In Love With His Hurt Soul (Preview)

Chapter One

October 1887, Colorado

It was late afternoon as the cart trundled along the mountain track. Peaks rose around them, dusted with early snow and shining brightly as the sun dipped westward. Daisy Rowling sighed and pulled her coat tighter around her. She glared at her fellow passenger, an older man who looked at her apologetically. 

“I’m sorry, Daisy,” he said in his rich, sonorous voice. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I thought they were better sportsmen than that.”

She snorted. “Really? And just what did you think would happen?” 

“Well,” he said. Then as a thought struck him, he straightened up and tried to look haughty. “I am your uncle, young lady. I have raised you since your dear parents departed this mortal realm, and you will show me respect. You can’t speak to me like that.” 

Uncle Ronald trying to act as though he had the moral high ground was beyond amusing. She had warned him, and had he listened? Of course, not. And now here they were, freezing to death on the back of a pelter’s cart with all the hardly cured skins stinking around them. 

“What does any of that have to do with anything? I told you to stop, and you didn’t listen,” she hissed, not wanting to risk having the pelter kick them off his cart too. There was no knowing what people would take offense to nowadays. And since it was the only transport they’d been able to find since being kicked off the train before the town of Montrose, Daisy thought she’d prefer to keep it. It was either this stinking cart or their feet. And since she couldn’t feel her toes, she was thankful for the ride. 

“I was earning that cash you love to spend,” Ronald said, testily. He crossed his arms over his barrel chest and waggled his mustache at her. “You know that if we don’t keep our hand in—” 

“Where are we now, Uncle?” she asked sweetly. If anyone spent their cash it certainly wasn’t her. Ronald was the one in the silk waistcoat, not her. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Clearly, we are traveling west on a cart.”

“Clearly, and why is that?” she asked. “I seem to recall that we started this journey to California on a rather comfortable train. Did we not?” she asked. Her voice carried a definite barb she hoped he picked up on. Ronald was gifted when it came to finding trouble. 

“Oh, all right, I’m sorry,” her uncle said, sagging and leaning back against the hard wood of the cart. “I took it too far. But you know it’s very difficult for an old card sharp like myself to see games of poker going on around me and not get involved. Anyway, I won, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did, with my help,” Daisy said. “And therein lies the issue, Uncle. We can’t keep fleecing normal players like this. You don’t need me for those games. They barely play well enough for a child. I could beat them with my hands tied behind my back and a blindfold on.” 

“That I know,” Uncle Ronald said, looking proud. “You have an uncanny gift, my dear. Simply uncanny.” He beamed at her. 

“Promise me that when we get to this town the driver is taking us to, you won’t do anything foolish,” she said. 

“Foolish how?” he asked. 

“Expecting me to help you win a game,” she said. “I won’t do it. Not if there aren’t any good poker players at your table.” 

“But Daisy, my eyesight is going, as you well know, and—” He began but stopped when he saw her expression. “All right. I’ll win on my own. No nose tapping and ear pulling for you tonight.” He snorted. “That’s assuming there’s even a game on the go in town.” 

She regarded him with a tired look. “It’s Friday night. Of course, there’s a game going. There’s always a game wherever we end up, even if you have to teach people to play to make it so.” 

Uncle Ronald chuckled. “I do like those nights. There’s something so satisfying teaching a person to fleece his friends.” 

“You have questionable morals,” Daisy said. 

“So do you, my dear, since you help me to win,” he said. “Some might say that your morals are more corrupted than mine.” 

“Well, if that is so,” Daisy countered. “Then that is only because of you. Had Mama and Papa raised me, I would have been a proper lady.”

Uncle Ronald regarded her. “Would never suit you. You’re a tavern girl and a swindler, and I love it. And you. You’re my favorite niece.” 

“I’m your only niece,” she said. 

He put his arm around her shoulders. “That you are, my dear, that you are.” 

Sighing, Daisy pulled her knitted hat down over her ears, covering more of her brown hair. Then she snuggled into her scarf until only the tip of her nose and her blue eyes could be seen. It was bitterly cold on the back of the cart and her breath hung in the air in front of her. 

