THE CONDEMNED - Book 1, Rowen, a Sci-Fi/Time Travel Romance by Linda Mooney - Chapter 10, Remains

THE CONDEMNED

Book 1 – Rowen

*Note: For purposes of this blog, the content here will be kept to PG standards. However, upon publication, the full novel will include more adult content. 

Chapter 10

Remains

  

            “First time in a saddle?”

            Zwick’s dry humor broke through Rowen’s musings. He cast the man a wry smile. “That obvious, huh?”

            “I can tell you this much. You’re going to be sore for days once we’re done here. My advice to you is try to get back in the saddle for a few minutes every day until it starts to feel natural and your ass stops painin’ you.”

            “Thanks. I’ll do that.”

            He, Zwick, and a volunteer named Jed Blount were heading straight for the Weatherly ranch to look for Postill. Sheriff Melfry, along with Deputy Slone and the other two volunteers were on their way to Chamberlain to search for Chapman and his gang.

            Rowen glanced down for the umpteenth time at the rifle sitting in its holster on the side of his saddle. Although Melfry had determined that their hunt for the doctor wasn’t going to be as dangerous, he’d ordered them to arm themselves and keep on the lookout for anything suspicious.

            “The instant you see something that doesn’t add up, get your asses back to town immediately, you hear me?” the man ordered.

            “You mean, in case we find out Chapman might have had something to do with Doc’s disappearance?” Zwick clarified.

            “Anything,” the sheriff firmly stated.

            “What if we get to the Weatherlys’ and she’s there?” Rowen queried.

            “Then we’re fine and good,” Melfry replied. “Check to see if she’s planning on staying longer. If not, just give her an escort back home.”

            “How will we notify you if there’s no emergency there?” Rowen insisted.

            “We’ll find out when we get back,” Melfry assured him.

            Rowen frowned as he recalled the decision.

            Zwick caught it. “Something wrong, Mr. Taylor?”

            “What if we find Chapman and his men?”

            The big man grunted. “Guess we’ll have to deal with that if and when it happens.”

            “Can’t we explain we’re just looking for Miss Postill?”

            “Attitude, Mr. Taylor,” Blount intervened. “As long as we don’t draw our guns and keep a straight face, if we do manage to come across those men, we should be good.”

            “I hope you’re right, Jed,” Zwick remarked.

            Rowen eyed the rifle again. “I can’t believe you’re allowing me to come with you.”

            “Whaddaya mean?” Blount asked.

            “I mean, I’m still a stranger to you guys. And now you’re trusting me enough to have a rifle.”

            Blount let out a bark of laughter. “Something tells me where you came from isn’t real big on trusting others.”

            That got a grin out of Rowen. “You have no idea.”

            “Don’t get any big ideas,” Zwick warned, half in jest. “We’re not a bunch of backwater idiots who takes in every stranger who comes our way. We take a lot into consideration before we decide to let someone stay, or send them on their way.”

            “What kind of consideration?”

            “Like your attitude, for one thing. How you act and what you say during a confrontation.”

            “And don’t forget, you were the sheriff’s guest for two weeks,” Blount pointed out.

            It was starting to become clear. “Wait a minute. Are you saying Sheriff Melfry kept you all informed as to how I was acting while he kept me in that jail cell?” Rowen queried.

            Neither man answered aloud, but they didn’t have to. The telling grins on their faces said it all.

            “And then there was Doc’s attitude toward you,” Zwick added. He tapped the side of his nose. “That woman’s like a bloodhound. She can smell insincerity a mile away.” The man threw him a hard look. “Sheriff was blown away when she was willing to go inside that cell to tend to you without him having to be inside with y’all to make sure she didn’t come to any harm.”

            “Even though I was too weak to move?” Rowen countered.

            “Doesn’t take much for a man to hurt a woman these days,” Blount said.

            “So, what you’re telling me is that the reason I’m with you guys right now is because she approved of me?”

            “Not just her,” Zwick was quick to point out. “You working for me was also factored in. Mrs. Mayflower added in her two cents, too.”

            “You guys have been watching me like a hawk, then.”

            Zwick snorted. “Do you blame us?”

            “No. Not in the least.”

            “Hey!” Blount’s sudden shout drew their attention to what he was pointing at ahead of them. “Is that Doc’s buggy?”

            Both men dug their heels into their horses’ ribs and took off. Rowen gave his mount a kick in the ribs, and the animal bounded forward to where he was almost thrown off.

            Next time, Rowen, hold onto the saddle for dear life before you try that again!

            When he finally managed to catch up with the other two men, he immediately knew something was wrong. Rowen watched them dismount to examine the abandoned wagon.

            “Yep. That’s Doc’s buggy,” Zwick confirmed. He pointed to the seat. “I put those trays under there for her doctor’s box so it wouldn’t fall out of the buggy.”

            Rowen scoured the countryside. “Where’s her horse?”

            “Probably with the people who cut the reins,” Blount bitterly answered, holding up the remains of the leather straps.

            Turning back to the buggy, Rowen spotted it the same time Zwick pointed it out. “Are those bloodstains?”

            “Yeah.”

            A half-dozen splotches of different sizes dotted the floorboard in front of the seat. “Is it her blood?” he asked, his throat closing in on him.

            “I can’t say for certain,” the man replied. “But I can’t say it isn’t, either.”

