A Western Tale of Love and Fate: A Historical Western Romance Book

by Cassidy Hanton

  At twenty-six she was a self-made woman. She had come to Oregon and the town of Shaniko on her own. The rush of men to the region with hopes of making it rich in gold was what supported her in those early days. She was twenty-years-old with nothing but a few dollars, a small bag of clothes and her cooking utensils. She added to that a dream and tenacity.

  She started cooking hot meals for the miners and set up a small outdoor restaurant. She parked the small wagon she had borrowed for the day near the mine. She then set out a table and a few chairs and rang the dinner bell. That first day twenty men came to dine at her makeshift mess hall, each paying a dollar for their meal. It wasn’t long before others came to join them. Soon, she had nearly fifty men coming to fill their bellies on a daily basis. A frugal woman, with a mind for business—something she learned from her former employers—it wasn’t long before she was able to buy the broken-down restaurant in town and turn it into what it was today.

  “Miss Zoe, can I get another one?” Lance, the local deputy sheriff, and a frequent visitor to The Red Stallion called as he raised his empty glass. He was a tall man, sturdily built, who liked his face neatly shaven and his whiskey on the rocks. He was single, had never been married, though he had proposed to her more than once when he was drunk. Most of the men in the saloon had.

  Zoe was a favorite amongst the men in town mostly, she suspected, because of all the ladies in the small town of Shaniko, she was the one with the most mystery. Men liked to solve puzzles. It didn’t hurt that she had one of the best figures in town, either, and that wasn’t just her opinion.

  She smiled at Lance and the large space between his front teeth as he grinned back at her. “I’ll get Liza right on it,” she answered with a smile that belied the nervous twisting in her stomach.

  “Why can’t you do it?” Lance asked as he reached out to take hold of her hand. Clearly, the whiskey was going to his head, but she allowed him to take her hand.

  “Because I have other business to take care of. You aren’t my only customer, you know,” she teased as she gently pulled her hand away and carried on about her business.

  “I’m yer best customer,” he called after her.

  Zoe shook her head and laughed lightly as Liza approached her. “Give the deputy three more shots, but water them down by thirds,” she instructed seriously. Lance had a place in town and getting drunk wasn’t becoming of a lawman. It was his one failing. He loved his job and his drink a little too much for her tastes.

  “Yes, Zoe,” the blonde replied as she looked past her. “He’s really putting them back tonight ain’t he?”

  Zoe nodded as she looked at Lance compassionately. “It’s the anniversary of his sister’s death,” she stated. “He always gets this way on this day.” She turned back to Liza. “Make sure and do what I tell you. Watered down by thirds.” She gave the woman a pointed look.

  “By thirds,” Liza repeated before she turned to the bar to get Lance his drink. Zoe watched her, and made sure Liza did what she was instructed, before taking a stroll around the room.

  The Red Stallion Hotel and Saloon was the only one of its kind in Shaniko. There was a small boarding house down the road, but that was mostly tailored to the mail-order brides that the new marriage board was bringing in by the coach-load. Zoe couldn’t imagine being one of them, coming to a strange place to be dependent on some man they had never met. It just didn’t make sense to her and Zoe tried to do what was sensible.

  The hotel took up the entire top level of the two-story building. The bottom floor was the saloon, fully equipped with a bar on one side of the room and a small platform on the other, where a piano was set up. Most nights Hank Flanders played to entertain the guests, but on special occasions, Tilly Swan would sing. She was a petite woman with a nightingale’s voice. When she was singing there wasn’t a seat or an empty glass to be found in the house.

  The main floor was covered with round tables, each with at least four chairs around it. Made it easy for a hand of poker that way, and everyone in town liked poker, except for Reverend Dean. He didn’t like much. On the top level, the stairs forked left and right, each side leading to five bedrooms, one of which was always occupied—Zoe’s. It was the one at the end of the hall on the right, the one with the best view. She was heading in the opposite direction that night.

  Anxiety knotted her stomach as she did one more turn around the room, though she never looked it. A smile was permanently painted on her delicate features hiding all of her true feelings inside. Once she was sure everyone was having a good time and wouldn’t notice her, she ducked into the kitchen.

  “I need a basin of hot water for upstairs,” she instructed the cook. It had been a while since Zoe had prepared a meal herself in the saloon. Now she had two cooks who made her recipes to her specifications.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Weyland Tanner answered as he wiped his hands in his apron and went over to the stove. He took the pot that was at the ready with hot water and poured some into one of the large basins from under the sink. “Do ya want me to bring it up for ya?”

  “No,” Zoe replied shortly. “I can handle this myself. Customer’s really testy about people,” she explained. Weyland nodded and went back to work. Carl, the other cook, didn’t even look up. He was the kind of man who minded his own business, even when it was going on right in front of him. She liked that about him. In many ways, he was just like her.

  Zoe protected her hands with a dishcloth as she took the basin out. She gave the room a cursory glance to make sure no one was watching. They weren’t. She headed upstairs.

