Chapter One
Little Falls, Colorado
Angela let down the wooden bucket. It hit the dark water below with a splash. She yawned, stretching her arms above her head, taking a minute to collect herself. Angela had never been much of a morning person, which was a pity, as most families in Little Falls woke up with the birds. The sun was barely up this morning, but already the little town was coming awake.
Cold, dark mornings when the world seemed to drag along like walking through molasses, were the norm. Angela was well used to forcing herself out of bed, tired and cold and desperate to go back to sleep, even for a little while.
She was used to it, naturally, but the thought of all the chores she had to do made her want to go back to sleep more, rather than propelling her up and dressed and out.
None of that mattered now, though, because she was awake and ready to start the day. The sun was up, and Angela always felt better when the sun was up.
A heavy mist hung over the fields, thick and wet. The sun hadn’t yet burned it away. In another hour, it would be warm and bright as noon out here, but for now, Angela shivered under her shawl and thin dress.
It had been her job to fetch the water in the morning for as long as she could remember. Of course, at one time, she’d had someone else following her, footsteps crunching if there’d been a frost or leaving footprints in the dewy grass if there hadn’t.
Not anymore.
Angela swallowed hard, not wanting to think about that. About her.
She began to haul up the bucket, heavy now and full of water. Hard work was always a good way to clear one’s head. Get your thoughts straight. Angela could focus on pulling up the rope, hand over hand, the full bucket slowly inching toward the lip of the well.
Cobwebs crisscrossed the entrance of the well, spun overnight, glistening with early-morning dew. The spiders were nowhere to be seen, and there was a gaping hole where the bucket had torn through the webs. It always felt like such a pity, destroying something so beautiful.
Don’t get soppy now, Angela, she told herself grimly. We need water, don’t we? The spiders can spin more webs.
“Morning, Angela.”
The voice came from behind her, entirely unexpected. Angela gave a short scream, letting go of the rope. She immediately recognized the voice, but of course, it was too late. The bucket, almost at the mouth of the well, had gone tumbling back down into the water below with a mighty splash.
Angela’s arms ached at the thought of hauling it back up to the surface again. Pressing her lips together, she turned to glare at the young man behind her.
“Oh, well done, Danny.”
Danny Evans was a rabbity young man with fair hair, a straggly yellow beard, and large and expressive gray eyes. He had a reputation for walking around softly, sneaking up on people. He didn’t do it deliberately, but it was still annoying.
He flushed, biting his lip. “Sorry, Angela. Do… do you want me to pull the bucket up for you?”
It was kind of him to offer, of course, but it would be just as hard on Danny, if not harder. Women always seemed stronger than men, somehow, used to heavy laundry and hauling buckets of water around all day, every day, while the men propped their feet up on tables and scraped at their teeth with toothpicks.
Danny was a toothpick man, one who rode his horse rather than walk anywhere. He was thin, and she had no doubt that he’d struggle with the bucket.
She sighed, shaking her head. “No, it’s alright. If you’re here to see Pa, he’s inside, taking breakfast. You can probably join us if you like.”
Danny fidgeted from foot to foot, not making a move toward the house. Angela began to haul the bucket up again, flashing him a quick glance of annoyance. She shouldn’t be so sharp with Danny. He was a decent enough young man, and probably too kind to be a sheriff’s deputy. He was barely twenty and seemed much younger.
He was always here, though, dogging her steps and getting in her way.
“I actually came to see you, Angela,” he said eventually.
Angela kept her back turned, concentrating on pulling up the bucket. She was thirsty, and the first sip of cold, crystal-clear water from the well would be heaven. For all the hard work it took to bring the water to the surface, the delicious taste was well worth it.
“Oh?” she said, as uninvitingly as possible.
Apparently, Danny wasn’t taking hints today. Or ever, if their history was anything to go by.
“Yes, it’s… it’s just that I was wondering if you were doing anything later tonight. Not tonight, that’s… that’s too late. This evening, perhaps?”
“Chores, I imagine,” Angela answered. “Same as always. You know how busy we are here.”
Another hint. Another waste of time. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Danny shuffling closer, twisting his fingers together. Gathering his courage.
