, looking surprised.

“What?” Sally replied, much too loudly.

“Remember when I came to pick you up?” Michael whispered, holding eye-contact with her, “I need you to crawl to me, do you understand?”

“Uh-huh,” Sally nodded, but then the horse outside whinnied loudly, and terror-filled Sally’s face.

“Down!” Michael said, and at once, Sally jumped down, but as she jumped, a glass fell from the table, causing a loud cracking sound. She looked nervous, but Michael shook his head and kept his finger over his mouth. Sally understood and swallowed her sob. The house was electric with tension, and the knock on the door caused everyone to jump.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The sound of heavy boots scraping across the small pathway towards the front door grew louder and louder. Little Sally whimpered and shook but was thankfully quiet. Michael looked over at Mrs. Hammond, and he wasn’t surprised when he realized that she was white as a sheet and terrified.

Her knuckles were white with the force with which she held her sewing, and Michael was concerned that she would faint. All of a sudden, a booming thud seemed to make the front door almost jump off its hinges, such was the force that the man knocked on the door.

BANG.

He knocked again. Sally vailed softly, but Michael realized that Mrs. Hammond would have to answer the door.

“Answer the door, Mrs. Hammond,” he whispered. Mrs. Hammond did not seem to hear him; she sat still as a statue and looked straight ahead.

“You can do it,” Michael continued, then he loosened his gun from the holster, “And I will be ready,” he added, showing her his weapon. Very slowly, she nodded her head and stood up. Just as the man was about to knock for the third time, Mrs. Hammond opened the door.

“Yes?” she answered curtly.

“Took yer time, didn’t ya?” said the man outside in a deep, menacing voice.

“I apologize,” Mrs. Hammond replied in a monotonous voice.

“Do you know why I’m here?” the man asked tauntingly.

“No, I do not,” she said simply.

“I was sent here to make sure that you or that husband of yours did not make any rash decisions,” he growled.

“We haven’t,” she replied, much too quickly.

“Is that so?” the man said, his voice still and dangerous now. He took a step closer, but to Michael’s great surprise, Mrs. Hammond stood her ground, not moving an inch.

“Yes,” she retorted.

“Then why did I see that husband of yer’s riding off towards Rust Canyon?” the man asked gleefully, tapping the front door with his rifle. Mrs. Hammond turned even paler if that was possible. Michael pulled back the hammer of his gun, ready to shot if he had to. However, he lowered his weapon as Mrs. Hammond answered at once: “He went to fetch the doctor.”

“The doctor?” the strange man repeated, surprised, “A likely tale,” he then scoffed.

“My daughter….” Mrs. Hammond began, but stopped speaking as her voice broke with emotion, “She collapsed.”

“Aye,” the man said, sounding a little uncomfortable now.

“My husband went to fetch the doctor because we worry that she will not make it,” Mrs. Hammond sobbed, holding her hand over her mouth, muffling her low scream.

“Uhm,” the man said, taking a small step backward now.

“As if losing her husband was not enough, you must take her children as well,” she yelled angrily between her sobs.

“Well, if your husband is going to the Sheriff…” the man barked, but Mrs. Hammond interrupted.

“What Sheriff?” she scoffed, “Your lot have driven him out of town.” Michael had to bite his cheek from stopping his laughter as he stared at Mrs. Hammond in awe.

“We will know where he goes, so if you’re lying, your daughter can kiss away any hope of ever seeing her children again,” he growled, taking yet another step backward. Mrs. Hammond covered her face with her hands and kicked the door closed. They could hear the man curse outside, but after a while, he began walking away from the house. Everyone remained still until they heard hooves riding down the road, away from them.

“He’s gone,” Mrs. Hammond said in her normal voice. Michael jumped up and looked at Sally, who was cowering, face down.

“Sally,” he said gently, “It’s all right now.” Slowly she looked up, and when she saw her grandmother smiling at her widely, she sat up, looking relieved.

“That was some performance!” Michael exclaimed.

“I just hope he believed me,” Mrs. Hammond replied nervously.

“I have no doubt,” Michael laughed.

* * *

Benjamin Hopper sat in the Sheriff’s office. Suddenly, he felt as if he was taken back in time, just after Flemming senior had passed away. Then he had sat here at this cold office, feeling inadequate. He just wished he knew how he could help Michael. There had been no news since they visited Mrs. Wesley’s empty house.

Benjamin had stayed at the office from the crack of dawn until it was almost too dark to ride. He had dark circles under his eyes, which Fanny did not stop mentioning. She was bringing him both breakfast and lunch now, clearly worried he was going to starve judging by the amount of food she brought him. But she always cooked when she was nervous. And Fanny Hopper wasn’t the only one.

There was a strange feeling settling over Rust Canyon, Benjamin thought. Women walked in pairs, clutching each other’s arms tightly, and people would stop outside the Sheriff’s office and stare and point inside. They didn’t even bother to keep their voices down anymore. Endless whispers about the much too young Sheriff, how he must have cracked—not even lasting a year on the job.

It drove Benjamin mad, but he knew better than try to argue with these folks. Benjamin wasn’t sure where it had come from, but more than one of the old ladies who had known his father well had approached him and told him that it really was a shame that he had never been interested in the Sheriff’s position. There was something odd about the way they mentioned it, and it did not flatter him; it only caused him concern. He just hoped that he wouldn’t have to bear this much longer.

Benjamin stood up and decided to take a short walk, as his legs were stiff from sitting behind the desk all morning. He put on his hat, made sure to lock the office, and walked up the main road. The sunshine felt good on his skin, and he inhaled deeply. Once all of this was over, he was determined to take his boys on a long hike.

His reverie about spending more time with nature was cut short by the sound of an approaching horse. Benjamin looked up and noticed a man dressed in black, looking severe, dismounting his horse, and walking towards him.

“Benjamin Hopper?” the man asked,

“That’s me,” Benjamin replied.

“You’re Sheriff Flemming’s assistant, correct?” he asked.

“I am,” Benjamin said curtly, “And who are you?”

“My name is Rex Rodgers,” he replied.

“Rex Rodgers,” Benjamin repeated astonished, “You’re the…”

“The bounty hunter you wrote to, yes,” Rex finished.

“You should come by my office, I mean, the Sheriff’s office,” Benjamin flustered, gesturing towards the house.

“There’s no need,” Rex replied, “I just came to inform you that the trail has gone cold.”

“What do you mean?” Benjamin asked suspiciously.

“There is no indication that the perpetrators that took young Miss Walter are still around these parts,” Rex explained.

“How can you possibly,” Benjamin spluttered.

“Listen, son,” Rex interrupted, “I’ve been much longer in this business than you have.”

“Which has what to do with anything?” Benjamin retorted angrily.

“Which means that I know when it’s time to go and chase other leads,” Rex said. This frustrated Benjamin beyond measure, but he had to contain himself lest he scream with anger.

“What other leads?” he asked after calming down a little.

“That’s not for you to know,” Rex said, looking around as if the conversation bored him.

“Then what is the purpose of this visit,” Benjamin spat.

“A professional courtesy,” Rex said with a small grin.

“That’s a laugh,” Benjamin replied.

“I’m heading up north,” Rex said, “And I must say, that it is mighty suspicious that a fair young woman goes missing, just weeks after a new, inexperienced Sheriff takes over.”

“How dare you say that!” Benjamin barked.

“I’m only saying,” Rex said, taking a step closer to him, “You shouldn’t trust anyone,” he finished reaching out his hand. Hesitantly, Benjamin shook his hand but was shocked when he felt Rex surreptitiously handed him a small note. Rex gave him a significant look and mouthed, “Not here.”

“Good day,” Rex thundered as he led his horse away and mounted it.

“Good day,” Benjamin replied, clutching the note in the palm of his hand. He hurried back to the Sheriff’s office and nearly dropped the note in his haste to unlock the door. Once inside, he walked to the far end, with his back facing the window, he opened the note. It said: Be ready at our usual place, tonight.

There was no signature, not even a letter, but Benjamin recognized that handwriting at once.

* * *

Lillian sat completely still at Samuel’s bedside, hardly daring to breathe. Since Michael had told her to leave the sitting room, her heart had been beating rapidly, and she had been silently praying the entire time. She could hear muffled voices outside, and for a moment she feared they had been caught.

The door slammed, and icy chills numbed her skin with fear. She almost screamed when she felt someone touch her wrists. She turned around and noticed that Samuel had moved his hand slightly. It seemed he had been trying to calm her down, judging by the way that he was patting his hand up and down clumsily. His eyes were still closed, but he was moving his head a fraction from side to side.

“Samuel?” Lillian whispered.

“Ughuh,” he mumbled unintelligibly.

