A Teacher’s Hope for the Brooding Lawman (Preview)

Chapter One

Cressida Lockridge stood on the front porch and closed her eyes, squeezing them until they matched the tightness in her chest. When she opened them, she blew out a deep breath. It was time to get on with her day, whether she liked it or not.

She glanced at the shutter half hanging on the house, half falling off. It was just one item on the list of all the things she had to do within the day, and with the sun creeping steadily closer to its highest point, there wasn’t enough time in the day to do them all.

Heading into the weathered blue barn, she glanced at the empty stalls that led out to the pasture, wishing that she had time to manage more than a couple of horses at a time. Though, if she were being honest, what she really wished was that she could go sit by the river and work on the dreamed lesson plans that would never come to be.

Humming to herself, she went into the storeroom at the back of the barn, rummaging through the tools until she found a hammer and some nails. The ladder leaned against the corner, half hidden behind bags of feed.

Cressida wrestled the ladder out, the worn floorboards creaking beneath her feet, sounding like they were seconds from finally breaking.

One of these days, I’m going to have to come out here and make time to deal with these floors.

As she made her way back to the house, she saw her sister limping out, the crutch tucked beneath her arm, helping support her weight since Etta still couldn’t walk on her own.

Cressida nearly dropped the hammer and nails, hurrying to Etta. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be resting. The doctor told you that you could lose the use of your leg entirely if you don’t take the proper time to rest it.”

Etta groaned and shook her head. ‘You don’t need to worry. All I did was move from the kitchen table to right here.”

Not worrying was impossible since the accident that left Etta injured. All Cressida could do was worry about whether Etta would ever regain full use of her leg, especially since Etta seemed determined not to rest.

“You need to sit down before you make things worse,” Cressida said gently, slipping the nails into her pocket and leaning the ladder against the house so she could help Etta into the rocking chair. “I need you to just sit here and try to stay out of trouble.”

“I could go to the river and get more herbs for you.” Etta huffed as she sat down in the rocking chair, her brows pulling together. “I’m supposed to do a little walking a day.”

“And walking to the river and back, not to mention being on your feet and collecting herbs, is going to have you moving for more than an hour. The doctor only wants you on your feet for fifteen minutes a few times a day.”

Etta scowled, leaning her crutch against the house, crossing her arms. “Cressida—”

“Nope. We’re not going against the doctor’s rules.” Cressida forced a tight smile before hauling the ladder over to the broken shutter and climbing up. She nailed it into place, trying to use the thudding of the hammer to drown out some of the thoughts going on in her mind.

This would be easier if Edwin were still alive.

It had been a little over a year since her husband’s death, and yet there were still moments, when life felt particularly troublesome, that she missed him. He was always with her, but now more than ever, she wished the illness hadn’t taken him from her.

She drove the last nail into place before climbing back down and stretching. Her back still ached from helping Etta downstairs this morning, but there was little she could do about that.

“I’m heading to get herbs after I put this away,” Cressida said, nodding to the ladder. “Is there anything you want from inside before I go?”

“My quilting?” Etta looked down at her hands, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye.

Cressida pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t fret. You’re going to be healed before you know it.”

“It’s been months!” Etta’s voice broke as she looked up at her. “It’s been months and I can still barely walk and I have to rely on you for everything! And you’re going to work yourself to death! Look at this place! It’s barely holding itself together, and there aren’t enough nails in the world to keep it from fully falling apart.”

Glancing at the house, Cressida supposed it could be better. Returning to her hometown after Edwin’s death hadn’t been ideal, but it was familiar. Safe. A place where a family member gave them a home as long as she promised to fix it up.

The siding was sun-bleached and crumbling in some sections, the barn had a slight lean, but it could be worse.

“You don’t worry about the things I do to get through the day.” Cressida went inside and grabbed the woven basket filled with Etta’s quilting supplies. She brought it back out and set it on the little wooden table beside Etta. “I’ll be back within a couple hours. Be careful if you go back inside please.”

Etta sighed, reaching into the basket and pulling out a blue square of fabric and some shears. “I will. Be careful at the river.”

Cressida grabbed the ladder and nodded, heading to the barn. After she stashed the ladder and hammer back in the storeroom, she followed the worn path that weaved through the pasture and out the back gate. The river was at the furthest edge of their small parcel of land, but lavender grew in the meadow near it abundantly.

The sun warmed her skin as she crossed the pasture, watching her pair of chestnut horses as they raced through the field, their tails flicking, the breeze streaming their dark manes behind them. Walking through the pasture was one of the few times Cressida felt peace these days.