No, save your courage for other things, Danny, Angela thought tiredly. Save us both the embarrassment and awkwardness. There must be someone else you can bother. Some nice, mousy young woman who thinks you’re sweet. I’m neither mousy nor nice, and sweet things belong in pastries and pies in my opinion.
She didn’t say any of this, of course. Danny didn’t deserve to have his feelings hurt, after all.
“I was wondering if you would like to go out for a walk with me,” he said shyly. “I… I could bring one of my sisters, or Mrs. Thomas could come, if you’d prefer.”
“Ma will be busy. I’m sorry, Danny. I won’t have time. Why don’t you ask…” Angela paused, trying to think of one of the young ladies in town who would be more suitable. Only Lisa came to mind, and Danny would have no more luck with her than he was having with Angela. “Someone else,” she finished lamely.
Her friend Lisa was very pretty, green-eyed and red-haired, and had quite enough trouble with amorous young men as it was. Angela wasn’t about to sic Danny onto poor Lisa.
She finally hauled the bucket over the lip of the well with a sigh of relief and scooped up a cupful of water. She took a sip, feeling the cold water trickle down her throat and into her stomach, delightfully cold and refreshing. The simple pleasures were the best, in Angela’s not-so-humble opinion.
Danny was still there, staring at her with large, watery eyes, as if he hadn’t quite grasped what she’d said and was waiting for her to change her mind. Either that or he was trying to think of something else to say. Words had never been his forte—he’d always tripped and stumbled over them, groping for the right words inside his head.
“Are you coming in for breakfast then, Danny?” Angela said, as gently as possible. There was no need to be unkind. She’d never quite managed to strike the balance between kind yet firm, which tended to be a little too harsh on people like Danny.
Danny pushed out his weak chin. “I like you, Angela. You. I don’t want to go walking out with any other girl in town. I talked to Sheriff Thomas, and he said… well, he implied that maybe…”
Ah. That made sense. That was where Danny’s newfound confidence had come from. Angela’s father had hinted that he would welcome Danny as a son-in-law. Well, he probably would. There were worse men than Danny Evans to marry, and no mistake.
But that didn’t change the fact that Angela didn’t want to marry him. That was something Danny didn’t seem to be able to grasp, no matter how Angela tried to explain it.
It was getting exhausting, to be frank.
“Danny, don’t,” she said tiredly. “Please, just don’t. I don’t want things to get awkward between us.”
He swallowed hard. For a minute, Angela thought he’d keep pushing the matter. Then his shoulders sagged, and he nodded.
“Alright. I’m not giving up, though, Angela.”
I wish you would.
“Breakfast?”
Danny shook his head and ambled away without another word. He kept shooting sad, reproachful little glances at her over his shoulder as he departed, as if waiting for her to relent and change her mind, or at least say something comforting that would imply there was still hope. Angela studiously ignored his pointed little looks.
Little Falls was not a large town, and like lots of places out West, there were a lot of unmarried men and few unmarried women. Angela was nineteen, which was apparently the ideal age for a woman to marry. She didn’t consider herself particularly beautiful—brown hair and brown eyes were not groundbreakingly unusual features—but she was suitably pretty, and that was really more than a woman needed in Little Falls.
There’d been a flurry of correspondence brides a few years ago, but most men now didn’t have enough land or money to tempt a woman to travel up from the other side of the country and marry them. Either that or their pride wouldn’t allow them to bring a stranger into town for them to wed.
Angela felt sorry for those men. It must be difficult, being lonely. Danny wanted to be married, she knew that. They’d gone to school together and played together as children. He’d stood beside her, handed her a handkerchief to catch her tears, and put an arm around her shoulder when… no, she wasn’t going to think about that. The point was, he’d been there when she needed him. But now her old friend resolutely saw her as Wife Material and nothing else.
It was a little disappointing, really.
Apparently, a woman you wanted to marry couldn’t simply be a friend anymore. Danny had decided that he wanted more than friendship from Angela and would no longer settle for anything less.
The simple fact was that they weren’t friends anymore. Danny was holding their friendship hostage until Angela agreed to court him. It felt like a betrayal, and she couldn’t help but wonder whether she’d ever really known him at all.
Or had he just changed, and Angela hadn’t noticed?
