The Stafford Collection, Historical Western Romances (2 page)

Chapter 1

Sabrina wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her sleeve.  The heat was unbearable.  The horse she was working on neighed in agitation.  “I know, boy, I’m hot too,”  Sabrina said softly as she set the pail of water she was carrying in front of the thirsty animal. 

“When you get done with the stallion you can take a break but be sure you have Miss Reynolds’ carriage ready for her by four o’clock,” Mr. Swanson said gruffly. 

Sabrina nodded as she tried to hide a slight smile. Mr. Swanson was like a fond uncle to her; he acted stern but she knew he had a sweet spirit.  She had worked for him for over two years.  He owned the stables in Tulsey Town and she would never forget how he had found her sleeping in a stall one morning and offered her a job and a place to stay.  The stable had a loft and Mr. Swanson said she could stay there as long as she needed.

To look at him in dusty chaps, with face wrinkled from many years in the sun, you would not think he was well to do.  He had previously owned a large ranch outside of Tulsey.  Not having any children to pass the place down to, he decided to sell and move to town. He purchased a saloon first, figuring people needed a place to relax.  He was never good with people, though, so he built a corral with a stable and tended to horses that visitors tethered.

He spent most of his time at the stables. Horses were his true love and he was very knowledgeable. Sabrina had learned a great deal from him. He worked just as hard as she did, even harder some of the time.  Sabrina had not decided if it was because of his love of horses or his unwillingness to go home that explained his dedication.  He always told her that his wife was a shrew.  She seemed nice enough to Sabrina, just very particular about everything her husband did, from where he was supposed to put his hat, to scrubbing his face and hands before dinner. 

Along with her space in the loft, Mr. Swanson gave Sabrina a small salary, from which she saved as much as she could---not that she needed money for heaven’s sake; she was an heiress to a fortune.  She just wasn’t able to access any of it, at least not without her brother finding out, and she definitely didn’t want that to happen.

Her brother, Warren, had been away at a college in the east studying law when the massacre occurred.  She’d always supposed that the men had attacked her family for money. When they did not find much on the property, they must have been infuriated.  They had never been caught.  Yet. But that would change, Sabrina thought with determination, as she started to brush down the horse. 

Her father, being the Marshall, had insisted that all his children learn how to shoot; but Sabrina was his only willing student.  She loved riding out to the c
liffs and firing off endless rounds.  She was a crack shot with a rifle as well as a pistol.  How she wished that she had brought her rifle with her that day. 

Sometimes it was hard to keep the horrid scenes  out of her mind. She was mad at Samuel at first for pulling her back, but she later realized that they would have both been dead if he had not acted so quickly.  His mother was safe as well; she had gone into town earlier that day along with many of the hired hands to help set up for the fair. 

Since Sabrina was sixteen at the time, the state gave her brother, Warren, guardianship over her.  When Warren learned of the tragedy, he set off for home as soon as possible.  He had already finished his degree and was working as an apprentice for a law firm in Boston.  He was doing very well; he had graduated at the top of his class.  After the fire, Sabrina stayed in the small cabin with Samuel and his mother.  Luckily, it had withstood the heat from Montgomery, as did the bunkhouse, barn and stables.  Although she had lost everything, she was determined to go on.  She spent long hours laboring in the frigid temperatures. Part of it was because there was lots of work to do but the other reason was that it blocked out her sister’s screams from her mind. 

  If she did not think about the tragedy, then it was not real.  Right?  Therefore, she filled her days with cleaning the stables,
training the horses, and helping with the tack.  Her dad always loved horses and spent all his free time in choosing and breeding the very best ones.  So this is what Sabrina did; this was her world.  At least it was until Warren got home. 

He showed up out of the blue one crisp winter day, appalled to find his little sister running around in trousers, her hair matted to her head with sweat as she ate dinner among the other ranch hands.  He had been furious. “You must begin acting like a lady,” he had shouted. “Now you are not even acting like a proper young girl.”  Tears stung her eyes as she recalled one awful fight with him. 

“You cannot go running around like a ranch hand anymore.  You are above that. Besides, if the town knew you were living out here amongst these men by yourself your name would be disgraced.”

“You think I care?  This is my home and these are my friends.  I will not leave no matter what any small-minded person thinks. If they don’t like it, they can go to Hell.  Hell is not a fun place; trust me, I’ve been there.”

Sighing as she tried to clear her thoughts, she walked over to the water trough and used the sippin' cup to take a drink of the tepid liquid. At least it’s wet she thought, swallowing gratefully. Although she loved being outside, the heat affected her greatly. “Must have inherited it from mother,” she murmured, as she lifted the cup and let the water run over her head and down her back, wetting her shirt.

Abigail, her mother, had been from Boston. She was very adventurous in her youth and headed west against her parents’ wishes. Sabrina recalled her mother vividly. She was beautiful, with glorious strawberry-blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. Sabrina exhaled noisily, thinking of her own dark brown locks which were currently cut short to aid her disguise. Though she had her mother’s eyes, out of the three Lovett children,  Sabrina looked most like her father. Warren would have traded his red locks with her in an instant, she thought, and smiled wryly.

