Oliver grinned, contented.
Once, I did it for you, Pop. Now, I do it for us, for our family’s legacy—mine and Amelia’s.
Oliver looked at the faces of the small group gathered in the glen near Hidden Lake. He wasn’t used to being the center of attention, and now that he was, Oliver wasn’t sure what to do with himself.
His eyes wandered from the small flowers that dotted the field, to the color of the leaves in the nearby trees. He swallowed his anxiety as he waited.
She’s coming. She’s coming.
He repeated the words in his mind. He had to. The moment he arrived he once again began to doubt that Amelia would marry him. The longer he waited the greater his anxiety grew.
Archibald and Florence had set out chairs in the field for their guests, with garlands that covered the frames of the seats.
Then, he heard the sound of horses approaching. His heart almost jumped out of his chest and ran to the carriage as it rolled toward them. He could see Florence dressed in a pale yellow gown, but she had his attention for only a moment before his eyes found the stunning figure dressed in white.
Oliver couldn’t take his eyes from Amelia. He knew it was her by the wedding gown. It was incredible. The dress was a gift from Florence and brought all the way from New York City just for Amelia. It was silk and satin, or a bit of both, Oliver wasn’t sure. All he knew was that she was the most angelic creature in it as the driver helped her down from the carriage and onto the grass.
A bright smile was on her face and it seemed to ignite his heart. The trees disappeared. The people disappeared. The sun even seemed to fade, as Oliver’s focus continued to remain on Amelia’s approaching form. Finally, she stood before him.
The reverend’s words resounded in his ears as they were spoken, but Oliver remembered very little of them. Words spilled from his lips with no seeming control of his own. He could not think. Amelia was too beautiful to allow his mind to function, far less to concoct ideas. They exchanged vows through grins and soon the reverend was declaring them husband and wife. They were the most wonderful words he’d ever heard.
He rode the carriage back to Glenore, his horse secured to follow behind. Oliver sat beside his wife and held her hand tightly. He couldn’t believe she was his bride. It didn’t seem real.
“Oliver?” Amelia asked softly.
He turned to her. “Yes?”
“This is real, isn’t it?” she asked timidly. “I won’t wake up, will I?”
He chuckled. “I was thinking of asking you the same question,” he admitted. He gazed at her adoringly. “It seems impossible that someone so wonderful could want to be my wife.”
Amelia squeezed his hand and rested her head upon his shoulder. “I could say the same thing,” he replied.
“How about we keep telling each other that until we believe it?” Oliver suggested. He heard Amelia’s soft laughter.
“I like the sound of that,” she replied.
“Good,” he commented. “I don’t think I could stop telling you that even if I wanted to.”
“Nor could I.”
Oliver’s heart felt as if it had taken flight. There was nothing between him and the heavens now. Amelia had given him wings.
They returned to the house and the splendid meal that had been prepared for them and their small wedding party. A long table was set in the middle of the room with chairs enough to seat eight, with four extra place settings, one at each corner. Three women stood by to serve them. The house was no longer the place he left. Florence’s workers had transformed the room into a paradise of candlelight, flowers, and soft music.
Amelia gasped at the sight.
Oliver’s jaw dropped.
“Is this our house?” his wife asked beside him.
One of the women stifled a laugh.
“I knew Florence promised me it would spectacular, but I never dreamed this,” Amelia admitted. She sucked in a ragged breath and Oliver turned to find tears rolling silently down her cheeks.
“Why are you crying?” he asked gently. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
Amelia’s head shook gently. “It’s more…it’s more than I imagined. More than I deserve.”
Oliver turned to her and took her chin in his hand gently. “You deserve the very best of everything,” he replied. He smiled at her briefly and then leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on her lips. “Everything.”
That evening they dined on a meal they would never forget. The food was perfectly cooked and the desserts were French. He now understood why it cost so much to stay at the hotel and eat such meals every day. After, they enjoyed themselves with dancing and singing. Oliver swept Amelia around the floor as the violinist tried to keep up with John’s fiddle. John had the upper hand in the end.
They danced for hours before their guests began to bid them farewell and the women began to clean up the mess.
Oliver saw everyone out while Amelia sat quietly by the fire. She remained there until the house was silent around them.
His heart began to pound once they were alone. They had shared the company of that room many times, but not like this. They were now man and wife. Everything was different.
“Mrs. Gyles,” he called proudly.
Amelia turned to him with a grin. “Yes, Mr. Gyles?”
He strode toward her and pulled her up from her seat and into his arms as he cradled her against his body. It was one fluid motion, so quick that she could not protest if she wanted to. She didn’t.
