Longing For The Tormented Sheriff (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

  “Oh, Vincent,” Lillian said and was unable to keep the hesitation out of her voice.

  “I know it has not been long, but I hope that if you allow me, I might be able to show you how much I have begun to care for you, Lillian,” Vincent said softly.

  Why is there a doubt in my heart? This man is kind and generous and is not like any other man I have met before. I will not let my family down… Not again.

  “I would love to meet you once you return,” Lillian finally said. Vincent’s face transformed into a wide grin, and he took her hand to his lips.

  “These two weeks are going to be the longest weeks of my life,” he cooed. They walked towards Lillian’s home and did not speak more about Vincent’s return. Lillian waved him from the front door, and he bowed low.

  * * *

  “Hello, sweetheart,” Dorothy said as Lillian closed the front door.

  “Hello, mother. I thought you would have gone to bed already.”

  “I wanted to wait for you,” Dorothy replied, “Your Uncle’s carriage driver went a little too fast on the way home,” she winced.

  “Oh, let me heat some water for you,” Lillian said, taking off her coat and walking into the kitchen.

  “What was he like?” Dorothy asked as she gingerly sat down at the kitchen table, “Your surprise visitor.”

  “He was…” Lillian began her mind wandering to the evening’s past events, “Certainly different; he was unlike any other man I have ever met. I cannot explain it, but I felt such a strong connection to him like we had known each other in a previous life.”

  “That’s nice,” Dorothy said distractedly, “I think a small glass of your father’s bourbon is appropriate tonight,” she added.

  “I will fetch the bottle,” Lillian chuckled.

  “But you didn’t mention this strong connection before,” Dorothy said as Lillian returned from the small pantry with the bottle of bourbon and two glasses. She sat down next to her mother and poured both of them a small amount of the amber liquid.

  “I’m sorry?” Lillian said, looking at her mother, feeling confused.

  “With Vincent,” Dorothy explained.

  “Oh, yes… Vincent,” Lillian said slowly, but hurried to say, “He wants to see me again when he returns from his trip.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely.” Dorothy took a sip of her drink, savoring the taste.

  “Yeah,” Lillian whispered.

  “Perhaps, there is much fortune in your future.”

  “How so?” Lillian asked, glad that her mother had not noticed her slip-up before.

  “If the gentle Vincent is as keen, as I believe he is, your life would be quite different than it is now,” Dorothy continued.

  “Well, that’s true,” Lillian said thoughtfully.

  “You would not have to work, and I guess his family has servants and big houses,” Dorothy mused.

  “I should not be wondering about that now,” Lillian said, “and I like working,” she added quietly.

  “I just want the best for you, my sweet Lilli.”

  “I know, mother.” Lillian took a small sip of her drink. They sat in silence, facing the empty chair of her father as they always did. Lillian thinking about her slip up from a moment ago.

  I did not even notice that I was talking about… The mysterious new sheriff. Oh, boy, what have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter Five

  Michael woke, feeling something sticking to his chin. He groaned as he sat up and looked around, confused as to where he was at the moment. He had fallen asleep reading. Michael pulled the piece of paper from his face and groaned as he stood up from the uncomfortable position he’s fallen asleep in.

  “I need coffee,” he said to himself as he began heating water on the dirty stove, “And this place needs a proper cleaning.”

  Since he returned home last night, he had been unable to sleep, his mind racing. He had pulled out his father’s notes and must have dozed off at one point. Michael had decided to go to the office and plan the day’s visits.

  He was going to see the locals and try to get a better understanding of everything that had happened—all the fires and tragic deaths. Michael had an inkling that there was a pattern, but at the moment, he was too close to see it. He needed more information, and he needed coffee.

  Growing up without a mother meant that Michael had learned to take care of himself very early. When he had been barely five-years-old, he knew how to make coffee for his father, and he had not been much older when he started having a cup himself. He was no cook, but he could make a decent stew that would last for several days. He would still always make rubbery eggs, no matter how hard he tried to watch them.

  Michael rummaged for the coffee, while the hot water slowly began boiling. It was clear that his father had not spent much time, if any, to cook or even make coffee, Michael mused. He had found the coffee tin, which had a thick layer of dust on it.

  I wonder what happened to Mrs. Green. She used to come over and clean for dad, from time to time, but it’s clear that she has not come over here in a long time. I should try to find her, although I have no idea where she might be.

  There was much that Michael needed to find out. His wanderings in his youth made it so that he was not familiar with much of the folk from the town. With the constant stream of travelers, it was easy to keep out of people’s way. Michael made the coffee and decided to skip breakfast this time—not that he had much food anyway.

