Longing For The Tormented Sheriff (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

  “Think of what?” Michael replied anxiously.

  “The valley near the town border,” Benjamin explained, but as Michael seemed to be none the wiser, he continued, “It’s where many of the misfortunate folks of the town would convene and drink.”

  “Wait,” Michael said suddenly, “I remember that one. It’s the place where all the kids tried to go to, but no one dared to.”

  “That’s the place,” Benjamin agreed, “I think it’s worth taking a look at,” he added.

  “I agree. But it’s a long ride,” Michael said thoughtfully, “But I need answers. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Michael mounted his horse and rode towards the town border, with the setting sun glistening at the horizon.

  * * *

  Michael had been riding for a while; he was rapidly losing daylight. The amber sky seemed to be taunting him with the fact that time was passing quickly, and he was none the wiser about who tried to burn his house down. He turned by a large tree and sighed with relief as he noticed the distinct looking rocks that marked the small valley that Benjamin mentioned.

  Michael could remember sneaking out to ride here when he was a boy, but his father had caught him once and knocked some sense in him. He could still remember the way his father held him and forbade him from ever going there again.

  Michael, you must know that there are places, even here in Rust Canyon, which can be dangerous. Especially for a young boy like yourself, his father had said to him angrily. Michael had been furious at his father and gone over to the valley anyway. But he had been disappointed when he saw it. The other kids in the town had all talked about outlaws and criminals, but all he had seen were some harmless drunks shooting cans and drinking whiskey.

  Michael slowed his horse down and dismounted, tying the reins to a tree trunk in front of him. He walked over to the valley mouth and peered down the small hill. They should hardly call this a valley, Michael mused as he looked around. There were cans all over and a few empty bottles.

  This must be a haven when the tavern had thrown out the local drunks, giving them space to drink and ramble with each other in peace. Michael was about to return to his horse when he heard a faint rumbling sound nearby. He grabbed his gun and approached the sound. Behind a fallen log was a man sleeping, none other than Dennis, who laid there, reeking of alcohol, snoring loudly.

  “Dennis,” Michael said, nudging him.

  “Dennis,” he repeated, but Dennis was completely out of it. Michael had to make up his mind quickly as it was getting dark now.

  I will have to bring him with me. There is no other way. I cannot leave him here. Michael sighed as he bent down to try to push Dennis up to a sitting position.

  “Come on,” Michael gasped as he tried to pull him up, “Boy, oh, boy. You’re as heavy as a log, Dennis.” Michael finally managed to pull him to a half-sitting position, but he realized there was no way that he would be able to make Dennis walk to the horse. Michael took a deep breath before he heaved Dennis up and picked him up like a bag of potatoes.

  “That’s it,” Michael groaned, walking slowly towards his horse, “Almost there…”

  When Michael finally reached his horse, he dropped Dennis a little too harshly on the ground and stretched his aching back. The sun had almost completely set, and he was sweating wildly.

  “This is going to be interesting,” Michael chuckled as he wondered how he was going to lift Dennis on top of his horse. He bent down to pick Dennis up again, and that’s when he noticed the abnormal redness around his mouth. He gently stroked over Dennis’ lip and noticed it was blood. Moreover, there was a strange mark on his top lip, which could have been the imprint of a bottle.

  Why is he bleeding, with an imprint of a bottle, and is unable even to stand? Something does not add up here. I need to get him to safety.

  * * *

  Benjamin groaned, looking at the mountain of paperwork on his messy desk. He knew he ought to be more organized, but it had never been his strong suit. He had returned to the office, like Michael had instructed him to, wanting to do something more to assist him.

  No one had come in. Which in itself was not too odd. Benjamin knew that if the townsfolk came by and only saw him sitting inside, there was a fair chance that they would return later, hoping to speak with Michael. This did not bother him, although he hoped that a witness was not avoiding the sheriff’s office because of him.

  Deciding that he was not going to get more work done, he stood up, making sure all the windows were thoroughly locked before he left the sheriff’s office. He walked toward his horse, wondering what his wife had made for dinner, as his stomach rumbled loudly. Perhaps he should have invited Michael over, he mused, as he untied the reins of his faithful horse. He knew with certainty that his darling Fanny would undoubtedly have made enough food, the way she always cooked like they were a family of fifteen, not five.

  Benjamin rode slowly, taking the time to look carefully around, hoping for a glimpse of Dennis, but he could not spot the old fellow anywhere. The road towards his home was dark, and he had to ride very slowly to avoid possible holes or loose rocks. Ahead, a little further than his house, he thought he saw movement by the old shed that had not been in use for a few years. Benjamin slowed even more and peered ahead. A man stood by the shed looking around.

  Suspicious, Benjamin rode towards the man, riding past his house. The man noticed him and walked toward him.

  “Good evening,” the stranger said.

