Wanted: Hired Gun
Ginny Sterling
Contents
Introduction
Preface
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Hopefully Matched
Lawfully Yours
Lawfully Mine
About the Author
Introduction
The theater is coming to Silverpines!
When Chicago actress, Posey Jones travels across country to help an ailing relative- she is immediately thrown into town at the very brink of destruction. Losing her uncle, gaining a home, and her independence- she sets out to establish her theater… only to realize she needs something special to ensnare an audience! When several women send off for husbands, she joins in with a strange request…
Garrison is tired of struggling to find a place where he fits in after a tour in the military. After several months at home, he is mistakenly arrested and sentenced to hang when the ultimate answer to his prayers is thrust into his jail cell: a letter. Now, bound for Oregon – he finds himself married to an outlandish woman that is constantly putting on an act, but when the real Posey shines through… he is fascinated with his new bride and the possible new life that lies ahead of him.
Posey and Garrison also face the herculean task in overhauling the empty building into a theater. He is mortified that his wife expects him to perform a stunt in the show that makes his blood run cold. Can the strong personalities of Garrison and Posey find a way to work together to make the budding theater and their relationship a blossoming success?
Preface
Dear Reader,
Let me begin with the sincerest thank you for purchasing Wanted: Hired Gun. I truly hope you enjoy the story as much as I did when I wrote it. There were so many different and fun aspects that blossomed bringing the characters of Posey and Garrison to life. I wanted them to be real, to have a persona that would draw you in and have you fall in love… just as they did with each other.
Upon researching, I discovered that there were several cures for asthma in the 1900’s that were shocking and dangerous, containing lobelia (Indian tobacco), belladonna (a poison) or Datura (nightshade)- hence the asthma cigarettes that are used by Garrison for his ailment. There are phenomenal websites that share remedies, photos and ingredients used to bring ease to patients with laborious respiration and wheezing of the lungs.
www.Inhalatorium.com
www.ATSjournals.org
www.allergyandasthma.com
1
July 1900
Garrison had finally gone and done it.
He’d gone too far and crossed the line. Hanging out with the rebellious group of men had finally done him in. He’d been meeting the guys after work at the factory for a few months now meeting up on Fridays and gaming the night away. There had been several times where they would meet, enjoy a drink and spend hours on end telling outlandish tales to each other to see who could come up with the most original and outrageous.
It was all in good fun until James had been caught pocketing bills and coins off the card table they’d been playing at. Garrison could hear the roar of outrage from the massive man who’d overturned the table in a murderous rage. James had never shut up, going on and on about the man’s wife, sister and mother with more and more lewd remarks.
They weren’t in the greatest part of town anyways and his mother had told him to avoid this club repeatedly. All the wildest news stories that made the papers seemed to originate here. Apparently tonight would be no different.
“Shut up, James,” Garrison had barked angrily. “Apologize to the man.”
“Garrison, you always were a mama’s boy, weren’t you?” Lester had teased, causing the focus of James and the rest of the crowd to turn to him. This is when he should have turned tail and left, before the interior of the club exploded in a frenzy of fists.
“Garrison… admit it – we’ve all been lifting money from the idiot for weeks on end. I can’t believe the big lummox has only just now realized it,” Edward crowed in delight. “I’ve been itching for a fight and we are gonna have some fun now boy-o’s!” His heavy Irish accent got thicker and thicker as the anticipation swelled.
Staring in shock between the men whom he’d grown close to over the last few months, Garrison realized that they were nothing but common thieves fleecing the hardworking men who were looking to unwind a bit. This included himself, he thought, how many times had they taken from him unknowingly?
He’d just returned from a spell in the military. When his campaign finally ended, he seized the opportunity to return home. He’d taken the second chance at life upon overhearing that the USS Maine had sank off the coast of Cuba. It had been eye-opening that he could die at such a young age. He was barely twenty-seven with no family other than his mother. Garrison was working odd jobs to get on his feet, trying to get a position with the police. He’d been a crack-shot in the military and hoped to use his skills to begin a career here at home. He wanted a normal life, someone to welcome him home and make him feel wanted.
When the fighting started, Garrison had positioned himself in a defensive point away from the others. He’d dodged several blows but when the knives and guns came out, the doubt was gone. It was time to go.
Lester had led the way out of the club and Garrison had never seen a man run so fast in his life. It was shameful the girly scream that had escaped the thin man as he kicked up his heels and took off. Garrison’s own heart was pounding with adrenaline as several others made their way into the near-empty streets.
It was late and the moon was high in the night sky, illuminating the ruckus. He heard the wail of the siren as the police wagon came down Main Street to pick them all up and Garrison began to run for a hiding spot. It would not do to have an interview with the chief of police for a position with the station the very same day he was arrested. That would only go poorly for him and ruin his chances at a decent job in town.
