Hey Lovebugs!!

It’s Freebie Friday!! *YAY* It’s time to continue Parker Jameson’s story.

Here’s a real QUICK recap:

(For those of you that have been following the story from the beginning, feel free to skip over this part, but make sure you read the *WARNING* below.)

Each short story on this blog will concern a character (or characters) from my books. YOU choose the character, and I tell you how they came to be where they are when you first meet them.

So when reading Dianna, keep your eyes peeled for any characters you’d like to learn more about. Shoot me an email at admin@awordfromjosephineblake.com, and I’ll let you know as soon as a new story is released!

As you should well know, I love to hear from my readers. Don’t be shy! I don’t bite!

(Much. ;))

If you haven’t read Part One and Part Two of The Heart of Hope,  I highly recommend that you start Parker’s story from the beginning.

Now: To Business

We left Parker Jameson adjusting well to his life on Phillip Crowley’s Ranch. The Indians, as we witnessed, were rather helpful in dissuading Colton Gregory from his plans to exact revenge on Parker for daring to lay a finger on his precious son.

Hank took up with Hattie (Parker’s lovable, if cantankerous, landlady.) Parker and Greyson were getting on like brothers, and Molly Crowley was becoming desperately worried about her husband, Phillip.

This is a fair *WARNING* and I beg you not to continue reading until you have read this.

I prefer to write a story with a happy ending. I like to see the characters that I have fallen in love with in joyful circumstances.

Unfortunately, when you’re writing about a future henchman (for lack of a better word) you have to tell the story like it is. This is Parker’s story, not Dianna’s, and his story is filled with different trials and different joys.

I have to warn you that the next piece in Parker’s life might be less than happy. If you’ve read Dianna, you’ll (unfortunately) understand. I promise there is joy for him, I promise there is love, and that is all the more that I can say.

Alright. You’ve been warned.

Read on!

 

The Heart of Hope

Parker Jameson’s Story

Part Three

 

Seven Months Later

September 4th, 1877

 

Tragedy struck the Crowley Ranch.

Parker had felt it looming over them like some great beast, ghastly in its incessant requests for attention. He had seen it coming, but yet it didn’t make sense. He couldn’t understand. Because Phillip Crowley could not be dead.

Rain pounded over the small crowd of people on the hillside, mingling with the tears that drained from the eyes of the wife and son left behind.

 

Phillip Crowley’s death had been sudden. There had been little more than a warning, a sick feeling that all was not well with the man of the house, and then he had gone.

 

Molly Crowley clutched her son’s hand, her dark hair falling over her eyes in a thick black curtain.  Greyson was nearly a foot taller than her now, and beneath the shadows and the thundering rain, he could have been his father. His shoulders had broadened over the past year. His boyish strides had lengthened to a man’s firm ones, and his voice had deepened. Patchy facial hair covered his jawline, and he was easily the largest of the four men gathered around his father’s grave.

 

His tears fell slowly and silently over an expression that would have puzzled any other observer. Greyson merely looked confused. His sorrow hadn’t set in yet. He was still in a state of disbelief, just as Parker was.

Parker let his eyes slide away from Molly and Greyson until they fell onto the two men that stood opposite him, across the vast, dark hole in the ground that drew everyone else’s eyes. Neither Darrel or Wilson’s unconvincing looks of sorrow pleased Parker. In fact, he felt the heavy threat of anger rising in his chest and doubted either of the men were truly sorry their boss was dead. He wouldn’t put it past the pair to try and pull one over on the young widow and her son.

Parker’s eyes flew back to Molly. She was sobbing now, into the thick leather collar of her Greyson’s duster, and she looked painfully lovely, even with her eyes swollen and puffy.

 

They’d been standing in the rain and the silence for a while now. Water was dripping steadily off the rim of Parker’s hat and down the back of his neck. His collar was turned up against the unseasonable September chill. He took a step forward and placed a hand on Greyson’s shoulder.

“Would you like me to say a few words?”

Greyson stared at Parker for a moment, and he had the impression that the man wasn’t really seeing him. Then he nodded.

Parker took a step forward and inhaled a great lungful of air. He exhaled heavily before he began to speak.

