A Rancher’s Debt to Destiny (Preview)

Chapter One

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. 

Life was a sad business it seemed, filled more with death than anything else. Even for the very young. 

“Hi Cora,” Thomas said, looking up briefly before turning his attention back to the book in front of him. 

Mabel stood and came to Cora. She held out her arms but paused before hugging her. “You smell horrible.” 

“It’s the Friar, it was full,” Cora said, taking her jacket off and hanging it at the door. 

“Well, go and change,” Mabel said wrinkling her nose. “We can wash the smoke and everything out of your things in the morning.” 

Cora obeyed and changed into her nightdress and gown. Her clothes were put into the large cauldron in the kitchen and left to soak with a liberal amount of lavender soap. 

“What are you reading?” she asked Thomas. 

“I’m struggling is more like it,” he said. “It’s by some man named Shakespeare and it’s hard. I’m not sure it’s English.” 

Cora laughed. “Where did you get that?” 

“From your father’s bookshelf in the study,” Thomas said. “I was tired of reading the Bible and the books on plants. I thought it might be a story, but I can’t tell with all the words being strange.” 

Cora looked at the title. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream?” she asked. “I think perhaps I should track down Mr. Phillips.” 

“The wandering salesman?” Mabel asked. 

“Yes, he always has story books. Maybe we can get you a few to read,” Cora said, placing a gentle hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “Maybe we can get you something in English.” 

“That would be grand,” Thomas said, grinning. She ruffled his curly blonde hair. 

“You should go to bed,” Cora said. “Chickens and cows don’t care what you did the night before, they expect you to be there in the morning for them.” 

“That is true,” Thomas said sagely. ‘Grandma, Bobby asked me to ask if I could go over to his house tomorrow? His father is taking him and his brothers on a fishing trip. Can I go with them?” 

“What about school?” his grandma asked. 

Thomas waved a hand. “It’s mostly done. Miss Haversham is only worrying about the older kids. She needs them to do well. So can I?” 

Mabel considered this and nodded. “Sure, honey.” 

Thomas beamed with happiness. He hugged each woman in turn and then took a candle up the stairs to bed. 

“Did it go alright?” Mabel asked when they were alone. 

Nodding Cora put the kettle on the fire. “Yes. But he’s getting more difficult.” 

Mabel nodded. “I can send the boy to my sister if I need to.” 

Cora nodded and bit her lip. “I don’t think we’re there yet,” she said with a reassuring smile. “He’s still enjoying the game we play.” 

“Good,” Mabel said. “Thomas is so happy here.” 

When Cora said nothing, Mabel sighed. “Well, I’m off to bed too.” She left Cora alone in the kitchen making herself a cup of tea. 

As Cora sat and watched the steam rise from her cup, she considered her options. They weren’t many and none of them were without risk. Paying, or handing over the letter to the authorities, or not. It all came with a price. 

There was a noise that Cora knew instantly to be the barn door opening. It had a unique squeak that was loud and grating to the ears. Had she forgotten to latch it properly again? Probably. 

She sighed and went to get her boots. If she didn’t latch it, the cows would wander out and be all over the farm by morning. They were silly that way. Or she would find them in the milking shed, knocking things over. 

With her boots on and her father’s pistol in her right hand and a lantern in her left, she walked to the barn. The door was unlatched. 

A couple of steps from the door she stopped. 

Had that been a gasp? 

Someone swore and before she could do anything, the door came flying open. A man darted out. He was running away from her. 

Fear filled Cora. It was bubbling under the surface after the Friar and all she could see was Dale. Was this one of his men? Had he decided to get rid of her already? 

She raised the barrel of the gun, took aim at the fleeing figure and fired. 

Chapter Two

May 1888

The Baxter Farm, Montana

Pain shot through Aaron Calhoun’s arm. It burned and stung. The force of the blow threw him to the ground where he only just broke his fall with his other hand. His bag slid from his shoulder to land in the dirt beside him, 

He swore. The words just popped out of his mouth as though they had been poised and waiting on his tongue. 

“What are you doing in my barn?” the woman who had shot him demanded. 

Aaron rolled over on his back and held up his hands so she could see he wasn’t holding a gun or anything at all. Maybe then she would calm down.

