Tainted Dreams Read online

  Tainted Dreams

  by Christi Corbett

  Published by Clean Reads

  www.cleanreads.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  TAINTED DREAMS

  Copyright © 2015 CHRISTI CORBETT

  ISBN 978-1-62135-415-4

  Cover Art Designed by AM DESIGN STUDIOS

  To My Mom

  Acknowledgements

  My Sincere Thanks to…

  My family and friends,

  For your encouragement and support.

  Kevin Hatfield,

  Adjunct Assistant Professor for the Department of History, University of Oregon,

  For taking the time to educate me on the countless challenges women faced when settling in Oregon Territory. Your advice and information allowed me to understand the real “legal loophole” in the Land Claims Law.

  Douglas Card,

  For your insight into early Oregon.

  My critique partners, Margo Kelly and Artemis Grey,

  For taking time away from your own writing to dig deep into my early drafts, for offering your in-depth analysis on character motivations, and for being there from the very first page of Kate and Jake’s journey west. Mere words cannot express how grateful I am to have you both in my writing life.

  My Content Editor, Nia Shay,

  For slogging through every page, and uncovering a ridiculous amount of errors and commas. Your attention to detail is phenomenal, and much appreciated!

  My Beta Readers: Tracy Smith, Jenny Bloom, Michelle Naquin, Brenda Basham Newsome and Heather Trenk.

  For giving your opinions and suggestions to help make the book better.

  The Ridge Writers,

  For providing insight and guidance with a smile, and for talking me down when I get frantic about word choice.

  Jackie L. Meadows and Christie Nicholas,

  For lending me informative books that helped me portray Oregon with greater depth.

  The staff at Mazama Sporting Goods,

  For sharing your knowledge about guns of the 1840’s.

  Scott Curry, Peter Bergin, and Megan Full,

  For helping me figure out French.

  “TV” Jeff,

  For keeping my virus-addicted computer limping along.

  And finally,

  Stephanie Taylor,

  For making my writing dreams come true.

  Chapter One

  Oregon City

  Wednesday, November 8, 1843

  Jake Fitzpatrick clenched reins and slapped flank as his horse thundered down the hillside overlooking Oregon City. His lovely Kate rode alongside him, her smile jubilant as she stood in her stirrups to take in the long-awaited sight of buildings and homes lining the banks of the Willamette River.

  Together they'd survived and conquered the Oregon Trail. Six months and two shallow graves lay behind them, and now Oregon Territory and all its possibilities spread out before them.

  Trail life was over.

  Jake caught sight of the trampled grass path that led to the town’s entrance and slowed his horse. Kate did the same. William and Margaret, a married couple who'd joined them during the last leg of the trail—rafting the dreaded Columbia River—gathered close behind with two packhorses in tow.

  "We're about half a mile from a town that's neither settled, nor civilized," said Jake. "We'll ride in four across, William and I on the outside."

  "Why?" Margaret asked.

  "Darkness tempts men who spend their day against a rail, tipping back false courage by the glass. Women are rare out here, and the rowdier men might approach for a closer look."

  Jake's jaw tightened at the mere thought of someone hurting his precious Katie. Though she was only twenty-two years old, she'd already suffered a lifetime of sorrows. He was determined to protect her from any more unhappiness.

  After they'd repositioned themselves four wide, William looked to Kate with a wistful frown. "I almost wish Margaret was dressed like you, Kate. No ruffian will give you a second glance."

  Jake's eyes narrowed at the veiled insult, but Kate was quicker. "Impressive," she said.

  "What?" William asked.

  "How with one statement you've declared your value of propriety over safety, and insulted me—the woman who helped save your life not two weeks ago."

  Jake chuckled softly as William stammered through a clumsy retraction. Kate had a fiery temper when riled, a fact he knew firsthand since he'd been on the receiving end of her ire a time or two. Judging by the set of her jaw, the next few minutes wouldn't bode well for William. However, instead of another biting retort, Kate merely looked to Jake with a sly smile.

  "It seems my choice for comfort has yet another advantage." She patted her trouser-clad leg. "A disguise."

  Jake knew different. Though she'd abandoned dresses and bonnets midway through their journey in favor of men's clothes, the sturdy attire couldn't hide her curves, and her father's hat did nothing to conceal the auburn curls trailing down her back.

  While Kate graciously accepted William's apology, Jake shifted in his saddle to check his rifle and pistol once again. The distraction helped tamp down the urge to pull her onto his saddle, to keep her where his arms or his gun could shield her from the hard days to come. She'd refuse, of course. After overcoming everything the trail had thrown her way, she'd fight him like a wildcat if he dared to suggest she cling to him instead of relying on her own abilities. Her stubborn strength made him love her all the more.

  Jake forced a reassuring smile for the group. "Ready?"

  They murmured their agreement and he started them off, keeping a slow, steady pace. A quarter-mile later William broke the silence. "I hadn't thought to ask before now, but do you two have a place to stay tonight?"