She waddled into the tiny scullery, trying not to slop any of the water over the side, and closed the door behind her with a practiced kick. Their chickens were particularly audacious and would absolutely join the family for breakfast if the door was not closed.
She set the pail down and moved through into the kitchen, which was deliciously warm and smelled strongly of baking bread and porridge.
Sheriff Jeremiah Thomas sat at the table reading a book, his brass sheriff’s star gleaming on his chest. His rich brown hair had turned gray quite suddenly only a few years ago, when the fever had gone through Little Falls. His beard was gray to match his hair, and his eyes looked tired and lined in a way they never had before. He glanced up at Angela, and she knew immediately that he knew.
“I thought I saw Danny pass by one of the windows,” Jeremiah said lightly. “Did you see him?”
Angela pressed her lips together. She turned to one of the cupboards, taking out plates and cups for breakfast to buy herself time.
“I did,” she said, as casually as possible. “I invited him in for breakfast, but he said no.”
Jeremiah nodded, eyes on his book. “Did he say anything else? Did he ask you something, perhaps? We had a conversation yesterday, and I rather got the impression that he wanted to talk to you about something.”
I knew it.
Angela forced herself to set down the plates and cups gently. No need to slam them down in a temper.
“Yes, he asked me to step out with him later this evening. I said no.”
She shot a glance at her father when she spoke. Sure enough, Jeremiah didn’t betray a flicker of surprise. He’d known all along that Danny intended to ask her to walk out with him, and that, of course, was only a hair’s breadth away from official courting. Walk out with a man once, and gossip would have you all but engaged to him by the end of the week.
Unable to help herself, Angela set the final cup down with a bang.
“You encouraged him, didn’t you, Pa?”
Jeremiah pressed his lips together. “You already turned down Alexis De Vere. The banker’s son, Angela. I was thrilled to hear that Danny liked you—aren’t you and he old friends? I thought you’d be pleased.”
“I’m not in love with Danny.”
“And what does that have to do with anything?” came a tight, disapproving voice from the direction of the stove.
Angela resolutely didn’t look at her mother. She and Esther hadn’t yet made up. There’d been a terrible argument over the banker’s son about a month ago, and the atmosphere in the house was still frosty.
Esther and Angela were two peas in a pod. They had the same curly brown hair with lights of gold; narrow, pale faces; and long noses. Esther had been much prettier and daintier than Angela in her youth, though. Her father had been a fairly well-off man, and there’d been no need for Esther to break her back over farm work and heavy household chores.
Angela, on the other hand, had been fetching water and shoeing horses since she was a child, and she had a strong, stocky frame. Just another reminder of how different she was from her mother, no matter how similar their faces might be.
Or perhaps they weren’t different at all. If Angela was honest with herself—which she rarely was—she could acknowledge that it was her mother’s fire and stubbornness that caused the sparks between them. They were alike in more than just their looks, and their once-loving relationship had been fraught with problems ever since the fever had come to town. Ever since Jeremiah’s beard turned gray. Ever since…
Angela swallowed hard and stopped thinking along those lines. She and her mother were similar, but not identical. She kept telling herself that, very sternly.
Of course, Esther’s hair was now streaked with silver, and there were laugh lines and crows’ feet on her previously perfect skin. There was also a deep groove of sadness between her black brows, which hadn’t been there before the fever year.
Before Astrid died.
“What do you mean, Ma?” Angela asked, keeping her voice carefully level. “I like Danny well enough, but—”
“But what?” Esther snapped. “You’re wasting time, Angela.”
“Esther, don’t,” Jeremiah murmured. “Let’s not do this now.”
“No, Jeremiah, I’ve had enough. Just because she’s had two men fighting over her, she thinks she can pick and choose. Well, you can’t, Angela. If we lived in a big city, you’d have to fight for male attention and have hardly any chance of getting a husband. We’ve sheltered you, that’s the problem. Women have to marry—that’s the sad truth of it. Not every woman will marry a man she’s head over heels in love with. It’s a nice idea, but not practical. It’s just not likely to happen.”
“You did,” Angela countered.
Esther ignored her. “You don’t know how lucky you are, out here.”
Angela bit her lip. “I just want someone who can be my friend.”