She stood about four feet from him, having closed the gap between them. The gun’s barrel was still pointing at him, oddly vivid in the light of the lantern she still held. 

“Did Dale send you?” she demanded. She sounded on the verge of hysterics and Aaron was acutely aware of the gun.

Would she shoot him again?

“Hey, lady, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Aaron said, keeping very still. “Honest! I thought I could find somewhere to sleep in there and be gone in the morning before you ever knew I was there. Then that darn door’s hinge squeaked like that…” 

“I don’t believe you! Tell me the truth! Did Dale send you?” she demanded stepping closer and aiming at him down the barrel of the gun. 

“I don’t know a Dale!” he yelled, starting to really panic now. Was she crazy? Was she going to shoot him and call it getting rid of a trespasser? She could. The sheriff wouldn’t suspect a thing, a woman living out here on a farm. “Please, don’t shoot me again. I promise, I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again.” 

Her eyes were a very pale blue, or maybe they were washed out by the lantern light. Either way, Aaron watched her blink and the pupils, which had been small, like pin holes, opened and she drew in a breath. 

The flush drained from her cheeks, and she looked as though she was going to be sick. 

Just then the door to the farmhouse slammed open and an old woman with gray hair and a flowing white nightgown came striding out. She held a shotgun in her hands. 

“What’s going on? Cora, are you alright?” the woman demanded. 

“I’m fine,” Cora said, her hand rising to her mouth. “But I shot him.” 

“Who?” the other woman demanded. “What’s he doing here? Is he one of Dale’s men?” 

Cora shrugged. She still looked about to throw up. 

“Look,” Aaron said, deciding this had gone on long enough. “I don’t know anyone named Dale. I was traveling through this part of the world and got tired. I’m sorry for the fuss.” He sat up and gently touched his arm. 

Good thing the evening was a little chilly and he was wearing his jacket, or the bullet might have done more damage. As it was, he had a hole in his clothing, but he suspected, not through his arm. The bullet must have grazed his flesh as it cut through the fabric of his shirt and jacket. 

“Oh goodness! Cora, if he’s telling the truth then you just shot a man for nothing,” the other woman said, sounding horrified. She lowered the gun. “That’s not good. We’d better patch him up.” 

Cora looked uncertain. “He could be lying.” 

“Yes, he could be,” the other, older woman said in a reasonable tone. “But he is bleeding, Cora. Your father would never leave a man like this.” 

That seemed to settle it. 

“Get up,” Cora said. The gun was still on him. She wasn’t letting up. “Pick up your bag and come with us. Don’t try anything or I’ll—” 

“You’ll shoot me, I know,” Aaron said sourly. 

Aaron struggled to his feet. Using his arm hurt a lot. Okay, the bullet most likely clipped his arm and took a little of him with it on its journey. He winced but didn’t say anything as the barrel was pointed at him the whole time. He picked up his bag and slung it back on his shoulder with a grunt. 

He was led into the house in silence and made to sit at the kitchen table. His bag was dropped beside it 

He looked around. This was a nice house. Clean and smelling strongly of lavender soap. There was a cup of tea, on the table and Aaron realized how thirsty he was. It had been a long day on the road. 

Lamps were lit, the kitchen fire was stoked up and a box of medical supplies was fetched from the pantry. Then a bowl of water arrived and the woman, Cora, sat in front of him. She put the gun on the table where she could reach it, but he couldn’t. 

“No, nonsense or I will put a bullet in you again,” Cora said. Her eyes were a fantastic blue, light and bright and full of steel. She was surprisingly pretty for a cold, hard woman who seemed fine with threatening a man. 

“Alright,” Aaron said. “You might want to take my pistol from the holster though. Just to be extra safe.” He had no intention of using it. That was for last stands. 

The old woman took it and put it on the kitchen counter, also out of his reach. 

Then Cora ordered him to take his jacket and shirt off. Aaron felt odd sitting there in nothing but his vest and trousers while the two women inspected his arm. Luckily, he’d thought to wear a vest. Being so close to naked would make this moment even worse. 

“It went right through,” Cora said, prodding his arm with a finger. Even that hurt. “It hit the fleshy bit. I think he’ll be good as new in a couple of weeks.” 

