A Courageous Bride to Bring Him Hope: A Historical Western Romance Book Read online

  That sparked her father’s temper as well. “I am not a young man anymore and I just want to find someone who will take care of you after I’m gone.”

  “I do not need to be taken care of, I can do everything on my own,” she replied, not being able to hold that inside of her any longer. Her father was too old-fashioned to listen to her. The disapproval was written all over his face.

  That brought fresh tears to the girl’s eyes. She needed some time to mourn before considering marriage.

  “Your mother would want this for you, daughter.” He added the final blow and she closed her eyes for the moment.

  Swallowing all her fury and pain, she said as calmly as possible, “Could we discuss this matter some other time, I have a terrible headache.”

  “Very well,” her father replied with a shake of his head. “Soon, we will have to discuss this, and at length.” He was adamant.

  “As you wish,” Clementine said with a sigh, looking out of the window even though there was nothing for her to see. The scenery was dreadfully bare, sad looking. Much like my soul.

  As it turned out, her husband was nothing like her father promised. He was a cruel man and he never missed an opportunity to show her that.

  Clementine Jones, maiden name Talley, chose to be strong and believe that there had to be out of this, though, and she was adamant about finding it.

  Father meant well, another voice spoke up. His intentions were pure; she was aware of that, however, that did not change anything. Like most of his bright ideas, they were quickly proven disastrous.

  Clementine could vividly remember what happened one time when she was a child, and her father came home after a short trip to the neighboring town only to announce they were starting a new endeavor. They were to raise rabbits on their small farm and sell their fur.

  For their effort, they nearly went bankrupt. The special breed of rabbits was pricey, costing them almost everything they’d managed to save up over the years, and in the end, they got nothing in return. One night, a coyote broke into the rabbit’s holding place and ate them all.

  She said yes while still grieving the loss of her mother. It was simple as much as it was tragic.

  Clementine, ever the good wife, placed a plate of food in front of her highly intoxicated husband. The meal was beyond cold since Steve came late, as always. And she refused to reheat anything for him. By the way he was eyeing the food, he very well knew it.

  “Give me a beer,” he barked, pushing the presented food away from him with a deep scowl.

  She snorted in return. “Don’t you think you already had enough?” she said before she could stop herself. Actually, it looked as though he had reached that place a couple of hours ago but kept drinking anyway.

  Steve’s head snapped as if her words slapped him. He looked at her, finally, and his eyes were full of rage and something else. Something she couldn’t fully understand.

  Why did she have to open her mouth? Clementine chastised herself, all too late realizing what she had done. Now he was going to get angry at her, and there was not a way to regain any semblance of calmness. Sometimes, she thought he relished the times when she said something like this to him, as though that was the excuse he needed to act badly.

  “Mind your tongue, woman, and do what I say,” he growled or at least tried to. In his state of drunkenness, sometimes it was hard to understand him.

  Remain calm, Clementine warned herself, not wanting to make the same mistake twice. She was tired from working all day, washing clothes and mending them for some women in town for a few coins she could keep for herself, and wanted to go rest. She could not do that until he was asleep.

  “What are you waiting for?” he added when she did not move. “Are you going deaf?” He threatened, and she snapped.

  “There is no liquor in the house; you already drank it all.”

  He was not pleased with her reply and he rose to his feet. In his mind, he probably meant it to be far more dramatic than it was since, in his current state, he was rather poorly coordinated, so his actions were sloppy, almost comical. The chair fell backward, and neither one of them made a move to pick it up. He was swaying so hard on his feet, she was amazed he stayed upright.

  “Liar,” he accused, yelling at the top of his lungs. Once again, Clementine thanked the heavens there were no neighbors around to hear this abuse. Many pitied her already; any additional shame would be unbearable.

  “You probably drank it all yourself,” he added, pushing her out of the way so he could look for himself. Even drunk, he was more powerful than her, and the shove nearly made her fall. Clementine managed to remain standing by grabbing the table.

  “Looking at you, like this, I wouldn’t dare even touch that stuff,” she mumbled mostly to herself.

  Steve started going through the kitchen cabinets, knocking things over, breaking jars with flour, sugar, and other goods. She cringed. They were on the brink of starvation already, without him ruining the scraps that they had. Instinctively, Clementine jumped in front of him with raised hands, trying to prevent him from further damage.

  “I said, there is nothing in this house for you to drink,” she insisted, hoping his fuzzy brain would recognize the truth in her words.

  It had some effect; he did stop, but, sadly, the argument continued. “You are a rotten woman,” he spat in her face. “I should have never agreed to marry you.”

  That makes two of us, she thought bitterly.