“What about Danny, then?” Jeremiah said, sounding faintly annoyed. “You said he was no good. You two are already friends, though.”
“I can’t… I’m not going to fall in love with Danny. There’s no spark there.”
“Then what was wrong with Alexis? He’s handsome enough and said to be charming,” Esther demanded, clearly running out of patience.
“Alexis is full of himself and had no interest in anyone else’s opinion. I couldn’t stand to spend an hour with him, let alone the rest of my life.”
Esther gave a frustrated growl, turning on her heel and clattering around with the pan of porridge.
“I give up. Jeremiah, I give up. She’s going to end up an old maid. When you and I are gone, then she’ll be sorry. Then she’ll wish she’d listened to me. Of course, it’ll be too late, then. Youth and good looks won’t last forever. It doesn’t matter how vibrant your spirit is, or how clever and interesting you are. If you’re not young and pretty, no man will want you. Are you listening to me, Angela? Take heed of my words—they’ll haunt you in years to come.”
Angela glanced at her father. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him. Would he stand up for her?
No.
Jeremiah’s gaze slipped away, back to his book. He’d always been a bookworm and joked that most of Esther’s charm came from the fact she’d brought a huge steamer trunk full of books with her upon their marriage.
It was just a joke, of course. Everyone knew Jeremiah and Esther had been madly in love, putting up with Esther’s parents’ disapproval and their newfound poverty. Jeremiah had no parents to approve or disapprove, but since they’d been dirt poor, his parents would probably have been thrilled at his marrying the refined, well-bred Esther.
How old had Esther been when she married Jeremiah? No older than eighteen, Angela was sure. Jeremiah had been twenty—young, for a man. Most men married in their mid to late twenties at the earliest. Some men waited until their thirties, or even when they were forty. Of course, they still wanted to marry the pretty young women of eighteen. Men were allowed to live a life before they were married, but women were apparently fit for nothing else.
But Jeremiah and Esther had always been the exception to those cruel principles, and that made their rejection of Angela’s hopes of marrying for love all the more painful.
“You have to marry, Angela,” Jeremiah said quietly. “You’re running out of time. Alexis and Danny will marry other women, and you’ll be left single and on the shelf. Do you want to be an old maid?”
“There must be worse things than being an old maid, Pa,” Angela said lightly.
Jeremiah pressed his lips together. “No,” he said shortly, “there aren’t. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen, Angela. I know what happens to women who don’t have men to protect them.”
“Can’t I protect myself?” Angela asked, stung. “Can’t I live my own life and make my own way?”
Jeremiah shrugged. “I don’t know, Angela. Can you?”
For some reason, the sharp question made her flinch. She could take care of herself, she knew it. She could… well, there must be something she could do. What about women without families and prospects?
A movement passed the window, and for an awful second, Angela thought it might be Danny, come back to try again. Then she saw a familiar torrent of red-brown hair, tossed back over a shoulder, and knew at once who it was. Relief flooded through her.
“Lisa is here,” Angela announced. “I’ll go and see what she wants.”
Not waiting for a reply, she hurried out of the kitchen, through the scullery, and out into the cold, foggy morning.
Sure enough, there was Lisa, hand poised to knock. She giggled. Lisa was always giggling, always with a smile and a laugh balancing on the tip of her tongue. That was what Angela liked best about her.
Angela had a decent sense of humor, she thought, but she was nowhere near as cheerful and light-hearted as Lisa. Lisa helped Angela shed her grim, cynical outlook, to an extent.
“Goodness! There you are,” Lisa said, holding up a basket. “I brought you some eggs. Ma thought you might like some.”
Angela lifted the blanket tucked in around the basket to reveal three eggs, nestled together on a handful of straw. She raised an eyebrow. “You… you really shouldn’t have. Lisa, you know we have a lot of chickens, don’t you? We have plenty of eggs.”
Lisa winced. “Yes, but I wanted to get out of the house. Ma won’t say no if she knows I’m going to take you and your family something, even if it’s just eggs.”
“Ah,” Angela said, nodding.
Lisa was one of twelve children—twelve, and counting. Her father, Pastor Sutherland, was a cheerful Irishman who preached jaunty sermons and invited himself and his wife to dinner at other people’s homes as often as he could. His adoring wife, Patty—short for Patricia, apparently—sat in the front pew of the chapel every Sunday and beamed up at her husband.