Sabrina normally would not have taken the chance that someone would see through her masquerade and find out that she was a girl by the wet shirt clinging to her curves. But she was on her break and she was hot. Plus in this heat it would dry quickly, anyway. She went into a shady stall and sat down on the
hay with her back resting against the rough wood. She gratefully closed her eyes as she listened to the regular sounds on the street: the trot, trot, trot of riders going about their daily business as they came to and from town lulled her into a deep sleep.

Chapter
2

B
rock Stafford reined in his horse outside of the saloon. He had been traveling for days and all he wanted was a good meal and a soft bed, preferably in that order. He took his hat and tried to beat as much dust off of him as possible as he walked up to the bar. At least no one minded the grime.  It seemed as if the locals had more dirt on them than he did; and he definitely smelled a heck of a lot better, or at least he hoped so.

Automatically assessing the place, he quickly took in the shabby furniture, the faded wallpaper, the gouged wooden bar at the back. He nodded to the few people that bothered to look up and sauntered toward the rear.

"What'll it be?" the man behind the bar asked. He was drying some glasses with a dusty rag. "I'll have a sarsparilla and the biggest steak you got," Brock said, sitting down at the end of the bar with his back against the wall.  This way he could keep an eye on the doorway. It was a habit he had picked up long ago; a habit that had saved his life more than once. The bartender lifted an eyebrow at his request as he shuffled around preparing the order.

“Very few people come in here and only order sarsparillas. Well, only one actually: that little fellow who helps at the stables. What’s his name?" He pondered as he filled up Brock's glass. Suddenly he snapped his fingers and grinned, showing off his blackened teeth. "Will! Will’s a nice young fella, kinda backwards, though.
” There was an awkward silence. “You gonna be in town long?" Mac asked, setting down the rare steak in front of Brock.

"Planning on it," Brock acknowledged, as he cut a thick hunk of meat off. He preferred his steaks more dead, but he did not want to offend the man, especially when he still needed information.

"Is there a boarding house in town?" Brock asked between bites.

"Yes sir, Widow Hawkin’s place is just down the street. She does serve up a fine meal, too. Course if ya want some company we gotta lotta nice gals here," Mac said, motioning his head towards a couple of worn looking women sitting around a card table.

Brock smirked. "I'll keep that in mind." He finished his meal and put the money on the counter. Mac's eyes widened as he saw the generous tip. "Thanks, Mr...." The man hesitated. "Stafford, Sheriff Brock Stafford," Brock said, as Mac's eyes opened wider.

"Well
Sheriff, everyone calls me Mac."

Brock nodded, heading back outside through the swinging doors. He rode down the street until he found a two-story house with an old weathered sign out front. Crudely carved into the wood were the words: Boarding House. He dismounted and walked up to the entrance, rapping lightly. After a few moments of silence, he could make out shuffling noises coming from behind the door which was soon opened by an older woman who appeared to be in her sixties.

"Good afternoon, sir, may I help you?" she asked, her smile taking years off her face. Brock instantly removed his hat, revealing his wavy black hair.

"I hope so, ma'am. My name is Brock Stafford."

"Ahh, the new sheriff," Ms. Hawkins broke in "Well, do come in!" she said, ushering him into the parlor. "Would you like some coffee?" she asked, motioning for him to sit down on the settee.

"Oh, no ma'am," he replied smiling, wondering who could drink coffee when it is hotter than Hades outside. "I was wondering if you had any rooms available until I can find a place and get settled."

"Of course I do! You can have the room at the top of the stairs. The weekly price includes two meals a day and three on Sunday." She chatted away happily, as she led him up the narrow stairway to his room. The room had a small single bed layered with quilts, a small desk which held the wash basin and a small window facing the alley between that house and the one next door.

"This'll do just fine," He assured her, as he went to bring up what belonging's he had and stowed them away in the small bureau next to the window. He wanted to lie down and go to sleep but his horse came first. He sighed wearily as he quickly washed his face and neck and headed downstairs to tend to Troy. On his way in, he had spotted the livery stable at the end of the
street, not too far from the Marshall's office. Looked like a good place to him.

Brock rode up to the stable only to find it void of life. He looked around irritated from his fatigue and then decided to tend to his own horse. He led his mahogany stallion inside and noticed an empty
stall in the rear and headed over to it. He was about to open the stall door when he noticed a boy asleep in the corner. He cleared his throat and the boy woke,  startled, and scrambled to his feet.

"I'm so sorry, mister, may I help you?" Sabrina stammered. After a quick glance up at the handsome man, she quickly turned all of her attention to his horse. Sabrina was glad that it was so hot; it helped explain the blush that suddenly colored her cheeks. It had been a long time since she had seen a man like him. He reminded her a little of her father. He was tall, and his clothes were dusty but clean. Since she did not get an answer yet, she reluctantly looked back up at his face. He stared at her intently as if looking into her soul as she waited for him to answer her question. Nervously she looked down,
relieved that her shirt was completely dry. Well, maybe a little damp. She saw the long shadows through the open doorway of the stable and realized the sun was sinking in the sky and she gasped.

