Pioneer Passion

PIONEER PASSION

Thérèse Kraemer

Copyright Therese Kramer 2013

Published by Spangaloo at Smashwords

Spangaloo Edition

http://spangaloo.com

©Thérèse A. Kraemer

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Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Epilogue

Chapter One

Thin clouds veiled the California full moon,
casting eerie shadows on the ground. Guy Strong wiped his brow
feeling Nature’s warm breath cover him like a woolen blanket. The
heat seemed to stifle the night air as it spit out an occasional
lightning bolt from the sky. The flash gave him a glimpse of its
beauty. Somewhere in the distance a wolf’s howl pierced the night
that surrounded the small mining town of Osage. He assumed most
good folks were in bed and others were too engrossed in their own
pleasures to care for any sounds that spilled into the night.

“C’mon boy, we’ve lollygagged too long, let’s
see what’s ahead.” Guy nudged his mount forward and trotted down
the main street into town. In the distance assorted whoops and
hollers radiated into the night and he heard music coming from
inside a local tavern. As he trotted closer, the song, Old Susanna
rumbled louder from a piano sorely in need of tuning. Even so, it
brought back the memory of his mother singing that song to him when
he had sat on her knee. He shook the image out of his head because
those were better times. Tying the reins to a hitching post he
decided to have a drink before he ventured on. Along with the
jingle of his spurs as he entered the smoke-filled room, and the
clamor and tinny music, he noticed in the back a card game was
underway. Guy suspected that most were locals who returned nightly
to lose the mining profits of the day. He knew from meeting a few
miners that some days were better than others but good or bad, they
couldn’t pass up a nightly game. The only difference tonight was
that he had a mind to join in the game.

A deep voice drew his attention to a big
fella wearing a coonskin cap. “I’ll see you and raise another
fifty,” declared the gambler. Guy heard gold coins the man threw in
clank against those coins already there. He watched smiling at the
low rumble of voices buzzing around the table. Someone cleared his
throat and three of the five men in the game threw in their cards.
The game was now between a man he thought appeared to be in his
early twenties and an older man who was sweating.

Unobtrusively as possible, the older man
wiped his sweaty forehead with his grimy sleeve, but his
perspiration was a dead giveaway. Beads of sweat popped out on his
brow and traveled down his all-but-gray sideburns. To Guy the poor
man looked like a cauldron of boiling water capped with a tight
lid; he wonder why the man didn’t just walk away before he lost the
last of his gold.

“Ya feeling lucky old man?” drawled the
kid.

“Ya might say that son. I did find a vein
this week, so my luck might have changed for the better.”

Guy watched the old timer shift in his seat,
looking so very weary. But he figured the man had lived long enough
to know what he was doing. “What will it be, old man?” asked the
kid.

“I’ll call ya,” he said and laid down his
cards showing three of a kind beating the kid. Someone cursed, and
another bystander laughed and said, “Well, I’ll be! The boy
bluffed.” The old man let out a relieved breath and murmured that
his luck had indeed changed.

“Might I join you?” Guy asked drawing the
attention of the big man with the coonskin hat. The kid just
grumbled. “I’ve had enough, take my seat,” offered the big man and
Guy nodded. “Much obliged,” he smiled and pulled out a few
greenbacks from his shirt pocket. A scantly clad woman appeared,
smiling seductively at him and asked, “What’cha drinking
handsome?”

“A beer and a shot of whiskey,” he answered
knowing she was interested in more than what he was drinking. She
winked at him and said, “One boilermaker coming right up handsome.”
She sashayed away and Guy thought that maybe later he’d take her up
on her silent offer.

After a few rounds, the old man introduced
himself to Guy as Sam, and he gave his name. He was told that the
skinny kid, wet behind the ears, was Buddy. Guy said he was glad to
meet them and he was just passing through. He ignored the scowl
from Buddy and Sam merely shrugged at him. He was lucky and the kid
left angry having lost all his gold in less than an hour. Guy
wanted to call it a night but Sam insisted on playing. He noticed
how pale the old man was and he tried to discourage the old timer
figuring he had won enough. Sam insisted that he would like a
chance to get some of his gold back and Guy simply shrugged. It
only took him another few hands to beat the old man.

Sam pulled out a dirty rag and his pungent
odor wafted across the table as he wiped the beads of sweat from
his forehead. Guy noticed that all eyes were on the old man as a
few patrons stood around watching the game.

“I’m out of gold, son,” he croaked, his hands
shaking, “but I have a deed to my farm.” He pulled out a yellowed
paper from his pocket. He trembled as he unfolded the title to the
farm. Guy had a feeling that Sam believed he was holding a winning
hand and would win back his gold.

A clock ticked the movements, and Guy
grunted, “I’m not interested, partner.” His drawl was husky and Sam
dabbed his wet brow again, perspiration trickled down his face. He
took deep breath the room grew quiet except for the playing of the
piano. He leaned forward looking into the Guy’s eyes. “Sir,” he
swallowed, “My farm overlooks a beautiful valley. The land is worth
a great deal. My house needs a little improvement, but it’s
livable.”

Guy had to admit he was a bit curious.

