Chance City Beginnings: Part Two
Robin Deeter
Chance City Beginnings
Part Two
Robin Deeter
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Other books by Robin Deeter
Chance City Beginnings
(Prequels to Chance City Series)
Part One
Part Two
Chance City Series
Mail Order Mystery
Mail Order Mystery Audio Book
Mail Order Mystery Print Book
On the Fence
Crossroads
Gray Justice
When the Thunder Rolls
And the Lightning Strikes
A Very Decker Christmas
The Paha Sapa Saga
Sacrifice and Reward
Sacrifice and Reward Audio Book
Sacrifice and Reward Print Book
Winter Moon
The Bear, Part One
The Bear, Part Two
The Phantom Horse Bridge Series
Phantom Origins Book 0
Phantom Heat
Wolf Junction Series
Silver Bell Shifter
Dedication
For my readers, who have made The Chance City Series such a success. You constantly inspire me with your support, love, and friendship and I appreciate you more than I can adequately express.
After being asked many times how Chance City began, I decided to start writing a prequel to the series. As everyone knows, I always take my fans’ wishes into consideration and accommodate them if possible. So, I hope you enjoy this short story, which is the second part of a series of stories about the origins of Chance City.
Chapter One
In the initial days of Chance City, it had been little more than a crossroads. These are the chronicles of how it grew into a thriving town and the stories of its early inhabitants…
Sheriff Rob Anderson looked down at the woman lying on the narrow cot in the small back room in Dr. Patterson’s office. Battered and bruised, she lay still. One darkened eye was swollen shut and the other was squeezed closed. A tear tickled from the corner and rolled over her temple, disappearing into her hair.
Anger and sympathy flooded Rob. Crimes against women and children made him furious. He’d been raised to respect women and seeing the terrible, brutal treatment of the woman on the cot made his blood boil.
It didn’t matter that she was a soiled dove. No woman deserved to be assaulted. The man who committed the brutal act was in the new jailhouse, awaiting the trial that would occur when the circuit judge arrived next week. Rob’s frown deepened into a scowl because he knew that the case would most likely be dismissed because of the woman’s profession. It sickened him to think that the offender would go free.
Crouching near the cot, Rob gently touched her hand. She flinched and jerked away. Her good eye opened and the fear in it saddened Rob’s heart. “Miss Hopper, I’m so sorry this happened. I caught the rotten varmint who did it, so you can rest easy that he’s not walkin’ the streets anymore.”
Despite her obvious fear, she let out a derisive snort. “This ain’t the first time this has happened. I know how it works. He’ll be let off scott-free.”
“I’ll do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“I appreciate that, Sheriff, but I won’t hold my breath.” She tried to sit up but cried out and laid back down.
“You best rest, Miss Hopper,” Rob said. “My wife, Lynette, is gonna come tend to you.”
“No need for that. I’ll be fine in just a little bit. I have to get back to work.”
Rob gave her a steely look. “Now, see here, Miss Hopper—”
“Just call me Sandy. Miss Hopper makes me sound like some old fuddy-duddy.”
Her feisty attitude amused Rob and he admired her bravery after her ordeal. “All right, then, Sandy. You’re in no shape for…that. Calvin isn’t the kind of man to force an injured woman back to…work.”
Sandy’s laugh was weak, but her good eye gleamed. “You’re a gentleman, but I’m not shy about people knowing that I entertain men. Far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing wrong with it.”
Rob disagreed, but he wasn’t about to begin a moral argument with her. “Well, like I said, Lynette will be along. You rest up now.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
Rob nodded and turned away. As he headed for the back door, he heard Sandy chuckle and smiled as he left.
“Goodness, Sandy! I can’t leave you alone for a moment.”
Sandy sighed at Lynette Anderson’s admonishment. From the time she’d been fifteen years old, she’d been largely her own boss and she didn’t cotton to someone telling her what to do.
“I’m fine, Lynette. I have to get up and around. I have to go back to work,” Sandy said.
Lynette’s mouth thinned in disapproval. “It’s only been two days. Besides, why do you want to go back to doing that after what happened?”
Shuffling across her small room at the Chowhound, Sandy stopped in front of the mirror on her washstand. Meeting her gaze in the mirror, she assessed her reflection. The swelling in her left eye had subsided somewhat, but it was still puffy and bruised. The cut on her forehead was scabbed over. Turning her head, she saw that there was a large chunk of hair missing from the side.
The physical attribute that Sandy had most prided herself on was her long lustrous, golden-brown hair. When she’d tried to escape her attacker, he’d thwarted her attempt by latching onto her hair. Sandy had continued to fight, and he’d yanked out a large handful of the silky locks.
Sandy’s dark brown eyes welled with sadness at the sight of the bald spot. She willed herself not to cry because it would hurt her bruised ribs if she did. Her throat ached with unshed tears, but she kept them at bay.
