A Healing Love for the Broken Cowboy: A Historical Western Romance Book

by Cassidy Hanton

  He eyed her for a long moment and then nodded. “See that you do, or I’ll have Jenny bring you something and force feed it to you if she has to.”

  Isabelle laughed. His wife Jenny was a fantastic cook and had made plenty of meals for her over the past year. Isabelle was always grateful that Mr. Turley and his wife took such good care of her and wished they would think about moving somewhere they could prosper and thrive.

  The sad truth was, if she did not buy those biscuits she had just laid out, most of them would go to waste. With so many families having moved out of Grimepass, there was not much call for fresh baked goods − the drunkards in town certainly did not purchase much.

  But the Turleys had both been born and raised in Grimepass and they clung to it tighter than lichen clings to a stone. They kept that small spark of hope that things here will turn around − although the fact that they opted to remain childless spoke to how much hope they actually carried within them. Izzy supposed that was one reason they had embraced her the way they had − they saw her as something of a daughter figure.

  Isabelle dropped a few biscuits into a bag and took them around the counter with her where she reached into her bag. Mr. Turley put his hand on hers and shook his head.

  “Save it,” he told her. “I’m just glad they won’t all go to waste.”

  “No, I insist, Mr. Turley.”

  “Nonsense,” he replied. “Put those coins away.”

  Isabelle hesitated a moment before giving him a smile and tucking her coin purse back into her bag. She slung it over her shoulder and then Mr. Turley helped her into her cloak.

  “It’s getting chilly out there,” he said.

  Isabelle smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Mr. Turley. You are the best.”

  “Do me a favor and remind Jenny of that?”

  “Oh she knows,” Isabelle said with a smile.

  She left the shop through the rear door and pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders as she stepped into the narrow alley that ran between the saloon and the hardware store next door. Isabelle emerged into a day that was indeed growing chilly as Mr. Turley had said. Slate gray clouds covered the sky overhead and a wind that was growing steadily kicked up dust, carrying it down the street.

  She stepped from the alley to the wooden walkway that ran along the storefronts on the main road through town. What was left of the storefronts anyway. She passed the empty shell of the building that once housed old man McGrath’s bookstore − a place she’d spent countless happy hours in. She passed the dress shop and the candy store. Those buildings had been cleared out and now served as flop houses for the transients who lived in town or passed through it.

  More of the shops in town were boarded up than not and one building at the far end of the street that had burned to the ground remained in charred ruins. It had been left for the wind and elements to dispose of since nobody had thought to build something new on the plot.

  Now, only a few legitimate businesses still stood − a restaurant, the general store/post office, a feed store, and a couple of others. By and large anymore, it seemed like the only businesses that thrived in Grimepass were the gambling halls, saloons, a couple of opium dens on the back streets, and other dens of vice.

  Her brother Mark had been right about Grimepass being played out. The town wasn’t dying − it was dead. It just didn’t know it yet. It continued limping along, gasping and wheezing like a beast in its death throes. It seemed that every day, the good people of Grimepass left, taking their money and businesses with them, leaving the place more hollowed out and empty.

  And since nature abhors a vacuum, with the outflow of good, law abiding people, the inflow of rough, hard, less reputable folk had steadily increased. Isabelle didn’t think it would be long before the town was run by nothing but thieves and murderers.

  They practically ran the town as it was already.

  She pulled her cloak tighter once more as she started off down the wooden sidewalk, ruminating on the demise and decay of the town she once loved, her mood dark and growing darker by the minute.

  Isabelle’s musing was interrupted though, by the insistent voice of Charles calling to her from behind. He was a teenage boy who worked at the general store and had a crush on her. She heard him calling to her from behind and stopped, turning around to let him catch up to her.

  “Hello Charles,” she greeted him.

  “Uh hi, Miss Isabelle,” he replied, his pale cheeks flaring with color.

  She gave him a small smile as he stood before her. He had red hair, brown eyes, and skin the color of fresh snow. Charles was tall and gangly − he was still growing into his body, as well as the hormones currently rampaging through him.

  They stood there staring at one another for several long moments as he stared at her like she was a living work of art or something. The attention embarrassed her − she had never thought of herself as beautiful before.

  It was easy to brush off the attentions of the cretins who catcalled and tried to grope her on the street. But having a sweet, innocent kid like Charles look at her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen was flattering in ways she was neither used to, nor comfortable with. But she silently reminded herself once more that Charles was a boy growing into manhood and often saw things through those child’s eyes.

  “So, is there a reason you stopped me Charles?” she asked him with a smile. “Or are we simply engaging in a staring contest?”

  He grinned sheepishly and looked as if he’d take it as a kindness if the earth swallowed him whole in that moment. He cleared his throat and tried to meet her gaze − and failed, looking away quickly.

