OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Hearts of the Untamed West", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
Prologue
Late March 1877
Boston, Massachusetts
“I’ll be back in the morning, Mister Rawlings!” Sarah hollered as she darted out of her uncle’s carriage house in North Boston, not far from the Charles River.
“Don’t forget to bring the brass polish when you do! I’ll need it tomorrow!”
“I won’t!” she replied, wrapping her dark gray woolen waist-length cloak over her shoulders and tying the black ribbons around her neck as she ran. While she certainly didn’t mind helping her uncle take care of his many horses and their stables, she didn’t much care for working with Mister Rawlings, who was in charge of their numerous carriage houses owned by her uncle, Martin McAllister.
It had grown nearly dark and she needed to hurry home. She quickly made her way west toward the Charles River, past numerous streets where adults and small groups of wayward children or orphans hurried to wherever they went at night. She knew enough to stay away from certain areas of the neighborhood after dusk, so she turned at a corner to head south toward the edge of the Commons and the burial ground across the street.
She had one stop to make at the store where her uncle had a credit to purchase the brass polish, her hand dipping deep into the pocket of her skirt to rub two silver coins together. A brisk breeze brushed against her cheeks, prompting Sarah to tuck her chin lower into the neckline of her cloak. Though winter was mostly over, it wasn’t quite true spring just yet. Her breath escaped her mouth in a wispy vapor as she hurried, watching her step and at the same time staying as alert as she could be against the growing shadows. One never knew when the more nefarious denizens of the city would step from the darkness to rob someone.
In the distance to the East she heard the clang of bells coming from the wharf and the bay beyond as ferries transported passengers into or out of Charlestown. She saw few people on the narrow street she headed down. She knew just about every shortcut in the surrounding neighborhoods as she made her way toward her parents’ home on Maple Street, not far from the Albany railroad tracks.
She hoped tomorrow she’d be able to spend more time with her uncle’s horses in the stables than she had today. That was her favorite place to be, with the horses, and had been for the last six months or so, her parents having fallen on hard times. Her father had lost his job as a clerk in a local bank after it had been discovered the manager had been pilfering money from clients’ accounts. Even though her father had nothing to do with the theft, he had been let go and the bank had closed. He’d been fortunate to find work, even if it was as a fishmonger in one of the local markets. Her mother took in extra work sewing, and when possible, cleaning houses or watching children for wealthier people in the area. Sarah had gone to work for her uncle to help support the family.
After she stopped at the store and bought two tins of polish, she hurried home, hungry and wanting to tell her parents about the gorgeous black stallion…
“Oy there, girly,” a deep, gravelly voice came from the darkness of an alley to her left. “Where ye be goin’ in such a hurry?”
Sarah’s heart leaped into her throat as she startled, nearly tripping over her feet as she stared wide-eyed at the tall, lanky figure that lurched from the darkness, reaching for her. She spun away, but the man managed to grab a handful of her cloak in his fist and yanked her back.
Lord, help me! Protect me! Heart pounding, fear burgeoning, her back slammed into his chest. One of his arms slid around her waist. A startled scream burst from her throat as she tried to pull away.
“Let me go!” she demanded, voice thick with outrage. Lord Jesus, give me strength!
Knowing she was alone on the deserted street, no one around to help her, a growing fury gave her the strength she needed. She twisted around and yanked her cloak from the man’s grasp but now found herself facing him. He laughed, the dull glow of a lantern nearby exposing blackened teeth and a drunken smile. Glassy eyes stared into hers. He stank of liquor and old sweat. He laughed again, knob-knuckled fingers reaching for her again, grasping at her clothes. One of his hands managed to clutch her cloak again.
She struggled to free herself, slapping at filthy fingers that now sought to touch her hair. She squelched a gasp as his hand briefly touched her face and then grabbed at her shoulder, trying to pull her against him again. She pulled away, tearing the sleeve of her blouse. Ragged fingernails scratched her arm. With a cry of outrage, twenty-year-old Sarah McAllister, though small and slender, a hard worker used to caring and dealing with horses much bigger than herself and twice as stubborn, didn’t hesitate to ball her right hand into a fist. She drove it upward, hard and fast. She struck him on the soft flesh under his chin, the brunt of the blow leaving her wrist tingling. His head snapped back and teeth clacked together as he staggered back with a grunt. He released his grip on her cloak. Before he could recover his balance, she pushed hard against his chest and watched with satisfaction and relief as he toppled to the ground with a garbled cry of surprise.