            Blount threw down the reins with disgust. “We better get our butts to the ranch and hope she’s there.”

            “Can’t we track the horse? Or…” Rowen stared at the ground even though he already knew his untrained eyes wouldn’t be able to detect anything. Regardless, there had to be something they could do to find her. Or to hunt down the men responsible.

            “There’s nothing to track. Ground’s too hard,” Zwick stated, dashing his hopes.

            “Yeah,” Blount agreed. “We better hurry.”

            The men mounted their horses, and they all took off at a gallop toward the Weatherly ranch. It wasn’t long before they noticed the distant black smoke rising in the air. Soon after, they detected the smell coming from the fire. Rowen silently prayed it wouldn’t be as horrific as he feared it would be. He prayed everyone was safe. That somehow the family living there was not on the property. Or if they were, that they’d escaped the flames.

            More than that, he prayed Luka was unharmed. That maybe, maybe, her status as a physician had saved her from what his gut was telling him they’d find.

            As they drew nearer, it was evident that both the house and barn had been torched. Apparently the fire had been set last night. Today the flames weren’t as high or as fierce as they’d been earlier. What was left was mostly charred and blackened wood. Skeletal remains that showed where the two structures had once stood.

            Zwick and Blount were out of their saddles before their horses came to a full stop. Rowen pulled up his mount and slid down to the ground, then rushed over to join them in front of the smoldering ruins. Zwick held out an arm to prevent him from going any closer to the destruction.

            “Is she… Is…” Rowen couldn’t get the words out. They were stuck in his throat where they burned along with the wood smoke filling his lungs.

            “I see two bodies inside,” the big man admitted.

            Rowen tried to see them but, again, all he noticed was the fire’s results. Still, he had to ask. “Is Doc one of them, you think?”

            “No.”

            That one word gave him a moment of hope. “Are you sure?”

            “Doc was wearing that print skirt I like seeing on her,” Zwick confessed. “That body over there is wearing what looks like a nightgown. See the bit of material around the neck? That’s probably Irene.” He gestured to a location off to their right. “And that one over there in breeches, that’s got to be Langley.”

            “Why didn’t they try to get out?” Rowen queried. “Why did they stay inside?”

            “Once this place cools down enough, we can examine it further,” Blount stated. “But I wouldn’t be surprised to discover they were tied up to make sure they didn’t escape.”

            “So what you’re saying is somebody deliberately killed these people, is that it?” Rowen clarified. “This couldn’t have been an accident?”

            Zwick tossed him a raised eyebrow. “The house and the barn are quite a ways apart from each other for both of them to get caught up in the same accident.”

            “Maybe some embers floated over to light it on fire,” Rowen offered. He still couldn’t accept the fact that someone would deliberately execute the couple.

            Blount cleared his throat. “Anything’s possible, but there was no wind last night that could’ve sent those embers over that far.

            “Can you spot any sign of Doc?” Zwick questioned as they continued to search.

            “Not yet.”

            “What if she’s underneath the rubble?” Rowen suggested. He noticed Blount going around to the back side of what used to the house. Every so often, the man would squat to examine something before resuming his walk. Rowen was about to ask he what he was looking for but instead turned to Zwick. The guy was heading over to the barn. Undecided whether to follow the big man or stay where he was, he chose a third option. Taking Blount’s lead, he started searching the ruins, going in the opposite direction from where the man was moving. He gave special attention to the ground for signs that might look suspicious, like more blood droplets.

            “The barn’s a goner!” Zwick called out as he headed back toward them. “I don’t know if the people responsible let them out on purpose, but I spotted two head of cattle out in the pasture. I know Langley also had a mare, but she’s nowhere in sight. I’m guessing it was taken, too. Mr. Taylor! See anything?”

            “No. Of course, as ignorant as I am about these things, I could be looking right at something important and not recognize it for what it is,” Rowen admitted.

            “Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Blount advised. “We all start out that way. Hamp, I’m pretty sure Doc isn’t here.”

            “Which means either she was here but left before whoever’s responsible for this travesty showed up, and she got waylaid on her way back to town, or she never made it this far ‘cuz they got to her before she arrived,” Zwick surmised.

            Rowen stared at the man. “You said ‘they.’ Are you thinking Chapman and his men might be responsible?”

            Zwick shook his head. “They might be, or they might not be. We need more evidence before we can come to that conclusion.”

            “We need to get back to town and let Melfry know what’s happened,” Blount advised.

            Rowen and Zwick agreed. Getting back on their horses, they left the ranch.

 

TO BE CONTINUED  

Linda's Website   

THE CONDEMNED - Book 1, Rowen, a Sci-Fi/Time Travel Romance by Linda Mooney - Chapter 9, Missing

THE CONDEMNED

Book 1 – Rowen

*Note: For purposes of this blog, the content here will be kept to PG standards. However, upon publication, the full novel will include more adult content. 

Chapter 9

Missing

  

            The next morning, Rowen was awakened by the smell of something frying and…

            He sat up in his small bed. “Coffee? Is that coffee?”

            He’d slept in his new albeit worn and a bit ragged around the waist pants. After pulling the equally worn donated but clean shirt, he made his way to the dining room this time to join the two other guests indulging in their morning repast.

            “Good morning, Mr. Taylor!” Mrs. Mayflower brightly chirped at him as he walked in. “Have a seat anywhere you like. Would you care for some coffee?”

