The Stafford Collection, Historical Western Romances (3 page)

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S
abrina headed down to the saloon, The Swan and the Swallow. Most folks just called it The Swan. She needed a drink. Since Mr. Swanson owned them both he allowed her to eat free since she didn't eat much anyhow.

"Hey, Mac," Sabrina said as she climbed up onto the stool by the bar. Mac was one of the few people in town with whom she felt comfortable.

"The usual?" he asked and she nodded. Seconds later, a cool sarsparilla was set down in front of her.

"Rough day?"

Sabrina nodded as she let the liquid run down her dry throat. She liked Mac. He never asked a bunch of questions about her past. He just accepted her as is and went on from there. He was like a grizzled old hermit. Sabrina took another long swig of her drink. She ordered some food and let her mind wander as she ate. She thought about the bustling town and how she had ended up there.

Sabrina was standing in what had been the parlor of her burned out home, dear
Montgomery, with tears streaming down her cheeks

She watched the workers putting up the wooden frame to rebuild the house. The house could be replaced but her family would not be. All she had left was her brother, Warren, and Samuel and Alma. She had many cousins but they had their own lives and their own problems.

Upon learning of his family's death, Warren returned from the East to care for the ranch and his sister. Her mind was swirling with emotions; she was happy Warren was back but he was different somehow. He had only been back for three weeks and had immediately set upon rebuilding the stately home and erasing all memories of the horror, as if it had never happened.

And to him it hadn't. He had not seen his sister brutally shot down and worse. He had not seen his father and mother’s lifeless bodies lying side by side in the yard. Samuel had cut her father free from the tree with tears streaming from his eyes. Sabrina had not wept that day---she couldn't. She could not convince herself that they were really gone. She had sat next to them for hours as their blood ran beneath them and soaked into the earth---the same earth and land that her father and mother had worked so hard to shape and nourish. And she couldn't let them go. The townspeople came later on, drawn by the smoke from the still-crackling structure. Her home.

The hot summer day had offered no comfort to the filthy young girl on her knees who had lost everything that was dear to her. Some of the women from town had come; they took pity on Sabrina’s shattered soul and led her off so she could wash the soot and blood off herself while the men cared for her family. They buried them on a knoll not far from the stables. She knew that they would have liked it there. They used to have picnics on the hill when Sabrina was younger.

A posse was sent out after the killers, but they were never found. Catching them would not bring back her family and Sabrina was too wrapped up in her own grief to consider others.

It took Warren three months to arrive and in his stead she had run the ranch with the help of Samuel and the others. The ranch hands had always been fond of Sabrina and admired her courage. They admired her even more as they watched her work from before the crack of dawn until long after sunset, only stopping long enough to grab an occasional bite. They were worried about her. She had never taken the time to grieve or feel her loss. It ate at her at night.

She awoke to horrible nightmares; her dark sunken eyes reflected the turmoil in her soul that her voice refused to speak and her pride refused to admit. Samuel had tried to get her to open up and to slow down but to no avail. He was forced to stand by helplessly as he watched her already sturdy frame turn harder and leaner than it should have.

Samuel was glad for that day in September when Warren came back; they all were. Warren had arrived and Sabrina had smiled for the first time since the butchery. He said he would stay in the bunkhouse with the other hands until the main house was finished. He was dismayed to see the state that his sister was in and blamed himself for not being there for her sooner.

She had changed so much in the years that he had been away. However, it seemed that the changes were more mental than physical. She was still the same height as she was when he had left. Their mother was a petite woman who was not afraid to stand up to any man or beast, and Sabrina was just like her in more ways than one. Not wanting his sister to live like a mule and grow up like a man, Warren made some rather rash decisions.

Sabrina felt a tear slide down her cheek, bringing her out of her trance. She quickly wiped it away glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Mac was over across the bar talking to Pamela, one of the saloon girls, and no one else paid her any attention, which was the way she liked it.  Sniffing, she silently slipped out of her seat and out the door.

Brock awoke with the full light of day beaming through his bedroom window. He had not meant to sleep in. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes and stretched.

He got out of bed slowly, still groggy from the long day of riding the day before. He dressed and prepared for the day. Today was his official first day on the job. He pinned the bronze star to his chest and headed downstairs for breakfast. Widow Hawkins was running about serving her two other guests. She quickly came over and ushered him to a seat, introducing him to the others.

"This is Mr. Snyder; he's set up a temporary shop in the mercantile. He sells spectacles."

She motioned to the other gentleman who was much older and had a head full of gray hair. “This is Pastor Stevens; he's a permanent resident."

Brock nodded to the two gentlemen as he dug in to the fresh biscuits and gravy, smoked ham and fried eggs. He ate until he was full and pushed back his chair, thanking Ms. Hawkins for the wonderful breakfast.

He stepped outside into the morning heat and made his way down the boardwalk towards the Sheriff's office. The town was alive with the usual hustle and bustle. Some of the merchants noticed him and nodded or waved.

His
office was on the same street as the livery stable and the bank.  He unlocked the door with his key and stepped inside.  A very sparse office with two cells greeted him. The cells were against the back wall and they each had a small mattress in one corner.  One of the cell doors had fallen off its hinges and was propped up against the wall.  It seemed as if the entire room was covered with a year’s worth of dust and grime, though the late Sheriff McAllister had only passed away two months earlier.  He pulled back the once beige curtains and let some of the early morning light filter in through the dirty windows. He sighed. This was going to take a lot of elbow grease.

"
Sheriff McAllister wasn't much into housekeepin',"  a soft voice said from behind.

Brock spun around, searching out the owner of the voice and silently cursing himself for letting his guard down.  He instantly recognized the young boy from the stables leaning against the open door frame. Brock raised an eyebrow as he noticed he had a bucket and a broom in his hand.