As they slipped into silence, her thoughts turned inward, and she found them drawn to the memories of her parents. How she wished they hadn’t gone on that last journey, that their ship hadn’t been caught in a squall and sunk. She wished she’d grown up in that lovely house she was born in back in Boston. How different her life would have been then? 

Huddled together, she and Uncle Ronald bounced and jolted over the uneven ground. It seemed to be quite a ways from the railway tracks to this town they were heading towards. Watching the turns and twists in the track, she could swear they weren’t heading west as much as north on this road. And all this even though the pelter had assured them they would be closer to California than when they started. He’d even assured them that they would be able to catch a train further down the line. She hoped he hadn’t swindled them. This little ride had cost coin, and that might be in short supply soon. Especially if Ronald kept behaving badly. 

As they rode, she looked around. Clumps of pine trees dotted the landscape with wide swaths of yellowed, dead grass between them. She was certain it was lovely here in the summer when the grass would be green, and the air was less chilly. Perhaps that was why people lived out here in the middle of nowhere, in a place where the winter cold settled long before it hit anywhere else. 

“A mug of good strong, hot coffee would be a fine thing around now,” Uncle Ronald said, wistfully.

“Gee, I wonder where we could have had that?” Daisy said, letting the sarcasm drip from her words. 

“I know,” Ronald said, sounding fed up with her. “I know that I made a rat’s nest out of the whole journey. We could have been perfectly happy on the train and in California in a week or so. I know all this.” He sighed. “I just couldn’t help myself.” 

The sadness in his voice touched Daisy, and she decided he’d been chastised enough. He was a silly man with no willpower and little control over himself. He had never needed it. Where her mother had spent her time learning to be a cultured lady, her brother had spent his time in brothels and card dens. He had a gift for playing poker, and in his younger days, could read a man accurately after one round. But being a card sharp was a hard life, and it took a toll on him. His eyesight was failing rapidly, and he had been forced to wear spectacles when playing. It wasn’t bad, but it did mean that he couldn’t change his focus from the cards to the other players quickly. He had started missing tells and signs that they were bluffing. 

Luckily, Daisy had learned to read people, and they had developed a series of movements she could do that would alert Ronald to anything he needed to know about the other players. It was cheating, especially since Daisy generally had a good idea of which cards would be played when. It was a knack, and she put it to good use. 

That was why they were on the cart freezing. 

Uncle Ronald had been playing poker with a group of men quite consistently throughout the journey from Chicago. At first, Daisy had left him to his own devices and not helped him. They weren’t playing for high stakes so why risk it? 

And then the game had changed. Suddenly, they were betting far more money than she was comfortable with her uncle potentially losing, and she stepped in. Ronald started winning a lot, and everyone began to suspect that the sweet older man who smiled a lot was a card sharp. He’d taken a prominent rich man for a lot of money, and he had taken offense to it. 

No one believed that they had won fair and square, and of course, they hadn’t, although back in his prime, Ronald certainly could have. And so, they were kicked off the train to make the rich man happy. 

It made Daisy’s blood boil. 

Around them, the sun slid below the horizon. The sky was still lit with its fading illumination turning the mountains and trees into silhouettes. It was Daisy’s favorite time of day. The waning of the light before the sky above would erupt in bright stars. 

“Almost there,” the pelter said from the front of the cart. 

“That’s marvelous,” Ronald replied. “I’m sure you’re as eager to get in out of the cold.” 

The pelter snorted. 

Did that mean yes, or no? Daisy wondered. It was hard to say. The pelter seemed to be a rather taciturn individual, and Daisy wasn’t sure what to do with him. She decided to let the snort hang like their breath in the air. 

With the sun gone, it was decidedly colder. She imagined the frost forming on her coat and hat. She wouldn’t be surprised if they turned to icicles on the back of the cart and the pelter had to pour warm water over them to get them to move. 

