Soulmates in a Dusty Saloon (Preview)

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Prologue

Beatrix perched on a worn wooden stool, her small hands clasped together as she gazed at the stage. Her father, Patrick Whittaker, stood there, his rough fingers dancing expertly across the strings of his fiddle. The notes twirled and spun through the air, filling the saloon with laughter and merriment.

“Here ya go, little miss,” the saloon owner said, placing a cold glass of milk and a freshly baked cookie on a napkin in front of Beatrix. She looked up at him with a shy smile, her eyes wide and grateful.

“Thank you, sir,” she said with a grin, taking a sip of the milk first before nibbling at the cookie. It was warm and sweet, just like the music that filled the room.

Patrick’s voice rang out, strong and clear, as he sang a silly song about a cowboy and his misadventures. The patrons in the saloon clapped their hands in time with the beat, their heavy boots stomping against the creaky floorboards. Beatrix felt pride swell within her chest as she watched her father perform.

But as the performance continued, a restlessness began to stir within Beatrix. She knew every word of the song her father sang, and she longed to be up there on the stage beside him, singing her heart out. But Patrick had told her she was too young, that the saloon was no place for a child to perform. And so, Beatrix remained on her stool, her fingers tapping against her glass of milk, her toes wiggling inside her shoes.

“Pa isn’t looking,” she thought, glancing at her father as he played a lively tune on his fiddle. “Maybe I could just stand up and stretch my legs a bit.”

The thought of disobeying her father, even by simply standing up, made Beatrix’s heart race. But the pull of adventure, the curiosity that bubbled within her, was too strong to resist.

“Maybe just a few steps around the room wouldn’t hurt,” Beatrix reasoned internally, trying to quell the guilt that threatened to creep up on her. She knew her father only wanted to keep her safe, but surely there was no harm in stretching her legs a bit.

As Patrick transitioned to the song’s chorus, the patrons’ enthusiasm grew, their laughter and applause filling the room. Seizing the moment, Beatrix slipped off her stool and began to tiptoe around the edge of the room, careful not to draw any attention to herself.

“See? Nothing to worry about,” she thought, feeling a small thrill as she successfully evaded her father’s gaze. The excitement swelled within her, fueling her desire to explore further. But she reminded herself to be cautious – after all, she didn’t want to disappoint her father by disobeying his instructions completely.

“Maybe I’ll just step outside for a moment,” Beatrix decided, her curiosity getting the better of her. “I won’t go far. Just enough to feel the sun on my face.”

With one quick glance back at her father, still immersed in his performance, Beatrix slipped out the saloon doors, eager for adventure and the sun’s warmth against her skin.

“Only a few minutes,” she whispered, trying to keep the guilt at bay as her eyes scanned the ground for another shiny rock like the one she’d pocketed earlier that morning. The thought of sharing her new discovery with her father brought a warm smile to her face, even as the guilt lingered.

“Maybe he’ll be pleased I found something so pretty,” she pondered, her curiosity and love for him driving her actions. She continued to search, each step taking her further from the saloon without realizing it.

Just as Beatrix began to worry that she’d ventured too far, she caught sight of a tiny, playful kitten peeking out from behind a barrel. Its tiny paws patted the air, capturing Beatrix’s attention and drawing her in.

“Hello, there!” she exclaimed softly, crouching down to get a closer look. The kitten stared at her with wide, curious eyes before darting away, a mischievous glint in its gaze.

“Wait!” Beatrix called, half-laughing as she gave chase. The kitten zigzagged through the alleyways, leading her farther away from the saloon. But Beatrix was captivated by the creature’s playfulness, and thoughts of returning to her father were momentarily forgotten.

“Gotcha!” Beatrix cried out, her laughter like tinkling bells as she scooped up the kitten. It squirmed playfully, batting at a loose strand of her hair before wriggling free to dart away again.

