The Stafford Collection, Historical Western Romances

by Hubbard, Lynn

  Automatically assessing the place, he quickly took in the shabby furniture, the faded wallpaper, the gouged wooden bar at the back. He nodded to the few people that bothered to look up and sauntered toward the rear.

  “What’ll it be?” the man behind the bar asked. He was drying some glasses with a dusty rag. “I’ll have a sarsparilla and the biggest steak you got,” Brock said, sitting down at the end of the bar with his back against the wall. This way he could keep an eye on the doorway. It was a habit he had picked up long ago; a habit that had saved his life more than once. The bartender lifted an eyebrow at his request as he shuffled around preparing the order.

  “Very few people come in here and only order sarsparillas. Well, only one actually: that little fellow who helps at the stables. What’s his name?” He pondered as he filled up Brock’s glass. Suddenly he snapped his fingers and grinned, showing off his blackened teeth. “Will! Will’s a nice young fella, kinda backwards, though.” There was an awkward silence. “You gonna be in town long?” Mac asked, setting down the rare steak in front of Brock.

  “Planning on it,” Brock acknowledged, as he cut a thick hunk of meat off. He preferred his steaks more dead, but he did not want to offend the man, especially when he still needed information.

  “Is there a boarding house in town?” Brock asked between bites.

  “Yes sir, Widow Hawkin’s place is just down the street. She does serve up a fine meal, too. Course if ya want some company we gotta lotta nice gals here,” Mac said, motioning his head towards a couple of worn looking women sitting around a card table.

  Brock smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He finished his meal and put the money on the counter. Mac’s eyes widened as he saw the generous tip. “Thanks, Mr….” The man hesitated. “Stafford, Sheriff Brock Stafford,” Brock said, as Mac’s eyes opened wider.

  “Well Sheriff, everyone calls me Mac.”

  Brock nodded, heading back outside through the swinging doors. He rode down the street until he found a two-story house with an old weathered sign out front. Crudely carved into the wood were the words: Boarding House. He dismounted and walked up to the entrance, rapping lightly. After a few moments of silence, he could make out shuffling noises coming from behind the door which was soon opened by an older woman who appeared to be in her sixties.

  “Good afternoon, sir, may I help you?” she asked, her smile taking years off her face. Brock instantly removed his hat, revealing his wavy black hair.

  “I hope so, ma’am. My name is Brock Stafford.”

  “Ahh, the new sheriff,” Ms. Hawkins broke in “Well, do come in!” she said, ushering him into the parlor. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked, motioning for him to sit down on the settee.

  “Oh, no ma’am,” he replied smiling, wondering who could drink coffee when it is hotter than Hades outside. “I was wondering if you had any rooms available until I can find a place and get settled.”

  “Of course I do! You can have the room at the top of the stairs. The weekly price includes two meals a day and three on Sunday.” She chatted away happily, as she led him up the narrow stairway to his room. The room had a small single bed layered with quilts, a small desk which held the wash basin and a small window facing the alley between that house and the one next door.

  “This’ll do just fine,” He assured her, as he went to bring up what belonging’s he had and stowed them away in the small bureau next to the window. He wanted to lie down and go to sleep but his horse came first. He sighed wearily as he quickly washed his face and neck and headed downstairs to tend to Troy. On his way in, he had spotted the livery stable at the end of the street, not too far from the Marshall’s office. Looked like a good place to him.

  Brock rode up to the stable only to find it void of life. He looked around irritated from his fatigue and then decided to tend to his own horse. He led his mahogany stallion inside and noticed an empty stall in the rear and headed over to it. He was about to open the stall door when he noticed a boy asleep in the corner. He cleared his throat and the boy woke, startled, and scrambled to his feet.