They passed through a ravine with steep, sheer sides, lit by the light of the pelter’s lantern that wobbled and swung on a pole attached to the cart. His horse plodded along as though the fading light meant nothing to it. Perhaps it walked this way often. 

Against the not-yet-black sky, something blacker rose. It looked like the winch mechanism that mines used to cart the ore from deep in the earth. Daisy wondered if this sign of human habitation meant that they were finally approaching this mythical town. 

The road dipped a little, and soon, she could see smoke hanging in the still air. And beneath the smoke lay buildings. 

The town they were approaching, descending to really, was a cluster of buildings, nestled between the steep cliffs of the mountainsides and dribbling along into a narrow valley. The houses seemed to lean against one another as though huddling against the cold. 

 There were a few lanterns hanging from poles dotted along the town’s streets. They tended to offer light in the places where the glow from lanterns and candles used inside the dwellings didn’t reach. It was almost homey. 

Stopping outside a two-story, wood, and stone building, the pelter grunted that this was their stop. With aching, stiff joints, Daisy and Ronald shifted to the end of the cart and climbed down. She dragged her carpetbag with her as her uncle grabbed his portmanteau. 

“Thank you so much, kind sir,” Ronald said to the pelter. 

The man touched the brim of his hat, which was silvery with frost and then flicked the reins of his cart and the horse shambled on. 

The place they now stood in front of was called the Golden Nugget, and it was a hotel. 

“Ah, marvelous,” Ronald said, hefting his bag and making for the door. 

Daisy reached out and stopped him. 

“What is it?” he asked, stopping at her touch. 

“The sign in the window says no vacancies,” she said. 

“Oh, that is rotten luck,” he said. “Well, perhaps they can direct us to another place that has room.” 

Her uncle opened the door and stepped inside. Daisy followed, enjoying the warmth that washed over her. But it was short-lived. Uncle Ronald had hardly begun to ask about rooms when she began to shake her head in response. 

“No, no,” she said, her double chins wobbling. “No space for you here. You go down to Lower Trenton, just down the waterfall. Look for the Gobbling Goose,” she said, looking meaningfully at the door.

Daisy and her uncle exchanged looks once the woman had closed the door on their backs. They didn’t say a word until they were well away. 

The walk to this Lower Trenton involved following a river that tumbled and churned over many rocks. They followed it to where the land had a foreshortened look. There they found a winding road that zigzagged all the way down to another set of lights below. These stretched out before them, more concentrated closer to the cliff and more spread out the farther from it one looked. 

The weight of Daisy’s bag was beginning to make her neck and shoulders ache. She hated having to carry it. But since it contained all her worldly goods, she could hardly leave it anywhere. 

When they reached the bottom of the zigzag road, they found that the air was decidedly colder, filled with the spray from the waterfall that churned and tumbled down beside them. It filled the air with a haze that condensed on any flat surface, their faces and clothes included. 

Luckily, the Gobbling Goose was not far. It was on the right-hand side of what Daisy took to be the main road. Bright lantern light streamed out of the windows, making patches of warmth on the street. The sounds of laughter and people talking drifted from inside, and Daisy felt her lagging spirits begin to lift a little. There was no sign in the window stating they were unwelcome there. 

Uncle Ronald opened the door and stepped in. The smell of a saloon hit Daisy in the face. Smoke from cigarillos and pipes filled the air that was already tinged with the aroma of something cooking and spilled beer. It was a wonderful smell.

Daisy’s fingers and toes began to defrost in the warmth. She pushed her hat up a bit off her forehead and pulled her scarf down. It was good to be in from the cold. A man with light blonde hair sitting at the bar looked up as they came in and smiled at Daisy. He had very pale eyes. She felt her cheeks going pink and hastily looked away. People didn’t usually notice her. She tried hard to blend into the background. It was essential in their line of business, or people would eventually pick up on their signals.

“Good evening to you,” the barman said, having finally noticed they were there. “Looking for rooms?” 

“Definitely,” Ronald said with a smile. “We are weary travelers.” 