It wasn’t long before the meadow stretched in front of her, beckoning her forward as she passed through the rickety gate, knowing it would only be a matter of time before that needed replacing too. The homestead was nearly too much for her to manage alone, but before the accident, she and Etta had been making good progress on turning the land into a home.

The scent of lavender had Cressida relaxing as she started plucking some sprigs, putting them in the large pocket of her apron. She hummed as she worked, but it did little to ease the worry that seemed to constantly eat at the back of her mind.

Beyond the meadow, the trees stretched high to the sky, their leaves green and rustling in the breeze. For just a second, Cressida considered going for a walk through the woods. Etta would be fine on her own for a half hour longer than planed and having some time to herself would do Cressida good.

She started for the trees, freezing when she heard the deep voices.

I’m not alone.

Chapter Two

Ronan rolled his shoulders back, trying to remain upright in the saddle even though days of riding with only a few hours of rest each day was wearing on him. He had stopped to change horses several times in the journey from Forth Worth to the small town of Blue Valley, Oregon Territory.

And yet, the closer he got to the small piece of inheritance he had—the land that was waiting for him to make it his own, the promise of escaping the past—the more relieved he felt. This was going to be a fresh start. He was going to be in a town where not a single person knew his name. Nobody would know of the things he didn’t do or the regrets he carried with him.

He kept his head down and his hat tipped low as he rode through the woods. Avoiding the main roads had made his journey longer, but he didn’t want to risk someone he knew tracking him down.

A greenish hue was cast over the world around him, birds whistling as they flitted from one branch to another, leaves rustling in the wind. The heady scent of lavender filtered through the trees, and he thought he saw flashes of purple swaying in the distance up ahead. The rush of a river reached his ears. It would be a good place to stop and check his map, make sure he was still headed in the right direction.

It was only when he heard the distinct click, the sound of a hammer on a pistol being pulled back, that Ronan pulled his horse to a stop.

His hands tightened on his reins as a man appeared on the path in front of him. Bushes rustled, branches breaking. When he looked over his shoulder, more men stood behind him. They all wore dark colors, bandanas covering half their faces, hats tipped low, greed in their eyes.

“Whatever it is you want, I don’t have,” Ronan said, his voice low and calm.

Though he knew there would be robbers on his journey, he had been lucky enough not to encounter any until now.

The man in front of him lunged. Ronan flicked the reins, but he was too slow. Hands gripped onto his biceps hard, hauling him to the ground. His shoulder hit the hard dirt with a thud, pain radiating through it. Branches scraped at his skin, fists found his flesh. A boot landed against the side of his ribs, drawing a scream from him.

His pocket watch tumbled from the pocket of his shirt, the glass cracked.

“He has it,” one of the men said.

Scrambling, Ronan grabbed the watch and shoved it back in his pocket. They could do what they liked to him, but they weren’t going to get their hands on the watch. Not if he could do something to stop it.

Ronan couldn’t fight back, not when it was two against one. It had been too long since he had gotten enough rest to have the energy to even try. All he could do was try to block the punches and curl up, hoping to avoid any broken bones.

“Stop!” a shout echoed through the woods.

The fists and feet stopped. A shot cracked through the air, sending the robbers scattering into the woods.

Ronan struggled to push himself up, pain spreading from his ribs through his torso. His hands ached—someone had stepped on them in the scuffle. Warm blood trickled down his face, and as he put his hand to his head, his fingers came away wet and sticky.

“You well?” a man asked, sitting astride a dappled gray horse and staring down at him.

With a deep breath, Ronan pushed himself to his feet, but it was short-lived. He went tumbling to the side, hitting the ground hard the moment he tried to take a step. His head cracked against the ground, stars dancing across his vision.

“Shouldn’t have been traveling through these woods this late in the day,” the man said, getting down from his horse and standing over Ronan. He offered his hand to Ronan. “Come on, we can get you cleaned up at the river. There’s a town nearby. Should be able to get you more help there.”

Ronan eyed the man, unsure of him. “Why are you in the woods if you know about them?”

The man’s mouth twitched slightly, but a smile never formed. “Prefer to stay off the main roads.”

Though Ronan didn’t trust that answer, he was avoiding the main roads for the same reason. Well, one of his reasons was the same.

It wasn’t enough to deem the man untrustworthy, but there was something about the look in his eyes that had the hair on the back of Ronan’s neck standing. He had been a sheriff for years. He knew better than to ignore the instincts telling him to be cautious.