“Rest, I beg of you,” she pleaded, “You must save your strength.” He didn’t try to speak again, and Lillian had just managed to calm her nerves from the shock of his touch when the door burst open. Lillian shrieked and cowered.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said at once, apologetically, approaching her.

“Oh, my sweet Lillian, forgive me, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s…” Lillian stammered, “I’ll be all right.”

“I just came to tell you that he’s gone,” Michael said seriously, then he looked at the squirming form of Samuel.

“How is he?” he added.

“He seems to be waking up,” Lillian said nervously, standing up and walking towards Michael.

“I do hope the Doctor will arrive soon.”

“Yeah, they should be here soon, if…” Michael stopped himself from finishing the sentence.

“If they weren’t caught,” Lillian finished scared.

“He will be all right, and I trust Dr. Littlefield,” Michael said reassuringly.

“How is Mrs. Hammond?” Lillian asked.

“She is one tough momma,” Michael chuckled, “You should have heard her.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she replied with a small smile.

“Will you join us in the kitchen?” Michael asked.

“I hate to leave him alone,” Lillian said, “But perhaps he should get more peace and quiet.”

“Come on,” Michael said, holding out his hand. Lillian hesitated for a moment before she took his hand. At once, warmth seemed to radiate from his palm, calming her and soothing. This felt as natural as breathing.

“Michael?” Lillian said, just before they left the room.

“Yes, Lillian?” Michael replied.

“Thank you for everything,” she said sincerely, “I thank the Lord that you were brought my way, with every breath I take.”

“Lillian I…” Michael began, moving his whole body closer to her, but someone walking through the front door caught both of their attention. At once, Michael took a step in front of her. Together they walked down the hallway, Michael shielding her. Their hands were still interlinked. The walked into the kitchen, but the two familiar voices outside made them both relax.

“Good to see you, Doctor!” Michael exclaimed as he entered the kitchen. Doctor Littlefield looked at Michael surprised, but when Lillian appeared from behind Michael, he was utterly speechless.

“ Miss Walter!” Doctor Littlefield said after a long pause, “You’re safe.”

“She is, and we will need your help to keep her safe,” Michael said seriously.

* * *

“I cannot believe it,” Doctor Littlefield said, shocked, “I simply cannot believe it.”

They sat in the kitchen, huddled around the kitchen table, and Michael had just retold what had happened, why he had left, and who was behind the kidnapping of Lillian. Mrs. Wesley had still not come downstairs again, but after Mr. Hammond arrived, he had sent his wife upstairs to stay with his daughter and grandchildren. Apparently, he wasn’t as quick to trust the good Doctor as Michael was.

“This is mad,” Doctor Littlefield sighed.

“We do not have much time, Doctor,” Michael said urgently.

“We did not bring you here to treat Mrs. Hammond.”

“You did not?” Doctor Littlefield said shrewdly.

“We need you to take a look at a man, a seriously injured man at that,” Michael said, standing up. The Doctor stood up and followed Michael down the hallway, still shaking his head in disbelief. But as soon as he saw the man sitting in the bed, all doubt left him. He hurried towards him, taking off his jacket at once, and began examining Samuel.

“What on earth happened to him?” Doctor Littlefield asked, opening his bag and taking out a stethoscope.

“This is the handiwork of the man that took Lillian,” Michael replied bitterly.

“Is it that brute, that works for Jacob?” Doctor Littlefield said thoughtfully, his brows furrowed, “What’s his name?”

“Ray Jennings,” Michael said with disgust.

“That one is a rotten apple if there ever was one,” Doctor Littlefield snarled.

“One of the maids from the hotel came over to my office a few weeks ago. She had a nasty bruise on her forearm, which looked suspiciously much like a handprint. She refused to tell me who it was, only wanted me to help her with a cut she had on her forehead,” Doctor Littlefield recounted.

“But I had seen that Jennings fellow swarming around her,” he continued, “I was convinced that he had been involved.”

“He is evil, pure evil,” Michael said, “But thankfully he won’t be harming anyone else.”

“What do you mean?” Doctor Littlefield asked, looking away from Michael as he listened to Samuel’s heartbeat.

“Because he’s tied up in the pigsty,” Michael grinned, “Where he belongs.”

“Good on ‘ya,” Doctor Littlefield chuckled, before turning serious at once.

“Now I am going to need hot water and a towel,” he added seriously, looking back at Samuel, “This young man is hanging by a thread.”

Mrs. Hammond had come downstairs and was now assisting Doctor Littlefield. Lillian made sure there was enough hot water ready, and Doctor Littlefield had cleaned the gunshot wound on Samuel’s hand, thoroughly, and was opening Samuel’s mouth to give him a liquid from a dark brown bottle.

Mrs. Hammond stroked over Samuel’s face with a wet towel. Michael walked back and forward between the kitchen and the backroom. They didn’t have much time, but he had to give Doctor Littlefield time to treat Samuel. In the note that Michael had sent to Benjamin, he had only said tonight, but at the pace of the proceedings with the Doctor, they might be too late to ride.

Michael considered to leave now, and ride to town at once. But he had to remind himself that they had to be clever. However, ever since Mrs. Hammond sent away the big brute earlier, he was worried that they would go to check on the cabin where the children were supposed to be.

“He’s awake,” Mrs. Hammond said as she came running down the hallway. At once, Michael jumped ahead, closely followed by Lillian. They entered the now crowded room, and Lillian gave a tearful sigh once she saw Samuel propped up, covered in bandages.

“ Miss Walters,” Samuel croaked, and Lillian hurried towards him.

“It’s good to hear you talk.”

“Where am I?” he asked confusedly.

“You’re safe,” Michael said.

“Well, for now,” Doctor Littlefield said gravely, “I came just in time. The wound on his hand had an infection. I cleared most of it away and stitched him up, but I will need to see him again tomorrow. It would be best if he came back with me…”

“That’s not possible, I’m afraid,” Michael interjected, “They absolutely must not know that we have him here.”

“I understand. But I must urge you to keep his wound clean and change his bandages every four hours.”

“I will do that,” Mrs. Hammond said, nodding her head with urgency.

“Where… Ray?” Samuel asked nervously, looking around the room as if he expected Ray to jump from the wardrobe at the far end.

“We have him locked up,” Michael said, approaching Samuel.

“I know you have been through a lot, but I am going to have to ask you if you can give us any information about Jacob Frazier.”

“I can’t,” Samuel slurred.

“Jacob is my uncle, and despite everything he did, I still love him,” Lillian said softly, “But he needs to pay for what he did, and right now, you can help us catch him.”

“He,” Samuel began and stopped to breathe deeply, “At first we were only supposed to keep you away for one or two nights. Ray disobeyed Jacob’s orders by keeping you tied up—we were supposed to keep you safe and not harm you in any way. But I don’t think Ray cared, at all,” he stopped to catch his breath, as every word leaving his mouth seemed to cause him excruciating agony.

Finally, he continued: “In order to stop him, you need to find all his spies. But if you aren’t quick enough, they will catch you, and he will escape again… Like he always does.”

“How can we find these spies?” Michael asked.

“All of his workers are supposed to inform his cronies about anything suspicious,” Samuel continued, “If you try to storm him, they will stop you. They will expect you to try to attack them.”

“That means that we will need to find a way to surprise them,” Michael, “And I know exactly how we will do that.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Now, mind you, this plan might sound mad,” Michael forestalled.

“What is it?” Doctor Littlefield said.

“We are going to have to surprise them,” Michael continued, “And I think a wild distraction is going to do the trick.”

“Mr. Hammond, we are going to need your carriage.”

“No problem,” Mr. Hammond replied.

“And you two,” Michael said, looking in turn at Mr. Hammond and Doctor Littlefield, “I have to ask you to trust me, and I am also going to have to ask you to take a big risk.”

“I will do anything,” Mr. Hammond said at once.

“If this will mean that the criminals behind all of the suffering that has been happening in our town will be caught, count me in,” Doctor Littlefield said slowly.

“They already know that you were brought here to treat Mrs. Hammond,” Michael said, “But what we will do is surprise them into thinking that it was much more serious than simply a weak heart.”

“Are you saying?” Doctor Littlefield asked.

“They will not be surprised to see the local doctor rushing to his office, in a strange carriage, if they think it is a matter of life and death,” Michael finished.

“You mean to pretend that my wife is in great distress, possibly dying?” Mr. Hammond said.

“I do,” Michael said simply, “This will give us a chance to travel, hidden in the back of the carriage, back to Rust Canyon.”

“What if they stop you and take a look into the carriage?” Mrs. Hammond asked, “I should ride with the Doctor.”

