Miss Lily's Boarding House Read online

  Table of Contents

  Miss Lily’s Boarding House

  Copyright

  Praise for Sandi Hampton and…

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Miss Lily’s Boarding House

  by

  Sandi Hampton

  Love Letters Series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Miss Lily’s Boarding House

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Sandi Hampton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Cactus Rose Edition, 2012

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-417-4

  Love Letters Series

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Sandi Hampton and…

  SAMANTHA’S SACRIFICE: “I sat down to read this story when I woke up this morning and didn’t stop until I finished. Yes, folks. It’s that good.”

  ~Long and Short Romance Reviews

  “The plot was well developed, the sensuality was dynamic…a great book. I could not put [it] down. …A great job of well developing all the areas that make a best seller. …A fabulous book.”

  ~The Romance Studio

  “LAST CHANCE FOR LOVE is an endearing story worth reading more than once. I loved that it is listed as a sweet romance, yet there is enough sexual tension to keep you turning the pages…and look forward to reading more from her in the future.”

  ~WRDF Review

  “Beautifully written with a strong plot and all the makings of a great book. I was completely captivated.”

  ~Coffee Time Romance

  WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT: "Wild west, rugged lawmen and heroines who are strong and sexy…together in this wonderful tale…left me with a smile on my face and a good feeling in my heart.”

  ~Seriously Reviewed

  THE OUTLAW'S DAUGHTER: “A sweet story with characters who epitomize the best and the worst of the post Civil War western USA...the story is fresh and fast moving with a bit of suspense.”

  ~The Romance Studio

  “I really enjoyed Ms. Hampton's story about love and redemption...this is a good western story.”

  ~You Gotta Read Reviews

  “I hope I get a chance to read more by Ms. Hampton.”

  ~Happily Ever After Reviews

  Dedication

  A special thanks to my family and friends

  —and to my readers—

  for their support.

  Chapter 1

  As the stagecoach crested the hill overlooking Dry Springs, Texas, Grace Wentworth took a deep breath and pulled the letter from her reticule. The letter. The letter that had brought her over a thousand miles here to this God-forsaken land called Texas. She unfolded it and read it—for the umpteenth time. She could almost recite it by heart.

  I regret to inform you that your aunt, Lily Wentworth, has passed away…

  Aunt Lily, the woman who’d raised her after her parents had died in a fire. The only kin she’d ever known. The woman who’d worked hard all her life to send Grace to a fancy girls’ school back east in Philadelphia and provide for all her needs.

  Miss Wentworth has named you as her sole heir…

  Her aunt had sacrificed a life of her own, a husband and children of her own, to provide for her niece.

  Tears misted in Grace’s eyes and ran down her cheeks. She wiped at them with her sleeve. She’d asked Lily to come live with her in Philadelphia, but her aunt had refused to leave Dry Springs. She’d then told her aunt she wanted to move to Texas to be with her, but again her aunt had refused, saying Philadelphia was much more suitable for a lady of Grace’s refined status.

  That had hurt.

  A lot.

  Her aunt had taken care of her and done her familial duty, but had she ever really loved her?

  Your aunt’s estate is composed of a three-story house and furnishings, a carriage and team of horses…

  Hopefully, she could sell most of the property and it could serve as a down payment on a house of her own. Matthew had been hinting he was going to ask for her hand in marriage.

  …and a substantial amount of money in the Dry Springs Bank.

  That sentence intrigued Grace. How could her aunt have a “substantial” amount of money in the bank? According to her letters, Lily had run a boarding house and barely made ends meet. And just how much was a “substantial” amount?

  As your aunt’s attorney—and friend, I would be happy to attend to her affairs, sell her property and remit a check to you for the proceeds and thus save you a long trip to Texas.

  Despite the temptation to accept the attorney’s offer, Grace had chosen to make the long journey west. She wanted to see, no, needed to see, what had made her aunt refuse to leave Dry Springs and what it had to offer besides isolation, stifling heat, scorpions, snakes and dust, dust and more dust.

  But the letter left one very important question unanswered—how did her aunt die? The last time she’d come to Philadelphia to see Grace she’d been in perfect health. So what had happened in the months since?

  Grace’s hands trembled as she folded the letter and tucked it back in her purse. She leaned back against the seat and stared out the window. The one thing Texas did boast was vibrant beautiful colors—a sky of azure blue, milk white clouds and a brilliant hot sun that glinted off golden brown cliffs. Snow-capped purple mountains loomed in the distance. Wildflowers in every color dotted the countryside. Overhead, a lone eagle soared on silent wings. Even the wind was different—it came out of nowhere, sometimes fierce and intimidating, sometimes gentle and caressing. Yet always unpredictable.

  To her surprise, she found the land held a strange attraction for her. Perhaps it was the vastness, the open spaces and emptiness. Sometimes in Philadelphia you couldn’t even see the sky for all the smoke in the air. And definitely the city of Philadelphia had more people than the whole state of Texas.

