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  Cadence

  The Widows of Wildcat Ridge Book #13

  Charlene Raddon

  What Fans Say About Cadence

  "I loved this book. It proves home and happiness can be found in even the most unlikely spots. I do love this book best out of the series. The heroine is incredibly strong and stands up to Mortimer when many others in the series have failed to do the same. She is strong for her age and can inspire any reader to be strong when standing for what is right." ~ Sheila Mast

  "Charlene Raddon writes incredible stories. I love how the characters in this book are well developed and well written. This addition to the Widows of Wildcat Ridge series takes me into the lives that Soiled Doves lived. It shows that they are not just women selling themselves, but compassionate and caring people with feelings. These women Leda, Alma and Mae were held in their positions by a man that held something over them. Cady and Garrick are genuine people with heart and soul." ~ Sandy Sarola

  Cadence

  Copyright © 2019 by Charlene Raddon

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Charlene Raddon

  www.charleneraddon.com

  www.silversagebookcovers.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Typesetting by Cordially Chris Author Services

  Cadence/ Charlene Raddon. -- 1st ed.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to every woman who has had her freedom taken from her by a man.

  Acknowledgements

  I wish to thank my fantastic series authors for joining me on this project. Besides being great writers, they're also wonderful friends and cohorts.

  Also, thanks to my team of beta readers, with special thanks to Sheila Mast, Christine Sterling and Georgia VanDruff. I couldn't have done it without you.

  "A woman is like a tea bag; you never know how strong it is until it’s in hot water..."

  ―Eleanor Roosevelt

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Tweleve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Visit Charlene on Social Media

  Upcoming Releases

  Other Books by Charlene Raddon

  Chapter One

  October 10, 1884, Wildcat Ridge, Utah Territory

  Cadence Biggler dipped her scrub brush into a bucket of soapy water and moved to a new section of the Gentlemen Only Salon's polished pine floor. Her entire day would be spent on her knees, which were already worn and raw. Part of Mortimer Crane's plot to convince her to give into him.

  Letting him bed her would be her last resort. She needed to hold him off until she'd saved enough money to leave and find her sister Regina. Mortimer had taken her sister from her and placed her with strangers. Cady was desperate to get her back.

  In the meantime, she had to clean his entire establishment. She hated it. Hated Mortimer.

  Why did men think they had to have private men's clubs, no women allowed, anyway? Her father used to complain about not having such a place to go where he could converse with intelligent men like him, have a drink and relax. Yet, if Mama spent an afternoon at a quilting bee, he grumbled about her wasting time.

  Women had no need for a club, according to him. They had been created, after all, for the sole purpose of caring for a house and raising children. The home was where women belonged, whereas men belonged in the business world and needed time away from nagging wives and squabbling children.

  "I see you remembered to remove the rugs before you started on the floor this time. You're missing spots though."

  She looked up to see her employer, Mortimer Crane examining her work with unblinking eyes. When he started to walk away, she said, "Sir?"

  "What is it?"

  "About my sister, I wondered if —"

  "We've had this discussion before, Cady. You cannot take time from your work to visit your sister. She's well taken care of and fine where she's at. You've no need to fret about her."

  Cady swallowed the urgent need to demand proof of his claim. She hadn't seen five-year-old Regina Biggler since Mortimer brought them here and insisted Cady couldn't take care of a child and the Gentlemen Only Salon too.

  Not having Regina with her tormented Cady day and night. She had promised Mama on her deathbed to raise her sister and never leave her. Now, she could only hope Mama and Papa could see from Heaven that she was doing her best.

  "Incidentally, from now on," he added, "I want you to check and clean the receptacles in the indoor necessaries every day and empty them in the privy out back."

  Cady sank onto her ankles, about the same spot her heart occupied at the moment. "Yes, sir."

  He left the room, whistling a jovial tune. The man received great pleasure in controlling people's lives. Cady wanted to throw the soapy scrub brush at him. Or, better yet, use it to give him a sound beating. Instead, she returned to work.

  If she could only send her sister a message, so Regina would know she hadn't been abandoned.

  I'm sorry, Poppet. So sorry. I didn't mean to fail you.

  If she had money, she could hire a detective. Regrettably, by the time Mortimer deducted her living expenses, little remained of her pay.

  What living expenses? she wanted to ask. It cost him nothing for her to stay in the maid's quarters. Yes, she ate her meals in the kitchen. Even so, Henri, the cook, could tell him she ate little, certainly not enough to justify the amount Crane deducted. An entire family could dine on what it cost her to eat one breakfast of porridge and toast.

  "Cady?"

  The soiled doves from upstairs peeked in from the doorway.

  "When will you be done?" Leda, the oldest, asked. Cady wasn't sure what to think of Leda. The woman first struck her as hard and calloused, yet, every now and then, did something kind and insightful.

  Glancing around as if worried they'd get caught, Alma whispered, "We want to go to the mercantile. Can you come with us?" The words came between coughs. Alma had been ill with a bad cold for a week.

