A Healing Love For The Broken Cowboy (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

  A sly smile crossed Chenoa’s face and her eyes sparkled with that mischievous glint again. Clearly she knew something he did not.

  “Who says I don’t have somebody in my life?” she asked. “As you may have noticed, I do not spend all of my time here at your ranch.”

  Harvey stared at her, completely dumbfounded. He had never considered she had somebody before that moment. Which was foolish and shortsighted of him. Chenoa was an attractive, intelligent woman. Why wouldn’t somebody seek her out to court her? Why wouldn’t she be involved with somebody? If she was though, she kept it even quieter than her footsteps.

  “I suppose I just imagined when you went out, that you were just going into town,” he stammered.

  “I was going into town,” she grinned.

  “I didn’t know you had a secret beau in town.”

  Her grin widened. “There is much about me you don’t know, Harvey.”

  He laughed and nodded. “Suppose that’s true,” he said. “So, who is he? Who’s this secret beau of yours?”

  “If I told you, he would not be a secret any longer, would he?”

  “That’s fair. But it’s just me you’re talkin’ to. We’re family, Chenoa,” he said. “If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”

  She eyed him for a long moment, saying nothing. But then that mischievous little smirk crossed her face again and Harvey knew he was not going to like what was about to fall out her mouth.

  “I will make you a deal, Harvey. I will give up my secret when you give up yours.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her. “My secret?”

  She looked over at Mark’s house meaningfully. “When you tell her how you feel, I will tell you who I am seeing.”

  Harvey sighed as the conversation turned back to him and Isabelle. Which of course, brought the predictable wave of grief and regret crashing down on him all over again as he thought about their kiss.

  “Does she make you happy?” Chenoa asked.

  Harvey grinned ruefully. There did not seem to be any sense in keeping up the charade − Chenoa had figured it out already. She did not know the precise nature of it all, but Harvey knew she could see through him.

  “To be honest, I don’t know what she makes me,” he finally admitted. “Happy, yes. But there’s a lot more to it than that. It’s − complicated.”

  “It is only as complicated as you make it,” she said. “You two are good together.”

  He sighed again and looked at her, his thoughts and emotions a swirling, chaotic mix inside of him. Ordinarily, he would keep all that inside of himself. Stuff it down and refuse to think about it. It was just his way. Harvey knew himself well enough to know he did not handle emotions all that well. Emotions were messy and complicated. Harvey preferred hard, tangible reality to anything.

  But Isabelle was breaking something loose inside of him. The high, thick wall within him where he stuffed all of his emotions behind was cracking. Isabelle was taking a hammer to it and was smashing it down.

  Without even really seeming to try − much in the same way Amy had. Both of them just seemed to inherently know where the weak spots in that wall were and knew how to break it down.

  “I can’t help but think I’m being disloyal to Amy,” he said softly. “Letting myself have feelings for another − it just feels like a betrayal.”

  Chenoa’s smile was soft and knowing. “Your wife is gone, Harvey. She is celebrating with her ancestors,” she replied. “And I know that she would want you to be happy in this life. My husband would want the same for me. They would not want us spending the time we have on this earth in mourning. Miserable and alone. They would want us to cherish our lives. Enjoy them.”

  “I want to believe that. I really do,” he said. “I just don’t want Amy thinking that I somehow love her less.”

  Chenoa shook her head. “She will not. Because you do not,” she said. “Making room for somebody else in your heart does not mean you are forgetting about who came before. It just means you are choosing to live in happiness rather than dwell in darkness.”

  Harvey looked over at Isabelle’s window again. This time, he saw the glow of a lantern behind the glass and a small, unbidden smile touched his lips. Just the thought of her sent a bolt of happiness coursing through him and made him smile. It had been the same way with Amy.

  “How we live our lives is how we spend our time in the next world, Harvey. If we spend our days in misery and sadness, we carry that over with us,” Chenoa said. “Is that how you want to see Amy again? Or would you rather see her with a free and happy heart?”

  He looked down at the wooden floorboard beneath his feet, kicking at a small stone that lay there. When she spoke, she made it sound so simple. And maybe it was. But that feeling that he would be dishonoring or betraying Amy’s memory clung to him tighter than a barnacle to a ship’s hull.

  “Choosing to live your life and be happy is not a betrayal,” Chenoa said as if reading his mind. “It would be a betrayal of the life you were given if you chose to spend the days you have been given in this world sad and alone.”

  “What you say makes sense up here,” Harvey replied, tapping his forehead. “But it doesn’t make sense anywhere else inside of me.”

  Chenoa leveled her gaze at him. “Ask yourself this question − if it had been you who died instead of Amy, would you have wanted her to live all her years sad and alone?”