            “Yes, ma’am. Please. And good morning to you, as well!”

            The woman disappeared into the kitchen and promptly returned with a battered pot that had definitely seen better days, but apparently it still made a damn good cup of coffee. As she poured him some into a cup, she motioned with her head toward the table.

            “Help yourself. We don’t take requests here. You eat what’s served, but you can eat as much as you want. Got that?”

            “I do. Thank you.”

            He was aware that the couple seated a few feet away were dressed in what he took as a finer style, not ordinary everyday wear. Keeping to himself, he was about to get up to serve himself when the woman reached over, picked up the platter, and handed it to him.

            “Here. No need for you to get up.”

            He thanked her, helped himself to a serving of eggs and ham, and set the platter to the side.

            “Are you just passing through?” the man inquired, attempting to make conversation.

            “Actually, I’m planning on making a home here,” he replied. It took effort to take his time and not to gulp down the food. After the stew he’d had last night, it was as if his stomach had reawakened from a long sleep and was joyfully begging for every morsel he could feed it. But he also knew that if he obliged it, he’d pay for it later with either a major stomachache or the loss of what he’d eaten altogether. The food in this time period was vastly different from what he was accustomed to eating in both taste and texture. He was also aware that the sanitary conditions were also looser or, in some cases, nonexistent, meaning he could inadvertently consume something that could make him sick. He reminded himself that these people had been eating slightly tainted or undercooked food all their lives. Their bodies had built up a tolerance. He, however, hadn’t.

            But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy what was served to him. When was the last time I had home-baked bread? Or real eggs, not powdered ones? Oh, my God. And churned butter! And jam made from real fruit! He snickered. I’ll be amazed if I don’t gain thirty pounds in the next few days.

            “Found something amusing, Mr. Taylor?”

            He glanced up to find Mrs. Mayflower standing by his chair, her hand holding the coffeepot hovering nearby. Her expression was unreadable. Rowen was quick to reassure her.

            “I can’t remember the last time I had food this good, ma’am.” He chuckled again. “And to think, not too long ago, I was wondering when I’d ever eat again, much less have a decent roof over my head.”

            The woman smiled and leaned closer to whisper in his ear. “Word around town is you’re a hard worker. Keep it up, son. Hard work can sometimes be a blessing.” She refilled his cup then went around the table to serve the other guests.

            When he finished and was getting up from the table, the female guest obviously eyed his attire. “Will we be seeing you at service this morning, Mr. Taylor?”

            Service?

            To cover up for his confusion, he played the work card. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I need to get to work.”

            Her male companion stared at him with unconcealed disapproval. “What type of business makes you work on a Sunday? Tell me now so I can be sure to avoid doing business with them!”

            Rowen bowed his head for a moment to give him a chance to hide his smile. When he looked back up at the couple, he replied in his best serious tone. “Animals need to be fed, sir. I can’t allow those creatures to go hungry or thirsty just because it’s Sunday, can I?” Even though he didn’t mention the livery stable by name, he figured the man would guess what business he was implying.

            Without waiting for the guy to answer, he smiled at the couple, bid them a good day, and left. At first, he intended on heading back to his room but, on second thought, decided to head for the stables instead.

            He’d barely taken a half dozen steps across the dirt street when he heard someone call out his name. Whirling around, he saw Obediah Goodall trotting toward him. Before he could greet the man, whom he hadn’t seen since he and his son rescued him and brought him here to Calllistown, Goodall bellowed at him.

            “Sheriff Melfry is rounding up a search team. Do you got a gun, son?”

            “No, but Mr. Zwick lets me use his when there’s a need.”

            The big man threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Hamp’s over at the sheriff’s office now. We need every hand we can spare. Are you with us?”

            “Yes, sir!”

            “Good! I’ll see you there,” Goodall promised and moved on. Confused and curious, Rowen set off for the sheriff’s office.

            Three other men were inside with Melfry and Deputy Slone, one of them being Zwick, who threw him a smile when he caught sight of him. Rowen went to stand beside him.

            “What’s going on?”

            “Doc never made it home last night,” the man informed him.

            Rowen continued to stare at the man. “That’s why the sheriff is rounding up a posse?” He couldn’t help the tone of his voice. But when Zwick’s expression hardened, he tried to explain himself. “I don’t understand. Are you saying she’s never stayed overnight someplace before?”

            “Oh, she’s done that, but she always lets us know ahead of time,” the stables owner explained.

            “But what if she’s not planning to stay overnight but does so anyway?”

            Zwick let out a loud sigh. “One thing you need to know about Doc. She’s smart. She plans ahead. If she thinks for one second that she’ll have to stay somewhere overnight, she lets someone know. Usually Obediah or Faith.”

            “Why them?”

            “Cuz that’s where she lives. When Abe moved out, Obediah wanted to rent out his boy’s room, but he was cautious about letting a strange man into their home. When Miss Postill showed up and needed a place to stay, things couldn’t’ve worked out better.”

            Rowen shook his head, still confused. “But something could have happened. I mean, the woman she went to go tend to might have had a problem or complications, and Miss Postill had to spend the night with her. Or it could have been something else.”

            Deputy Slone walked up to join them. “You’re right. It could have been something else. But we’ve been given another tidbit of information that concerns us, Mr. Taylor.”

