Defender of the Widow’s Heart (Preview)

Chapter One

Sandy Springs, Texas, 1881

 

“Is… it is usually this dusty?”

The sheriff’s deputy, the one who was supposed to be showing her around, turned to stare at her. “Where you from, lady?”

Mariana tried not to bristle at his tone. This wasn’t home. It was a more rural area, and she’d have to get used to the culture here. There were two deputies, and she’d rather hoped to be assigned the older one, who seemed a good deal calmer and more efficient. His name was Reed, and he seemed an intelligent sort of man. 

But she’d been given Jiminy, probably because Reed had all the real work to do. 

“Dallas,” she replied reluctantly. “Before that, Missouri.”

“Right. Well, our weather is a little different from Dallas, and sure is different from Missouri. The dust is real bad, I’m afraid. You’ll get used to it, though.”

“I’m sure I shall,” Mariana responded, flashing a quick smile. The deputy didn’t return it. Probably he was annoyed at having to escort a newcomer around instead of putting his feet up in the sheriff’s office and reading a newspaper. 

She estimated that he must be around nineteen years old, judging by the spotty face which so often afflicted teenagers. His hair under his wide-brimmed hat was plastered to his face with sweat. 

The heat was starting to get to Mariana as well. Her skin prickled under her dress – a modest, demure sort of gown that wouldn’t earn a second look in a place like this – and she felt sweat gathering at her temples. 

Perhaps I shouldn’t have chosen the blue gown…  She eyed her outfit with some dismay. The hem was already caked with dust, and there was a thin film of fine red grains on the sleeves and bodice, and over her parasol. 

Maybe the parasol was the reason why the locals were looking at her so strangely. Well, she wasn’t about to dispense with it. She’d learned that the hard way in Dallas – her ancestors were Irish, and she had the pale skin and freckles to go with it. The sun was not kind to her skin. 

Jiminy sighed and continued walking. Mariana followed him, forced to step lively to keep up with the lanky youth. 

“The sheriff was real pleased that somebody bought up the saloon,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s been empty for years. Folks get antsy when there’s no place to drink and eat, you know?”

“You should know that I’m planning to turn this place into a respectable boarding house, not a saloon,” Mariana said firmly. 

Jiminy only shrugged. “Whatever you do with it, it’ll be better than what it is now.”

Another bad sign. 

“Well, I hope the locals will support me, while I get started,” Mariana said, hating how uncertain she sounded. She and David had tackled plenty of projects like this together. How hard could it be to do this on my own?

“They surely will, Miss Olsen.”

Mariana’s gloved hands tightened on the handle of her parasol. “Mrs.”

He glanced back at her, blinking. “What?”

She cleared her throat. “It’s Mrs. Olsen, actually.”

“Oh, sorry. I thought you didn’t have a husband.”

“I don’t. But I did.” She was sure her knuckles were going to burst out of her gloves with the strength of her grip.

He seemed to understand at last, flushing and looking away. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

She shrugged. “Can’t be helped. This is the place, then?”

He’d stopped in front of a long, squat building, set a good way back from the rest of the main street. 

It had been a long walk from the hotel where Mariana was staying to this place. Jiminy had led her along the boardwalk, where dust swirled over the wooden slats, past stores were people craned their necks to stare at her as she passed, and finally out into the blazing sun. 

She paused, taking a good, long look at the building she had just bought. Well, Davie? She sent up a silent prayer to her husband, who was hopefully not laughing at her in Heaven. What do you think? 

The building appeared to have good bones. It was proper brick and stone, not made of flimsy wood – or worse yet, canvas. It had shocked her how many buildings were still made of cheap wood, decades after their towns had been established. Or canvas tents, even. 

Come on. David wouldn’t have been afraid. 

Drawing in a breath and squaring her shoulders, Mariana walked forward, following the deputy up to the saloon.

There was a wide wooden porch running all the way around the building. It was all one storey, as she’d expected from the blueprints – but there was a good deal of attic space that could be converted into more rooms if the boarding-house part was particularly successful. 

