Author's Muse (Sweet Town Clean Historical Western Romance Book 12) Read online

  Author's Muse

  A Sweet Town Romance

  Sarah Christian

  Published by Salt of the Earth Press

  Copyright © 2017 by Sarah Christian

  More information.

  In the shadow of wild Deadwood, sits quiet Sweet Town. Established in the Dakota Gold Rush of the 1870s, Sweet Town is surrounded by gentle hills and fields of clover. It's a place where anyone can start over and redemption is never out of reach.

  Sweet Town romances tell the stories of the community as its members fall in love. These inspiring stories explore the power of charity, the nature of good and evil, and all the miracles that can happen when you open your heart.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  About the Author

  Copyright Information

  CHAPTER ONE

  June 1879, Dakota Territory

  “Hold my hand, Erik,” his mother said gently as she guided him down the steep wooden staircase. At the bottom she lifted him into her arms and hugged his sturdy body. “You did very well, son. Remember, your new nickname is ‘Ari.’”

  “I’m big, Mommy. Let me down.” He wiggled until she gave him a smacking kiss and set him on the floor. Once on the floor he looked back up at her. “I don’t want to be called Ari. Call me Sheriff.”

  She laughed, her voice like sunshine sparkling on water, a bubbling and happy, infectious sound. Or at least that was how she described it in her own head and decided she quite liked it. She would need to remember the phrase for later use. “Sheriff, are you out hunting criminals?”

  He nodded enthusiastically. “I’m gonna shoot me some bad guys.”

  “Going. I’m going to shoot some criminals.”

  He looked askance at her screwing up his straight brows, a dark dash across his forehead. “That’s what I said, Mommy.”

  Isabelle Lindholm ran a hand across her rich brown hair making sure it was tidy and smooth before reaching for the curtain that divided the storage room in the mercantile from the front of the market. Voices coming from the other side caused her to pause. She tilted her head to the side to listen better and put one finger to her lips so that Erik would stay quiet.

  “I’m very excited,” a feminine voice said. Belle recognized the speaker as Emma Leonetti, a woman who, along with her husband Neal, ran an orphanage one street over from Main. When the storekeeper, Emma’s sister-in-law Lucy, replied in a murmur, Belle relaxed and continued to move the fabric aside.

  “Good morning, ladies,” she said happily to the two women.

  Lucy’s face brightened. “Same to you, Mrs. Lincoln.”

  Belle felt the jarring sense of wrong every time someone called her by that name. Unfortunately, it was necessary. She nodded and looked at Emma. “This isn’t your usual time to shop. Is it some special occasion?”

  “Oh yes,” Emma said smiling. She was a fairly serious woman, Belle had learned, and for something to have earned such gaiety, it must be quite out of the ordinary. “My best childhood friend from Ohio is arriving today on the stage coach. Her name is Laura Berg.”

  Emma’s baby, Mary Jane, was a cheerful child, and Belle had often wondered over the past few weeks she’d been living in Sweet Town where such a sunny disposition had come from. As far as she could tell the Leonetti clan was serious to a fault, and overly concerned with social and political matters. Perhaps Neal had some verve to him his sister and wife lacked.

  “How nice for you,” Belle murmured.

  “Are you still comfortable in the apartment upstairs?” Lucy asked, handing Erik a striped stick of candy.

  “We are. It’s quite cozy and we have everything we need.” The apartment had been a godsend. Belle had expected they would have to live in a hotel for some time, but the little flat was furnished, though oddly so, and would do for the time being.

  Emma had moved to the large window facing the street and was leaning to look to the right, south, the direction from which the stage would, come. Suddenly she squealed and it was so out of character for her, it caused Mary Jane to begin crying.

  “There, there,” she said absently. Turning to the other women she smiled broadly. “Here it comes. I can’t wait.”

  Mary Jane was now howling and Belle could just imagine what a distraction Emma’s and Laura’s reunion would be with a screaming child in tow. She reached out her arms for the red faced baby. “Give her to me so you can give Laura a proper hug when she arrives.”

  Emma pushed Mary Jane toward Belle, but had to peel the baby’s fists open where she clung. Without hesitation, she ran outside.

  Belle bounced the baby and made a funny face and she stopped her crying almost immediately, so they followed the child’s mother outside to watch the arrival of the stage.

  A plume of dust rose behind the wagon and team as it hit the end of Main Street. The driver’s voice could be heard calling for the horses to stop, and it was all timed perfectly so that they drew up in front of the mercantile, exactly in front of the door.

  Emma was wringing her hands as she stood on the boardwalk in front of the store. Belle stepped up next to her and glanced down to make sure Erik had followed her. He was looking with interest at the scene unfolding in front of him, horses restless in their harnesses, the coach rocking as its inhabitants moved to get out, and the driver and another man quickly swinging trunks and bags down from where they were lashed on top. The candy stick was stuck in her son’s mouth and a loud crunch indicated he was biting rather than sucking. Belle decided to talk to him about it later. She didn’t want to spoil his own excitement in this novel activity.