Still, with the way Ronan’s head was spinning, there was no way he was going to be able to get himself to town. So he slipped his hand into the man’s, letting him help Ronan to his feet.

Wincing, Ronan put a hand to his side. Maybe his ribs were more bruised than he thought.

“Yeah, that doesn’t seem like it feels so good.” The man looped his arm around Ronan’s waist. “Looks like your horse ran off. Don’t know what you’re going to do without it, but there’s probably someone in town willing to sell you one for a good price.”

“Hope so.”

The man grabbed his horse’s reins, leading it along with them. “We’re going to go slow, and if you feel lightheaded from the blood loss, let me know and we can take a break. Once we’ve got you cleaned up, you can ride and I’ll lead the horse.”

“Thank you.”

The man nodded. “Have to help people out in these parts. Being out here in the West isn’t for the faint of heart, now more so than ever. I hear things with the gangs in the area are starting to get worse.”

Ronan grimaced as pain shot through his leg. He hadn’t noticed someone kicking him in the leg, but then again, there were so many hands and feet hitting him that it wasn’t a surprise he didn’t have time to think about where was going to ache.

“I heard something along those lines,” Ronan said, thought he wasn’t interested in talking gangs. He had seen enough of them to last a lifetime.

Blue Valley was supposed to be quiet. Somewhere he wouldn’t have to worry. A place where he could build a ranch in peace and not have to spend every moment of his life looking over his shoulder and wondering if someone was going to come after him for putting them in jail.

“How are you feeling?” the man asked, pausing for a moment and shifting his weight slightly.

“A little dizzy.” Ronan put his hand to his head again, this time coming away with more blood. He looked down at his legs, finding blood seeping through his trousers, a small cut in the material. What it was from, he didn’t know, but now that he had time to feel it, it was starting to hurt more.

“Well, that’s not good either.” The man helped support his weight as they walked along, Ronan limping, his leg throbbing more with each step. “Doesn’t look like it’s broken though.”

“Well, at least there are small miracles then,” Ronan said, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

“You’re bleeding a lot though,” the man said as they drew close to the treeline, the rushing of the river getting louder. “You’re going to want to try and stay awake.”

“I know.” Ronan gritted his teeth. “How much blood is there? What does ‘a lot’ mean?”

The man looked him over. “I don’t know how to define a lot, but there is more than I would ever want to be bleeding.”

Ronan groaned as they stepped through the trees, reaching the edge of the river, lavender scenting the air heavily. The man lowered him to the ground, kneeling down beside him. Ronan’s head started spinning, the edges of his vision growing a little dark and fuzzy.

“I don’t feel so good,” he said, his voice wavering slightly, his head pounding.

“Stay awake.” Cool water hit his fake, but the heavy feeling in his head was dragging him down.

Soon, he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Chapter Three

Cressida watched as two men and a horse stepped through the trees, one of the men leaning heavily on the other. She watched as the injured man was lowered to the ground. The other one went to fetch some water from the river before returning.

“Wake up!” the man shouted, shaking the one on the ground.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Lord knew she had enough problems of her own, but she couldn’t very well let a man die on the side of the riverbank. Hiking her skirt, she ran over, stopping a few feet away when she saw the guns on both men’s hips. Though guns were a common sight, she was still uneasy about two strange men on the far edge of her land.

“Can you help?” the man asked, looking up at her from where he kneeled beside the injured man.

Now that she was closer, she could see that the man who limped was covered in little cuts, his clothing torn, bruises blossoming on his face and hands.

“What happened?” she asked, kneeling down beside the unconscious man. “Who are you?”

“Tobin. I don’t know his name.” Tobin shook the other man’s shoulders, trying to get him to wake up, He patted the man’s cheek before putting his fingers to his neck. “His pulse is still strong, but I think the blood loss went to his head.”

“I need to get this blood to stop. It…well, it doesn’t look good,” Cressida said, her fingers skimming over the man’s face. Beneath the blood, he was handsome, with dark hair that was a little too long and shaggy, his jaw strong and covered in a dark shadow of short facial hair.

“He hit his head too. Don’t know what might have happened to him before that.” Tobin took off his hat, running his hand through his hair. “There’s a town close by, isn’t there?”

“About another hour’s ride, but I don’t know if you can get him that far without staunching some of this bleeding.” Cressida took off her apron, forgoing the lavender in her pocket.

She tore the apron into long strips. She eased one of the strips beneath his thigh, tying it tight against the cut there to put some pressure on the wound.

