Forever Love

  Forever Love

  Leanne Burroughs

  Published by Highland Press Publishing at Smashwords

  A Western Romance…

  (with whimsical, loving, ghostly family members)

  1880

  Redrock, Kansas

  ~1~

  “Ah, Stripper, I knew I shouldn’t have left the bar to fetch supplies today. Too much to do in town with those Easterners finally supposed to arrive.” His eyes alert to danger, Hank Beaumont pushed his horse to catch up with the outlaws. Rounding a bend, he caught movement in a copse of trees and pulled tight on Stripper’s reins, patting the animal on its neck to quiet him.

  He dismounted, tethered his mount to a branch and quietly moved forward. Exactly like the frightened woman at the abandoned stagecoach he’d met up with several miles back had reported, three men had robbed the coach, killed the men, then kidnapped a woman passenger. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what they had in mind.

  The man struggling with the woman on the ground would make an easy target, so Hank focused his attention on the other two. Ignoring the ill-matched odds, he drew both pistols and went in firing. He dropped one where he stood with a bullet to the thigh. A split second later the other drew his pistol and Hank shot the gun out of the man’s hand. The robber by the woman dropped to the ground, rolled with some difficulty while trying to adjust his clothes, yet managed to palm his gun. He reached for the woman, no doubt to use her as a shield, but she’d scooted too far away. Hank shot and the man fell back.

  The man with the wounded leg hobbled to his horse as the other ran. Mounting their horses, both high-tailed it away, disappearing in a cloud of dust. Hank contemplated following them, but decided the young woman who’d seen men murdered and then been kidnapped needed him most. He holstered his guns.

  As his eyes fell to her, his breath caught in his throat. Even terrified, she was beautiful. Long brown hair cascaded over her shoulders. It looked like she might’ve had it pinned up at some point since a few stray pins stuck out. But what captured his attention most—once his gaze lifted from her curvaceous body—was her soft, brown, terror-filled eyes. With her dust covered travel clothes disheveled and her hair mussed, she looked like a frightened kitten.

  An instinct he hadn’t felt in a long time, possibly never, kicked in. He wanted to protect her. Not just shield her from the attackers, but keep her safe—from everything.

  Where had that nonsense come from?

  He stepped closer, grimacing as she edged away, fright clearly visible on her face. “Easy, ma’am.” He spoke softly, like he would to gentle a skittish animal. “I’m not going to hurt you. I swear. The passengers told me you’d been taken after those varmints robbed your stagecoach. The other folk are still back at the coach waitin’ for me to fetch you.” Never gifted with gab, he wasn’t sure what to say to reach through her distress.

  She stared at him as though she thought he would kill her.

  “Name’s Henry Morrison Beaumont, ma’am. Folks here-abouts call me Hank.” Still nothing. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

  “J-Jessica…Jessica Ashbury.”

  Ashbury? Surely not! This beautiful woman was the wife of the man buying his saloon? Their arrival had been expected, why he’d hated leaving town, but the holidays would soon be upon them, and things would then be too busy in town for him to go anywhere to get some additional supplies.

  In one gentle movement he reached down and pulled her to her feet. “Easy, Miz Ashbury. I’ll get you safely back to the stage. No one’s gonna harm you. I swear.”

  When she started crying, Hank didn’t hesitate. He enfolded her in his arms and held her until the sobs subsided. She had a lot to cry about, witnessing the murders of her husband and the stagecoach driver, then being kidnapped. Hank didn’t have any trouble seeing why a man would die trying to protect this woman. What he didn’t understand was why the blamed fool was bringing her into such dangerous territory in the first place.

  She felt soft against his chest. Too soft. She shouldn’t be out West. From the looks of her fancy clothes, she was an Easterner through and through. A lady proper. She should have stayed there. As strange sensations unfurled, he wondered what it was about this woman that evoked feelings within him.

  Feelings he’d buried his whole life.

