When Hearts Fly Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Tanya Hanson

  When Hearts Fly

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Author’s Note

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “I’ll be right with you.”

  Then she tripped on a boot, stumbled, flailed.

  And landed in the arms of a man just in time to break her fall. His warmth scented from the outdoors snuggled around her. Cordy managed to toss her arms around his neck. He held her panting form against his mighty chest.

  Then her breath stopped. The sight of him heated her blood. Here he was, as if stepping out from a dream. Her Wild West cowboy, with his Stetson and scruffy cheeks and lake-blue eyes she wanted to drown in.

  “Are you all right?” His voice rumbled from his chest to her ear. A drawl mixed with someplace else.

  “Yes.” She saddened when he broke contact and set her down. He kept hold of her hand, and she practically fell in love on the spot. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “I am Keaton Shockley.” He touched his brim and removed his Stetson. Weather and leather ruffled his rugged coffee-brown hair. “And I’d like to let a room. I must find C. Meeker, proprietor.”

  Her heart flipped inside of itself. Not only a paying customer, but also a handsome one. Oh, and how magnificently that duster tightened around his shoulder muscles when he moved.

  “You have found her. I’m Miss Cordelia Meeker. Welcome to my inn.” She held out her hand. Adding the Miss risked her appearing a stuffy spinster, but it was a surefire way to inform him she was unmarried.

  Praise for Tanya Hanson

  “I enjoy western romance and OUTLAW IN LOVE lived up to my expectations…The story kept me flipping the pages to see what would happen next…a fast-paced story with plenty of action, yet it also allowed me to get to know the hero and heroine and become invested in their story…a sweet love story that also teaches of the power of God’s love and forgiveness. It’s a story of redemption through acceptance of doing what is right, even if it has dire consequences…a highly entertaining book… recommend it to those who enjoy a well-written western historical romance that inspires.”

  ~Romantic Historical Reviews (4 Stars)

  ~*~

  “THE CHRISTMAS ROOM by Tanya Hanson is the fourth book in the Twelve Brides of Christmas series. It is my favorite book in the series so far. THE CHRISTMAS ROOM is Rooney and Martita’s story. It is a very sweet Christmas story that brings two deserving people together. I liked the characters and the plotline a lot. I have not read this author before but I want to read more of her books and I will make it a point to find them.”

  ~Sizzling Hot Reviews

  When Hearts Fly

  by

  Tanya Hanson

  Help Wanted Series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  When Hearts Fly

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Tanya Hanson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Cactus Rose Edition, 2017

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1276-7

  Help Wanted Series

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  With love to my three TMs

  Teagan Marie

  Tabitha Mae

  Turunj Miriam

  …

  May you always have fun playing with

  Carter, Rhys, and Reagan

  Chapter One

  Paradise, Nebraska, March 1888

  “Mr. Pelikan, you are not taking my inn from me, and that’s that.” Behind the registration counter, Cordy Meeker stared down the bank clerk and prayed her knees wouldn’t collapse. “Please leave now.”

  “Foreclosure is a legal procedure.” Mr. Pelikan narrowed his eyes. Yet he didn’t wear authority very well and shuffled his feet like he needed the outhouse. Then he smirked.

  Ah. She understood and held off a shudder. “I see. This is retribution for my refusing your invitation to the Valentine Ball.”

  He stared into the nothing at her left. “There was no ball.”

  On that they agreed. Another storm had cancelled it. And all the rooms booked for after the fun. Her legs quivered again. After January’s disastrous blizzard, folks chose to stay home when the weather seemed dicey, thus stalling Cordy’s business. Even now—she peered out the front window—Paradise’s main street was quite free of commerce on this first day of spring. As if the gray clouds tumbling overhead were about to dump another load.

  Therefore, the decision to sell the boardinghouse and leave Nebraska had been easy. Especially with Clancy now dead and buried. Disappointment churned with guilt, and she blinked away tears Most of all, not once in her two years in Paradise had Cordy seen the Wild West cowboy of her dreams. Oh, decent, hardworking farmers to be sure, but nobody to steal her heart. So she’d be heading to the mountains. Just the thought lifted her heart.

  In her eyeshot, the miserable little banker’s face blurred. Mr. John Muir had written how going to the mountains was like going home. But she’d never go back to the Green Mountains. No more Vermont. Her heart plummeted now at the memories

  So Colorado. Wyoming maybe, where women had the vote.

  But first things first. Mr. Pelikan came back into focus. No. This puny infant would not squash her dreams.

  “Mr. Pelikan, Clancy and I inherited the title to this building free and clear when Aunt Edith died.” Was her voice shaking as much as her knees? “There was no mortgage.”

  “Cordelia.” Mr. Pelikan hedged. “Farmland Bank has no choice but to foreclose.”

  “It’s Miss Meeker.” The old floor squeaked under her tense feet. “And you’re mistaken.”

  “Miss Meeker. Um, Mister Meeker…”

  She closed her ears to his dead-serious tone. Mr. Pelikan’s mistake would not thwart her plans. Two years ago, leaving home to run an inn in a tiny Midwestern town had been the best remedy after Lambert Truefitt. And Clancy, of course, had been ever on the hunt for more nefarious fish to fry.

