Whispers on the Wind (A Prairie Hearts Novel Book 5)

by Caroline Fyffe

  ALSO BY CAROLINE FYFFE

  Prairie Hearts Series

  Logan Meadows, Wyoming Territory, 1878

  Where the Wind Blows

  Before the Larkspur Blooms

  West Winds of Wyoming

  Under a Falling Star

  Whispers on the Wind

  Where Wind Meets Wave

  The McCutcheon Family Series

  Y Knot, Montana Territory, 1883

  Montana Dawn

  Texas Twilight

  Mail-Order Brides of the West: Evie

  Mail-Order Brides of the West: Heather

  Moon Over Montana

  Mail-Order Brides of the West: Kathryn

  Montana Snowfall

  Texas Lonesome

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2016 Caroline Fyffe

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503939059

  ISBN-10: 1503939057

  Cover design by Anna Curtis

  Dedicated to our beautiful granddaughter, Evelyn Chanel.

  We never knew how bright the stars could shine until the day that you were born.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  Soda Springs, Idaho Territory, 1883

  A biting north wind cut through the thick layers of Hunter Wade’s clothing as he reined to a halt in the yard. He paused to look around. Quincy Malone’s usual hired gunman was nowhere to be seen. Dismounting, Hunter flipped his reins over the hitching rail and climbed the steps of the large Victorian home so unlike the rest of the structures of Soda Springs. Trail weary and tired, he rubbed his left leg. The usual throb had grown more intense over the long ride.

  Raising a fisted hand, he rapped his knuckles loudly on the front door. Hard to believe more than a year had come and gone since he’d set off from Soda Springs. Once he collected what was owed him, Hunter planned to spend a few weeks relaxing in town—doing nothing. He’d earned a rest—and the money from Quincy would keep him fat and happy for a good long time. First thing he’d do was visit Ned, who poured the worst whiskey in the Americas, and take in a show or two of his favorite singer, Dichelle Bastianelli. But only after he’d consumed three portions of Sherman’s beef stew at the café.

  When no one answered, he knocked again. Quincy hadn’t spared any expense when he’d built this place fifteen years ago, off the profits he’d acquired by owning a good portion of the town. The man, only five foot one, with the face of a schoolboy even though he was over fifty years old, was a black-hearted snake. Just as soon sell out his mother if a profit could be turned. Hunter hadn’t gone looking for the contract Quincy hired him for, but he’d been in between jobs awhile, and hunger can make a man do almost anything. As long as he wasn’t breaking any laws, he’d hold back his judgment on any man.

  He rapped again—harder—anger igniting his belly. Maybe Quincy had gotten word that Hunter had returned, that he’d soon be in for his recompense, and the man didn’t want to hand over the substantial amount of money. Who would?

  If Quincy thinks I’m leaving without my pay, he has another think coming.

  He waited a half a second more, then grasped the doorknob. The gun resting on his thigh was good and loaded. Pushing open the thick oak door, Hunter stepped into the quiet entry and looked around.

  “Quincy! It’s Wade. I know you’re here.”

  A noise upstairs drew his gaze to the stairway. “Quincy,” he called again. Getting caught on the staircase would give Malone the advantage. He glanced around again, taking stock of the two open doors on opposite sides of the room. “I hear you up there. Come down so we can talk.”

  He silently backed out the front door, careful not to let the lock click, and circled around to the back of the house, but found the rear door locked. Extracting his pocketknife, Hunter made fast work of getting in. He glanced around. He’d been in the house only a handful of times, but it had never been this quiet. He wondered where the cook and other servants were.

  Finding the back stairwell, he proceeded up. Not taking any chances, he drew his revolver. At the top, five doors lined a long hallway. Because it would afford more privacy, he guessed, the master suite would be at the end. Moving forward, he kept his body out of the line of fire. He nudged the door open with his shoulder and found the businessman slouched in a corner chair, his bloodshot eyes wide with fear. The room reeked of whiskey.

  “Don’t shoot!”

  “I’m not here to kill you, Malone, so just relax.” Hunter’s reputation as a gunman was much exaggerated. But, in his line of business, he guessed that wasn’t such a bad thing. He’d killed a few men, but always in self-defense, which wasn’t against the law. Still, he didn’t holster his weapon. “I’m here to collect what you owe me. Nothing more. I’ll be out of your hair just that quick.”

  “Can’t do that, Wade.”

  Now what? And why hadn’t he fou
nd Malone in his office in town, with a handful of others scuttling around doing his bidding? “I’ve just spent a year delivering your precious sister and her family safely to the other side of the country. I took outdated routes like you wanted, which added hardships and time. I’ve done my job, now you’ll pay up the other half of what I’m owed.”

