Fire on the Plains (Western Fire) (32 page)

“Do you see that bright star
?” he whispered softly in her ear. “For centuries, that Pole Star has guided men who have lost their way.” Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Ben pulled her snugly against him. “Before I met you, I was one of those lost men. In fact, had it not been for you, I would probably have spent the rest of my born days wandering aimlessly. But then you came along and offered me a new life. It’s solely because of you that I found my heart again. And while you may be southern-born, you, Lydia Strong, are my North Star.”

Lydia swallowed the tight knot in her throat. As she turned to face
her husband, she recited an apropos line from one of her favorite sonnets, “Love ‘is the star to every wandering bark.’”

“That’s
from one of Shakespeare’s sonnets, isn’t it?”

As she peered into Ben’s beloved gray eyes,
Lydia’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “And here I thought that you preferred Mister Whitman’s bawdy verses.”

His spirits buoyed
by the realization that, together, they’d just weathered a tempestuous storm, Ben said, “Old Walt’s not always bawdy. In fact, he can be downright profound on occasion.”

“Indeed?”

“‘We were together. I forget the rest,’” he quoted from memory, thinking that no truer words had ever been penned. Then, forgetting all else save for the woman standing before him, Ben pulled Lydia into the circle of his arms.

“I stand corrected, Mister Strong.”

“Not for long,” Ben husked just before he hooked a leg around Lydia’s knees. Smiling at his wife’s squeal of surprise, he eased her to the ground and quickly covered her body with his.

More than anything,
Ben wanted to make love to his wife. He’d even go so far as to say that he
needed
to make love to his wife. If, for no other reason, than to assure himself that the past few days had strengthened their love rather than weakened it.

Framing
Lydia’s flushed cheeks between his hands, Ben stared into the beautiful face that had haunted so many of his waking hours. “Do you trust me, Lydia?”

“With all my heart and all my soul.”

Humbled by the love that he saw reflected in Lydia’s luminous green eyes, Ben said, “Being a rough-n-tumble ex-soldier, I’m not nearly as poetic in my language as you are. But I want you to know, Lydia, that I’ll always love you. I’ll always protect you. And I’ll always keep you close to my heart.”

“Oh, I believe there was poetry enough in those words.” As
she spoke, Lydia wrapped her arms around Ben’s back, her fingers digging into the fabric of his gray tunic. Then, raising her head, she sweetly kissed him.

Hoping to stir up more than
a chaste kiss, Ben wedged his lower body between Lydia’s thighs as he tugged her calico skirt to her knees. “How about some poetry in motion, hmm?”

Lydia playfully swatted him on the shoulder.
“Ben, you’re incorrigible!”

“Isn’t that why you fell in love with me?”

“It was one of many reasons,” she informed him. Finagling a hand between their two bodies, she began to unbutton his tunic. “You do know, Mister Strong, that you look quite handsome in gray.”

“Trust me, I look better in blue,” Ben growled before kissing
Lydia into silence . . . a silence soon broken by two cries of pleasure. One male. One female.

Seven weeks ago, if anyone had
dared to inform ex-Union captain Benjamin Strong that he’d ever be so gloriously happy, he would’ve have called ‘em out for being a no-count liar.

Now, not a day passed that he didn’t t
hank God for blessing him with his own North Star, a fiery-haired beauty who illuminated his life, brightened the way, and made every day worth living.

Strong Ranch House

Spring, 1868

“
No, Ben, I don’t trust you! In regards to this matter, you are completely and
utterly
wrong.”

“Given that I’m the man in the family, it’s nigh impossible for me to ever be wrong. After
three years of marriage, you ought to know that.”

Riled, Lydia
clasped her hands together in front of her waist. This wasn’t the first time that she and Ben had engaged in this particular argument. Nor, she suspected, would it be the last.

“Head of the household or not, you still don’t know the first thing about child-rearing.”

Ben waggled a dark eyebrow. “I knew enough to plant not one, but two babes in your belly.”

“A fact for which you are immensely proud.”

“What man wouldn’t be? That’s why I want to take the lil’ tykes out to inspect the herd. It’s about time that they see their future inheritance.”

While pleased that Ben enjoyed fatherhood, Lydia couldn’t seem to make him understand that
at one year of age, his twin sons were too young to be hauled around the ranch like two pouches of grain. Last week she’d been horrified to discover that he’d used empty feed sacks to carry his sons on either side of his saddle, forcing her to run after his mount screaming like a banshee.

“
Since you won’t let me take ‘em out on the range, how about I take ‘em down to the bunkhouse? The cowhands got a big kick out of it that last time.”

Lydia’s eyes opened wide with surprise. “I didn’t know there’d been a
first
time.”

“You were, um, entertaining some ladies.” Ben peered into the two identical cradles situated side-by-side in the parlor window of their newly built hacienda. “You know, I still can’t tell
who is who,” he said over his shoulder.

Smiling indulgently, Lydia stepped over to the cradles. “Really, Ben. Even Dixie can tell the twins apart. All you have to do is look at them to know that this one is Noah, and this one is
—”

“Amos,” he finished for her. “How did you do that? And how does Dixie do it? As near as I can tell Noah and Amos are mirror images of one another.”

“Although they may look the same, rest assured they have completely different personalities. Noah is quiet and circumspect; whereas Amos is the more impulsive of the two.”

Ben
chuckled softly as he turned away from the cradles. “How you can tell such a thing when they’re sound asleep is beyond me. I think I’ll just wait until they’ve got all their teeth and they can talk in full sentences, then I’ll figure out who’s who. Oh, I almost forgot.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, Ben removed a sealed envelope. “I picked this up while I was in town earlier today. It appears to be letter from your former brother-in-law Spencer McCabe.”