“I didn’t know you long enough,” he said, looking down at the sheet wrapped figure at the bottom of the grave. “In the time I knew Phillip Crowley, he offered me work when no one else would… and not too long after that,” Parker paused and swallowed roughly. “He saved my life. I never knew one man that could be his equal; never knew a man as good as Phillip. He was taken before we were ready for him to go.” Parker paused again, feeling as though he was doing a horrible job of explaining the man that had done so much for him.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” he said, and he looked up into Greyson’s eyes. “Maybe we can draw on His strength in this moment of terrible loss. Maybe we can lean on each other for it too.” He swallowed again, and this time, he focused his eyes on the two men who simpered so unnaturally in front of him. “I’ll say this much, though. Phillip Crowley did me a great service in standing beside me all those months ago, and I’m not quite through repaying the debt I owe him. I’ll look after his family. I’ll help them find their way. And Lord help any man or beast that tries to harm them whilst I’m around.” He bowed his head at Greyson and Molly, who both looked a little unnerved by his proclamation, then Greyson released his mother to sling an arm around Parker’s shoulders.

He was now a good six inches taller than Parker, and his arm was a dead weight as he gripped Parker’s shoulder. “Thank you, Park,” he murmured, and he gave a nod at the other two men. “Wilson. Darrel. Thank you for all you’ve done. Mum,” he turned away from Parker and took his mother’s face into his hands. “Why don’t you go back in the house. We’ll finish up here; then I’ll meet you inside.” Molly Crowley looked like a woman who didn’t know where she was or what to do. She didn’t acknowledge her son’s words; she only looked at him. Her tear-streaked face blank and numb looking.

Parker hated to see her so lost. The unfailingly happy Molly Crowley, the woman he knew, was full of spark and love. This broken woman before him was a different being entirely.

“Why don’t you go inside, Grey?” whispered Parker through the rain. “We’ll finish up here. Make your Ma some tea. We’ll take care of it.”

Wilson and Darrel had already, callously, picked up shovels and begun to splash loose, wet earth onto the body of Molly’s husband. She winced at each scrape of the shovel, each thick plop of dark dirt into the grave. Parker cast a reproving look at the pair as Greyson smiled grimly and took his mother’s hand.

He watched the pair walk towards the main house, his heart heavy in his chest. Then turned to help the other two bury the body of his friend.

 

Rain continued to sweep over fields, and the wind whistled through the many ominously swaying branches around them. With three of them, the job took less time than Parker had expected it would. His arms ached when they’d finally finished.

They’d chosen to lay Phillip to rest on the top of a hill, close to the orchard. He would have liked that, thought Parker. He’d have liked being able to check up on us all. Indeed, they had an excellent view of the surrounding valley from the high vantage point. The nearby mountains stood tall over the sweeping hills, their faces dotted with patches of snow. A dense patch of trees sat at the base and bloomed outwards until they petered out into the fields that made up most of Phillip’s property. Parker wondered how Phillip had come by this chunk of land. When had he built his home here? There was so much he had never asked the man. He had thought there would be time. Months and possibly years in which Phillip could have told him his stories.

Parker leant his elbow on his spade and gazed out at the sopping land. The very hills of the valley appeared to be weeping at the loss they had sustained.

 

The days crept by. Slowly, gradually, Parker became aware of Greyson sliding into his father’s role. Little by little it seemed, the hands began to take their cues from him. He no longer waited for Parker at the foot of the ladder that led up to the loft. Instead, they met in the yard, attended to the morning’s chores, and went into breakfast. Always together, but Parker could sense the dynamic had shifted between them.

Young Greyson Crowley had become a man the very instant of his father’s passing. Too young, Parker kept thinking. Sixteen is too young to lose your father.

Not that Parker had had much experience in that area. He’d had little in common with his father, who had been a drunk. His mother couldn’t have cared less what he did. She had been a mean woman. Harsh, and more interested in the other men she met in town than Parker. He’d left home as soon as he was able, and fought to escape the notoriety of his parent’s way of living. After a little while, he’d managed it, held down a job, worked hard, and made a new life for himself in Cheyenne.