“I have another idea,” Lillian said softly, “One that I think might affect Uncle Jacob more.”

“What is it?” Michael asked.

“What if the person in the back of the carriage isn’t Mrs. Hammond,” she hesitated, “But instead its… Me.”

There was a shocked silence. Michael stared at Lillian, slowly processing what she had just said, finally he said: “Absolutely not!” Michael forbad, “I will not let you,” he looked fiercely at her.

“Michael, I think it’s the only way,” Lillian said.

“I don’t want you to be in danger,” Michael said softly, walking towards her and taking her hand in his.

“I won’t be,” she smiled, “I know you will protect me.”

* * *

This is insane, Michael thought, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. The house was buzzing with the preparation, and with every second he was regretting to agreeing to this. At least his plan would have meant that Lillian remained safe back at the Hammond farm. Mr. Hammond was outside preparing the carriage, and Mrs. Hammond was helping Lillian get ready.

Mrs. Hammond had brought out a small tin of white powder, which had long since fallen out of fashion to use, and was brushing it over Lillian’s face, making her appear to be pale as the moonlight. If this plan did not work, Lillian would be back with her uncle, and everything they had gone through in these past days would have been for nothing.

“Well, son,” Doctor Littlefield said as he re-entered the kitchen, dressed in his black cloak and holding his medical bag, “Are you ready for this?”

“I guess I must be. How about you?”

“Oh, I will be all right,” Doctor Littlefield chuckled.

“How do I look?” Lillian said, walking towards them, giving Michael a small wink. She had put on her old dress again, which was filthy and ripped and covered in blood. The sight was disconcerting, to say the least.

“You always look beautiful,” he said, “You could not look bad even if you tried.”

“He’s quite right,” Doctor Littlefield smiled, walking passed them, leaving them alone.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Michael asked, seriously.

“I am,” Lillian replied, “Despite everything, I think my uncle loves me, in his own twisted way.”

“Who could know you and not love you,” Michael whispered, gently stroking her cheek. Lillian closed her eyes at his touch and leaned into his hand. Michael wished he could have scooped her up in his arms and run away with her to somewhere safe. But as soon as the moment had begun, it was over. A voice down the hallway was calling Lillian’s name. She reluctantly walked away from Michael and followed the sound of the voice. Michael was about to follow when Mr. Hammond picked his shoulder.

“Come and take a look at this,” Mr. Hammond said, indicating to Michael to follow him outside.

“What is it?” Michael asked once they had arrived outside to the carriage that stood in the middle of the farmyard.

“Look here,” Mr. Hammond said, pointing to the inside of the carriage. Michael noticed a hidden compartment just below the back left wheel, big enough to fit a man inside it.

“What is this?” Michael asked, looking more closely at it.

“This carriage used to belong to the bank,” Mr. Hammond explained, “It’s an old and rusty one, but they were about to chop it up for firewood when I asked if I could buy it. It’s quite enough for me to transport my vegetables. But when the bank was transferring gold, they used to hide it here, in case they were raided.”

“This is great,” Michael said, impressed.

“Even if they do take a look inside, you will remain hidden out of sight,” Mr. Hammond said.

“We should get going,” Michael said, looking at the sky, which was growing darker. Mrs. Hammond and Lillian walked towards the carriage.

“Ready?” He asked Lillian, who nodded silently and looked distracted. He helped her get into the carriage and then followed her.

“Will you be all right?” Mr. Hammond asked his wife, concernedly.

“We will be safe,” Mrs. Hammond replied, “You should not worry about us; they need your help now.”

“I hate to leave you,” he said.

“Just hurry back.” She kissed her husband’s cheek gently.

“Besides, I know where we keep the gun,” she laughed. They all joined her laughter, and soon they were on their way. Mr. Hammond and Doctor Littlefield in the front, and Michael and Lillian hid away in the back.

* * *

The ride was bumpy, but thankfully Mr. Hammond rode slowly. But the carriage was old and not comfortable, and Lillian flinched every time they hopped up and down, after riding over a hole in the road. Michael moved to hold Lillian. He pulled her into his arms and held his arms around her in a protective manner. She curled up to him and clutched tightly to his arms.

“Thank you,” she whispered gratefully.

“Lillian,” Michael said.

“Yes, Michael,” she replied.

“I want you to know that whatever happens later, that I…” he began, but Lillian cut him off.

“Please don’t,” she pleaded.

“What?” he asked, surprised.

“Don’t say goodbye now. It will only make everything more difficult,” she said sadly.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Michael replied.

“You weren’t?”

“No,” Michael smiled, “I wanted to ask you, once everything is over if you would allow me to keep you company—properly.”

Even in the dark carriage, he was able to see her wide grin.

“I would be delighted to,” Lillian replied giddily. Michael pulled her close to him and tried to waft off the thoughts that assaulted his mind constantly, ever since they sat in the carriage. The constant worry that this would all go wrong.

After riding for a long time, Doctor Littlefield knocked on the carriage from where he was sitting.

“We’re approaching Rust Canyon, get into positions,” he called.

Michael moved around, which was not easy in the small space they were in. Lillian held open the hidden compartment, and he slowly slid down, out of sight.

“I’ll close it now,” Lillian said, gently closing the compartment, enclosing Michael in complete darkness.

The final leg of the journey was tense. Michael could hardly breathe, and despite his best efforts into trying to hear what was going on outside, the creaking of the carriage was much too loud. Then they began slowing down, which surprised him, given how short a while ago they had been approaching Rust Canyon. Surely, they could not be there yet.

When they stopped, two firm knocks were heard from the front of the carriage—a warning. Michael heard voices outside and braced himself. He had his gun up by his chest, ready to shoot. The muffled voices sounded low and dangerous, but when Doctor Littlefield began talking, Michael could finally hear what they were saying. Clearly, the men outside were right by them now.

“Move away,” Doctor Littlefield said sternly.

“My, my, what a hurry we are in,” one of the strange voices said.

“Indeed,” the other one chuckled.

“Now, why are you out so late, Doc,” the first voice jeered.

“I must go to my office,” Doctor Littlefield insisted.

“What’s in the back, doc?” The second voice asked.

“Don’t you know there’s a mad man out there?” The first voice cackled.

“Move right now, or I’ll shoot,” Mr. Hammond said seriously.

“You should know better, Mr. Hammond,” the first voice said, “Oh, yes, I know who you are. I would lower your weapon if you ever want to see your grandchildren again.”

“We found Lillian Walter,” Doctor Littlefield said at once. There was a deafening silence after his proclamation.

“You found Miss Walter?” The first voice asked sternly, “Liar!” he then spat.

“She’s in the back, and if I don’t get her to my office, she might die,” Doctor Littlefield shouted, and at once, the carriage began to move. Michael heard the whinny of horses, which he imagined had moved away suddenly. The sound of hooves behind came fast approaching, and Michael, being in the back, could hear them shout:

“Get back to the warehouse,” a voice yelled, “See where Ray is.”

“We have to tell him,” the other voice called back.

“Are you mad?” The other man called, “What if it’s not her? Go and check and be quick. If we are wrong… He is not a forgiving man.”

The ride to the doctor’s office was, thankfully, not long. Michael kept hitting his head on the side of the carriage, but he remained as still as possible. Finally, they stopped. Michael could hear approaching voices, and someone opened the carriage.

“Holy, Mary mother of God,” the man that had been following them exclaimed, “It’s her… We’re all gone.”

* * *

“Move!” Doctor Littlefield screamed, and the bustle of sound was heard, and the carriage dipped slightly as someone stepped into the carriage.

“Help me, Marvin,” he said to Mr. Hammond. The carriage dipped again, but suddenly Doctor Littlefield shouted, “Don’t you dare come near her!”

There was much commotion, and then the carriage was still again. Someone walked passed the carriage, and Michael could hear them say, “Who was Doc Littlefield carrying into his office?”

“Looked like a woman,” someone else said.

Michael moved slightly, wanting to look outside, but he didn’t dare yet.

“I’ll move the carriage,” he heard Mr. Hammond call nearby.

“Mr. Hammond?” the person by the carriage said. Michael now realized it was Daniel Tillings, “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t have time to explain,” Mr. Hammond said, jumping up, and then the carriage began moving again. He rode for a short while until he stopped after a wide turn.

“You should come out right now,” Mr. Hammond said, opening the carriage door, “But be quick.”

Michael pushed back the lid and crawled out of the small compartment. “Thank you,” Michael said, jumping down and at once he stepped to the back, hiding behind the carriage.

“Good luck,” Mr. Hammond said, walking away from him. Michael peered behind the carriage, which Mr. Hammond had left behind the tavern. More folks were walking towards the Doctor’s office; the word traveled fast here. Michael walked behind the tavern and pulled his hat down. He ran the long way toward the back of the Sheriff’s office, constantly looking around to see if anyone was watching.