  “Right. Sorry,” he said and fished an envelope out of his pocket. “You got some mail and I just stopped you so I could give you the mail you got in today…”

  As if realizing he was speaking too much, he let his voice trail away, leaving that awkward silence that marked most of their interactions. Isabelle felt a strong flush of excitement though. Her brother had written to her. Maybe this meant −

  Could this be it? Could today be the day I’ve been waiting more than a year now for?

  She bit back the thought, pushing it down viciously and crushed it beneath her foot. She had allowed herself to hope that it was time, that he was sending for her, with every letter she received from him. And every time, she’d been disappointed. Oh, she enjoyed hearing from her brother. She missed him immensely. But more than anything, she wanted to get the letter telling her it was time to join him.

  Charles stood there staring at her while doing his best to make it look as if he wasn’t and the awkward moment between them stretched on. Finally she laughed softly.

  “So, are you going to give me the letter, Charles?”

  His face flushed a shade of red not found in nature and the poor boy looked as if he wanted to crawl into a hole and die right then and there. He pulled the envelope out of his pocket and handed it over. Their fingers touched briefly and quite by accident as she took the letter from him and he jumped back as if she’d scalded him. He looked at her with eyes filled with the purest emotion she’d ever seen before and it made her flush with embarrassment herself.

  “Well,” she said, clearing her throat. “Thank you for chasing me down to give me this letter.”

  “I would run to the ends of the earth for you, Miss Isabelle.”

  Don’t laugh, Isabelle. You’ll crush his spirit and break his heart in one fell swoop.

  The words were out of his mouth before he seemed able to think about them, let alone stop them. And when he realized what he’d said, his eyes grew wider than saucers and a small squeak passed his lips. Before he could actually keel over and die from embarrassment, Charles turned and fled down the street, running as if the Devil himself was on his heels.

  Isabelle watched him go and laughed softly to herself. He was a sweet kid, but she didn’t feel worthy of the adulation he heaped on her. She quickly flipped the envelope over in her ha
nd and felt a flutter in her heart upon seeing that it was indeed from her brother.

  She resisted the urge to tear it open and read it right there on the spot though. It had become something of a tradition for her when she received a letter from Mark − she denied herself the instant gratification of reading it the moment she got it. Instead, she went home, made herself a cup of tea and read it like a civilized person. Though most days she felt about as far from civilized as a person could be. Her civility seemed to be withering as quickly as the town around her was.

  Isabelle tucked the letter into her cloak and headed home to put on a pot of tea. Like a civilized person.

  Chapter Four

  Seated in her chair before the fireplace a short while later, Isabelle took a sip of her tea and set the cup and saucer down on the table beside her.

  Shadows cast by the flickering fire danced on the walls and ceiling of the den at their family home. This was the room she felt most comfortable in. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel her parents there with her.

  I miss you, Mama and Papa. I miss you every minute of every single day.

  But when she opened them again, she never failed to feel the familiar sting of disappointment at finding herself alone once more. And with Mark now gone too, the feeling of loneliness was that much sharper. It was a crushing weight on her soul. She had friends, of course − though seemingly fewer by the year as people fled Grimepass in droves, as if the town was cursed or something.

  “Maybe it is cursed,” she mused to herself.

  Her parents, though, had believed in this town. They’d done everything they could to build it up into something special. With a lot of talk about Montana joining the Union and being granted statehood, and people pushing hard for it, her parents had wanted Grimepass to be an attractive destination.

  They’d wanted their town to be the crown jewel for the prospective fledgling state. To that end, they were overseeing the construction of a main railroad hub, hopefully one that rivaled even those in New York or San Francisco. They spearheaded a number of committees to attract new business and new money − they had an idea that they could build a local economy on tourism dollars. There was talk of building a modern hospital and even a university.

  Ultimately, none of it came to pass and Isabelle thought the town’s new leadership, if it could be called that, would be lucky to attract anybody of consequence. She often mused that the mere existence of a cesspool like Grimepass would be enough to deny Montana the statehood the wealthy and influential so badly sought.

  A wicked case of the flu some years before during one of the worst winters Isabelle could ever remember had killed them − and the dream they had for Grimepass. And of course, nobody had stepped up to pick up the standard, allowing all of the potential in the town to die. She knew now if Montana was actually granted statehood, Grimepass would be less a crown jewel and more fool’s gold than anything.

  She pushed such melancholy thoughts away and tore open the envelope, eagerly anticipating news from her brother − and of course, hoping that today would be the day.

  Settling back into the large, comfortable chair, she read his letter by the flickering firelight.

  Dearest Sister,

  I’m sorry it has been a month since my last letter. Things here have been busy. Much busier than I had anticipated, but things are good. Business is picking up and we look to be on solid ground. Better than solid, actually. Things look like they are gathering momentum.