  Her heart was beating hard in her chest as she turned left at the top of the stair and approached the second last door. She stood outside it for a moment as she took several cleansing breaths to calm herself.

  “It’s me,” she said just loud enough for Victor to hear her over the thunder and lightning. Years had passed since she last saw him, but every once in a while, he entered her mind and she wondered what had become of him. Six years was a long time. Still, when he had arrived half an hour before, wounded and demanding her help, she had to oblige. Zoe hoped the storm would pass soon so he would leave.

  A second later Zoe heard movement on the other side of the door before it opened a crack, and a large dark eye peered out at her. The door then swung open briefly to allow her in before it was immediately closed behind her.

  Zoe walked over to the small table in the corner and set the basin down. “I brought the hot water,” she stated as she turned to the large man who was standing behind her. His shirt was bloody down the left arm, as was the front. She looked at him pitifully.

  “What?” he growled.

  “Just look at you. How did you do this to yourself?” she asked as she stepped closer to inspect the wound. His left arm was hanging limply at his side. Blood was dripping from the tips of his fingers. She sighed as she took his hand in hers. “Let’s patch you up. Sit in the chair.”

  Victor did as he was told. He always did what she told him. He took a seat beside the table as Zoe brought the lamp closer. She pulled open the drawer and removed the needles she’d hidden there earlier. She took one out and looked at the point. They were brand new and had never been used. She regretted this was the way they were going to be christened.

  “Are you sure you don’t want some whiskey or some bourbon? This is gonna hurt.”

  Victor shook his head. “Just do it.”

  “Fine,” she answered with a huff. “Don’t say I didn’t want you to.”

  She ripped his shirt from wrist to shoulder to expose the wound. She wrinkled her face at the large hole that was in his arm. She looked at Victor—it was clear to her that this was no trapping accident as he’d claimed. Someone had shot him, but she knew better than to ask. Victor wasn’t a man who liked to answer questions and he liked it even less when people asked them.

  She turned to the basin and the cloth she had brought up. She dipped the end of it into the water and then began to clean the wo
und as best she could. She took the needle she had inspected and threaded it. She dipped it and the thread in the hot water, sliding it through to make sure the thread was hot. She looked at Victor hesitantly.

  “Do it,” he ordered.

  Zoe bit her bottom lip and stuck the needle in his arm just below the opening of the wound. She grimaced as she felt the slow tug of the thread through his skin. Victor didn’t flinch.

  Twenty-two times she had to thread the needle through his flesh, and each time she felt it inside of her, while Victor never uttered a word. She couldn’t believe how stoic he remained. It was almost as if he felt nothing.

  “There,” she said after she knotted the last stitch and cut the thread. She put the needle aside and looked at her blood-stained fingers. She swallowed hard as Victor looked at his arm.

  “You did a good job,” he said, as she turned to the basin to wash her hands.

  “Thank you,” Zoe replied nonchalantly. “How long are you gonna need to stay?” The room was occupied but she wasn’t making anything from it, and this was her business, not her house, and Victor wasn’t exactly her friend.

  “Just tonight,” Victor answered. “I’ll be on my way before dawn.”

  She looked at him questioningly. “What’re you into?”

  His dark eyes rose to her face. “Nothing you need worry about,” he answered.

  “You can’t just show up here whenever you like,” she sighed. “You’re puttin’ me in a position. I have the deputy sheriff downstairs, and it’s clear to me whatever you’ve gotten yourself into is something he’d be really interested in knowing and I want no part of it. You understand?”

  Victor got to his feet immediately, his hulking form dwarfing hers as he stood up. Zoe took a step back.

  “It’s nothing yah have to worry about,” he said in a low tone. “Forget I was here.”

  Zoe swallowed down her discomfort. Though she knew Victor would never hurt her, the mere size of the man was enough to make anyone nervous.

  “Clean this up,” she instructed him as she moved to leave. “Toss the water out the window or else people will ask questions. I’ll come for the basin once downstairs clears out.”

  Victor stopped her before she reached the door. He grabbed her arm gently and stood behind her. His voice was a whisper in her ear. “Don’t forget, Zoe. You owe me.”

  She turned her head so she could see the side of his hairy face. “I know,” she answered gently. “You helped me once, and every debt must be repaid. I’ll do my part.” She looked down at where Victor held her arm. He released her and she continued to the door.

  Once outside, she released the breath she’d been holding and closed her eyes as she tried to calm herself. She had work to do. She put her smile back in place, and pulled her auburn hair over her shoulder, before going back downstairs.

  Six years ago, when Zoe was new to Shaniko, she found herself in trouble. Her efforts to feed the miners and build her business had resulted in a few of them becoming on friendly terms, as was expected. Unfortunately for her, a few of them thought her business’ profits were the perfect supplement to their own pockets. They were new to town and saw more profit in robbing her than in panning for gold.

  She was alone, closing up for the day, when they appeared. There were four of them. They demanded the money, which she was not about to give up. She had worked too hard for it. Still, she was not entirely sure how she was going to get out of her predicament.

