September Rain Read online

  SEPTEMBER RAIN

  by

  Mallory Kane

  Copyright Rickey R. Mallory, 2011

  Author Note: This title is a departure for me. I love writing romantic suspense, but occasionally I like to mix things up a bit. Hallie and Jacob's story is very dear to my heart. Although it is not romantic suspense, Hallie and Jacob do encounter danger as they fight for the lasting love they both deserve. Thank you so much for choosing September Rain. I'd love to hear your feedback if you'd like to post a review. I hope you enjoy it.

  Mallory Kane

  Dedication: To Michael, my own hero.

  1858, Dakota Territory

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jacob Chandler smiled at her today. It wasn’t much of a smile. His mouth hardly moved, no more than a tiny upward quirk of his lips, but she saw it in his eyes.

  It was a victory Hallie Greer had been working to achieve since the first time she’d seen the tall, sad man two years before. She nodded in satisfaction as she lifted another bolt of cloth onto the display table. It was a sweet victory, if a fleeting one.

  Almost as soon as his blue eyes had sparked with the faint light, it was gone, and she’d been once again stabbed to her heart by the sadness in his face as he turned away to load his supplies onto his pack mule.

  Hallie understood sadness now, as she had not the first time she’d seen Jacob. Her father had died three months ago, after a long and exhausting illness. She grieved for him, and probably would for as long as she lived, but her grief didn’t diminish the joy she felt each morning when she saw the sunrise, or the thrill a new book arriving on the supply wagon gave her.

  Jacob Chandler’s sadness went beyond grief. She knew a little about him, this man the townspeople called Crazy Jake. Everyone knew the story of the outlaws who had attacked his farm outside of town. They'd killed his pregnant wife and left him for dead. He had not spoken a word since that day, and as soon as he’d recovered enough, he had gone after the outlaws.

  Nobody knew why he’d returned to Goshen Springs. He’d shown up one day, bought some supplies and a pack mule and disappeared into the mountains. The only time anyone ever saw him was three or four times a year when he came to town to replenish his supplies.

  Hallie reached for another bolt of cloth, hefting it up onto the table beside the first. She smoothed the wrinkles out, enjoying the crisp softness of the new cloth, her mind only half on her chore.

  The first time Jacob had come into the store, Hallie had been showing Mrs. Adams a bolt of cloth much like the one she touched now, and her father was talking to Mr. Adams.

  All conversation had ceased as the door opened, and when Hallie turned, she saw a tall, buckskin clad man. He was whipcord lean, his shoulders were wide and his legs in the buckskin breeches looked powerful.

  Hallie still remembered the thud of her heart when his blue gaze met hers. It was at that moment she decided Jacob Chandler needed to smile. She smiled at him and asked if she could help him, but all he did was hand her a list and begin hefting sacks of potatoes and flour.

  That day she’d learned most of what she knew about him. Mrs. Adams was all too happy to gossip and, for once, Hallie was happy to listen.

  Because he lived alone and never talked, folks assumed he’d been driven insane by the death of his wife. But Hallie knew from his eyes that he wasn't crazy. Whenever he came into the store, she greeted him with a smile and talked to him just like she would any other acquaintance. He never showed any sign that he heard her. Until today.

  Today, he smiled. At her. And just like she’d known it would, his smile put the brightness of a summer sky in his eyes and a flutter of pleasure in her breast.

  The bell over the door tinkled and Brent Myers entered the store. Hallie frowned.

  “Miss Hallie, are you all right?”

  The beefy face of the saloon owner erased her thoughts of Jacob. “I’m fine,” she said shortly, busying herself with stacking the bolts of cloth into perfect rows.

  “I saw you were still here, Why don’t you allow me to escort you home?”

  A suffocating feeling settled on her breast, the same feeling she had every time she was around Brent Myers. He hovered too close, his smile was too familiar, his manner too possessive. She shoved a bolt with rather more force than necessary. “I’m not ready to leave yet, Mr. Myers. I still have quite a bit to do.”

