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    A Blizzard of Western Romance (A Western Historical Romance Book)
    A Blizzard of Western Romance (A Western Historical Romance Book)
    A Blizzard of Western Romance (A Western Historical Romance Book)
    Ebook121 pages1 hour

    A Blizzard of Western Romance (A Western Historical Romance Book)

    By Florence Linnington

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    About this ebook

    Labelled as a broken and addled woman, Margaret tries to put her traumatic past behind her and seeks a fresh start… toward a lonely existence.

    No one could possibly understand what she has been through. And she does not trust men.

    Until, bank employee August hears about Margaret and actually finds her intriguing. He heard about what happened to the young lady, but he sees something else in her and wants to get to know her.

    When August tries to speak with Margaret about her touchy issue of abuse, as he intends to share his own experience growing up in a violent home, it backfires for them both – at a time when a blizzard hits town.

    Can Margaret move pass her past and see the good in August?

    How much is August willing to risk, to find his true love?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherFlorence Linnington
    Release dateJul 13, 2019
    ISBN9781393418238
    A Blizzard of Western Romance (A Western Historical Romance Book)

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      Book preview

      A Blizzard of Western Romance (A Western Historical Romance Book) - Florence Linnington

      1

      August looked up from the book spread out in front of him and rolled his neck, attempting to loosen the kink there. Outside his office window, in the front area of Walsh Bank, the snow glittered like diamonds scattered across the ground. He tried to count the weeks since he’d last seen the ground beneath all the snow and found he couldn’t. Winters in Wyoming were so long. It was only January, and it seemed forever ago since the first snowflakes drifted out of the sky.

      Numbers. That was August’s life. Every day he added, subtracted, multiplied, and spoke with people about numbers.

      He enjoyed it, too, and never had one complaint about his job as an accountant at the tiny bank in Pathways. Although his personal life could certainly use some improvement...

      Glancing away from the log he’d been checking some figures in, he caught sight of a woman trudging through the snow. Her gait and figure were familiar, and August sat up straighter.

      Margaret Meyers. Everyone in Pathways knew about her. She’d arrived in town several months earlier to work as housekeeper for Mr. Bain, a man in the upper echelon of railroad management. Best August could tell, she kept to herself. He’d seen her at church and in the street, but other than that, it appeared she never ventured outside. Not even the church social for young people had brought her out.

      August sighed lightly as Miss Meyers went into the bakery. Did she even have a clue as to how beautiful she was? From a distance, she appeared as any other woman, with a thin figure and light brown hair. August had seen her close up once, though, while leaving church, and been struck by her soft lips and delicate chin. And her eyes...

      They had a story in them. An unpleasant one, August knew.

      A knock on the door made him look over. Reuben Walsh, August’s boss, stood in the doorway. August sat up straighter, ashamed at being caught dawdling.

      I checked over the McGruffin account. August cleared his throat. All looks well. Mr. McGuffin even turned in his last two loan payments early.

      Mr. Walsh nodded and thoughtfully tapped his thumb against his thick, white mustache. A second loan is still a lot. At the amount he seeks, that is.

      His gaze drifted to the window, and August followed it. Through the bakery’s front window, Miss Meyer’s inspected a shelf displaying loaves of bread.

      She’s a pretty one, Mr. Walsh said.

      August’s face burned. Yes.

      Pity about her story.

      Her husband died, August said. Correct? He was involved with the gold scandal.

      And scandal it had been. Pathways was larger than its sister towns, Whiteridge and Shallow Springs, but a rumor as rich as the one about the murder of the gold vein in the mountains hadn’t passed through its streets in years. Not in the last five, that was - which was how long August had been there for.

      Must mess with a person’s head something awful, Mr. Walsh said. Especially a woman’s.

      August chose to stay quiet. He’d heard what people said about Miss Meyers: at the best, that she was unnaturally quiet. At the worst, that she was stunted mentally.