Sabrina said, "Mr. Swanson sent me; he thought you might need some help straightening the place up."  She stepped into the dark room avoiding Brock's gaze as she looked around, taking in the enormity of the task in front of them.

The place had been shut up for months but that did not stop the mice and rats from moving in. There was an abundance of once important papers scattered throughout the room. The rats
had shredded them for bedding. The roof apparently had several leaks; water had seeped in and molded the rest of the papers and mattresses. Sabrina scrunched her nose at the smell.

Brock made a sweeping motion with his arm indicating the entire place.  "As you can see, I can sure use the help.  I'm not really sure where to begin."

Sabrina sat down for a moment in a chair by the desk.  A plume of dust lifted up from the moth eaten cushion she was sitting on.  She tried to talk and ended up choking on the dust.  Brock chuckled as he slapped Sabrina on the back a little too hard almost sending her sprawling onto the floor.

"Thanks,"  Sabrina muttered after she finally caught her breath.  "Well, to start off, we need to get some light in here.  You take down the curtains, and I'll start washing the windows." 

Brock smirked as the little runt started ordering him about as if he owned the place.  He shook his head. Well, the kid is helping me; guess I can follow a few orders.  He walked over to take down the filthy curtains. 

Brock reached up and unhooked the curtains
, laying them in a heap by the front door. Sabrina walked outside and filled the bucket in the horse trough. Returning, she soaped up a rag and, standing on a chair, started soaping down the grimy windows one pane at a time.

Not sure what to do next, Brock picked up the broom and started to vigorously sweep up the dirt and paper on the floor. Before long, a huge dust cloud filled the room.  The dust burned his eyes and filled his nostrils and he tried not to cough. He heard the boy coughing; then suddenly he was in Brock’s face.

"What are you doing?" Sabrina demanded, grabbing the broom away from the shocked man.  "Don't you even know how to sweep?"

Brock felt his face turning red with anger; first, he was ordered around; then he was yelled at for no reason.  Someone needed to teach the boy some manners.

"Listen, I'm the Sheriff here! I’m in charge! This is my office and I say what gets done and by whom, do you hear me?"  The boy eyed him angrily for a second, then smirked.

"Fine,
” Sabrina said, dropping her rag in the bucket and walking out the door.

Brock's eyes widened in surprise.  He was expecting the boy to back down and apologize, not leave. "Whatever,
” he growled as he kicked the bucket in frustration.  He cursed as the bucket tipped over and spilled water all over the floor, turning the thick dust into mud.

Sabrina stomped up the boardwalk to the stable.  She was muttering under her breath as she walked right past the smiling Mr. Swanson.

"Finished already?" he called after her as she entered the barn.  Sabrina ignored him and went up to her favorite horse, Star.  She belonged to Mrs. Swanson but she'd never ridden her, at least not to Sabrina's knowledge.  She ran her hand over the mare's smooth nose as she whispered, “Hey girl, you appreciate me, don't you?" The horse neighed as if in response and Sabrina smiled. 

She had always loved horses, and had been around them all her life.  They were such beautiful, graceful animals.  She continued rubbing down the horse with a brush using long soft strokes.  It always calmed her down, along with the horse. The nerve of that man!   Just because he's good looking and a
Sheriff he thinks he can order people around. She started brushing faster. She could feel her face turning red.  Did I just say he was good looking? 

You idiot! she scolded herself. You can't risk blowing your cover over some pretty face. Moreover, he is a
Sheriff, for Pete’s sake!  If he found out who I really am he would turn me over to Warren in an instant. Life just isn't fair.  Especially for women. 

The only acceptable jobs out there were cooking, whoring, or teaching. She wasn’t interested in teaching, and she could not cook. In addition, she had too much pride to become a painted dove. At least she had too much at the moment---who knew what the future would hold?

She heard heavy footsteps approaching and heard someone talking to Mr. Swanson. Recognizing the voice she walked over and leaned against the rough wall so that she could hear without being seen.

Mr. Swanson grinned widely as the younger man walked toward him.  He was covered in dust from head to toe. So much for his bath yesterday. 

"Mornin' Sheriff."

Brock nodded as he tried to think of what to say to the man.  He wanted Will to help him but he did not want to apologize to the boy.

"Thank you for sending Will over this morning,” he finally blurted.

Mr. Swanson chuckled, "You'll have to thank him.  It's his day off; he can do as he pleases."

Brock looked at him in surprise. The boy volunteered to help him? He felt like an ass.

Mr. Swanson continued as he heard Brock groan. "Boys a fine worker, though he can get a little cocky."

"You can say that again,” Brock agreed.  After Will had left he’d tried to continue cleaning but had just managed to make it worse, if that was possible.  He had put more water on the floor to help clean up the mud before realizing that it just made more mud.  Now most of the floor was covered with it as well as the curtains, which he used in an attempt to soak up the excess water.

"He's in the barn if you want to talk to him."

Brock tilted his hat and headed inside.  Sabrina heard him coming and hurried back over to Star, who grunted at her, annoyed that she had stopped rubbing her halfway through.  She quickly started brushing Star's other flank as she felt Brock come up behind her.

She ignored him as he coughed to announce his presence. Not getting a response, Brock felt his anger rising again but forced himself to calm down.  He probably could have hired one of the local ladies to clean it; well, at least he could have before the mud incident, but for some reason he wanted Will to help him.

Maybe he felt sorry for the lad. Heck, at this point he'd be willing to pay whatever the boy asked. Brock walked up and put a hand on his shoulder. She turned around quickly and looked up.  "What do you want?" she spat out, not sure why she was so angry.