Home to Roost_Bower, Colorado Read online

  Home to Roost

  Reina Torres

  Home to Roost

  Copyright©2017 by Reina Torres

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any other means without written permission from the author.

  Do note, this book is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, real places, or real events described or coincidental and if not are used fictitiously.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  The Origins of Bower, Colorado

  “Home to Roost”

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Thank You for Reading!

  About the Author

  Other Books by Reina Torres

  Acknowledgments

  The Origins of Bower, Colorado

  On his way to the gold fields in California, Thaddeus Porter made an overnight camp to rest his mule. To make sure that the ornery fiend wouldn’t make off with all of his belongings, Thaddeus tied the lead rope to a young sapling and fell onto his bedroll, exhausted.

  The next morning he awoke to a fearsome clatter of sound. The mule was trying to pull the sapling up and make for the hills! Digging his legs into the ground one hoof at a time he was making headway, and shaking all of Thad’s possessions loose from his packs. Cast iron pans, shaving kit, and spare pairs of socks found themselves under those powerful hooves.

  Throwing back his bedroll, Thaddeus slipped as his socks tried to gain purchase in the dirt, and failed. He grabbed up his hat from the ground and raised it above his head to throw at the beast just as the morning sun broke over the mountains and slanted across the valley floor. There, under the partially exposed roots of the tree was a wink of metal.

  Swearing a colorful streak under his breath, Thaddeus grabbed up the lead rope and marched the recalcitrant mule back to the tree. The sight of the sparkling vein under the tree held even the mule in its seductive sway and it stood stock still as Thaddeus dropped down to his knees and started digging through the loosened dirt with his fingers.

  Months later, when word had spread of the find, nearly a hundred men were working the hills around Thad’s claim. A rather enterprising woman by the name of Maybelle arrived with a tent, a set of pots and pans, and enough lye to make mountains of soap. Her tent was a full service center for the men. They could eat, clean their clothes, and spend a little time in the presence of a woman.

  One of the younger man, caught in the middle of gold fever and amorous fervor, collected a handful of blossoms from a trailing vine that wound its way through the underbrush. He presented them to Maybelle in hopes of make a favorable impression.

  She took the bouquet and gave the boy a piteous smile. “Honey,” she sighed, “these are a bunch of pretty blossoms you’ve collected for me. Do you know what they call ‘em?”

  Having as much knowledge of flora as he did with mining, the young man flushed a pale pink. “No, ma’am.”

  “They’re called virginsbower and I hate to let you in on the secret, but these flowers are the only virgins in these parts.”

  Everyone in earshot joined in the laughter, but the seed of an idea had been planted in their minds. Women. They wanted to bring their women there, but to do that they needed a town.

  Less than a year later, when they incorporated the town, they named it after the flower that filled the underbrush with color. They called it Bower, Colorado.

  “Home to Roost”

  She didn’t have a place to belong. He thought he was happy by his lonesome. When she stumbled into his life, everything changed.

  Brigid Belham had always done what was expected. She worked for her father in his accounting office and managed his home. When he married, she knew it was her time to move on, and traveled to Bower, Colorado to meet a prospective husband. Her ‘best laid plan’ goes horribly awry, leaving her stranded. Caught in a storm of both rain and tumultuous emotions she ends up lost in the woods, until she’s found by a mountain man grumpier than a bear. All he wants to do is send her away. What if she wants to stay?

  Most people in Bower know him as a hermit, a mountain man who hardly talks and likes company even less. His parents named him Livingstone Quinn, but unlike his namesake, he doesn’t want to explore. He doesn’t want to discover. He just wants his peace and quiet, all by his lonesome with his animals on his homestead. When Brigid literally falls at his feet, he keeps telling her she needs to leave, but shocks himself when he keeps finding reasons for her to stay. What will he do when he runs out of excuses and she tries to fly the coop?

  In the whole wide world, they managed to find each other. Would they walk away from their happiness, or would they bring their love home to roost?

  Chapter 1

  Turning onto the path behind the sawmill, Livingstone Quinn tucked his chin down toward his chest. It was early enough in the day that no one was outside. He had just enough time to make his delivery and get back to the homestead before the sun hit with its full strength and the mill would start up work for the day.

  There was a light burning in an upper window of the Chinese Society house, and when he drew closer he could see a dark form move across the window, winking the light. Perhaps they were up early, preparing for a community event or just an early riser. He hadn’t met many of the Chinese for himself, but they seemed a quiet industrious lot that kept to themselves and he felt a connection to them because of that.

  Further down the row, between the small row of homes, he could see a resolute puff of smoke from the flue at the Bath House. The boiler must be piping hot, even at this early hour. He did well enough at the homestead, warming water when the weather made the pond too cold, even for his weathered skin. But as he approached Hampton Road he got a whiff of something that smelled like a good strong soap. The clean scent followed him as he walked across the street.