  After he had downed two very hot mugs of coffee much too quickly, he put on his hat and left the house. His father’s old horse looked less than pleased when Michael entered the stable.

  “Come on, boy,” Michael said, putting the saddle on the horse. The horse whinnied but remained still.

  “That’s it,” Michael chuckled and led the horse out into the sunshine. He mounted and began moving, although much slower than he would have preferred.

  I am definitely going to need a new horse, Michael thought as he began his slow descent towards the town.

  Once he finally arrived at the sheriff’s office, Michael was surprised to see Benjamin sitting at his desk.

  “I didn’t know you would be here today?” he said.

  “I thought I’d come by, just in case you could use some assistance,” Benjamin said awkwardly.

  “In fact, I could use your assistance,” Michael replied, “I had planned to go see some of the locals, to get some more information.”

  “Sure, that’s a good idea,” Benjamin said, nodding eagerly.

  “It’s probably a good idea if you ride with me,” Michael continued, “I’m not sure if everyone knows yet that I have taken over as sheriff.”

  “They will know after today,” Benjamin chuckled.

  “Come on,” Michael said, “we have many houses to see, and my horse moves at a snail’s pace.”

  * * *

  “She certainly was eager,” Benjamin grinned as they left the home of Mrs. Calleigh, the organists’ wife. This had only been the second stop of the day, but they had stayed at the Calleigh home for probably up to an hour.

  The courtesy greetings and offer of a cup of coffee were to be expected, but Michael had not prepared for the constant mention of his father. “Your father was such a good man,” Mrs. Calleigh had said while stroking his cheek. “Don’t you agree?” she had then yelled loudly at her almost deaf husband. “What?” He had then replied, waking up from his nap. Mrs. Calleigh had insisted on giving them coffee and a pound cake.

  Michael looked at the sky, “It’s almost noon, and we have only gone to two houses.”

  “At least we will not go hungry today,” Benjamin said.

  “You’ve got that right,” Michael said, “Let’s continue.”

  Three hours had passed, and Michael was none the wiser. Everyone said the same thing, there had been a few fires, and at least one had died. The first fire happened approximately a year ago. Some suggested these were arson, others said it was an unfortunate coincidence, an
d one even mentioned the town had to be cursed.

  “I don’t know about you, but I cannot eat any more cakes,” Michael said as they left the latest house.

  “Is there ever too much cake?” Benjamin said.

  “Yup, I think I just reached the limit,” Michael replied, “Who lives in that small house over there?” he asked.

  “Oh, this is one of the abandoned houses Mr. Frazier bought,” Benjamin explained, dusting crumbs of his chest.

  “There is someone inside,” Michael observed.

  “I believe that Mrs. Wesley lives there now,” Benjamin said sadly.

  “Let’s go see her,” Michael said, walking towards the house. He knocked on the front door and waited. He could hear the patter of running feet, and then the door opened slowly. Out peered a small boy, his blonde curls bouncing with his every move.

  “Hello,” the boy said shyly.

  “Hi there, son.” Michael bent down to speak with the boy. “Is your mama home?”

  “Uh-huh,” the boy nodded, and as he turned around, a young woman, carrying a child on her hip, appeared.

  “Hello?” she asked, “What can I do for you?” She had a sorrowful face and was very thin and pale.

  “My name is Michael Flemming, and I’m the new sheriff,” Michael said.

  “Oh, you’re old George’s son,” she said, a look of recognition dawning on her face.

  “I am,” Michael said simply.

  “Well, come on in,” she responded, backing to give them room to enter the small house.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer you,” she added.

  “That’s no problem. We do not require anything,” Michael hurried to say.

  “Well come and sit down,” Mrs. Wesley said, pointing to two weathered-looking chairs in the small sitting room.

  “Mama,” a girl said as she walked into the sitting room. She was her mother’s twin in miniature and looked to be around eight.

  “Yes, Sally.” Mrs. Wesley looked affectionately at her daughter.

  “Who are these men?” the girl asked in a loud whisper.

  “I’m Sheriff Flemming,” Michael said gently, showing her his badge, “And this is my associate Benjamin Hopper.”

  “Are you going to find the man that killed my father?” Sally asked fiercely.

  “Sally, please,” her mother pleaded, “Go take your siblings out to play, just while I speak with them.”

  Sally looked as if she was about to object, but finally, she backed down and said, “All right then,” and she left the sitting room.