  Clancy! She clenched her jaw. Of course Mr. Pelikan’s announcement had something to do with…

  “Clancy,” she hissed.

  “Sadly, yes. Perhaps you’d like to sit now?” Mr. Pelikan gestured toward the empty dining room, but she stood tall. She focused on the green paisleys in the wallpaper pattern.

  “I’m fine. And no matter Clancy’s sins, I’ve done nothing wrong.” She straightened her shoulders. Mama’s New Hampshire roots had birthed her a granite backbone, but Clancy? Oh, Clancy ruined everything he touched. Her blood pounded. “And Farmland Bank isn’t foreclosing on anything.”

  “Miss Meeker—”

  “
You weren’t clerking at the bank when I got here.” Cordy attempted a mature glare. Percival Pelikan was barely out of the schoolhouse. “After Uncle Jasper died, my aunt sold their farm and made a fine profit. She bought this boardinghouse free and clear from Reverend Satterburg’s mother. There was no mortgage.”

  Mr. Pelikan fiddled with his watch fob. “Correct. But Clancy borrowed money against the title to, um, reimburse some of his, um, expenses.”

  Heat boiled Cordy’s skin, and her knees jellied. “Clancy’s gambling debts are not my responsibility.” She swallowed hard but jutted her chin. “How could he execute such a loan by himself? I am on the title, too.”

  “Your signature was not needed upon the transaction.”

  Now she chilled and grabbed the counter. “Not even my knowledge, participation or permission?” Astonishment swamped her shoulders with such intensity her aunt’s old shawl fell to the floor.

  “You are but a woman. The weaker vessel.” He sniffed, and she itched to slap him. “The man in your life takes precedence in legal and financial matters, with his maturity and sense.”

  Rage ripped through her, and she scraped off more varnish. “The man in my life? I’m his senior by fourteen minutes! As for his ‘maturity,’ I’m the one who’s kept the inn up and running, the guests fed and beds made. The walls whitewashed and taxes paid. Me, and me alone while he played and pokered. Your bank president knows I’m a successful proprietress.”

  “Indeed, Bank President Shanebeck admires your stellar reputation. Particularly for one as young as you.” Mr. Pelikan raised his eyebrows.

  Twenty-two?

  “I’m no child. And I’m certainly older than you.” She all but stuck her tongue at him.

  Anger reddened his face. “A female is not considered in such transactions. As per our board of directors. Based, of course, on Scriptural dictum that woman remains silent.”

  “Don’t drag the Lord into this. This isn’t church.” Cordy’s teeth clenched so hard she bit her tongue. How could this be happening? “Why now? Clancy has been gone six months.”

  “Yes.” Mr. Pelikan nodded so hard his spectacles wiggled. “Clarence, er Clancy, won big at the card table a few nights before, uh, his death. He made a large deposit, which Farmland has used against the mortgage. But with this month’s payment, the funding runs out. And his allotments have not touched the principal. There is a balance due, I’m afraid.”

  He was afraid? Cold terror gripped her. “You waited six months to tell me?” Cordy shouted so loud the tassels on the lampshade moved. Thoughts scrambled, tied up with feelings of dread and helplessness. She ached to sit down but refused to give this fool any satisfaction.

  Mr. Pelikan shrugged beneath a cheap black coat. “I, well, Farmland had no wish to intrude upon your grief. And of course, there was always hope that both the weather and your business would improve. That the stagecoach from Columbus would resume its weekly stop and bring you travelers. In a normal winter, you’d have a nice nest egg by now to start repayment.”

  “This wasn’t a normal winter,” she snapped, wishing to forget. But the memory of the horrendous blizzard lived fresh in minds for a hundred miles. The fateful morning in January had been unseasonably warm. Folks had left their coats in their closets. Horses and cattle had munched happily in their pastures. Then a massive ball of snow from the north rolled through the plains about two in the afternoon. Temperatures plunged forty degrees. Cordy shivered anew, mourned again. Caught in the blinding snow, folks had died mere yards from their doorsteps, nostrils icing together in mere seconds.

  Cordy grabbed the counter again, all but watching the whiteout rage outside the window one more time. And her heart sank anew. Ever since the screaming blizzard of that monstrous Thursday, any threat of bad weather kept most folks in the safe confines of their own homes, towns, and farms.

  But for another reason, Cordy’s chest heaved. With shame this time. Six months. And all this time, the relief had outweighed the grief. Maybe her sins had piled up, like Cain and Abel, and the Lord was paying her back. Maybe she was her brother’s keeper after all. Twins were supposed to be one and the same, and she missed Clancy sometimes in some ways. But even Mama had claimed Clancy a changeling.

  Well, Clancy was dead and gone, and Cordy was left behind to fix another of his messes. Resolve tightened her spine. “There’s got to be something I can do. Mr. Shanebeck isn’t so heartless he’d toss me into the street.”

  She braved a quick glance out the window to the cobbled thoroughfare thick with muddy slush. On each side of the road, the last of the dirty snowbanks slowly melted. A lone farm wagon braved the sludge.

