Finding the Broken Cowboy

by Cassidy Hanton

  She became alert immediately and started riding toward them to greet the riding party. "Uncle, "she said with a smile.

  "Sweetie," he replied in the same manner. Beatrice matched his tempo with his so they could converse a bit. The trip went without problems, and Beatrice send a silent prayer of gratitude to the heavens.

  At some point he chuckled and Beatrice gave him a questioning look. "You remind me so much of your father, sweetie."

  His reply surprised her. "While on horseback?"

  Uncle Tom shrugged in return. "Yes, he was a passionate rider. I remember when we were children he practically slept on his horse.” He frowned for a second as if trying to remember something. "Prince was his name, I believe."

  That made Beatrice smile, trying to picture her father in such a fashion. How come I knew nothing about that? Beatrice wondered and wanted to ask her uncle for more details when he continued speaking.

  "We have company," Uncle Tom told her, jerking his head to point at a carriage that was stationed in front of their house. That instantly made her feel uneasy.

  Who could that be? She questioned herself. The Sheriff? No, it can't be, he wouldn't arrive in a carriage. They did not receive any word for such a long time, she almost completely forgot she was still in danger, which was rather foolish of her, she understood that now.

  There is no need to panic in advance, Beatrice, she cautioned herself. It could be fortuitous news or a visitor that was completely unrelated to her, she rationalized.

  Uncle Tom hurried toward it, to investigate who their mystery visitor was, and Beatrice immediately followed suit, leaving the experienced men to deal with the cattle.

  Looking back, she would recognize how that was the moment that changed everything for her, yet again. Beatrice just wished she had enough foresight beforehand. It might not change the course of her destiny, mayhap she would not even want such a thing, yet it would certainly do her no harm.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The carriage was, of course, empty, a rider slept soundly in front so they could only presume that the visitor was already inside the house. Entering, Beatrice was quite surprised to see a man sitting with her aunt, in the receiving room.

  John Leaton jumped up from his seat the instant he spotted her. Beatrice almost did not recognize him. He was pale, much thinner, still carrying a walking stick; it appeared as if he aged a great deal since they saw one another last. The day of the funeral she reminded herself with a slight shudder.

  "My dear girl," he exclaimed, approaching her with open arms. Mr. Leaton embraced her while Beatrice still looked at him in shock.

  John Leaton is here... Why? How? Then she remembered more than six months passed since her parents died which could only mean she was now by law an heiress.

  "I was so worried about you," he continued, unaware of her inner monologue. "Thinking the worst possible thing occurred to you." He leaned back ever so slightly so he could look her in the eyes. "You should know I am very cross at you for letting me believe the same ill fate of your parents bestowed unto you as well."

  "I am terribly sorry, Uncle John," Beatrice replied, finally finding her voice.

  He scowled at her. "You should have sent word, so I wouldn't worry this much," he chastised. "Very cross indeed," he mumbled at the end, mostly to himself.

  Beatrice embraced the poor man. "I am very sorry for troubling you, Uncle John," Beatrice repeated meekly. At the time, running away seemed like the best option, it still did. Perhaps though, she should have left something for the chosen few, simply to avoid a situation like this. Of course, he was not her real uncle, not like Uncle Tom was. John Leaton was a very good friend of her late father. Beatrice had known him since she was little and always called him such, which he adored.

  "I was very afraid someone was after me as well," she continued to explain herself. "And I did not know what else to do but run away."

  "You should have come to me," he replied sternly, releasing her, to look at her straight in the eyes before continuing. "Your father was my best friend and I always considered you my own daughter," his voice broke at the end, ever so slightly.

  "I know," Beatrice said softly, feeling rather guilty and not knowing how to make amends.

  "You are never to do something like this again," he said.

  She nodded. "Of course."

  He sighed. "At least you had enough foresight to come here."

  "Beatrice is family," Uncle Tom decided to speak up. "This is her home and we will always be here for her, and protect her."

  This little speech almost brought tears to her eyes. Beatrice was so blessed to have all these wonderful people that cared about her in her life.

