Set Free by a Fairytale Love (Preview)

Chapter One

Larktown, Ohio, 1868

“Lillian and Edward are coming for tea, my dear,” Mrs. Acosta informed her youngest daughter.

Helen barely glanced up from her book. “Oh, is Edward gracing us with his presence tonight? I’m surprised he can drag himself away from his office and his awful friends.”

Mrs. Acosta narrowed her eyes.

“I certainly hope that you won’t bring that attitude to tonight’s dinner, Helen. Edward Armitage is a very suitable man and is more than good enough for Lillian. He’s treating her very well, you know. You’d know that if you ever visited them. Their house is beautiful.”

Helen forced herself to concentrate on her book. She could just tell that her mother was spoiling for a fight. Mrs. Acosta had had a long and boring day and was desperate for something—anything—to alleviate her boredom. She had once had five girls bouncing around this house, all clamoring for attention and gossip and new dresses.

Now there was just Helen, the youngest girl and the only one still unmarried.

She planned to keep it that way. None of her brothers-in-law were the sort of men that ladies dreamed of marrying, and they certainly didn’t tempt Helen towards matrimony.

Edward was probably her least favorite. Or, perhaps, she disliked him so much because Lillian was her favorite sister. The oldest of the Acosta girls was Rebecca, who had been quite a success among the other merchants’ daughters, all looking for husbands. Rebecca had married well. The next three girls followed Rebecca in quick succession, then there was a few years’ gap before Lillian, who was now twenty-four, and she had been married almost one whole year. The Acosta girls were a credit to their family, everybody said so. They were pretty girls, sociable and ladylike.

Helen missed Lillian more than she could say.

Seeing that she wasn’t likely to get an interesting reaction out of her youngest child, Mrs. Acosta got to her feet, pulling her skirts around her.

“They are arriving at six o’clock, and we dine at half-past six. Sharp.” Mrs. Acosta sniffed. “I expect you to be on time and in your sweetest manners. I would like you to dress for dinner, too. Please don’t bring one of your wretched novels to the table.”

“I won’t, Mama,” Helen muttered.

Only partly satisfied, Mrs. Acosta swept out of the room.

Helen stared angrily at the page—which she hadn’t turned in at least ten minutes—before she gave up and stormed upstairs.

Tonight was going to be a long night. Edward had a habit of talking incessantly in that insufferable monotone of his about subjects that nobody cared about, and he wouldn’t let anyone else get in a word edgeways. If you tried, he’d simply continue talking over you.

At least, he did when it came to his sisters-in-law or even Mrs. Acosta. He had the good sense not to offend Mr. Acosta, at least. Not that Helen’s father bothered to speak much at the dinner table.

Helen sat heavily at the writing desk in her room and set down her book. It was some novel or other, about a feisty, red-headed heroine that rode horses, fought with swords, and said exactly what she thought. There’d even been a rather tense scene in which the heroine pointed a pistol at the nefarious yet oddly motiveless villain.

Helen was only allowed to ride side-saddle, and she’d never been permitted to so much as touch a blade or a gun. Her father and mother strongly believed that young ladies shouldn’t even hear guns discharged, as it was too much for their delicate senses.

She knew quite well that her senses were as sturdy as any man’s, but none of that mattered. Helen was under her parents’ roof, and as such, she had to abide by their rules. Ever since she was old enough to wear pinafores and be forbidden to climb trees, it had been made quite clear that one day Helen would grow up and get married, and that was that.

She wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea of marriage. The novel Helen was reading was very predictable, and it was already clear who the hero was; and he was, of course, desperately in love with the heroine. This particular heroine had resisted an arranged marriage by her evil uncle (who was apparently in cahoots with the main villain, although the details as to how or why were a little sketchy), and was determined to marry her True Love, the vapid blond hero.

At this point, Helen wasn’t sure what sort of novel this was. They would either marry and spend several chapters swearing their undying love to each other, or they would both die tragically and somewhat nonsensically.

It was only a story.

Life isn’t like novels, Helen told herself firmly, setting the worn old hardback aside. Her parents strongly disapproved of the novels, of course. To distract herself from all the ways that real life didn’t measure up to fiction, Helen pulled out her cousin’s letter again.

She’d read Thomasin’s letter as soon as it arrived, of course, but there was no harm in reviewing it. Helen missed Thomasin almost as much as she missed Lillian, but at least she was able to see Lillian more often.