  * * * *

  Hank reined the stagecoach up in front of the white clapboard saloon, then jumped down to find someone to take Stripper away before he helped the women disembark. Tomorrow they’d have the funerals, but today he didn’t want them seeing the three bodies draped over his horse.

  Soon he helped the mother and her child out of the coach. He hoped the little girl hadn’t coughed all the way into town. It sure had sounded like it, from what he could hear, though. Before he got the women seated in the coach after returning with Miz Ashbury, a spasm hit to where he feared the child would quit breathing. Being out in the cold while he’d hunted down the outlaws doubtless hadn’t helped. She didn’t have the look of her mother. The woman—Valicia Bishop she’d said her name was—had straight, light brown hair, while the little girl—Molly—was blonde. They had the same eyes though. Matching blue eyes that stared at him now before he poked his head back inside the coach.

  “Let me help you out, ma’am. I’ll have someone fetch Doc for the little girl, then I’ll get you settled,” he said to the young woman he’d rescued. The woman who was supposed to have bought his hotel so he could refocus his life. Some day he might have even sold them the saloon. Other than the family history in the building, the business didn’t hold his interest like it used to. He felt a need for change—was tired of fighting so many in the town about the women working for him—but he didn’t know what he was searching for yet. Maybe he should just up and move.

  Only now it looked like none of that would happen.

  He turned to Michael Roberts who’d scurried up to the stagecoach as soon as it stopped. “Go fetch Doc. The train derailed in the next town, so these folks caught the stage there. Tell him a little girl needs his help.” Never failed, but the skinny nine-year-old, brown haired boy was always the first person to reach the stage, no matter what time it arrived in town.

  Shouts of “Where’s old Morgan, the coach driver?”, “Heard someone robbed the stage!” and “Three people dead!” rippled throughout the town. Hank ignored the queries as he concentrated on the stage passengers.

  “Beaumont! Was that you driving the coach? What happened?” The speaker, leaning against one of the tall white pillars in front of the saloon, straightened, spit into the dirt and headed toward the stagecoach. Other men came up and tied their horses to the hitching post.

  By the time Hank got everyone out of the stage and started removing their bags from atop the coach, an elderly, gray-haired gentleman carrying a medical bag rushed down the dirt street. By then, it seemed like half the town had converged on them to see what was happening and why the stage had been late. People had streamed out of the dining room, meals temporarily forgotten. Word spread like wildfire that a young man and old Morgan had been killed. And one of the hold-up men.

  Though the two elderly men sitting in rockers in front of the barber shop were too feeble to join the ever-growing throng, it didn’t stop them from craning their necks to check out the activity.

  Doc elbowed his way through the crowd to reach Hank, his eyes scanning the scene.

  “Hey, Doc. Here. This little girl needs you to look at her.” Hank indicated the child peeking out from behind her mother’s calico skirts. “Want we should take her into the hotel?”

  The old doctor quickly assessed the situation, his shrewd eyes clearly taking in the two dust covered women, looking worse for wear, and a little girl whose chest heaved with wracking coughs.
Doc glanced up toward the sky. “Yes, carry the child into that room behind the check-in desk. She doesn’t need to be outside in this cold. Looks like it might start snowing soon.”

  To Hank’s dismay, people followed them into the hotel’s lobby. The hubbub dying down, several guests drifted back to finish their forgotten meals. Food was likely cold, but it served them right for rushing outside once the commotion began. For the most part, life in Redrock was peaceful. So any unusual incident—especially the late arrival of the stage—found people dashing about to see what was happening.

  Hank carried Molly straight to a room set up for anyone working the front desk and laid her gently on the cot in the corner. Worry and fear were etched on her mother’s face.

  The physician moved forward to help the child as soon as Hank stepped out of the way. Then Hank turned his attention to the young woman he’d rescued. “Miz Ashbury, let me just grab a blanket in case Doc needs it for the young gel.” He crossed the room and pulled open a chifferobe drawer to retrieve a heavy brown blanket, then laid it across a chair. His eyes returned to Jessica. “If you’ll follow me, ma’am, I’ll see you to one of the rooms upstairs.”