Lynette came to stand behind her and put a supportive hand on her shoulder. “It’ll grow back.”
Sandy lifted her chin. “I know, but I’m going to cut it all short. Very short.”
“Why ever would you do that?” Lynette asked.
Sandy met her gaze in the mirror. “So that no man can ever use my hair to capture me. If he hadn’t grabbed it, I’d have gotten away. That’s never going to happen again.”
“How terrible it must’ve been. I’m so sorry,” Lynette said. “Rob is going to speak with Judge Fairbanks when he arrives about sending Will Evans to prison.”
Sandy moved away and slowly lowered herself onto a blue wingback chair that sat near a small woodstove. It was late winter in 1866, and they were having a chilly stretch of weather right then. The warmth from the stove felt good to her aching muscles.
“Like I told your husband, the judge will let him off because I’m considered a tainted woman. Women don’t have any rights, Lynette. We can’t vote, we can’t own land, except in rare cases, and our husbands are allowed to do whatever they like to us. We’re their property, no better than slaves.”
Lynette sat on the bed. “All of that may be true, Sandy, but most men are good. And out here it’s a little different for women. We have a little more freedom.”
“Maybe a bit, but it’s still not enough for me. I want total freedom from men. That’s why I’ll never get married.”
“Don’t say that, Sandy. You’ll find someone who will treat you like a queen. You’ll see.”
Sandy leaned her head against the backrest. The laudanum she’d taken a little while ago was making her sleepy. “I doubt it, but even if I did, I still wouldn’t marry him. Once you get married, you’re not your own master anymore.” She smiled. “You got lucky with your sheriff, but not all women are that fortunate.”
She faded into oblivion then, not registering Lynette’s reply.
Two weeks later, Sandy stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at Gregory McFarland, the town blacksmith. He shared the single building on the property with Jim Gallagher. One half of the building was taken up by their small apartment and Jim ran a small barbershop in the other half.
“I don’t see what’s so wrong about this, Gregory. He cuts hair all the time.”
“But not women’s hair. Besides, you go in there and there’ll be talk,” Gregory said.
Sandy reared her head back, a sarcastic expression on her face. “Do you remember who you’re talking to? Everyone knows I’m the town whore. What do I care if people see me go in there?”
Gregory laid his hammer on the anvil that stood in the center of the smithy. “Maybe it’s not your reputation I’m looking out for here.”
“Good grief, Gregory. Both of you come to the Chowhound. Half the town probably thinks you come see me.”
“But the other half knows that we don’t. Besides, Jim doesn’t know how to cut a lady’s hair any more than he knows how to get to the moon,” Gregory responded. “Why do you want it cut anyways?”
Self-conscious about it, Sandy stepped closer as she took down her hair, which she’d carefully pinned to hide her injury. She pushed her hair back, exposing the affected area. “That’s why. I want the rest of it cut off, so it all grows in even again.” She didn’t feel one little twinge of guilt over her lie.
Gregory’s dark crimson eyebrows drew down. Everyone had heard about the incident, himself included. Sandy’s request made sense now. “I guess it’s all right as long as you don’t mind a man’s cut.”
“That’ll be just fine.”
The big blacksmith motioned towards the shop. “Go on in. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Sandy hurried into the shop, took off her cloak, and hung it on one of the rough-hewn pegs by the door. Jim’s place wasn’t fancy, but it was spotless. The floor shone in the sunlight coming through the windows and she didn’t see one speck of dust.
Jim Gallagher entered from the doorway at the back of the shop that led to the small apartment there. He came up behind the barber chair and picked up a pair of scissors from a stand on the right.
“Afternoon, Miss Hopper.”
Sandy met his blue-eyed gaze in the mirror in front of the chair. “Afternoon, Jim. No need to be so formal.”
He smiled. “Alright. Ready to get your ears lowered?”
Sandy tried to smile at his joke, but her lips quivered too much. Instead, she nodded and closed her eyes, tears spilling onto her cheeks.
“You sure it about this, Sandy?”
She nodded and prepared herself for what was about to happen.
Watching Sandy in the mirror, Jim’s heart went out to her. A woman’s crowning glory was her hair, and most women took great pains caring for it. He could only imagine how much this hurt Sandy. As he started combing her soft tresses, he uncovered the section on her head that had been injured. The skin had largely healed, but her hair was still only about an inch long in the places that had received the worst abuse.
Cutting the rest of the hair that short would make her look like a man for sure. Plus, the uneven area would stand out even more. A creative man, Jim walked around Sandy several times, trying to figure out how to give her what she wanted but still allow her to retain some of her hair.
Of course, even if she was bald, Sandy would be a beautiful woman. Her heart shaped face, dark eyes, and straight nose with a slightly upturned tip made quite an alluring combination. Her low-cut dresses revealed that she had the kind of figure that was a pleasure for a man to hold, and the skirts were short enough to show off her pretty ankles.