  “There is no food and no drink in this damn place. You don’t respect me at all. Why do I work all day?” he yelled.

  “You don’t. You drink and gamble away everything we have.” Even her father’s farm was gone thanks to his vices. Once again, she was too late to realize she said her thoughts out loud.

  Blast!

  He made a step toward her, as though he wanted to hit her. Clementine was quicker and managed to move out of his reach. Never again! She reminded herself of the decision she made not so long ago.

  He turned, eyeing her like he was deciding on his next move.

  “You must be some kind of punishment sent to torture me,” he argued.

  “Funny, I was just thinking the very same thing.”

  Just in case, she stood next to a hard iron frying pan and was fully prepared to use it if he came at her again.

  In the past, when she was a fresh bride, full of hope, he would harm her, especially while this drunk, and not just verbally, but physically as well. Clementine would not allow such behavior any longer. Her days of covering bruises were behind her. She made that decision a while back. Tonight, something snapped inside of her, solidifying her resolve.

  Tonight’s events were not so different from the ones before but made her change, harden for the better, and she would never again allow him to harm her in any way. She would defend herself.

  Luckily, it did not come to that.

  He looked at her as though she was not worth the bother, and once upon a time, that would hurt her. Not the fact he decided she was not worth hitting, but that he regarded her in such light at all. Thought so little of her.

  At times like these, she couldn’t understand why he agreed to marry her since he never cared about her one bit. He was wealthy back in those days and so was she. Despite her father’s quirky ideas, she eventually managed to derail him from most of his crazy endeavors. So their farm was prosperous.

  When Clementine looked at things that way, having his many vices in mind, the answer to her question was tragically simple. He needed her money. He had plenty of his on when they got married; however, what she didn’t know was that he already had enormous debt. Clementine wished there was some way to go back through time and warn her younger self not to fall into this trap. Alas, that was just a dream.

  “I do not have to stand here and listen to you place all the blame on me, you ungrateful wench,” Steve said, raising his chin ever so slightly. The gesture looked comical to her and she almost chuckled.

  Good. The best d
ecision you made in a long time. She had enough presence of mind to not say it aloud. With little luck, and heavens knew she deserved some, he wouldn’t be coming back at all.

  Little did she know, that would be just the case.

  As he stumbled his way out, mumbling something about wicked women and necessary punishments as a husband’s divine duty, that was the last time she saw him. Alive.

  Clementine’s heart raced like a herd of wild stallions across the prairies as she closed the door behind him; she prayed with all her heart he would not return. She couldn’t believe she stood up to him; it left her feeling quite invigorated.

  Sadly, life was not done with her. There were many trials she was about to face. Her husband, whom she endured for years, in sickness and in health, not to mention vices, was killed that very night.

  The question that arose as she prepared for the funeral was that even if she had known beforehand what would happen to him, would she have acted any differently? The suddenly free woman did not dare answer that question, because she was finally hopeful that one day, she would find happiness.

  Alexander Carson fell onto his knees on the sandy ground, and very quickly, the rest of his body followed suit with a loud thud. He walked through the desert all day with barely anything to drink, while injured, bleeding and it appeared that all his strength had abandoned him. He was bone tired and knew with utmost clarity he was in no condition to stand up again.

  I will die here. There was no fear behind that thought.

  Truth be told, it did not matter to him. As far as he was concerned, he was done. Looking at the full moon above him, he thought he had fulfilled his promise. It shone with an almost blinding light, yet it did not bother his eyes. It was lovely.

  Even though he was probably going to freeze to death during this very night, his heart was at peace. “It is done,” he said with a sigh. Alexander had hunted and punished all the men responsible for killing his sister about three years ago.

  Tonight, he found and faced the last fiend. He hadn’t meant to kill the man, but the battle was gruesome, a fight that Alexander knew he could not win unless a life was taken. And even so, he left the scene injured. He could not feel his right hand at all. But the wound was good, because it reminded him that it was done. He had managed to avenge Honey at the end. He could die as well, right here on this desert floor if fate demanded it; he had no more to live for anyway.

  If he was not a dedicated believer, he would have ended his life.

  He couldn’t believe his journey up to this moment. It had taken him three whole years to fulfill the promise he’d made while standing above Honey’s grave.

  Alexander actually smiled in the darkness. He’d fulfilled his promise, done his duty as an older brother. He paid the price with his right arm, perhaps with his life itself, and that did not faze him. All in all, it truly was a small price to pay considering he had gone against one of the most notorious gangs in history.

  Honey, I’ll be seeing you soon. He was fully prepared to die.

