by Sara Jolene
Taming the Trainer
Cowboys and Angels Book 4
Sara Jolene
Copyright © 2017 by Sara Jolene
Cover Art by Erin Dameron Hill/ EDH Graphics
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Be proud of your scars. They have everything to do with your strength, and what you’ve endured. They’re a treasure map to the deep self.
- Clarissa Pinkola Estes
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Also by Sara Jolene
About the Author
What’s Next for Cowboys and Angels
Chapter One
Sophia tried to concentrate on the movement of Millie’s fingers. She was growing tired of being absolutely horrid at every house job they tried to teach her. She loved her new friends and was settling into her new life but she had been struggling for direction. Julianne, Millie, and Beatrice had all been so wonderful to her. Millie had even arranged for her to stay with Mrs. Sanderson, and she was ever so grateful. But gratitude only stretched so far. The old woman was as crotchety as they came. She needed something to do with her time, some way to make enough money that she didn’t have to stay in the tiny cabin and care for the lady.
Quilting was the lesson of the day, and she was failing at it just as miserably as she had the other tasks. Beatrice had tried teaching her to bake. Sophia had gone over to her home one morning, and the two of them had mixed and kneaded many loaves of bread. It had taken all day. Each loaf that Sophia had touched not only didn’t rise, but when they’d tried to tease it to rise in a warm oven, it had blackened faster than Beatrice could scramble to remove it from the oven. Sophia had been left staring at what looked like lumps of coal while Beatrice tried in vain to assure her that it was bad beginner’s luck, that next time it would be better, easier. Beatrice had been wrong.
Julianne had been just as accommodating and welcoming. She was the only one of the women Sophia had known at all when she’d finally seen the sun again after being trapped in that cellar. Being above ground and knowing that Archie was where he couldn’t get to her had given Sophia choices. The only people who knew her in Creede were either dead, in jail, or had been locked in that cellar with her. All of them, including Julianne, had promised to keep her secret. The other folks in Creede didn’t know, nor did they care much, where she’d come from or where she’d been going. She’d decided to walk a different path than the one she’d been on before she got off the train from Denver. She’d gone to Julianne for help, and when she had, Julianne and her husband Hugh had been wonderful to her. They’d not only kept her secret but had introduced her to Millie and her brother. Sophia had stayed with the Bings until Millie had had the idea of Sophia becoming Mrs. Sanderson’s helpmate. The old lady needed tending to, and Sophia could do that in exchange for room and board. But Millie and Julianne had gone above and beyond all that when she explained that she didn’t have any household skills. Lucky for her, the others had assumed—and Sophia didn’t correct them—that she’d had just her uncle and simply hadn’t been taught.
Julianne had tried to teach her how to knit. It had been just as bad an experience as the baking, and now the quilting. Sophia couldn’t help but think that quilting was worse, though. Because with both of the other tasks, she was only hurting her ego—with quilting she was hurting herself physically and leaving a blood trail over perfectly good fabric in the process. She exhaled hard as she stuck herself once again in the thumb.
“It’s like the needle is drawn to that spot.” She stuck her thumb in her mouth and sucked on it, trying to staunch the blood flow.
Millie shook her head. “There’s no such thing. You just need to concentrate harder. You’re sticking yourself in the same spot because you’re turning the needle the same way.” She held up a shiny thin needle attached to a long piece of thread. “Watch more closely. I’ll go slower this time.”
Sophia watched Millie’s movements attentively while she sucked the pad of her thumb. When Millie had finished, she looked up at her. Sophia hated the hope she saw in her friend’s eyes.
She shook her head. “No. Please don’t look at me like that. I can’t stand it. I’m so horrid at all these house jobs. Maybe I’m not meant for this life.”
Millie reached a hand out and set it gently on Sophia’s knee. “We’ll find something, I promise. Julianne, Beatrice, and I have made it somewhat of a goal. We’ve all decided not to stop until we help you find a way to support yourself. You’ve become a friend, and we don’t want you to have to return home.”
The thought made a chill run up Sophia’s spine. If only Millie knew what home was really like. She didn’t have the bravery to tell her new friends about her real life. Sometimes she wished she could. The guilt ate at her belly at night, but she was afraid. Afraid of what they would think of her, afraid of what would happen to her. The people of Creede wouldn’t look at her the same. It wouldn’t matter that she hadn’t had a choice.
Sophia had known from the beginning, when she’d left Denver, that things wouldn’t be easy. She just hadn’t expected to end up with choices. She’d never had them, not since the moment her parents had died. She remembered sitting in her uncle’s saloon, slinging drinks and entertaining men. All she’d been able to think about was being free. The moment had come when she’d had that, only to have it snatched away again.