The barman introduced himself as Charlie Finder, owner and proprietor. While he and Ronald spoke, Daisy took in the room. As she turned and looked about, she saw people eating and drinking at the many small tables that filled up the main part of the room. There was a man sitting at a piano thumbing through a pile of papers with musical notes written on them. And in the far corner, at a booth, some men were playing cards. 

Her heart dropped. 

“That will be wonderful,” Ronald was saying. “Two rooms if you please.” He placed the coins on the bar. “Oh, and dinner. Whatever that is cooking smells delicious.” 

“Well, the missus will be happy to hear you think so,” Charlie Finder said with a bright, broad smile. Coming around the bar, he led them to a flight of stairs that led up to the rooms he rented. 

Daisy saw Ronald’s face as they passed the booth with the card players. She tried to catch her uncle’s eye and let him know that she didn’t think it was a good idea, but as they walked, he said, “Oh, a card game.” 

“Yes, it’s a weekly thing,” Charlie said. “Some of the locals like to have a little low-stakes game of an evening. Do you play?” 

“A little,” Ronald said, his eyes gleaming. 

“Well, I’m sure the fellas will deal you in if you’re keen,” Charlie said. “They always enjoy having someone new at the table.” 

“Oh, yes, that sounds wonderful,” Ronald said. He cast a glance at her, and Daisy shook her head slightly. It was the tiny move she made when telling him to hold and not to bet. 

For a moment, Daisy thought he was taking her opinion to heart. She almost cracked a smile, and then words tumbled from his lips. 

“I think I will join them for a game,” Ronald said brightly, the fever of his addiction in his eyes. 

Daisy ground her teeth, thinking she should have chastised him more on the ride into town. 

Chapter Two

Lower Trenton, Colorado

As the early light of dawn broke over the town of Lower Trenton, Deputy Sheriff James Andretti sat up in bed. As a naturally early riser, he threw back the blankets on his cot and stood up, stretching. His shoulder joint popped loudly, and he spent a moment easing it. 

Injured when he’d wrestled a would-be bank robber to the ground, James’s right shoulder had never been the same. It seemed to delight in slipping in and out of joint. 

 The apartment he lived in above the sheriff’s station was nothing fancy. It consisted of a bedroom and a makeshift kitchen. A potbellied stove stood in one corner of the kitchen and served to heat the room and provide a means of making coffee. It was James’s first stop on his morning rounds. The day didn’t start well without a good strong cup of coffee. Or so his father was fond of saying. 

When the pot was percolating, he went back to his bedroom and began his morning ablutions. As he ran a razor down his brown stubbled cheeks, he considered what the day was likely to bring. From the view out of his window, it was a bright, sunny day judging by the gleam off the top of the town’s founder’s head. Oscar Trenton’s statue stood in the town square and was made of a stone that glinted in the sunshine. He rubbed his green eyes, trying to remove the after images.

The sun being out was good. Days like this would be few from now until spring, and it was nice to get a last look at the sun before it disappeared behind snow clouds. People were happier when the sun was out, and he was most likely in for a calm day. 

That made him happy. 

When he’d finished shaving, he went to his closet and pulled out his uniform. 

As the deputy sheriff for Lower Trenton, he had to dress in brown trousers and a white shirt with a brown waistcoat. His badge had to be prominently displayed. Other than that, his attire was his own. The brown and white differentiated him from his Upper Trenton counterparts, who wore navy blue trousers and white shirts with blue waistcoats. 

James had always thought their uniforms were pretentious, just like the citizens of Upper Trenton were. In that way, it suited them well. 

Dressed, he went through to the kitchen and found the coffee was ready. He poured a mugful savoring the delicious aroma. 

Yes, this was going to be a good day. His new book on the laws of the country had arrived the day before, and he was looking forward to getting stuck into it.

 James had ambitions. Being a deputy sheriff in a little town like Lower Trenton was only the first stepping stone for him. What he really wanted to be was a US Marshal. He wasn’t sure how one went about becoming one, but he figured if he knew the law inside and out, that would put him in good stead once he found out how to apply. 