Too young. He’d been far too young. A sixteen-year-old kid shouldn’t have to finish raising himself. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t natural.

 

Life went on. The heavens continued to vent their fury on the inhabitants of Crowley Ranch. Money was running tight, and the charcoal grey clouds hadn’t shifted an inch. Each morning, Greyson and Parker went through the motions. Around nine, they’d head in for breakfast and watch Molly wander listlessly around the table. She never smiled anymore, she never laughed. The joy had gone from the house.

 

One particularly dreary morning a few weeks after Phillip’s passing, there came a shout from the kitchen. “Greyson! Parker!” It was the shrill panic in Molly’s voice that sent both men flying across the yard.

The kitchen door was slightly cracked and without pause, both men hurtled into the kitchen. The room was in a state of complete disarray. Molly was bounding all around the kitchen, shrieking wildly. Whack. For a moment, Parker thought the woman had taken leave of her senses. The strain of her husband’s passing must have been too much for her; she’d gone mad.

Molly’s dark hair was flying all around her face, and she was in a state of half-dress, her husband’s long, leather coat was thrown over her nightshirt and buttoned crookedly about her throat. Whapp! The broom came down on the top of Parker’s head, knocking his hat askew and causing his head to spin.

A strange screeching noise drew his attention to the creature Molly was attempting to impale, and everything began to make sense. Seizing a large bowl from the kitchen counter, Parker flipped it upside down and plunged it down on top of the animal as it streaked by his feet. With a squeal and a squawk of protest, the ringed tail was snatched back from the outside of the pot, where it had been caught, and all traces of the raccoon disappeared inside the bowl. Parker knelt on top of it and looked around, rubbing his head.

Molly still held the broom in the middle of the kitchen, her chest heaving. Greyson was standing exactly where he had frozen as he had come through the doorway.

“It was in my bed,” Molly said, affecting a little shiver of disgust. “Right next to my feet.”

It occurred to Parker that this was the most he had heard Molly speak since the day of her husband’s death. The bowl beneath his knee clanged as the raccoon raked its claws over the inner surface, hissing and fighting for a way to get out.

The feeling that welled up inside Parker was so unfamiliar to him that it took a moment before he understood what it was. Then he smiled. His grin grew broader as he took in Molly’s dishevelled state. Greyson began to chuckle quietly from next to the door. Molly slumped against the far wall, her legs shaking. She slid down the wood planks until she crouched on the floor, her dark hair ratted crazily on one side of her head. Then she began to laugh. Her thin shoulders shook, and she clutched at her sides. Molly Crowley laughed, and the house rang with it. Parker couldn’t help himself, his heart near bursting with sorrow, and confusion, and joy, he knelt atop the pot and laughed until his throat was raw.

Finally, Greyson hiccupped himself into silence. Shaking his head, he strode across the room to his mother and pulled her to her feet. Molly had tears in her eyes. But for the first time in a long time, she was smiling, and her smile made the world much brighter to Parker, somehow.

The raccoon, encased in its impromptu prison, shifted and growled angrily beneath Parker’s knees. He looked down at it.

“How’re we gonna get him out?” asked Greyson, his lips were still pulled up at the corners. His crinkled blue eyes, that had of late, only resembled the grey of the skies overhead, had a warmth in them that had been non-existent for some weeks now.

“I think we’ll just scoot him out the door,” said Parker, looking back towards the still open kitchen entry.

“Alright then,” Greyson was clearly suppressing another grin. “You want me to help? Or you got it?”

Parker shifted his weight and held the bowl down with his palms. The critter inside grumbled. Molly let out a snort of laughter as Parker stuck his rear end in the air, sliding the bowl along the hardwood floor. Her laughter spurred more of his own.

“Quit laughin’ Miss Molly. There isn’t much of a better way to get this done!” he said, chortling. She laughed harder still. Parker’s footing slipped a bit as he crossed the threshold, looking absurdly like a stiff legged colt.

“One… Two… Three!” he shouted. As he said ‘three’ he lifted the bowl and shoved the raccoon forward with it. The animal tumbled head over tail down the front steps and then streaked off towards the shelter of the nearby trees. Shaking his head, and still laughing, Parker went back inside the house.