But he needn’t bother really, as everyone’s attention seemed to be on the Doctor’s office. Michael knocked on the back window of the Sheriff’s office, making sure to remain out of sight. He heard movement inside, and then the window opened.

“Yes,” Benjamin’s voice said, looking out the window.

“I’m coming in,” Michael said, moving around to climb into the window.

“Michael!” Benjamin exclaimed as he saw him clearly, “Are you back? For good?”

“If our plan works, then yes,” Michael replied.

* * *

Lillian lay on a bench inside Doctor Littlefield’s office, completely still. She would have to play her part convincingly, so she did not even dare opened her eyes slightly.

“Pull the curtains shut,” Doctor Littlefield said to Mr. Hammond, “We need to keep them away for as long as we can, to give Michael more time.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Mr. Hammond said.

“You’re doing good, Lillian,” Doctor Littlefield said quietly, “You can move now,” he added. She opened her eyes and looked around. They were in a small room in the back of his office, which had large bookshelves on the walls, covered with leather-bound, heavy-looking books.

“I’m nervous,” Lillian admitted quietly.

“I know, dear,” Doctor Littlefield said kindly, “But I believe our Sheriff here will put an end to all of this tonight, I truly do.”

“He will,” Lillian smiled, “I’m absolutely sure he will.”

“Doc!” Mr. Hammond called, “They’re coming. Jacob Frazier is walking this way, right now!”

“All right,” Doctor Littlefield sighed, “Let’s do this.” Lillian nodded and laid back down on the bench.

“Just remain completely still,” Doctor Littlefield whispered, jumping slightly as someone began to pound on the door.

* * *

The Sheriff’s office was completely dark, and Michael stood by the front window and looked at the succession of men following Jacob Frazier to the Doctor’s office. He had told Benjamin that Jacob was behind all of this, and although Benjamin was clearly shocked, he waited for Michael’s instructions, ready to act.  His blood boiled at the sight of Jacob, and his knuckles turned white as he shook with rage.

“Should we move ahead?” Benjamin asked, looking outside.

“Not yet,” Michael said, “He needs to go inside first.”

“This sure is a risky plan, Michael,” Benjamin said.

“Don’t I know it.”

“Do you think we will be able to handle all of his men?” Benjamin asked. Jacob now stood by the front of Doctor Littlefield’s office and was banging on the door. He was surrounded by at least five men.

“We don’t have a choice,” Michael replied.

“Here we go,” he added as the door to the Doctor’s office opened, “I will go to the back, and you distract his men.”

“I’m ready,” Benjamin said, pulling out his gun and checking to make sure he had enough ammunition.

“Now, let’s go get them,” Michael said with determination, opening the front door with force. Benjamin walked toward the men in front of the Doctor’s office, followed by Michael, who held his gun out and then walked away, hurrying to be back, hoping against hope that Doctor Littlefield had remembered to leave the back door open.

* * *

“Stop that!” Doctor Littlefield said, walking towards the door. He opened and looked at Jacob Frazier that stood in front of him. His hair on end and looking as if he had been sleeping.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked.

“Is she here?” Jacob asked, “Is my niece inside?”

“I need to work,” Doctor Littlefield said, “Leave!”

“I must see her,” Jacob bellowed, pushing the door open. Doctor Littlefield tried to block his way, but Jacob muscled inside, his men stepping up menacingly.

“Fine,” Doctor Littlefield snarled, “But they stay behind,” he said, gesturing to the men.

“Stay there,” Jacob said to his men, and they stepped back, but did not leave.

“She is frail,” Doctor Littlefield said to Jacob as they walked to the back room. He pulled back the curtain, and even Doctor Littlefield was shocked when he saw Lillian laying, still, white as a sheet and barely breathing.

“Lillian!” Jacob said, his voice strangled, “How can this be?” he said quietly.

“Where did you find her?” he added, looking at Doctor Littlefield, “Tell me!”

“She had been left for dead by the side of the road near the town border,” Doctor Littlefield said seriously. “I was visiting the Hammonds,” he nodded his head towards Mr. Hammond, “His wife is very unwell, but on my way back, I noticed movement in the grass.”

“How can this be,” Jacob repeated, taking a step closer to Lillian. She willed her entire body to remain motionless, even though she wanted nothing more than slap her once favorite uncle. He reached out his hand and stroked her cheek.

“Dearest Lillian, how can this have happened,” Jacob whispered. Lillian thought about what Samuel had told her just before she left the Hammond farm. After he had called her name, she sat by his bed, and he wheezed: “Your uncle doesn’t trust anyone more than Ray… Ray has been his loyal sidekick for years. If you can make it seem as if he betrayed him, I am sure he will not know what to do.”

I will make you pay Uncle, for all the hurt you have caused my family. You have betrayed me, and I will never forgive you, Lillian thought angrily as she moved slightly, making her Uncle gasp.

“What’s happening?” he asked Doctor Littlefield nervously.

“I’m not sure,” Doctor Littlefield replied.

“Can’t you do something?” Jacob bellowed, “She looks like she is at death’s door.”

“I think she’s trying to say something,” Doctor Littlefield stated.

Lillian opened her mouth and closed it again. She made a low wheezing sound, thinking about how Samuel had sounded.

“Uncle?” she said so softly it was almost inaudible.

“Yes, Lillian,” Jacob said at once, moving closer to her, “What is it?”

“Lillian,” Doctor Littlefield said, “Who did this to you?”

“Don’t distract her,” Jacob spat angrily.

“R-r-ray,” Lillian gasped, “Tried… Kill me… Gone now.”

Jacob turned white and moved away from Lillian in horror.

“Ray?” Jacob repeated, terrified, “It cannot be… You must be mistaken, dear,” he looked at Lillian, who had closed her eyes and lay utterly still.

“Lillian?” he said nervously, “Come on, now. Lillian!” He shook her shoulder, and Lillian made sure to remain motionless. Her head dropped to the side convincingly, and Jacob jumped back in shock.

“Lillian,” Doctor Littlefield said, hurrying toward her and taking her hand to feel her pulse. Jacob was backing away, looking deranged. After a little while, Doctor Littlefield turned around and said gravely: “There’s no pulse. She’s gone.”

“NO!” Jacob screamed, “This cannot be real.”

“It’s real, all right,” Michael said, suddenly appearing through the back door, holding out his gun, pointing it at Jacob.

“Flemming?” Jacob spluttered, confused, “What are you doing here?”

“It’s over, Jacob,” Michael said sternly, “Get your hands up in the air.”

“You’re crazy,” Jacob said, backing further away from Michael.

“We know you are behind everything, the fires, Lillian’s kidnapping, and even murder,” Michael said, approaching Jacob, who was looking rapidly from side to side, trying to find a way to escape. But he was trapped.

“Get away from me!” Jacob hissed. Michael took a step closer to him and without warning, lunged forward, pinning Jacob to the wall behind him. Jacob grunted and tried to kick him off himself, but Michael held him tightly in place.

“You will never be able to prove anything,” Jacob yelled, looking outside, trying to catch the attention of his cronies.

“Come in here,” he screamed, but at that moment, Jacob brandished his handcuffs and swiftly fastened them around his wrists. The door to the Doctor’s office burst open, and three armed men came running towards Michael. But the sight of Jacob in handcuffed made them falter.

“Step back,” Michael said menacingly.

“And put your hands in the air,” Benjamin said, walking inside, holding out his gun, “There’s nowhere to go.”

The three men looked around and saw that they were indeed trapped. One of them jumped towards the door, but Benjamin tackled him holding him down with his knee. Then Doctor Littlefield appeared from the back room, holding his rifle out.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said to the other two men. Slowly they lowered their weapons, resolutely looking away from Jacob.

“You’re going away for a long time,” Michael said, walking forward, pulling Jacob with him.

“Wait,” Lillian said, suddenly appearing from behind Doctor Littlefield. Jacob gaped as she walked closer to him.

“You…” he stammered, looking at the very much alive Lillian.

“You are going away, and I do hope that you will spend the rest of your time on this earth thinking about the harm you have caused, all because you were jealous and greedy. I will find it within my heart to forgive you one day, but you will have to live with the consequences of your actions. Goodbye, Uncle Jacob,” she said sadly and walked back, facing her back to Jacob.

Jacob was still sputtering when Michael walked with him over to the Sheriff’s office, straight into the jail cell.

Epilogue

One Week Later

Life was slowly beginning to feel normal again. The shock that Jacob Frazier had been arrested and carted off to Gatesville Prison had come as a massive shock to the people in Rust Canyon, and it was likely to be the most popular tale at the tavern for years to come.

