Rescued by his Healing Touch, page 1
Rescued by his Healing Touch
A WESTERN ROMANCE NOVEL
CAROL COLYER
Copyright © 2021 by Carol Colyer
All Rights Reserved.
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Table of Contents
Rescued by his Healing Touch
Table of Contents
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Rescued by his Healing Touch
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
When Kindred Spirits Unite
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
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Rescued by his Healing Touch
Introduction
Having been abandoned by her own father when she was still unborn, Angeline Murray has learnt the hard way never to trust men. Eager to take control of her life and determined not to get married, she finds a job as a housekeeper at a farm. Her tenacity, along with her stunning beauty, soon sparks the interest of her dashing employer. Yet, can she get past her prejudice against men and allow her very feelings to bloom?
Some wounds are just too deep to heal...
Ethan Tucker runs his family’s dairy farm, bearing this great responsibility with pride and efficiency. When his housekeeper suddenly quits, throwing everything into chaos, he can’t quite believe that an unyielding woman will come to his rescue and fill the emptiness in his soul. However, when he finds out that his father has been arranging his marriage out of financial interest behind his back, his world collapses. Will Ethan fulfill his duty or rebel against his rational self and follow his unprecedented emotions?
He can’t ignore the stirring in his heart any longer…
The world is full of unexpected events and while Angeline and Ethan try to come to terms with their unspoken feelings, more hardships will lead them to disarray. Will their love be strong enough to save the farm and their life’s efforts? Or will they eventually bury their sentiments along with the chance to salvage everything?
Chapter 1
June 1882
Alta Loma, Texas
Angeline Murray slammed the door as she left the little cottage she shared with her mother. Holy cow, that woman could make her angry. Acting as though she, Angeline, didn’t contribute to the household was offensive and demeaning, and Angeline wouldn’t stand for it. And yet none of her arguments had managed to do more than wither under her mother’s onslaught.
She was too old to still be living at home with her mother! Did Angeline honestly think her mother would support her for the rest of her life? It was time she got out in the world and made something of her life! And so on, and so on. Her mother had ranted until Angeline had seen nothing but red and, grabbing her bag and hat, had stormed from the house.
Huffing and saying things under her breath she’d never say aloud, Angeline stomped down the little walkway to the low fence that enclosed the yard. She’d show her mother. She’d go to town and find somewhere else to live, and when her mother got lonely, she’d refuse to come home.
Her gaze roamed over the yard, landing on the little plots of garden that filled the space.
She had planted all those flowers, herbs, and vegetables. She tended them, too, and more than half their food came from her gardens. What would her mother, a seamstress who also did laundry, do without her? How would she like to have to cook and clean when she got home from her work in town? Well, she’d find out when Angeline moved away. And Angeline certainly would, now.
Reaching the fence that separated their little front yard from the rest of the fields, Angeline swung the gate open with too much force. It was on loose hinges and when it swung back with similar force, it hit her on the shins. She let out a gasp of pain and bent to rub her leg. She cursed a little and considered kicking the gate one last time. That seemed like a chance to invite more pain, though, and so she straightened before settling for closing it properly, sliding the latch home.
If a thing was worth doing, it was worth doing properly. Wasn’t that the saying?
She caught a glimpse of her mother through the front window, spotting her mother’s worn, pale hand holding back the lace curtain. Angeline felt her rage increase. So, she was watching to make sure Angeline left, was she? Well, fine. She cast a hard stare of her own at her mother and, with her chin in the air, strode off down the path.
Which ended abruptly at the old hedge that demarcated the beginning of her grandfather’s corn field, or whatever it was he had grown there. He had died shortly after Angeline was born and so she’d never met the man.
Her mother spoke fondly of him, but always seemed bitter about him dying and leaving her alone. Coupled with Angeline’s no-good father, who had run out on them before her birth, men had not featured favorably in her life to this point.
Well, who needed them?
She certainly didn’t. There was nothing around the house that a man could do that she couldn’t hire someone to do or do herself. It was a point of pride for her.