“Why are you stalking me like a coyote does a calf?”
Jim grinned at her testy question. “I’m just trying to figure out how to cut this mop of yours, so you don’t look like a shorn sheep.”
The corners of her Cupid’s bow mouth lifted. “You make me look like that and you’ll be eating those scissors, Jim Gallagher.”
Jim let out a hoot of delight. “Well, then since I prefer to have steak in my belly instead of metal, I’ll be sure to do a good job.”
“Just get to it. Please?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jim combed out her hair again with perhaps more care than necessary since he was enjoying the silky feel of it sliding through his fingers. After appraising her one more time, Jim came back around behind the chair. “Alright. Here we go.”
Sandy tensed when she heard the first snip of Jim’s scissors. She told herself to stop being such a pansy. It was just hair, after all. However, all her life, she’d been complimented on its beauty. Honey-brown, her mother had called it.
Their affluent family had been able to afford the best of everything, including extravagant clothing. Adelaide Hopkins had spared no expense when it had come to dressing her two children. Little Sandra had been the light of her life, and she’d braided and styled Sandy’s hair herself instead of leaving the job to a nanny. In fact, Adelaide hadn’t relied much on servants at all, preferring to be as self-reliant as possible, and be a true mother to her children.
How Sandy had loved her! Squeezing her eyes shut tight as Jim worked, she turned her mind back in time, reliving all the wonderful moments with her beautiful, spirited mother, and her little brother Joshua. Remembered all the games they’d played and the little skits their mother had helped them perform for the amusement of dinner guests.
Those were the years Sandy reminisced about the entire time her waist length tresses continued falling to the floor. She prevented her mind from moving forward to the time when a great, heavy darkness had fallen upon the Hopkins family…
As he worked, Jim noted the change in Sandy’s expression. She went from deep sadness to a smile of such happiness that he wondered what she was thinking about. He took his time, wanting to preserve her feminine appearance as much as possible. The more hair that fell onto the floor, the angrier he became. The urge to go to the jail and give Will a large dose of his own medicine was strong upon Jim, but he knew that it wouldn’t help Sandy’s situation.
When he was finished, he grabbed a broom, swept all the hair into a pile and pushed it out of Sandy’s sight. Seeing it would only make matters worse. He stood behind the chair, checking over his work.
“Alright. You can look now.”
Cautiously, Sandy squinted her eyes, afraid to see how bad it looked. When her eyes were completely opened, she raised her gaze to the mirror. She stared in shock at her reflection. Her hair fell to just below her ears in a sort of Dutch boy shape. Jim had created soft bangs in the front and cut the back to match the sides. Turning her head back and forth, she saw that Jim had left the top long, which helped hide the bald spot.
The way it framed her face emphasized her pretty eyes even more and exposed more of her graceful neck. She reached up to pat it, the texture and length fascinating her. She’d been apprehensive about how it would turn out, but Jim was apparently a miracle worker with hair.
“Well, do you like it?” Jim prodded.
The anxious look on his face touched her because he cared enough to be nervous about her reaction. It showed that he took pride in his work.
“Jim, it’s wonderful. I was expecting to look like a fella, but it’s very pretty. It’ll take some getting used to, but I like it very much. I can’t thank you enough.”
Jim beamed and ran his hands over her hair, unable to resist touching it as he gave it a last look. “I’m mighty relieved, Sandy. It was my pleasure. I like a challenge, and this certainly was. I’m not a bragger, but I have to say that I didn’t do too bad for my first ladies’ cut.”
Sandy chuckled at how pleased he was with himself. She also liked his soft touch on her hair. She’d never really paid much attention to Jim, but as she regarded him in the mirror, she thought that, while he couldn’t be called the most handsome man, he was attractive in his own way. His vibrant blue eyes belied a keen intelligence and a quick wit. He had a strong jaw and a nice smile, too. She judged him to be average height, perhaps five-ten.
Unlike Gregory, Jim wasn’t brawny, but he looked strong. Sandy was really seeing him for the first time, and she liked what she saw. “You did great.” She took off the sheet Jim had draped over her and rose from the chair. “How much do I owe you?”
He gave her a speculative look. “How about a shot and a dance?”
Caught off guard, Sandy wasn’t sure how to answer. To gain a little time to think, she gathered her cloak and put it on. Remembering Gregory’s remarks about Jim’s reputation, she said, “Jim, I’m a soiled dove. Aren’t you worried that people will talk?”
Jim made a dismissive gesture. “I couldn’t care less what people think. Now, what do you say about us having a dance or two tonight and drinking a couple of shots?”
Sandy liked his attitude. It matched her thinking on the subject. “In that case, I’d be delighted, Jim. See you tonight.”