The morning after Lillian Walter had reappeared had been a hectic and confusing one. News broke that the jail cells at the Sheriff’s office were filled with prisoners and that a flock of bounty hunters and the Sheriff himself from Gatesville had arrived to assist Sheriff Flemming capturing Jacob’s men.

Sheriff Flemming walked into his office, grinning as he noticed his junior Sheriff almost caved under the mountain of papers on his desk.

“Good morning, Benjamin,” Michael said, causing Benjamin to jump up and spilling the papers all over the desk and down to the floor.

“Darn it,” Benjamin cursed, beginning to pick up the papers, “Oh, and morning,” he added, looking at Michael.

“It’s a beautiful day, don’t you think?” Michael asked.

“Is it?” Benjamin said confusedly.

“Were you here last night?” Michael asked.

“I might have fallen asleep,” Benjamin admitted.

“Go on then.” Michael gestured to the papers on the desk. “Head back home. All of this can wait.”

“No, I wanna finish this,” Benjamin said determinately.

“I insist,” Michael said sternly, “You have been wearing yourself out. Jacob is gone, and we caught most of his men—Relax, Benjamin. Go spend some time with your family.”

“Well,” Benjamin hesitated.

“Go!” Michael repeated with a chuckle.

“All right,” Benjamin replied happily, “Thank you!”

He grabbed his hat, put it on backwards, and left the office. He then turned around, shaking his head. “I almost forgot,” he said, picking a letter from his pocket, “I didn’t want to lose it in the mess on my desk,” he explained, handing Michael the note.

“I think it’s from Rex,” he added.

“Thank you,” Michael said, “Now get going.”

“I’m leaving,” Benjamin chuckled and left; this time, he didn’t return. Michael opened the letter and read it:

Dear Michael. In all the chaos of catching Frazier and his men, I completely forgot to properly thank you. Without your excellent work, I doubt that we would ever have caught ‘Old Ghost.’ I am back in Gatesville, and Jacob has been locked up; he will spend the remainder of his life behind bars. The same is likely to be with Ray Jennings.

I wanted to tell you that the man that we picked up before, Vincent Hays, is scheduled to be released soon. The jails are filling up here, and I think he must have bought his way out. But apparently his family has turned their back on him, and he has been left with nothing—there seems to be some justice after all! We are still working out the extensity of Jacob’s actions, and I’m afraid it will take us a long time to catch all of his men.

I hope to return to Rust Canyon one day, although I hope it will not be on official business again. Take care of your town, and give my best to the lovely Miss Walter. Yours, Rex Rodgers.

P.S. You should give your junior Sheriff my thanks for his continued work and letters. He has an excellent eye for details.

Michael closed the note and smiled to himself. This had been a wild few months, but he looked on hopeful. Because his future had never seemed brighter.

* * *

Lillian stood in the kitchen and was packing a small piece of ham. She was humming a sweet little melody and almost felt like dancing. Every morning she woke up with a smile on her lips, and she was excited to get up and face the day. The dark cloud that had been hovering over Rust Canyon for so long was gone, and it was as if everyone had an extra bounce in their step.

Since Lillian had returned, Dorothy had become her old self again. She had been filled with a new appreciation of life, she was happy, and she was thankful for every moment she spent with her darling daughter.

Dorothy walked into the kitchen and kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “Good morning, my sweet Lilli.”

“Morning.”

“Is Michael keeping you company today?”

“Yes,” Lillian replied, “I’m on my way out.”

“That’s lovely, dear,” Dorothy replied happily. Lillian had been shocked when she came to see her mother after returning to Rust Canyon. She had gently walked into her mother’s room, and for one horrifying moment, she thought her mother had passed away. She had been completely still, a shadow of herself. Her hair had been unkempt, and she had dark circles around her eyes.

Lillian had stroked her mother’s cheek, and when Dorothy opened her eyes, it took her a long time to truly believe it was her. Then she cried and held her daughter tightly. Lillian had worried about how her mother would react when she told her Jacob had been behind everything, even the murder of her father. But Dorothy had taken it in quietly, and with grace, she had then said she would pray for him.

“Here, I made this,” Dorothy said, walking to the pantry and bringing out a small pie.

“Oh, thank you,” Lillian exclaimed, “Michael will be happy,” she laughed.

“I just wanted to give you two a little something,” Dorothy dismissed.

“It’s perfect,” Lillian smiled, “What are you going to do today?”

“I’m meeting Pat,” Dorothy said happily.

“That great mother,” Lillian said, “I’m glad you’re going out.”

“Me too, dear,” Dorothy replied, “We are going to help plan the town meeting.”

“Well, I better get going,” Lillian said.

“Give Michael my best regards,” Dorothy said happily.

“I will,” Lillian said, finishing with packing the basket. She kissed her mother on the cheek and left the house.

* * *

There was a small knock on the window, and Michael leaped up when he noticed the slender, blond figure standing outside. He ran outside, unable to contain his grin. There Lillian stood, her hair in wavy curls, her cheeks rosy, and her eyes were sparkling. She was carrying a picnic basket.

“Hello gorgeous,” Michael said, giving her sweet kiss on the cheek, “Here I’ll hold that,” he said, taking the basket.

“You’re in a good mood,” Lillian giggled.

“That’s because a beautiful woman has agreed to have a picnic with me,” he grinned, offering her his arm. She held him, and together they walked.

“But this is our third picnic,” Lillian said with a tinkling laugh.

“And they just keep getting better,” Michael replied. They walked towards the hitching post where two horses were tied. Michael put the basket down as he helped her mount Walt, his old horse. When he had made sure she was sitting securely, he jumped easily on the back of his dark steed.

“Ready?” Michael asked.

“Ready,” Lillian said. They rode side by side to a little field that was not far from the main road but was secluded from the hustle and bustle of the town. This had become their favorite spot to sit together in peace and quiet. After they had tied the horses near the shade of a tree, Lillian put down the picnic blanket, and they sat down, closely together.

“How is Samuel doing?” Michael asked. Lillian had been going over to the Hammond farm—who had decided to allow Samuel to stay with them—every chance she got.

“Oh, you should see him, Michael,” Lillian replied happily, “His bruises are so much better, and the wound on his hand is healing nicely.”

“I’m glad to hear,” Michael said, absentmindedly stroking over the front pocket of his jacket.

“Is Benjamin still overworking himself?” Lillian asked, beginning to pick up the food she had brought them.

“He sure is,” Michael said, “I don’t know what I should do, to be honest.”

“Perhaps this is something that he feels he must do,” Lillian suggested.

“Maybe,” Michael said hesitantly, “It hit him especially hard to find out that Jacob was behind everything.”

Benjamin had told Michael, only the day before, that he had realized what Jacob’s plan had been all along. He was going to slowly plant the idea that Michael had been the one behind the kidnapping of Lillian, making the townsfolk doubt the new Sheriff and his intentions. Jacob said that it had been suspicious that the fine man Vincent Hays had been arrested after Michael begin showing Lillian interest.

Benjamin had been speaking to people, and after tracing various rumors and stories, they all originated with Jacob. He had even begun to make people think that Benjamin would be a much better candidate to be the Sheriff. Seeing Jacob in the jail cell had made Benjamin so mad that he was unable to speak for an entire afternoon. He had demanded to personally walk Jacob to the prisoner wagon that Rex and the rest of the bounty hunters had brought.

“Just give him time,” Lillian said, “We all need time.”

“That’s true,” Michael said, taking her hand in his own, “This is nice.”

“It really is.” She laid her head on his shoulder, “I wish we could be here forever.”

“Lillian,” Michael said after a while of them enjoying sitting together in the warm sunlight, eating the delicious pie Dorothy had made and chatting about anything they could think about.

“Mhmm,” Lillian hummed.

“I know we have not known each other very long,” Michael began, and Lillian sat a little straighter so she could look him in the eyes, “But I feel as if I have been waiting for something my whole life. I traveled from town to town, never really knowing what I was looking for. That is until I met you. Lillian, I love you, with all my heart, body, and soul.”

“Oh, Michael,” Lillian whispered.

“Every morning, I need to take a moment to remind myself that you are safe,” Michael said thoughtfully, intertwining their fingers.

“I never thought I could feel the way I do when I am around you,” Lillian said. “You believed in me from the moment we met, and I had to keep my feelings hidden. I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t really in love, that I was only being silly, but my heart knew long before my mind did. I think I might have loved you from the moment you walked toward me, all that time ago, across the dance floor.”

Michael pulled her toward him, and they shared a sweet kiss that was filled with hope and the promise of a thousand more kisses.