“Sir, I ask you to let me reclaim my losses
tonight.” He spread out the deed on the table, and he could tell
Sam was trying to calm his nerves. Sam cleared his throat and
rasped, “My homestead is a mile from town, heading west.”

He was not interested in Sam’s land and
didn’t like the way the man looked. Sam’s face was flushed and his
lips were very pale and they trembled. It even appeared to Guy as
if the man was having difficulty breathing .And then the lines on
Sam’s face tensed as if he was feeling pain. “You don’t look well,
are you sure you want to keep playing?” he asked.

Sam nodded, “Just a little heart urn, I’ll be
fine,” he murmured.

The old timer was dressed in a faded plaid
shirt and his pants were dirty and worn, telling him that the man
couldn’t afford to lose any more. Guy believed in fair play, but
had a nagging feeling, the one he sometimes got when something went
wrong. He decided to play out the hand and be finished with what
was turning into an uneasy game. Win or lose, he’d walk away.

“Okay, old man, put up the farm,” he drawled.
He took another long drag on his cheroot, then lazily snubbed out
the butt with the heel of his boot. Sam smiled and showed his hand.
Guy saw all eyes around him on the dirty piece of paper waiting for
an owner.

“Full house,” Sam bragged.

Guy’s jaw twitched as he leaned forward. He
didn’t feel good about this when he laid down four kings. The room
grew still around him except for a few gasps.

Sam groaned, and then his voice sounded
strained when he said, “Son, I lost fair and square.” He signaled
the bartender and said,” Barkeep, a pen, please.” With a trembling
hand he scratched his signature to the deed. The man then cursed
and with an effort rose on unsteady legs. He fell forward clutching
his chest. “God, he cried, “something’s wrong; there’s a terrible
pain in my chest and I can’t bre…”

Stunned, Guy watched Sam gasp for breath and
stood when he saw the man taking a backward dive onto his chair. A
bystander yelled, “Hey!” and grabbed the old man before he fell to
the floor. Sam’s face seemed to drain of his complexion and his
eyes grew wide with fear. Guy had seen that look of fright and
confusion before and he had no doubt that Sam was having some sort
of a seizure. Damn, he should‘ve listen to his gut. Winning a piece
of land this way was not winning in his book.

“Someone git the Doc!” a voice yelled, but
Guy feared that it was too late. His suspicions were right when the
bartender placed his ear to San’s chest. Shaking his head sadly, he
said, “Old Sam’s dead.” Guy rode out of Osage thinking that if he
had known that stopping for a friendly game of cards would turn
tragic, he might have skipped the poker for a whore instead.

At daybreak, Guy sat on his horse, Blizzard,
a name that fitted the beautiful white stallion. The horse had been
a gift from his parents on one of his birthdays, though he couldn’t
remember which one. His last brought him to the ripe old age of
twenty-eight. He was grateful for the animal and trusted friend;
his superior speed had helped him out of many close calls.

Time blended slowly into the scenery as he
traveled towards the farm and he reflected on the events of last
evening. He knew it wasn’t really his fault the old geezer’s heart
had picked that time to quit, but he couldn’t shrug off the guilty
feeling. And what the hell was he going to do with a farm? After
battling his conscience for the last time, he decided to see for
himself what he now owned. He was tired of drifting and didn’t like
the idea of returning home. This farm might be just the thing for
him.

His horse snorted. Guy sat tall in the saddle
to enjoy the view from the hill. He could see a small house
protected by an abundance of tress that were beginning to bud. He
heard chirping of baby birds and smelled a profusion of wild
flowers wafting on the air. A densely wooded area ran for miles
behind the house and it brought back happy memories of the days
when he and his younger brother would play hide ‘n’ seek in the
woods behind their house. He was aware of a dull ache at the memory
and that bit of nostalgia made him miss his family, something he
hadn’t thought about in awhile. He nudged Blizzard into a slow trot
to get a better look, assuming it must be a pretty nice place. He
rode closer and noticed some of the dry land was freshly plowed,
but only a small field showed signs of new life growing. Licking
his lips, he looked at the thirsty soil. Guy wasn’t a farmer but he
understood the importance of rain; nature could sometimes be a
man’s worst enemy. He shook his head regretfully because for some
strange reason he felt an inexplicable emotion of emptiness and
sadness. Was he disappointed over something he didn’t want in the
first place? Maybe subconsciously he was looking forward to owning
a ranch. Well, his father was right when he said son, ‘If you never
expect too much in life, you’ll never be disappointed.’

“Let’s see what I got myself into.” He patted
the horse’s neck and the stallion snorted as if he understood his
master. Guy surveyed the surroundings feeling a tingling in his
gut. The barn and house needed many repairs. “So, the place just
need a little improvement, eh old man?” he snickered to himself,
then added, “and to think you died over losing this.”

Close up, the place was in even worse shape
than he first thought. One of the barn doors lay aslant on its
hinge, there was a gaping hole on one side of the structure and its
paint had pealed off years ago. A few chickens flapped and
complained at his intrusion when he dismounted and tied the reins
to the broken hitch outside the house. Noticing one of the steps to
the porch had caved in; he wondered if it was safe to walk on it.
With caution, he stepped gingerly over the flattened step and
slowly made his way to the front door.