Brighter Tomorrows

Brighter Tomorrows

By Beverly Wells

Brighter Tomorrows

Copyright© 2015 Beverly Wells

Originally published in A Cowboy Celebration

Cover Design Livia Reasoner

Prairie Rose Publications

www.prairierosepublications.com

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

A tale of fate, new beginnings and a recipe for love: Mix one distrustful, scorned woman with a widowed marshal riddled with guilt, add potent desire, two generous dollops of trust, stir in a sinister bank robber, and you have everlasting love.

Chapter One

Hallings, Wyoming Wednesday, June 28, 1882

Three years ago he’d proudly visited the bank to draw money and left devastated and heartbroken. This time he’d be tickled pink as a swine wallowin’ in a foot of muck to sashay inside and kill a man.

So engrossed was he in his musing, Chase Matlock’s long, even strides across Main Street had barely stirred up the dust when he made the mistake of glancing upward. His booted footfalls froze and his chest tightened until he gasped for air.

Dammit all!
He’d warned himself not to look up until he reached the stoop. He had thought he had prepared himself for the gut-wrenching dread when he cast eyes upon his worst nightmare. But no way in holy hell had he anticipated this cannon blast to his heart, soul, and mind. Only by the grace of God did he remain upright before all six-foot-three of him toppled into a crumpled pile of mush on the sun-baked, hard dirt.

The building looked the same. Most likely, the inside hadn’t changed; other than the blood from the victims who had been at the mercy of malicious outlaws.

He willed himself to relax, knowing he had to keep a level head and strong determination to finish the job. Three long, frustrating years; this time was way past due by his calculation. 

He nodded to the building as if greeting a long lost acquaintance, letting him know that he would finally set the wrongs to right. And he would, by God, or he would die trying.

♥ ♥ ♥

Descending the stairway from the second floor, Callie whisked the kerchief from her head and sighed in relief as the weighty confinement of her hair spilled down her back. As her foot touched the floor, the front door bell clanged several times.

She eyed her paint-spattered, tattered dress, her fingers covered in a lovely shade of sage.
Lord love a duck!
Whoever it was might either die of fright or laugh themselves silly. Despite her appearance, she hurried. She would never be so rude as to not answer her door and possibly discourage future business.

Opening the door, she smiled a warm greeting—and nearly swallowed her tongue. The tall stranger was one very handsome man. He had the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen. Sparkling and compelling. Her embarrassment skyrocketed, knowing she looked worse than a complete slob. When his eyebrows arched, she realized her hair must resemble a flying witch’s mop.
Heavenly saints, put me six feet under.

“Good afternoon. Are you Miss Lynch?”

She longed to bury her head under the hall runner. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she squeezed the kerchief. “Yes. I’m Callie Lynch.”

Removing his Stetson, he held it in one hand and tipped his head in greeting. “Name’s Jonathan Tate, and I’d like a room—if you have one available.”

Hoping to disguise her embarrassment, she offered a tentative smile to the dark-haired stranger. “I’m very sorry Mr. Tate, but I’m under renovations. I’m not taking in boarders at this time. The Hotel Royale is a lovely hotel.” She regretted refusing any boarder, especially one so pleasing to the eyes. She might be resistant to any man’s charm, but she appreciated a handsome face and well-muscled physique.

He tapped his Stetson against his thigh, and compressed his lips. His intense eyes scrutinized her through the screen. “Miss Lynch, I’d greatly appreciate you allowin’ me to stay here. I prefer your house to the hotel. I’m willin’ to pay you double. Promise to stay out of your way.”

Stymied by his extravagant offer, suspicion flared. Why her house? At double the cost? His gaze remained steadfast, yet far from threatening. If he wanted to rob her, he’d be disappointed. She kept her money in the bank. Her curiosity enthralled her to no end.

“Your offer is appealing, but the paint fumes are strong. I have drop cloths everywhere, curtains down, and ladders up. Besides, I’ve no time to fuss with meals three times a day. You’d be much happier at the Royale.” 

“Miss Lynch, I see I’ll have to convince you otherwise.”

Callie stiffened in defense. If it wasn’t for his slight grin, she would’ve slammed the door and bolted the lock. Instinct told her there was no threat.

“You see, you’d be helpin’ the law by lettin’ me stay here. And I need to stay here so I can walk the main road several times every day without people wonderin’ why. If you’d come outside so we can talk, we could discuss it further. Talkin’ through the screen is a bit difficult if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.”

She winced in embarrassment. Her inquisitiveness spiked tenfold. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Tate. I hadn’t thought our conversation would be so lengthy. Please, make yourself comfortable on one of the chairs. I’ll gather us some lemonade and won’t be a minute.”

“That won’t be necessary. I need to talk to some other people shortly, so if you wouldn’t mind coming out, we could talk, quick like, Miss Lynch.”

Beneath his unbuttoned suit jacket he wore a holster with a gun resting low on each hip. But those twinkling blue eyes and smile held no malevolence. He had mentioned helping the law. That had to count. She would hear him out, then send him on his way and her life could return to normal.

♥ ♥ ♥

As she pushed the door open, Chase opened it further. Good manners were called for. Once she sat, he wiggled his butt in the wicker chair to readjust the thin cushion. Obviously the pad had been fashioned to suit a slighter person. Miss Lynch wasn’t necessarily small, maybe five-eight, and nicely rounded in all the right spots, but hardly equaled half his weight. And she was as leery as a doe facing a double-barreled shotgun.

Chapter Two

They faced each other across the small wicker table. “Mr. Tate, let’s cut to the chase to make it simple. Why is it necessary for you to stay here?”