  Myers stepped closer. “You know, Miss Hallie, the days are getting shorter. You shouldn’t stay here by yourself too late. Why don’t I escort you home to change, and we can have dinner at the hotel?”

  Hallie fought the urge to step backwards. She didn’t understand why the townspeople let Myers bully them. She saw right through his veneer of politeness it to the selfish, controlling man beneath. Why couldn’t everyone else? Why couldn’t they see that his hair was a too slick, his clothes too fancy, his manner too obviously insincere? Why couldn’t they see that his words never matched the calculating, greedy glint in his eyes?

  “We need to talk about our future too, Miss Hallie. It’s been three months since your father died. There’s no reason to wait. Your father was in favor of us marrying, you know.”

  “So you tell me,” Hallie retorted. “He never mentioned anything to me.” Myers had only begun speaking of it after her father’s first stroke, when it was no longer possible for him to speak.

  “Now Miss Hallie. You know I’m fond of you, and I would make you a good husband. And it’s not as if . . . .”

  Myers’ voice trailed off, but Hallie understood his intimation. It was not as if Hallie were a marriageable young woman with young men lined up to court her. She’d probably never marry if she didn’t jump at Myers’ offer. She’d already resigned herself to the life of an old maid. Eight years ago, at age twenty, after her mother died and the young man she was in love with married another girl, she’d come out to Montana with her father. On the border of the wilderness, hundreds of miles from civilization, there weren’t many eligible bachelors.

  So Hallie had helped her father run his general store until his stroke, then she had nursed him and run the store on her own.

  “Miss Hallie?”

  Myers’ oily voice grated on her nerves. She faced him and planted her fists on her hips. “Mr. Myers, whether you believe it or not, I am not at all interested in marriage. I am perfectly happy being a spinster and running my store. As I have told you before, I appreciate your kind offer, but no thank you.”

  Myers’ face turned red, and Hallie saw the rage he held in check. A thrill of fear rippled through her, which increased her own irritation to anger. She was not going to be intimidated by Brent Myers, or worse, fooled by him like everybody else in town seemed to be. She’d always gone her own way. Coming west with her father had been a bold move for a young, unmarried woman. Handling the store on her own for two years had been even bolder. She could handle Myers.

  As if he’d read her mind, Myers spoke. “You know, Miss Hallie, I hold the mortgage on your store.”

  She looked at him in mild shock. “Of course I know that. I make the payment to you on the first day of each month at the terms agreed upon by you and my father. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I do hate to bear such tidings to you Miss Hallie, but your father let some payments lapse just before his unfortunate stroke.”

  Hallie couldn’t believe her ears. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. For once in her life, she was struck speechless.

  Brent nodded and lowered his gaze. “Yes, that's right. I'm truly sorry, Hallie. But I can show you in the account ledger. There are several payments missing.”

  Hallie finally regained her voice. “That’s impossible," she said hoarsely. My father was an honest man. A decent man. He prided h
imself on paying his debts. You must be mistaken, somehow."

  His face turning a deeper shade of red, Myers drew himself up and brushed an invisible speck of dust off his sleeve. “I do hope you’re not calling me a liar, Miss Hallie. Did he keep a ledger or receipts?”

  She did. She couldn’t keep up with purchases and sales in her head, like her father had. “Of course I have records of the payments I’ve made.” Even as she said the brave words, she knew she was avoiding Myers’ real question.

  “That's all well and good, but it's your father's debt we're talking about. It's those records you should be looking for."

  Her father had never kept a ledger. Myers knew that. She met his gaze. “I will make good on the payments if you will provide me an accounting,” she said.

  “What about my proposal, Miss Hallie? When we marry, you’ll have no need to run a general store, I’ll hire somebody to run it.

  Hallie lifted her chin. “I like running the store. It is satisfying to me.”

  Myers put a hand on her shoulder and Hallie stiffened.

  She tried to step back but the bolts of cloth blocked her way.

  "There are more satisfying things than being alone and running a general store, Miss Hallie.”