She thought it might be. The tiny hotel she was staying at was rather selective about its guests, and too expensive for most people. The proprietor had reluctantly accepted a single widowed woman, but staunchly refused to take in single women under any other circumstances. Progress was stretching its long, sticky fingers deeper and deeper into Texas, reaching past even Sandy Springs. 

And when it came, Mariana would be waiting. 

“Why doesn’t the hotel take in single women?” she asked, holding up her skirts delicately to climb the lopsided wooden steps to the porch. They creaked and shifted under her feet. There’s one job that needs doing. She stifled a reluctant sigh.

Jiminy eyed her curiously. “What do you mean, ma’am?”

“I mean that the hotel wouldn’t take in a single woman. I had to prove I was a real widow before they would accept my booking. It was inconvenient, I can tell you. Do you have any idea why?”

The boy looked embarrassed. “Well, single ladies generally ain’t… ain’t reputable, ma’am.”

Mariana paused. “Says who? Don’t you have any sisters, or unmarried aunts? Would you say that they aren’t reputable?”

“I mean traveling ones, ma’am,” Jiminy corrected himself. “I mean, why would a single woman want to travel?”

Mariana frowned. Jiminy must be younger than she’d first thought – that, or the town didn’t see many travelers. “For many reasons. It’s hardly uncommon, in fact. Maybe she’s visiting friends or family, or maybe she’s traveling to take up a job, or…”

“A job? Visiting?” Jiminy looked bewildered. “Ladies don’t do that.”

Mariana stared at him, trying to pick out a hint of humor in his tone. But no… he was not joking. He fully believed it. 

She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Of course, Jiminy was young, but still. Women were leaving home in droves these days, traveling for work or to become somebody’s wife. Maybe a little town like this one didn’t believe that properly yet.

“Times are changing, Jiminy,” she said firmly. “There’s more on the horizon for young women today than marriage and motherhood. Those are worthy goals, to be sure, but a lot of women want more than that.”

“What do you mean, more than that?” Poor Jiminy seemed to be on the brink of tears. “What more is there?”

Mariana gave up. “You’ll see. As I said, things are changing. I intend to make my boarding house a safe establishment for traveling women, especially single women.”

Jiminy looked appalled. “But, but, ma’am…”

“Shall we go inside?” she interrupted firmly. “I think this guttering is about to fall on my head.”

The deputy deflated. “Of course, ma’am.”

Inside was not much better. 

Mariana knew, of course, that the saloon had been empty for about five years, which meant that repairs were needed. She had expected the thick layer of dust and sand on the bare floorboards, along with the piles of debris in every corner. Dried, dead leaves, dirt, and pieces of rubbish were scattered everywhere, along with a few mouse corpses. A glance upwards revealed cobwebs thickly covering the ceiling, hanging almost to the floor in some places. 

“Needs a bit of a clean, I think,” Jiminy said, somewhat unnecessarily. 

Mariana was undeterred. Nothing a good sweep can’t fix. 

The main door opened onto a large, square space, with a counter at the end. Mariana had been planning since her first look at the blueprints. This area would be the dining room, with plenty of tables and chairs, and perhaps a little parlor in the corner, or in a spare room if there was space. Guests could sign in at the counter. 

She had pored over the blueprints enough to know that behind the counter was a large room that would serve as a kitchen, in addition to another adjacent room that could be her personal parlor and bedroom, and four decent-sized rooms that could easily be split in two, providing her with eight bedrooms. And, of course, there was the attic space, but she had already decided that she would wait to see how profitable her new boarding house and restaurant would prove before expanding further. 

There was also, if she remembered correctly, a square scullery jutting out at the back of the house, for laundry and so on. There was a good amount of land around the building, including an overgrown space out back that had once been a kitchen garden. In her mind’s eye, it was still full of fruit, vegetables, herbs, and even a few pretty flowers to lighten up her boarding house. 

The reality of the building itself was a little starker. 

Picking her way through the dirt and dust and rubbish, Mariana found herself behind the counter, at the door which opened into the scullery. Debris and bits of broken furniture littered the space, cluttering it so much that she couldn’t even get to the back door. Through the window, she glimpsed the garden, shivering with waist-high weeds. 

