Brighter Tomorrows by Beverly Wells

 
    Chapter One
     
    Hallings, Wyoming Wednesday, June 28, 1882
    Three years ago he’d proudly visited the bank to draw money and left devastated and heartbroken. This time he’d be tickled pink as a swine wallowin’ in a foot of muck to sashay inside and kill a man.
    So engrossed was he in his musing, Chase Matlock’s long, even strides across Main Street had barely stirred up the dust when he made the mistake of glancing upward. His booted footfalls froze and his chest tightened until he gasped for air.
    Dammit all! He’d warned himself not to look up until he reached the stoop. He had thought he had prepared himself for the gut-wrenching dread when he cast eyes upon his worst nightmare. But no way in holy hell had he anticipated this cannon blast to his heart, soul, and mind. Only by the grace of God did he remain upright before all six-foot-three of him toppled into a crumpled pile of mush on the sun-baked, hard dirt.
    The building looked the same. Most likely, the inside hadn’t changed; other than the blood from the victims who had been at the mercy of malicious outlaws.
    He willed himself to relax, knowing he had to keep a level head and strong determination to finish the job. Three long, frustrating years; this time was way past due by his calculation. 
    He nodded to the building as if greeting a long lost acquaintance, letting him know that he would finally set the wrongs to right. And he would, by God, or he would die trying.
    ♥ ♥ ♥
    Descending the stairway from the second floor, Callie whisked the kerchief from her head and sighed in relief as the weighty confinement of her hair spilled down her back. As her foot touched the floor, the front door bell clanged several times.
    She eyed her paint-spattered, tattered dress, her fingers covered in a lovely shade of sage. Lord love a duck! Whoever it was might either die of fright or laugh themselves silly. Despite her appearance, she hurried. She would never be so rude as to not answer her door and possibly discourage future business.
    Opening the door, she smiled a warm greeting—and nearly swallowed her tongue. The tall stranger was one very handsome man. He had the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen. Sparkling and compelling. Her embarrassment skyrocketed, knowing she looked worse than a complete slob. When his eyebrows arched, she realized her hair must resemble a flying witch’s mop. Heavenly saints, put me six feet under.
    “Good afternoon. Are you Miss Lynch?”
    She longed to bury her head under the hall runner. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she squeezed the kerchief. “Yes. I’m Callie Lynch.”
    Removing his Stetson, he held it in one hand and tipped his head in greeting. “Name’s Jonathan Tate, and I’d like a room—if you have one available.”
    Hoping to disguise her embarrassment, she offered a tentative smile to the dark-haired stranger. “I’m very sorry Mr. Tate, but I’m under renovations. I’m not taking in boarders at this time. The Hotel Royale is a lovely hotel.” She regretted refusing any boarder, especially one so pleasing to the eyes. She might be resistant to any man’s charm, but she appreciated a handsome face and well-muscled physique.
    He tapped his Stetson against his thigh, and compressed his lips. His intense eyes scrutinized her through the screen. “Miss Lynch, I’d greatly appreciate you allowin’ me to stay here. I prefer your house to the hotel. I’m willin’ to pay you double. Promise to stay out of your way.”
    Stymied by his extravagant offer, suspicion flared. Why her house? At double the cost? His gaze remained steadfast, yet far from threatening. If he wanted to rob her, he’d be disappointed. She kept her money in the bank. Her curiosity enthralled her to no end.
    “Your offer is appealing, but the paint fumes are strong. I have drop cloths everywhere, curtains down, and ladders up. Besides, I’ve no time to fuss with meals three times a day. You’d be much happier at the