FREE The Candy Cane Champion Episode Three

 Happy Friday, everyone.

As promised, here is Episode Two of The Candy Cane Champion.

I hope you enjoy!

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EPISODE TWO

Ramsey Dalton winced as Gerard Stover's fist struck his opponent in the jaw. The force of the blow sent the man staggering backward before he collapsed onto the mat. Around Ramsey, the crowd erupted into cheers, shouting, jumping, and stamping their feet.

Ramsey couldn't understand what there was to celebrate about watching a man get knocked senseless. He supposed there were circumstances in which a fellow had good reason to use his fists, but exchanging blows merely for the entertainment of others wasn't something that appealed to him. Whatever satisfaction the spectators found in it, he couldn't see the attraction.

Having arrived by train only yesterday, Ramsey had spent much of the day familiarizing himself with Whalerton and looking for opportunities to establish himself as a painter. He'd chosen the thriving town partly because it offered possibilities for earning a living and partly because it was far enough from home that his father's creditors were unlikely to come looking for him.

There was little sense in remaining where every dollar he managed to scrape together was claimed before he could put it to good use.

He'd left his name at several Whalerton establishments, offering painting lessons to anyone interested, and had even resorted to putting up a sign advertising his services.

At lunchtime, he'd stopped at Maude's boardinghouse for a bowl of soup and some crackers. The simple meal had surprisingly hit the spot. There had been times at home when even that much food would have been considered a luxury.

He'd already spent a portion of his meager savings securing his room at Maude's, and tomorrow he'd have to part with a little more to place an advertisement in the newspaper. The prospect didn't particularly appeal to him. Spending money before he'd earned any was hardly the beginning he'd envisioned, but how else was he to find students in a town where nobody knew his name?

Ramsey snorted to himself. What would his mother think if she could see him now? All those years she'd encouraged his talent, praised his paintings, and insisted he was capable of becoming a respected artist. And here he was, practically begging strangers to allow him to teach them how to hold a paintbrush.

Still, pride wouldn't pay for his room or purchase the supplies he needed. If teaching lessons was what it took to establish himself, he'd teach lessons. He certainly wasn't about to return home with his tail between his legs.

He'd spent too many years struggling to earn a living under his father's roof to surrender his independence now.

His mother had always believed he possessed the talent to become a respected artist. His father, on the other hand, had never shown the slightest interest in his paintings unless there was money to be made from them.

Ramsey had spent too many years watching his earnings disappear into his father's pockets. Whatever money he managed to make in Whalerton would be his to manage, and he intended to make every penny count.

His mother would have been pleased to see him making a beginning for himself. How he wished she'd lived long enough to witness it.

With the bout over, Ramsey made his way out of the boxing club and onto the street. He'd spent enough time watching other men earn their living. It was high time he found a way to earn his own.

As Ramsey continued through Whalerton, he found himself studying the buildings with an artist's eye. There were several establishments that might make interesting subjects for a painting, although whether anyone would be willing to purchase the finished work was another matter.

Near the edge of town, he came upon an estate so magnificent that he stopped in his tracks. Now, there was a house worth painting.

Even in early fall, when the rosebushes had long since surrendered their blooms, the estate possessed a beauty that immediately captured Ramsey's imagination. He could almost picture it in summer, with roses spilling over the gardens and sunlight warming the walls of the house.

But it was the windows that truly caught his attention. Good heavens, the light!

Tall, magnificent windows stretched along the house, promising an abundance of natural light within. What he wouldn't give to set up an easel in one of those rooms, with the afternoon sunshine illuminating his canvas.

His gaze travelled over the estate again, studying the proportions of the house and the way the bare branches of the surrounding trees framed the building. Already, he was mentally selecting his colours and deciding where he'd position his easel to capture the best perspective.

"That's the Stover estate," a voice remarked beside him. "Richest family in town."