  “I apologize,” Mrs. Wesley said nervously, “Her siblings are still so young, and they don’t really understand death, but she just gets angry…” her voice trailed off.

  “We actually came here to talk about the fire,” Michael said, “I was hoping you might tell me what happened, or what you think happened.

  “But only if you feel up to it,” he added hastily. Mrs. Wesley looked at them for a long while without speaking.

  “I can talk about it,” she finally said.

  “They say that he was smoking and fell asleep,” she began her voice shaky.

  “This was at his shop, correct?” Michael asked.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Wesley replied, “We lived above the shop… But that’s, of course, all gone now.”

  “Were you and the children home when this happened?” Michael asked.

  “No,” she answered with a muffled sob, “I took the children to see my parents. They only live in the next town, so I took the carriage.”

  “And your husband could not join you?” Michael asked.

  “No, he…” Mrs. Wesley shook her head, jerkily, “My husband is… was a very proud and stubborn man,” she said with a cold laugh. “The shop was struggling, but he would never admit it.”

  “Money problems?” Michael asked.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Wesley said, “He knew that if he came with us, my father would think the shop was in trouble and would offer us money.”

  “But your husband did not want that?”

  “He was sure things were going to be better after a while, he said we just needed to be patient,” she said, and her eyes were brimming with tears.

  “I understand,” Michael replied, “Can I ask you about the other fires that have happened?”

  “What about them?” Mrs. Wesley asked.

  “Do you think there is any connection between these fires?” Michael asked.

  “I don’t know what you are insinuating at, but I think it is time for you to leave,” Mrs. Wesley said, suddenly standing up.

  “Of course,” Michael said, gesturing to Benjamin to stand as well.

  “Thank you for allowing us to speak with you,” he added, “And I am very sorry for your loss, I truly am.”

  Mrs. Wesley gave them a stiff nod and walked with them to the door.

  She must know something. Or suspect something, the way she reacted, Michael thought as they walked back to their horses.

  * * *

  “Phew,” Benjamin said as they walked towards the horses, stroking his forehead with his handkerchief.

  “I can hardly blame her,” Michael said, “She’s experienced such a great loss.”

  “That’s true,” Benjamin agreed.

  “Well, should we head over to the houses over there?” he added, nodding his head in the direction of a row of houses on the other side of the town.

  “Yup,” Michael replied, adjusting his hat.

  “We can start with the Walter family,” Benjamin continued.

  “That name’s familiar,” Michael replied, loosening his horse’s reins.

  “Oh, it was such a tragedy,” Benjamin explained, “Old Philip Walter was shot in a bank robbery, about three months ago.”

  “It’s just his wife and daughter now,” he added.

  “Lillian?” Michael asked and almost dropped the reins.

  “That’s her,” Benjamin said, “Lillian and Dorothy. She sure is sweet,” he added with a contented smile.

  Michael looked at him with his eyebrows raised.

  “Lillian, I mean,” Benjamin quickly added.

  “We should perhaps divide the houses,” Michael suddenly suggested. Benjamin looked curiously at him.

  “Are you sure?” he said.

  “Or better yet,” Michael added, “I’ll finish up for today.”

  “Oh yeah?” Benjamin said, hopefully.

  “It’s probably better that way,” Michael said, “gives me a chance to meet everyone, and you can go home to your family.”

  “Well, I won’t say no to that,” Benjamin said happily, mounting his horse.

  “See you Monday, chief,” he added as he began riding away, showing the decency to wait a moment before he started sprinting away. Michael chuckled to himself.

  “Come now, lazy bones,” Michael muttered to his horse, “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Lillian stood in front of the oven, carefully opening the door. Steam from the heat blew into her face, and she carefully moved her arm inside to take out the pie she had just made. She had taken full advantage of her day off. She woke up late and made an apple pie, her grandmother’s old recipe. Lillian loved it when she could make this pie. Usually, she did not have time to do it, but this was a wonderful, uneventful Saturday.

  “This brings me back,” Dorothy said as she walked into the kitchen.

  “How was your nap?”

  “Oh, just wonderful,” Dorothy smiled, walking towards the pie that Lillian had placed on the window sill to cool.

  “I’m so pleased Uncle Jacob gave me the day off,” Lillian said, “but I do feel bad that I’m not helping them clean after last night.”

  “My darling,” Dorothy said kindly, “You are a hard worker, but you have to know when to relax.”

  “I guess…”

  “You should enjoy yourself,” Dorothy continued, as she carefully sat down at the kitchen table.

  “And who knows, whether this
is what your life will be one day,” she added with a wink.

  “Mother!”