“Oh, I’d say my chances are good and ruined now,” Garrison muttered to himself. He lay there on the small cot, contemplating what would happen now that he’d been arrested. Several of the other men had gotten away, but not him.
No, he’d gone and had an asthma attack mid-run that had him gasping for breath, rather than following the others into the darkened cobblestone streets. His cursed lungs had failed him once again. He’d had attacks as a child and seen the physician repeatedly to assuage his mother’s worries. It had been a long time since he’d had an attack – and now she’d simply worry about his jailtime instead.
Garrison had been handcuffed there in the streets, coughing and gasping for breath- unable to defend himself as the attack had been quite fierce. Because he’d been shackled, he couldn’t reach for his anti-asthmatic cigarettes. They seemed to be the only thing that helped when the attacks were this bad.
He’d finally found a brand that didn’t make his heart skip a beat or flutter weirdly. There was something in them that proclaimed to aide in “laborious respiration and extreme wheezing” his doctor had described it. Garrison had thought he was a loon, prescribing him with tincture that was sure to aide him. It would aide him in becoming a penniless man! He could deal with the coughing and wheezing- keeping his hard-earned money. As long as he stayed away from feathers, other irritants, and refrained
from running- he’d be just fine.
Accused of theft, aggravated assault, and resisting arrest, Garrison was certain to do time and was positive his mother would be absolutely distraught. She’d been so proud that he’d finally come home to settle down, claiming he got his ‘wildness from his father’. His pa had been a railroad man that preferred the open skies and rugged outdoors to the city – something he could certainly appreciate now. He was cooped up in a small cell awaiting word of what would happen next.
Garrison didn’t have long to wait.
The sentence came down almost immediately the next morning when he was dragged into the courtroom. He could tell by looking between the judge and the police chief that they were in cahoots. He knew the second the gavel hit the wood that they were looking to make an example of him and of the fight.
“Shameful, flagrant, horrific conduct by this young man resulted in a nightmarish situation for our young community. We cannot let this type of miscreant be allowed to continue this run of theft and show of resistance to our police force. We must keep order,” the judge began and slammed down the gavel several times as Garrison heard his mother’s wail from the back of the room. Hanging his head in shame, he listened as they went on to explain, “This young man attempted to slither into the law, this very morning- in order to create chaos from the inside. This is not acceptable and will never be allowed. The murders…”
Garrison’s head jerked upwards at this as he stared horrified between the police chief’s smile and the judge’s hard expression. Murders? Who died? Was he being framed? He listened in shock as his knees gave way from under him as a list of names was presented.
“I’ve killed no one,” Garrison began weakly, feeling himself panic at the charges being levied onto him. “You hear me? I’ve killed no one. I’ve done nothing!” he finished in a panicked shout trying to speak over the judge’s voice to no avail. The gavel slammed downwards once again and he heard the words he’d feared the moment he’d been accused of murder.
“You are condemned to hang in the morning. We’ll have no more from you today- take him away.”
Garrison didn’t sleep at all that night. He spent hours on end upon his knees staring out of the jail cell window, praying hard. He prayed for freedom, peace for his mother, and for forgiveness for a crime he didn’t commit.
“Please God, hear my pleas…I am innocent and too young for this. I came home to begin again- I can’t die in the morning. Please…” He whispered aloud, feeling another round of tears welling up from his soul and spilling over his lashes. “Lord, please save me.”
He clasped his shackled hands together simply to keep them from shaking, only to hear the chains rattle faintly. Listening he heard faint prayers from another cell down the way, knowing that he would not be alone when he met his Maker. He couldn’t believe how something so innocent, so simple – could go so terribly wrong.
Just when Garrison thought nothing else could happen in his life, he heard a voice behind him. His mother had arrived at the jail and he knew he’d never be prepared for the devastation or condemnation in her eyes. How could he face her? He’d been accused of murder and goodness knows what else since his ears began to ring when they started listing off things. What exactly was jaywalking? Larceny? A whole slew of different words had rolled right off the judge’s tongue and Garrison could have sworn some were made up words – all were made up accusations.
“Mama, please go home,” Garrison whispered, staying where he was on the ground. He felt lower than dirt right now and was still in shock of what was happening to him. “I love you, Mama – but go away.”
“I’m glad to see you on your knees, son – but I ain’t leaving.” His mother’s voice wasn’t distraught or full of tears. She sounded like she was mad, almost exactly like that day when he was seven and had stuffed a wasp nest into a box, wrapping it up for Christmas. It hadn’t been funny and when one of his friends had tattled. Garrison had been the one to have to open the box up. He remembered running as fast as he could and being stung repeatedly. He wished he could run away now, he thought with a heavy sigh, regardless of his asthma.
