A Rancher's Debt to Destiny: A Historical Western Romance Novel, page 1
A Rancher's Debt to Destiny
A WESTERN ROMANCE NOVEL
ELAINE SHIELDS
Copyright © 2024 by Elaine Shields
All Rights Reserved.
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
A Rancher's Debt to Destiny
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
The Outlaw's Legacy of Love
Introduction
Prologue
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A Rancher's Debt to Destiny
Introduction
When Cora Baxter's father passes away, he leaves her burdened with a farm and insurmountable debt. Undeterred by the challenge, Cora resolves to save her family's farm and honor her father's legacy. Yet, her path to success becomes intertwined with unforeseen obstacles, including debts owed to a notorious loan shark whose presence threatens not only her livelihood but also her dreams of a secure future.
Could the arrival of Aaron Calhoun, a mysterious stranger with his own mission in Dover, bring unexpected love and hope into Cora's life?
Aaron Calhoun arrives in the quiet town of Dover with modest expectations. Tasked with a mission, Aaron soon discovers that fate has a different agenda for him. However, as danger looms, including an unexpected encounter with love, Aaron finds himself compelled to take action against the bandits threatening their community.
What secrets will Aaron uncover in Dover, and how will they shape his destiny alongside Cora?
Amidst a turbulent start, Cora and Aaron realize that their survival hinges on cooperation. Yet, amidst the chaos, a spark ignites between them. Will their growing affection withstand the turmoil surrounding them? Can they find solace and strength in each other as they navigate treacherous terrain and strive to save their beloved town from impending peril??
Chapter 1
May 1888
Dover, Montana
The Drunken Friar was a busy saloon, popular with the local farmers and the townsfolk. Honest Bill Radcliffe, the owner, fortified his watered-down beer with a touch of liquor, which kept folks coming back for more because of the price, and the kick it gave.
Cora Baxter found it odd that folks would flock to the smoky, dingy place that always smelled of beer, whiskey, and the onions that were apparently always frying up on the grill in the kitchen. She had no time for such things except for when she had no choice. This was such a time.
Standing near the door, she peered around the room and couldn’t spot the man she was supposed to meet in the crowd. Served her right for doing this on a Friday night. But then she didn’t choose the meeting times any more than she chose the place.
“Hey, Bill,” she said, moving through to the bar, careful not to jostle elbows at the tables where men, and even some women, were making a night of it.
“Cora,” Honest Bill said with a grin that curled his waxed mustache up at the corners even more. “He’s at the table at the back.” Extending an arm, Bill pointed her in the right direction.
Cora nodded her thanks, and as Bill turned his attention to someone wanting to buy a drink, she made her way through the saloon. The people at the tables were mostly engaged in various card games. There were poker tables, blackjack and even some gin rummy on the go. The players made it loud in there, calling out when they won, or having a dispute, or just laughing raucously at a joke. To ears used to the calm, quiet and serenity of the farm, it was an assault.
Something bumped into her hip, and Cora turned to find a man glaring at her. As the cold wetness spread down her side, she pursed her lips.
“Ain’t you gonna say you’re sorry?” the man demanded.
Cora eyed him. “Why? I did nothing but walk in here.”
He glared at her. “You’re that farmer, aren’t you?”
“And just which one would that be?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. Her heart was thudding in her chest. She hated altercations but in the six months since inheriting her father’s farm she had had nothing but altercations. It seemed that some men took offense to a woman taking better care of the land, and thereby getting more out of it, than they did.
“Tyrone!” Honest Bill’s voice rang out over the crowd and the whole place seemed to quieten down some. “Stop bothering Cora and come here. It’s just a whiskey you adulterated with water anyway. I’ll be happy to pour you another.”
Tyrone squinted his piggy eyes at Cora before brushing by her on his way to the bar. She let out a breath and hurried to the table at the back of the room where Dale Cassidy sat, still trying not to jostle or bump folks on the way. She just wanted to get there and get this meeting over with.