            “What’s that?”

            “Those men we encountered yesterday? The ones we had move on out of town?”

            A dark cloud of worry permeated his brow as Rowen stared at the officer. “You mean Ossie Chapman and his gang?”

            He got a curt nod. “Yep. They never made it into Chamberlain last night.”

            The cloud began to blow a cold wind through him. “Are you thinking those guys might have something to do with Doc missing?”

            The big man snorted. “We don’t dismiss any possibility until we can prove otherwise.”

“How do you know those men didn’t get to Chamberlain?”

            “Mossie said so,” Zwick stated.

            “Who’s Mossie?”

            “He’s Holden Deerling’s son,” the deputy explained. “Deerling’s the telegraph operator over in Chamberlain. Every day, the boy goes to each outlying town to drop off and collect messages and letters to take back to his father.”

            “Let me guess. The jailhouse here is the pickup and dropoff point,” Rowen surmised. He scoured his brain to remember someone arriving with a package or bag who might fit the description.

            “Nope. The mercantile. I go there every morning to pick up the latest wanted posters and the like since we’re the first stop on his route. I was there when Mossie showed up. So, out of curiosity I asked him how the marshal reacted when Chapman showed up.” Slone shook his head. “He said the guy never got there. He didn’t even run into them on the road.”

            Rowen mutely nodded. It made sense. “Why don’t you guys have your own telegraph station here?”

            “Because there ain’t enough people who know how to use one or read those messages,” the deputy stated.

            “You guys ready?” Sheriff Melfry demanded, interrupting them. “We’re wasting valuable time. Let’s get over to the livery and saddle up.”

TO BE CONTINUED

Linda's Website

THE CONDEMNED - Book 1, Rowen, a Sci-Fi/Time Travel Romance by Linda Mooney - Chapter 8, Acceptance

THE CONDEMNED

Book 1 – Rowen

*Note: For purposes of this blog, the content here will be kept to PG standards. However, upon publication, the full novel will include more adult content. 

Chapter 8
Acceptance

             Zwick stared at him. “Are you sure? Are you dead sure that was Ossie Chapman?”

            Rowen frowned. “I had to look at the drawing of that man’s face every day I was incarcerated inside that jail cell. It’s him. Question is, does the sheriff know it? Here.” He handed the borrowed rifle back to the man. “I gotta go see if Melfry’s aware of it.”

            “Come back to the stables when you’re done telling him, and let me know what he said,” Zwick ordered.

            Giving a nod at the man, Rowen hurried to find the sheriff.

            Melfry was at the jailhouse. He was standing behind his desk and studying some papers he’d spread out when Rowen came through the door. The sheriff glanced up. “You need something, Mr. Taylor?”

            “That big guy on the horse, he’s Ossie Chapman, isn’t he?”

            Melfry turned back to his papers. “Looks that way. I came back here to double-check. So you think it’s him, too?”

            “Count on it,” Rowen agreed. “Question is, he’s heading for…where’d you send him?”

            “Chamberlain.”

            “Shouldn’t somebody warn them?”

            The sheriff smiled. “I trust Marshall Loving will be able to handle things on that end. For now, we just have to keep our eyes peeled in case Chapman and his gang return.” He raised an eyebrow at Rowen. “How’d you know who he was?”

            Glancing over at the wall, Rowen noticed the wanted poster was missing. He pointed to the bare spot. “You used to have his mug shot hanging there for me to look at every day I was held here.”

            That elicited a chuckle from the lawman. “Well, I hope we’re both right. In the meantime, I need to talk with a few people about providing backup in case he does show up again. If he does, and I call him out by name, I’m certain he won’t take kindly to being recognized.”

            “Is that why you didn’t call him by name? Because you weren’t positive it was him?” Rowen questioned.

            “That, and the fact that I’d need a bit more firepower behind me if I let him know I was on to him.” The man scratched the back of his head. “Oh, I noticed you holding a rifle back there. Are you a pretty good marksman?”

            “It was a prop,” Rowen admitted. “Hamp made me take it while we backed you up.”

            Pursing his lips, the sheriff nodded. “Well, I appreciate the help. So I take it you don’t know a sight from a hammer, eh?”

            Rowen chuckled. “I can point and pull the trigger. That’s pretty much my entire knowledge about firearms.”

            Melfry answered with his own chuckle. “In a lot of cases, that’s all that’s required of most people.” Reaching down, he gathered up the papers on his desk, including what Rowen discovered was the missing wanted poster. Rolling them up into a tube, the man tied it with a piece of twine. “Listen, I need to go handle some business. Thanks again for your help. I might need it again.”

            Rowen stepped out of the doorway to let the man exit. Knowing he had no further business here, he returned to the stables.  

It was drawing near sunset when Rowen finished cleaning out the stalls and laying out fresh hay for the horses boarded there. Zwick exited his office as Rowen was re-racking the shovel and rake.

            “Here.” The owner held out his hand, palm up.

            Rowen stared at the two coins lying there, then gave the man a puzzled look. “What’s that for?”

            Zwick chuckled. “It’s Saturday, son. Payday. Yeah, I know you haven’t been here a full week, but it’s only right I pay you for the time you’ve worked. Here.”

            Rowen took the coins without hesitation. “What about tomorrow? Don’t I come in tomorrow?”

            “It’s Sunday. Day of rest.”