Her heart sank. 

The kitchen made her gasp. There was a window, long since smashed in, allowing the elements to drift in in for years. Sand and dirt were almost as thick in here as they were outside. Even the plant life was slowly intruding: a straggling green vine was crawling in through the window, snaking over one of the counters. 

The room that would serve as her parlor and living space was home to what appeared to be some sort of coyote that had long since died. The smell was so bad that she slammed the door immediately, handkerchief pressed over her nose. She might have exclaimed aloud, but Jiminy looked so ashamed that she bit her tongue, stifling her dismay.

All of the bedrooms were in a similar state of filthiness and decay. They were all papered with a patterned wallpaper, now faded almost to grey, which was now curling forward from the walls in strips. In one room, there was a hole in the roof that showed a glimpse of the sky. 

Mariana let the door swing closed and turned to face Jiminy.

He looked mortified. “Sheriff said you knew what state the place was in,” he mumbled. 

“Obviously not,” she replied stiffly. 

“I’ll move the dead coyote,” Jiminy offered. “And make sure your stuff gets brought right here.”

Mariana sighed, rolling her shoulders. Anger and disappointment were building up inside her, but it wasn’t Jiminy she was angry at. “Thanks, Jiminy. That’s good of you.”

He gave her an awkward nod and a smile and bustled off, leaving her alone in her new home. 

Mariana turned in a slow circle and let out an irritable sigh. This explains a lot, actually. She understood now why everybody kept giving her pitying looks when she told them she was buying this place. 

She returned to the largest room in the saloon, placed her hands on her hips, and took a good, long, look around. Beyond a good, thorough cleaning, the room was in pretty good shape. There was a crack in one of the windowpanes, but it seemed solid. One of the bedrooms was in good enough shape for her to sleep there. Once the dead-coyote smell was scrubbed out of its room, that would be her parlor. 

Mariana went from room to room again, eyes peeled, listing and cataloguing the damage in her head. That panel needs to be replaced. The windowsill is rotting away. There’s a hole in the ceiling here, a leak there. How much will all of this cost?

The cleaning and some light repairs she could manage herself, but the other repairs had always been David’s part. 

Sighing, she raked a hand through her light brown hair. It was pulled back in the neat chignon that was all the rage, but likely it was terribly sweaty and dusty by now. 

David had always preferred her to wear her hair in smooth knots at the back of her head, or else hanging down in braids. It felt almost like a betrayal to change her style now. But then, he’d always been happy with however she dressed herself. 

You’re beautiful, Mariana, and can’t nothing change that.

It had been six years, plenty of time to cry her tears – and yet Mariana still found herself swallowing down a lump in her . Not right now. There’s work to be done. She rolled up her sleeves, wiped the cobwebs away from a broom, and got to work. 

 

***

 

When Jiminy appeared about half an hour later, bearing a barrow full of Mariana’s things, he seemed impressed at the work she’d already done. 

“Looks better already, huh?” Mariana asked breathlessly. She was using the broom to brush cobwebs off the ceiling. “I’ll be taking in paying guests in no time. In no time,” she emphasized. 

Maybe if she kept saying it, it would be true. 

“Well, you’re determined, that’s for sure,” Jiminy said tactfully, almost sympathetically. 

Mariana set the broom down and turned to him energetically. “Do you know any good handymen around here? Somebody who could help out with all this?”

Jiminy shook his head. “Can’t think of anyone, ma’am.”

She put down the broom, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, leaving a gritty, dusty streak. “Well, I guess I’ll have to do it myself. Suppose a woman will simply have to make do out here without a man, isn’t that so?”

 

Jiminy looked scandalised. 

 

Chapter Two

James Harper was awoken from a good sleep by a bucket of water pouring over his head. 

He sat bolt upright, spluttering, coughing up water. “What the h—” But he cut himself off neatly when he saw that it was a woman standing over him. 