There was another man at the table she was aiming for, one Cora didn’t recognize. Would his business with Dale take him long? She didn’t want to stand around there while they talked. Maybe she should have waited at the bar.
All her considerations were for naught when the man got up as she reached them, with his hat on, which he touched in greeting to her. He left, swallowed by the crowd almost instantly.
“You make quite the entrance nowadays,” Dale said.
He was a large man with a broad face and huge hands which loosely held a tankard of beer. He sipped from his tankard and eyed her.
“Well? Sit down!” Dale said in his gruff voice rubbing a pudgy finger down his beard.
Cora sat and put her hands on her lap. Her palms were sweating, and she wiped them on her skirt. Dale scared and repulsed her at the same time. It was an odd mental place to be in. “Why do we have to meet in here?” she asked. “There are other places. Places that aren’t so loud and full.” She looked around with distaste.
“Yeah, but I like it here and since this arrangement is all about what I like…” He raised his brows and smiled.
Cora swallowed. What had her father been thinking of getting involved with Dale and his associates, as he called them. His gang was more like it. The man was a piece of trash, and when things had gotten tough where had her father gone? Right to Dale’s door, asking for help. If Cora could somehow turn back the clock and stop him, she would do anything and everything to do so.
Digging into her pocket she withdrew an envelope and slid it across the table.
“There, take it. It’s the month’s payment,” she said coldly. “And before you say anything, yes, I added in your interest.”
Dale chuckled but made no move to take the envelope. “It’s all there?”
“Yes, count it if you don’t believe me,” Cora said, hotly.
Dale regarded her coolly. “But now I’m thinking if it was so easy for you to get this money then maybe I need to up the repayment terms of the loan.”
“No!” Cora snapped, her pulse racing with fear. If he did that, she would never manage to make the payments and she would lose everything. She couldn’t have that. But she also couldn’t show fear. That would seal her fate as easily as though she had shot herself. “Because then I won’t pay you another red cent.” She managed to say the words with conviction and only a slight wobble in her voice.
“Then I will take your farm,” Dale said.
“And I will get you arrested,” Cora said in a harsh whisper putting all the hatred she felt for this man into her words. They came out like venom from snake fangs. That was good. That might make him worry. “Now, we have a perfectly civilized, business deal in place. Let’s not ruin it.”
On the outside she was solid as granite while on the inside she shivered and shook like a grass stalk in a storm. All she had to do was hold it together long enough to make this payment and then she could leave and breathe.
Chuckling, Dale nodded. “You know, I can see a lot of your father in you. If your mother hadn’t gotten so sick and put him in that debt, I think he would never have darkened my door. But them hospital beds, they don’t come cheap, do they?”
He was trying to get under her skin, but Cora had buried her mother two years earlier and she had buried the pain of her loss along with the casket. That wound was scabbed over and perfectly safe. Dale could try and use it, but it wouldn’t work. Still, she found her throat was dry and so she snatched his tankard from him and took a sip.
The beer was horrible. It was bitter and warm. She swallowed, but with effort. The beer slid unhappily to her stomach where it seemed to sizzle.
“If you’re not going to take my money,” Cora began, and Dale quickly snatched up the envelope as she handed him back his beer. “Good, now my receipt.”
“What receipt?” Dale asked.
“The one we always haggle over,” Cora said. “The one I get every time I make a payment to you. You know what I’m talking about, Dale. I know you do. So, hand it over and you can get on with your Friday evening and so can I.”
Dale smiled and Cora could see that he had enjoyed their little game. It seemed the man loved to play mind games. If she was a challenge and he really had to work for it, then he seemed to enjoy them even more. He kept trying to make her cry or scream in anger or something, but Cora stuffed everything down in the hopes that he would keep taking the payments and eventually it would all be done.
Dale handed over the receipt which was passed to him by someone sitting at the next table. Cora took it and the paper shook in her hand, just a bit, until she could stuff it into her pocket.