“Well,” he said, handing the bowl back to Molly. “I suppose that was plenty of excitement for the morning.”

She huffed, grinning from ear to ear. “More than I needed,” she said, with a roll of her strikingly blue eyes. How had Parker never noticed how bright her eyes shone? She looked so much like her older self at that moment that Parker quite wanted to kiss her.

Kiss her? The thought made his smile slip off of his face like tree sap. His eyes flew over the beautiful woman before him, and his mouth suddenly went very dry. Her nightgown was mostly covered by the mammoth leather duster she wore over it, still buttoned crookedly at her throat. The bits of creamy lace and flesh peering through, however, had caught his attention. Without another word, Parker spun on his heel and left the kitchen, his face uncomfortably flushed.

Molly called after him, seemingly confused by his sudden departure. “Breakfast’ll be ready in just a bit, Park. Don’t wander too far!”

“I’m just going to wash up!” he called back to her in a passable imitation of coolness. His hands shook as he lifted the handle of the well pump and water came guzzling out of the spout.

Molly Crowley is Phillip’s wife. You’ve no right to be noticing anything about how she looks. Parker jumped guiltily as a hand came down on his shoulder.

“You alright, Park? That critter didn’t get its teeth in you, did it?” Greyson was standing over him.

“Nope. Just needed a washing.” Parker hoped the blood in his cheeks didn’t give away his traitorous thoughts. Greyson appeared not to notice anything out of the ordinary. He punched Parker lightly in the shoulder.

“Thanks for saving my Ma’s life,” he chuckled. “She woulda’ told you herself, but you lit out of the kitchen so fast I thought your britches were on fire. She told me to come and check on you.”

“Just hungry,” said Parker dismissively.

“Best get some food in ya,” Greyson said. “I’m just goin’ to wake the boys. Bet ya they’re still asleep.”

“You suppose anyone coulda’ slept through that ruckus?”

“Darrel and Wilson sleep like bumps on a log,” said Greyson, and whistling softly, he strode over to the two cabins a few hundred yards past the barn.

Parker waited as long as he could before he headed back into the kitchen. With all the thoughts that were running through his head, he didn’t want to be alone with Molly.

To his dismay, he was still the first man in the kitchen with her when he stomped back into the main house.

She had changed out of her nightrail and pulled on a thick, woolen skirt. The black cotton top she wore tucked into it clung to her form in ways that made Parker devoutly thankful that her son, who stomped in a moment later, couldn’t read minds.

 

The large kitchen was suddenly feeling uncomfortably cramped, and it wasn’t because there were three large men, plus himself, grouped around one table. Molly’s swaying figure hovered at the edges of his vision, and he was disturbingly aware of her wherever she happened to be in the room. He shoveled food into his mouth, hoping to dislodge the guilty lump that had made a home for itself in his throat, and was the first to clear his plate.

“I guess you were hungry,” laughed Greyson. It seemed that, once the barrier had been broken, it had become easier for him to laugh again. It felt as though some great weight had been lifted from Parker’s shoulders as he watched his boss’s son joke and prod at the other two men.

“I think the fence in the red stallion’s paddock needs to be repaired,” Greyson said to the pair as he finished the plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. “Would you two mind looking over that today?”

“We’re on it,” said Wilson, his straw-colored hair had been cut short, and he looked meaner than usual.

Both brothers had taken the change in authority well enough. As Greyson fell into his father’s role, they had made no complaint. But Parker still couldn’t shake the strange feeling he had towards the two. Since Phillip’s passing, they had made him increasingly uneasy. A feel exacerbated by the fact that they had hardly kept their eyes to themselves when Phillip was alive. Now that Molly’s husband was out of the picture, they always seemed to be watching her, their faces alive with a lecherous stupidity that made Parker’s skin crawl.

But he was just as bad now, wasn’t he? Parker shrugged off the thought. He was nothing like the two blonde heathens sitting at the table before him. Parker watched Darrel and Wilson, his disgust mounting as they gulped down fifth helpings of the day’s breakfast.