  The stagecoach slowed and lurched to a halt. Grace swallowed the lump that rose in her throat then gathered her belongings—and her courage. She straightened her hat and brushed the ever-present dust from her skirt. The first thing she was going to do in Dry Springs was take a bath.

  The door opened, and the driver appeared. “We’re here, ma’am. Let me help you down. Watch your step.”

  She took his hand and stepped down. The heat rushed up to meet her. She tugged her handkerchief from her purse, then swiped it across her forehead and patted her upper lip.

  “I’ll get your bags, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, and please be careful with them.”

  “I’ll take care of them, Sam,” a man said as he walked up, followed by a man wearing a badge. He turned to Grace and took his hat off. “Welcome to Dry Sprin
gs. I’m J. Philip Randolph. This here is Sheriff Ben Johnson.”

  Grace glanced at the speaker. He was an older man, very distinguished, with white hair and a white beard. He was dressed in a blue broadcloth suit, white shirt and string tie. The sheriff wore a badge on his vest, and the gun tied down on his thigh. The sight of the deadly-looking revolver sent a chill racing down her spine. She’d never get used to seeing men carrying guns so openly—and to the violence. “Mr. Randolph, Sheriff Johnson,” she acknowledged with a bow of her head.

  “And would you be Grace Wentworth?” Randolph continued.

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Why, yes, but how did you know?”

  “We’ve been expecting you.” He picked up one suitcase and the sheriff grabbed the other. “Where are you staying? At Lily’s?”

  She wrinkled her brow. She hadn’t expected anyone to meet her. “Expecting me? I don’t understand.”

  “Well, I was your aunt’s attorney. I wrote you about her passing, and since I hadn’t heard from you, I figured you must be on your way here.”

  “And since very few ladies like yourself pass through Dry Springs,” the lawman added, “we figured you must be her.” He flashed a wide smile at her.

  “Oh, I see.” Although the sheriff was considerably older than her and not bad-looking, something about him made her nervous. Gray tinged the black hair at his temples and around the edges of a scruffy beard. His eyes were a dark brown and right now ablaze with curiosity—and animosity. Dressed in dusty pants and vest, he looked like the lawmen in the dime novels she used to read in secret. She cleared her throat. “Thank you for…meeting me. It was very kind of you.”

  “Well, we’ll get you settled in, Miss Wentworth, then we can talk later, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Yes. Thank you. However, I would like to rest a while if you don’t mind. It was a most tiring trip.”

  “Of course, of course. Will you be staying at the boarding house?” The lawyer cleared his throat.

  “Yes, yes, I suppose so.” She glanced up and down the street. “Where is it?”

  He pointed to her left. “It’s on the outskirts of town. A big white house with green shutters and a white picket fence. I’ll show you the way.”

  “Very well.” She pivoted on her heel and followed the two men down the main street. They passed several stores and shops, and people came out and stared at her. The attorney spoke to them, but for the most part, the Sheriff ignored them. Grace nodded cordially to each. Some acknowledged her, some didn’t. Evidently, Dry Springs must not get many visitors. She certainly didn’t see anything that would explain her aunt’s refusal to leave this place. No theaters, no salons, no elegant restaurants, no opera houses. So what had it been? What had kept her here? Somebody?

  “Did you know my aunt, Mr. Randolph?”

  “Yes, I did. We were good friends.”

  “Really? How long did you know her?”

  “For several years. Why?”

  “Just curious. She never mentioned any of her friends in her letters.”

  As they made their way down the dusty street, Grace had the oddest feeling someone was watching her. She glanced over her shoulder and noticed a tall, rangy cowboy leaning nonchalantly against the sidewalk railing. He looked indifferent, but she sensed he was intensely aware of what was going on around him—and he was studying her, assessing her might be a better word. Dressed in black pants and a blue chambray shirt, he stood several inches over six feet. And you couldn’t miss the gun tied down on his muscular thigh. Even across the few feet that separated them, she could tell his eyes were blue, as blue as the Texas sky. Small creases fanned out from those incredible eyes, eyes that had probably squinted for long hours into the hot Texas sun. A hint of…interest…and hostility…floated in the blue depths. His nose was straight with a smattering of freckles across the bridge. A brown moustache covered his top lip, the same brown as the tousled hair that peeked from beneath his hat. He nodded to her, smiled, and dimples appeared in his cheeks.

  Realizing she was staring, Grace turned her head. To be caught ogling a man was totally unforgiveable. Miss Peabody, the headmistress at Miss Peabody’s School for Girls, would have scolded her until her ears burned for such unladylike behavior.

  The house came into view. Set back from the street under several large oak trees, the three-storied building reminded her of a southern plantation house. Green shutters framed the windows, and a porch wrapped around the front. Bluebonnets and Indian Paintbrush lined the walk leading up to the door.