  “I’m so sorry, mister, may I help you?” Sabrina stammered. After a quick glance up at the handsome man, she quickly turned all of her attention to his horse. Sabrina was glad that it was so hot; it helped explain the blush that suddenly colored her cheeks. It had been a long time since she had seen a man like him. He reminded her a little of her father. He was tall, and his clothes were dusty but clean. Since she did not get an answer yet, she reluctantly looked back up at his face. He stared at her intently as if looking into her soul as she waited for him to answer her question. Nervously she looked down, relieved that her shirt was completely dry. Well, maybe a little damp. She saw the long shadows through the open doorway of the stable and realized the sun was sinking in the sky and she gasped.

  “Oh, my gosh! What time is it?” He looked at his pocket watch irritably.

  “It’s three thirty.”

  “Oh no! Mr. Swanson is gonna skin me alive. I was supposed to have Miss Reynold’s carriage ready by four.” She started out of the stable and stopped in her tracks, remembering the man and his horse. She bit her lip in indecision. It would take at least twenty minutes to rub down his horse and then another twenty five to get the carriage ready. She sighed, well first come, first served, she thought as she walked back over to the gentleman.

  “I’m sorry, sir, let me tend to your horse,” she said, walking over. He watched, impressed, as she spoke softly to Troy before actually touching him or attempting to take the reins from his owner. “He’s a beauty,” she breathed, looking up at the graceful animal. “What’s his name?”

  She took the reins and skillfully led him into a stall. The deep rumble of the man’s chuckle sent shivers down Sabrina’s spine.

  “His name is Troy, and my name is Brock Stafford.”

  Sabrina nodded to him. “They call me Will.” She ran her hands over Troy’s flank.

  “He’s dehydrated.” She looked accusingly at Brock.

  He nodded in agreement. “We’ve traveled a very long way,” Brock murmured, wondering why he felt guilty. He always took excellent care of his animals and here was this boy insinuating that he did not. He watched the boy get fresh oats and water for Troy and then head off to set up the carriage.

  “I’ll rub him down after he’s better rested,” Sabrina said over her shoulder to Brock. Brock shook his head as he headed out of the barn. He watched the young boy struggle to pull the fancy black carriage around so that he could align it with the horses. “Need a hand?” Brock questioned.. “No, thank you,” Sabrina grunted as she pushed it into place with an extra hard shove. He watched amused as the boy scurried around, expertly taking down tack to fix it to two brown mares. She then led the ladies out of their stalls and hooked them up to the carriage. Sabrina had just finished checking their hooves and bits when a well-dressed lady in a bonnet swaggered up to them. She was attached to a nicely dressed man who Sabrina knew was her brother. She had never liked Sally but her brother seemed okay. His name was Thomas and she thought he was a little puny, but he seemed nice enough. He stopped by occasionally to check on their horses.

  “Why who is this?” Sally Reynold drawled with a simpering smile as she spied Brock leaning against the corral fence.

  “Stafford, Ma’am; Sir,” Brock said, tipping his hat to the pair.

  She noticed he did not introduce himself as Brock as he had to her and wondered about it. Sabrina nodded to the woman as Thomas ushered Sally quickly up to the carriage. Sabrina kept her head down as she held the horses steady and Thomas helped his sister into the carriage and took the reins from Sabrina.

  “Thank you, Will,” Thomas said, paying Sabrina for the horses’ board and giving her a nice tip. She thanked him without looking up and headed into the stable to finish caring for Troy.

  “Who was that?” Brock asked, watching the carriage roll down the dusty street. Sabrina’s brow furrowed.

  “Why didn’
t you ask her yourself?” she said, biting her lip. She had a bad habit of saying what she was thinking. She sighed, wondering why he had not left yet. Brock was wondering the same thing as he watched her walk up to Troy’s stall and unlatch the door. She first took a tool and cleaned around his shoes, removing tiny pebbles and as much dirt as possible. She checked the nails in his shoes and hammered in a couple that were loose. Grabbing a brush, she began the tedious yet soothing task of grooming the horse.

  She started at his head and worked her way down, talking in a soothing tone to the horse the entire time. Brock strained his ears to hear what the boy was saying but he could not make it out. At some point he thought he was actually singing to the horse. Sabrina stepped back, looking at how Troy’s dark red coat shimmered in the dim light and she smiled at her work. Troy seemed much more relaxed.