            Rowen raised a hand to indicate the animals in their stalls. Before he could speak, the owner nodded.

            “Don’t worry. The horses will still get fed and watered. I come in before church service and let them out into the pasture, throw out a bit of hay, and then bring them back in later that afternoon. You…” The man pointed a finger at him. “Go get yourself some clean clothes to wear. Wash up, and don’t drink up the rest of your earnings at the saloon. I’ll see you Monday morning.”

            Not waiting for Rowen to say anything more, the man sauntered back toward the office, when he stopped and turned around. “Oh. Thanks for watching my back. Now all we gotta do is teach you how to load and shoot. Think you’re up to it?”

            Rowen gave him a wry grin. “I don’t have much choice if I plan to stay around, do I?”

            That comment got a surprised look from the older man, including a grunt before he went back inside and closed the door behind him.

            He went to the mercantile, hoping it would still be open, but like most of the town, everything shut down come dusk. All except for the saloon, which stayed open until heaven knew when. Realizing he had no other choice but to head for the inn, he went around the back way to take the rear entrance so his smelly appearance wouldn’t put off the other boarders, or piss off Mrs. Mayflower to the point where she’d put him out on the street.

            The tub she’d promised was there and half filled with water. He tested it. It was cold. “But it’s clean,” he told himself. A large bar of soap and a rag sat on a nearby stool.

            Rowen stripped and immersed himself in the tub. After days of not bathing, the cold water was a welcome luxury despite its temperature. He allowed himself to lie there, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds around him.

            Almost immediately, visions of his confrontation with Assemblyman General Campanelli and the gaggle of armed officers came back to haunt him. He saw his friends and cohorts shackled and on their knees, awaiting their turn on the conduit. Their terrified expressions masked his own.

            That was replaced with the faces of his mother and sister, and his heart twisted with the realization that they’d never know what happened to him. They’d never be told why he wouldn’t be coming back home. Rowen felt the tears rolling down the sides of his face and into his ears, and he angrily swiped at them.

            “It won’t do you any good to think of them now,” he berated himself. “What’s done is done. I can never go back.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “My God, they haven’t even been born yet!”

            His stomach cramped, reminding him he hadn’t eaten in a while. “I probably missed dinner. Oh, well. It won’t be the first time, and probably not the last.”

            As much as he would have liked to spend more time in the water, he knew he had other things to do before he could crash for the night. Using the bar of soap, which he could tell was homemade and as big as his hand, he scrubbed himself down, including his hair and beard. That done, he tackled his clothes, working the suds into the stained fabric as best he could before rinsing them out.

            Climbing out, he discovered a towel draped over a rod near the door leading into the inn. He used it to dry off, wrapped it around his waist, and gathered up his wet things before going to his room.

            He was surprised to discover a pair of pants and a shirt lying folded on the bed. There was also a note sitting on top of them.

            These aren’t much. Just some old clothes my husband used to wear. I figured they might fit you.

            The note wasn’t signed, but he suspected he knew who his generous benefactor was.

            Rowen slipped on the pants. They were a bit big on him, but the length of rope hanging in the belt loops helped to secure them above his hips. He was about to try on the shirt when a knock came on the door.

            “Mr. Taylor? You in there?”

            He opened it to find Mrs. Mayflower standing in the hallway. “Good evening.”

            “Good evening to you, too. I thought I saw you sneaking around to the back. Oh. I see you found the clothes I left for you.” It was clear her seeing him standing there half naked embarrassed her, but he tried to remain as casual as possible so she wouldn’t bolt.

            “Yes, I did. And I found the tub of water. Thank you so much. I tried to go by the mercantile to see if I could buy something to wear tomorrow, but they were already closed.” He flashed her a smile. “I was a bit late finishing up at the stables.”

            “Hamp kept you late?” the older woman pressed.

            “It couldn’t be helped,” Rowen tried to explain, but the woman huffed angrily.

            “So that’s why you missed dinner.”

            Once more, Rowen attempted to apologize, but Mrs. Mayflower wouldn’t have it.

            “Listen. I’ll go have Clara fix you a plate and set it out for you. You wouldn’t mind eating in the kitchen with the help, would you?”

            “No, ma’am. Not at all.”

            “All righty then.” She bobbed her head and waved a hand at him. “Put your shirt on and come eat. I don’t want word getting out that I don’t feed my guests.”

            Rowen watched the woman hurry away down the hall, then pulled on the shirt that was also too big for him, but fit no longer mattered. Promising himself that he’d spread out his wet clothes to dry when he returned, he left his room to seek out the kitchen.

TO BE CONTINUED

Linda's Website

THE CONDEMNED - Book 1, Rowen, a Sci-Fi/Time Travel Romance by Linda Mooney - Chapter 7, Wanted

THE CONDEMNED

Book 1 – Rowen

*Note: For purposes of this blog, the content here will be kept to PG standards. However, upon publication, the full novel will include more adult content. 

Chapter 7
Wanted

“After you buckle it and put the end through this right here, you cinch it up nice and firm, but not too tight. Now go ahead. You do it.”

            Zwick stepped back to observe Rowen’s attempt at hitching a horse up to a buggy. When he finished, Rowen looked up at the man. “What did I miss?”