“You’d better douse it with the rubbing alcohol,” the other woman said. “We don’t need him dying of blood poisoning.” 

“He’ll be leaving, it’s not like anyone will know he was here,” Cora said.

“Cora!” the other woman said, sternly. 

Cora rolled her eyes and dribbled a little of the strong-smelling liquid onto a cloth and pressed it to his open, bleeding wound. 

Aaron found it impossible not to cry out as the pain seared through him. He could feel it all the way to his teeth. Gosh! If he’d thought he was in pain before she touched that cloth to his arm, he had been wrong. This was pure burning agony. 

He shot up out of the chair. Both women reacted, jerking back but he didn’t care. He was trying hard not to hit something. Tarnation! He didn’t remember gunshots being this sore before. Or had he gotten soft?

Aaron paced the room with his fist held to his lips as he waited for the burning to subside. How had he ended up here with these two crazy women? Nothing was worth all of this pain. 

And then he got a handle on himself and noticed how three gun barrels were pointing at him. 

“My gun too?” he asked, incredulously. 

Cora shrugged. “It loaded?” 

“Yes,” he said. “What good is an unloaded gun?” 

“Sit, and let us finish,” Cora said, ignoring his question. 

Aaron eyed her suspiciously. “No more of that,” he said pointing with his uninjured arm at the rubbing alcohol. 

“No more,” the gray-haired lady said. “Now, please, take a seat.” 

He did, and while Cora sewed him up with a needle and thread, the other woman spoke to him. He tried not to jerk away from Cora but it really hurt, and his arm seemed to have a mind of its own. 

“My name is Mabel,” the woman said. “And you are?” 

“Aaron Calhoun,” he said, jerking free of Cora’s grasp. 

“Do you want me to help you or not?” she demanded. 

“I do but that hurts!” he complained. 

Cora gave him a stern look and Aaron tried to grit his teeth and get through it.

“Good to meet you, Aaron,” Mabel said, coming to sit across the table from him ignoring his exchange with Cora. She had the shotgun in her hands. At this range there wouldn’t be much of him to scrape up if she shot him. “Now, can you tell me honestly, hand on the Bible kind of thing, what you were doing in our barn?” 

“I was looking for a place to sleep,” Aaron said trying to sound as nonthreatening as possible. “That’s all. I swear.” 

“We are close to the crossroads,” Mabel said with a nod at Cora. “I’m surprised we don’t get more folks looking for a roof over their heads.” 

“Fine, so now what?” Cora asked. “He can’t sleep in here.” 

“He can,” Mabel said. “In your father’s study. There’s the couch in there that your mother hated and he loved so. Let Aaron sleep there. In the morning, he can go.” 

“Mabel!” 

“Cora!” 

Cora shook her head. “Are you out of your mind? What if he turns out to be a rabid mad man and murders us. What about Thomas?” 

“Who’s Thomas?” Aaron asked. 

“My grandson,” Mabel said smiling. “He’s asleep.” She turned to Cora. “You know the study door is sturdy, the window is too small for him to fit through, and the study can lock. You lock him in there and he’s not doing anything.” 

“You can keep the gun,” Aaron said. 

“Do you have any other weapons?” Cora asked. 

Aaron nodded. “I have knife in my boot.” He slipped it out and handed it over. 

Taking it, Cora raised an eyebrow to Mabel. 

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Mabel said. “You know this is what your father would do if he were here. Don’t you Cora?” 

Cora considered it and then nodded. “Okay.” 

They finished bandaging him up and ushered him into the study. 

It was a nice room. It was warm, and apart from the desk and chair which took up a lot of the space in the room, there was a couch. They gave him a pillow and a blanket and to his surprise Aaron found that he was quite comfortable. His arm ached and throbbed but that was nothing he couldn’t ignore for a night. He was surprisingly sleepy. 

“Can I get my bag?” he asked as Cora backed out of the door. 

“Tomorrow,” she said and closed the door. He heard the key scrape in the lock. 

Great. So that hadn’t gone well. And now he was locked in. Well, it could be worse. They could have left him to bleed out in the yard. 

With nothing else to do, Aaron went to sleep.

---

“A Rancher’s Debt to Destiny” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

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?

“A Rancher’s Debt to Destiny” 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!