  The small man raised his hands in submission. “It’s all gone. My money, my businesses, everything. Won’t be long before I’m forced to leave this house.”

  Disbelief rippled through Hunter, followed by anger. “I don’t believe you! You’ve hidden your assets so your debtors won’t be able to collect. And shielded your family by moving them east. All because you knew this was going to happen.” He stepped forward, lifting his gun. “You’ll pay up, Malone, or you won’t see the light of another day.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Logan Meadows, Wyoming Territory, October 1883

  Wielding a hammer, Tabitha Canterbury pried at the wooden lid of a container with the claw end of the tool. It slipped and clattered to the floor, missing her toe by an inch. Determined to open the crate on her own, she hefted the weighty hammer once again and wedged the iron prongs under the lid, pressing down with as much force as she could muster.

  Stubborn thing won’t budge!

  Exasperated after fifteen minutes of fruitless labor, she let an uncharacteristic curse whisper through her lips—just as the front door opened. Silver bells jingled in announcement.

  Her forehead warm and sticky, Tabitha glanced up. Jessie Logan, who Tabitha had met upon moving to Logan Meadows almost a year ago, stood in the doorway, her son balanced on her hip and a teasing smile on her face.

  “Tabitha, you’ve scalded my ears. I’ve never heard you curse before.” Jessie laughed and set Shane on the wooden floor, keeping ahold of his hand. In a swish of fabric, she came forward, looking curiously at the good-sized crate. “Books, I presume?”

  Tabitha sighed, and then nodded. “Exactly. I’d like to get them on the shelves that look so empty, but I’m ashamed to say this crate has gotten the better of me. I swear!” She gave the sturdy wooden box a disgruntled glare. “One would think it had a mind of its own.”

  “Let me fetch Chase. He’s just a couple of doors down at the bank speaking with your uncle. He’ll have the top off in a jiffy.”

  Jessie was almost to the door when Tabitha caught her arm.

  Startled, Shane frowned as if she’d just struck his mother. “Stop!” he cried. “Let go my ma!” His back straightened as he prepared for a fight.

  “I’m sorry, Shane,” Tabitha said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She crouched to his level, and a wary look slowly replaced his frown. A deep longing grasped her heart and squeezed with a vengeance as she looked into his inquisitive eyes. Reaching out, she pushed back a hank of hair that drooped over his forehead. What would her child look like? At nearly twenty-nine, marriage may have passed her by, but she’d make sure her life didn’t. She’d traveled west without a man and built this store. That was a huge accomplishment. How many single women could claim the same? Her parents would hold the feat in high esteem once they finally forgave her for the bold move. Marriage and motherhood weren’t the only paths that made life worth living.

  “Can you forgive me, sweetie?” she implored, gazing into the child’s large blue eyes. She cupped his cheek, made pink by the light wind blowing outside. “I just didn’t want your mommy fetching your pa. He’s a very busy man and has better things to do. With your aid, I’m sure we can get this done on our own. Will you help?”

  Shane glanced up at his ma, still holding his hand, and Jessie nodded, then crooked her brow as Tabitha stood. “You’re one stubborn woman, Tabitha Canterbury. It wouldn’t hurt to let Chase pop that off. However, I guess I understand. You want to prove to everyone in Logan Meadows that you’re capable of doing for yourself.” She wagged her head from side to side.

  “It’s not quite like that.” I need to prove to myself I can provide as I grow old—alone. I can’t scurry off in search of a man each time I run into an obstacle.

  “No? I think you’re trying to convince yourself more than anyone else. We all see what you’ve achieved in the short time you’ve been in Logan Meadows.”

  Her admiring glance around Storybook Lodge, at the different sections of books, even in their meager state, warmed Tabitha.

  “I love spending time in your cute little shop,” Jessie continued. “Reminds me of a dollhouse. It’s my favorite place to visit.”

  They’d had this conversation before. Everyone and their brother had turned out to help the new “town spinster.” She shivered. How she hated that title! Why was a man handsomer and more respected as he grew older, even if he chose to remain a bachelor forever, but a woman was just an old maid? Past her prime? Only good for baking for church socials or mending old socks?

  It wasn’t fair!

  She was the same woman she’d been at nineteen, only wiser by a country mile. What about that gray hair you pulled from your temple this morning?

  “Tabitha?”

  “I’m sorry. I got lost . . .”

  “In your thoughts? I know. I guess that’s normal for a bookstore owner with all the places you can read about every single day, since you don’t have a family to do for, or suppers to cook . . .”