  “I promise you Farmland Bank will assist you in obtaining a buyer.” Mr. Pelikan sniffed. “We’ve already begun our search. However…”

  “However what? What if I don’t want to sell?” Of course she did, but on her own terms. He interrupted her anyway.

  “…however, a sale isn’t likely to cover all the debt.”

  “What on earth are you saying now?” Her skin goosed.

  Mr. Pelikan attempted a heightened professional demeanor by standing taller. Cordy suspected he was on his tiptoes. “Your brother included the value of his horse as collateral in the transaction. Your horse, too. And your driving wagon.”

  “Duchess? And my runabout? I paid for them in full myself.” New shock rolled down her spine.

  “With profits from the inn. Thereby, Clancy had owned them, too.” He looked away, a trifle abashed.

  Her jaw ached. Clancy’s attacker had stolen his fine Morgan, but she planned to sell her lovely mare and her stylish buggy for train fare when she left. And use her profits from the inn to start a business elsewhere. Fury boiled. “I had nothing to do with any of this.”

  Mr. Pelikan’s lips tightened. “There was no quit claim. You are still on the deed. And thereby responsible.”

  Still on the deed. And thereby responsible. With a total life savings of two dollars and one dime. Her shoulders slumped.

  The little banker closed in and flitted his hands across the counter. “It’s likely the new owners will allow you to stay on to cook and clean. Likely you’ll be permitted to let the very room you keep for yourself now.”

  Renting her own room? And all that effort in a place she didn’t own?

  “And…” Mr. Pelikan gazed so carefully from her head to her toes her skin crawled. “You might marry.”

  He leaned in as if to attempt a grab or a kiss. With disgust, she bent down to retrieve her shawl.

  “Mr. Pelikan, I am not interested.”

  With a scoff, he stepped away to examine the downstairs.

  She held off a frantic giggle. Marry? Mr. Pelikan’s ill-fitting garments swallowed his skinny bones, and of the few bachelors around here, he was at the bottom of the list. And she’d never lower herself to marry out of desperation. Nor would she return to Vermont. Not after Lambert. And not while she dreamed about finding a Wild West cowboy.

  Find him, love him, and marry him.

  The whole reason behind everything. No matter Nebraska was as far as she’d gotten so far. She slowed her frenzied veins, but her life flashed behind her lids like she was breathing her last.

  Papa, oh, Papa, eminent history professor at Vermont’s famed Bronckdon College, had filled her childhood with Daniel Boone, and mountain man Jedediah Smith. No fairy tales at bedtime for her, but regalings of Jim Bridger, and explorer Zebulon Pike, and ranchers like Charles Goodnight. Not to mention the nameless vaqueros and cattle trail bosses who had carved the West.

  She wanted a man like that. A man of strong muscles and rugged hair that blew in the restless wind toward the endless sky. A man who followed his heart rather than laws. Such as the wrong-headed laws that put her wastrel brother in charge of her! She growled out loud.

  “Miss Meeker?” Mr. Pelikan trundled back in front of her.

  Cordy stepped to meet him face-to-face. “I will take your visit today in an advisory capacity.” She ne
eded time to sort her thoughts, adjust her plans. “My business will improve. Warmer weather is already clearing the roads. The stagecoach will be running through town again any day. Passengers will need meals. Some will hire rooms. Easter will bring kith and kin to town. Tell me the minimum due and how long I have to pay it.”

  He finally met her gaze. “Twenty-three dollars and eleven cents. Interest only. That should cover your responsibility for three weeks.”

  “All right then.” He might as well have said a million dollars and years both, but Cordy pretended strength and held out a hand. She’d think of something. “I agree to those terms.”

  His hand touched hers, and her stomach turned. “Miss Meeker, might you have supper with me sometime? My mother’s Sunday chicken is as good as yours.”

  What? She pulled her hand away when his fingers tightened, but gently. After all, he had charge of her future.

  “Um, thank you, but I hope to be busy feeding my own guests. Good day, Mr. Pelikan.”

  “You might call me Percival.”

  His eyes glistened in a way she didn’t like. However, she might as well buy herself another day or two. “Good day then, Percival.”

  “Good luck, Cordy.”

  As he shut the door, she tossed out a quite rude gesture that would have made Clancy proud. Good luck? Clancy! She fought for air. He’d won again, the handsome, debonair, charming gambler so crooked he could swallow nails and spit out corkscrews. Ah, she’d learned that insult the first time a huckster had let a room and skipped out without paying.

  Now folks paid in full before she handed over a room key.

  She tightened the shawl so she didn’t scream. But cry, never that. No man would ever make her cry again. Not even the foolish banker. Never. Not after Lambert Truefitt. In some way, she would outwit Mr. Pelikan and his ilk. True, she hadn’t had a guest for weeks. True, her Sunday chicken dinners were wildly popular. But also true, locals hurried home after church before it snowed again.

  So bills had mounted. She and Duchess had to eat. The mercantile allowed her to pay down her debt of nine dollars and twenty cents two bits at a time.