  “Of course not. She was such a vibrant, happy woman,” he said without even needing to think about it. “I would have wanted her to live a long, happy life.”

  “Even if it was with another man?”

  Harvey grinned ruefully. She had cornered him in this argument and he knew it. It was such a simple thought and yet, it was one that had never occurred to him. Which added a feeling of sheer stupidity to the mountain of things he was feeling already.

  “I would never want to dull Amy’s light and that passion for life,” he said. “Even if that life wasn’t spent with me.”

  “There is your answer then,” Chenoa said. “I may not have known her, but I have no doubt she would have felt the same.”

  Harvey chuckled and scrubbed his face with a hand, the day’s growth of stubble on his cheeks making a dry, scratchy sound. He grinned at her.

  “You are confounding sometimes,” he said.

  “I have been told it is one of my better qualities,” she grinned.

  He returned her smile and felt the warm glow of his affection for her. Chenoa had truly been a blessing in his life. She had filled so many of the holes that had been torn through him when Amy passed. It was as if God himself had put her in his path at the time he needed her the most. And for that, he would forever be thankful.

  He gazed again at the window, feeling a bit more sorted out. It was as if Chenoa had helped put all of the bottles containing his emotions on the proper shelves inside of him. The wild churning inside of him had slowed and he was not feeling nearly as chaotic inside anymore.

  But there was one bottle she could not put away − it was the one he had to do for himself. And that was sorting out his feelings for Isabelle and putting them in their proper place.

  Before he could do that though, he needed to figure out exactly what it was he was feeling for her.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “I saw Chenoa leaving this morning,” Isabelle said.

  Mark nodded. “She’s going out to talk to the tribes.”

  “I know she says she’ll be safe, but do you really think she will be?”

  He gave her a soft smile. “She’s one of them, Izzy. She’ll be perfectly fine.”

  “I still worry about her.”

  “Because you have a good heart.”

  The wagon rumbled down the rutted road, the loud whickering of the horses and creaking of the wheels filling her ears. Isabelle fell silent for a few moments as she tried to ease her mind and push her fears for Chenoa away.

  “Harvey really likes you, you know,” Mark said, breaking the
silence.

  Isabelle turned on the seat of the wagon and looked at him with a small smile playing upon her lips. She knew that Mark knew about her feelings for Harvey. Perhaps not the depth of them − and certainly not the kiss they had shared in her studio. But her brother knew she had developed feelings for Harvey.

  As she thought back, her smile widened slightly − and her cheeks flared with heat. There was still a tingle upon her lips as the memory of their kiss washed through her. She could still feel the press of his mouth to hers. She remembered the smell of his aftershave. The taste of his mouth. She remembered it all as if it had only just happened.

  And certainly, she had put every ounce of emotion she felt for the man into her kiss. She thought she had felt the same in return. She wanted to believe that it had meant as much to Harvey as it had meant to her. But since then, she had started to have doubts. Uncertainty. She had been gripped by insecurity.

  Had it been anything more than a kiss for him? Their kiss had meant the world to her − it had been her first kiss after all. But she could not dare speak for him. She knew he was not some scoundrel who would take advantage of her like that. But they really had not talked about it, or what it meant. Or whether it meant anything at all. The latter thought made her feel as if a fist made of ice was squeezing her heart as cold tendrils spread through her body.

  “He has not said as much to me,” Isabelle said.

  “I know him better than most,” he replied. “And I can tell.”

  Isabelle turned her eyes to the road again as Mark drove their wagon into town. The sun rained down, warming her skin as swirls of dust rose all around them. It was a beautiful day that brought a smile to her lips. A smile that only widened as her brother spoke about Harvey’s feelings for her. He probably did know Harvey better than anybody and it kindled a sense of hope inside of her.

  She looked over at her brother and gnawed on her lower lip. She knew what she felt for Harvey − mostly. Her feelings for him were deep and they were intense. They were unlike anything she had ever felt for somebody before. And as much as it frightened her, she had to admit that it was exhilarating at the same time.

  Whenever she thought of Harvey, the swell of emotion inside of her lit her up inside. It was as if somebody had set her insides on fire but at the same time, she almost felt weightless, as if she was falling from a great height. It was scary but exciting.

  “W- would you approve?” she asked. “I mean, if Harvey wanted to court me − would you be all right with that?”

  Mark looked at her with a wide smile on his face. “Izzy, I haven’t known a better man,” he said. “There is nobody I can think of that I would approve of you being with more than Harvey Willerson.”

  Isabelle clutched her hands to her chest, her heart swelling to the point she worried it might burst inside of her. She was an independent woman who was unapologetic about doing things her own way. But she could not deny that having her brother’s approval meant the world to her. She did not know why but his approval was everything.