Oliver carried her up the stairs to their room. He held her to his body as he pushed the door open and then took her across the threshold. “Welcome,” he said as he did so.
Amelia’s tightened her grip around his neck, but not uncomfortably so. “It’s lovely,” she commented.
Oliver had done his best to hide his work from her. He’d forbidden her from entering during the time he and the others were working and furnishing the space. It was her surprise. Now, it was time to unveil it.
There was a large bed at the center of the room. A sitting area held a fancy dressing table that Russell had carved himself as their wedding gift. Heavy curtains lined the windows. A new rug was on the floor, and new lamps on the bedside tables. It was more than he had ever had in one room, but it was worth the effort for Amelia.
“Happy?” he asked.
Amelia kissed his cheek and nuzzled him with her nose. “Very.”
His throat constricted. “Are you…tired?”
She shook her head quietly.
“Neither am I,” he replied in a rasp, as his throat seemed to thicken.
“What should we do?” she asked hesitantly.
Oliver’s throat thickened more. “There is something,” he answered.
Amelia buried her face in his chest.
“If you want to, that is. We don’t…”
“I want to,” she replied softly.
Oliver’s heart stopped at her words.
“Are you sure?” he asked as his feet began to walk toward the bed.
Amelia nodded against his chest. “I’m sure,” she answered.
“I love you, Amelia,” he whispered as he lay her upon the bed.
“I love you, Oliver.”
The End?
Extended Epilogue
Eager to read how Amelia and Oliver’s relationship evolved? Then enjoy this complimentary short story featuring the beloved couple!
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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 first chapters of A Western Tale of Love and Fate, a sweet and clean Western historical romance with a happily-ever-after!
A Western Tale of Love and Fate
About the book
It takes only
a moment for destiny to shift...
Owner of the "Red Stallion", hotelier Zoe Ferguson lives an independent but lonely life. When a charming bounty hunter arrives at her hotel looking for a wanted serial killer, her quiet days are over.
On the trail of a notorious outlaw, Quinn Mortensen’s entire world changes when he comes across a beautiful hotelier. Little does he know, that behind that fair facade hides a secret past that just might be his undoing.
With Zoe's role in the hunt a complete mystery, a new revelation threatens to tear them apart, and Quinn must make a choice: hide the truth from Zoe or lose her forever.
Chapter One
The evening had rolled in, but the sky said otherwise. It looked like midnight when it was barely seven o’clock. A storm was moving into the area; a bad one by the looks of it.
Every fiber in his body was tense. His face was frozen in an involuntary grimace as rain pelted his skin like steely fists. The sting was like that of a razor against his flesh, but there was no easing his pace or seeking shelter from the elements. His quarry was close. He could feel it, and this time, he wasn’t going to escape.
Quinn Mortensen was a man on a mission, one that had taken five years of his life so far, but one he was determined to see to its conclusion. He had never lost a case and he wasn’t about to lose this one either. Victor Norton’s time was at hand.
Quinn leaned forward in the saddle, his Stetson pulled down low over his blue eyes to shield them from the rain. The way was barely visible ahead of him but he still needed to see it. He couldn’t allow himself to walk into another of Victor’s traps. The last man who did spent most of the next few weeks recovering from multiple gunshots. Quinn himself had barely escaped with a minor injury.
Victor ‘The Boar’ Norton was aptly named. He was bulky, with massive arms and legs. He was grizzled, hair covering most of his body just like his namesake. Not to mention his temperament. Like the animal, he was smart, kept to himself, and was more adept at hiding his tracks than any other criminal that Quinn had ever tracked before. He was also a loose cannon. Once riled, he went after the offender with everything in him and didn’t stop until someone was lying motionless. In this case, it had been three people.
Quinn’s hands tightened on the reins as he thought of Mary Hutch. She was a fifty-five-year-old woman, who scrubbed floors for a living for Boston’s wealthy. She spent her life on her knees cleaning up the messes of others while trying to raise her ten children on her own after their father was killed in an industrial accident.
Rupert, Louis, and Malcolm Hutch were her oldest. They were the ones who eased the burden of the mouths to feed. They were good men, so Quinn was told. They worked hard to help their mother. Rupert swept the streets. Louis worked as a hand in a mill and his brother Malcolm was foreman there. Together, they were keeping their family afloat, but no more.
Quinn’s teeth ground together as the sound of Mary’s pained wails still echoed in his mind. He could see her hunched over the corpses of her two youngest sons, while the oldest lay dead on the other side of town, all beaten to death by the same man.
What am I to do? My sons! What am I to do? He has taken my heart from me again!
Quinn’s jaw clenched tighter. Victor had to pay.