  Pain sliced Tabitha, but she didn’t look away.

  Jessie quickly reached for Tabitha’s arm. “I’m so sorry! That didn’t come out the way I’d intended. I just meant—”

  “I understand. I’m sure most married women dream of time to do as they please. By the time chores are complete, nighttime has fallen and the day is over.” Then, once in bed, lying next to their husbands . . . no, I won’t go there.

  Jessie Logan was a dear friend. She’d been Tabitha’s first customer on the day the shop had opened. Her husband, Chase, had learned to read in the last few years and seemed to be making up for lost time. After the Logans’ costly purchase of several books, Tabitha had offered to lend them some from her personal shelf upstairs. No one here in Wyoming Territory had pockets filled with gold, unless you counted family love as such. The Logans had gladly accepted her offer, but only if they could pay a fee when they returned the copy.

  One book turned into three, and then five, and before she knew what had transpired, she had her own small lending library in the corner of the store. That was fine. Tabitha wasn’t trying to earn a fortune. Only enough to get by and pay her monthly loan to Uncle Frank. Just because her uncle was the owner of the town bank, she didn’t expect special treatment. She’d make her own way without his help, too. For now, she was paying off her debt with the savings she’d earned while assisting at the library back home. She looked forward to the day the shop would pay for itself.

  “Now, back to the problem at hand,” she said. “If the two of us push down at the same time, maybe we can pry off the lid together.”

  “So you’ll accept my help.”

  “Of course. I’m not stupid, Jessie, just stubborn. You’re a woman, I’m a woman. I welcome a hand from you.”

  She winked, and then went back to the crate. Seesawing the claw prongs under the well-constructed lid, she beckoned her friend over.

  “Now, you hold here and I’ll take it here. One, two, three . . .”

  They both heaved down. The corner lifted in a crackling of splintering wood, but the loud crash that followed wasn’t the lid coming off. Both women spun around.

  Shane stood next to the window, a shattered water glass at his feet.

  “Shane!” Jessie let go of the hammer and rushed to her son, hefting Shane into her arms.

  The door opened and Chase Logan stepped in. At thirty-one, Jessie’s husband was a man who drew attention. The few lines fanning from his eyes, and his tanned face from working out in the elements, actually added to his appeal. Wide-set shoulders and strong arms offset his trim waist. He would catch any woman’s eye, and Tabitha was no exception.

  “What’s goin
g on?” he asked, his gaze taking in the mess. “I saw Shane in the window.” His gaze rose from the shards on the floor to Tabitha, who still held the hammer attached to the crate, and he assessed the situation instantly.

  Without asking, he extracted the hammer from Tabitha’s grip, and had the lid off in seconds. Smiling, he handed back her tool, then strode over to Jessie and lifted Shane from his wife’s arms. “I can see a whole lot of trouble is going on in here.” He ruffled Shane’s hair. “What did I tell you, son, about not touching things that aren’t yours?” Shane ducked his head into his pa’s shoulder. “Sorry about your glassware, Tabitha. We’ll replace it.”

  “No need.” Tabitha hurried for her broom and dustpan in the storage closet. “I shouldn’t have left it on the windowsill where little hands could reach.” Shane’s earnest expression brought a smile.

  With a few sweeps, she had the mess in a pile, and Jessie held the dustpan to make the cleanup faster. Finished, she took the remnants and put them into her trash barrel out back, only to return quickly. “Now that Chase has victoriously beaten the book crate and my dilemma is over, how can I help you?” She glanced at the small table by the door where Jessie had set her reticule, to see if she was returning books. “Or did you just stop by to visit? That’s more than welcome on these slow days.”

  “I came to browse while Chase was at the bank. See if you’d acquired anything new since last week.” Jessie glanced longingly at the crate. “I’m pleased to see that you have.”

  “Yes. I’ve been waiting on this order for over a month.” It took a great deal of inventory to fill the amount of space she’d built. Perhaps she’d been overzealous in her thinking. Even with hundreds of volumes, the area would still look like she’d just opened. The sight of Chase reminded her she was waiting on an important decision. “Chase, any news from the town council about the saloon?”

  Chase shook his head. “You’re fighting a losing battle, Tabitha. There’s not a man in this town that will agree that the saloon should close at midnight. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you may as well give up now.”

  “It’s not in me to give up, Chase, no matter how much Kendall or the other men dislike me. Every night, shop owners try to sleep, and drunken yelling and gunshots make that impossible. Besides, think about all their hard-earned pay they’re wasting.”