My Darling Helen,

I’m so glad to hear that you’re in good health. I’m sorry to hear that you miss Lillian so much, but don’t forget, it’s early days! 

I’m going to get right the point, because I know you’ll put my letter aside to read one of your scandalous novels in a minute. 

When are you going to come and visit us? The boys are often out and about or working on the ranch, so you won’t have them getting under your feet. Mama would love to see you, and she asks after you every time I write. 

I know that it’s a bit of journey from Ohio to Texas, but we miss you very much and it would all be worth it in the end. You could stay for a good long while to make your journey worth it. A month, or even two. You know that Mama would have you live with us at the drop of a hat, so she can pretend she’s got two daughters instead of just poor old me. 

As to what you said in your last letter, I think you’re right to be nervous. 

I love my uncle and aunt very much, of course, but they are a little…old fashioned. Lots of people still do it, but it’s not exactly the “thing” to arrange matches for your children. Not openly, at least. You’re twenty-one now, so I think that there’s a very good chance that Aunt Acosta is looking around for a match for you. After all, all of your sisters are married, and it’s no small feat to get four girls married off like that. 

It might be a good idea for you to jump before you’re pushed. Find a man of your own before your parents can find somebody that they think is perfect. 

Better yet, you ought to come and stay with us—we’ll find you someone nice! 

All my love, 

Your Cousin, Thomasin Roth 

P.S. Everybody sends their love: Mama, Papa, Caleb, Jonathan, Robert, and little Adam, who all insisted on being mentioned by name. 

Helen smiled fondly at the letter. It had been several years now since her Uncle Roth had moved his whole family to Texas. The move had been a good one—the family business flourished, and they owned a profitable and extensive ranch.

Still, Helen missed her cousins. Lillian and Sophia, who was the third eldest Acosta sister, had been at home and unmarried then, so Helen hadn’t felt the loss too keenly. But now, with all of her sisters married and busy with husbands or children—or both—she felt very alone.

And, of course, there was the looming threat of her mother’s hints to marry.

Helen sat back in her seat and sighed. She glanced at the clock. It was barely half-past three. She could get dressed for dinner in half an hour if she hurried. Lillian and Edward were coming at six, so that left her a full two hours to laze around and read until then.

Yes, she had plenty of time.

Helen picked up her novel again. She’d marked her place—around two-thirds of the way through the book. The plot was picking up, and the villains were congregating against the Hero and Heroine. It looked set to be a dramatic and breathless ending.

Helen went to the window seat to read, pulling the curtains across. If anyone glanced in her room, they’d only see the neatly closed curtains and assume Helen wasn’t there.

That was just the way she liked it. She might not be allowed to run and jump and climb trees, but she could find secret little hideaways in the house. That was one way of getting privacy, as there was no lock on Helen’s door.

Helen had always shared a room with Lillian and Sophia, and the two eldest Acosta girls—Emma and Mary—had had their own little attic room. Now, Helen had a room to herself. The privacy was nice, but Mrs. Acosta had taken to barging in without knocking whenever she felt like it.

So, Helen went to her little reading nook and lost herself in the adventures of the staggeringly beautiful and daring Augustina St. Just, heiress, adventurer, and romantic heroine.

She read quite happily until she was interrupted by a hammering on the door.

“Miss Helen! Mrs. Acosta sent to tell you that your sister is here. Are you ready?”

Helen’s heart sank.

Oh dear, she thought.

Chapter Two

“I’m telling you, I don’t know anything!” the man bleated.

Fletcher narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on the man’s grubby shirt. He was lying.

The unfortunate man that Fletcher had pushed up against a back-alley wall was tall and lanky, with a receding hairline and truly appalling teeth. His name was Mal, unless that was just another alias—Fletcher had gone through at least two assumed names in the pursuit of this man—and he had a habit of twitching his nose like a rabbit when he lied.

He wouldn’t win any hands of poker, that was for sure.

“I don’t believe you,” Fletcher stated. “We all know that you were involved with the Westbrook Gang, so don’t bother trying to deny it. Do you want to take the rap for everything they did, is that it? We’d have to hang you at least a dozen times.”

The man paled under the layer of grime on his face. Still, he was determined.

“You’re just a snitch,” he said accusingly. “You’re trying to trip me up. If they find out that I’ve informed on them, I’ll wish that I was only getting hanged.”