He had asked Sheriff Andy Roth about it, but the old man had only tutted and shaken his head, which had James thinking he didn’t know. 

With his mug of coffee in his hand, he picked up his keys from the top of his dresser and went downstairs to the office. It was empty of other human life. Sheriff Andy wasn’t in yet. He was never in before nine-thirty and would leave at four-fifteen sharp, every day except Sunday when he didn’t come in at all. 

James, however, was always on duty since he lived at the station. He was the sheriff’s third deputy. The other two had both died unexpectedly. The first one was Jonathan Willard. He had had an accident and fallen off a cliff while trying to stop a runaway coach. The other, Rusty Scott, had run afoul of a bandit and been shot. He’d survived the bullet but died of an infection two weeks later. James hoped he’d be able to live long enough to get a job with the marshals. The post of deputy seemed to have developed a curse. 

Placing his mug on his desk, the smaller of the two that had been arranged at right angles to each other, he looked over the paperwork he’d done last night. It was a report on the Bester boy who had been thought missing. James had found him in his parents’ barn, stuck in an old cellar they’d forgotten about. Carl and Willie had been playing hide and go seek, and Willie had found a new hiding place. It wasn’t a good one because the outside door had jammed shut once he was inside, and he hadn’t been able to get out. Luckily, James heard him calling and managed to wedge the door open with a lot of brute force. That might be why his shoulder was so achy this morning. 

With the keys still in his hand, he made circles with his right arm, trying to loosen up the shoulder joint. It crackled and popped again. That couldn’t be healthy. But the last thing he wanted to do was go to the doc with shoulder pain. Dr. Harry Birch would prescribe laudanum for anything, and everything, and James found it made him loopy if he took it. 

Walking to the front door, James fiddled with the keyring looking for the one for the front door. He always locked the door when he went to bed. Sheriff Andy said he should only do that if there were people in the cells, but James thought it prudent to do it anyway. If someone came looking for trouble, there was a good solid door between him and them. There was no sense in tempting fate. Especially considering what had happened to the other deputies. 

 There were four keys on the ring, one for the front door, one for the safe, and two for the different cells. As he reached the door and was about to put the key in the lock, a knock rang out on the wood.

Bang, bang! 

James dropped the keys. 

“Deputy!” a voice called between bangs.

Bang! Bang-bang-bang! 

“Deputy! Are you in there?” the voice insisted. “Open up!” 

James bent and retrieved the keys. He wrestled the right one into the lock and turned it. 

The door thrust open, pushing him back into the room. He stepped back, the cold air hitting him and waking him the rest of the way his few sips of coffee hadn’t yet.

“Mrs. Singer,” he said as a short, dark-haired woman in a black coat came into the office. She was bundled against the cold, but there was no mistaking her. Madeline Singer, fifty-three years old. Two children, Henry and Michael, both grown. Married to Robert Singer. Councilman. 

“I desperately need your help,” she wailed. “It’s Robert. He didn’t come home last night.” 

“Come in and have a seat,” James said, indicating the visitor’s chair in front of his desk. “You can tell me all about it.” 

He closed the door behind her. She shook her head, a few graying strands of hair slipping from her bun. “No! I just know he’s in trouble. We have to find him.” 

“All right,” James said with forced calm. “We will. But first, you have to tell me what happened.” 

She stood, tapping her foot on the floor, refusing to budge from just inside the office. James walked to his desk and took a sip of his coffee. He might be keen, and he might be hardworking but there was no reason for him to miss his morning cuppa. “Would you like some coffee?” he offered. 

“There’s nothing to tell that you don’t know,” Mrs. Singer said testily, ignoring his offer. “He went to the Gobbling Goose last night for his weekly poker game. He didn’t come home. What more do you need to know?” 

“Have you been to the Goose?” James asked, taking another sip. He could see how this was going to go, and he wanted to get as much in as he could. 