  "I am quite pleased to hear that," Mr. Leaton replied. He dragged her toward the seat. "Now, I want you to tell me everything about this new life of yours, are you well, happy?" He inquired with genuine intent.

  Beatrice started to tell him everything, with pleasure, about her new skills, new routines, and Uncle John listened intently, chatting now and again, asking additional questions.

  Uncle Tom and Aunt Claudia talked with him as well, while Elaine remained mostly silent, which was how she usually acted. She preferred to speak only with Beatrice.

  Eventually, the conversation grew serious again. "Unfortunately, my dear girl, I have no good news for you," Uncle John said with clear sadness in his eyes. "Your parents' killer is still unknown despite my constant inquiries."

  "Thank you for everything you are doing for me, Uncle John," Beatrice replied, overcome with emotions. "And I apologize for leaving all my father's affairs at your doorstep."

  John Leaton waved with his hand as if that was of no importance. "He would do the same thing for me," he replied matter-of-factly.

  The conversation dwindled down after that, clearly, every person in the room was in some way afflicted by Mr. Leaton's words.

  "It is getting rather late, so I must excuse myself," Mr. Leaton said sometime later. "I am staying at the local tavern, The Red Lion," he chuckled. "A rather peculiar name, indeed. But I will come back tomorrow to see you again."

  "Certainly."

  "Since six months passed from your parent’s death and you are ready to accept the inheritance, we must schedule a reading of the will," he explained, and once again Beatrice felt guilty for burdening him in such fashion when he has fallen weak. A part of her was afraid as well; that was a great responsibility, and she didn’t know if she was ready for something like that.

  Her father left everything unto her yet here she was, living happily in a remote town instead of taking care of what was by birth hers. For now, she did not see another way out of her predicament. Not while an assassin was haunting her. They embraced once more and she watched him get into the carriage with some difficulty and ride away.

  Beatrice felt rather restless going to bed that evening. She was exhausted from her trip with Uncle Tom, but she could not sleep. Her mind wouldn't allow such a thing. It was good seeing Uncle John after such a long time. He brought with him a sense of home she did not even know she missed, yet a part of her was worried.

  What if the murderer followed him here? She stressed. What if he is already here? Beatrice felt the urge to rise from her bed and make sure all the windows and doors were locked. Not that it would stop him in any way, she reminded herself.

  Of course, Beatrice wished for all of this to resolve itself one way or another. She did not want people she cared for to be in any kind of danger. Eventually, her troubled thoughts resulted in troubled dreams and when morning came, Beatrice was far from rested or wiser, as it appeared. She still did not know what the best course of action for her was.

  Aunt Claudia looked rather worried, eyeing her during breakfast since Beatrice couldn't stop yawning. "You look like you haven't slept a wink," Auntie observed.

  That was because she practically hadn't, worrying about everything, yet she refused to share such a thing. "Oh, I was just too excited to sleep," Beatrice forced h
erself to lie.

  "Would you care for some more sweet tea?" Aunt Claudia wanted to know. "Or I could make you a fresh batch of cornbread or boiled eggs," she offered.

  "That would be lovely, thank you," Beatrice replied. Just the way Aunt Claudia previously scrutinized Beatrice, now she did the same to her aunt. Since Beatrice returned, Aunt Claudia hadn't threatened with fainting not once, and it wasn't as if she did not have opportunities. More to the point, she looked happier and Beatrice was pleased in return that whatever Elaine did actually worked, and in such a short period of time.

  Uncle Tom chose that moment to join them. After greeting his wife, he turned toward Beatrice. He sat next to her. "What are your plans for today, sweetie?"

  Beatrice tried really hard to hide her nervousness. "Pay a visit to Uncle John, then maybe ask him to go riding with me. I would like to show him the ranch," she explained while her uncle nodded approvingly.

  She knew it was a bit childish of her, yet she wished to brag about her new set of skills. After Uncle and Aunt and Elaine, of course, Uncle John was the closest person Beatrice had of a family and was grateful beyond measure he took care of the family affairs while she was away and in hiding. At least she had something to present him, proving that her time in Helena wasn't a waste.