Fletcher hesitated. The man had a point here. He was right to be nervous. A good number of sheriffs, deputies, bounty hunters, and other men who were supposed to be upholding the law were bribed, blackmailed, or otherwise paid off by the Westbrook Gang. Informing on them or one of their minions was more or less signing your own death warrant, and writing “Extra painful and drawn-out, please” on the bottom.

“Neither me nor my sheriff is on the Westbrook payroll,” Fletcher said firmly. “Look, Mal….”

“Actually, my name’s Jake.”

“Fine. Jake. I know that you ran with the gang, but I also know that you didn’t do anything too bad. I’m not here for you—we’ve got bigger fish to fry. Just tell me where they’re holed up now, and you can walk away. I won’t come for you. The gang will never know that it’s you that squealed.”

Jake pressed his lips together. “They will find out.”

“Not if I kill them.”

“You’d be lucky.”

“Actually, yeah. I am exceptionally lucky. So, what’s it to be, Jake? Shall I drag you down to the sheriff’s office and throw you in a cell, or are you going to tell me the truth?”

Jake sighed, and his shoulders sagged. Fletcher knew that he’d won.

***

“Arkansas. Livingston, Arkansas,” Fletcher announced triumphantly, shoving open the door to Sheriff Elias’ office.

The sheriff barely looked up.

“Good afternoon, Deputy Grant. Yes, I heard that too.”

“Oh,” Fletcher said, a little crestfallen.

Sheriff Elias looked up with a grin, setting aside his papers and pen. “I’m messing with you, boy. That’s wonderful news! And well done for getting the information.”

Fletcher breathed out a sigh of relief. He’d admired Sheriff John Elias for years, and he’d wanted to be a lawman for as long as he could remember. He was so close, but Elias would choose his replacement very, very carefully.

The little town of Farlow, Texas, had plenty of crime. It needed a good sheriff to keep things running.

“Take a seat,” Elias said, gesturing to the wobbly, well-worn leather chair opposite his desk. Fletcher obeyed. He’d sat in this chair more times than he could recall and knew exactly how to stack his weight so that the uneven legs didn’t cause the chair to tip. He’d watched more than one person stumble right out of this chair, and it was always hilarious.

“So, how soon are we setting off? I can be packed and ready to go by….”

“Steady on, boy, steady on.” Elias sat back in his seat, fumbling for his pipe. “You’re always ready to go racing off at breakneck speed. You have to take a breather every now and then, get yourself together and decide what to do next.”

“I know what to do next. Go to Arkansas and keep an eye out for you-know-who.”

Elias took his time responding. He carefully loaded up his pipe, lighting it and taking a few luxurious drags. Fletcher forced himself to sit still and wait. Elias would say what he needed to say when he was ready, and not a minute sooner.

The only thing that Elias didn’t have patience with was impatient people. He saw the irony of that, at least.

Elias was around fifty, with a full head of grey hair and a bushy grey beard. He was in good shape for a man of his age, but Fletcher saw how he was slowing down. He didn’t ride as fast, and he didn’t shoot as quick or as accurately as he once had. The town knew Elias, and they trusted him, but everyone knew that it was time for a replacement.

Elias had no intention of passing on his shiny brass sheriff’s badge to anyone who didn’t deserve it.

Fletcher was equally as determined to get that badge for himself one day. There was only one way to get that badge, and that was with Elias’ blessing.

“I’ve been after the Westbrook Gang for years,” Elias said meditatively. “Do you remember what I told you about killing a snake when you were a boy?”

“I sure do, sir.”

“How’d you do it? How’d you kill a snake?”

“Crush its head.”

“That’s right.” Elias blew out a cloud of smoke. “Did you ever hear me mention Mason Floyd, boy?”

Fletcher frowned. “No, sir.”

“There’s a reason for that. Mason Floyd is the head of the Westbrook Gang. Without him, the gang will splinter, and we’ll be dealing with just a couple of low-level, dumb-ass criminals instead of an organized syndicate.” Elias blew out a cloud of smoke. “Without Mason gone, the gang will just keep working. We can catch or kill as many of them as we want. He’ll just hire more. There’s always desperate men who are willing to kill for a few dollars. Now I know that he’s in Livingston, Arkansas.”

Fletcher nodded. “I know, sir. So, we should get to Livingston as soon as we can. I’ll guess that he’s not expecting us to show up.”

Elias said nothing, only puffed at his pipe for a minute or two.

“Mason knows me,” he said eventually.