            The stable owner puckered his lips. “As far as I can tell, nothing.” Bending over, Zwick stuck two fingers underneath the straps. “A smidge tight. Might need to move back a notch, but otherwise you did good. All right, let’s get the bridle on him, and you’re done.”

            They were in the middle of slipping the bit into the gelding’s mouth when a familiar voice interrupted them.

            “Oh, good! He’s almost ready!”

            Rowen jerked his head up to meet Postill’s surprised expression. “Hi, Doc! We’re almost finished.”

            “You’re working here now, Mr. Taylor? Or helping out?”

            “I am legitimately employed,” he told her with a grin. “For the time being, anyway, until Mr. Zwick figures out whether or not he wants to keep me or send me on my way.” He eyed her as she strolled up to pat the horse on the neck. This time she wore a short brown coat over a blue dress, along with her usual bonnet perched on top of her head, and a pair of dark brown gloves. It was clear by the way the horse was giving her its full attention that the animal was enamored of her.

            “Hello, Blaze. How’s my boy doing?” She handed the creature a carrot, which it eagerly took and consumed.

            Zwick gave Rowen a nudge with his elbow. “Finish ‘er up. You’re not done yet. You need to bring the reins over to the buckboard, and then you can call it. But first…” The man pointed off to the side. “Fetch that stepstool and help the doc up into the wagon.”

            Rowen nodded and retrieved the short steps, setting them on the ground next to the wheel. Postill handed him her medical box before taking his other hand to steady herself as she lifted her skirt. She easily mounted the wagon and settled on the seat, then reached for her kit. Rowen handed it to her, along with the reins.

            “Thank you, Mr. Taylor. By the way, Mr. Zwick, if anyone comes looking for me, tell them I’m heading out to the Weatherly place.”

            “Is Irene still doing poorly?” Zwick inquired.

            “I hope not. I’ll find out when I get there.” She turned to Rowen. “Thank you for getting my wagon ready. I expect you to still be employed when I return,” she quipped with a smile. Not waiting for an answer, she lightly slapped the reins over the horse’s back and clicked her tongue twice. The gelding obediently moved forward, and they exited the stables.

            Rowen walked up to the open doors and continued to watch her until she took a left at the end of the road and vanished from sight. When he finally turned around, he discovered Zwick holding a shovel out to him.

            “Now show me how well you can clean the stalls,” the man ordered with a partial grin lifting one side of his mouth.

            Sighing, Rowen took the shovel. “Is there a bucket or something I can dump the shit in?”

            Zwick pointed behind him. “Outside, against the back wall, is a wheelbarrow.”

            “Where do I dump it when it gets full?”

            “At the far end of the paddock, by that open field. People come by regularly to get what they need for their gardens and such, so I don’t have to worry about it piling up too high.”

            “Hamp! Hamp!” A man Rowen didn’t recognize ran into the stables. He was almost out of breath, and his face was pale with apprehension. “Sheriff needs you armed and out front right now!”

            Zwick didn’t question the man, who ran out. Instead, he turned to Rowen. “Can you handle a gun?”

            “I can learn!”

            The man gave a quick nod and hurried into his office, emerging seconds later with two rifles. He handed one to Rowen. “Act like you know what you’re doing, and no one’ll suspect. Go by my lead. Now let’s go see what the emergency is.”

            They rushed out of the stables to find Sheriff Melfry and two other men Rowen didn’t know. They had their firearms trained on four men on horseback who’d stopped in the middle of the street.

            “You’d make things a whole lot easier for all of us if you fellas just turned around and went back to where you came from,” Melfry informed the strangers.

            The man in the lead leaned over and crossed his arms over the saddle horn. “Sheriff, let me make one thing clear. We’re not here to cause trouble. We just want a drink and bite to eat, and then we’ll be on our way.”

            “You can keep going the way you’re headed,” Melfry intoned, his voice as stoic and all-business as his demeanor. “Chamberlain is about ten miles up the road. They’re a bigger town than us. They’ll have everything you need.”

            “But we don’t wanna wait that long,” the man next to the leader remarked.

            “We’re thirsty now,” the leader continued. “We’ve been traveling a long distance, and we’re parched.”

            “And we don’t have anything here to offer you ‘cept a drink from a cold spring,” Melfry countered. He motioned with his head. “I strongly suggest you circumvent our town and head that way if you’re determined to have anything stronger than that.”

            Rowen stared at the man’s face. There was arrogance there. And cruelty. The guy was up to no good, and Rowen would bet anything that those four had something planned. Worse, the man’s countenance was ringing a bell in the back of his mind.

            Straightening, the leader eyed the five men with guns pointed at him, barring his way. A sick grin stretched the corners of his mouth. “Very well. If you’re going to be inhospitable about it, I guess we don’t have any other choice. But, trust me, Sheriff, I ain’t gonna forget this little incident.”

            Melfry didn’t respond. After another moment or two, the leader turned his horse around, and the foursome left the way they’d come. Rowen and the others remained where they stood until the strangers took the corner at the farthest end to skirt the town.

            “Barkley, Myerson, cut past the general store and watch to make sure they don’t try to backtrack,” the sheriff ordered. He glanced over at Rowen and Zwick. “You men, watch the pasture. Let me know if that bunch gets back on the road leading out of town.”

            Zwick nodded once. “Sure thing, Sheriff. Come on, Rowen.”