She’d placed one fist on a set of matronly hips, balancing the now-empty bucket between her arm and her other hip. “You can’t sleep here,” she said shortly. “This is our barn. I’ll fetch my husband.”

James struggled to his feet. He was soaked, but he tried not to scowl. His clothes would dry out well once the sun came up proper. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stop here. I’m heading to Sandy Springs. Do you know it?”

The woman cocked her head. “I do. It’s about ten miles that way. You on foot?”

“I am. That’s why it’s taken me so long. I’m sorry,” he added sheepishly. “I planned to be out of your barn before anybody woke up.” He began to brush off stray bits of hay and straw from his clothes.

Really, he was lucky the woman hadn’t shot first and asked questions never. A bucket of water was a pretty reasonable reaction to a strange man sleeping in one’s barn. 

She sighed, eyeing him carefully. “You don’t seem to have stolen anything, but you should be careful. We don’t like drifters in these parts.”

“I’m not a drifter.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “You don’t have a home, and you’re wandering from town to town? In our book, that makes you a drifter.”

James didn’t bother to argue. He shouldered his pack onto his back, and even fluffed up the straw where he’d been lying. “You know a good boarding house?”

 

“There’s a hotel in Sandy Springs,” she said, folding her arms across her ample bosom. “Where’d you come from, then?”

“Oh, south,” he said, as vaguely as possible. 

It was answer enough. Her eyes brightened. “Have you been near Rattlesnake? You know, the town with all that business over bandits? The Blackwater Bandits, folks are calling them. And there was a murder, I heard. Some merchant got killed, and then somebody escaped from jail…” She broke off with a shudder. “Rattlesnake’s a few days travel from here, but still. It’s closer than you’d like, huh?” 

James didn’t respond. 

The woman narrowed her eyes at him. “Where did you say you were from?”

“I haven’t been near Rattlesnake,” James lied. 

The woman doubtless considered herself very sneaky, but in James’s experience, most people weren’t anywhere near as clever as they thought they were. So, when she flashed a mirthless smile and suggested he come in to take some breakfast with her and her husband before he set off, James knew exactly what she was thinking. 

“Sure,” he said, smiling brightly. “Let me just wash up in that rainwater barrel outside, then I’ll join you. Something smells good – is that bacon?”

“Sure is! You can have a double helping.” The woman, obviously pleased with her subterfuge, waddled on towards the ranch house, probably to tell her husband to get out his shotgun and a good length of rope.

As soon as she was out of sight, James sprinted for the trees. 

 

***

 

Once he was sure he wasn’t being pursued, James let himself slow to a brisk walk. I shouldn’t have mentioned Sandy Springs to that woman. She’d probably remember.

 

But maybe Sandy Springs would be the town to help him. It was likely that the Blackwater Bandits had reached that far, and he knew the town had a sheriff. 

A different sheriff, that is, than Rattlesnake. Somebody who didn’t know James, and didn’t know… 

Well, best to start fresh; that was all. 

Throwing one last glance over his shoulder, James drew in a breath and quickened his pace. Better hurry if I want to make it in good time. 

 

***

 

Sandy Springs was more or less what James had expected. Busy, but not too busy, with a long, wide main street full of stores and people. He passed a thriving mercantile, a well-built sheriff’s office, and several other storefronts. 

He found the hotel easily. It was a smallish building, whitewashed, and guarded by a snobby-looking doorman. “We’re full,” he said shortly, looking James up and down.

It was a look James had gotten familiar with recently. Clenching his jaw, he tried to stay calm. “Full? You’re sure? I don’t mind sleeping in a barn.”

 

“We’re a hotel, not a ranch,” the doorman snapped. “No barns.”

“Stables? I’m good with horses.”

“We ain’t a charity. Sorry.”

Slam. The door closed only an inch or two from James’s nose, and he was left standing there, quietly seething. 

 

He was aware that he looked a little worse for wear, to say the least. It had been just over a week since he left home, and he hadn’t had any opportunity to change clothes to have a proper wash. But he didn’t look like a scoundrel.