Belching loudly, Darrel scratched at his round stomach through the stained brown shirt he wore. “’bout time to get a move on,” he said. The brothers left their dirty dishes at the table and stomped out the door without thanking Molly for the meal. Parker eyed them as they went, Wilson followed his older brother, swinging his arms as he walked. They looked so much like gorillas at that moment that Parker was surprised not to see their arms dragging along the floor behind them.

He got up from the table more slowly, purposely avoiding Molly’s eyes. He could tell she was scrutinizing him as though he were sickening for something, and he had no desire to fend off her questions.

“I’m going to take Tawny into the ring today and work with him,” he said to Greyson. He too, was looking at Parker as though he was concerned for his health.

“Alright,” he said slowly, tipping his chair backwards so that it stood on two legs. “I’ll be in the upper field today if you need me. There’s a patch of foxglove up there that needs gotten rid of.”

Parker nodded. “Thanks for breakfast, Molly,” he said, still not looking at her, and he took his dishes to the wash basin before heading outside.

“What’s got into him?” he heard her ask Greyson as he went.

 

Parker beat his hat agitatedly against his thigh a few minutes later, leaning against the outside wall at the back of the barn. Calm down, he thought to himself. It doesn’t mean anything. But it did mean something. Molly Crowley was a beautiful woman. He’d known it from the first moment he had set eyes on her. But she’d always been Phillip’s. Solidly, dependably someone else’s. Now she was alone, and Parker felt wretched at the thought that it had taken such a short time for him to begin looking at her as though she was an unattached woman. Was it really so far a jump, though? His mind spun. He recalled the first moment he had felt a kinship with Molly, the second they had become friends, and he shivered at the thought of her whispering in his ear.

Parker exhaled sharply, his mind grappling with itself. She will never be yours. There. That was it. No matter how Parker felt about her, Molly would never be his. Her heart would eternally belong to Phillip Crowley, and out of respect for the man that had saved his life, Parker would not allow himself to act on his feelings. She belongs to Phillip Crowley. Even in death.

This certainty gave him focus. His mind stopped whirring. The knowledge that nothing would ever come of his newfound attraction was enough to calm his mind. As always, other’s needs came before his own. Parker stood straight, looking up at the cloudy sky, and vowed that neither Molly nor Greyson would ever know of this moment of weakness. He would protect them always, even from himself.

 

Parker pushed away from the side of the barn and meandered inside it. Collecting a halter and a rope, he went out into the fields in search of the young colt. He found him, scampering happily alongside his mother, nearly fourteen hands already. These last nine months had been such a blur; he couldn’t quite believe how fast the animal had grown.

He gave a whistle as he pulled open the gate and both mother and colt trotted up to greet him. He gave each of them a small sugar lump and then ran his hands over Tawny’s neck.

“Whoa, there,” he said as the colt gave his pocket a playful nudge, searching for another sugar cube. Parker chuckled quietly. Tawny was spirited. Because Parker had worked with him from a very young age, he was friendlier than most, and more than willing to let Parker sling a rope around his neck and lead him into the circular paddock closest to the main house.

He started slow. Though the young horse was used to wearing a halter, Parker still didn’t like to alarm him with it. He ran his hands over the animal’s face and neck. Then, gradually, the rope, and next: the halter.

Tawny pushed his velvety nose willingly through the loop, and Parker buckled it behind his neck.

“Good boy,” he whispered to him, giving him a soft pat. “Good boy.”

He clipped the lead rope to the ring beneath Tawny’s chin and let it out some, then, taking a long rod hung with a soft cloth on the end, he patted the colt on its hind quarters.

“Get a move on, then,” he said cheerfully to him. Tawny tossed his gorgeous head and gave a snort of disgust. “Go on,” said Parker encouragingly, and he gave the horse another soft tap with the end of the rod.

Tawny shook out his mane and began to trot in wide circles around the paddock with Parker at the center, holding the end of the rope.

He lost himself in the task. This was his favorite part of working on the Crowley Ranch. He loved the young horses. The ones with a bit of spark. He liked training them up, working with them throughout the day. He was particularly fond of this young colt, Tawny having been the first he and Greyson had delivered without Phillip’s help.