Quinn urged the horse faster toward the town of Shaniko, Oregon; a little place in Wasco County, where Victor was rumored to be hiding out. It was the first lead on him in over a month and Quinn was almost beside himself with frustration before the news reached him. There was no other case but this one. No bounty he wanted more. He owed Mary Hutch something. He owed her the justice no one else was willing to give. The justice she deserved.
Bounty was not the reason he left the Boston Police Department. Limits were. Victor was caught soon after he murdered the Hutch brothers. The headlines talked of little else for an entire week but how eight officers were needed to subdue one raging man. It was both shocking and embarrassing to the department.
Victor allowed himself to sit in a cell for two weeks before he devised his plan for escape. It was brilliant. He waited until the laundry day and faked illness. When the guards came in to check on him, he attacked. He easily overpowered the two men who, together, were less than his full size. He stole a police wagon and made his getaway. He got himself another charge for that and sat in a cell for several more days before Lola, a scrawny mite of a woman, scrounged up the money from somewhere to pay his bail. She lost every cent of it when he fled Boston.
Once back on the streets, Victor wasted no time in getting out of the city limits. He left Lola behind. Like a rat in the night, he made his way to Brockton in Plymouth County, where he laid low, biding his time or making his plans. Quinn’s bosses told him to let it go, they didn’t have the manpower to pursue him further, nor the inclination. They said the family could leave it to the Pinkertons to find him, but they had never met Mary or her children. He had.
The Hutchs had nothing but a three-room shack on the poorest side of town. The males occupied one room, while Mary and her seven girls occupied another. The remaining room was the main room where everything took place. They had no money for the Pinkertons, and they deserved justice just as much as someone who could afford them. It was then that Quinn started tracking Victor on his own using the department’s resources. When he was caught, his actions didn’t go well with the top brass. He handed over his badge that very day and took up the title of bounty hunter, determined to get justice for Mary.
Fatigue ached in his bones but there was no resting, not when he was so close, the closest he had been in five years. The delays in tracking Victor had hampered Quinn’s pursuit of him. It had taken Quinn months to get a fresh trail once he reached Brockton. The local police were willing to help, but they weren’t going to exert more time or energy than pointing him in the right direction. Victor had done nothing while in their county and he was therefore not their problem.
Since then, Quinn had zigged-zagged his way across the country; Massachusetts to New York, from there to Kentucky and on to Tennessee. He spent a year circling around the outskirts of Missouri before Victor finally led him to Nebraska, Wyoming, back to Colorado, Kansas and then back the same way to Wyoming. Quinn had seen more of the world than he had ever imagined.
The fugitive had just left Idaho behind him. A pleasant place, but one he was happy to leave if it meant finally bringing Victor back to Boston. His stomach no longer protested at being deprived of food. It had been days since Quinn last ate, but determination kept him focused. The body was an easy thing to master once you had sufficient motivation, and Quinn had that and then some.
His long legs kicked at the horse’s side. The stallion was giving him its all, but it wasn’t enough. Quinn needed to reach Shaniko before Victor got wind of his arrival and left the area. He had not come all this way, wearied himself to exhaustion, just to see the man slip through his fingers once more. This time was the last time. He was going to get his man.
A light flashed for a moment and then disappeared from view. Was it a lamp or a star in the distance? He couldn’t quite tell. Quinn squinted to see better. Several seconds went by before it appeared again. It bobbed to-and-fro in the raging wind. It was definitely a light. Shaniko was near.
The muscles in his back tightened and his stomach became taut as he leaned further still and gave the horse another sound kick in the flanks to set its legs ablaze. They would be in Shaniko soon and his journey would finally be at an end. Victor was claimed to be held up in a house on the west side of town. Quinn would keep to the outskirts and surprise him.
Shaniko was a town marked by lone ranches and few houses. Quinn could see the outlines of mountains in the background as lightning lit up the sky. It was a flat territory with few places to hide, which was good. He didn’t want Victor laying a trap for him. There was hardly vegetation there. Quinn spotted some sagebrush and bunchgrass, with the odd juniper, but hardly anything else.
He wondered why Victor would choose to come here of a
ll places, seeing as there wasn’t much potential for him to hide out undetected. He had to have people there who would help him. Adrenaline rushed through Quinn’s veins at the thought. It was likely that Victor had some help in Shaniko, which meant that taking him down might have just become more difficult. Quinn didn’t care. It didn’t matter who Victor had on his side, he was going to bring him to justice one way or another, and anyone who stood in his way would find the same fate.
The hours rushed by and soon it was midnight. His horse was completely worn out. He had pushed him hard and he was cracking under the pressure. Quinn hated to do it but he had to creep up on Victor.
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