In fact, he was comfortably aware that he was good-looking. He came from a good-looking family: his parents were both attractive, even in their middle-age, and his two younger brothers were both shaping up to be handsome, if Sidney learned to drink a little less. His younger sister, too, even at only ten years old, was likely going to be pretty. 

James himself was tall and broad-shouldered like his father, with his mother’s black hair and cool blue eyes. At twenty-nine, he was one of the most popular unmarried men in his hometown. He hadn’t thought much about marriage – and didn’t think about it at all now – although he was fairly sure that he could get a wife if he wanted one. There’d be plenty of room for her on the family ranch. It was a comfortable set-up. He was lucky, and he knew it. 

Past tense. He sighed. Your luck is running out. Running out fast. Raking a hand through his black hair, which was now greasy and in great need of a wash, he turned away from the unforgiving closed door.

The moment he turned on his heel, he came almost face to face with a pair of sheriff’s deputies, standing on the porch and eyeing him curiously. One was young, a lanky teenager wearing a scowl, and the other was older, about twenty or so, with a handsome round face and floppy, sandy hair. 

Caught so soon? Panic began hammering inside James’s skull. Stay calm. Just stay calm. 

“Everything okay?” he said, smiling coolly at the deputies. 

“Sure, sure,” said the older deputy, smiling. The badge on his chest had his name etched on it: Reed Williams. The other one’s badge read Jiminy Williams. Brothers, then. 

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” James said, defensive despite himself. 

Reed Williams lifted a hand. “Don’t worry, I didn’t think you were. You’d be lucky to find a room at the hotel, though – they’re too small, and too expensive, mostly.”

James’s heart sank. Was it going to be another night of sleeping under a hedgerow or in somebody’s barn? 

“There’s a boarding house just opened up,” Reed suggested. “You could try there.”

Jiminy shifted, eyeing his older brother uncomfortably. “Well, I’m not sure it’s ready just yet…”

“I don’t mind where I sleep,” James answered eagerly. Anywhere that’ll keep me safe, away from prying eyes. 

 

***

 

Not ready just yet. James tried not to grimace as he recalled the younger deputy’s words. You can say that again. 

The boarding house – it looked like a dilapidated saloon, actually – was boarded up and in a terrible state of disrepair. He could see lights glimmering through the cracks of one boarded-up window. 

Somebody’s home, at least. He climbed the steps – one splintered under his feet, nearly sending him sprawling over the porch – and made his way to the door. He knocked twice and waited, stepping well back from the threshold.

 

Tall men like him had to learn pretty quickly not to loom over others. 

Locks clicked, and the door opened to reveal a woman. 

James blinked, a little surprised. The deputies had only said that the old building had been “recently bought,” and he’d just assumed the proprietor was a man. 

The woman was about a foot shorter than him, but she stared up at him with the sort of firm, unblinking stare that hinted that she wasn’t afraid of much. She was pale, too pale for Texas, with brown hair fighting free around her forehead and ears, and the largest, greenest eyes he’d ever seen. 

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry… I was told that this was a boarding house?”

The woman blinked up at him. “Well, you heard wrong. It will be a boarding house, but right now it’s just a crumbling old building. There’s a lot of work that needs doing before I can have guests.”

James’s heart sank. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I really need somewhere to stay. Is there an outbuilding or someplace I could sleep in? A barn?”

She sighed. “Like I said, the place isn’t ready. Up until this morning, the insides of this place were full of cobwebs. There are holes in the roof, and I just put my foot through a floorboard in the kitchen. I’m not sure this place will ever be ready for guests.”

James glanced over his shoulder at the stairs behind him. “I suppose that now isn’t the time to tell you that one of the porch steps is broken, too?”

She sighed. “I expected as much. Another thing to add to the ever-growing list of chores…”

And then James had an idea. “Well, I can fix it,” he offered quickly. “It won’t take me long. I’m pretty handy.”

She paused, eyeing him thoughtfully. “You can fix it now?”

“Sure. You got any tools?”

 

***

 

About an hour later, James brushed the wood-dust off his palms and straightened up, testing the new step with the toe of his boot. “There you go. That’ll last you for a while.”