  His beefy hand with its dirty fingernails on her shoulder deepened the suffocating queasiness in her stomach. Dampness seeped through her blouse. She shuddered in revulsion as the faint odor of unwashed flesh covered by bay rum and sour whisky reached her nose.

  Mustering her courage and determination, she shrugged off his touch and stepped past him. “I am sure I can make reparations for any debts my father owed you, Mr. Myers. Please give me an accounting. As you can see, I am very busy this evening.”

  Myers backed off, although the color in his face indicated he was still angry. “Don’t stay too late alone, Miss Hallie. You never know what could happen even in the short distance between the store and your home.” He touched his silly derby hat and left.

  Hallie stood for a moment looking at the door, her thoughts in turmoil. Was it her imagination, or were Myers’ last words vaguely threatening?

  You never know what could happen. . .

  If she told anyone what he’d said, they would scoff at her apprehension. But they hadn’t seen the rage in his face, or the beads of sweat on his upper lip, or the leering glint in his eye.

  She shuddered, suddenly apprehensive as the sun moved lower in the sky and shadows began creeping into the store.

  Abandoning her chores, she grabbed her reticule and blew out the lamps. After taking a last look around, she locked the door and started home.

  As she stepped off the end of the boardwalk, the sun was beginning to set. The soft blue at the edge of the setting sun reminded her of Jacob Chandler’s eyes.

  Not even Brent Myers could ruin her day. Jacob Chandler had smiled at her. A shiver ran up her spine. What a difference it could make to a woman if someone like Jacob asked her to marry him.

  She shook her head at her flighty thoughts. Her father was right. The novels she spent valuable money on certainly put fanciful notions in her head. Notions of marriage and love and romance.

  Still, if she were going to have dreams of everlasting love, she’d much rather dream of the mysterious Jacob Chandler than of the too familiar and repulsive Brent Myers. After all, her dreams were probably the only romance she would ever know outside of books.

  The thought of the new book she had received just this week quickened her step as she passed the alley between the saloon and the livery.

  Suddenly, rough hands grabbed her. She stumbled, striking out in panicked reaction. She was shoved to the ground.

  She opened her mouth to scream and a filthy, smelly hand clamped over it. A crushing weight pinned her. She struggled, trying to suck in enough breath to cry out.

  He struck her on the side of the head and stars danced before her eyes. He tore at her clothes. She tried to focus, and caught a glimpse of stained, gapped teeth, a scruffy black beard and dark, beady eyes. The stench of unwashed flesh gagged her.

  Hallie kicked and bucked and pushed, but the man was too heavy--too strong. Her arms and legs ached with effort. Her heart pounded so hard she could barely breathe, much less scream.

  One flailing hand collided with his face, so she curved her fingers instinctively and clawed.

  “Argh! Bitch!” he shouted. He hit her again, sending daggers of pain through her temple.

  She shoved and bit and kicked but to no avail. The filthy hands were under her skirt, tearing at her petticoats, groping her legs.

  Finally, she managed to gather enough breath to scream. The hands stopped their disgusting pawing. They closed around her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She fought desperately.

  Her throat burned. Her vision blackened.

  Then nothing.

  No suffocating weight. No disgusting sour breath. No choking blockage of her throat. Nothing but the strain in her chest as her spasming lungs fought for air.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A hand touched Hallie’s shoulder.

  “No, no, no,” she mouthed, trying to force air past the pain in her throat. She opened her eyes, preparing to scream again. But the face she saw wasn’t sweaty and bearded, and the finger touching her cheek was gentle.

  She stared into a familiar sun bronzed face with hollowed cheeks, a strong mouth taut with concern, and sky blue eyes that searched hers.

  “I’m all right,” Hallie whispered, her voice no more than a hoarse croak as she responded to the man's unasked question. She put a hand to her throat. “Where is--?” she shuddered as the other, awful face loomed in her memory.

  Then she blinked and looked at her rescuer. Jacob Chandler. He crouched beside her, his hand gently brushing her cheek as his gaze assessed her in silent concern.