“Little scamp!” Beatrix giggled, giving chase through the dusty streets, her skirts swirling around her ankles. The kitten’s fur shimmered in the golden light of the setting sun, its eyes gleaming with mischief. Momentarily, Beatrix forgot about her father’s performance, completely absorbed in the game of tag.

“Would Papa let me keep you?” she wondered aloud, pausing between breathless laughter. “You’d be such a delightful friend.”

The kitten mewed in response, darting in and out of Beatrix’s reach as they ventured farther from the saloon. Unaware of how far they had strayed, Beatrix followed her furry friend, her mind filled with thoughts of bringing the adorable creature home.

Their playful pursuit led them into a dimly lit alley, where the shadows seemed to swallow the sunlight whole. Beatrix hesitated for a moment, suddenly aware that she had never seen this part of town before. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized just how far she had wandered from the safety and familiarity of the saloon.

“Kitty,” she whispered, scooping the kitten into her arms once more, “I need to get back before Pa realizes I’m gone.”

With determination etched on her face, Beatrix retraced her steps through the winding alleys, cradling the kitten against her chest. As she walked, Beatrix prayed that she would find her way back to the saloon – and that her father wouldn’t be too upset that she had disobeyed.

As she rounded a corner, the kitten tight in her arms, her footsteps faltered when she stumbled upon a dark alley shrouded in mystery. The sound of raised voices drifted towards her; one deep and gravelly, the other smooth and menacing. Curiosity piqued, Beatrix hesitated—a decision that would soon change her life forever.

“Next time you cross me, it’ll be the end of you,” threatened the dark-haired man, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Ye ain’t got the guts!” spat the other man, defiance etched into his weathered face.

Suddenly, a loud boom echoed through the alley, the sound of a gunshot making Beatrix freeze in place. Her breath caught in her throat as terror gripped her heart, her hands trembling so violently that the kitten slipped from her grasp and darted away, disappearing into the shadows.

“Come here, little girl!” the dark-haired man barked, his anger now redirected toward Beatrix. His voice thundered in her ears like a freight train, each syllable dripping with malice.

Beatrix’s mind raced, her instincts screaming at her to flee, but her legs refused to obey. She stood rooted to the spot, her eyes wide with fear as the dark-haired man glared at her, his icy gaze penetrating her soul. A single tear slid down her cheek, a testament to the storm brewing within her.

“Please … I didn’t mean to …” she stammered, but her words were lost in the wind as the dark-haired man took a menacing step toward her.

The world seemed to slow as Beatrix finally willed her legs into motion. Her heart hammered in her chest, the blood pounding in her ears like a wild, untamed river. She ran, desperate to flee the dark-haired man and the terror that threatened to consume her.

“Get back here!” he snarled, giving chase.

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she rounded a corner, her skirts tangling around her ankles. Panic clawed her throat, threatening to choke her, but she bit back the scream that bubbled up from deep within. The only thing that mattered now was escaping the nightmare that pursued her.

“Please, God,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she ducked behind a nearby building. “Please keep me safe.”

As she huddled behind a stack of crates, her body shaking with every labored breath, Beatrix couldn’t help thinking back to her father’s soothing voice as he played the piano, his melodies filling the room with warmth and comfort. It felt like a lifetime ago, a distant memory of security ripped away by the gunshot that echoed through the alley.

“I’m so sorry, Pa,” she thought, tears streaming down her face as she clung to the hope that he might somehow find her before it was too late.

***

Meanwhile, Patrick Whittaker took a bow, the applause washing over him like a gentle rain. His fingers still tingled from the last notes he’d played, but even as he basked in the crowd’s adoration, a nagging feeling tugged at his mind—a feeling that something was terribly wrong.

“Beatrix …” he murmured, scanning the room for any sign of his daughter. The fear that gripped his heart was icy and sharp, cutting him to the core. When he saw no trace of her, he knew what he had to do.

“Excuse me, folks,” he announced, his voice tense with urgency. “I need to step away for a moment.”