  He slowed his steps for a moment as he approached the back gate of Hampton House. The Hamptons had become his friends over time. They were friendly and warm, but they didn’t press him to be social. They understood that he didn’t want to stand around wasting time when he came to town. He rarely even saw the Hamptons this early in the morning. With the original boarding house and the annex they’d added within the last year, the early morning hours were usually the busiest time of the day for the couple. Still, he was happy just to make his delivery and head home with his payment in his pocket.

  The scent of coffee tickling his nose only got stronger when he reached the porch.

  Someone cleared their throat in the near darkness. “It’s just me.” Recognizing Miles Hampton’s voice, the tension eased from his shoulders. “Having a cup of coffee before I finish my chores.”

  Reaching up to his shoulder, Livingstone tugged at the leather strap and pulled it over the rise and down his upper arm. “I wasn’t expecting you to be out this early.”

  He heard the creak of a chair before he saw Miles lean into the meager light of the lantern by the back door. “Normally, I’d just leave you alone, but I have some business to discuss.”

  Crossing his arm over his opposite shoulder, he held the top of his pack while he slid the contraption off his other arm. He’d brought the whole pack safely to town from his homestead and having his morning solitude interrupted wasn’t going to play havoc on his nerves. He set the pack down on the edge of the porch and unbuckled the straps. “Sounds all right to me,” he grudgingly admitted. “It is your por
ch, so you could stand out here whether you wanted to talk or not, but before we talk about anything else, I’ve got three dozen eggs here.”

  The sky was lightening, taking on a yellowish tint, enabling him to see Miles’s smile as he leaned forward and braced his hands on his knees. “That's good. We can certainly use them.”

  “Got a full house?” Livingstone winced in the shadows. It helped to keep his distance when he didn't ask questions.

  But rather than uncomfortable, Miles’s voice was warm, as if he was pleased at the inquiry. “Very nearly. We’re expecting more on the train, spaced over the next few days. So we could use more eggs. Maybe another dozen at least for the next few weeks. That is,” he gave a little self-conscious cough, “if you've enough to spare.”

  Livingstone had plenty of eggs, thanks to a good-sized flock and a rooster that seemingly appeared out of the blue sky.

  He'd already made his decision, but it took a bit to squeeze out the words. “Same price for each dozen?”

  “Sounds fair to me,” Miles agreed.

  “I can bring another dozen when I come. Monday and Friday?”

  “Just like clockwork,” Miles added.

  Livingstone looked at the tree at the corner of the building, behind the windowless back wall of the bank. “You left the money in the tree already?”

  Miles followed his gaze. “Yep, tucked into the knot like before.” His tone was cautious, like he didn't want to startle him and Livingstone both appreciated it and regretted it. He didn't want to be treated with kid gloves.

  “All right, then.” He finished stacking the full half-crates of eggs on the porch and took the empties from the last deliver and stacked them up onto the base of his pack, setting the last full half-crate on the top. “I’ll bring you the extra dozen with each delivery.”

  “Thank you, Carolina will be happy to heard it,” Miles added. “I don’t think it’ll make much of a difference to you, but we’ve heard talk about a bunch of mail order brides set to arrive in Bower. Don't be surprised if your quiet morning walks into town take on a bit of disquiet in about a year.”

  Livingstone narrowed his gaze at his friend. “Women sure can talk,” he agreed, “but how much noise can they make in the mornings?”

  While he couldn't see Miles’s exact expression, he could feel his good humor like a strong wind. “Babies cry, my friend. They make a fair amount of noise throughout the day, but mornings will likely be the worst.”

  “I have a rooster,” he reminded Miles. “I've learned to get up and on the trail before he gets up.”

  A door inside opened and shut with a soft click, pulling Miles from his chair. “That would be my cue,” he explained. “I've got some work waiting for me inside.” Livingstone didn't move while Miles made his way to the door.

  Miles pulled the screen door open and closed it again, turning back to his friend. “If the mood ever strikes you, we’d like to have you stay one of these mornings and have a meal with us.”

  Livingstone’s instinct was to hesitate. “I-”

  “We've a good group of folks staying with us. Most just keep to themselves,” he added, trying to keep his tone light. Livingstone heard the effort in his tone. “And we have a young woman coming in on the train today.”

  Livingstone narrowed his eyes. “Traveling alone?”

  The businessman nodded and then shook his head, seemingly confused. “She's coming in on the train, one of those mail order brides. Appleton Winslet arranged to have a room for her for the week.”

  Livingstone’s mouth pinched at the corners. “The lawyer?” He cringed at the thought. “Huh, leave it to him to have a fancy degree and order in for a woman.” He heard the sharp tone in his own voice and huffed out a sigh, shaking his head. He felt the long lengths of his hair sweep back and forth over his shoulders. “I'm sorry, Miles.” Livingstone felt a knot in his middle. “That wasn't a polite thing to say. While I don't know Mr. Winslet more than just a few words in passing, he’s never done anything to me personally.”