His eyes twinkled and a slight grin surfaced, as if he found her directness humorous. For five years, Callie had strengthened her backbone, lived by her rules, and valued friends above all else. 

He nodded and leaned back. “For the time being, I need to keep my true identity a secret to everyone, other than the few in town who know who I am and why I’m here. I’ll tell you if you’ll give me your word you’ll not divulge anything I say until my job is finished.”

Nothing existed that was more intriguing than a secret—and a plot to go with it. That’s why Callie’s one vice in life consisted of reading dime novels with suspense, twists, villains and the heroes who saved the day.

She took a calming breath. “I assure you, if it’s not against the law, and you said I’d be helping the law, I certainly won’t divulge your name or purpose. Please, do tell, Mr. Tate.” 

He scrutinized her. Was he judging her words for merit? “It’s been a long time since I’ve gone by ‘mister’. It’s U.S. Marshal Matlock—Chase Matlock.”

She let the words, title, and enormity of it all sink in.
Holy smoke and cows jumping over the moon!
She had been telling herself she needed something in her humdrum life to add a bit of zing. Who would have thought something as deliriously tantalizing as a marshal on a covert mission in her town would fall in her lap?
Thank you, Fairy Godmother!

She started to speak and stopped before she let go a roaring ‘whoop-de-doo’. She composed herself. “You need to stay at my home because…”

“Outlaws are goin’ to visit the bank soon. I need to scout the town several times a day to listen, see if others are joinin’ them, and set up plans with my team without the locals questionin’ why I’m meanderin’ around town too often. That’s what could happen if I stay at the hotel. If I stay here, no one will think twice about me comin’ and goin’.”

Her mind whirled like a cumulative cyclone, yet sounded like music to her ears. She’d have extra money, be aiding the law, and have a fine time watching this plot unfold.

He’d be underfoot
—he’d be out most of the time.
It’d be inconvenient to fix him three meals
—she had to eat anyway.
He was far too handsome to have around
—she was profoundly immune to any good-for-nothing species of the male gender with their overly-excitable libidos, a viper’s tongue, and mush for brains.

As exciting and tempting as it sounded, she curbed her adventurous side. “Marshal, I’d like to help you, but I don’t see how you can stay—”

“I believe I can stay here very easily, Miss Lynch.” The slight grin before blossomed into an incredible smile. Her heart might be hardened, but she definitely appreciated the raw sensuality of this man. No man alive should be this attractive…

“But—”

“No buts about it.” He leaned forward. “I’ll shoot straight with you. Don’t mind paint odor, tarps, and I’m willin’ to fix my meals or offer a hand to help. If I ate at the restaurant or café all the time, someone might wonder. I’ll stay out of your way, and with any luck, I’ll be on my way within a week. And I will pay you double for the trouble. What do you say?”

Silence hung in the air as she lost herself in his incredible eyes. His handsome face, square chin, broad shoulders and wavy black hair weren’t bad, either. As far as his trying to charm her?  Trusting a man or having faith in him enough to open her heart was as farfetched as her jumping over the moon. It would not happen.

“What do you say, Miss Lynch?”

“Since you’re paying double, I’ll cook your meals. They’ll be filling and wholesome, but they’ll be simple. As far as meal times, we can decide each morning, depending on our schedules, if you like. My barn only holds my horse and wagon. The stall is fairly big and Freedom is a sweetie, but I don’t believe she’d share space. Is that a problem?”

He pushed back his chair and stood, and darn if that smidgeon of a grin didn’t make her smile. “I knew I could count on you.  Sounds fine. The livery will be fine.” He stood tall and straight like a towering pine. “By the way, as Jonathan Tate from Texas, I’m a land speculator and investor lookin’ to buy parcels or invest in potential enterprises. I’ll grab lunch at the café, then see David Millett and his deputy before checkin’ around. I can grab supper tonight at the restaurant, if it’s too much bother.”

She admired his large hands as he fingered the rim of his Stetson.  His suit coat gave him a business-like appearance, while the denims hugged his thick thighs. “I’ll bake a chicken. You do like chicken?”

“I like anything as long as it doesn’t move or talk back. What time’s supper?”

She calculated the time to finish upstairs, fix supper, and look half-way clean and presentable. “How’s six-thirty or seven?”

“Let’s say seven.” With that, he turned and strode across the porch, down the three steps, and across the front lawn to where he untied his big, chestnut gelding at the hitching rail. Lithely, he mounted and glanced her way. “See you at seven, Miss Lynch.”

♥ ♥ ♥

The café’s greasy beef stew wasn’t so bad as long as he reminisced about his meeting with Callie. Pretty thing, even covered in paint splatters. He chuckled as he pictured her looking in a mirror. Would she blush when she saw green smudges on her face? Or howl when she saw her rat’s nest?

He sipped his coffee. Though he knew he’d never love again, he still appreciated a lovely woman. He admired her direct attitude, her gumption. He liked that she hadn’t batted her eyes or acted coy. When females flaunted themselves, he ran as fast as his legs or horse could carry him.

♥ ♥ ♥

Securing the reins in front of the Hotel Royale, Chase peered across the stoop. He nodded to the man leaning against building.  Matt Tremayne’s lanky six foot frame belied his rough, tough persona while his fair features and persistent smile gave his recruit in training a younger look than twenty-four. When it came to bluffin’ the bad guys, Matt appeared innocent and a harmless bystander.

People milled along the stoop. Matt ambled toward the sheriff’s office, as planned, while he strolled around the side of the hotel and toward the rear entrance of the same destination. A man could never be too cautious.