As he hurried off the stage, Beatrix consumed Patrick’s thoughts. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in danger, and it propelled him forward like a fire lit beneath his soul.

“Beatrix!” he called out, hoping against hope that her sweet, melodic voice would somehow reach his ears. But as the seconds slipped away, each one more agonizing than the last, all he heard was silence.

***

With each shallow breath, Beatrix’s heart pounded like a stampeding herd. She pressed herself further into the shadows behind the crates, praying she wouldn’t be discovered. The night air was cold, chilling her to the bone, but she hardly felt it through the terror that gripped her.

From her hiding place, she caught sight of the dark-haired man, his menacing figure illuminated by the setting sun. Her blood ran cold as she saw him look in her direction briefly before he hastily turned away and disappeared into the darkness. Beatrix’s throat tightened, rendering her mute, as the weight of her memories threatened to crush her.

“Beatrix!” came a distant call, barely audible over her hammering heartbeat. It was her father, desperately searching for her.

“Help me find my daughter!” he pleaded with the saloon patrons. “Please, Beatrix is missing!”

His voice cracked with emotion, and Beatrix could hear the fear and love for her in every syllable. The patrons, moved by his distress, agreed to help him search.

“Beatrix!” one man called out as they fanned out across the town. “Where are you, child?”

“Come on out, little lady,” a woman called in a high voice. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

As the voices grew nearer, Beatrix’s heart raced faster. She longed to cry out to them, to let them know where she was, but her voice stubbornly refused to break free from the prison it was trapped in.

“Pa,” she whispered within her thoughts, her silent plea lost to the wind. “I’m here.”

“Beatrix!” Patrick’s anguished voice echoed through the night once more.

Her hands shook as she watched her father grow increasingly desperate. She knew she had to face her fears and reunite with him, but the memory of the dark-haired man’s gaze held her captive.

“Please, let them find me …” she prayed silently, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clung to the hope that someone would stumble upon her hiding place.

“Beatrix!” another voice called. “Your pa is worried about you!”

Though she wished with all her heart to call out to them, to let them know where she was, Beatrix could not make a sound. The terrifying events of the evening had rendered her speechless, trapped in a world of muted terror.

“Pa,” she willed silently, “if you can hear me, please find me.”

“Beatrix!” Patrick’s voice echoed again, closer this time, and though she knew he would never give up on her, she couldn’t help feeling a surge of despair at her inability to respond.

Her mind raced with thoughts of what might happen if the dark-haired man returned or if she remained hidden forever. Would her pa blame himself for not protecting her? Would the saloon patrons think she had abandoned them? She longed to silence these thoughts, to shout her presence from the rooftops, but her voice refused to cooperate.

“Beatrix!” Patrick called once more, his voice tinged with determination and sheer desperation.

And then, as if guided by an invisible force, Patrick rounded the corner of the building and saw the trembling form of his daughter hidden behind the stack of crates. Relief washed over him as he rushed to her side.

“Beatrix, my dear girl,” Patrick whispered once more, his voice a soothing balm to her fractured spirit. As he gently scooped her into his arms, she felt herself wrapped in the warmth and strength she had longed for all these years. Her heart swelled with gratitude, even though words still eluded her.

Beatrix allowed herself to cling to him as if he were an anchor in a storm-tossed sea. The shadows of the crates danced on the ground around them, mirroring the turmoil within her soul. She tried to talk but could only whimper softly against her father’s chest.

“Shh, it’s alright now,” Patrick murmured, his breath tickling her ear as he held her close. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” she wanted to say, but her voice remained locked within her throat, a prisoner to her fear. Instead, tears streamed down her cheeks, each carrying the weight of her unspoken love and gratitude.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Patrick said softly, his eyes scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger. Beatrix clung to him tightly, taking comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her ear.