She turned and ran, heart still pounding and eyes wide, watching for any other lurkers in the vicinity as she ran the rest of the way home. Outside their narrow brick home on a street surrounded by others that looked just like hers, she paused at the steps, calming herself to the best of her ability before racing up the steps of the narrow brownstone, pushing open the door and then slamming it shut behind her.
“Sarah!” A woman’s voice floated down the hallway that led to the kitchen. “What in Heaven’s name? I’ve asked you how many times not to be slamming doors like that.” Her mother emerged from the kitchen at the back of the house. She wiped her hands on a towel as she strode toward the parlor, which opened up just off the small, square entrance into their home. “You know very well—oh!”
“Mother, I’m—”
“Lord have mercy! What happened?”
“I’m all right, Mother,” she interrupted, hoping to stall her mother’s alarmed reaction. Too late.
“George!” Eliza McAllister cried. “George! Come quick!”
From upstairs, a groan floated down the stairwell. Moments later Sarah’s father came down, feet heavily thumping on each step. He held a half-folded newspaper in one hand, the other grasping the banister.
Her heart still thundering from her narrow escape, Sarah sought to reassure him. “I’m all right, Father, honest.”
Her father’s eyes widened as he paused halfway down the stairs and stared down at her.
“Who did that to you?” he demanded.
Her typically high strung mother began to hyperventilate and she sought to soothe them. “Just a drunk on the corner of Tremont, but I’m—”
“I’m going to report this to the police!” George blustered. “I’ll—”
“Father, it was just an old drunk,” she insisted. “He’ll be long gone by now. I’m all right.” She tried to present a bravado that she didn’t quite feel but wanted to prove to her parents that she could take care of herself. Sarah balled up her fists, took a fighter’s stance, and pantomimed a vicious blow to the miscreant’s jaw. “I rattled his teeth, Father, and he let go, and then I shoved him down and got away.” She huffed out a breath. “The next time, I’ll make sure I follow with a—”
“There isn’t going to be a next time,” her father promised, his tone grim. He glanced at Eliza. “This city is getting too dangerous. I tried to warn Martin about this, but he told me that Rawlings would look after her.” He scowled. “This is the third time you’ve been accosted since you went to work for my brother. We’ve got to do something.”
“You’re right, George,” Eliza agreed.
“But I like working in Uncle Martin’s stables!” Sarah cried, fearful they wouldn’t let her return. They needed the money. Besides, she loved the horses.
“Rawlings didn’t send an escort home with you, did he?” George grumbled. “I told my brother that if you left for home after dark, he was to send an escort with you!”
Her father’s reddened face told Sarah all she needed to know. Her father hadn’t wanted her working in the horse stables in the first place. He was going tell her she couldn’t work there anymore.
“Father, I can take care of myself!” she insisted. Both parents gaped at her. She could imagine she looked a mess, but she was all right… a little frightened still, but she’d taken care of herself, hadn’t she?
She saw the meaningful look exchanged between her parents and her heart sank. There had been several incidents of being accosted by drunks or vagrants since she’d gone to work at the stables, but her parents needed the support and she was glad to give it. What had happened at the bank was not her father’s fault, but she would do anything she could to help them. Even so, she couldn’t deny that the streets of Boston these days weren’t for the tender hearted.
Her father continued to sputter, eyes narrowed and lips tight with anger while her mother lifted her apron to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. She tried once more to calm them.
“Really, I’m fine,” Sarah insisted. She glanced at her mother. “What’s for supper?” She edged her way toward the stairs. “I smell of horse. I’m going to go upstairs and change real quick and I’ll be right back down.”
She raced up the stairs past her father before either one could stop her, cringing at the sound of her mother’s tears and her father’s efforts to calm her mother. Their lives had definitely taken a turn for the worst, but the pay she received working in her uncle’s stables was a big help. It could be worse. She could have been forced to be a governess to a pack of wayward children, or even worse, relegated to working in one of the clothing factories in the city, or even worse than that, as a domestic servant.
In her room, she caught a glance of herself in the standing mirror in the corner of the room. She gaped and self-consciously lifted a hand to straighten her light brown hair, which had worked its way out of the usually neat bun at the nape of her neck. Even so, it was always mussed these days as she cared for the horses. She critically eyed her reflection. Her slender nose seemed to be a bit narrow to her, though Agnes, her old school friend, insisted it was perfect, as was her mouth, though she herself believed her bottom lip was a bit too wide. Large and slightly wild hazel eyes reflected her recent brush with danger. Though petite, she was surprisingly strong. She glanced at her hands, saw they had tightened into fists once more and relaxed them. Working with the horses, her nails weren’t as long nor well-cared for as they used to be. Her arched eyebrows rose as she took in the ripped sleeve of her blouse, torn right from the shoulder seam. She scowled at the scratches on her upper arm that had prompted her father’s anger.