  She nodded. “Much better.” Turning around quickly, she ran right into Brock’s chest. The force knocked her back into the wall and she cursed as she hit her head.

  “Would you look where you’re going?” she grumbled, as she walked around Brock to put her cleaning items away. “Your horse is fine; you can go now.”

  At that moment, Mr. Swanson walked into the stable. “Will” he chastised, “that is no way to talk to a customer!”

  Sabrina hung her head. “Sorry,” she mumbled without looking at Brock. Mr. Swanson peeked into Troy’s stall. “That’s a nice piece of horseflesh. You know your animals, Mr….”

  Brock smiled. “Brock Stafford, I’m the new Sheriff.”

  Sabrina’s eyes widened at the word sheriff. She mouthed the words as she cringed. She immediately turned her back on him, sat down and started cleaning a saddle.

  “Well how about that! Welcome to town Sheriff Stafford, I’m Jack Swanson; I own the livery and saloon.”

  “Nice to meet you. You’ve got a real good helper, Troy took right to him and Troy usually doesn’t like anyone except me.”

  Jack nodded. “Yep, that young’un sure does have talent. I was quite lucky to find him.”

  Brock raised his eyebrow “You found him?” The two men turned as they heard Sabrina noisily get up and stomp out of the barn. Jack chuckled. “Will’s a very sensitive boy. He don’t talk much and when he does it’s mostly about horses. He could use a mentor,” Jack hinted and Brock nodded in thought as he left the barn and headed back to his room for a bath and some rest.

  Chapter 3

  Sabrina headed down to the saloon, The Swan and the Swallow. Most folks just called it The Swan. She needed a drink. Since Mr. Swanson owned them both he allowed her to eat free since she didn’t eat much anyhow.

  “Hey, Mac,” Sabrina said as she climbed up onto the stool by the bar. Mac was one of the few people in town with whom she felt comfortable.

  “The usual?” he asked and she nodded. Seconds later, a cool sarsparilla was set down in front of her.

  “Rough day?”

  Sabrina nodded as she let the liquid run down her dry throat. She liked Mac. He never asked a bunch of questions about her past. He just accepted her as is and went on from there. He was like a grizzled old hermit. Sabrina took another long swig of her drink. She ordered some food and let her mind wander as she ate. She thought about the bustling town and how she had ended up there.

  Sabrina was standing in what had been the parlor of her burned out home, dear Montgomery, with tears streaming down her cheeks

  She watched the workers putting up the wooden frame to rebuild the house. The house could be replaced but her family would not be. All she had left was her brother, Warren, and Samuel and Alma. She had many cousins but they had their own lives and their own problems.

  Upon learning of his family’s death, Warren returned from the East to care for the ranch and his sister. Her mind was swirling with emotions; she was happy Warren was back but he was different somehow. He had only been back for three weeks and had immediately set upon rebuilding the stately home and erasing all memories of the horror, as if it had never happened.

  And to him it hadn’t. He had not seen his sister brutally shot down and worse. He had not seen his father and mother’s lifeless bodies lying side by side in the yard. Samuel had cut her father free from the tree with tears streaming from his eyes. Sabrina had not wept that day–she couldn’t. She could not convince herself that they were really gone. She had sat next to them for hours as their blood ran beneath them and soaked into the earth–the same earth and land that her father and mother had worked so hard to shape and nourish. And she couldn’t let them go. The townspeople came later on, drawn by the smoke from the still-crackling structure. Her home.

  The hot summer day had offered no comfort to the filthy young girl on her knees who had lost everything that was dear to her. Some of the women from town had come; they took pity on Sabrina’s shattered soul and led her off so she could wash the soot and blood off herself while the men cared for her family. They buried them on a knoll not far from the stables. She knew that they would have liked it there. They used to have picnics on the hill when Sabrina was younger.

