The Stafford Collection, Historical Western Romances Read Online Free

yard. Samuel had cut her father free from the tree with tears streaming from his eyes. Sabrina had not wept that day---she couldn't. She could not convince herself that they were really gone. She had sat next to them for hours as their blood ran beneath them and soaked into the earth---the same earth and land that her father and mother had worked so hard to shape and nourish. And she couldn't let them go. The townspeople came later on, drawn by the smoke from the still-crackling structure. Her home.
    The hot summer day had offered no comfort to the filthy young girl on her knees who had lost everything that was dear to her. Some of the women from town had come; they took pity on Sabrina’s shattered soul and led her off so she could wash the soot and blood off herself while the men cared for her family. They buried them on a knoll not far from the stables. She knew that they would have liked it there. They used to have picnics on the hill when Sabrina was younger.
    A posse was sent out after the killers, but they were never found. Catching them would not bring back her family and Sabrina was too wrapped up in her own grief to consider others.
    It took Warren three months to arrive and in his stead she had run the ranch with the help of Samuel and the others. The ranch hands had always been fond of Sabrina and admired her courage. They admired her even more as they watched her work from before the crack of dawn until long after sunset, only stopping long enough to grab an occasional bite. They were worried about her. She had never taken the time to grieve or feel her loss. It ate at her at night.
    She awoke to horrible nightmares; her dark sunken eyes reflected the turmoil in her soul that her voice refused to speak and her pride refused to admit. Samuel had tried to get her to open up and to slow down but to no avail. He was forced to stand by helplessly as he watched her already sturdy frame turn harder and leaner than it should have.
    Samuel was glad for that day in September when Warren came back; they all were. Warren had arrived and Sabrina had smiled for the first time since the butchery. He said he would stay in the bunkhouse with the other hands until the main house was finished. He was dismayed to see the state that his sister was in and blamed himself for not being there for her sooner.
    She had changed so much in the years that he had been away. However, it seemed that the changes were more mental than physical. She was still the same height as she was when he had left. Their mother was a petite woman who was not afraid to stand up to any man or beast, and Sabrina was just like her in more ways than one. Not wanting his sister to live like a mule and grow up like a man, Warren made some rather rash decisions.
    Sabrina felt a tear slide down her cheek, bringing her out of her trance. She quickly wiped it away glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Mac was over across the bar talking to Pamela, one of the saloon girls, and no one else paid her any attention, which was the way she liked it.  Sniffing, she silently slipped out of her seat and out the door.
    Brock awoke with the full light of day beaming through his bedroom window. He had not meant to sleep in. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes and stretched.
    He got out of bed slowly, still groggy from the long day of riding the day before. He dressed and prepared for the day. Today was his official first day on the job. He pinned the bronze star to his chest and headed downstairs for breakfast. Widow Hawkins was running about serving her two other guests. She quickly came over and ushered him to a seat, introducing him to the others.
    "This is Mr. Snyder; he's set up a temporary shop in the mercantile. He sells spectacles."
    She motioned to the other gentleman who was much older and had a head full of gray hair. “This is Pastor Stevens; he's a permanent resident."
    Brock nodded to the two gentlemen as he dug in to the fresh biscuits and gravy, smoked ham