Fletcher sucked in a breath. “What?”

“A while back, I nearly had Mason right where I wanted him. I even had him in a cell for a few hours.”

“What happened?”

Elias shrugged. “I couldn’t make it stick. He had an alibi, and I couldn’t prove that he’d done anything wrong. I had to unlock the cell myself and watch that piece of human scum swagger right past me. He looked me right in the eye and grinned.”

“Well, we’ll get him this time, sir,” Fletcher said, trying to sound confident. Elias sighed.

“That’s just what I’m saying, Fletch. I can’t go with you to Livingston. If memory serves me right, Livingston is a big place, but it’s a difficult town to hide in. If Mason catches even a glimpse of me, he’ll be off, and this time we won’t find him again.”

“Then I’d better just go myself, sir. Why, don’t you think I can do it?”

Elias watched Fletcher closely. “This is going to be a dangerous job, son. If Mason catches you, he’ll kill you and not think twice.”

Fletcher suppressed a smile. “Do you think I don’t know that, sir? I know it’s dangerous. I’m ready for the danger. I’ve been in dangerous situations like this before.”

“Not like this. How’s Dorothy?”

Fletcher blinked at the sudden change of subject, trying to figure out where Elias was going.

“Dorothy’s fine, sir.”

Elias nodded. “It’s a tough life for a lady alone out here.”

“Dorothy can take care of herself,” Fletcher said bluntly. “You know that, sir.”

“I sure do, and I know that if you don’t come back, Dorothy might end up having to sell your house. She’ll be alone. You’re all she’s got in the whole world, Fletch.”

Fletcher swallowed hard. He was starting to work out where Elias was going with this. “Dorothy knows that my job is dangerous. She knows the risks.”

“Sure, but do you?”

“Pardon me, sir, but where’s this coming from? I’ve been in dangerous situations before. I’m a deputy—your deputy. You know what I can do, what I’m capable of.” Fletcher studied Elias anxiously. “Do you not trust me, sir?”

“Of course, I trust you, Fletch. The thing is, you’re going into the viper’s nest this time. Alone. I know Mason Floyd, and I know what he’s capable of, too.” Elias’ pale grey eyes swept over Fletcher, worried and calculating all at once. “We’ve got one shot at this, I reckon. If you want to stay here and care for your sister, I won’t think the worse of you.”

“I think if Dorothy found out I was trying to care for her like I would an old lady, she’d kill me herself.”

Elias gave a reluctant chuckle at that. “Alright, then. Just so long as you know what you’re getting into. You can head out to Livingston as soon as you can get a train ticket. Stay undercover, and just watch the gang and report back to me. Look for Mason, but whatever you do, don’t make contact.”

Fletcher nodded, relieved that he wasn’t going to be taken off the case. He made to stand up, but Elias held up a hand.

“Rumor has it that you’re getting friendly with that Parsons girl. What’s her name…Addie? Allie?”

“Alice,” Fletcher corrected automatically. “And no, we just talked a little at church. They live along the way to our house, so Dorothy and I walked a little ways with the Parsons. Who says we’re…friendly?”

Elias sighed. “Boy, I sure wish you had a ma and pa to warn you about this stuff. You’re twenty-four years old. You’re a likable boy, and you’ve got a house and some land as well as a decent job. Don’t you think the girls are going to come calling?”

Fletcher flushed red. “I’m not interested in getting married, sir. You know that.”

“I do know that, but does Alice Parsons? More to the point, do her ma and pa? Cause from what I hear, they’re convinced that you’re sweet on her.”

Fletcher swallowed hard. He was aware that he was handsome, in a vague, disinterested sort of way. He and Dorothy had the same brown hair and brown eyes, and while that seemed like the most boring combination one could possibly imagine, Fletcher had caught enough girls making eyes at him to work out that he was good-looking.

The only good thing about being a handsome young man in Fletcher’s line of work was that older, more rugged men tended to underestimate him.

Fletcher had got more than one criminal wrestled to the ground and handcuffed before they finished laughing at the ‘pretty boy with a gun’. It was a pretty useful distraction, really.

“I don’t want to get married,” Fletcher said carefully. “Me and Dorothy have both been burned before, and it isn’t something we want to try again. Miss Alice seemed nice enough, but I’m not interested in her that way. I’m sorry if I gave her the impression I felt otherwise.”