“I can take care of myself!” she insisted to her reflection. “I can!”
Apparently her parents didn’t think so. By the time she came back downstairs for supper, her parents were embroiled in a hushed conversation in the small study just past the parlor. She tiptoed to the door, hoping to hear what they whispered about, instinctively knowing it was about her, but she couldn’t make out much. She did hear a couple of names, including that of her uncle Martin, and then another name she couldn’t make out, followed by ‘Texas.’
Chapter One
Early April 1877, Texas
Every part of Sarah felt bruised and jostled after her nearly week long journey from Boston to the mostly uninhabited and rather desolate portion of Texas somewhere Northwest of Dallas. The landscape was flat, broken by occasional low rolling hills covered by scrub brush, only now beginning to sprout green leaves. She noted lots of dirt, brown grass, some of it knee-high and turning various shades of green in the barely warm spring morning.
She already missed Boston, not that spring was well underway in Boston either, but at least it was greener than this and filled with trees and shrubs and buildings that had always given her a sense of community, of people. This bleak place felt much too empty for her peace of mind. Uncle Martin had told her that though it was not as populated as Dallas, it was home to numerous successful cattle and horse ranches. One of those horse ranches belonged to James and Hannah Dawson. Her uncle Martin and James had been friends since their youth, even though James had left Boston for Texas over two decades ago.
She heaved a sigh and turned to the open stage window, squinting against the dust blowing outside, and inside, the stage. She wished she had never agreed, albeit reluctantly, to such a ludicrous plan. Her father and uncle, not to mention her mother, had been worried sick about that latest attack on her, concerned that it wouldn’t be the last time, and next time she might not be so lucky. Unfortunately, Sarah hadn’t been able to find a different job closer to home. Her uncle, nor her father, could guarantee her an escort to and from work every day, so she still had to walk at least a mile each way to her uncle’s stables early in the morning and late into the evening, often through rough and relatively lawless areas.
Their idea? To get her out of Boston. She hadn’t been privy to the details right away, but within two weeks was stunned by the announcement that she’d been betrothed to Jeb Dawson, son of her uncle’s old friend James. No amount of tears or resorting to outright begging had managed to sway them. They wanted her out of Boston for her own safety’s sake, and though loathed to go to such extremes, couldn’t be moved from their decision.
Her intended husband was the only child of James and Hannah Dawson. She knew next to nothing about him other than his parents ran a successful horse breeding ranch in the middle of Texas.
“It’s for your own good, dear,” her mother had tried to comfort her. “For your own safety. Besides, you should be married by now. You’re almost twenty-one years old!”
She hadn’t believed it and said so. “Texas? You’re sending me to Texas? Why, it’s a land of outlaws and posses and bounty hunters and… and it’s not Boston!”
Her father rebutted every argument she could come up with. “Sarah McAllister, we’re your parents and we’ve made the decision. You’ll be safer there, you’re going, and that’s that!”
Neither her parents nor her uncle could be swayed against the decision, insisting that she would be safer in Texas, which would help lessen all their worries for her, they claimed. Yet what would they do without the income she earned at the stables? Uncle Martin had told her in private that he had offered to continue sending her wages to her father every month to help support them but he’d refused. When she asked why, her uncle told her that it was a matter of pride. Uncle Martin had promised to help in whatever way he could, promising her that her parents would always have a roof over their head and food on the table. She had to accept that.
Her father told her that in Texas, she wouldn’t have to worry about finding a job, as she would become a member of a well-respected family and live a comfortable life. To sweeten the pot, they informed her that her future husband’s family raised a stable of quarter horses and a handful of thoroughbreds. Her own father had assured her that he’d written to her future father-in-law and within a short time received a telegram from the patriarch that Sarah would be allowed to help with the care and training of the horses.
That information had only slightly mollified her. Why, to be literally ordered to marry a man sight unseen? She never would have believed it from those who professed to love and care about her. They’d never met the man! How was this a better, or safer, solution? Now here she was, feeling much like a cow being led around with a ring through its nose and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
“We should be arriving soon.”