  "Good," Uncle Tom replied to her after having a bite to eat. "Have a lovely time, sweetie."

  "Yes, uncle," Beatrice replied simply.

  Unfortunately, it was custom as of late for them to be interrupted while having breakfast, and that day did not differ.

  Jonathan came knocking at their door. "Sir, I believe you should come outside, we have a visitor," he warned.

  Uncle Tom rose immediately and marched toward the door. Despite her aunt's protest, Beatrice followed him close by, remaining inside the house, watching the scene from the open door.

  A lone, angry looking man was riding toward the house which made Uncle Tom instantly wary. Not wanting to take any chances with a complete stranger, he carried out a gun with himself, and Jonathan stayed very close by, also armed.

  Sometimes Beatrice forgot where they were, but the men around her never did. She inched even closer once he approached so she could hear the exchange. As he approached, she instantly disliked him, despite the fact that there was no reason for her to do so. Alas, emotions were never rooted in reason. Still, that did not mean Beatrice would ignore such notions, over time she learned to trust them, so she would remain on guard.

  The stranger was dressed all in black and had a nasty scar across his left cheek, from the mouth all the way to the brow, putting his face in a permanent scowl.

  "Good day," he greeted her uncle cordially, and Beatrice instantly frowned. There was something familiar about his voice. However, she had never seen this man in her entire life, of that she was completely sure; he stood out so she would definitely remember him.

  "Good day," Beatrice's uncle replied, not lowering his gun. "State your business."

  The other man slowly dismounted, raising both his hands in the air in a universal sign of surrender. "I did not come here looking for trouble, only help," he explained.

  Help?

  "Help?" Uncle Tom voiced Beatrice's question.

  "Yes. My name is Sean Thorton," he moved his jacket so his star could be seen on his belt, "and I am a federal marshal."

  Hearing that surprised Beatrice. He did not look like a marshal. Although, in all fairness, Beatrice had never seen one before. Her uncle apparently accepted that, so she did as well.

  "What can I do for you then, Marshal?" Uncle Tom inquired.

  "I am looking for a man called John Leaton, he was here, yes?"

  Beatrice instantly became alarmed hearing that name. She rushed outside without a thought. "John Leaton? Is he all right? What happened?" She asked in a rush.

  "He is a fugitive, ma'am," Marshal Thorton explained calmly.

  Those words stopped Beatrice in her tracks. She placed a hand across her heart. That cannot be. "A fugitive?"

  Marshal Thorton nodded. "He swindled a lot of people, taking their inheritance by changing the wills as if the deceased left everything to him."

  Beatrice could not believe her ears. Not her Uncle John, every part of her rebelled. He would never...

  "Are you sure?" Uncle Tom wanted to know.

  "Yes," Marshal replied simply. "Once he learned he was discovered, he fled. Apparently, he came here to do the same with you," he looked at Beatrice saying that.

  "Me?" She exclaimed. That was not possible. Uncle John would never do such a thing to her. The notion was ridiculous. This is outrageous! This man lies! Yet, does he? What could possibly be his motive? A part of her argued back.

  "I simply cannot believe it," Beatrice said in exasperation.

  "Can we carry on with this conversation inside," Marshal Thorton inquired. "It is a rather delicate matter and I traveled a long way to get to you on time."

  "Of course," Uncle Tom remembered his manners, urging Marshal Thorton toward the house.

  Once they all entered, Beatrice's aunt appeared with a tray of freshly made sweetened tea, yet she dropped it with a distressed sound because there was a gun pointed at Beatrice's head.

  "Be quiet!" Marshal Thorton snapped and Aunt Claudia put both her hands across her mouth, preventing herself from screaming again. "Do not even try to raise that gun of yours, or she will be dead quicker than you can say sweet tea," he warned Uncle Tom next, and he obliged.

  "What do you want?" Uncle Tom practically growled, getting all red in the face. He lowered his weapon, but Beatrice feared he wouldn't back down so easily.