 

This thought caused Parker’s shoulders to slump slightly.  It’d been weeks now, and yet the loss of his friend still pulled at him, making him lose track of what he was doing. Tawny trotted round and round, working up a thick lather, and after a while, Parker brought him to a halt with the lead.

“Let’s have a drink, shall we?”

He retrieved a heavy bucket from outside the paddock and ran to fetch some water.

The day had grown warm without him realizing it. The sun shone down through the customary grey clouds and heated him to his core, as though he had sunk into a hot bath.

He continued to work with Tawny throughout the next few weeks. Finding contentedness in easing the friendly colt into his saddle, teaching him to obey the pull of the rope, getting him to accept a bit in his mouth. The sun held out. Slowly the clouds disappeared, and the bright Cheyenne sunlight returned.

 

Parker was doing his best not to allow himself nearer Molly than he could help. Her increasingly sour looks told him that his friend had noticed his distance, and was none too pleased by it. He imagined it must be lonely for her, without her husband, and he wondered for, perhaps the hundredth time, what Phillip would say if he knew of Parker’s growing affections.

Sometimes, however, he couldn’t help but watch her. Molly smiled more easily now, and the weariness in her eyes had abated slightly. They too were returning to their previous shade of blue, like Greyson’s, after having been clouded with misery for so long. He knew that she hadn’t ceased mourning her husband, but he thought that perhaps she might have grown to accept that his death had happened and that there was nothing she could do about it but to go on living.

 

“He like’s you.”

Parker jumped, causing Tawny to shuffle his feet uncomfortably.

“Steady there,” he said to the horse, and he turned to cast an irritated glance over his shoulder at Molly.

“Sorry,” she said, her voice full of indignation, “I assumed you heard me come up.” She was very pretty today indeed, even though her eyes looked like cold steel. Her long dark hair hung down her back in a long plait, and she wore a simple patterned gown, with an apron tied around her neck.

“I was a bit busy,” he said as huffily as he could, turning his back on her and hoping she’d leave him in peace. He could feel her eyes boring a hole in his shirt, and his entire body heated slowly until his face was flushed with discomfort and he daren’t turn around, lest she see his cheeks glowing like the now setting sun.

“I think it’s time we talk,” she said, icily. His insides started to boil, and he felt the flush in his face deepen.

“We can talk later, Molly.” Parker bent down and lifted one of Tawny’s hooves. The horse snorted, but let him muck out the build up around the metal shoe he now wore.

“When?” Molly sounded furious. In a second, she’d swung open the paddock gate and stormed over to Parker. He dropped Tawny’s hoof and stumbled backwards as the woman came right up to him and poked him hard in the chest.

“We used to talk all the time!” she shouted. “You held my hand and prayed for Phillip with me. You stayed by his side and worked every job he couldn’t do. You’ve always been there, every step of the way. You’re my best friend on this forsaken pile of dirt.” Molly stomped her foot, and Parker was surprised to see tears in her eyes. “You’ve watched over my son; you’ve helped him become a man this past year. You helped him grieve for his father.” She reached up and shoved him, and Parker’s mouth fell open in shock.

“Why would you abandon me at a time like this?” The tears in her eyes began falling thick and fast down her cheeks. “Why will you not look at me? Why have you turned your back on me when what I need most in the world right now is a friend?”

 

Parker’s back stiffened, and he could feel anger coming to his defense now. “Everything can’t be as it was, Molly!” he said fiercely, taking her by the shoulders and moving her a few steps back from him.

“Why?” hissed Molly. “You’ve been a friend to me ever since Phillip brought you here. Why can it not be as it was?”

“Your husband is dead, Molly,” said Parker harshly.

Molly gasped. He had not meant it to come out that way. He had not meant to make despair creep into her face; he had not meant to make her sob. Without realizing what he was doing, he enfolded her in his arms. She fit there perfectly, only a few inches shorter than he was.

“I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry,” he said. She sobbed harder than ever, clinging to him as though he were her lifeline. He felt tears prick his own eyes.

“Everything cannot be as it was,” he whispered, “because nothing will ever be the same.”

 

Part Four of The Heart of Hope will be coming to you next week!

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