  “It makes me very happy to hear that, Mark,” she said. “Maybe more than you know.”

  “And that’s what I want for you, little sister − to be happy,” he said. “I want that for you more than anything in the world.”

  “And I want that for you too, Mark.”

  His smile was soft and wistful. Isabelle could not help but think that his mind had turned to thoughts of Ruby and his feelings for her. It sent a lance of pain through her heart to know her brother loved somebody the way he loved Ruby but was unable to express it, let alone share in it with her. It seemed so unfair to her.

  But her brother believed that allowing himself to indulge in his feelings for her would put her in a precarious position with her father. Isabelle did not know Elmer Alford nearly as well as Mark did but what she did know was that he was a cruel, mean man who only thought about himself. Certainly, if he cared a whit for his daughter or her happiness, he would let Ruby be with Mark.

  But she thought he seemed to care more for his power and control over Stephill. From what she had seen, Elmer seemed to care more for being on top and running Mark out of business rather than find a way to coexist together in a town that was growing, that had more than enough room for the both of them.

  The wagon rumbled into town and Isabelle looked around, still charmed by this bustling and thriving town − soon to be bustling and thriving city. She knew big things were on the horizon for Stephill. The first thing she knew needed to happen was for the Wyoming territory to be granted statehood. Once that happened, she truly believed the sky was indeed the limit for the town.

  They passed several buildings that were under construction and the suggestion Harvey had made came back to her − along with the warm feelings of gratitude and awe she felt when he had made it and praised her.

  “Harvey thinks people would buy my paintings if I put them up for sale,” she said, doing her best to rein in her unbridled enthusiasm. “He actually thinks my work is good enough that people will want to buy it.”

  Mark gave her a grin. “I’ve been tellin’ you that for years, little sister.”

  “Yeah but you’re my brother. You have to say nice things.”

  “I do? Who made that rule?”

  Isabelle laughed and looked at some of the buildings they were passing, imagining a studio of her very own in town where she could work − and people could see her work. She imagined crowds of people with satisfied smiles and expressions of admiration as they purchased one of her paintings. It was perhaps vain to be imagining something so grand but she could not deny being filled with a white-hot rush of excitement by the idea of it all.

  “We can inquire about getting you a shop here in town, Izzy,” Mark said.

  She was bouncing up and down on the seat of the wagon, her hands clasped in front of her. Isabelle’s smile was as wide as the sky and more radiant than the sun.

  “Really?” she beamed. “You are not fooling about with me are you?”

  Mark’s expression grew serious as he looked at her. “I would not fool about with you about something like that, Izzy,” he said. “I know how talented you are. And I think the good people of Stephill should get to see it. Heck, why not people around the entire world?”

  As excited as she was by the prospect of opening her own gallery, the sudden flare of self-consciousness that blossomed within her tempered that excitement. She was a humble person by nature and did not believe in glorifying herself. Any talent and success she had was because of the gifts God had given her and nothing else.

  While the prospect of having a real, professional studio of her own was overwhelmingly thrilling, it almost felt like building a monument to herself. It felt like glorifying herself rather than giving praise to God for the talents he had bestowed upon her. With those thoughts in her mind, Isabelle suddenly did not know if she could abide that.

  Mark looked at her, a small grin creasing his lips. “I know what you’re thinkin’,” he said.

  “Oh? And what am I thinking?”

  “Izzy, your talent is proof of God’s love. He gave that to you. And he knows your heart. Knows how kind your soul is,” Mark said “He would want you to share your gifts with people. He would want you to share His love with them.”

  “But does having a studio of my own not seem like a glorification of myself?”

  He shook his head. “Absolutely not. If anything, it seems to me that by proudly displaying your work and sharing those gifts you were bestowed with, you are praising God more than anything.”

  Isabelle nodded and let his words spin through her mind. It was an interesting perspective and one she did not see to consider at first. But that was one of the things she appreciated about her brother the most − that he was able to open her mind to new ways of thinking and help her consider new, fresh perspectives. Conversations like these were one of the things she missed most about him when he was here and she was back in Grimepass.

  “Well, b
efore we even consider trying to rent space for a studio, I need to produce more work to hang in it,” she said. “I gave away most of what I had in Grimepass to some friends before I left.”

  “Well now, that was silly,” he grinned.

  She shrugged. “I thought it was a nice way to say goodbye.”

  He laughed. “It was. It was very nice,” he replied. “Well, when you have enough finished pieces, you let me know and we’ll start looking around for some space.”

  “Thank you, Mark. I can’t tell you how much that means to me,” she beamed.