Their children sat stretching away from them, getting progressively smaller and smaller, until the most recent baby was placed on the end as soon as it could be trusted not to topple off.
Lisa was eighteen, and as one of the oldest children, she was expected to be a second mother to the children. They were more likely to come running to Lisa with a scraped knee or a tale of injustice to tell, rather than their parents. When nightmares occurred and beds were wet in the night, Lisa was the one who was awoken.
She did not like it.
More to the point, Lisa did not like children. Oh, she loved her siblings, of course, but she hated playing nursemaid and mother every hour of the day and night.
Angela privately thought that having to mother her myriad of younger siblings was probably why Lisa did not like children. She was even more tired than her mother, who usually had her latest pregnancy as an excuse to sit down and put her feet up, watching her children cook and clean and do the chores around her, taking turns in bringing each other up.
Pastor Sutherland and his Patty were a nice enough couple, and seemed to be very much in love, but Angela couldn’t help but see them as selfish parents. They loved Lisa, she supposed, but they only really loved her when she was doing something for them and being a good mother to her siblings. Angela had been spoiled with her own parents, she knew.
Of course, things had changed now that Astrid was gone. There were fewer jokes, hardly any laughter. They all retired to their rooms of an evening, instead of talking and laughing and playing games in the parlor.
It felt like a waste, but Angela had no idea what to do about it.
“I passed Danny Evans on the way here,” Lisa said, cutting into Angela’s thoughts. “I said good morning, but he didn’t even look at me. I don’t think he heard. He had his head down and he was frowning.”
“He asked me to step out with him, and I said no,” Angela said flatly. “Don’t you dare tell anyone,” she added hastily, seeing Lisa’s eyes widen. For a pastor’s daughter, Lisa had a very unchristian love of gossip.
“I won’t,” Lisa said defensively, and Angela just knew that she’d already been thinking of who she could tell. “You said no? I’m surprised.”
“Why are you surprised?”
“Well, I know you weren’t interested in him—not in that way. But you two were friends.”
Angela shook her head. “Not lately. I knew he liked me, and I can pinpoint the exact day it all started. When I wore that new green dress of mine to church.”
“You looked very pretty in that.”
“Yes, that’s exactly the problem.” Angela sighed. “I caught him staring at me all during the service. Suddenly, I wasn’t little Angela who put a snowball down his neck. I was pretty Angela, who might agree to marry him. We stopped being friends, and I started being a challenge.”
“I think you’re overthinking this.”
“I am not. Look, if all it takes for him to fall in love with me is a dress, that isn’t real love, is it? I just looked nice.”
Lisa sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But Angela, we don’t have that much choice. All the men in town seem to like you. You could probably take your pick.”
Angela pressed her lips together. “There’s only been two. Besides, Alexis only likes me because I’m a challenge. He likes to be challenged.”
“I would step out with Alexis,” Lisa said fervently. “He is so handsome.”
“And that’s why he doesn’t ask you. He wants to win somebody, like a trophy. Girls who are already interested in him are no fun. He doesn’t want that. I haven’t time for that nonsense.”
Lisa shrugged. “You have to marry someone.”
Angela looked away. “People keep saying that, but I don’t think I agree.”
Behind them, the scullery door opened sharply, making them both jump. Esther stood there, and Angela found herself wondering whether her mother had been listening at the door. She wouldn’t put it past her.
“Breakfast is on the table, Angela,” she said crisply. “Lisa, are you joining us for breakfast, or are you going home to help your ma? I imagine she needs the help, what with the new baby on the way.”
Lisa flushed. “Yes, I’m going home. I’ll see you later, Angela.”
Angela smiled weakly, seeing her only ally retreating. “Bye, Lisa.”
Chapter Two
The boy looked up at the tiny, narrow window with despair.
He wouldn’t fit. He knew he wouldn’t fit. He was ten years old, very nearly eleven, but already growing taller and broader. He was still smaller than other boys his age, due to a combination of not enough food and sleep, along with perpetual cold and discomfort. They missed out on sunlight more days than not, since his father and his group worked at night. Always at night.