“Lillian, I have wanted to ask you this since I first saw your radiant smile,” Michael reached into his front pocket, “Lillian Walter, will you do me the honor of making me the luckiest man under this sun, by becoming my wife?” He handed her a beautiful gold band.

It had been his mother’s, and he had found it in a small box when he went through his father’s belongings. It had a note inside the box, addressed to Michael, stating: When you finally find the one who makes you want to remain still.

“Oh, my,” Lillian gasped, looking at the ring and back at Michael, “Nothing would make me happier than becoming your wife.”

Michael grinned widely and put the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly. Michael grabbed her into her arms and kissed her with a passion that left her feeling giddy. They lay together, basking in the glow of their love, holding hands. Finally, they sat up, and Lillian put away the remainder of the food into the basket, and Michael untied the horses. Soon they were riding back, side by side, ready to begin their life—together.

The End?

Extended Epilogue

Eager to read how Lillian and Michael’s relationship evolved? Then enjoy this complimentary short story featuring the beloved couple!

Simply TAP HERE to read it now for FREE! or use this link: http://www.cassidyhanton.com/gxpr directly in your browser.

I guarantee you, that you won’t be disappointed ♥

But before you go, turn the page for an extra sweet treat from me…

A sweet treat from the Wild West…

Turn on to the next page to read the preview of The Cowboy’s Stolen Bride, a sweet and clean Western historical romance with a happily-ever-after!

Preview: The Cowboy’s Stolen Bride

Prologue

“It ain’t gonna help with you wiggling like that!” the stranger yelled at Jessie.

Jessie’s hands had been tightly tied together around a pole in the dilapidated barn. She had been struggling with the rope, by twisting her wrists.The stranger had his back to her, while he was sharpening a knife. She did not know how he could see her struggling, but she did not quit when he yelled at her. She gave all the strength she had, eyeing a large board within reach that she knew she could hit him over the head with, if she could just get her wrists untied.

“Girly, you gonna make me real mad!” he screamed, as he turned around, with the sharpened knife pointed in her direction.

Jessie gave up the struggle, and began to cry, “Why are you doing this? I have done nothing to you! My father is a prominent banker here in Frailburg. I am sure he will pay you anything you want, if you would just let me go!”

“Little lady, you are not goin’ nowhere!” he retorted. He came toward her with the knife, and she tensed every muscle in her body, ready to feel its sharpness pierce her skin. But he pulled out a piece of paper and jabbed it with the knife, so it would stick into the wooden pole, right above her head.

Jessie could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks, and sniffled her nose. She did not know where the man had brought her. All she could remember was coming out of the tavern where she had just finished her shift, and feeling a rope lasso around her neck. He pulled her up on his black horse, held a knife to her throat, and threatened her that if she were to scream, he would slit her throat. She must have fainted at that point because the next memory she could recall was waking up, tied to this pole in this old, worn down barn. The roof was caving in, and she could see a large open section of it above her, which gave her access to see the sky. It was now a light orange, so she knew that the sun must be setting soon. Frailburg, Arizona, was known for having some of the most beautiful sunsets. She bowed her head, and prayed that this would not be the last one she would see.

When she lifted her head, the stranger was nowhere to be seen. He’s gone somewhere! Maybe I can get these restraints loose now! Jessie began to try to use her hands to loosen the ropes that bound them, but the man had tied them too tightly. She could feel blood start to trickle down her thin hands, as she continued frantically to try to get free.

The stranger led his horse into the barn. He glanced at her struggling again, “Boy, you sure are a fighter, missy!” He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a revolver; slowly he pointed it in Jessie’s direction.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Jessie begged.

“Because this is who I am, and this is what I do!” he yelled back at her, moving closer, closing one eye, and taking aim.

“Please, please, no! I won’t tell anyone if you let me go! I promise!” she pleaded.

“I have to do this girly because now I have one more reason to! And I left my mark, so they would know who did this to ya,” the stranger stepped forward, even closer to her now, pointing the revolver at the paper above her head. “They know me by now! Soooo-eeee,” he yelled.

Jessie looked up at the sky through the open roof, watching a flock of birds fly by. Then, the sound of a gunshot could be heard, as the sun sank deep into the red horizon.

Chapter One

The sunrise was Adeline’s favorite part of the day, the time that she was able to take Nellie out for a ride, and watch the world around her wake up. She had always been an early riser, even when she was a young girl. That is how she became such an avid reader. Her mother would allow her to read herself to sleep, and she always fell asleep early, with the book next to her.

Waking early had benefited her when she was in school. Her parents trusted her to start going for morning rides when she was twelve. By then, she had learned to shoot well, and her father had talked her mother into letting her go before school started. However, Edgar always demanded that she take her gun with her every morning. Her parents were a bit overprotective of her, and hired a private tutor when she entered her advanced years in school.

That was when things changed at home; her mother became ill. Her father hired as many doctors as he could to try and remedy Agnes’ symptoms, but there was no doctor who could relieve her of them all. A change came over her father then. He became even more protective of Adeline, and stayed by Agnes’ side day and night, hiring in three extra housemaids, and two more stable boys to help out. So, now her morning rides became a type of escape from the daily reality of her mother’s illness, and possible pending death.

Adeline shook her brown hair in disagreement with these morbid thoughts, and brushed her hand through Nellie’s plush mane, “Okay, girl, let’s go up one more hill where we can get a full view of this morning!” She nudged Nellie with her leather riding boots, and they trotted up the dusty hill. Frailburg, Arizona, was not the best terrain to ride a horse. Often times, Nellie would lose grip on the desert sand beneath her, but never did Adeline lose her balance. She was too skilled on horseback for that.

The sky was turning from a light pinkish grey to a light blue, the same color of her eyes. In the far distance, she could see lizards coming out to bask for the day. Her favorite part of the desert was the cacti plants, which bloomed the most beautiful flower she had ever seen.

There were tall cacti, with their arms reaching above her height, and there were small, round cacti, that would injure if one were to be so unlucky as to fall on them. That was what she liked about the desert. It was wild, with risks and unusual animals and plants. She identified with these traits; she had always stuck out like a sore thumb among the other elite girls in town. They were all too frail, skinny, too…feminine. She liked a physical challenge, riding horses and shooting her gun. And the eligible bachelors of Frailburg were stiff, and a bore.

When will I find the love of my life?

She shook the thought out of her head, and pulled on the reins to signal Nellie that it was time to return home. Too much thinking! I have too much time to think on these rides! Nellie descended the hill, and they trotted back to the Baxter Estate.

* * *

As she entered the double doors to the kitchen, she saw her father in his usual place, at the table drinking coffee and reading the early edition of the small newspaper Frailburg had to offer.

“Good Morning, Father,” she greeted him, as she placed her riding hat on the table next to him. “How is Mother this morning?”

“Oh, she is up and about,” Edgar answered, lifting his bright blue eyes from the top of the paper, peering at her. “And I see you are too, this morning, as usual! How was your ride?”

“It was a bit chilly this morning before the sun came up, but I had to take off my riding jacket on the way back home. I am afraid it will be another hot day in Frailburg!” Adeline nervously chuckled, as her mother entered the room.

“Good to see you up this morning,” Adeline sweetly spoke to her mother, as she gently kissed her on her frail cheek. Her mother had lost so much weight this last year. She ate like a bird, and no matter how much she was encouraged, she would mostly just stare at her plate, until Adeline or Edgar would take it away.

“Yes, I am feeling a bit better this morning,” Agnes replied, as she stroked Adeline’s arm. “But I am not too hungry.”

The room fell silent as Agnes called the housemaid to pour her a cup of coffee. Edgar stood up from the table, folded the paper neatly, and set it down firmly, “Agnes, the doctor has told you not to drink coffee. Let us make you some tea, and why don’t you get back in bed to rest for a while? You can join us for lunch out on the patio. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like you are patronizing me again, Edgar, and trying to keep me locked up in that bedroom! I just want some fresh air sometimes.” Agnes pulled at her brownish-grey bun, “Carol made this too tight for me this morning. I have a stark headache from it.” Carol, the head housemaid, had been with the Baxter family for twenty years. She assisted Agnes every morning in her dressing routine.

“Now, there, Mother, is that better? Father is right. You need to get some more rest this morning, and I will have a nice lunch prepared for us this afternoon. How about your favorite, lamb?”

Agnes smiled at the suggestion of lamb. She relaxed her clinched fists, and replied delicately, “So, I guess with both of you telling me to go back to bed, I suppose I must. You two are my dears, you know that?”

Edgar gently held Agnes by the arm, and led her into the large master bedroom, “Adeline,” he motioned to the kettle on the stove, “why don’t you make your mother a nice cup of tea, and we will let her get some rest? Be an angel?”