Ramsey turned to find a short, middle-aged gentleman with more white than brown in his neatly combed hair. His suit was of a newer cut than Ramsey's own, and considerably less worn. The fellow had apparently mistaken his interest in the estate for something other than artistic appreciation.

The man shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "You'd be best to avoid them," he said. "The young woman who lives there, Miss Lily Rose Stover, is protected by a dragon."

A dragon?

Ramsey chuckled. Surely the fellow was having a bit of fun at his expense. But his amusement faded when he noticed the seriousness of the man's expression.

"I wouldn't go courting her, if I were you," the stranger continued. "Even if she is a good-looking woman with a lot of money coming her way, it's not worth it." With that, the stranger went on his way.

Ramsey glanced toward the house again. He hadn't given a moment's thought to whether a young woman lived there, much less whether she was beautiful or wealthy. All he'd seen was a magnificent building practically begging to be captured on canvas.

Apparently, admiring a house in this town was enough to have a man accused of pursuing its occupant.

A dragon, indeed. Ramsey supposed the young woman's father must be one of those overprotective sorts who considered every unmarried man a potential threat to his daughter's virtue. Well, the fellow could rest easy. He had no intention of courting anyone's daughter, wealthy or otherwise. He had more pressing concerns than finding himself a wife.

For the first time that afternoon, Ramsey felt a measure of optimism. He hadn't come all this way to spend the rest of his life worrying about money. He'd come to make something of himself, and if that meant beginning with a painting of a stranger's house, so be it.

With that encouraging prospect in mind, he continued toward Maude's boardinghouse. Five dollars a week for a room and three meals a day was a bargain Ramsey couldn't afford to dismiss. The prospect of sitting down to a proper supper every evening was something he could certainly appreciate.

His mother would have been pleased. She'd often expressed concern over his weight, insisting he was growing far too thin.

"No one will trust somebody who looks like he hasn't eaten in two months," she'd told him. "Take care of yourself, and people will respond."

Ramsey could almost hear her voice, that familiar mixture of affection and concern he'd known throughout his childhood. He wished she'd taken her own advice.

That evening, supper consisted of roast, biscuits, green beans, mashed potatoes, and all the gravy that mashed potatoes cried for. Ramsey surveyed the generous spread with appreciation.

Good heavens, when was the last time he'd sat down to a meal like this? He certainly wasn't going to need much encouragement to fill his plate.

Nevertheless, Maude seemed determined to make certain he ate his fill. The plump, rosy-cheeked woman, whom Ramsey guessed to be somewhere in her forties, bustled about the table, encouraging her boarders to help themselves to another biscuit or an extra spoonful of potatoes.

She was a cheerful soul, spending much of the meal talking and joking with her tenants as though she'd known them all their lives. She called them her boys, a term Ramsey found rather endearing, considering most of the fellows were only nineteen.

He couldn't help liking her. There was something rather comforting about being fussed over, especially when the fussing involved a second helping of roast.

As the meal progressed, the other boarders began sharing stories about their work at the shipyard. Ramsey listened with interest as they discussed the vessels presently under construction, the long hours, and the possibility of additional work in the coming months.

"Word is they've got another three ships on the building schedule," one fellow announced, reaching for a biscuit. "If that goes through, we'll have more work than we know what to do with."

"Won't hear me complaining," another replied. "Not if they're paying us well for it."

"You've been complaining about splinters in your thumb since you started working there, and they haven't even laid the keels for those new ships," someone remarked, bringing a round of laughter from the table.

Ramsey smiled as he helped himself to another spoonful of potatoes. These fellows certainly weren't afraid of hard work. Most had come from other towns in search of employment, much as he had, although their skills lay in building ships rather than painting pictures.

From the sound of things, the shipyard workers had little reason to worry about finding employment. Ramsey couldn't help wishing his own prospects were as promising. Still, he'd only been in Whalerton since yesterday. It was hardly reasonable to expect commissions and students to come knocking at his door already.