  It occurred to her that she was sprawled in an unladylike heap on the dusty road. She tried to sit up, to take stock of her condition. But before she could move, Jacob’s callused palm cradled the side of her face, as if to reassure himself that she was indeed all right. His thumb touched the corner of her mouth. Hallie instinctively responded to the gesture, leaning gratefully into the warm strength of his hand.

  A shadow fell across his outstretched arm. His finger scraped along her bruised cheek as a beefy hand hauled him up by his buckskin collar and a huge fist drove into his lean belly.

  A second man caught Jacob and pinned his arms behind him. Then Brent Myers stepped into Hallie's line of vision. He nodded at the two ruffians, then turned to Hallie.

  “Mr. Myers, no!” Hallie cried, her voice nothing more than a croak.

  “It’s all right Miss Hallie,” Myers said, bending down. “My men’ll take care of him. You’re safe now.”

  “No, wait!” she whispered. “It wasn’t --”

  Brent Myers picked her up. “Don’t try to talk. I’m taking you over to Doc Ketchum’s. I told you it was dangerous to be out alone this late in the afternoon.”

  “Put me down right now, Brent Myers.” She struggled ineffectually, but Myers’ grip was insistent. Looking over his shoulder, she saw one of Myers' men holding Jacob by his arms while the other pummeled him mercilessly. Blood gushed from his nose and spattered his shirt.

  “Oh no! Stop! Don’t let them!” she cried, trying to squirm out of Myers’ arms. The unmistakable sound of fists hitting flesh echoed in her ears. Jacob Chandler had helped her, and he was being beaten for his trouble, while her attacker was probably halfway to the next town by now.

  “Don’t get all upset, Miss Hallie. My men’ll make sure Crazy Jake doesn’t ever hurt you again.”

  The sickening sounds of Jacob being beaten rang in her ears. “It wasn’t him,” she whispered frantically. “Put me down!”

  She struggled out of Myers’ arms but when she was upright, her stomach turned over and her vision went dark. She barely knew when Myers put her in his buggy and clucked at the horses.

  Later, as the doctor dabbed the cut on her cheek, Hall
ie pushed his hand away and sat up. “That’s enough, Doctor Ketchum.” Her voice was hoarse and it hurt to talk.

  “What are you in such an all-fired hurry for anyhow, Hallie? You had a bad experience. I don’t think you’re in any shape to go home alone. You’ll sleep here tonight so I can keep an eye on you.”

  “I’m fine,” she whispered. “Not dizzy at all.” She moved to stand, only to sit down again immediately when the edge of her vision went black.

  “Hardly at all.” She allowed the doctor to cover her with a blanket. “Maybe I’ll rest for a while,” she said faintly.

  There was a knock on the door. The doctor went to open it. “Sheriff, Mr. Myers,” he said.

  “Doc.” Sheriff Waites nodded at the doctor as he stepped into the office. “Miss Greer, you feel like telling me what happened?”

  “Miss Hallie, how are you feeling?” Myers was solicitous as he took her hand.

  Hallie pulled away.

  “She really shouldn’t be talking, Sheriff. Not until she’s had some rest,” Doc Ketchum said.

  “It’s okay,” Hallie whispered. “What happened to Jacob Chandler?”

  “No, no, Miss Hallie,” Myers broke in. “You should listen to the doctor. Crazy Jake is in jail, right where he belongs.”

  “What?” She turned to the sheriff. “You put him in jail? But--”

  “Of course we did,” Myers soothed. “Look what he did to you. Why the man ought to be hanged.”

  “He didn’t attack me,” Hallie said. “He saved me.” She coughed and put her hand to her throat. “You must release him, and search for the real attacker.” She coughed again.

  The doctor fetched her some water. “Can’t you do this tomorrow?” he asked, looking meaningfully at Myers.

  Myers tried to take Hallie’s hand again but she ignored him and moved her hand to rearrange the blanket. “That’s right, Sheriff. We need to allow Miss Hallie time to recover. She is obviously confused.”

  “I am not confused,” she retorted.