“Lift his head gently,” Cressida said, moving so she could address the other cuts.

Tobin crouched down and lifted the man’s head, holding it in place while Cressida secured one of the strips around the cut on his forehead. She took care of a few more cuts that were actively bleeding before getting to her feet, her heart racing in her chest.

“With this much blood, you’re not going to be able to make it to town, but my house is just on the other side of the pasture there.” She wiped her hands on her skirt, grateful she had worn a navy blue one so most of the bloodstains would be hidden. “I can clean and sew some of the deeper wounds there.”

“You have experience with this sort of thing? Tobin asked, hefting the other man up. “Help me get him on the horse.”

Cressida helped support the weight of the injured man as they took him the couple steps to the waiting horse. “A bit.”

The truth was that she had gotten good at caring for wounds after Etta’s accident. She wasn’t going to disclose that with a stranger though. She didn’t even know if she should be taking them to her home, but there was the worry that the injured man would die if some of the deeper cuts weren’t cleaned. Infection was a nasty thing, and the sooner the wounds were dealt with, the less likely he would be to develop one.

“On the count of three, we lift.” Tobin positioned the man to the side of the horse. “One, two, three.”

They lifted together, Tobin doing most of the work getting the man slung over the back of the horse.

Cressida was panting when she stepped back, a slight ache in her back. Lifting a man had only added to the strain on her body from the day’s work, but it was fine. She would be sure to put some peppermint salve on her back later and it should ease the pain.

“This way,” Cressida said, leading the way through the meadow and to the gate.

With each step, she wondered if she was doing the right thing. Bringing two strange men onto her property was a risk, especially when it was just her and Etta. She bit the inside of her cheek, an orange glow taking over the sky as the sun started to drop lower.

It was only going to be a matter of time before it was dark out, and she certainly couldn’t leave the injured man to bleed out.

She would take them to her house, patch him up, and then she would send them on their way to town. Tobin could take the man to see Dr. Bellwood in town. Then her conscious would be clear, and she wouldn’t have men in her home for longer than absolutely necessary.

“So,” Cressida said, unsure what to say but feeling the need to make conversation regardless. “There are robbers in the woods? Should I be worried that they’re going to make their way to my property?”

“I wouldn’t think so.” Tobin took off his hat and ran his hand through his auburn hair. “Not much that robbers are going to want with someone established here. It’s far easier to rob travelers.”

Cressida nodded, but it didn’t make her feel any better. “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing that I sleep with the shotgun then.”

She didn’t really, but she wanted Tobin to know she wasn’t afraid to defend herself if she had to. The men would be on their way in no time, but the reality was that she didn’t know them, and she certainly didn’t know if they were involved with the robbers or not. This could all be an elaborate plan, and she wouldn’t be caught unprepared.

Though, casting a glance at the injured man, she doubted that anyone would allow themselves to be beat for an impending robbery.

It’s not as if she and Etta had much worth taking either. After Edwin died, Cressida had sold anything of value to pay the cost of moving back to Blue Valley.

The house rose on the horizon and Cressida breathed a sigh of relief. They would be there soon. Cressida’s heart thrummed in her chest as she drew closer. She held the gate open and led them through the barn and up the path that led to the front of the house.

Etta was still on the porch with her quilting basket. Her mouth dropped open when she saw them. “Cressida, what is this?”

“This man was hurt in the woods,” Cressida said, leaving out the part about the robbers. She didn’t want to cause Etta any more stress. “Tobin, we’re going to get him down from the horse and then we’re going to take him into the house. We’re going to put him on the dining room table so I can properly assess his wounds. Go in the door, and it’s the first door on the right.”

Tobin nodded, his gaze lingering on Etta for a moment. Cressida bristled, wondering what interest he could possibly have in her sister. Etta’s injury wasn’t something for others to stare at. Cressida cleared her throat, eyeing him, hoping it was enough to convey that the next time he looked at her sister would be the last.

Seeming to get the message, Tobin worked with her to get the man down from the horse, helping Cressida get the man into the house. It felt like the man weighed more then he did before and lifting him onto the table had that sharp pain shooting through her back all over again.

There was no time to rest though.

Cressida rolled up her sleeves and motioned to the hutch in the corner. “There’s a large basin in there. Go to the well we passed on the way up here and fill it please.”

Etta came into the room, hobbling with her crutch beneath her arm. Sweat rolled on her forehead, and her cheeks were a little flushed. “What do you need me to do?”