  A posse was sent out after the killers, but they were never found. Catching them would not bring back her family and Sabrina was too wrapped up in her own grief to consider others.

  It took Warren three months to arrive and in his stead she had run the ranch with the help of Samuel and the others. The ranch hands had always been fond of Sabrina and admired her courage. They admired her even more as they watched her work from before the crack of dawn until long after sunset, only stopping long enough to grab an occasional bite. They were worried about her. She had never taken the time to grieve or feel her loss. It ate at her at night.

  She awoke to horrible nightmares; her dark sunken eyes reflected the turmoil in her soul that her voice refused to speak and her pride refused to admit. Samuel had tried to get her to open up and to slow down but to no avail. He was forced to stand by helplessly as he watched her already sturdy frame turn harder and leaner than it should have.

  Samuel was glad for that day in September when Warren came back; they all were. Warren had arrived and Sabrina had smiled for the first time since the butchery. He said he would stay in the bunkhouse with the other hands until the main house was finished. He was dismayed to see the state that his sister was in and blamed himself for not being there for her sooner.

  She had changed so much in the years that he had been away. However, it seemed that the changes were more mental than physical. She was still the same height as she was when he had left. Their mother was a petite woman who was not afraid to stand up to any man or beast, and Sabrina was just like her in more ways than one. Not wanting his sister to live like a mule and grow up like a man, Warren made some rather rash decisions.

  Sabrina felt a tear slide down her cheek, bringing her out of her trance. She quickly wiped it away glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Mac was over across the bar talking to Pamela, one of the saloon girls, and no one else paid her any attention, which was the way she liked it. Sniffing, she silently slipped out of her seat and out the door.

  Brock awoke with the full light of day beaming through his bedroom window. He had not meant to sleep in. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes and stretched.

  He got out of bed slowly, still groggy from the long day of riding the day before. He dressed and prepared for the day. Today was his official first day on the job. He pinned the bronze star to his chest and headed downstairs for breakfast. Widow Hawkins was running about serving her two other guests. She quickly came over and ushered him to a seat, introducing him to the others.

  “This is Mr. Snyder; he’s set up a temporary shop in the mercantile. He sells spectacles.”

  She motioned to the other gentleman who was much older and had a head full of gray hair. “This is Pastor Stevens; he’s a permanent resident.”

  Brock nodded to the two gentlemen as he dug in to the fresh biscuits and gravy, smoked ham and fried eggs. He ate until he was full and pushed back his chair, thanking M
s. Hawkins for the wonderful breakfast.

  He stepped outside into the morning heat and made his way down the boardwalk towards the Sheriff’s office. The town was alive with the usual hustle and bustle. Some of the merchants noticed him and nodded or waved.

  His office was on the same street as the livery stable and the bank. He unlocked the door with his key and stepped inside. A very sparse office with two cells greeted him. The cells were against the back wall and they each had a small mattress in one corner. One of the cell doors had fallen off its hinges and was propped up against the wall. It seemed as if the entire room was covered with a year’s worth of dust and grime, though the late Sheriff McAllister had only passed away two months earlier. He pulled back the once beige curtains and let some of the early morning light filter in through the dirty windows. He sighed. This was going to take a lot of elbow grease.

  “Sheriff McAllister wasn’t much into housekeepin’,” a soft voice said from behind.

  Brock spun around, searching out the owner of the voice and silently cursing himself for letting his guard down. He instantly recognized the young boy from the stables leaning against the open door frame. Brock raised an eyebrow as he noticed he had a bucket and a broom in his hand.

  Sabrina said, “Mr. Swanson sent me; he thought you might need some help straightening the place up.” She stepped into the dark room avoiding Brock’s gaze as she looked around, taking in the enormity of the task in front of them.

  The place had been shut up for months but that did not stop the mice and rats from moving in. There was an abundance of once important papers scattered throughout the room. The rats had shredded them for bedding. The roof apparently had several leaks; water had seeped in and molded the rest of the papers and mattresses. Sabrina scrunched her nose at the smell.