A Western Tale 0f Love And Fate (Historical Western Romance)
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A Western Tale of Love and Fate
A Western Historical Romance
Cassidy Hanton
Edited by
Robin Spencer
Contents
A Thank You Gift
About the book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
The Salvation of a Runaway Bride
About the book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Also by Cassidy Hanton
About the Author
A Thank You Gift
Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love.
As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called Finding the Broken Cowboy. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping this link here.
Again, thank you ever so much for your continuous love and support!
Cassidy Hanton
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 all 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.
Every delay set him further on edge. The rain was still pouring down all around him. The earth had visibly softened and as the lightning continued to fork across the sky, Quinn could see where pools had begun to form on the plain before him.
He was tired. He could feel it now with the reduced pace. The desire to rest was tugging at him like a child on its mother’s skirts, pleading for attention. He was trying to swat it away, but the desire to listen was more powerful. He could feel himself wanting to give in.
Find him!
The voice was sudden and a shock to Quinn’s senses. He looked around him in confusion, pulling his shotgun from beside the saddle and drawing it to his eye, ready to fire, as he searched for where the voice came from. He turned in every direction as the horse continued on its course. His nerves were raw. The slightest hint of an attack and he was ready. It took Quinn several seconds to realize the voice was from his own head. Even then, he didn’t lower his weapon, just to be sure.
Finally, when he was positive it had been his own thoughts urging him, Quinn lowered his shotgun. He didn’t put it back in its holster but instead laid it over his arm as he continued on his journey. It was probably best there.
The horse was breathing heavily when they finally reached their destination. Quinn knew he had broken the beast, and he was sorry for that, but his job was important and nothing was going to stand in his way. He would see it to a good farm somewhere where its life could be easier, but in the meantime, he needed him.
He stopped the horse far enough from the house so that the sound of his snorts could not be heard. Quinn watched the small house from a distance, studying it for movement. There was a single window on that side of the building and bright yellow light was filtering through the panes. It was an easy vantage point into the house. It also made it easy for anyone to see out. Quinn kept watching.
He was unflinching as he watched. He needed proof that Victor was there before he went in, and there was no movement. It would defeat the purpose if he went in and found the place empty, and in the process let Victor know he had closed in on him. No. Quinn needed to be sure the man was there first.
Another hour passed in silent vigil but Quinn would not be defeated. The horse, he suspected, was happy for the break. He hoped he enjoyed it. Quinn was tired, hungry, and saddle sore, none of which was going to ease anytime soon. It was all right. He was used to it. A shadow moved by the window and Quinn’s breath stuck in his lungs. Someone was in the house.
He slid from his saddle, ignoring the pain of the action as he did so. He checked the two guns at his hips and then the shotgun in his hands. It was a Sharps Model 1874 Creedmore. Its long barrel glistened in the lightning. It was a single barrel, but more accurate than most rifles out there. You didn’t want to get close to Victor if you could help it. The further away the better and this gun was noted for its long-distance accuracy. It was why Quinn bought it. Otherwise, he still had his faithful Winchester. He took them both.
He tied his horse to the nearest boulder he could find and made sure it was secure. He didn’t need the old boy running off on him now. Quinn then reached for his gun’s scabbard and slipped the Winchester onto his back. He kept the Creedmore at hand.
His heart had begun to pick up pace as he strode toward the house. He could hear nothing but howling wind and the intermittent claps of thunder. It was as if the angels themselves were applauding the fact that he was finally about to get his man. Quinn wouldn’t accept any congratulations unless it came from Mary Hutch.
His heart was drumming in his ears as he closed in on the property. He heard a string of expletives from within as glass shattered. He stopped in his tracks. It was Victor. He knew that voice anywhere. Quinn fought the urge to grin. I hope whatever it is cut you.
He crept up to the window, ensuring he stayed beyond the reach of the light from within. He flattened his back against the house and continued to listen. He breathed several deep breaths before peeking into the room quickly and returning to his spot. Quinn’s eyes took in the room at a glance. Victor was there. He was in the room, distracted by a broken lamp. Now was his chance.
Quinn ducked beneath the window and crept to the front of the house. He stood by the door and waited several seconds for his hands to steady. He’d waited a long time for this. He could hardly believe that the time had finally come.
He didn’t wait a second longer than it took his hands to still. He grabbed the handle of the door and swung it open in one fluid motion as he stepped inside. He raised the gun at the same time that Victor came up with his side pistol. The man was always ready. They stared at each other with guns raised.
“Mortensen,” Victor growled in his bear-like voice.
“Victor,” Quinn answered as both guns cocked.
“How’d yah find me?” the burly man asked, as he pulled his other sidearm from its holster. His eyes never left Quinn.
“I’ve gotten pretty good at tracking you over the years,” Quinn answered. “I just followed the stench.”
Victor laughed
snidely.
Quinn’s jaw clenched. “It’s over, Victor. You’re going back to Boston to face your crimes.”
The outlaw looked at him with the coldest, deadest eyes Quinn had ever seen, as a low, menacing warning was issued. “I don’t think so.”
Chapter Two
It was three in the morning but the saloon was busier than ever. A caravan was passing through town and with it came a ton of whistles that needed to be wet, something that made the establishment’s proprietor, Zoe Ferguson, smile with delight. The Red Stallion Hotel and Saloon was her pride, the result of hard work and long hours, and now she was reaping the rewards of it.