  The door of the stage opened and out stepped a lean man with broad shoulders, his face clean-shaven and his sideburns sharp. His gray suit was slightly wrinkled from travel, but he appeared to be only a bit older than Belle’s twenty-six years. Perhaps in his early thirties. She noted minor things like the brown of his thick hair and the indeterminate color of his eyes, but the general sense of him was of more interest than a catalog of details. In carriage he reminded her of a hunting dog like a Labrador or a retriever. Hard-working, strong, and eager, but almost dangerously friendly. The contrast between his square jaw and the dimples he flashed when he smiled perfectly captured the characterization she’d decided to project onto him.

  Keeping her face serene, a trick she’d learned over a series of unfortunate circumstances, she gazed on dispassionately, but inwardly she entertained herself with the idea that perhaps he was there on a mission of some sort. The next person to emerge was a child. He helped her down to the sandy street and guided her to his side. Obviously he was the girl’s father or uncle. Then a sour loo
king lady, her mousy hair pulled back severely, her dress desperately in need of a hot iron, stepped down and walked to the side of the street. Surely the handsome man was not married to this disagreeable woman? She felt her mouth pursing in disapproval and consciously smoothed her expression. Belle glanced at Emma. Was this her friend?

  Then, one more person stepped out. The kind gentleman took the last passenger’s hand and assisted her in alighting and when Emma called out her name and rushed forward, Belle felt equal portions of disappointment and delight. She was at once glad that Laura was a sweet looking woman, a gentle disposition evident in her mannerisms, but she was also disenchanted that the man would be paired with the troublesome looking one.

  Emma and Laura hugged, laughed, and hugged once more. Belle smiled as she watched them but took a moment to let her eyes roam over the other passengers. The man was looking about, confusion clearly written in his expression. His gaze finally landed on her and when she looked into his clear hazel eyes she felt a jolt, as if she should know this man. But there was no matching recognition in his look. He merely passed her by and stared at the sign above her head. “Karl’s Mercantile.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The very moment the last carpet bag hit the ground, with an ominous noise of breaking glass, and a small cloud of rising dust, the driver of the stage coach settled back onto the bench seat and took the reins. With a sharp sound and shake of the thin leather straps the team trotted forward, picking up speed, until they were lost in a rising golden haze.

  Theo looked around him. The town was very small, and it looked like there wasn’t much beyond the main street, a road that led from Rapid City to Deadwood. A hotel, a doctor’s office, a bank, and the store building they had been let off in front of. There were a few other commercial enterprises but those were the main ones that he could see.

  “Is this it, Papa?” the girl asked, looking up at him.

  “It sure is, Maeve. We’re deep in in Dakota Territory now.” Even just saying the words gave him pleasure. He’d dreamed of going west since he was a boy, but he could never justify it before. Now, he had a reason to be there, and times had changed so it wasn’t quite as dangerous. Though, looking around, he could easily imagine a gunfight or bank robbery.

  “Will we see any cowboys?” she asked. Her blonde hair was pulled back too tightly, the doing of his coworker, Clara Bader.

  He glanced at the unpleasant woman’s face. He hadn’t thought much about her before this trip and when she’d insisted upon coming along, he didn’t much care. But she had insinuated himself into his personal business, especially as it concerned Maeve. Her observations about the scenery they’d encountered as they traveled from Chicago had been purely negative. The trees were stunted, the land too flat, and the sky too wide. She had taken it upon herself to brush and braid Maeve’s hair. Even now, she was standing too close to him, invading his personal space. He stepped away and continued his examination of the town.

  When his boss and Clara’s father, Henry Bader, a publisher of popular books and periodicals, had asked him to find Jamison Ross, he’d jumped at the chance. Theo was Ross’s editor and he took his job seriously. The author was one of their most prolific, and his books always sold well. The last place Ross had sent mail from was this town and then nothing. Theo had sent a couple of letters but never received a response. He’d even wired the sheriff, but the man claimed no knowledge of anyone by that name.

  It was a mystery, but one with a serious issue attached. The police in Chicago were looking for Ross to be questioned about a murder.

  Theo noticed a post office next to the store. He supposed that would be the place to begin. He grabbed his luggage, as well as Clara’s, and swung it onto the boardwalk. He could hear a tinkling sound coming from hers. He’d probably never hear the end of how the heathen stage coach driver broke some worthless trinket of hers. He paused in his thoughts and reminded himself that chances were any trinket of Clara’s was quite valuable. “I’ll see if I can find someone to help me carry our baggage down to the hotel,” he said to Maeve and Clara.

  They followed close behind him as he walked nearer to the front of the building. The other passenger was a nice lady by the name of Laura, and the two of them had enjoyed invigorating conversation during the trip from the train depot. He nodded at her as he passed where she stood with her friend. “Your presence made the journey much more pleasant,” he said to her. She blushed prettily and he regretted his hasty and effusive praise, though it were true. As a widower he knew he was viewed as quite the catch, especially by other widows and spinster ladies. He heard Clara huff her disapproval behind him. Turning, he faced the door but his way was blocked.