“I’ve got a plan and you need to mark my words, boy – I will not see my only son hang,” her voice wavered then, causing him to look over his shoulder at the ferocious woman standing there. Her face was streaked with dried tears and she looked furious. He could have sworn steam poured from her ears and nose, she was definitely frothing at the mouth- she was so spitting angry. “You hear me? You won’t hang or I’ll fill him full of lead!”
“Mama!” Garrison barked, “Shush and don’t you go about saying those things. I’ll be fine.”
“No, you won’t- you blasted twit. They are going to hang you if you don’t do what I say.”
“Mama, they are gonna hang me regardless- did you see the courtroom?”
“That dirty police chief and Judge Nicholson are both going straight to –“
“Mama! Enough!” Garrison interrupted, struggling to his feet and staggered to the bars. He felt like he was practically hog-tied with the shackles around his ankles. Did they think he was dangerous? That he’d run? He wouldn’t get far before he started hacking for breath. “You need to go home and say a few prayers for me.”
“I’ve been praying all day with my best friend. I’ve just come from the church and we’ve a blessing bestowed on us, but you’ve got to do exactly what I say.”
“What do you mean ‘blessing’?”
“You are leaving town on the 9 AM train and heading straight to Oregon.”
“What?”
“Ol’ Nicholson is still sore I wouldn’t allow him to court me all those years ago- but this time I hold the upper hand. His wife is my best friend and if he doesn’t go with this plan, he will rue the day that they ever married.”
“Mama, what are you saying?”
“I’ll leave you the letter to read and you work on getting acquainted with your upcoming bride, but I won’t take no for an answer. You are leaving in the morning and you’ll be married before the week is out. If you can’t live a life here, you’ll live one there in Oregon and I will be happy knowing that you still walk this world.”
If Garrison thought he prayed hard last night, it was nothing compared to the prayers he was screaming silently in his mind as he stood there trying to look brave on the wooden gallows that had been constructed. He could see the watermarks from other people that had come before him. One of the men in the jail cell suggested he use the bedpan in his cell before they walked him out there to keep a bit of pride. Swallowing hard, he realized that if his mother’s scheme didn’t work, he’d be meeting the Lord shortly and contributing to those watermarks on the weathered wood.
It was taking all his might not to soil himself as they put the rope over his head and adjusted the noose. He had no doubts he’d be going to Heaven because he’d always tried to live life as a good man- despite the accusations laid upon him. The rope was scratchy and chafed his neck, but he didn’t want to focus on that…he only hoped as time ticked by it would lead to a lot LESS chafing- and not MORE of it.
“Get him down!” he heard faintly over the thumping of his heartbeat that was pounding in his chest. They might not have to hang him at this rate, he might have a heart attack or asthma attack instead. “You heard me, get that boy down!”
Judge Nicholson, a woman he didn’t recognize and his mother were cutting a path through the crowd and heading towards the gallows. He could see his mother’s pale face staring at him and the pleading, hard look in her eyes. If they didn’t hurry along and someone kicked the chair, he’d be a dead man regardless of her plans.
Garrison did exactly as his mother instructed late yesterday evening, the letter lay against his chest under his shirt. He was absolutely silent. He was pretty sure it was glued to his skin at this point with the sweat that was oozing out of every pore from rampant fear.
“Are you deaf? Get this boy out of the noose- there was a… mistake,” Judge Ni
cholson hollered and Garrison let out his breath in a whoosh as they pulled the rope from him. He was unshackled and walked to the edge of the gallows. The judge walked over to him and looked him dead in the eye.
“Don’t you ever come back, you hear? You miss that train – get the next one or I will hang you.”
Nodding, Garrison had approximately two seconds to hug his mother before he was pushed into a buggy bodily. His mother shoved the ticket in his hands and threw a small bag into the cab of the buggy.
“I love you!” she hollered as tears rolled unabashedly from her eyes. She was waving with both hands before she turned. The moment his mother turned, he knew she was about to unleash fury on someone. Her arm reared back and slapped Judge Nicholson square across the face when he rounded the corner. Garrison wanted to laugh and someday he might do just that, but for now he was simply too stunned at the turn his life had taken.
He was bound for Silverpines, Oregon.
2
“No, no, no…you are supposed to look in awe of me when I walk out onto the stage. Remember, I am a spoiled French queen that you love- but positively hate. Can you do that?” Posey instructed the timid young boy she’d hired off the street. She was doing her best to establish a small theater here in Silverpines in order to bring culture to the West.
Chicago had been her home for as long as she remembered, moving there as a young girl when her parents followed a troupe of performers there and decided to stay. Posey had grown up in the theater, falling in love with the lights and the applause. It took everything in her to gather up enough nerve to perform on stage, but once there – she was addicted to the incredible way she felt knowing every eye, in the house, was focused on her. It was her passion – and her curse.
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