“Tear these,” Cressida said, opening the cabinet behind her and pulling out a swath of white cloth, handing it to Etta. “I need strips about two inches thick so I can wrap his wounds. Sit in that chair while I go get the sewing supplies.”

Cressida moved a chair in the corner for her sister, motioning to it before fleeing the room. She hurried up the stairs and to her room, throwing open her wardrobe and reaching for the little sewing basket at the top. It was the one she kept from when Etta was first hurt and some of her wounds needed to be resewn after being torn open.

Her heart ached as she grabbed them now, but there was no time to waste.

She thudded back down the stairs, hustling into the dining room at the same time Tobin came back with the basin of water. He set it on the table beside the man’s head.

“Start removing the  bandages,” Cressida said to Tobin. She set the sewing supplies beside the basin before reaching for the bandage around the man’s head.

As she pulled it away, the fabric stuck to the wound. She hissed out a breath through her teeth, gingerly trying to peel it away from his head without making anything worse. Finally, she got the cloth pulled away. The wound was still bleeding, but it didn’t look as bad as it had before.

She grabbed one of the strips of cloth from Etta, dabbing away the blood. “Tobin, cut away his clothing. Grab some cloth and start cleaning the wounds. I’ll work on sewing them. Etta, keep ripping the fabric.”

She threaded a needle and got to work stitching the man’s wound shut. As she moved from one wound to another, everything else faded to the back of her mind. The only thing she could focus on was the man in front of her and making sure he survived long enough to get him off the table and on his way to town.

Once the last wound was closed nearly twenty minutes later, she wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. After a moment, she pressed her fingers to the man’s neck, feeling for a pulse.

“He’s still alive and breathing.” She watched the rise and fall of his chest. It was shallow but steady. “But he’s going to need to see the doctor.”

Cressida gaze continued to roam the man on the table, taking in the faint scars that laced his arms and torso. She hadn’t had much time to look at them while she was stitching him up, but now that she had the time to study him, she wondered what happened. A person didn’t get covered in that many scars unless they had walked through the fires of Hell.

The pocket watch was interesting though. It had fallen out of the man’s pocket while cutting away his shirt to look at his deeply bruised ribs. It was broken, but the gold shone like someone took care to clean it often. Why anyone wouldn’t get it fixed but would put in the effort to clean it, she didn’t know.

It wasn’t her job to worry about it either. She had done what she said she would do. The man on the table was no longer her burden to bear.

Etta stood. “I’m going to go make some sandwiches for supper.”

It was getting dark out, but Cressida wasn’t sure she would be able to stomach any food after what she had just done.

“Thank you,” Cressida said, offering Etta a smile. Etta limped from the room, making Cressida’s heart stop for a moment. If she could take the pain from Etta, she would in an instant. She would happily bear it as her own if it meant that Etta could live a normal life.

Tobin cleared his throat once they were alone, shifting his weight from one side to the other. Cressida looked at him, and though he drew his shoulders in and seemed like he was trying to make himself look small, there was something in the way his eyes watched her that made her think it might be an act.

Why pretend to be someone you weren’t, she didn’t know, but she supposed most people put on a front in some way or another.

“Do you think he’s safe to move?” Tobin asked, looking down at the man. “He’s been unconscious for a long time. Jostling him could make things worse.”

Cressida bit the inside of her cheek. As much as she wanted the men gone, she was worried the injured man hadn’t woken up yet. She was worried there was something wrong with his head. She could send Tobin to fetch the doctor, but Dr. Bellwood’s home was hard to find if you didn’t know the area. Even harder in the dark when you couldn’t see the landmarks. And she certainly couldn’t leave Etta alone with two men.

As much as it pained her to realize it, the men would have to stay the night. In the morning, she could send Tobin after the doctor. She’d draw him a map before bed, and as soon as first light hit, she would send him on his way.

Cressida washed her hands in the basin full of fresh water. Tobin had brought it in only a few minutes before. She scrubbed the blood from beneath her nails and looked up at him. “You’re going to have to go for the doctor in the morning. His home is too hard to find in the dark. You’ll stay in the barn for the night.”

Tobin arched an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to the man on the table. “You’re sure about that?”

“One night.” Cressida swallowed hard, drying off her hands on a clean towel.

“Well then, after I come back with the doctor in the morning, I’ll repair those floors in your barn.” Tobin tucked his hands in his pockets, grabbing his hat from the chair he hung it on, settling it on his head. “Thank you.”

Cressida was speechless as Tobin left the room. They had hardly been in the barn and yet he noticed the floors.

Was her life so truly in tatters that a stranger would notice it upon one look?