As they made their way through the darkened streets, Beatrix allowed herself to sink into the embrace of her father’s arms, feeling the fatigue of her ordeal settling over her like a heavy blanket. The world around them seemed to grow hazy and distant as if it were all just a fading dream.

Chapter 1

Mansfield, Texas – Spring, 1889

Woodie Soper flipped two strips of bacon in one frying pan and then poured batter into another frying pan for pancakes. He heard a knock on his front door and sighed, hoping whoever was there would think he wasn’t home and go away. When the knock happened again a few seconds later, he set his spatula aside and hurried to open the door. A young boy who looked about eight years old stood on the porch, a slip of paper in his hands.

“Sheriff Griffith wanted me to give you this.” The boy thrust out a dirty hand with the paper clutched in it.

Woodie accepted the paper. “Can you wait for a minute while I read this?”

The boy nodded. “I reckon so, Mister.”

Woodie opened the paper and smoothed out the wrinkles.

Please come by the office at your earliest convenience. I have another job that you might be interested in.

Woodie found a blunt pencil, scribbled a reply, and then found a penny.

“Run this back to the sheriff,” he instructed the boy, who took the note, shoved it into his pocket, and grinned when Woodie handed him the penny.

The boy’s face lit up. “Thanks, Mister!”

Clutching the penny in a grubby hand, he turned and ran down the lane toward Main Street, where the sheriff’s office was.

Woodie smiled as he shut the door and went back to fixing his breakfast. He wasn’t sure he wanted another job for at least a week or two, and he needed to figure out what he was going to tell the sheriff. By rote, he placed the bacon and pancakes on a plate where two fried eggs already sat. He sat down at his table and began to eat.

He had just returned the night before from a job, and he wondered how the sheriff had known he had returned since he hadn’t yet reported back.

He sighed as he took a bite of pancakes and then tasted the bacon. He was getting mighty tired of eating his own cooking, especially cold eggs. After taking another bite, he pushed his plate away. He did plan on talking with Sheriff Griffith that morning. The sheriff would be pleased that he had successfully found the outlaw many other lawmen had been looking for, having delivered him to the nearest town where he’d discovered him.

But Woodie was beginning to feel that something was missing in his life, and he was no longer sure he wanted to be a bounty hunter for the unforeseeable future. He wanted to take some time to think about where he wanted his future to go. He also wanted to visit his two brothers since it had been a few months since he’d seen them.

He had started this work about five years ago, after spending a few years as Sheriff Griffith’s deputy. When offered his first bounty hunter job, he quickly found the outlaw. Many lawmen and Texas Rangers had been looking for the villain for months, although it had taken Woodie only a few weeks.

From there, his new career had taken off. Up until a few months ago, he had loved his job. He liked the excitement and challenge being a bounty hunter provided. He got to see quite a bit of the country as he traveled from city to town, state to territory. And he was paid well whenever he found another outlaw. He had also met many interesting people, which he enjoyed.

He might as well go talk to Sheriff Griffith after he finished eating. He would tell him that he would take a few months off and take a break from finding bad men and putting them behind bars. Most of them ended up hanged within a few months or were sentenced to spend the rest of their lives in jail for the crimes and murders they committed. The people they victimized had their lives ruined in multiple ways because of these outlaws, and most would never recover from the crimes committed against them.

After finishing breakfast, he slid a gun into the holster at his hip and another tied to his right thigh. Setting a hat on his head, he left his house and walked down the street in his usual long strides. He strode quickly, and most people moved out of his way. Some greeted him with a nod or a few words. This town he had settled in, Mansfield, was a small western town in North Texas. He liked the area and the people. Very little happened here, and he liked it that way, especially after spending weeks going after criminals. Most people knew and respected him, and those who didn’t avoided him. He stepped into the sheriff’s office and saw his good friend behind his desk.

“Hey, I’m glad you came so quickly.” Sheriff Griffith stood to shake Woodie’s hand and then waved a hand toward an empty chair. “You did good getting the man you went after.”