She’d bought herself a ticket to Creede and boarded the train. She could remember a small surge of happiness at the thought. In Creede at least, she’d be her own. She could make her own money and answer only to herself. In Denver, she’d been under her uncle’s control, and family or not, he didn’t care for her well-being even in the slightest. But then she’d gotten off the train in Creede. She figured she’d see the town and stop in the mercantile for something to eat before finding a place of employment. She’d never made it to the mercantile. A few steps off the platform and she’d felt huge arms trap her, one around her waist and one holding a cool rag to her mouth. Next thing she’d known, she was in a dark, dank cellar with a bunch of other woman with similar stories.
Sophia sighed as she made one last attempt to stitch the fabric instead of her skin. She let out a surprised shriek when the needle came back through the fabric without shedding any of her blood. It looked awful. It wasn’t straight, and she was sure Millie would rip it out as soon as she left, but she’d done it without hurting herself. That had to be considered progress. She attempted another. She wasn’t as lucky with the second one. She stuck herself yet again, but managed to stop the needle and set it down before it drew blood. She pushed herself away from the quilt.
“I think it might be best for me to quit while I’m ahead. I managed a single stitch without inflicting pain, and that’s enough for today.”
“But you’re doing so much better! Please try some more.” Millie looked at her with sad eyes, but Sophia wasn’t falling for it. Her thumb was throbbing, and it was getting late. She had to head back to the cabin before it got too dark for it to be safe … not that it was ever really safe in Creede, or even Bachelor. Sophia was too independent—or wanted to be, now that she had the option—to let herself be escorted around.
She’d survived a lot of things in life. She could walk to and from the cabin on her own.
“I really wish you didn’t have to walk so far. Did Mr. Sanderson not have a buggy or buckboard? Come to think of it, I’m not sure they had a horse …” Millie trailed off.
Sophia completed her thought for her. “There’s a horse; two actually. My favorite is Marigold. She’s a stout-looking mare. Friendly, too. I’ve never ridden, or I’d just take her out. My guess is that the buggy went with Mr. Sanderson when he took off.” She felt a smile spread across her lips despite her feeling terrible about it.
Millie smiled back. “There’s no proof of that, you know. It’s all rumors. One wouldn’t think a town like this would have enough wagging tongues to create a gossip mill … but alas, such social extremes haven’t escaped even the most rudimentary of societies.”
By the time Millie finished, she and Sophia were both doubled over in laughter. They all liked to joke about how rough Bachelor and Creede were. Unsettled, almost. After all, tent cities and a few log cabins did not a town make. Creede was up and coming, though. The mines were expanding, and if they could keep the town from catching on fire every few years it might be built up half decently.
“I can have Callum stop into the livery his next trip into Creede. He can arrange for a buggy for you to fit to the horse. That way you’d have faster transportation. It’s unseemly for you to be alone. Plus, winter is coming.”
Sophia smiled at her friend. “I know you worry. But you needn’t. I do everything I can to be safe.”
“Yes, but …”
“But what about my reputation?”
“Well, yes! What about it? Don’t you care that you’re seen all over town by yourself?”
Sophia was silent for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. “Had I not been tossed into that cellar, maybe. But since I was, my reputation isn’t good. Mr. Anders seems to have made a hobby of following me around and trying to lure me into working for him when he rebuilds The Nugget.”
“That is exactly why I think you should wait for Callum. He and I can take you home together.”
“No, thank you. I love you for offering, though. I should take my leave. It’s getting dark earlier now, plus I have to make sure Mrs. Sanderson gets her meals.”
“You’re cooking!”
Sophia laughed at the panic in her friend’s voice. “No, not exactly. More warming.” She winked. “Beatrice has been sending things over. She says she can’t let me feeding something I’ve prepared to someone else rest on her conscience.”
Millie laughed at the notion. “Very well, then.”
“You’d better pay attention to the things going on around you. You might miss something.”
Otto looked up from the wheel he was working on to find a man standing in the corner, dressed in tribal ritual garb. He instantly felt like he’d known him his whole life, but he knew he’d never seen the man’s face. He couldn’t understand why he was there. The tribe didn’t come into the hills this time of year. They all stayed south on the reservation. And even if they were there, none of them would be walking into his livery in ritual clothing. He closed his eyes and shook his head, thinking maybe he’d imagined him. When he opened his eyes again, the man remained.
“I tell you to pay attention and you close your eyes. How’s that helpful?”
“I’m sorry, is there something I can do for you? Did you need help with a wagon or something?”
The man stepped away from the wall and took a few steps towards Otto. “All I need is for you to pay attention.”
“Excuse me.” A soft voice he didn’t recognize came from behind Otto. His first thought was that it was rude for them to be interrupting his conversation with someone else, but after registering it was a female voice that spoke, he dismissed it. He didn’t often get women in the livery. In fact, things with the last lone female that had come in hadn’t gone too well. His hired help, Bob, had sold a young lady a wagon … and next thing he knew, Hugh Fontaine had been running around town showing off a mountain cat carcass he swore she’d killed with her umbrella after her wagon had broken a wheel and stranded her on the dangerous pass between Creede and Bachelor. Otto had gotten rid of the problem there, though—he’d set Bob packing and done all he could to make it right when Hugh came back to have the wagon repaired. Her horse had returned on its own, and he’d boarded the mare for her, too.