  Kate turned to face Jake, her wide eyes betraying her trepidation. "I figured once I reached town I'd take up residence in the store my father purchased, but he never told me where it's located and the deed doesn't have a map."

  William smiled sympathetically. "My uncle owns the town's hotel. He has a room waiting for me and Margaret. I'm sure two more won't be a problem."

  Margaret snorted her disgust. "William, I refuse to live in a hotel for any longer than I must. We have to claim our land and build a home right away."

  "My dear wife," William said, "right now we don't even have a blanket to our name. There's a bath and a bed waiting for us, and I'm not too eager to leave them for a frigid river or a bedroll anytime soon."

  Jake pulled off his hat and eyed the brim, now stained with the sweat of hard miles and brutal decisions. He ran dirt-caked fingers through his stiff, shaggy hair, neglected of a proper washing for nearly a month and scissors for three. A hot bath certainly sounded appealing—it'd be his first in six months. Fresh clothes sounded even better. All but one of his shirts had been left trailside as tourniquets and bandages, his threadbare overcoat held more patches than a quilt, and he'd lost a boot heel rafting the Columbia. Any reputable cobbler would take one look at his boots and recommend the nearest burn pile. His hat and rank clothes should probably follow.

  "A hotel would be much appreciated." Kate's saddle creaked as she twisted toward William. "Are you sure it won't be any trouble?"

  "Given all you two have done for us, it's the least I can do," William sa
id. "Well, that and settling up on the sixty dollars I owe for the raft fare. No need to worry; my uncle should be able to repay you tonight."

  "Two rooms, then," Jake relented, taking note of smoke curling from chimneys and drifting across the darkening sky. While he'd intended on them camping outside of the city that night, Kate needed the protection and warmth of a hotel room, and he couldn't risk the money and deeds she carried in her pocket. "Kate and I will get cleaned up, and tomorrow after I collect what I'm owed we'll be on our way."

  Once he recouped the money he'd lent William, he and Kate could leave town and start searching for the house her father had purchased before they'd left Virginia. He was eager to begin their new life together, starting with a proper proposal—something he should have done days ago.

  Oregon City was just a momentary interruption to his well-laid plans. Plans for a future he hadn't had a chance to explain. A future with a woman who now sat stiff in her saddle, eyes forward and narrow, likely mulling over how he'd just answered for her.

  "Of course, that's if she agrees," he amended.

  Before she had a chance to forgive him, a man stumbled from the shadows of a building about twenty yards ahead.

  Jake slid his rifle from its scabbard and laid it across his thighs, his finger waiting alongside the trigger. Given the man's staggering, he likely had only one thing on his mind—finding a place to sober up—but if trouble loomed, Jake intended to be ready.

  All were silent as the stranger lurched across the road and then steadied himself against a lone pine tree on the left. With a gurgling groan, the man bent at the waist.

  Jake's tension, and finger, eased. Any man content with splattering a day's wages onto the dirt posed no threat, except to himself.

  He urged the group on and led them directly into Oregon City. On their left ran the Willamette River. A set of falls—small in size but powerful enough to support several mills—spanned a gentle curve in its course. The main street through town ran parallel to the river and consisted of mud and hoof-print-sized puddles of standing water. Boardwalks on either side provided relief to townsfolk who opted for traveling by foot instead of horse or wagon. Businesses and houses crowded together in a refreshing glimpse of progress and stability.

  Jake's senses were overloaded with the massive changes that had taken place after the last time he'd left—in spring of 1841. While the smells and sounds were the same as his first two trips in, this time there was so much more to see.

  More buildings. More two-story clapboard houses on the hillside across the river, their boards already weathered from exposure to endless misty rain. More horses lined up at hitching posts, their hooves shifting between pungent piles. And further down the street, there'd be more men milling through the saloon's swinging doors.

  Jake leaned to Kate and spoke low. "Well, what do you think?"

  She let out a shaky laugh. "It certainly is different."

  Different indeed. They'd traveled across barren country for six months with only forts scattered along the way. The crudeness of a settlement striving toward civilization had to be a shock.

  Beside him, Kate rode with tight lips, a straight spine, and her chin up. A stranger might peg her as steady and brave, but he knew her well. Very well. He saw her uncertainty as she took in darkened alleys and men lingering against building corners, tapping their pipes into barrels of musty, standing water. He saw her disgust as she stared at horse troughs, their outsides slick with mold, and kitchen gardens rife with weeds and neglect. However, most important to him was what he didn't see in her eyes.

  Regret.

  Angry shouts rang out from the alley near the blacksmith's building and Kate urged Nina, her prized mare, closer to him. Jake patted her hand, eager to reassure her of his protection, both now and for the rest of his life.

  Men appeared from the shadows to stare openly at Kate and Margaret, but Jake detected only low, appreciative murmurs or indifferent shakes of their heads. Things changed a block later when they rode by a crowd of drunken men. Upon seeing the women, they lost interest in singing their loud, raucous songs in favor of catcalling.