“It wasn’t all that hard to find Jerry. He left quite a few clues as he moved from town to town,” Woodie said with a shrug, not sure he deserved or wanted the praise. Jerry was an outlaw who spent most of his time attacking stagecoaches, robbing the passengers, and shooting anyone in his way. Jerry was off the streets but had killed two men and a woman because Woodie hadn’t found him fast enough.

“Well, you saved a lot of people’s lives.” Sheriff Griffith leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped in front of him and in desperate need of a haircut.

Woodie gave a mental shake of his head. He was so used to taking in details about everyone in his surroundings, and even now when he wasn’t working a job, he noticed things about Sheriff Griffith that didn’t matter.

“I have another job for you, but this one is a bit … unusual if you want it.”

“Unusual how?” Woodie asked, finding himself intrigued.

“This time, instead of looking for someone to put behind bars, you’ll be keeping someone alive,” Sheriff Griffith replied.

Intrigued, Woodie gave a slight smile. He still wasn’t sure he wanted to take another job, at least for a few months. He had made plenty of money over the last few years and could easily not work for at least a year if he wished. But this job sounded different from the others he usually took. “Tell me more.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. You’ll need to go see Patrick Whittaker.”

Woodie didn’t recognize the name. “Who is he?”

“He’s somewhat of a drifter but settled here in Mansfield about six months ago. If you want this job, you’ll need to go talk to him. He’ll be the one who will pay you. I just want you to understand that it’s not the usual bounty hunter job.”

Woodie leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. “I was going to tell you I needed a few months’ break. What if I talk to this man and decide I don’t want the job?”

Sheriff Griffith shrugged. “Then Patrick will need to find someone else. He came to me a few days ago and told me he wanted my best man. I told him about you.”

Woodie knew he should feel flattered, but instead, he felt almost … tired. But Sheriff Griffith had just paid him a great compliment, and he might as well at least hear what the man wanted before he turned it down.

“Give me his address, and I’ll see what he wants,” Woodie finally agreed.

Sheriff Griffith scribbled something on paper and handed it to Woodie. “Let me know what you decide.”

Woodie nodded and stood up. Leaving the office, he glanced at the address and was glad it was just down the street. He wouldn’t need to go back to his house to get his horse but could just walk there.

The place Patrick Whittaker lived in was small and nondescript. It had been made of gray wood with slate shingles. The yard looked unkempt and empty. Woodie knocked loudly on the door, and it opened almost immediately, but only a crack.

“Yes?”

“Are you Patrick Whittaker?”

The man nodded.

“I’m Woodie Soper. Sheriff Griffith sent me to talk to you.”

“Oh, yes. Just a moment.” The door shut for a few seconds and then opened again, but wider this time. The man who stood in his doorway wasn’t what Woodie had anticipated. He was smaller than the average man by at least five inches, although he looked only a few years older than Woodie’s twenty-nine years. He had dark brown hair and almost black eyes that darted up and down the street as if looking for someone. Woodie did the same, but no one was around.

“Are you expecting someone else?” Woodie asked curiously.

“No, no. Come in.” Patrick stepped aside and allowed Woodie to enter.

The moment Woodie entered the house, Patrick almost slammed the door behind him as if he expected someone else to run up to the house and force himself inside.

“Come and sit down. Would you like some coffee?” Patrick asked as he began to walk to a side room, but in the process, he tripped over a leather bag and would have almost fallen if Woodie hadn’t reached out to grab his arm.

“Thanks,” Patrick said as he smiled nervously at Woodie and pulled his arm from Woodie’s grasp.

He studied the older man as he filled a pot with water and set it on the stove to heat. Woodie didn’t want any coffee but decided not to say anything.

He noticed strands of gray in Patrick’s hair, suggesting he was older than he looked. Woodie looked around the kitchen and noticed three musical instruments. He walked over to pick up a small flute.

“Do you play?” Patrick asked.