            They hustled back to the livery, but instead of going inside they hurried past it and went around the building to where the pasture was located. Taking a stance where the strangers would be able to see them clearly, they waited for the riders to appear.

            “Hey, Mr. Zwick.”

            “If you’re going to stick around, might as well call me Hamp like the rest of the folks do,” the man drolly stated.

            “Okay. Hamp, if something happens here that’s too big for the sheriff to handle…” Rowen began.

            “Someone hightails it up to Chamberlain to fetch Marshal Loving.” Hamp looked over at him. “Why do you ask?”

            “The one who’s the leader. I think I’ve seen that guy before. I don’t know where or when, but I’m almost dead certain I’ve seen his face…somewhere. Do you know who that man is?”

            Hamp shook his head. “Nope, and I don’t reckon I want to. Besides, I don’t trust a bunch of strangers riding into town. One or two, we can handle.” He eyed Rowen to make a point. “But four big, burly men armed to the teeth…” He suddenly pointed in front of them. “There they are. Hold your rifle up, son. Let ‘em know we mean business.”

            Rowen held the weapon the way Zwick held his as the strangers casually continued past. When the group finally returned to the main road leading away from town, they moved on, never once checking behind them to see if they were still being watched.

            Rowen felt the knot in his stomach begin to loosen. “Those men, if they meant to do us harm or cause trouble, they probably could have killed us back there where we stopped them.”

            “Yep. They could have. But they didn’t know how many of us there were. There could’ve been more armed men hiding inside the shops.”

            The man’s tone made him pause. “Were there?” Rowen queried.

            Hamp’s answer included a smile. “What do you think? All right. I can’t see ‘em anymore. Guess it’s safe now to stand down.” Reaching over, he plucked the rifle from Rowen’s hands. “You get back to work while I go tell Sheriff Melfry they’re gone.”

            Rowen took one last look down the road when it suddenly hit him. The realization stunned him enough to where Zwick noticed his shocked expression.

            “What? What’s wrong?”

            “I remember now where I’ve seen that man. I mean, not the man himself, but his picture,” Rowen declared. “That guy is Ossie Chapman. A drawing of his face is on a wanted dead or alive poster hanging inside the sheriff’s office!”

TO BE CONTINUED 

Linda's Website

THE CONDEMNED - Book 1, Rowen, a Sci-Fi/Time Travel Romance by Linda Mooney - Chapter 6, Settling In

THE CONDEMNED

Book 1 – Rowen

*Note: For purposes of this blog, the content here will be kept to PG standards. However, upon publication, the full novel will include more adult content. 

Chapter 6
Settling In

The stables were situated on the very edge of town and directly across the dirt street from the Mayflower Inn. Sheriff Melfry led Rowen inside the wood structure and over to a small enclosed area that had been sectioned off. Rowen noticed that the box-like structure had window-like openings that faced the entrance and inner portion of the building. He surmised that way Mr. Zwick could see whenever someone entered the place, and continue to watch them and the horses.

            Hampton Zwick was a tall, gangly man with a long beard. Both beard and Mr. Zwick’s mustache were streaked with gray, although the man’s head didn’t have a hair on it. Seeing Rowen and the sheriff walk into his establishment, the guy got up from his chair and came over to greet them.

            “Hamp.” Melfry touched a hand to the brim of his hat in greeting.

            “Sam.” The owner’s eyes locked on Rowen as he waited for the reason for their visit.

            The sheriff pointed to Rowen. “This here’s Mr. Rowen Taylor. He’s hoping you’ll hire him to work in your stables.”

            Zwick’s gaze never left him. “This the guy who’s been your guest for the past couple of weeks?”

            “Only until Miss Postill could clear him of having any dangerous diseases,” Melfry explained. “I also checked with Marshall Loving, and he says there are no active warrants or reward offers out for Mr. Taylor.”

            “None, eh? Why are you here in the first place?” Zwick asked Rowen directly.

            He met the man’s eyes. “The Assembly said I was guilty of theft, so I was banished from my town.”

            “What kind of theft?”

            “I stole food.”

            The admission got a reaction from the man, although Rowen couldn’t tell what kind.

            “What’s the name of that town?”

            “Corinth City.”

            “Never heard of it, and I know most every city within a hundred miles of here.” Zwick crossed his arms over his chest as if to challenge him.

            Rowen called his bluff. “I walked for days. I have no recollection of how I got here. All I know is I have nowhere else to go. I have no family. The few friends I had are probably incarcerated or have been condemned the same way I was, since we were all working together. I figure this place is as good as any to set down roots. I’m a hard worker, although I will admit I’m not accustomed to physical labor. But if you’ll give me a chance, I promise I won’t let you down.”

            “Are you familiar with working around horses?” Zwick inquired.

            Rowen shook his head. “Absolutely nothing, but I’m a quick learner.”

            The owner studied him for another moment or two. Sheriff Melfry spoke up.

            “Give him a chance, Hampton. If you’re not satisfied by the end of the week, pay him what you think he’s owed and send him on his way. What have you got to lose? You’re always complaining about needing more help. Well, here he is.”

            “You’re willing to back him?” Zwick asked the sheriff.

            Melfry didn’t hesitate. “Yep.”

            The big man sighed heavily. “Awright. You’re officially on two-weeks' probation. If at any time I have a beef with you, you’re out of here. Got that?”

            “Yes, sir,” Rowen quickly replied.