This wasn’t the first time that Mrs. Singer had become hysterical about her husband. Robert was a conscientious, kind man. He spent the better part of his weeks trying to keep Upper and Lower Trenton from killing each other. In his position of councilman, it was his job to make sure that Lower provided Upper with food and that Upper paid for it properly in coin. It sounded simple, but with the animosity between the two towns, James could only imagine it was the most difficult job in the whole place. 

The one outlet the councilman had was his weekly poker game held at the local saloon. It was his time to let his hair down and enjoy himself. James supposed that the game had simply run late, and that Robert had decided to spend the night in one of the rooms upstairs. It had happened before, and Mrs. Singer had reacted much the same way. 

“He’s most likely at the Goose,” James said. 

Mrs. Singer cocked her head on one side and gave him a withering look. “Yes, I’ve been to the Goose, and he’s not there,” she said. “It was the first place I went. He left when his game ended and said he was coming home, which didn’t happen. I would think that since my husband is a councilman, you would be flying into action instead of sipping your coffee with your feet on your desk.” 

James’s feet were not on the desk, but he put his mug down anyway. There would be no enjoyment of that cup of coffee with Mrs. Singer snapping at him. So, he stood and went to the door. Beside it was a peg with his hat and coat on it. He pulled them off the peg and shrugged them on. Then he lifted his knitted scarf his mother had made him and wound that around his neck. The sun may be out, but it was still rather chilly. Holding the door open, he motioned for Mrs. Singer to leave the office first. He was careful to bring the keys along with him and lock the door behind him.  

Walking quickly, they crossed the town square and headed down Main Street to the Gobbling Goose. 

At this time of the morning, the Goose stood silent and dark. James walked up to the building and knocked on the front door. A couple of moments later, it opened to reveal a young woman with her hair tied up in a kerchief. She had a broom in one hand and looked at him inquiringly. 

“Yes?” she asked. And then, seeing Mrs. Singer peering around James, she sighed. “I’ve already told you that your husband isn’t here, Mrs. Singer.” 

“He has to be,” Mrs. Singer insisted. “Let us in, Marie.”

Marie shook her head. “He’s not in the ledger, and Charlie never misses a name. If he did, how would he keep his records? You have to look elsewhere.” She held the door, not inviting him in. 

“Please, Marie,” he said, his mind filling with facts about her. Marie Sachs, twenty-five years old. Lives with her mother, who works at the trader. Currently single. “If we could just come in and take a look around, it would help.” 

“There’s nothing to see,” Marie protested, but she opened the door for them anyway. “Mind you wipe your feet. I’ve swept by the bar, and I don’t have time to do it over.” 

They wiped their feet on the mat, and James set to work. He checked in the storeroom under the stairs and in the kitchen. All he found was Joyce Bender, thirty-seven, three kids, Gwendoline, Annie, and March. Widowed. She was the cook’s assistant and was hard at work getting things set up for the guests’ breakfasts. She did not like him poking around and shooed him out. Anyway, Robert was unlikely to be there, but he had to check anyway to make Mrs. Singer happy. 

James inspected the ledger, and when there was no sign of Robert Singer’s name anywhere, he headed for the door. 

“But he has to be here,” Mrs. Singer persisted. “He must be in one of the rooms. We have to go upstairs and open them all.” 

“We can’t do that,” James said gently. The woman was becoming quite hysterical as her husband failed to materialize. “The guests asleep upstairs paid for those rooms. We can’t barge in.” 

“What about the empty ones?” she demanded. 

He nodded. “Those we can check. Would you help us please, Marie?” 

Marie nodded. James guessed she’d dance a jig if it meant they would leave so she could complete her work. She led them upstairs to the second floor. Out of the ten rooms available for rent, there were three unoccupied. James unlocked each one with Marie’s set of keys and checked inside. Robert Singer was not in any of them. 

A niggle of worry began to worm its way into James. Where was the councilman? It was unlike him to disappear like this. Still, at this time, there was no indication of foul play, and so James had to keep an open mind. Perhaps there was a possibility he hadn’t considered yet. Acknowledging this, he let his mind wander. 