Woodie looked at Patrick and shook his head. “No, I’m afraid I’ve never had the chance to learn any instrument. I do like listening to music, though, by those who can play and sing.”

“I make my living as a traveling musician,” Patrick explained, not acting as nervous as he took the flute from Patrick and played a short but lively tune.

Woodie smiled in appreciation. Patrick set the instrument aside and pulled out a kitchen chair.

“Go ahead and sit. The coffee should be ready in a few minutes.”

Woodie sat down, and Patrick took a chair across the table from him. “Sheriff Griffith told me that you were looking to hire someone, although he didn’t tell me what the job would entail. I should tell you that I might not take the job. I’ve been thinking of taking a break, but I thought I’d hear what you needed first.”

“I appreciate that,” Patrick said. “There is a man I’ve been avoiding for years. A man that I have to keep my daughter from.”

“Daughter?” Woodie looked around the small kitchen. From what he could tell, Patrick lived alone. He didn’t see any signs of a child.

Patrick sighed. “I need to start at the beginning. Many years ago, I had to place her in a different living environment for her safety to protect her. But Sheriff Griffith just received word that she might not be as safe as she once was.” Patrick leaned forward in his chair and looked Woodie square in the eyes. “I’m desperate. I need someone with the skills to protect my daughter, someone trained to look for danger. Her life is on the line.”

Woodie felt instantly concerned. He had spent many years putting away criminals, but he had never been offered this type of job – to save someone who really needed help but wasn’t a criminal. Even though it was different, he wasn’t worried that he couldn’t keep Patrick’s daughter safe. He did have the skills. He knew how to find men who wanted to harm others. He knew the signs and what to look for.

“Do you have a description of this man?”

Patrick frowned. “He’s about your height, older than you, and has tanned skin, black hair, and ear piercings. He’s from Mexico.”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know that for sure. I hid my daughter so she’ll be safe from him, and I’ve been moving around the country, singing for my supper, if you will. I don’t stay in one place very long. There have been many times when this man shows up,” Patrick explained.

“Why is he after you, and your daughter for that matter?” Woodie asked.

“I don’t know the answer to that.” Patrick stood up, poured coffee into two mugs, handed Woodie one, and sat down again before taking a sip of the hot brew. He stared at the nearby wall as if seeing something that had happened in the past. “We were in a small town. I was performing in a saloon, trying to get some extra money. I always told her to stay by me, but on this day, she ran off. She saw something, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was. She stopped talking after that.” He glanced at Woodie. “She was only six years old.”

Something twisted inside Woodie. What made a child so scared that she refused to talk about it? Sheriff Griffith was right. This job was different from what he was used to doing.

“Are you up for the job?” Patrick asked, breaking through his thoughts. “I’m willing to pay you well.”

He named an amount that made Woodie’s eyes widen. It was enough for him to live on for a full year. He had to wonder how Patrick had access to that kind of money when he was a traveling musician.

“If I do this job, it won’t be for the money,” Woodie said firmly. He didn’t want Patrick to think he only took the job because of money. He would be taking it because he was confident he could keep Patrick’s daughter safe. Something in his gut told him he needed to take this job. He made an instant decision, but Patrick continued before he could say anything.

“I do need to ask that you don’t tell my daughter or the family she is staying with that I sent you or even the reason why you are there.”

Woodie frowned, not sure he thought this was a good idea. Wouldn’t it be better if his daughter knew she was in danger?

Patrick continued as if he could read Woodie’s thoughts. “I think it would be best if she weren’t aware. As long as you are watching over her and can find this man, she’ll be protected, and maybe she won’t even find out that this man has been looking for her.”

Woodie stared at Patrick for a long moment. He could see that Patrick felt that he was keeping his daughter safe by not telling her what was going on.

“I’ll take the job, and I promise I will keep her alive. Of course, I need more information, but I do have one important question. What is your daughter’s name?”