It was normal, of course, for a child to change as they got older, but for Connor, growing up was only ever going to bring unpleasant consequences.
“Alright, put the kid in now,” whispered a bald man with a lumpy nose, which had clearly been broken several times in the past. Connor didn’t know him.
There were always men in the group that Connor didn’t know. Nobody bothered to introduce themselves. There were a few regulars, which Connor tried to avoid lest he receive a boxed ear or a kick up the backside just because somebody felt like it.
The bald man wasn’t talking to Connor, of course. Nobody talked to Connor. Why would they? Connor was simply a useful tool. It would have made no more sense than if they’d decided to talk to the crowbars, hammers, and lockpicks they used to get through various locked doors and windows. No, he was talking to the man wielding this particular tool—Connor’s father, Hector.
Hector gave a short nod, casting one glance down the darkened alleyway. “Better get going,” he said in agreement. “Lots of deputy patrols in this area. No time to waste, I reckon.”
It was a fine house, large and attractive, and was sure to have lots of things worth stealing inside. There were no dogs to bark here, and the servants were all asleep at this time of night.
Hector had once told his son that rich people didn’t trust banks, because they were the ones who created them. They always had money stashed away in their homes or invested in paintings and jewelry. Hector had no interest in art, but he could spot a valuable painting from a mile away. He was also remarkably good at finding the right people to sell them to, which he insisted was a skill in itself.
The house was fairly secure, except for one flaw—their Achilles’ heel. Hector had once told his son the story of Achilles, and Connor had been enthralled. It was almost tragically amusing; a man who was supposed to be a hero being felled by something so silly.
In this case, the Achilles’ heel was a small window left open. The window likely opened into a scullery or pantry and would doubtless get a person access to the rest of the house, to unlock a door or window from the inside. Windows like this were often left open to let in air, to prevent a pantry from smelling musty and damp. Sometimes, these windows didn’t lock or were simply forgotten about. After all, they were too small to be a danger, weren’t they?
Wrong. Of course, the window was far too small for an ordinary man or woman to fit. That was where Connor came in.
Hector grabbed his son by the scruff of his neck, ignominiously shoving him up into the air, pushing him toward the little window. Connor scrambled to grab onto the windowsill, pulling himself forward. He pushed at the window, which was already slightly ajar, and it opened easily. No squeak of unoiled hinges, no stiffness to battle against.
He managed to fit his head and shoulders through the tiny space. Hector let go and Connor’s whole bodyweight sagged against the wall, chest pressing painfully against the sill. He kicked his legs, trying to gain purchase to push himself through. His upper arms, just below his shoulders, pressed against the sides of the small window. When he tried to push himself in, his arms squeezed against his chest, slowly but surely squeezing the breath out of his body.
He wasn’t going to fit.
Connor heard a muffled curse behind him.
“Make him hurry up!” hissed the bald man. “There are deputy patrols in this area. I reckon we’ve not got long before the next one comes. You said he’d be quick and quiet, Hector!”
Connor didn’t bother to point out that the only reason deputies patrolled this area was because they kept robbing houses. He was concentrating on trying to haul himself through, ignoring the way his chest was compressed, pushing air from his lungs.
“Her Heart’s Bitter Crossroad” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!
In the small town of Little Falls, Angela Thomas stands out like a beacon of strength and defiance, refusing to settle for anything less than love. Suddenly, however, everything turns upside down with the arrival of a mysterious stranger. As Angela finds herself drawn to this enigmatic man, she must confront her deepest fears and a world full of lies, as well as an unforeseen romance.
Can Angela trust this man with her heart?
As a bounty hunter on a mission, Connor Roth has learned to keep his heart guarded and his past buried deep. When he arrives in Little Falls to pursue a dangerous criminal, he is distracted by Angela’s captivating gaze. Despite the danger lurking in the shadows, Connor soon finds himself falling head over heels for her.
His secrets will come back to haunt him…
Even though their lives could not be more different, Angela and Connor search for ways to be together. Can they overcome their fears and trust each other with the truth, or will their past entrap them and tear them apart? A rollercoaster of emotions filled with heart-pounding moments, as two souls struggle to find love and redemption in a dangerous world.
“Her Heart’s Bitter Crossroad” is a historical western romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.
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