Adeline smiled at her father, and began to fill the kettle with fresh water from the pitcher. She selected a mint tea for her mother, knowing that would calm her nerves. Agnes’ illness had progressed to cause her to have tense moments, even mood swings, and sometimes hand tremors. Adeline sighed, as she sat down at the oak kitchen table to wait for the water to boil.

* * *

“Agnes, he has killed four young ladies so far, and they still have not caught him! Right here in Frailburg, we have a murderer! I read about it in this morning’s paper, but could not finish the article because Adeline came back from her ride earlier than usual,” Edgar exclaimed. He did not want to upset his sick wife, but this was an emergency in his point of view. They had to make sure Adeline was safe. “He chooses young ladies, between 20 to 25 years old, and she just turned 23! He leaves his name, ‘Wild Hog,’ near the dead girl’s body in order to entice the police even more to catch him.” His face was red now, which contrasted heavily with his silver hair. “What are we to do, Agnes?” he pleaded.

Adeline stood motionless behind the half open door of her parent’s bedroom. The cup of tea shook on the china saucer in her hand, as she listened to her father’s news.

A murderer? Why, I would just shoot him dead if he were to trouble me!

Agnes sat upright in bed, while Edgar placed another down pillow behind her back. She winced as the pillow touched her bed sores. “Go, Edgar, go and take Adeline away somewhere! I will be fine here. We have plenty of help here to take care of me, and the premises. I don’t want her anywhere near here until that beast is caught!”

Edgar leaned over and kissed his wife’s head, “Dear, I would never leave you in this condition. We have to find a way to get Adeline out of state until this monster is caught!” Their discussion was interrupted when Adeline entered the room.

Adeline pushed the heavy door open with her free hand, and faked a smile, “Here you are, Mother, your tea!”

* * *

Edgar handed the newspaper to Adeline, and pointed to the article on the front page, “Read this, dear, we have something we need to discuss.”

Adeline had especially enjoyed lunch with her parents today. Her mother seemed more chipper than usual, and her father made them both laugh with his jokes and antics. However, now, she could see a dark mood had come over him, and she knew exactly what he was about to say to her. She sat down and read the article, word for word, acting as if this were the first news she was receiving of the terrible murders happening in Frailburg.

She placed the newspaper on the kitchen table.This was where all of her father’s serious talks with her had occurred over her lifetime. She could recall the first one was when she was around eight or nine, and the subject of that lecture had been, “how to act like a young lady because she represented the Baxter family.” Adeline cleared her throat. She knew her father’s concern about this “Wild Hog” fiend was sincere, but she truly felt she could defend herself with her gun, if needed. She always carried her gun when she went out riding. Her father had enforced that in her habits.

“So?” Edgar leaned over her shoulder, as she sat up straight as a board, ready for the demands.

“So, I believe, Father, that I can defend myself from this gruesome man, and any other man who would try to harm me. I always carry my gun, and you know what a good shot I am!” Her tone rose on the last word.

Edgar could see that this would be a battle with Adeline to coerce her to agree to give up her morning rides, and any outdoor adventuring until this murderer had been caught.

“I know, I know, love. It is not that I do not think you are incapable of defending yourself. I am sure some of these young ladies who have been murdered were quite capable, as well. But, when you are dealing with a madman such as this one, it is better to be safe than sorry. I must assert that under no conditions are you to go out for your morning rides, or go out unattended until this man is caught. Is this clear?”

“Crystal clear, Father!” Adeline replied. “I suppose you will also tell me when and what I can eat, wear, and whom I can marry, then, right?”

“Adeline, no sass, please, dear. Not now. Your mother is extremely worried about this situation, and if you do not do this for me, then do it for her, for her health.You know how worry and stress affect her illness. It will make her sicker if she knows you are out there gallivanting about, with this murderer on the loose!” Edgar placed his hand on her shoulder, “So, please, be an angel, won’t you?”

Silence fell in the room. Adeline wiggled in her seat, picked up the newspaper and looked at the article again, “Alright, Father, but this one is for Mother!”

Chapter Two

Almost a week had passed, and Adeline had remained faithful to her promise not to go for her morning rides, or to leave the house unattended. Actually, she had not left the house in five days at all. She spent her days assisting her father with taking care of Agnes, and the rest of the time she could be found with her nose constantly in a book. She was not even able to recall how many books she had read so far this week.

Adeline was perched on the divan in her father’s study, when Carol, the head housemaid, came rushing into the room, with a newspaper in her hand, frantically shaking it to get Adeline’s attention, “Miss Adeline, you have to read this! You must! Another young lady was just found only two miles from here on old man John’s property! Dead! Tied to a tree, and, Lord Heavens, shot to death!”

Adeline peered up from the engaging book she was reading. She was not sure whether to laugh at Carol’s franticness, or to give her full attention. “Let me see the article, please, Carol. And please, by all means, calm down! You do not want to stir Mother! We just got her down for a nap. You know she needs more rest right now, and has been truly upset about all of this murder business!”

“Yes, Miss,” Carol replied, bowing her head, and straightening out the apron around her waist. “It’s just that this man will seem to never stop! And the sheriff and police seem to still have no trace of who this brute is!”

Adeline put the newspaper down, “You’re still raising your voice, Carol. Why don’t you go make us some tea, and come sit in here with me for a bit until you can calm your nerves?”

Carol smiled sheepishly, “Yes, Miss.” She slowly turned and exited the room, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

Adeline pulled her long braid that Carol had made for her early that morning to the side of her shoulder. Carol had been with the Baxter family since she was just a tiny girl, barely walking. Carol was like a second mother to her, but Adeline was easily irritated by Carol’s excitement over matters. She would raise her voice in the kitchen at the cook when she felt he was using the wrong ingredients; she watched the other maids under her instruction as they cleaned, and corrected them if they made the tiniest error. However, she was a sweetheart to the Baxters, especially to Adeline, and she knew that is why Carol was so upset about this latest murder being so close in vicinity to the Baxter Estate. Carol could not help herself; she loved them all too much. There were times when Adeline felt smothered by her parent’s overprotectiveness, and Carol’s excited concern for her. Sometimes, she just wanted to have her own independence, and have to be the only one who would worry about her well-being.

Edgar interrupted Adeline’s thoughts, as he popped his head around the open study door, “Adeline, your mother will be resting until later this afternoon. I would like to have a word with you, please, dear.”

Adeline tucked the newspaper inside the book she was reading, and placed it on the table next to the divan where she had been lounging for hours. She stood, adjusted her dress and hair, and followed Edgar to the living room.

Edgar motioned for Adeline to sit across from him, “Angel, I have some terrible news. Another girl has been kidnapped, and was found shot just last night. There seems to be no stopping this brute, and your mother is becoming even more worried for you. I am afraid it is affecting her health at this point.”

When Adeline began to respond to her father, there was a heavy knock at the front door. Edgar waited for one of the servants to hear it but when no one came, he went to answer the door himself. Adeline followed him, out of curiosity.

“Ah, Richard, my friend! So good to see you!” Edgar exclaimed as he grabbed Richard’s hand in a firm handshake. “What brings you all the way out to Frailburg?”

“I had some business to attend to, so I thought I would drop in on my favorite family!” Richard replied, and continued to shake Edgar’s hand vigorously.

Richard’s eyes moved to the figure standing just behind Edgar, “Is that Adeline? My, my, you have become even prettier since last winter!”

Adeline curtsied in appreciation and walked toward Richard, “It is good to see you, too.”

Richard broke eye contact with Adeline, and looked back at Edgar, “How is my dear Agnes doing?”

Edgar’s illumination dimmed, “I am afraid her health has continued to decline, Richard. But I have the best doctors in Arizona looking after her, and she does like to get up and around some during the day. Right now, she is resting, but I am sure she will be delighted to see you when she wakes.”

Richard frowned, “I am sorry, Edgar. I know how hard this must be on you, but God will heal Agnes. He is just testing your faith right now.”

Edgar pointed to two leather wing back chairs in the living room which were in front of two softer chairs, the ones that Adeline and her mother preferred. “Please, have a seat, and I will have Carol get us something refreshing to drink.”

“I just sent Carol into the kitchen a little while ago to make some tea, Father. Maybe Richard would like a nice cup of tea?” Adeline smiled at Richard.

“Actually, Adeline, I would prefer something a bit stronger. Do you have any of that good whiskey, Edgar, that you keep for special occasions?” Richard sat down in one of the wingback chairs, “I just came out of a tough business meeting.”

“Of course, Richard! Anything for you!” Edgar sprinted over to the bar directly behind the wingback chairs, and proceeded to search for his special bottle of whiskey.