  “Evening,” Benjamin replied, “What are you doing way up here at this time of night?” he asked.

  “Well, I am about to start work here in Rust Canyon, and I was taking a walk around this beautiful area, and I must admit I am a bit lost,” the man admitted foolishly.

  “You took a walk up here?” Benjamin asked curiously.

  “To be honest, I’m not really sure where I started my walk,” the stranger said looking embarrassed, “I must have been very preoccupied because suddenly I realized I did not recognize my surroundings.”

  “Where are you staying?” Benjamin asked.

  “Over by the log cabins by the train station,” the man replied.

  “That’s quite a walk,” Benjamin mused, “Well, the way back is down this road,” he gestured the way that he had come from.

  “Thank you, sir,” the stranger replied gratefully, “I do appreciate it. The folks here in Rust Canyon sure are kind.”

  “Well, be safe,” Benjamin said, turning his horse around, riding back towards his house.

  * * *

  Lillian groaned as she slowly opened her eyes. She could not see anything, and her chest hurt with every breath. Gradually, panic filled her whole being as she tried to look around her unfamiliar surroundings. That’s when she noticed that her hands were tied securely with a silk scarf, as well as her feet. Lillian struggled against her bondage, but it was no use—she was completely stuck. There was a piece of cloth covering her mouth tightly, preventing her from making a sound.

  Where am I? Why can I not remember how I got here? And why does my whole body ache?

  Terrified, she tried to kick the wall near her feet, but her legs were tied together too firmly.

  Lillian was slowly getting used to the darkness, and she forced herself to breathe deeply to calm her nerves. She was inside some sort of a shed; it was at least very small and damp. How long had she been out? Lillian tried to remember the last thing before she woke up here. She had been walking… Home? Was she at the hotel? The more she tried to think, the dizzier she got.

  Then suddenly, she heard movement nearby, and the door was opened. There was darkness outside, and the tall, dark-clad man in front of her seemed to be looking at her, although she could not be sure. He was completely covered, from his gloves to the handkerchief over his face and his pulled down hat.

  Lillian began screaming a muffled scream, startling the strange man. He hurriedly closed the door, encasing Lillian in darkness once more. She tried to scream louder,
but it soon turned into a quiet sob.

  Who is this man? Why has he taken me? I am so frightened… But I will have to be brave; I have to focus. But wait? What’s that sound?

  The unmistaken sound of hooves and two men speaking could be heard. They sounded very close.

  I will try to get their attention, Lillian thought, her heart pounding in her chest, and at once, she tried to kick the wall with all her force. She didn’t reach the wall, but her feet knocked over a bucket, or something similar, causing a clattering sound.

  She strained her ears to listen, and she was sure the talking had stopped for a moment. But then, they began talking again, and Lillian tried to scream but to no avail. She heard the sound of retreating hooves, and hopelessness threatened to overcome her.

  * * *

  —The following morning—

  Dorothy rose from her bed, holding her bad hip as she carefully stretched. She shuffled to the hook where she kept her robe. After tying the belt securely around her waist, she walked out to the kitchen. Dorothy had been having trouble sleeping lately, kept tossing and turning, and it had been especially bad this night. Something felt strange, but she had been too tired to think properly about it.

  I do hope my dear Lilli got some rest last night. She has been working so hard, and still always finds time for her mother.

  Dorothy walked into the kitchen, noticing the door into Lillian’s bedroom was closed.

  I sure hope she did not go too early over to the hotel. I will have to have a word with Jacob about not overworking her.

  She looked at the stove and was surprised to see that there was no prepared coffee waiting for her, which was strange. Lillian prepared the coffee for her every morning, even though she told her daughter again and again that there was no need, that she was perfectly able to make the coffee herself.

  “She’s finally trusted me to make my own coffee,” Dorothy chuckled. She walked over to the pantry to fetch the coffee tin when she glanced over at the kitchen table. Something was not right. The night before, Dorothy had prepared Lillian’s favorite spiced bread. She had left a piece on a plate with a cloth over it for her to eat when she came home. And right now, the cloth was still over the plate, clearly untouched.

  My Lilli would have cleared away the plate even though she wasn’t hungry. Something is wrong.

  Dorothy hurried over to Lillian’s room and opened the door. The bed was still made and looked cold and unslept in. It did not look like anyone had slept in it last night.

  Oh, dear heavens, what has happened? Where is Lillian?

  Chapter Twelve

  Dorothy paced back and forth, her heart beating so loudly that she felt as if it was about to jump out of her chest. She touched Lillian’s bed and recoiled her hand from the cold cover. Dorothy could not shake the uneasy feeling that something was very wrong. Lillian would never leave like this. Usually, she said a soft goodbye if Dorothy was still in bed when she was leaving for the hotel.