  "Hand me your gun," he commanded, and not waiting for Uncle Tom to oblige alone grabbed the gun from him. "Round up everybody, and be quiet, or else."

  Uncle Tom remained where he was, and Marshal emphasized his meaning by placing the cold steel against Beatrice's cheek. She shuddered at the contact. Her heart threatened to leave her chest, there was no air in her lungs and her palms were sweaty.

  Why is this happening? Who is this man? What does he want? Her mind spun like a merry-go-round.

  "Do not harm her," Uncle Tom pleaded.

  "Then do as I say."

  Eventually, they were all huddled in the kitchen.

  "Tie everyone up," Marshal Thorton instructed and reluctantly Uncle Tom complied. All the women inside the house, apart from Beatrice that Thorton kept close to her side, were soon bound to chairs.

  "Now you, get down on your knees and don’t try anything funny or your niece will die," Thorton said to Uncle Tom and once again he gritted his teeth as if he wanted to rebel. "Do as he says, Tom, for the love of God," Aunt Claudia pleaded. So, he did, and Marshal approached him and hit him in the head with the handle of a gun. Aunt Claudia screamed.

  "Why are you doing this?" Beatrice snapped, not being able to keep herself composed any longer, looking at the unconscious body of her uncle. She wanted to fight him, scream, try to escape, but remaining perfectly still out of fear tormented her. She did not want anything to happen to the people she loved. Not again.

  Sean Thorton, or whoever this man was, turned toward Beatrice and smiled showing his yellow teeth and foul breath making Beatrice sick to her stomach, on top of everything else.

  "I told you I would get you, girlie," he rasped; and just like that, her world collapsed once again.

  This was HIM, the monster from her nightmares in the flesh. He finally made good on his threats and found her, and this time she had no place she could run.

  Oh no... God help us all...

  Nathan whistled to himself walking through the main street of Helena. He visited father Isaiah for a bit and was heading home when Sheriff Duncan stumbled upon him and almost hit him in the process. He looked angry, clutching a piece of paper as if it was the bandit's neck. "Nasty business," he mumbled to himself.

  "Sheriff Duncan," Nathan greeted the other man, "Who put you in such a foul mood on this grand day?"

  "Nathan," Sheriff Dun
can replied as a way of greeting him back, his eyes widening like he just spotted the other man despite the near collision. The Sheriff was usually calm and a man of few words. Something was troubling him today though, and Nathan hoped this did not mean a group of bandits decided to return to Helena.

  "Bandit troubles?" Nathan asked in concern, remembering what happened the last time they had such menace on their hands.

  "Worse," Sheriff grumbled, offering Nathan a crumbled piece of paper. It was a wanted poster. "A hired assassin."

  Nathan's brow rose. "An assassin?"

  "Yes, Mr. O'Connor thinks he spotted him yesterday," the sheriff explained while Nathan read what it said.

  A wanted murderer, Sean Thorton, from New York.

  New York? Nathan instantly became alarmed, remembering a conversation he had with Beatrice. He was immediately compelled to pay her a visit, even though he was sure that was only his paranoia speaking to him and nothing more.

  "I will keep a closer eye for this man as well," Nathan said to the sheriff, already walking away. By the time he reached his horse, he was practically running.

  Nathan jabbed his horse and he was off galloping with such speed he resembled a demon from hell on a hunt.

  It was probably nothing, just a figment of your imagination, he tried to reason with himself, yet everything inside of him shouted Miss Beatrice was in danger. He couldn't explain to himself how he knew, yet the feeling was overwhelming. And apparently making me act like a madman, he thought to himself. He refused to slow down.

  Reaching the house, he purposely approached from the side he would least likely be spotted. Dismounting, he circled it slowly, peeking through the windows.

  Blast! He cursed. Nathan was right. The man from the wanted poster was inside the house holding everyone at gunpoint. Ιnstantly, Nathan saw red. He was going to end that worm's life with his bare hands because nobody threatened his Beatrice.