"Oh, my gosh! What time is it?" He looked at his pocket watch irritably.

“It’s three thirty."

"Oh no! Mr. Swanson is gonna skin me alive. I was supposed to have Miss Reynold’s carriage ready by four." She started out of the stable and stopped in her tracks, remembering the man and his horse. She bit her lip in indecision. It would take at least twenty minutes to rub down his horse and then another twenty five to get the carriage ready. She sighed, well first come, first served, she thought as she walked back over to the gentleman.

"I'm sorry, sir, let me tend to your horse," she said,  walking over. He watched, impressed, as she spoke softly to Troy before actually touching him or attempting to take the reins from his owner. "He's a beauty," she breathed, looking up at the graceful animal. "What's his name?”

She took the reins and skillfully led him into a stall. The deep rumble of the man’s chuckle sent shivers down Sabrina's spine.

"His name is Troy, and my name is Brock Stafford."

Sabrina nodded to him. "They call me Will." She ran her hands over Troy's flank.

"He's dehydrated." She looked accusingly at Brock.

He nodded in agreement. “
We’ve traveled a very long way," Brock murmured, wondering why he felt guilty. He always took excellent care of his animals and here was this boy insinuating that he did not. He watched the boy get fresh oats and water for Troy and then head off to set up the carriage.

"I'll rub him down after he's better rested," Sabrina said over her shoulder to Brock. Brock shook his head as he headed out of the barn. He watched the young boy struggle to pull the fancy black carriage around so that he could align it with the horses. "Need a hand?" Brock questioned.. "No, thank you," Sabrina grunted as she pushed it into place with an extra hard shove. He watched amused as the boy scurried around, expertly taking down tack to fix it to two brown mares. She then led the ladies out of their stalls and hooked them up to the carriage. Sabrina had just finished checking their hooves and bits when a well-dressed lady in a bonnet swaggered up to them. She was attached to a nicely dressed man who Sabrina knew was her brother. She had never liked Sally but her brother seemed okay. His name was Thomas and she thought he was a little puny, but he seemed nice enough. He stopped by occasionally to check on their horses.

“Why who is this?” Sally Reynold drawled with a simpering smile as she spied Brock leaning against the corral fence.

“Stafford, Ma’am; Sir,” Brock said, tipping his hat to the pair.

She noticed he did not introduce himself as Brock as he had to her and wondered about it. Sabrina nodded to the woman as Thomas ushered Sally quickly up to the carriage. Sabrina kept her head down as she held the horses steady and Thomas helped his sister into the carriage and took the reins from Sabrina.

“Thank you, Will,” Thomas said, paying Sabrina for the horses’ board and giving her a nice tip.  She thanked him without looking up and headed into the stable to finish caring for Troy.

"Who was that?" Brock asked, watching the carriage roll down the dusty street. Sabrina's brow furrowed.

“Why didn't you ask her yourself?" she said, biting her lip. She had a bad habit of saying what she was thinking. She sighed, wondering why he had not left yet. Brock was wondering the same thing as he watched her walk up to Troy's stall and unlatch the door. She first took a tool and cleaned around his shoes,
removing tiny pebbles and as much dirt as possible. She checked the nails in his shoes and hammered in a couple that were loose. Grabbing a brush, she began the tedious yet soothing task of grooming the horse.

She started at his head and worked her way down, talking in a soothing tone to the horse the entire time. Brock strained his ears to hear what the boy was saying but he could not make it out. At some point he thought he was actually singing to the horse. Sabrina stepped back, looking at how Troy’s dark red coat shimmered in the dim light and she smiled at her work. Troy seemed much more relaxed.

She nodded. "Much better."  Turning around quickly, she ran right into Brock’s chest. The force knocked her back into the wall and she cursed as she hit her head.

"Would you look where you’re going?" she grumbled, as she walked around Brock to put her cleaning items away. "Your horse is fine; you can go now."

At that moment, Mr. Swanson walked into the stable. "Will" he chastised, "that is no way to talk to a customer!"

Sabrina hung her head. "Sorry," she mumbled without looking at Brock. Mr. Swanson peeked into Troy's stall. "That's a nice piece of horseflesh. You know your animals, Mr...."

Brock smiled. "Brock Stafford, I'm the new Sheriff."

Sabrina's eyes widened at the word
sheriff
. She mouthed the words as she cringed. She immediately turned her back on him, sat down and started cleaning a saddle.

"Well how about that! Welcome to town
Sheriff Stafford, I'm Jack Swanson; I own the livery and saloon."

"Nice to meet you. You've got a real good helper, Troy took right to him and Troy usually doesn't like anyone except me."

Jack nodded. "Yep, that young’un sure does have talent. I was quite lucky to find him."

Brock raised his eyebrow "You found him?" The two men turned as they heard Sabrina noisily get up and stomp out of the barn. Jack chuckled. "Will's a very sensitive boy. He don’t talk much and when he does it's mostly about horses. He could use a mentor,” Jack hinted and Brock nodded in thought as he left the barn and headed back to his room for a bath and some rest.