“I will let Carol know to bring the tea in here for Mother and me,” Adeline called out to her father, as she exited the room to the kitchen.

“Yes, yes, of course, Angel. Your mother should be rising any time now, now that it is getting to the cooler part of the day,” Edgar agreed.

Edgar poured two small glasses of his special whiskey, and approached Richard, holding one out for him to take, “To friends, old times, and new memories.” The two men clicked their glasses together, and in unison, drank down the whiskey.

“Ah, that is just what I needed, Edgar!” Richard said, as he put the glass down on the mahogany table next to him. “How is business, Edgar?”

Edgar followed suit, placing his glass down, “Well, business has been good at the stores, but I just don’t have the availability to oversee all of the bookkeeping like I did before Agnes…”

Edgar’s words were broken by the entrance of his wife. She was wearing a white stain robe that he had given her for their last anniversary. “Hello, Richard!” She spoke with a liveliness that neither Edgar nor Adeline had heard in quite some time.

The men stood up from their chairs, as Agnes entered the room. Richard turned toward her, “My dear Agnes! What a sight for sore eyes you are today!”

Agnes pulled the robe tight around her chest, “Well, this is not exactly the proper attire to receive company, but when I heard your voice from the bedroom, I was so excited, I just had to come right out and say hello!”

Adeline walked in behind Agnes, with Carol following her, holding a tray of tea and small round cakes, which were frequent afternoon treats at the Baxter Estate. “Here, Mother, why don’t we sit across from Father and Richard in the comfortable chairs you like?” Adeline pointed toward the large floral printed chairs, which were so soft, that they sunk down as one sat in them.

Agnes made her way to the chair opposite of Edgar, and Adeline followed, sitting across from Richard. Carol set the tray on the small table next to Adeline’s chair, and offered to pour tea. “No need, Carol. Why don’t you go get some rest, and I will take care of serving, for a change,” Adeline instructed.

“Richard’s here on business, Agnes, but he took the time to stop in. Isn’t this wonderful?” Edgar eagerly asked.

“A true delight, Richard,” Agnes spoke softly, giving the impression that she was a bit weak. “How long will you be in Frailburg, Richard?” Agnes inquired.

Richard smiled a large, white smile, which made him look much younger than he actually was, “I will be here at least a few days, Agnes. I couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to spend time with my favorite family!”

“Then, you must stay here, in one of our guest rooms. No fuss. It is settled,” Agnes demanded.

“Well, that would be a delight!” Richard accepted.

Edgar stood up from his chair, “Can I help you bring in your things, so you can freshen up before dinner is served, Richard?”

“Yes, that would be helpful. I have some things I have brought for you all from Talon Peaks!” Richard laughed, as he motioned for Edgar to join him out front of the home.

After the two men had left, Adeline asked her mother if she would like some tea. Agnes agreed, and Adeline poured her half a cup of tea, and put two teaspoons of sugar in it, stirring it slowly. “Here, Mother, maybe the sugar will perk you up a bit more.”

“Thank you, dear. What a lovely surprise to wake up to! Maybe it will do your father some good to have a friend around for a few days.”

“Yes, Mother, it will,” Adeline nodded. “And it will do us all some good to have a healthy distraction from all of this terrible buzz going on about town regarding that monster!”

“Yes, Adeline, a nice distraction is just what this family needs,” Agnes spoke slowly, as she sipped her tea.

* * *

“I am so happy to be in the company of such good friends, on such a beautiful night in my old hometown of Frailburg,” Richard toasted to the group sitting at the dinner table, which was full of every mentionable delight.

“Here, here,” Edgar lifted his glass in agreement with Richard.

Adeline and Agnes lifted their glasses of wine, also, each taking a small sip before beginning to eat the roast and potatoes that Carol had the cook prepare specially for this reunion meal.

After everyone had completed their meal, they waited patiently for dessert to be brought out by the servants. Richard spoke up again, from his seat at the head of the table, “And on this special night, I have a gift for each of you from Talon Peaks, which has become my new home, and dear to my heart.” He lifted a leather bag from the floor next to his chair, and opened it, pulling out a velvet bag for Agnes, “Here, Agnes, let us start with your gift. This is something to help make you feel fresh and good again.” He handed her the bag, and she smiled and opened it to see the contents inside.

Agnes pulled out a jar of homemade lotion, and a bar of soap which had berries embedded in it, “How lovely! I need something to take away the dryness of my skin in this awful heat!” She smiled a gracious smile, “Thank you, dear, Richard.”

“You are most welcome, Agnes, and now for the other lady of the house,” Richard pulled out a thick black book, and handed it to Adeline, who was sitting to the left of him at the table.

Adeline opened the front cover to the title page and saw that it was a complete compilation of Greek mythology. “Oh, my, why, I have not read all of the myths from the Greeks, Richard. Thank you so much! This will give me plenty of hours of pleasure.”

“And give us plenty of hours of conversation about it, too, Miss Adeline,” Richard responded.

Adeline caught his stare, and noticed he had especially dark brown eyes, which twinkled when he looked at her. She immediately lowered her eyes back down to the book, “Yes, I, um, would like that very much.”

“Last, but not least, for my good, best friend, Edgar, here is something to help you invest some more inventory in your stores,” he handed Edgar a velvet bag, similar to the one Agnes had received.

Edgar shook the bag, and felt something jostle around inside. He noticed the bag was rather heavy, and he opened it up slowly, peering inside, “Oh, my word! Richard, what have you done?Are you sure about this?”

Agnes leaned forward, “Oh, please, Edgar, don’t keep us all in suspense. What is it?”

“A bag full of gold! Gold nuggets, Agnes!” Edgar exclaimed.

Richard Arnolds was a very wealthy overseer of a gold mining company in Talon Peaks, Texas, and had become very generous with his wealth of late. He was known to have become quite the philanthropist in his community, helping various churches, poor families, and his employees. This was one reason the Baxters held such respect for him. They had heard news of his good doings, and at every opportunity, would inform everyone that he was one of their closest and dearest friends.

Edgar did like to brag a bit about his associates, hoping this would improve his standing in the community. When Agnes had fallen ill, the stores in town he owned had taken a bit of a financial hit because he had to direct his attentions to his wife’s needs, versus his business. But, now, this kind gift from Richard would help him bring his business back up to its original prosperous state, which was responsible for the estate home they lived in, finely furnished, and the ability to maintain as many house servants as they did.

“Forever will I be thankful to you, my dear friend, Richard!” Edgar asked to be excused from the table, so he may go place the bag of gold in his safe in the study.

“You’re quite the friend, Richard,” Adeline said with a sharp smile. She was not sure at this juncture if his gift to her father was sincere, or a way to “buy” their friendship. She had always liked Richard, respected him. However, he was a man of wealth who did not feel the need not to show it off. This repulsed her in a way, but she was truly grateful for his gesture, no matter the motivation.

The servants brought in a fine chocolate cake for the dessert portion of the meal, and after everyone had their palates satiated, they retired to the living room, where Adeline began to read her book on mythology, while Edgar and Richard sat in the wingback chairs, reminiscing about the good old times they had together when they were younger. Agnes called for Carol to help her get ready for bed, and she politely excused herself from the room, bidding each one a special good night.

Want to know how the story ends? Tap on the link below to read the rest of the story.

https://amzn.to/2WZWHfs

Thank you very much!

Also by Cassidy Hanton

Thank you for reading Longing for the Tormented Sheriff!

I really hope you liked reading it, as much as I enjoyed writing it If you did, may I ask you to please write a review HERE? It would mean the world to me. Reviews are very important and allow me to keep writing the books that you love to read! ♥

Some other best sellers of mine:

The Cowboy’s Stolen Bride

For the Love of a Wounded Cowboy

A Western Tale of Love and Fate

The Salvation of a Runaway Bride

The Sheriff’s Rebellious Bride

Loving a Forbidden Bride

Also, if you liked this book, you can also check out my full Amazon Book Catalogue HERE.

Thank you for being part of my journey!

Cassidy

About the Author

Born overlooking the Jefferson river in Montana, Cassidy Hanton has always been attracted to the nature of the West. As the only girl of six siblings, her mother used to tell her stories that she later on discovered they came from her favorite romance novels.

With a double major in Philosophy and Creative Writing, Cassidy started writing contemporary romances, only to realize that the American Frontier Era was her favourite. That was back in 2008. Now, she writes overlooking another Montana river and a beautiful ranch that she shares with her husband and three children.

Cassidy delved into the Western Frontier history and the local native stories only to provide her readers with the intrigue and authenticity of the era. She hopes her stories satisfy their thirst for love and adventure and inspire them to live every day with a smile.

Facebook