  It took a moment for Miles to answer back. “I know what you mean, but from what I've seen, he's a real particular person and I just hope that the woman he has coming finds him… amiable.”

  Livingstone smiled and felt the coming warmth of the sun starting to play on his skin. “That sounds like a good way to say it. Amiable. Well,” he grunted, hefting the pack on one shoulder, “I'd better get going. Got to drop off some eggs for the Pastor and get on home ‘fore too many folks find their way on the street.”

  Miles gave him a half wave and disappeared inside.

  Livingstone shook his head and let out a puff of air. “Looks like I’ll have to steer real clear of Bower if it's going to fill up with women and children.”

  When Brigid Belham stepped onto the platform at Bower, she willed her hands to stop shaking, but she had no chance of that particular dream becoming a reality. Her nerves had a hold on her that was even stronger than her grip on her valise. The handle, clutched in her grip, pinched her palms and while she struggled to ease the pain in her hands, she was all too aware of the pain in her ribs and waist. Her fashionable corset, the garment sworn to be the height of fashion by the modiste back in Omaha had started out to be such a great idea. But after more than a day locked in that tortuous garment, rattling about in a smoky train car, she was regretting her desire to appear fashionable and fulfill the wishes of her prospective spouse.

  The hustle and bustle of the train station quickly died down as she stood waiting. There was over a score of men milling about, carrying or moving boxes, and transacting their business. Hardly a one met her eyes for more than a second, and if they did, it appeared to be a mistake or a curiosity and even then, no one seemed to recognize her.

  She could blame that on the fact that her photo had been taken before her fine wardrobe had been delivered. She’d settled for loosening her bun that day, and wrestling a smile onto her lips that the photographer said looked quite ‘serene.’ It wasn’t anywhere near pretty or appealing, but it was enough to give prospective matches a clear image of her.

  The platform cleared quickly, leaving the clerk and a handful of men who seemed to be sweeping up. Brigid was ready to flag one of the men down to ask for directions.

  “Miss Belham?”

  With a relieved sigh, she turned in the direction of the voice and stopped short. The man approaching her didn’t bear any resemblance to the man in the photo she had received. Before she could release the handle of her bag and fish out the studio image, the man whisked off his hat and held out his hand.

  “So sorry to be late, Miss. I’m Miles Hampton from Hampton House.”

  Her shoulders sagged in relief. He was from the boarding house where she would be staying while she had the opportunity to become acquainted with Appleton. It wasn’t necessarily how these pairings worked, but she was glad of the time to acclimate herself with her husband before the ceremony. It showed a certain amount of consideration for their unique relationship. “Hello, Mr. Hampton. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  He bobbed his head in response. “Mr. Winslet asked me to meet you and see you settled in the boarding house. I believe he plans to be over at the end of his work day.”

  She held back her disappointment, settling a quiet expression on her face. “I understand. Thank you.”

  Responding with a ready smile of his own, the gentleman set his hat back on his head, covering the balding pate. “It’s been quite a change in Bower, balancing out the numbers of men will take some doing, but it seems like we’ve made a good start.” With a quick signal to one of the men and a coin tossed in his direction, Mr. Hampton paid for the men to hold her trunk. “George will keep an eye on your trunk until I can come back for it.” He held out a hand to Brigid to take her valise.

  She gave it up gladly and noticed that he didn’t seem shocked by the weight. Still, she apologized. “I can carry the bag, Mr. Hampton.”

  He shook his head and adjusted his hold on the bag. “N
ot a problem, Miss. I’m used to carrying quite a bit around the house.”

  She smiled and stepped off the platform beside him. “It must be interesting as well, meeting people who come from different places.”

  Mr. Hampton turned slightly to give her a smile. “That is part of what we enjoy about running a boarding house.”

  Brigid lifted the hem of her skirt and stepped over a curious looking puddle that made her shudder. When she looked back up she saw the boarding house owner giving her a curious look, looking from her eyes to the top of her hat, which due to her uncommon height was a few good inches over his head.

  When he saw her look back he coughed, uncomfortable. “Excuse me, Miss.”

  She waved off his concern. “No need to apologize, most people just stare openly when they meet me.”

  His face went ruddy with color. “I am sorry,” he explained, “I’m not used to seeing a woman of your height.”

  Brigid lifted her hand and placed it against her neck, an unconscious gesture that always puzzled her. “One of my teachers showed me a drawn image of an animal in Africa,” she explained, “he called it a giraffe. The children agreed with him and the name stuck. The day before I left Omaha,” she let out a shaking breath, “I saw one of my former classmates. She felt it was so very humorous to remind me of the name. Everyone within earshot heard her, and the rest of the people in the street heard her laughter after that.”

  Beside her, Mr. Hampton paled and lowered his eyes. “I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. That wasn’t my intention.”