“Nicely done,” the woman said, smiling approvingly. “Thank you. How much do I owe you for the repairs?”

“Owe me?” James laughed. “Nothing. I was the one who broke it, remember? I’d take a place to sleep for the night, though.”

She sighed. “I told you – the place isn’t ready. I’m not entirely sure the roof won’t come down on me tonight.”

“Well, can I sleep outside?”

She paused, eyeing him for a long moment. “There might be somewhere, actually. You fixed that step quickly – could you do more repairs?”

James saw his chance and took it. “I sure could,” he said at once. “Like I said, I’m handy.”

He didn’t mention it, but he was also pretty good at reading people. He knew a person at the end of their rope when he saw one. If this woman was here alone, having just bought a dilapidated heap of a saloon to turn into a boarding house, she’d be feeling pretty miserable right about now. Her discouraged tone earlier was clue enough for him. 

And, of course, there was no getting around the fact that a woman living alone might not be entirely safe. Not with bandits around and so on. 

James was careful not to push matters. He scuffed the toe of his boot in the dusty porch and waited. 

“Okay,” the woman said at last. “I have somewhere for you to stay. Not in the house.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“This way.” She led him around the building and past a vastly overgrown garden. He could see various outbuildings – old sheds and such – poking out of the weeds. They followed a trodden-down path of weeds to a smallish stone hut, with shutters over the windows. 

“I was going to stay in here myself,” she said, swinging open the door to reveal a well-swept, square space, with a pallet bed made up on the ground. “That’s why it’s cleaned out. You can stay here. Tomorrow, we can talk about the repairs you can do. If you’re still here, of course.” 

She added the last part with a wry smile, and James understood that she expected him to sneak out at dawn. Well, she’ll see. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he replied. “I appreciate it. I figure the first thing we should do is the roof. What do you think?”

She eyed him carefully, intently, and he let his gaze drop. 

This wasn’t a woman who was easily fooled. Some women had a habit of dropping their eyes before men. It was just the way they were raised. Not in his family, of course – his ma was a spitfire if ever he’d met one – but he’d seen it before. Women who avoided giving their opinions, always deferring to others, habitually attending to others first, before their own expectations. 

This wasn’t one of those women. She was direct, a little intimidating, and probably cleverer than him. If he’d had to guess her age, he would have put it at twenty-six or so. 

“Okay,” she said at last. “That’s a good place to start. I’ve heard there are bad storms in this area, so we ought to fix the roof before we do anything else. We can talk about it in the morning, though.”

“Sure, ma’am. And thank you again.”

“My name is Mariana. Mrs. Mariana Olsen.”

Mrs. James flinched just a little at that. So she was married. Maybe there was a husband somewhere, waiting to come out of the woodwork and take the credit once she’d finished all the hard work. He’d seen that before. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Olsen. My name is James.”

He didn’t offer a surname, and she didn’t ask for one. “Pleased to meet you, too. Sleep well, James.”

 

Chapter Three

 

Mariana woke late from the worst night’s sleep she’d ever experienced. 

Well, not the worst. That dubious honor went to the night after David’s accident. 

She’d been forced to make up her pallet bed in the dark, by the light of a single candle, after barring all the doors and wondering, for the hundredth time, whether she hadn’t made the worst mistake of her life. 

She woke to sunlight filtering through a crack in one of the window-boards, highlighting dancing dust motes and a cobweb she’d missed. 

There was nowhere to wash – another thing to take care of as soon as possible – and Mariana dressed quickly, feeling hot and gritty already. 

And then she went outside to find out whether her unexpected guest was still there. 

She saw that the door was open as she approached, and her heart sank. I’d almost started to think that I was going to get some help around here. 

That was silly, of course. She knew it was. The man was a drifter, wanting a bed for the night, and he’d made whatever promises he’d thought would get him that. 

At least he fixed the porch step. Better than nothing, I guess. She peered into the outbuilding, which was clearly empty. The pallet bed had been neatly made. Sighing, she closed the door. 

The chores for the day were already racking up in her head, a never-ending list. She had to fetch water, had to build a fire