Heading out across the fields, Angeline remembered the time she’d tried to grow crops in that soil. She’d been about thirteen years old at the time. She’d worked so hard on that field, tilling it, planting, watering—and the wheat had grown, to a point. Then a terrible storm had hit and the field, which was downhill from the house, had flooded so badly that the newly sprouted wheat had rotted away and died. It had broken her heart.
She’d tried a couple more times after that, being stupidly stubborn. She’d managed to grow a crop of corn plants, but for some reason the ears were small with few kernels. Angeline had given up on farming after that.
The memories that came unbidden did nothing to improve her mood. She kicked at clods of earth and stomped on to the track. It led to the little town of Alta Loma, which was their closest center of civilization. Or so her mother called it. Angeline called it a bend in the road. If it wasn’t for the railway tracks going through the town, there wouldn’t be a town at all by now.
She and her mother disagreed about this, too. Her mother insisted Alta Loma was growing and would soon be a proper town. To that, all Angeline had to say was to point out that they still didn’t have a post office. What kind of town had no post office?
And so, until that happened, in Angeline’s opinion Alta Loma wasn’t a town, it was a collection of buildings at a bend in the road.
As she walked in the humid summer weather, she began to rethink this brash idea of heading into town on foot. It was seven miles, which, although not insurmountable, was still a fair way to walk in the hot sun. She was glad she’d thought to grab her hat and bag from the table by the front door.
Walking through the farmland, dotted with trees and rolling gently to the horizon, Angeline began to calm down. Her rage at her mother saying she was a burden waned and soon she wondered if there wasn’t some truth in the matter. Angeline didn’t earn money. Although she took care of the house and grounds, she wasn’t bringing in coin. And coin mattered.
Perhaps she could find a way to stay at home with her mother and earn a living. That would be the best solution. After all, she loved her mother, despite their many arguments and differing opinions. She didn’t want to leave her all alone in that cottage in the middle of so much farmland. Their nearest neighbor was over thirty minutes’ walk and that was Mr. O’Neal, a most disagreeable old man if ever there was one.
What she needed was a job like her mother’s, or perhaps housekeeping for one of the families in town. Surely, someone was seeking a woman good at cleaning, cooking, baking and so on…? Yes, someone had to need that kind of service in town.
As she walked and thought, she hoped someone would come along the track and she could get a ride. But although this track served several farms as their main road, no one came along. She was utterly alone, with nothing but rolling hills, open farmland, and the sky to keep her company.
Trudging along, she saw the smoke of an approaching train billowing into the summer sky before she even reached the railroad tracks. The steam train was heading into the station about two miles along the track. Not every train stopped in Alta Loma, and this one seemed to be one of those speeding through.
The lack of train passengers stopping over in the town was likely why Alta Loma hadn’t grown at the same exponential rate that other towns along railway lines had. According to the papers, which came all the way from Galveston, many of the towns the trains stopped at habitually had seen a great increase in their size and wealth. Not Alta Loma. But it had only been five years since the line opened, so there was still hope.
Considering this, Angeline was forced to concede that she might have to look further afield than her little town for employment. What if she couldn’t find anything?
“Then you’re in a spot of bother,” she said to herself. “A large, very hot spot.” She could imagine her mother losing her temper about it and them having another fight. She sighed.
“Alright, Angeline, what will you do if there are no jobs in Alta Loma? Will you consider Hitchcock? It is a little far but perhaps…?” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t want to work in Hitchcock.
Another alternative presented itself and she shook her head to dislodge the terrible blasphemy of her thoughts. But being one of her thoughts, it was stubborn and combative and stayed, swirling around in her head.
You could find yourself a husband, it said without being as vulgar as resorting to words.
“No,” Angeline said. “Men only let you down.”
All men? it asked. She could imagine it cocking it head at her, if it had one, and wearing a sardonic smile.
“How would I know if all men are untrustworthy?” she snapped at no one but herself. “All I know is that my father thought something else was far more important than me and my mother and he left. My grandfather died, leaving my mother, and so men haven’t been a great feature in my life.”