  They overpowered her after a struggle. Zoe was able to make the nose and mouth of one man bleed, with the help of a skillet, before she was tackled by another. She scratched and clawed at them the entire time they held her down. It was soon clear they wanted more than just money. The look in their eyes was something Zoe would never forget. She was praying with all her might for God to save her, when Victor showed up.

  He had become a regular to her restaurant whenever he was in the area. He ate there nearly every day and they had come to an understanding, a strange sort of friendship. She respected him and he did the same in return. She had never been so happy to see him, charging in like a bull to her rescue. He had heard their plans and lingered to keep an eye on her. It was then that she made a vow that whatever he needed, she would do, to repay him for what he had done. It was only now that he had called in her debt.

  “Zoe, a man over there needs a room,” Liza informed her the moment she reached the floor. The blonde pointed to the end of the bar where a man in a large Stetson sat drinking.

  “Thank you,” Zoe replied as she walked toward the man. “Hello there, stranger,” she greeted him with a smile. “Liza tells me you need a room. How many nights you’re thinkin’ of?”

  “Three to start,” he stated. “How much will that be?” he asked without looking up.

  “Two dollars,” Zoe answered. She looked him over carefully, especially the two guns that hung from his belt.

  He put the money on the bar top without a question and looked up. “Where is it?”

  Zoe turned and took a key from the rack behind her. She looked for Liza but the girl was busy tending to other patrons. “Bernadette,” she called to the brunette. She was a single mother who worked serving drinks to support her small son.

  “Yes, Zoe?” she answered as she approached.

  “Take…I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” she stated as she turned to the stranger.

  “Mortensen,” the man answered shortly.

  She smiled. “Could you take Mr. Mortensen to his room?”

  “Sure thing, Zoe,” Bernadette answered. “Follow me.”

  Zoe watched as Bernadette led the man up the stairs and to the left. She put him in the only available room, the one next-door to Victor’s. She hoped he kept his promise and was gone before the sun was up. She didn’t like the feeling in her stomach at having him there. He was in trouble and whatever it was, she didn’t want it winding up at her door.

  Suddenly, the sound of shots rang out and Zoe’s heart erupted in her chest as she looked around nervously. Several people ducked, eager to get out of harm’s way. However, there was no gunman and the sounds continued. Everyone in the room was looking around. Was it coming from the street? Those closest to the windows didn’t react as if there was something to see outside. What was happening?

  Zoe stepped out from behind the bar and began to follow the sound that was disturbing her customers. It led her to the piano, and behind it, she found Timothy, Bernadette’s seven-year-old son, with a handful of firecrackers.

  “Timothy,” she chided as she grabbed the child by his arm and yanked him to his feet. She snatched the firecrackers from his hand. “What’re you doin’ with these?” she asked sharply.

  “Playing,” the boy replied timidly. He hung his head. “Sorry, Miss Zoe.”

  “Not as sorry as you’re gonna be when your mother gets hold of you,” Zoe answered. No sooner were the words released from her lips than Bernadette reappeared.

  “Timothy?” she called when she arrived at the scene. “What have you done? I’m so sorry, Miss Zoe,” she apologized.

  “It’s fine. Just take him back to bed. This is no place for a child,” she instructed.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Bernadette answered. She took Timothy by the ear and led him into the back. “Now what did I tell you ‘bout playin’ out here?” she scolded as she led the boy away.

  Zoe returned to the bar, but on her way, her eyes rose to the upstairs hall where Victor was hiding. The sooner he left, the better, then her nerves could be at rest.

  Chapter Three

  Quinn jumped awake in a dimly lit room. His hand immediately reached up and grasped at the starburst wound just below his left shoulder. His breathing was ragged and sweat dripped from his brow. Strands of black hair stuck to his face and neck. He looked around him.

  Light was coming in through the window. It had to be around nine or maybe later, but it wasn’t quite noon. Quinn rose from the bed and walked barefoot over to the small table by th
e window. His long black hair fell across his face. Shaniko was busy, carts were rolling through the streets and people were walking on the sidewalk; people who may have seen Victor.

  The sun fell upon Quinn, warming his skin. He looked down at the spot where his hand still remained. He could still remember the day he had gotten that wound. The day he’d learned just how deadly Victor Norton could be. He’d been lucky. If the bullet had been a few inches lower, he’d be sleeping in a grave somewhere in Wyoming. Thankfully, God was on his side.

  Immediately, he thought of last night. Quinn could still see it in his mind. He stood facing Victor, both ready for a fight. Then an errant fork of lighting struck near the cabin, erupting the room in blinding light. They both fired and Quinn dove aside. He heard the bullet whistle past his ear as he fell, and Victor roared in pain. He knew then that he’d struck him. However, the man was quick. A crash of glass followed and Quinn peeked around the corner of the box he hid behind, to find Victor was gone. His only satisfaction was that Victor now had a wound. Hopefully, it would slow him down.