Was it possible that Robert had been a little worse for drink after his game and had decided to stay at one of his friends’ houses? That would be the most logical thing for him to have done. Especially if he needed help to walk. 

Arriving home to Mrs. Singer inebriated would no doubt cause a great deal of marital trouble. In a bid to avoid that, James guessed the councilman had gone to a friend’s house. He wasn’t sure whose as he didn’t know who the regular players were, but it was certainly a possibility. Perhaps Mrs. Singer knew who her husband played with. If not, Charlie certainly would know. James didn’t relish waking the owner of the saloon, but if he had to, he would. 

Something about this line of reasoning didn’t sit well with James, and he noodled at it a little longer as they rechecked every possible place a person could be in the saloon. Had he ever seen the councilman drunk? James couldn’t think of a time. 

He was about to mention his new theories when Marie piped up. They were back in the main room where she was cleaning up. 

“He might be in the stable,” she said, resuming her sweeping. “It’s happened before. Not with the councilman,” she added hurriedly, glancing at Mrs. Singer, whose face began to turn an angry red. “But some other men who were a little tipsy have bedded down in the hay before. You can go and check or wait for Arnold. He comes in around nine.” 

“The stable?” James said, musing. Yes, he could see it. The stable was warm, fragrant with the hay, and free from a nagging wife. Robert might have gone there. 

Leaving the saloon through the front door, James and Mrs. Singer made their way around the side of the building. There was a narrow passageway there made by the bathhouse that shared a stable with the saloon. 

The alleyway was lined by barrels, empty crates, and other detritus that establishments lost track of out of their back doors. A thin rivulet of water had turned to ice overnight in its bid for freedom running down the gentle slope towards the river.  

They reached the outhouse before they reached the stable. It stank of ammonia, and James didn’t envy Marie the cleaning of it. 

The stable, on the other hand, smelled of horse, which was a much better aroma. And from the depths of a stall, they heard a man groaning. 

“Ah,” James said, turning to Mrs. Singer with a smile on his face. “I think we may be in luck.” 

The door to the stall was closed, and James unceremoniously pushed it open. 

The sight that met his eyes made him step back. There was a man in the stall, but he was not the councilman. James was certain he’d never seen the man before. His hair was matted. Turning, he stared at James with dull, unfocused eyes. He held up his hands. They were covered with a dull, off-red colored substance and the front of his shirt was dark with a stain. Bits of straw stuck to it. 

“Aargh,” the man said, his voice sounding rough. “Daisy?” He looked around as though expecting something to happen. 

“Sir,” James said firmly. “Are you all right? Do you need assistance?” The man was behaving strangely. He kept blinking, touching the back of his head and wincing. 

Before either man could say anything else, Mrs. Singer stepped forward and yelled at the stranger. “Where is my husband?” 

It was at that time that they heard the scream. 

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“In Love With His Hurt Soul” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Ever since the death of her parents, Daisy Rowling’s entire life has revolved around her uncle Ronald’s gambling addiction. Even though she is a great player too, she feels safer helping her uncle with signals, rather than joining his games. However, things go terribly wrong when Ronald is arrested for murder. Help arrives in the most unexpected form, as Deputy James stands by her side…

Placing all her hopes in James is inevitable, but can she trust a man she has just met?

A challenging murder investigation appears to be the perfect opportunity for Deputy James Andretti to prove himself. As soon as he learns Daisy’s tragic story, he is certain that someone is trying to frame an innocent man with fabricated evidence. Eager to fight injustice, he feels compelled to follow the clues and track down the man responsible for this terrible crime.

Could his attraction to Daisy hold him back from overcoming the obstacles that stand in his way?

Daisy and James are thrown together by their mutual quest to discover the truth. When their lives are being threatened, only their connection can hold them together and give them the strength they need. Can their love be each other’s salvation if they follow their hearts?

“In Love With His Hurt Soul” is a historical western romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Get your copy from Amazon!