      August didn’t think the last claim had any true credibility. He’d never spoken with Miss Meyers, but he’d seen her going about her shopping and attending church. There seemed nothing wrong with her mental facilities.

      But losing her husband... What had that been like?

      He was rough with her, you know, Mr. Walsh said.

      What? August asked.

      Mr. Walsh nodded and absentmindedly smoothed down his jacket’s lapels. Pushed her around all the time. That’s why they initially thought perhaps she’d killed her husband.

      August shook his head. She doesn’t look like a killer.

      Mr. Walsh tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. We all have that potential in us, though. If a person is pushed hard enough... if they have to defend their life...

      August nodded. Yes, he understood that. But he thought Mr. Walsh also generalized. Some people, trapped in desperate circumstances, would flee rather than take another life.

      August knew this from person experience, but though he’d worked for Mr. Walsh for seven years total, both in Richmond and in Pathways, his employer did not know this. There were parts of August that he kept hidden behind steel doors.

      A knock on the bank’s front door made Mr. Walsh look over his shoulder. That must be Mr. and Mrs. Stedmore.

      August stayed at his desk, listening as Mr. Walsh opened the door and greeted the couple. His eyes strayed back to the bakery. Margaret Meyers was no longer in front of the window. Had she departed the bakery while he spoke with Mr. Walsh? Or moved further into the shop, away from sight?

      He thought over everything he’d heard about her. Mid-twenties. Came to Wyoming Territory as a mail-order bride. Her married name was Hawkins, but once she moved from Whiteridge to Pathways she began going by her maiden name. That made sense. If August were her, he would want to leave the past behind in any way he could, too.

      August rolled his pencil between his fingers, and he looked down at the bank’s log, but the numbers looked like nothing but random scratches. His ability to concentrate had dissipated.

      He didn’t like how other people dismissed Miss Meyers. She had been through a good deal. Did she even have any friends in Pathways? Anyone to confide in?

      Setting his pencil down, August sighed and allowed himself one final glance out the window. There was still no sign of the quiet brunette.

      He could be her friend. Perhaps she would not find absolute comfort in his presence, but he could at least provide her with some companionship. A bit of laughter.

      Maybe even, one day, courtship.

      Since arriving in Pathways, August had only courted one young lady. And he’d waited too long to decide on pursuing things further with her and proposing, for she’d become frustrated with him and married a man from back east.

      That whole situation had probably turned out for the best, anyway. Looking back, August understood they would not have made each other happy. During their courtship, she had shown a great amount of interest in all things fine, from expensive dresses to large houses. She’d made it clear to August that, were they to marry, she would need a maid.

      Yes, things had turned out for the best there. But while August no longer wanted Christine Finca, he did want a wife. A family. His parents had had a wonderful marriage, and now he wished to add the same to his life.

      Could Margaret Meyers be his chance at that?

      It was too early to know, but August could not wait to explore the possibility.

      2

      Anything else? the rosy-cheeked woman behind the bakery’s counter asked.

      No. Just the bread, thank you. Margaret avoided the woman’s gaze as she handed over the coin. She knew the price without being told, as she’d run to the bakery several times before to fetch a loaf when the Bains’ cook was too busy with other things to bake that day.

      I see you in here on the regular now, the woman said. You’re the Bains’ housekeeper, aren’t ya?

      There was a slight accent to her voice, making Margaret think she’d likely been born in America but raised by immigrants. Was it Irish?

      Yes, that’s right. Margaret only kept eye contact for a moment before looking away again. The door to the bakery’s back room opened, and a younger woman entered. Margaret had seen her a a few times before, but now she noticed the similarities in the younger and older women’s faces. They both had round features and sky-blue eyes, as well as stout figures.

      The younger woman set a tray of cookies on the counter and cast a curious look Margaret’s way. Realizing she stared, Margaret turned away.

      Margaret Hawkins, yes? the older woman asked.

      Margaret flinched at the name. Meyers, she corrected.

      On paper, she was still Margaret Hawkins, but in her heart, she

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