  Glares from Jake shut them up and he led his group past the leering, but now silent, men.

  At the end of the block a man burst from the saloon and stumbled into the street, stopping mere inches from Jake's horse, Plug. Instead of backing away, the man lurched forward and reached for Jake's saddle horn.

  "Hey there!" Jake said. Raising his left leg, he ignored the resulting twinge of pain and shoved the stranger aside with his boot heel. "Watch it!"

  The man drew back and stared at him, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. He raised an unsteady finger, slurred an unintelligible response, and then fell face-first into a patch of mud.

  "Drunken fool," Jake muttered, then faced the others. "Let's keep moving."

  High-pitched squealing foiled his plan.

  On the upper deck of the saloon a horde of harlots stood clustered together, giggling and shrieking as they pointed toward him. Clenching his jaw, he focused on the street ahead, all the while hoping Kate didn't notice one woman in particular who'd separated herself from the others and was now hanging over the railing, calling him by name.

  Jake pressed his boot heels into Plug's side, urging him to a steady trot. Thankfully the others followed and they quickly left the saloon behind.

  Minutes later, Kate motioned to the end of the street. "William, we're running out of road and I still don't see a hotel."

  William pulled a rumpled paper from his pocket. He studied it briefly and then eyed the surrounding buildings. "My uncle sent me a rough sketch of where it's located, but there are so many new buildings, it's useless. Jake, do you know where it's at?"

  Jake shook his head. "There wasn't a hotel the last time I was here."

  "Perhaps one of those men sitting in front of the apothecary would know?" Margaret suggested.

  "We'll find it ourselves," Jake replied. He led the group around the corner and onto the next street.

  Buildings, so new their fresh pine scent still hung in the air, lined one side of the street while the other side held only two—an enormous livery and a two-story building with the word Hotel prominently displayed on a white sign with black lettering. A matching sign beside a light-rimmed window read Rooms Available by the Day or Week.

  They dismounted, secured their horses to the empty hitching posts in front of the hotel, and headed for the door. William reached for the glass knob, then turned to the others with a worried frown.

  "I haven't seen my uncle in over seven years, so I don't know what to expect. Though from what I've observed so far, living out west doesn't seem to improve manners." He stepped inside and ushered Margaret and Kate through the doorway. Jake followed them, then stopped cold.

  Behind the hotel's front desk sat Theodore Martin—the one man Jake never wanted to see again as long as he lived.

  Chapter Two

  Buried Memories

  Kate entered the hotel lobby and stood behind William and Margaret. While she waited for Jake to join her, she gazed around the spacious room.

  Rag rugs dotted the gleaming pine board floor and a marble-topped oak desk sat in the back left corner. Navy plaid curtains on both windows—one overlooking the front steps and the other facing the alley—were pulled closed, yet the room was well lit by three oil lamps and warmed by flames flickering in the stone fireplace at the back wall.

  Behind her, Jake shut the door and then stepped so close she felt the brim of her hat brush against his chest.

  Jake—the man who'd hired on as her family's guide across the Oregon Trail.

  Jake—the man who'd supported her through the darkest time of her life.

  Jake—the man she loved.

  "William! You're finally here!" The man Kate assumed to be William's uncle rose to his feet and hurried around the desk and across the room. Though by the creases around his eyes he looked to be in his early forties, he had hair the color of coal, broad
shoulders, and a trim waist. His clothing, while outdated by nearly a decade, was impeccable, and a brown silk cravat perfectly arranged at his neck and embellished with a gold pin completed the outfit.

  This man was a welcome change from the other men she’d seen so far in the town.

  "I've been waiting for you to walk through that door for weeks." He grabbed William into a fierce hug, then pulled back to look at him again. "I was worried you'd run into trouble."

  "We did," William replied.

  "We?" William's uncle finally took note of the others lingering at his door. His eyes scanned the ragged group, narrowed briefly when they reached Jake, and then returned to his nephew.

  William removed his hat and beckoned Margaret a few steps forward to join him. "Uncle Theodore, I'm proud to introduce you to my wife, Margaret. We married the day before departing from Independence."

  Theodore took Margaret's hand and bowed with a grace and confidence Kate hadn't seen since the ballrooms of Virginia. "Please pardon my initial shock. My nephew is a lucky man to have a bride as lovely as you."

  "Thank you," Margaret murmured, absently running her free hand along the curve of her waist.

  "You're welcome." Theodore released her hand. "I consider it a privilege to have you as a member of our family." He straightened and eyed the lobby doorway, where Kate still waited with Jake at her back. His smile faded. "William, you mentioned trouble earlier, a fact that doesn't surprise me now that I see who you kept company with on the trail."

  Kate's mouth dropped open. What had she or Jake done to offend this man?

  "The return to civilization can be a tough adjustment." Theodore motioned to William's bare head, then to his hat clutched against his leg. "I'm pleased to see you haven't forgotten the formalities of polite society."