  He looked at the full moon again and kept looking at it, as it advanced across the twinkling sky, for as long as he could. There was beauty in this world, even though it was scarce, especially in this damned place. The cold really started to bother him then and his eyes started to close. He occupied his mind with images of him and Honey in their parents’ house, playing and laughing when they were still young and innocent.

  At some point, loud thunder-like sounds snapped him from his state. His first thought was that a storm was gathering. That was not the case. The dying, broken man managed to open his eyes only to see a big shadow looming over him, blocking his view of the moon. He wanted to protest but suddenly everything went completely black.

  My time has come.

  Chapter Two

  Courtfield, Montana 1890

  Clementine woke up with a start, placing both hands across her fast-beating heart as though worried it was about to leave her chest. She had not had that particular nightmare, in a very long time. As far as she was concerned, the past belonged in the past and dwelling on it had no purpose. That was one of her late father’s sayings and she accepted it wholeheartedly.

  Why did she dream of that after all this time? She had to wonder. Despite all the troubles she endured, Clementine liked the life she created for herself. It was far from perfect, yet it was her own.

  She was grateful she had a steady job for a change. The pay wasn't great, but she earned every penny honestly; she could make ends meet, had a roof over her head and regular meals and after the years of struggle that was plenty.

  Checking the time, she discovered she would be terribly late if she continued to lay about. She had a lot of chores to deal with before going to work. It amazed her how someone living alone could make such a mess, so she always made sure she was handling everything.

  Once she finished everything she had planned for the day, she hastily made herself a meal, changed into one of her older dresses, and left the small house she lived in. It was located just off the main road. Overall, the house was not much to look at, however, it was the best she could afford. It was a small, two-roomed affair made of dark, almost grey wood and a stained old roof that had seen better days. On the plus side, it had a lovely garden she liked to work in, planting flowers and some vegetables. She loved standing out there in the early morning and smelling the fragrant sweetness of the roses, and looking over all the neat little rows of food that she had grown with her own two hands. It was a little world all her own, and for that she was grateful.

  Besides, living in the city had a few other perks. She was never late to church on Sundays and she was only a couple of minutes away from her job.

  After her husband died, Clementine truly struggled. Steve left her with so much debt she lost the house they were living in, and her few part-time jobs, washing, mending, sewing clothes for some of the ladies in Courtfield simply wasn't enough to sustain her.

  Everybody knew Steve and what kind of a man he was, so that reputation tarnished her as well, and nobody wanted to hire her. When she was practically on the street and on the brink of starvation the owner of the store took pity on her.

  She instantly accepted the offer to work as the store owner’s assistant seeing that as a great opportunity to start over. Garry proved to be a very kind man and thanks to him she managed to get back onto her feet.

  However, one man did not change her opinion about men in general. Being constantly surrounded by drunken rascals like her late husband only fortified her decision never to fall in love or marry again.

  Working at the store proved to her she could take care of herself, and that was exactly what she planned on doing for the rest of her life. Never again would she depend on some man.

  Taking the short walk, squinting against the blazing sun, breathing the dry air that was full of dust the horses and the wagons made, Clementine could not decide if she loved or hated her job.

  She loved what it meant to her and provided her with, other things, not so much.

  The thing Clementine loved about Courtfield was the way it was built. She was told many times in the past, that it resembled many cities in the West. However, that did not mean it was not beautiful in its way.

  The Main Street was the busiest and widest street. It had many shops, taverns, and few government offices. Some were made from rock, but mostly they were built with timber. All the different shades of brown set against the golden hills beyond made it look as though Courtfield was part of nature.

  This was even more true of the church. It was the only one in town, set in the square and connecting all the smaller roads together in front of it. It was bordered on three sides by trees, the only ones on Main Street, making it look like a natural refuge for all those who came to worship. Clementine loved it for that very reason; it was like something out of a fairy tale, rising out of manicured woods to welcome her.

  All the side streets connecting to the church led to private houses, or out of the c
ity to a few local farms and ranches.

  And even thought the town was surrounded by those golden hills and rolling plains, mountains could be seen in the vast distance, providing a picture-perfect scenery.

  “Good day,” she greeted all the people on her merry way. Despite the bad dream, or perhaps it was the other way around, thanks to it, she was very much glad to be alive.

  Most of the folk living here in Courtfield knew her all her life, and most of them greeted her back with a smile. The rest had a small issue with her current employment, the concept that she was a woman working, or had disputes with her late husband.

  Clementine worked as the only store assistant in the store, owned by Mr. Garry Michaels. Because the store sold alcohol in addition to food, it wasn’t one of the most respectable of places in town, but it was a means to an end.