Sarah glanced away from the open window and eyed the middle-aged man with the receding hairline. He tucked a pocket watch back into his vest pocket and glanced at the pinched face woman sitting next to him.
“It’s about time,” the woman muttered. “I still don’t understand why we couldn’t have taken the train.”
The man briefly closed his eyes, heaved a soft sigh, and replied. “There are no trains heading this far Northwest of Dallas, dear. It was either this or a buggy and you don’t like those. You always tell me they’re too bumpy and dusty.”
The woman huffed, turned away from her husband, and glared out the opposite window just as another cloud of dust driven up by the four-team of horses floated by. Sarah turned away from the couple and looked down at her lap, tightly clutching her small reticule. Everything was covered in dust: her dress, the seats, and her hair. What a sight she would present to her intended husband upon her arrival in the small town of Riley Springs. Before she’d left Boston, she’d gone to the library’s cartography department and asked for the most recent map of Texas. She’d found Dallas, tried to trace her finger Northwest of that, but found no indication of a place called Riley Springs. It must be awfully small, which again caused her to wonder about her parents’ and uncle’s judgment.
A short while later, the stagecoach driver shouted, “Riley Springs!”
Sarah sat straighter in her seat, peering out the window, trying to see what the town looked like. All she saw was prairie and a lovely stream that wound like a snake from West to East. Rolling hills rose behind it and disappeared to the West, beyond her view. She stared in amazement when she saw a herd of antelope heading toward the stream from the north side. They stopped as a unit as they watched the team of horses canter past, seemingly unconcerned by the rumble of stagecoach wheels. Heads up and alert, they watched it pass.
Despite her annoyance with her family, she couldn’t help but smile. It was open out here, so much so that she could practically see from horizon to horizon. If it weren’t for the dust in her eyes, such wide open spaces might have given her a sense of freedom, of hope that she could thrive in this new land. Though it appeared uninviting, she knew it wasn’t or no one would live out here. If the town of Riley Springs was only half the size of Dallas, she would likely feel a little more at home.
The stagecoach pulled to a halt so quickly it nearly caused the older man sitting across from her to slide forward off his seat. He grumbled, grabbed at the windowsill, and at the same time reached out an arm across his wife, who grabbed that arm and muttered a string of unintelligible words. The stage rocked on its leather springs for several moments, the horses snorting. The stage tilted slightly as the driver climbed down. Moments later the door swung open. He lifted a finger to silently wait as he bent down and reached for the step latched to the underside of the coach. He extracted the small bench, set it on the ground, and then turned to Sarah with an extended hand.
“Miss?”
Sarah politely took the hand and allowed him to help her down. She saw the smile the man gave her, almost frowned, but realized it was friendly and nothing like that of the drunkard she had slugged in Boston that had perpetuated this mess. “Thank you,” she politely said.
She stepped out and turned to her left, her expectations dashed when she caught her first sight of Riley Springs. A wide main street running East to West. Clapboard buildings, some with false fronts, rose along either side. She spied horses tied to hitching posts, and wagons and buggies stopped in the street wherever they’d decided to stop. Pedestrians walked in and out of shops or along wooden boardwalks raised from ground level as they shopped or took care of business. The entire town couldn’t have extended more than a few blocks. To the north and south, houses, a church, and what appeared to be a schoolhouse dotted the plains in a haphazard manner.
The man waiting to disembark behind her cleared his throat, prompting her to glance over her shoulder. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
She stepped forward as the driver strode to the trunk of the stagecoach and began removing baggage. She had only brought along her valise. Her parents would be sending a trunk or two to the town after she married and had settled into a place of her own with her new husband.
The older couple walked off, heading for the middle of the town. She stood and gazed over it again, wondering if her intended was among the people wandering the street, a couple of them turning toward the stagecoach. A short distance away stood the stagecoach office. No one seemed to be waiting out front. Perhaps inside? She waited a few moments longer but no one appeared. She glanced at the driver, who simply gave her a shrug.
Uncertain and more than a little annoyed that her fiancé apparently was not here to meet the stage, Sarah moved toward a bench seat in front of the stage office and sat down, slowly shaking her head. All this trouble because she had been accosted by drunks or ne-er do wells several times back home. She’d protected herself though, hadn’t she? Yet here she was, an unwilling bride sent to the outskirts of civilization to marry a man she had yet to lay eyes on.
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Hearts of the Untamed West", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
Hello my dears, I hope you enjoyed the preview! I will be waiting for your comments here. Thank you 🙂