“It’s been a pleasure,” she said and rose.
“Stay for a drink,” Dale said. He always said it.
“No, thanks,” she said, as always and turned to leave.
“Oh, Cora,” Dale called.
She turned back.
“Next time is double the interest, as a little summer bonus for me,” Dale said smiling. He looked like a happy toad, squatting on his log. How she hated him.
Cora didn’t reply but turned and made her way as calmly to the door as she could.
Once outside in the May night air, the beer came right back up. Cora only just made it to the alleyway which was used as a trash bin and latrine before being sick. She heaved and heaved until there was nothing left and then she stood leaning with her head on her arm against the wall.
How had it come to this?
How had she ended up there?
A man came stumbling from further back in the alley, kicking an empty beer bottle as he came. He slurred something at her.
“Don’t even try,” she said.
The drunk who smelled of urine, stumbled by her and fell face first on the steps of the Drunken Friar. He didn’t move.
Cora turned the man over and found a trickle of blood coming from his nose but other than that, he seemed fine. He was dead drunk.
She sighed and left him there.
Down the street was the general store. They had a pump around the back where they often washed their dirtier vegetables that came from the farms. She made her way around there and used some of the water to rinse her mouth. Splashing some cold water on her face also felt really good, and Cora’s stomach finally settled.
Her horse was tied at the trough by the bank down the street. She walked there, passing other folks who had business being out that evening and mounted the horse. The brothel down the street was alight with lanterns and most of the traffic was headed there or to the Friar.
She supposed it could have been worse. Dale could have wanted to meet her at Mama Claudell’s. That place also made her uncomfortable, all those feathers and the perfume that wafted from the doorway.
Cora turned her horse’s head from the town of Dover and headed out into the blackness of the countryside.
As she left that place behind her, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She wouldn’t have to see Dale for another month. A whole month. It felt like a good long time, but she knew it would be no time at all and she would be coming back with more of her hard-earned cash in an envelope for that slimy toad of a man.
She would pay him off and it would all be done, and if he did anything to hurt her, she would use the insurance her father had left her. It was a letter that Dale had written one day when hopelessly drunk. He had told of all the murders he’d done. There were three. Two men and one woman. He went on in the letter about the woman’s death the most. Cora thought it was because it bothered him. She got the feeling he hadn’t wanted to hurt her, not that that had stopped him.
And there it was, all down in black and white and signed with his name in his own hand. He’d been sweet on Cora’s aunt at the time and written this confession letter to her. When she moved away to New York, she had left the letter with Cora’s father and now it was Cora’s.
Marshal Hennesy would be very interested in getting his hands on it, Cora was certain.
Once again, the question of why she didn’t just get Dale arrested came to her mind. Because she wasn’t sure. She didn’t know if the letter would be enough and she was certain that while the authorities hummed and twiddled their thumbs, Dale would have her killed.
He had tried twice and found out that she was more fun alive. When she paid him off, things would change. Then the seesaw balancing act would alter and there would be nothing tying them to each other and there was a chance he would come for her again.
Maybe she would come out on top and then again, maybe she would die. She had to do the best she could in the meantime… and that meant paying him, until it was done.
It was an hour later when she arrived at the farm and her spirit soared. Home! It was a balm for any ailment.
She put the horse in the barn and rubbed him down. Jack whinnied happily when she was done and had fed him. Then she went into the house.
Mabel was at the kitchen table with her grandson Thomas. They had their heads down over a book, and didn’t notice her arrive.
“Evening,” she said, in a jovial tone.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Mabel said. She was a gray haired, plump woman with hands rough from hard work. She’d come to stay when Cora’s mother had first taken ill with the wasting disease six years ago. Mabel had come to the house to help with looking after her mother and to do the cooking and cleaning. She’d never left. Thomas, her grandson, who was ten now, had come not long after when his folks died in a trainwreck.