  The beautiful brunette shook her head. “I prefer to stay with Missus Bishop while the physician sees to her daughter.”

  Hank headed out to the front desk. What was he going to do now? Owning the hotel was a burden and he’d planned on dumping it as soon as the Ashburys arrived. He had more than enough work running the saloon. Didn’t even want to be doing that. Geoffrey Ashbury had already sent half the agreed upon price by bank draft. He’d been bringing the remainder of the money with him. Now he was dead and unless they’d brought another bank draft and had hidden it really well, he had no doubt it was gone.

  Deuced Easterner. The man clearly knew nothing of the untamed West. It still amazed him how long it took folks to realize how rough the West was. Some people just didn’t belong here. It certainly wasn’t the place for sissified men. And definitely not for beautiful women like the man’s wife.

  Merely thinking of holding her in his arms after he’d rescued her brought back unbidden emotions. She’d been so soft in his arms. So frightened. When he looked at her he should only see a woman who was buying his hotel. A woman who’d just lost her husband. But every time he peered at her he felt so much more and didn’t understand why. He wanted to protect her and it mystified him that he’d never felt that about any woman.

  “Mister Beaumont.” The soft voice broke into Hank’s thoughts.

  “Miz Ashbury.” He turned to face her.

  “The doctor said Molly can be moved now. Says she needs to be taken to a room upstairs, as far away from other patrons as possible. Is there a vacancy so Missus Bishop and her daughter can spend the night? They hadn’t planned to stop here, but little Molly’s far too sick to travel. I assured them they could stay as long as necessary.”

  His eyes took in everything about her. Her creamy, flawless skin, those soft brown eyes that revealed she was so lost, so alone. Eyes he could lose himself in.

  No! He had to stop thinking like that. The woman had just lost her husband. He was a callous lout to be thinking thusly. He tried to rein in his wild thoughts. “I’ll help get ‘em settled, then I’ll fetch some grub for everyone. You’re probably too upset after what happened out by the stage, but you should at least try to eat.”

  A frown creased her brow, then just as quickly disappeared. “You don’t have to check with the proprietor about the vacancies? Geoffrey was in the process of purchasing this establishment and was to meet the gentleman here upon our arrival. I’m afraid I don’t know his name. Geoffrey handled all the details and never bothered to mention—”

  Hank cursed the man one more time for bringing a young filly like her out West. “Your husband shouldn’t have brought you out here, ma’am. Certainly not without telling you all the particulars.” He took a deep breath. “But I checked the register while you were in with the doc and there’s several vacancies. We can read out here, you know.”

  Fighting the enormity of the situation, Jessica’s eyes widened. What was she to do? Geoffrey had handled everything. It took the last bit of money they had to pay the partial payment on the hotel. They’d had to sell her grandmother’s jewelry to raise the other half. Now Geoffrey was dead and the money was gone. It was just too much to come to terms with. She didn’t need to insult the kind man who’d rescued her.

  “Yes, yes, of course you can. I didn’t mean…forgive me. It’s just that…I thought…I thought…” Understandably frustrated under the circumstances, she heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, Mister Beaumont. I fear I mistook you for a ranch hand or... The way you’re dressed…your flat brimmed hat, your chaps, I…”

  The man arched a brow, clearly putting her in her place, and Jessica wanted to fall through the floor.

  “You’re in the West now, Miz Ashbury. Other than perhaps church, a weddin’, and funerals, ain’t many who dress any different. And whether Easterners believe it or not, even some ranch hands can read.”

  She’d offended him. This man who’d rescued her from those awful ruffians, who’d held her protectively in his strong arms while she’d cried like a babe after he’d saved her. Whose broad chest she’d leaned against all the way back to the stagecoach. The man with shoulder length hair the color of beach sand at the Atlantic seashore and eyes as blue as the clearest wave was now angry with her.