Elias nodded. “It’s good to be clear about these things, Fletch. You don’t want somebody’s ma crying about how you broke her precious little muffin’s heart. You might think it’s funny to have a reputation as a heartbreaker….”

“I don’t.”

“…but it doesn’t really work well in a small town like this. People need to trust you.” Elias gave a sharp nod, having made his point. “I’ll drop a hint in the Parsons’ ears. Go on now, get packing.”

“Thanks, sir,” Fletcher said, getting to his feet in relief.

Now came the hard part. Now he had to tell Dorothy that he was going away again.

Chapter Three

Dinner had not gone well.

Lillian looked pale and thin and barely touched her food. She was seated at the opposite end of the table from Helen, so the two girls couldn’t really talk.

Lillian didn’t seem to be doing much talking, anyway.

Mr. Acosta sipped his brandy and picked at his dinner, allowing Mrs. Acosta and Edward to talk.

Good heavens, that man could talk! He talked about some business transaction that made no sense and could not possibly have been more boring.

Once upon a time, Lillian would have glanced down the dinner table to Helen whenever Edward said something particularly silly. They would have exchanged a significant look and suppressed smiles.

It would have made dinner all the more bearable. Now, however, Lillian barely raised her eyes from her plate. Try as she might, Helen couldn’t catch her eye.

When the ladies rose from the table, leaving the gentlemen to their port and dull conversation, Mrs. Acosta led them into the drawing room.

She took the lead in conversation, carefully steering it towards appropriate and suitably detached subjects. Helen couldn’t get a word in edgeways, and then the gentlemen were coming back, and it was too late.

Less than an hour later, Helen stood at the drawing room window and watched Lillian climb into their carriage. Edward casually laid a possessive hand on the small of her back, guiding her into the carriage. Lillian barely reacted. Helen just had time to see her sister sitting in her seat, staring blankly ahead of her, before the carriage door closed, and they were gone.

“Such a success!”

Helen flinched when her mother spoke, right in her ear. She turned to see Mrs. Acosta standing directly behind her, absently watching the carriage disappear.

“Lillian doesn’t look happy, Mama,” Helen muttered.

Mrs. Acosta’s small, self-satisfied smile didn’t waver. “Lillian will get used to it. Ladies have to, you know. It’s no small feat, getting four daughters married off.” Her smile faded, just a little. “It will be five, once you are married, Helen.”

A chill ran down Helen’s spine. She imagined a second version of Edward presented to her as a prospective suitor.

It was not a pleasant idea.

“I’m tired. I’m going to go to bed,” Helen said, backing away.

“A good idea. You’re not getting any younger, Helen, and you need your beauty sleep.”

Helen made her escape, leaving her mother to stand and stare out through the window at the darkness.

***

Helen was far too wide-awake to sleep, so she sat up in bed and read ferociously through the concluding adventures of the exquisite Augustina St. Just, careering towards the thrilling and nail-biting finish.

For a while, fiction triumphed over reality. The story finished all too soon, of course, and Helen gave a sigh of regret and put aside her book. A glance at the clock showed that it was barely midnight, and Helen was suddenly aware that she’d barely eaten at dinner, and she was starving.

Nobody should be up at this time, and it was the work of a moment to wrap a robe around herself and slip out of her room down the corridor, leaving the candles burning in her room.

The whole house was dark and silent. Mrs. Acosta was very keen on Proper Table Manners, and those Manners—with a capital M—involved ladies taking very small bites of food and chewing so slowly as to make one believe that they weren’t eating at all.

Helen was no good at this sort of dainty eating. If she was hungry, she was hungry, and wolfed down her food, with a very unladylike enthusiasm. Usually, she was permitted to eat more or less how she wanted at mealtimes, unless they had guests.

Apparently, Lillian and her husband now counted as guests.

Either way, Helen had barely touched her food and the idea of cold meats, pie, or jam and bread was suddenly very appealing. The cook and her scullery maid should have finished in the kitchen by now, and Helen would be free to collect a tray of goodies and hurry back to her room.

Helen noticed that there was a thin beam of light coming out from under the closed drawing room door. It was probably her father, staying up late for one more glass of brandy.

Then she heard low voices, and Helen paused, listening despite herself.

“She is one-and-twenty, Harold. It’s past time for her to be married.”

Well, there was no mistaking those waspish, dissatisfied tones, and there was no misunderstanding as to who they were talking about.

Helen wasn’t usually one for eavesdropping. It never got anyone anywhere, and you were only going to overhear things you’d rather not know.