He turned around. “Ma’am, what can I do for you?” Otto found himself swallowing hard as he took in the female’s appearance. Most of the women in town were kind of stringy. They were thin and pale, ladies that obviously stayed inside and ate very little. This woman was different. She had blood-red lips and dark hair that made her skin look fair, even though it was tanned. He knew he shouldn’t be looking at her in that way but found he couldn’t help himself. He quickly turned back around to see what the stranger thought of the beauty that had entered his barn. The man was gone. Otto blinked a few times. He hadn’t seen him leave … but then again, he hadn’t seen him come in, either. Maybe there was something to his warning of paying attention.
Otto returned his attention back to the woman as she spoke again.
“I’m looking for a buggy. Nothing too big or outlandish; it’s just for me to get around and carry things back to the cabin.”
Otto couldn’t answer her right away. He really didn’t see too many women in his line of work, and he wasn’t a drinker, nor did he have anything to do with the other things they offered at places like The Nugget. He was disappointed in himself. He was far too overcome by the presence of a lady in his livery. He took a moment to collect himself before he spoke.
“Might I ask how far you’re traveling? I don’t believe I’ve seen you in Creede before, miss.”
The lady smiled, but Otto noticed it didn’t reach her eyes. “Mrs. Sanderson’s cabin. I’m her helpmate. I’m new to town. I’ve been spending time between here and Bachelor as I settle in.”
That explained a lot. “And your family? They won’t have to come to town with you at all?” He was fishing and hiding it poorly. He found himself unwillingly wanting to know more—and not in order to sell her the proper buggy.
“No, sir. It’ll just be me.” Otto was wary of selling her anything. Since he’d hired Bob, who’d sold Hugh’s new wife that faulty wagon, he didn’t want to take a chance of looking like he’d been taking advantage of women. That wasn’t how he ran his business … and he wasn’t even sure the lady had a horse.
“I have a few buggies that might work for you. All depends on the horse. I might have to order something to come in from Denver.” He watched carefully as her face turned down and a shiver ran through her body. It was as if her whole being was shaken. He felt a strong urge to go to her, to wrap her tightly in his arms and stop the reaction. He knew better than to act on those impulses, though, and settled for watching her closely. She calmed quickly, and though he couldn’t be sure, he thought the change in her expression when he’d said Denver was sadness. “Is that where you’re from? I still can’t believe I haven’t seen you in town before.”
There was no mistaking it this time—sadness was etched in each line on her face, and her mouth fell into a frown. “If it’s going to be a problem for you to sell me a buggy, I can ask Pastor Bing to escort me on my next visit.”
She misunderstood. Otto took a step toward her. She immediately stepped back. She was afraid of him. He quickly thought back to all the things he’d said to her since she’d been there and couldn’t find anything alarming, but then again, there wasn’t anything particularly reassuring either. He’d asked more questions than he’d answered, and she hadn’t asked many. “I’m sorry, Miss …?” He waited for her to finish for him.
“Perkins. Sophia Perkins.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Perkins. Please accept my sincere apologies. I was distracted when you came in. The man I had been dealing with was being a bit difficult. I suppose I should thank you for scaring him off.”
&nb
sp; Sophia looked at him strangely, her large dark eyes growing wider as he continued.
“I have plenty of buggies as long as your horse can handle them, and I have no plans to ask you to return with Pastor Bing, though Callum is a good man.”
“On that point we can agree, Mr. …?”
Otto laughed a little at her turning his own words against him. “Mr. Clay. But please, everyone calls me Otto.”
“As you wish, Mr. Otto. When will I be able to arrange for a buggy?”
Otto smiled. “When can you arrange for me to meet your horse?”
Chapter Two
The walk back to the cabin after her visit at the livery seemed even longer than usual, but it was beautiful. She loved how crisp the air was and the changing color of the trees. The change of seasons was one of the highlights of her being forced from Arizona when her parents had passed. She loved autumn.
Sophia was getting used to going into Bachelor, as it was a tad closer, but she was finding that Creede had more things she needed. She’d stopped into the mercantile on the way out of town and was now happily eating one of Beatrice’s famous cookies. She’d gotten one for Mrs. Sanderson as well. She’d give it to her as a surprise after supper.
Sophia’s thoughts often strayed as she walked. She thought about her old life as little as possible, but occasionally she’d think about her parents and how life was with them before the accident. Today, however, her mind was all too easily consumed with her interaction with the man at the livery. He was nice enough, gentlemanly even, but also a bit strange. He’d said something about her scaring off a man, and she hadn’t seen anyone with him in the barn. She did see the way he’d looked at her, though. She was no stranger to looks like that. Men at the saloon used to ogle her. She was often told how beautiful she was, and her uncle used her beauty for his own gain.