  Perhaps she had to go early to the hotel? Dorothy tried to convince herself. Perhaps I am being silly? I will go to the hotel and see if she is there. Maybe she spent the night there? She did mention that she would have to work late last night… But why would she not return home? It does not make sense. We live so close to the hotel.

  Dorothy hurried into her room and dressed. She could hardly button up the bodice of her day dress, as her fingers were numb and trembling. She felt a familiar tension creep up her chest, locking itself around her heart.

  Please, Heavenly Father; let her be safe. Let her be at the hotel and me be a worried fool.

  When Dorothy had finally managed to button up her dress, she walked as fast as her bad hip would allow her. As soon as she walked out into the morning sun, she hardly even felt the warmth, as her panic was freezing her inside. She walked a few steps until Mrs. Henderson from next door waved jovially at her.

  “Morning, Dorothy,” Mrs. Henderson said cheerfully.

  “Pat,” Dorothy said tensely, “Have you, by any chance, seen my Lilli?”

  “Lillian?” Pat Henderson repeated, her cheerful smile vanishing at the worried look on her neighbor.

  “I don’t know when,” Dorothy began, trying to push away the terrible thought—If she came home—far away from her mind.

  “When…” she continued, “when she came home yesterday.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it could not have been very late,” Pat replied sympathetically.

  “I bet she just had to go early over to the hotel,” she added.

  “I’m just so worried, Pat,” Dorothy admitted.

  “Oh dear,” Pat said, putting her hand around Dorothy’s shoulders, “I will walk with you to the hotel.”

  “Thank you,” Dorothy said gratefully.

  “I bet she slept a little too late and had to rush out this morning,” Pat reassured her friend. “Was she out with her handsome suitor yesterday?”

  “Vincent!” Dorothy gasped, “I completely forgot Lillian mentioned they had planned to meet.”

  “That must be the reason for it,” Pat smiled. But Dorothy still could not shake away the ever-growing knot in her stomach. The two women arrived at the hotel after a very short amount of time, much to Dorothy’s uneasiness. Dorothy tried to push open the lavish-looking door, but all strength seemed to have left her.

  “Come on, dear,” Pat said, opening the door for her. They walked inside, and Dorothy looked around frantically, grabbing a passing chambermaid.

  “Have you seen my daughter today?” Dorothy asked desperately, “Lillian? Lillian Walters?”

  “No ma’am,” the young chambermaid said timidly, “She has not been here today, I figured it was her day off.”

  “Oh, heavens,” Dorothy wailed, but Pat thanked the maid, and put her arm around Dorothy.

  “Come now,” she said, “Perhaps the girl was mistaken. Let’s go and ask in the kitchen. She works there, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, yes… She does,” Dorothy breathed. Together they walked towards the back of the hotel. As they were about to push the door open, a harassed looking man almost collided with them.

  “Mrs. Walter?” Charlie, the cook, said bewildered, “This is truly a coincident.”

  “Why do you say that?” Dorothy said desperately.

  “Well…” he hesitated, “Your daughter did not show up this morning, and although I would be pleased if she took the day off to rest, it is very unlike her. I was about to go see you…”

  Charlie startled as Dorothy sobbed and clutched her chest. “Mrs. Walter? Sit down, come here,” he said, guiding her to a small bench nearby the reception area.

  “Get her some water,” he ordered the chambermaid who Dorothy and Pat had been talking to before.

  “What has happened?” Charlie asked, handing her the glass of water the maid had come running with.

  “I think my sweet, sweet Lillian is… missing,” Dorothy whimpered.

  * * *

  Michael walked over to the cot in the small spare room with a steaming mug of coffee. He had arrived home, very late last night, as it was very dark, and the combined weight of Michael and Dennis was proving a little too much for his young steed. Dennis had not even opened his eyes on the way back, which made Michael more certain that something was not normal about the state of Dennis.

  “Dennis,” Michael said calmly. Dennis snored loudly and turned to his side.

  “Dennis,” Michael repeated, a little louder this time.

  “Whmhln,” Dennis mumbled incoherently.

  “Come on now, Dennis,” Michael said, even louder, “Dennis, this is Sheriff Michael… Do you remember me?”

  “Wha…” Dennis groaned, opening his eyes a little. He took a while to get accustomed to the light. After looking around, he turned to Michael.

  “Sheriff?” he said groggily.

  “Morning,” Michael said, handing him the mug of coffee, “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I’ve been hit by a train,” Dennis said, slowly
sitting up and accepting the coffee.

  “Am I in the lockup?” he asked, taking a sip of the coffee.

  “No,” Michael replied, with a chuckle. “You’re actually in my home, Dennis.”

  “Huh, why is that?” Dennis asked.

  “How much can you remember from the night at the tavern, the night we met?” Michael said calmly.

  “Boy, not much,” Dennis groaned, holding his hand to his head, “My head is pounding.”

  “Do you remember meeting me?” Michael continued.