  I cannot wait for you to see this place, Izzy. The land is beautiful − so lush and green. There are mountains with snow-capped peaks in the distance, rivers and lakes so clear, you can see the bottom, and there are endless fields of green. The sunrises and sunsets make the sky look like they’re on fire, the air is crisp, fresh, and always smells sweet.

  And the town, Izzy − it’s growing by leaps and bounds. Every month brings new people and with them comes new opportunities. New businesses are springing up everywhere and the town is thriving. The possibilities before us are endless.

  All of this to say, dear sister, that the time has come for you to join me here in Stephill. The day I’ve promised you for so long has finally arrived. I have sent letters to lawyers in town instructing them to sell the house and everything in it.

  You will need to book passage on an overland coach from Grimepass to Stephill. I am looking forward to seeing you again, Izzy. And I am looking forward to you seeing this town. Much better days are ahead for the both of us.

  Your Devoted Brother,

  Mark

  Isabelle read the letter again. And she read it again a third time, the full import of the words taking a moment to fully sink in. And when they finally did, it was all Isabelle could do to keep from screaming out loud in sheer and utter joy.

  She sprang up and out of the chair, the excitement coursing through her swelling like the river when it overflows its banks. She jumped up and down in place, clapping her hands and giggling like a schoolgirl.

  Isabelle ran through the house, screaming like she’d gone mad. She threw open the door and dashed out onto the wide front porch, taking in the view before her. What there was of a view anyway. In the distance, she could see the crumbling remains of the old Porter ranch. Bright shafts of sunlight speared through the gaping holes in the side of the house and even from where she stood, she could see the old split-rail fence and the ruins of what used to be their barn.

  All around the ranch house were the dried and withered stalks of some crop or another. Isabelle couldn’t recall what it was they grew at the Porter ranch. Not that it mattered anymore. Like so many others she knew when she was growing up, they were gone.

  Even by the silvery moonlight, she could see the desolation of the world beyond. The seemingly endless vistas of the dry, dusty, dirty world she’d grown up in.

  Everything beyond the front porch was dried up and desiccated. It was nothing but death and decay, without a hint of life anywhere to be found. The world beyond the house she’d grown up in was as bleak and barren as the town of Grimepass.

  No more of this miserable, wretched wasteland. My prayers have finally been answered.

  And she was leaving. She was going to be able to put it behind her and never look back. Mark had written of the endless opportunities awaiting them in Stephill, and she let the possibilities play out in her mind.

  Isabelle was awash in happiness so profound, it felt like she was going to burst. The smile on her face stretched from ear to ear and her heart beat with a joy she’d never known before.

  And for the first time in what felt like eons, Isabelle felt the flicker of a flame she thought had burned out long ago − hope.

  Chapter Five

  Harvey walked out onto the wide, wraparound porch of his home. The first strokes of purple and pink had been brushed across the canvas of the sky as dawn reclaimed the world from the night. He took a deep breath and let it out, a thin plume of steam curling upward.

  It was a cool, crisp morning. Just how he liked it. Steam drifted up from his cup of coffee, wafting away on the soft breeze that blew in out of the west, carrying with it the scent of the fields and orchards on his grounds.

  From where he stood, he could hear the sound of the horses and cattle out in the fields − they mooed and whickered loudly, their voices carrying far in the still morning air. To his right, fields of tall, swaying stalks of corn swayed in the breeze, the rustling of the stock incredibly loud this time of morning. Beyond the corn were the endless fields of the tall grass he grew as hay for his stock. He also sold the overflow to other ranchers in the area.

  He breathed deeply, inhaling the sweet scent of the flowering bushes that grew just under where he stood. While she’d been pregnant, Amy had planted some rosebushes and some other bushes that carried sweet-smelling white blooms. Every time he stood on the porch and inhaled the sweet aroma from those flowers, he thought about his wife. It was one of the few things he had left of her, it seemed.

  Har
vey − Harv to his friends − loved this time of day the most. Just before dawn, the world around him was quiet. Still. Peaceful. His days were usually organized chaos so he took the time to relish these moments of peace, few and far between as they were.

  In the house behind him, he heard the sound of his child wailing. For the most part, Charley was a perfect child. He was usually happy and filled with an inner light that never failed to make Harvey smile.

  At the same time, there were moments when Harvey couldn’t bear to be around his son. The memory of his mother’s death was still too raw and too painful, and Harvey couldn’t help but see her face in his child’s bright, cherubic smile.

  He felt guilty as sin about it, but there was nothing he could do. It wasn’t like he could control those emotions. Nor was it as if he disliked his child or mistreated him in any way. Charley was a part of his Amy, how could he dislike him?