  Her face a soft heart, eyes so dark brown a man could get lost in them for life, skin a warm olive-tone born from inheritance rather than the sun, he found himself thoroughly distracted by her. Her hair was a rich brown, but he could see a hint of auburn in it around the edges when the sun shown through. A little freckle sat just to the left side of her nose, easy to miss if he hadn’t been staring. He lowered his eyes, noting the swell of her bosom and the narrowness of her corset. Curvaceous, though not plump, and of a petite height. In her arms a fat baby drooled, and beside her a boy, just past toddlerhood but not quite independent yet, sucked on a stick of candy.

  “Excuse me,” he said and wished he had a hat to tip in her direction.

  She moved to the left, toward Laura and her friend, and handed the taller woman the child. Theo glanced back once as he entered the building, admiring the lady’s rounded hips and narrow waist.

  It wasn’t that he was being disrespectful to his late wife’s memory, he chided. She’d been gone for five years now. Maeve didn’t even remember her. And it wasn’t that he was ready to marry again. He didn’t know if he ever would be again. But the past few months he’d noticed a renewal of his charm, as he liked to think of it. After his wife died he’d found it hard to laugh and smile, except with his daughter. Lately, he’d even on occasion been somewhat flirtatious, something he tried to curtail. And he was noticing the attractions of women; the way they moved, their scent, and their glances from lushly lashed eyes. The lady out front of the store was a prime example. He had definitely noticed her, but oddly enough, her returning look had seemed more analytical than coquettish.

  Pushing the subject to the back of his mind, he enthusiastically held the door for Clara and Maeve. Inside, he looked around avidly. Tall shelves were crammed with all sorts of things, the use of some he couldn’t discern. Idly, he picked up a metallic contraption, a spring dangling from one end and examined it curiously. He couldn’t fathom its purpose. Setting it back down he moved toward a tall counter at the back, behind which a diminutive lady stood, exotically brown, and colorfully dressed.

  “I’m the owner of this store. My name’s Lucy Price. Can I help you?” she asked.

  Up close he thought she might be Indian, or maybe Italian or Greek, though her few words held no hint of a foreign accent. “First things first,” he said, but his voice seemed overly loud in the small space and he tempered it. “I need a porter to help me get our bags over to the hotel.”

  “A porter, huh?” A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. “Why don’t you each just carry one?”

  “Why, I never,” Clara said, causing Theo to look back at her. That was when he noticed the pretty lady from outside had come in behind them and was standing near the door, the boy next to her.

  “Well, I suppose we could, but my daughter and this gentlewoman are tired from our travels.”

  Lucy shrugged. “I have a wagon you can borrow. It’s around back.”

  He nodded. “That will work out fine.”

  “Is there anything else?” she asked.

  “Actually, there is.” He paused, putting his hands into his pockets. He could feel the coin he always carried, a silver fifty-cent piece dating from before the war between the states, and grasped it for luck. “I’m looking for a man by the name of Jamison Ross. L
ast I heard he was here, in Sweet Town.”

  “Hmm, I’ve never heard of a man by that name. You could ask my husband. He’s the sheriff.”

  Another dead end, Theo reflected. “Thanks but I’ve already been in touch with him by telegram.” A noise behind him caused him to turn and he saw the attractive woman at the door, her face having paled considerably. The boy next to her scowled at him. “I’m the sheriff,” the toddler growled.

  “Shh, Ari,” she murmured to the child.

  “I’m not Ari, Mommy, I told you. I’m the sheriff and I’m gonna catch me some bad guys.”

  The lady smiled weakly and Theo grinned and turned back to Lucy. “I’ve sent him mail. I suppose the postmaster will remember him.”

  Lucy was looking beyond him to the other lady. “Are you all right, Belle?”

  “Yes, certainly. Just a bit lightheaded for a moment.” She brushed past Theo, pulling Ari along, and stepped through a curtain behind the counter.

  “What’s your business with Mr. Ross?” Lucy asked.

  Theo dragged his gaze away from the fabric still swaying as it fell into place, and looked at the storekeeper. “He’s being investigated for murder.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Belle stood on the other side of the flowered curtain as still as could be, trying to slow her breathing. Erik was still working on his candy stick and sat down on the stairs. Had that man really said what she thought he did? Jamison Ross was wanted for murder? Should she go back out there and find out more? She bit a fingernail, and then when she realized what she was doing she pulled it away from her mouth in disgust.

  “Are you a US Deputy Marshall or something?” Lucy asked from the store side of the doorway.

  “No, actually Ross is an author and I’m his editor.”

  Belle stood up straight. That man was Theodore Tulloch? She pulled the curtain aside just a bit and peered out. He was nothing like what she’d imagined. He was handsome, for one thing. His name conjured up an older man, someone fatter even, in her imagination. She let the fabric drop and stood there wracked with indecision.