The flirtatious look she gave him as she left sent a thrill through Jim. “Tonight it is!” he called after her.
She smiled and gave him a coy little wave through the window before going on.
Jim waited a couple of minutes to give her time to get out of earshot before letting out a whoop and doing a little jig. When he calmed down, he looked in the mirror and decided that he could use a trim.
“Time to make yourself more presentable, Gallagher.” And so saying, he went to work.
Chapter Two
“I have to say that your new haircut suits you, Sandy.”
Sandy smiled at Calvin Anderson, the sheriff’s brother, owner of the Chowhound, and her unofficial partner. Most people thought that Calvin was her boss, but they’d struck a bargain a couple of years ago when Sandy had first started her career.
Calvin would run the bar and Sandy would take care of the entertainment. The arrangement was working out well and the business was growing due to the influx of people who were starting to settle in the area.
“Thank you, Cal,” Sandy said.
Calvin chuckled. “Maybe Jim should start cutting more ladies’ hair. He could make some good money.”
Sandy ignored the shard of jealousy that pierced her stomach. “I don’t think there’s much call for women to cut their hair short like this.”
Calvin’s expression turned sheepish. “I’m so sorry, Sandy. I shoulda been here.”
Sandy took a sip of her whiskey and narrowed her eyes at him. “You can’t be here all the time. Besides, he ran off when he heard you come back. You saved me. I’m alive and that’s what matters.”
“Maybe, but I wish we could afford to hire some security. It would come in handy with more riffraff coming around.”
Sandy hummed in agreement as she glanced around the barroom. There were a couple of card games going and music came from the far side of the room. She smiled as she recognized Doug Guthrie, sawing on his fiddle. He was a talented player, and she was sure that his buddy, Shane Silver, would arrive to play harmonica before long.
A flutter in her stomach surprised her as she wondered if Jim would show up. It amazed her that even though she’d slept with countless men, none of them had made her feel that kind of excitement. Panic assailed her the next moment. What if he did come and she suddenly got a customer?
Normally, she’d be thrilled for the business. She would’ve drummed up some if necessary, in fact. But tonight felt special and she didn’t want anything to ruin it. That brought her up short. Sentiment over men had only ever gotten her in trouble. Her early life lessons about that had remained with her, ingrained deep in her psyche.
Just because Jim had helped her so graciously didn’t mean that she should get sweet on him. She had a business to run, and no man would get in the way of that, no matter how nice he was.
“Who’s Cotton talking to?”
Calvin’s question startled Sandy out of her thoughts, and she looked where he’d pointed. Near the large fireplace, Cotton Lone Wolf stood staring at the door, but every so often he spoke quietly to someone on his left—except that there no one was near him.
Sandy lifted an eyebrow. “How much has he had, Cal?”
Calvin shrugged. “I dunno. Not enough to be seein’ what ain’t there.”
Cotton shouted something in Comanche and strode angrily to the bar. He slapped a coin down on the bar. “Whole bottle.”
Cotton’s stinginess with words amused Sandy. He’d been coming to the Chowhound for over two years now, but she’d only hear him speak about fifty words in all that time.
“Is that for you and your friend?” she asked with a nod towards the fireplace.
She met the hard glare he sent her with a haughty, amused smile. After a few moments, his scowl slid dangerously close to a smile. Then he shocked her by picking up the coin and holding it out to her. “Is this enough?”
Calvin had been about to speak, but Sandy halted him with a hand. “No, Cotton, it’s not.”
He nodded and removed a pouch at the waist of his breechcloth and opened it. “How much?”
“Well, um…” Sandy wasn’t hesitant because Cotton was an Indian. She’d been with every color of man that had been created. No, it was because she’d misjudged him. His proposition was so out of character that she became flustered; a rare occurance for her. “Two dollars.”
He surprised her again by nodding soberly and pulling the required amount of coins out of his pouch. Handing them to her, he glanced at the door to her room. “We go now.”
Sandy looked at the coins in her palm and then at the saloon door, but it didn’t open. Swallowing her disappointment, she said, “Yeah, we go now.”
Calvin tried to protest but Sandy put up a restraining hand before leading Cotton to her room. She appreciated his protectiveness, but Cotton wasn’t the sort of man to beat a woman.
Once they were in her room with the door shut and locked, Sandy asked, “Do you mind if I don’t get undressed? I can just hike up my skirts. It’s quicker and that way I won’t muss up my hair.”
A bewildered expression took over Cotton’s face. “What?”
“You know, just lift up my skirts enough for you to do what comes natural.” She demonstrated, pulling her skirts up past her knees.
Cotton’s frown deepened and he looked away from her for a moment. When he looked at her again, his eyes glittered with amusement. His mouth seemed to fight with itself about which way it wanted to go; up or down. And then he did the most astonishing thing Sandy had ever seen him do.