  "Oh, I'm not sure I'll ever be done. I still have the dining room to do, plus the foyer and anteroom. Now, on top of everything else, I have to clean the indoor necessaries."

  Mae's mouth fell open. "Indoor? There are necessaries indoors?"

  She was Cady's favorite of the doves, a pretty girl with blond hair darkening to brown. Cady sensed something sorrowful about Mae. Though she smiled and laughed with the others, a cloud seemed to hover over her. "Yes. One in the parlor and one upstairs by the guest rooms. For guests only."

  Cady glanced around to make sure Mortimer wasn't nearby then whispered, "Now, if anyone asks, that's what I told you. I can't help it if someone ignores the rules. But leave it as clean as you found it."

  "We will," Mae whispered back, giggling.

  Unless they cheated, the girls had to go outside to the privy, no matter the weather. They did have thunder mugs. All the bedrooms had those—and guess whose job it was to keep them empty and clean?


  Leda stepped into the room. "I'm sorry, Cady. I swear that man is trying to work you to death. Wouldn't it be easier to give in to him and let him into your bed?" Typical Leda, kindness followed by cold, hard advice.

  Cady let out a long, slow breath. "I'm sure it would be, but I'll give myself to the devil first. The very idea of him touching any part of my person sickens me."

  "I'd say giving your body to the devil would be the same as giving it to Morty," Mae said. "Stick to your guns, girl. I wish I'd had that choice."

  Cady had heard the girl make a similar comment before and wondered what story lay behind such sad words. "It's only been three months. I'm sure I can find where he's taken Regina. I need more time."

  "I wish we could help," Alma, the emotional one, said.

  "Keep an eye out for anything that might hint where she is. That could serve me very well."

  "We will," Alma said. "But I meant help with all this work you have. We don't have much to do during the daytime. We could help you."

  The others agreed.

  "Only if Mortimer didn't see you. Or his men."

  "We'll check with you first. At least we can keep our own rooms clean so you don't have to do them."

  "Not having to do your chamber pots would help."

  "Sure," Mae said. "We can do that."

  Cady smiled as she watched them go. It amused her sometimes to think how much she enjoyed talking to and being with the doves. People called them sinful and said they should be run out of town.

  No good woman would place herself in their presence. Rather than pass them on the boardwalk, they'd cross the street or at least sweep their skirts away from theirs, so they didn't touch. Yet, Cady had known some "proper" ladies who made the doves resemble angels.

  Life contained so many complexities.

  Garrick Brant adjusted the position of the camera and slid the prepared plate into place.

  "Only a few more moments, miss," he advised his waiting client. "What did you say your name is?"

  "I'm not a miss." The girl giggled. "I'm Poppet."

  He considered her an unusually small five-year-old, with dark wavy hair to her waist. Unkempt hair and a way-too-thin waist. Too thin all over. Even so, He found her adorable.

  He enjoyed photographing children more than adults or scenery. Kids were so open and trusting. He had to remind himself of his purpose to record the wild west before it was gone.

  And to find his sister.

  "That's an unusual name," he said.

  More giggles. "It's what my papa called me." She hugged the black tiger cat in her lap tighter. The cat purred.

  "Where is your papa now?" If the man in the house with his fat wife wasn't her father, who was?

  "Heaven," she said, as simply as that.

  Children amazed him. Sometimes they frightened him. Now and then, one, like Poppet, would look at him with old eyes that seemed to contain more knowledge than her age could justify.

  "I have a sister," she said.

  He glanced around at the other children in the yard. "Only one?"

  "Yes. She's not here."

  He noted the sadness in her voice and wanted to hear more, but Mrs. Pitts, the grim-faced woman in charge of the children, gave him a hurry up and go away look. He suspected she didn't like him asking questions of the kids.

  "All right, I'm ready now. Are you?"

  "Yessir." She squirmed on her chair.

  Garrick removed the lens cover, waited the required amount of time and recapped the lens. As he removed the plate, he said, "I have to take this into my wagon to develop the photograph. It will take a few minutes. You can go play while you're waiting if you want."

  "Okay." She released the cat, hopped off the chair, and skipped to the back of the house where other children weeded a garden. Rooster, Garrick's cat, started to follow until he gave a short whistle. Gazing back at him, the tom began licking his fur as if to say You don't own me.

  Garrick climbed into his wagon, latched the door and began the developing process. First, he beat egg whites until they turned into a clear yellow liquid. He floated a piece of photograph paper on the albumen made from the eggs until it dried and did the same with a tray of silver nitrate. Then the sensitized paper was ready to be placed in contact with the negative, framed and exposed to sunlight.

  Poppet came running the minute he stepped out of the wagon. "Is that my picture?"

  "It certainly is. At least, it will be once the light helps it to develop. Want to watch?"