This time was probably going to be no exception.

“Then why aren’t we making the arrangements?” Mr. Acosta spoke, sounding thoroughly bored.

“You know what Helen is like. I think it’s better if we approach this carefully. I don’t want to have her complaining and bargaining and being sullen. She doesn’t want to be guided by her parents, unnatural girl that she is.”

“She’ll do what she’s told.”

“Let’s suppose that Mr. Charles pays a call on us to meet Helen in person. Helen is her usual contrary self, talking about those dreadful adventure books and the nonsense she got up to when she was a child. He’ll be put off. I just know it.”

“You might be right.” Mr. Acosta sighed. “However, I don’t see how Helen will see reason if given time. She is extremely childish, Isabel.”

“I agree. Let me deal with her. She must see that she needs to marry, sooner rather than later. Mr. Charles is a perfectly suitable man. Oh, and he’s a friend of Edward’s.”

“That’s tidy. Will you talk to her tonight?”

“No, not tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps.”

Helen sucked in a sharp breath, shifting her weight. A floorboard creaked under her feet and conversation inside the room stopped. Not wasting any time, Helen turned and fled back along the hallway and upstairs. She darted into her room and closed the door, her plans of a midnight snack quite forgotten.

Helen sank down onto her bed, heart thudding. She listened out for angry footsteps coming her way, but there was nothing. Hopefully, her parents would just assume that the noise they’d heard was the wind, or just the creaky old house.

So, they were planning to marry her off. That was hardly a surprise, not really. Helen knew that one day pressure would be applied for her to marry.

What on earth was she going to do?

Helen had never heard of Mr. Charles, or whatever his name was. If he was a friend of Edward’s, Helen did not want to marry him.

She remembered Lillian’s blank, despairing face and shuddered. Helen didn’t want to be forced down the aisle to marry some awful man she couldn’t stand, but what were her options? What could she do?

Think, think, think! Helen told herself. Mama and Father can make you marry somebody. They did with all the others. 

The most obvious solution was for Helen to find love and marry before they could introduce her to Mr. Charles or some other equally awful man.

This obvious solution had plenty of obvious flaws, of course. First and foremost, Helen hadn’t found anyone she could fall in love with. Unlike the fated and dramatic first meeting of Augustina St. Just and her hero, which was very flowery and passionate, Helen’s first meetings with various gentlemen had been…well, dull. They were boring and bland and had absolutely no interest in Helen. The feeling was very much mutual.

What to do, what to do? 

As she paced restlessly around her room, Helen’s eye fell on her writing desk and Thomasin’s open letter.

Inspiration struck.

There were no decent men here in Larktown but possibly there would be more options in Texas. Perhaps she would even get an invitation from her aunt to stay longer and escape the chaos of marriage altogether.

Helen’s heart sped up, and not just at the prospect of escaping the clutches of Mr. Charles, whoever he might be. Traveling to Texas meant going to a different state, traveling on a train, and meeting new people…in short, it meant adventure.

Would her parents agree? Helen wasn’t sure, but at least she had all night to think of suitable reasonings. Thomasin would be delighted to have her, Helen knew that at least. Perhaps she would find someone suitable, but most importantly of all, she would get out of this wretched house and away from the memory of Lillian’s pale, miserable face.

She’d get away from her parents, too.

---

“Set Free by a Fairytale Love” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Helen Acosta’s whole life has been mapped out for her. Her parents have decided it all; she’ll make an excellent marriage and settle down to raise children. Determined to carve out her own destiny, Helen leaves home with no intention of ever coming back. While stranded in a strange town by a snowstorm, she meets an intriguing traveler who hides a dark secret…

Could he be the one true love she’s been searching for all her life?

Fletcher Grant is an ambitious sheriff’s deputy, determined to prove himself. To do that, he’ll need to go undercover and catch one of the most dangerous criminals in the West. However, fate has it that he meets Helen, a beautiful woman whose beauty immediately captivates him. Yet no matter how close the two become, revealing his real identity to Helen could end up being fatal for both of them.

Can he sacrifice happiness in the name of duty?

Fletcher and Helen become closer than they ever imagined. When vicious criminals target the young couple, they start to realize that love sometimes comes with a heavy price. In the midst of this ordeal, can they be each other’s rock? Will they make it out safe and with their hearts intact?

“Set Free by a Fairytale Love” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Get your copy from Amazon!