  “I’m sorry, Mister Beaumont. I never meant to offend you. I—” She wrung her hands, unsure what to say next.

  Giving her a faint nod, he brushed past her as if she hadn’t spoken. “We’d best see to little Molly.”

  Jessica hurried her steps to catch up to him. “Yes, yes. Thank you, Mister Beaumont.”

  “Hank,” he snapped.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Name’s Hank.” He looked back at her and frowned, as if something she’d done had irritated him, then continued on toward the room where Doc and the Bishops currently waited.

  Swallowing back the tears that threatened to come again, she followed him up the sturdy wooden stairs as he settled Missus Bishop and Molly into a room on the left at the end of the hallway. A porcelain pitcher and basin sat on a small table with an oval mirror above it. The chintz bedcovering was neatly folded across the foot of the bed, and white gauzy curtains covered the window facing out toward the main street. It was sparse, but clean.

  “This room’s one of the few that has two beds in it. Should do well for you and your little girl, ma’am,” he said.

  “Mister Beaumont, I thank you for your kindness, but I can’t afford a room this fine.” The woman rocked Molly in her arms. “I didn’t plan on stopping overnight. Since my husband died of the fever, I…well, I just can’t afford it.”

  Jessica watched as he sized Valicia Bishop up, then locked gazes with her where she stood in the doorway. “We’ll find some way for you to help pay, ma’am. Ain’t that right, Miz Ashbury?”

  “Y-yes, of course we will.” She straightened her shoulders as she faced him. “After all, I do own this establishment now.”

  Bidding good day to the Bishops and the physician, he closed the door behind them. “Actually, ma’am, you own half the hotel. Your husband only paid the down payment.”

  “But Geoffrey—” she started and stopped just as quickly. She’d almost made the mistake of telling him Geoffrey was her brother and not her husband. But she couldn’t do that. Couldn’t be fair game in an unruly town out West. If everyone in town thought he was her husband, they’d leave her in peace while she mourned him. Respect her privacy. Valicia knew, of course. She’d sworn the woman to secrecy and told her on the stagecoach on their way here. She’d send a letter to her mother to inform her, but it wasn’t like Mother was going to rush here to console her. After all, there were far too many parties to attend.

  “Your husband sent half by a bank draft. He was supposed to pay the rest when he got here.”

  Too much in shoc
k to deal with the enormity of her situation, she frowned in thought. “Geoffrey—” her voice caught on the name—“did mention…” Suddenly her eyes widened. “Oh! Those men stole all our money when they robbed the stage.”

  He pushed his hat back on his head. “That’s where the problem comes in, ma’am. Why I said you only own half the hotel.”

  “But I…who owns the other half?” She frowned.

  He held her fast with his stare. “I do.”

  Trying to summon her courage, Jessica took a deep breath. Well, there was no hiding from the situation. She would have to make do with the hand God had dealt her. “Oh, I see. Then I suppose that means we’re partners now.”

  ~2~

  This simply would never work. In two weeks she’d become acquainted with almost everyone in town. Even a few of the soldiers from Fort Redrock who’d stayed at the hotel. Most seemed pleasant…albeit rough around the edges.

  Hank Beaumont on the other hand, while indeed handsome, was the most insufferable man she’d ever met. Why, the man owned the saloon next door. Complete with scarlet women! She didn’t understand why respectable folk didn’t shun him.

  Then again, he’d been exceptionally kind and considerate to her during Geoffrey’s funeral. He’d accompanied her to the small cemetery beside the church and graciously made all arrangements for her with the reverend beforehand. Although Valicia had been there for support, Jessica doubted she’d have survived the service if Hank Beaumont hadn’t been present. He’d comforted her just as he had the day before when he’d saved her from those stagecoach robbers. Hoodlums they’d likely be called back East. Or, more to the point—thieves. As soon as he returned her to the hotel, though, he’d done his utmost to push her away—insisting she needed to return to Boston.

  No, if she had her way, she’d never see the unspeakable man again.