Heavens, even the first teacher she’d ever had was a man and he’d left four years before she finished school. They were unreliable. They kept leaving.
No. She wouldn’t find herself a husband. That was not on the table and never would be. Angeline wasn’t keen to set herself up for more men-induced heartache. She’d be a spinster, and very happy as one. At least she would never let herself down, and she had friends. Friends were wonderful and seldom let disappointed her.
Reaching the tracks, Angeline had to wait a few minutes for the train to pass. It clacked along the rails, passenger carriages up front and a whole lot of cargo cars at the back. She waited in the shade of an elm tree, watching several butterflies flitter past. They dipped and bobbed and though they never seeming to be getting anywhere, in no time they had moved on.
When the train had finally passed, she crossed the tracks, which were now safe, and walked into town.
The road on this fine summer’s day was largely empty of traffic. A lone dog sniffed the garbage pail outside the trader and then lifted his leg to leave his mark. When the dog moved on, Angeline saw Mrs. Lomax, the schoolteacher, coming out of the trader. She hurried over, waving. After all, that was her destination, as well.
Mrs. Lomax, dressed in a formal navy-blue skirt and jacket, waved back. They had butted heads when she was teaching Angeline but since then had struck up a cordial acquaintanceship.
“Well, what a surprise,” Mrs. Lomax said, smiling brightly. She had a basket on her arm, covered with a cloth. “What brings you to town?”
Angeline smiled and made a noncommittal gesture. “My mother has dreams of getting rid of me,” she said with a small shrug.
“Oh dear, why?” Mrs. Lomax asked.
Angeline sighed. Well, since she’d opened the door to this conversation, she’d have to walk on through. Reluctantly, she paraphrased her mother by saying, “I have to find a way to contribute more to the household, according to her.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Lomax asked. “I thought you were working at one of the farms?”
“That was a harvest job,” Angeline explained. She’d worked picking pears on Farmer Berry’s farm for the last ten years. But it was only a harvest position and for the rest of the year, she had no means of income.
“Well, then I wish you luck,” Mrs. Lomax said. “As a fine young lady of twenty-four, if I’m not mistaken, I’m certain you’ll find something to your liking.”
Angeline was actually twenty-five, but she nodded and didn’t correct her old teacher. Instead, she smiled and thanked her.
“Of course,” Mrs. Lomax continued, “you could look for a husband. It’s not anywhere as onerous as you’ve always proclaimed it to be.”
Angeline must have let her disgust at the suggestion show because Mrs. Lomax’s expression became amused. She shook her head at Angeline sighed.
“It would make your mother terribly happy if you made a good match,” she said. “I hear Todd Wilson is looking for a wife.”
“Todd?” Angeline asked unable to hide her distaste at this suggestion.
The man in question was a pig farmer and had always made Angeline’s skin crawl. He had an unfortunate condition that made him sweat a lot. Coupled with a round face and small piggy eyes, a lack of imagination, and a tendency to be messy, he was the least appealing option she’d ever been confronted with.
“Well, it was only a suggestion,” Mrs. Lomax said. “It’s been good to see you. Please give your mother my best.”
“I will,” Angeline said.
For a long moment, she watched the schoolteacher walked down the road. Had it really come to that? Would she have to consider matches like Todd Wilson? No. Not ever. She’d rather go and work in Hitchcock than be saddled with someone like Todd.
Entering the trader, Angeline was instantly surrounded by the smells of childhood delight. In all the years of her life, things in the trader had changed little. The store still smelled of dust, candles, boiled sweets, and lavender soap.
Mr. Guthrie had run the store for as long as Angeline could remember. He was a tall man, thin and bespectacled. He spent the time when the store was quiet reading books. As far as men went, he was probably the one Angeline had the best memories of.
On slow summer days when she was a kid, he’d taken to reading stories to the children outside his store. And along with wonderful tales of fancy and excitement in far-off lands, he’d also handed out boiled sweets. As the child of a struggling mother, Angeline hadn’t had a great many sweets in her life. Each of those that Mr. Guthrie had given her was a treasured memory.