There was something encouraging about hearing them discuss the future with such confidence. Prosperous townspeople might be more inclined to spend money on portraits and landscapes.

At least, he hoped so.

As the conversation drifted away from shipyard matters, one of the newer boarders, a fellow named Henry, leaned forward with an interested expression. Ramsey hadn't spoken much with him, but he'd already noticed that Henry was quick with a grin and seldom allowed an opportunity to offer his opinion to pass him by.

"Say, what can you fellows tell me about the Stover family?" Henry asked, setting down his fork.

Ramsey glanced up from his plate.

"What about them?" one of the men asked.

"I hear they're the wealthiest family around these parts." Henry reached for his water glass. "And I hear there's a young heiress living up at that grand house of theirs. Quite a looker, from what I've been told."

A couple of the men exchanged glances.

"Miss Lily Rose Stover?" one asked.

"That's the one." Henry grinned. "Pretty girl, plenty of money. Surprises me some fortunate fellow hasn't married her already."

"Are you looking to get your neck broken?" one of the young men asked, his tone mocking.

Henry laughed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means you'd best keep your distance if you know what's good for you."

"Why? Is she already spoken for?"

"Not that I know of. But there's a reason she hasn't married, and it isn't for lack of fellows wanting to court her."

Ramsey remembered the stranger he'd encountered outside the Stover estate. So the fellow hadn't been exaggerating about a dragon guarding Miss Lily Rose after all.

"Her brother," another boarder explained. "That's your trouble. Nobody gets near Miss Lily Rose without answering to him."

"Her brother?" Henry repeated.

"The Stover dragon, as some fellows call him,” one fellow answered. "Gerard Stover, of Stover's Boxing Club. You must have heard of him.""

Ramsey paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. Gerard Stover?

"You mean the local boxing champion?" Henry asked.

"Who else?"

Ramsey lowered his fork. The man he'd watched knock his opponent senseless that afternoon was Miss Lily Rose Stover's brother?

So that was the dragon! And here he'd imagined some stern old father standing guard over his daughter's virtue. Well, that explained a great deal.

"There's talk that one fellow never properly recovered from the trouncing he got in the ring after he went after Miss Lily Rose," another boarder continued.

"I doubt that," Henry scoffed.

"Doubt it all you please. I've seen Gerard fight. He might look respectable enough when he's dressed for business, but you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of one of his punches."

Ramsey glanced at Henry, wondering whether the warning had given him reason to reconsider his interest in the young heiress.

If anything, Henry appeared amused. "So that's all there is to it?" Henry asked. "A brother who thinks he can frighten every man away from his sister?"

"All there is to it?" one of the boarders repeated incredulously. "You get yourself into a ring with Gerard Stover, and you'll find out soon enough."

Henry leaned back in his chair. "Well, I reckon there are ways around that brute of a brother. I can outwit the Stover dragon without setting so much as one foot inside the ring or throwing a single punch."

A few of the men laughed, though Ramsey noticed that not everyone seemed amused.

"That's easy enough to say when you're sitting at a supper table," one fellow remarked.

"Mark my words," Henry replied. "There's more than one way to get what a determined man wants."

Ramsey regarded Henry with renewed interest. The fellow certainly thought himself clever. Whether he possessed the intelligence to support such an opinion was another matter entirely.

Apparently, Henry regarded courting a young woman as a contest to be won. Ramsey couldn't imagine approaching marriage in such a fashion. A wife was supposed to be a companion, not a prize awarded to the fellow who managed to outwit her family.

As far as Ramsey was concerned, Henry was welcome to try his luck with the Stover dragon. Ramsey had no interest in courting an heiress himself, regardless of how pretty or wealthy she might be.

No, thank you. He liked his face exactly as it was, not rearranged for him. And he certainly had no intention of risking his hands in a boxing ring. A painter depended upon his fingers, and Ramsey had worked far too hard to jeopardize his livelihood.

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Come back next Friday for Episode Three