            “At this time, I’ll pay you five dollars a week. If at the end of two weeks I decide to keep you on, I’ll raise it to six.” He stuck out a hand. “Do we got a deal?”

            Rowen took the man’s hand. It was calloused, the grip strong. “We have a deal. Thank you, Mr. Zwick. When do you want me to start?”

            “How about right now?”

            Melfry stepped in. “How about I first take Mr. Taylor over to the inn and see if Maisie has a room she can let to him?”

            “I promise to return as soon as possible,” Rowen added.

            Zwick stroked his beard. “Awright. Be back as soon as you can. Doc is needing me to get her wagon ready. I can show you how to hitch up a horse.”

            Nodding, Rowen threw in a smile and held out his hand again. “Thank you, Mr. Zwick. I’ll be right back.”

            He waited until they were heading across the street toward the inn before he brought up the subject. “Mr. Zwick mentioned a doctor. I thought this place didn’t have a medical doctor.”

            “He meant Miss Postill. People around here call her Doc. She may not have all the right and proper credentials, but from what we can tell, she’s damn good at what she does, and she’s earned everyone’s trust. We might as well give her that title.” He threw a grin at Rowen. “Let’s just keep that little secret between us, if you don’t mind. No sense letting the whole countryside know.”

            Rowen nodded in agreement.

            The Mayflower Inn was a small two-story, white-washed structure. It had a simplistic, welcoming appeal. They went up the short steps to the porch, and Melfry knocked on the door. Rowen eyed the WELCOME sign posted on the side. A portly, diminutive woman answered. Her face instantly brightened when she saw the sheriff.

            “Why, hello, Sam! What brings you here?”

            “May we come in?” Melfry replied.

            Her smile dropped at the sheriff’s all-business-like tone. “Yes. Yes, of course. Come in.”

            Rowen caught her curiously eyeing him. They only took a few steps inside and stopped as she closed the door behind them. He barely had the chance to take in the interior when she approached them.

            Melfry gestured to Rowen. “Maisie, this is Mr. Rowen Taylor. Rowen, this is Mrs. Maisie Mayflower. She runs this inn. Maisie, Rowen’s new in town. Hamp just hired him to work in the livery, but he’s going to need a place to rest his head. Would you be able to accommodate him?”

            Rowen noticed the woman wrinkling her nose and knew why. “Pardon my smell, ma’am. I’m needing a bath in the worst way.”

            “You’ll get no argument from me there,” the innkeeper agreed. She turned back to the sheriff. “He’ll be working at the livery, you say?”

            Rowen answered. “Yes, ma’am. Eventually, I’d like to make this town my permanent residence, but until I can afford to do that, I’m going to need a place to stay.”

            The woman gave him a bemused smile. “Your permanent residence? You sure have a way with words, Mr. Taylor.”

            “Please call me Rowen.”

            “All right. Rowen. Considering the fact that you’ll be smelling to high heaven every evening, I can’t have you off-putting any of my other lodgers. I do have one bedroom on the first floor in the back, near the rear exit. It ain’t fancy, but the sheets are clean, and there’s a nice breeze coming through the window at night. I charge two dollars a week.”

            “Now, Maisie,” Melfry interrupted her. “You know I don’t dabble in your business, but Mr. Taylor here barely got his feet under him. We both know you mostly use that back bedroom for storage. Why don’t you cut him a break? Hampton’s hired him on for two weeks, just to try him out. If he’s satisfied with Mr. Taylor’s work, he’s willing to keep him on and also give him a little raise. The least you can do is give him a chance to save some of that money so he can buy himself some new clothes.”

            The woman finally noticed Rowen wasn’t carrying any luggage, and she peered more closely at him. “Is what you’re wearing all you got to your name?”

            Rowen nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

            She sighed and turned to Melfry. “A buck fifty a week, and that’s as low as I can go.”

            “And that includes all his meals, right?” the sheriff noted.

            Mrs. Mayflower threw Rowen a cautious look. “Would you have a problem taking some of your meals outside so as not to offend my other patrons?”

            Rowen bit his lower lip to keep from smiling. “I’ll do whatever you feel is necessary, ma’am.”

            That admission pleased her. “All right, Sam. We got a deal.”

            “Great. Now, I have to take Mr. Taylor back to the stables to get started working, but he’ll be returning for dinner. That should give you plenty of time to clear and air out his room.”

            “Fine with me. Thanks, Sam. Oh, Mr. Taylor. ‘Scuse me, Rowen. Breakfast is at seven, dinner’s at one, and supper’s at seven. We change out your bedding every Saturday, but you empty your own slop jar. Got that?”

            Smiling, Rowen agreed. “I appreciate this, Mrs. Mayflower. Thank you.”

            The woman tried to hide the blush rising into her cheeks. “Just don’t be a pain, and we’ll get along fine. Good luck with your new job, and welcome to Callistown.”

            As they left the inn to return to the livery, Rowen thanked the sheriff for his help. “I’d probably be dead right now if you and Mr. Goodall hadn’t come to my rescue.”

            “Thank the Doc, too, while you’re at it. She’s the one who argued for us to show a little mercy.”

            Rowen made a mental note. “By the way, can I ask you one last question before you have to return to the jail?”

            “Shoot.”

            “What’s a slop jar?”

  

TO BE CONTINUED

Linda's Website