  Sadness suddenly attacked with a vengeance, settling around her shoulders like a heavy cloak. After all these years, she was here—at her aunt’s boarding house.

  But Aunt Lily was gone.

  ****

  From across the street, Logan Barnett watched the lawyer and sheriff escort the blond-haired woman down the street. So that was who they’d been waiting for. Every day for the past week, Johnson or Randolph had met the stage and scrutinized the passengers. But who was she? And what part had she played, if any, in the death of his father?

  As they neared him, he studied her. With smooth fair skin, a heart-shaped face and full rosy lips, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Tall for a woman, she stood about five foot seven, slim but with curves in all the right places. The blond hair peeping from beneath her hat caught the light and seemed to absorb it. Her expensive green suit showed taste and elegance.

  At that moment, she glanced over her shoulder, and he found himself staring into dark green eyes. He locked gazes with her, and her eyes widened. To his amazement, his pulse raced like a runaway locomotive, something that hadn’t happened in a very long time.

  He grinned at his own thoughts. He wasn’t here to admire a woman; he was here to find his father’s killer. And he wasn’t leaving until that was done, no matter how long it took, and who he had to take on.

  Once they had passed, he waited a few minutes and then followed them. They passed the hotel and proceeded down the dusty sidewalk. Logan crossed the street to make sure they didn’t notice he was following them. When they stopped at Lily’s boarding house, he sucked in a breath. He certainly hadn’t expected that. Just proved looks could be deceiving.

  For a moment he considered going to the Sheriff’s office and asking all the questions rolling around in his head. And if he didn’t get answers…. He clenched his hand into a fist. He wanted to hit something—real bad.

  But instinct told him it was too soon to reveal his identity.

  Instead, he headed for the saloon. In a few minutes, he pushed through the swinging doors and sauntered up to the bar. Even though it was early, the saloon teemed with patrons. No one paid him any mind. He ordered a beer—and waited. Over the last two days, he’d seen Johnson spend a lot of time in here. Chances were he’d visit the saloon as soon as he left Lily’s.

  Thoughts of the beautiful blond returned. What part did she play in all this? The letter from his father’s closest neighbor, old man Morgan, letter hadn’t mentioned anything but the bare facts—his father had been killed and his house ransacked. Someone had been looking for something—but what? His father had kept money hidden in the house, along with his mother’s jewelry, but had no other valuables—except his land. Logan had asked around, but no one had stepped forward to make any claim against the ranch.

  Yet.

  He took his hat off and tossed it on the bar, then wiped his forehead. He gulped down the beer and motioned for the bartender to bring another.

  From behind him, someone entered, and Logan glanced over his shoulder. But instead of the lawman, the stagecoach driver entered, several men on his heels, all talking excitedly. They clustered around the bar.

  “Did you hear Magee was turned loose?”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, the witness turned up dead,” the driver explained, “so the judge had no choice but to set him free, and this ain’t the first time it’s happened, and I heard tell that he’s headed in this direction.”

&
nbsp; A murmur rose from the men as they glanced apprehensively at each other. And Logan didn’t blame them. Magee was a cold-blooded killer who didn’t discriminate, but proving it had been impossible.

  “Why would he be coming here?” one man asked.

  “You don’t know?” the bartender asked. “Why, Magee used to have a thing for Lily. Visited her house all the time. It was said he even wanted to marry her. Maybe he ain’t heard she’s dead.”

  Logan’s ears perked up. He didn’t know someone else had died. His father had often spoke highly of Lily. “When did she die?”

  “About two months ago,” the bartender answered. “Come to think about it, it were the same day that someone killed old Tom Barnett.”

  Logan sucked in a breath of air. The muscles in his stomach knotted. Was her death, in some way, connected to the death of his father? Didn’t seem likely, but he couldn’t rule it out. “How did she die?”

  “Somebody shot her,” the driver said. “Damned shame too.”

  “Was it…murder?” Logan asked.

  “Nobody knows for sure.”

  “Has the Sheriff got any suspects for her death or the old man’s death?” Logan took another drink of his beer, trying to not appear too interested.

  “Hummph!” The man next to him pushed his hat back. “Not sure Ben Johnson is looking too hard.”

  “And why not?” Logan scrubbed a hand over his growth of bristly beard.

  “Other than the fact that he’s lazy, don’t seem like he gives a damn. Sure sticks in my craw. Tom Barnett was a friend of mine, and I hate to see whoever done it get away. Tom was a gentle man, wouldn’t hurt a flea.”

  Logan dug deep for self control, and when he spoke, his voice was steady. “Sorry about your friend. Was he…robbed?”

  “Well, his house was ransacked. Don’t know if nothing was missing or not. Bob Morgan said that it was pretty torn up. Maybe Tom walked in on whoever it was.”

  But looking for what?

  I should’ve been there, Logan chastised himself as he’d done every day since he’d received the news, instead of out roaming the country and trying to make a name for myself. Fine son I was.