  "Yes." She moved close. "There's nothing there." Rooster stood in front of her, a hopeful expression on his whiskered face. Seemed he never got enough attention.

  "That's because it hasn't been exposed to the light long enough." Garrick hunkered beside her. "Look. See how it's getting darker? That's the picture coming through."

  "Oh. It's magic!" Excited, she raced off to find the other children. "Joey, Annie, come see my picture come alive. It's magic."

  Chuckling, Garrick moved the frame out of reach of small dirty fingers and gave Rooster a pat.

  Mrs. Pitts emerged from the house. "Did I hear Poppet say the photograph is ready?"

  "It's coming up now, ma'am. It takes a few minutes in the sun to develop."

  She watched the photo gradually appear while the children oohed and aahed at the magic of it.

  "Humph," Mrs. Pitts snorted once the image finished evolving. "Lot of trouble for nothing if you ask me. Good thing you ain't askin' fer money 'cause I wouldn't pay none."

  She tramped back to the house. Garrick grimaced. Some people couldn't appreciate anything other than money and food. Mrs. Pitts obviously had a great deal of gratitude for food. Yet, the children resembled twigs.

  It made him a little ill to look at them. He wanted to buy them a meal, let them eat to their hearts' content. Instinct told him taking them to town wouldn't be allowed. The Pitts preferred to keep the kids within sight.

  Garrick took the photo from the frame and handed it to Poppet. "Take good care of that. Don't get fingerprints all over it."

  "I will, Mr. Brant. Thank you." She held it down for Rooster to see.

  "Are you going to take my picture now?" Joey asked.

  Garrick made a show of taking out his pocket watch. "I'm afraid I'm out of time. I need to depart Cranesville today. I have a schedule to keep, you see. But I'll be back."

  He ruffled the boy's hair, sorry he couldn't take the time to photograph them all. Joey ran off after Poppet who walked slowly to the house, holding her picture like a perfect, precious snowflake.

  Garrick stored a copy of Poppet's photo in his desk in the wagon before harnessing the horses. Tonight he'd stay in town. In the morning, he would drive to Curdy's Crossing. A week or so there, another week or two in Wildcat Ridge, and he'd be done with this part of Utah Territory.

  Without finding his sister, July.

  Chapter Two

  Wildcat Ridge, Two Weeks Later

  Mortimer slapped Cady so hard she staggered but caught herself. To keep from screaming or crying out, she bit her lip, knowing he enjoyed seeing others suffer. She would never willingly kowtow to him. To give herself time to regain her composure, she appraised the sitting room they occupied.

  Mortimer loved wood and heavy furniture throughout the Gentlemen Only Salon. The walls were paneled with the same dark-stained pine that covered the floors.

  Her calm restored, she raised her chin and focused on Mortimer. "Please, don't do that again, Mr. Crane."

  "No?" His cigar bobbed between his lips as laughter rippled through the room. "What are you going to do about it? When you choose to sass me, punishment is what you can expect."

  She glanced at his hired gun, Lach, hoping to see some sign that he would interfere on her behalf. He lounged in a wingback chair, meeting her gaze with a coldness that chilled her. Mortimer seemed to change his henchmen as often as his mind, but Lach was the worse she'd seen so far.

  Lach smiled and she shivered.

&nb
sp; The monster had enjoyed seeing her struck. He had no intention or desire to help her. She must remember that. She had sensed a darkness in him. Now she knew what caused it—he had no heart.

  Curling her hands into fists at her side, she sought whatever strength and courage she could muster and returned her attention to Mortimer.

  "I didn't sass you, Mr. Crane. I simply said I would not go to your room with you. I am not a whore."

  "No? One of those hotel rooms I paid for was for a Mr. and Mrs. Randy Filcher, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, but—"

  He stepped uncomfortably close. "You forget that if not for me, you and that sister of yours would still be huddled on a bench in the rain without a dime in your pocket or a place to go."

  For an instant, her mind flashed back to that wet bench, with Regina sobbing beside her, and shame for allowing them to be placed in such unthinkable circumstances eating her up.

  She'd believed Randy to be honorable. When he informed her he expected her to sleep with him, even though they couldn't be married until the next day, she'd fled to Regina's room. The next morning, Randy had gone—without paying the hotel bill.

  "I'm cold and hungry, Cady," Regina had whined.

  "So am I," she'd answered. "We'll go to the train depot. It will be warm there."

  "But they don't have food, Cady."

  "I know. I'll figure something out, Poppet. Let's go get warm and I'll—"

  "Excuse me," a gentleman said. "I suspect you are in trouble. Am I right?"

  Cady just stared at the stranger.

  "My name is Mortimer Crane. I came to Evanston in search of a maid for my… uh, club in Wildcat Ridge, a small mining town in those mountains over there—" He pointed to some high, rugged peaks in the distance. "—Would you be interested, by any chance?"

  Was she interested? No, but she had no money and a five-year-old sister to care for. What choice did she have?