Surprised to receive the unexpected missive, Lydia examined both sides of the envelope
. “While your sister Mercy is a regular correspondent, in the three years since we wed, this is the first time that Spencer has put pen to paper.”

Ben shrugged. “Well, we won’t know the why of it until you open the darn
ed thing. I suspect he’s just writing to apprise us that my sister is expecting another baby. Having fathered three children in as many years, it’s a wonder the man finds time to tend to his farm. We’ve only got the two, and they run me ragged.”

“Are you complaining?”
Lydia inquired teasingly.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way
, and you know it.”

“I do know.” Lydia smiled
at her husband. “But it does my heart good to hear you say it from time-to-time.”

Still smiling, she slipped a finger under the envelope flap, extracting a single sheet
of cream-colored paper. As she read the first paragraph, an agonized moan suddenly caught in her throat.

Clutching the letter to her bosom,
Lydia turned to Ben and said, “It’s about Spencer’s brother Dewey,” she whispered, barely able to get the words past her quivering lips.

Eleven
years ago, when Dewey and his sister Ginny were tragically orphaned as young children, Lydia had taken the two McCabe siblings under her wing. Although related only through marriage, she considered the two of them no different than her own offspring.

“According to the letter, Dewey . . . killed a . . . a
—”

Ben snatched the sheet of paper out of her hand
and quickly scanned the letter’s contents. “Christ Almighty! Dewey killed a Union military officer.” Her husband shook his head, an incredulous look on his face. “As I recall, he was a polite, quiet boy. Hardly the makings of a bloodthirsty killer.”

Lydia motioned for Ben to return the letter
to her. Slowly, trying to reason her way around each word, each sentence, she read the missive through to the end. “Spencer claims that Dewey had no choice but to kill the Union officer. Although the letter is unclear as to
why
he committed so heinous a crime.”

“It doesn’t matter
why he did it . . . it’s a hanging offense.”

“But he’s just a boy!
” Lydia protested.

“Dewey McCabe
is nineteen years of age. That makes him a man in the eyes of the law,” Ben said grimly.

Her legs trembling beneath her starched petticoats, Lydia lowered herself
onto the green velvet settee.

Unbidden, a myriad of cherished memories came to the fore
– Dewey as a young child chasing fireflies; Dewey shyly giving her the memento box that he’d carved for her birthday; Dewey, his feet barely reaching the stirrups, fearlessly jumping pasture fences. In her mind, and in her heart, Dewey would always be a cherub-cheeked little boy.

Lost in her memories, Lydia barely noticed when Ben removed the letter from her grasp so th
at he could finish reading it.

“
It says here that Dewey managed to elude the Federal authorities before they could arrest him. Evidently, he’s headed for the western territories. Although I’m guessing that the army will mount one helluva manhunt.

“Oh, Ben . . . how could such a
dreadful calamity have happened?”

“Things are bad in Missouri
right now. Last I heard there are whole counties still under martial law. As you know, back in ’61, the state came within a hair’s breadth of joining the Confederacy. And the Federal authorities aren’t going to let the good folks of Missouri forget that ignoble fact any time soon.” Seating himself beside her, Ben put a consoling arm around her shoulders. “If you want, I can go to Missouri. Being a former Union officer, maybe I could—”

Lydia put a hand to
her husband’s mouth, silencing him. “I love you, Ben Strong. I love you so much that the thought of losing you is untenable.” Overcome with emotion, she took hold of Ben’s callused hand and placed it over her heart. “Although your offer means more to me than you can imagine, your place is here with Dixie and the boys. And with me.”

Heartbroken by the tragic turn of events,
Lydia leaned her head against Ben’s shoulder, taking comfort in her husband’s quiet strength. They’d weathered many a storm in the three years since they’d first wed – a deadly attack by the Comanche Indians; Colonel Beaumont’s nefarious machinations; building a cattle ranch from the ground up; and, more recently, the birth of their sons in the middle of the night without a doctor present. And through it all, Ben had steadfastly remained at her side.

“This is too terrible for words,”
Lydia murmured, guiltily aware that, in many ways, she and Ben lived a charmed life. “We must have faith that all will end well for young Dewey.”

At hearing his wife’s
hopeful pronouncement, Ben kept silent.

He wasn’t about to tell Lydia that he had a
gut feeling the younger McCabe brother was ensnared in a dangerous, and deadly, intrigue.

God help Dewey McCabe.

Dear Reader,

For those who love the passion and adventure of Scottish Medieval romance, I’ve recently published the first book in my
Highland Mist
series,
Her Scottish Captor,
in which the darkly handsome and fearsome laird of Castle Maoil, Iain MacKinnon, abducts Lady Yvette Beauchamp, the highborn daughter of his sworn English enemy. Hearts and swords clash in this richly depicted and highly sensual Highland romance. Look for it in the Kindle Store!

And fans of time-travel romance should be delighted to know that I’ll be releasing two new titles later this year under the pen name Chloe Douglas: the first,
A Love For All Time
(Forever Yours 9/2/14), followed by
Our Time Is Now
(Forever Yours 12/2/14). Both stories weave together the past and present as they explore the themes of kindred spirits, reincarnation, and unforgettable passions that span the boundaries of time.

Also, be sure to read my exciting series of esoteric thrillers published under the pen name C.M. Palov that chronicle the adventures of the Oxford-educated historian Caedmon Aisquith and his partner, American photographer Edie Miller. (According to
Publisher’s Weekly
: “Fans of Dan Brown and Steve Berry will be enthralled.”) Begin with the prequel,
The Templar’s Quest,
which introduces the character of Caedmon as he embarks on the most thrilling quest of all, the hunt for the Holy Grail. Then, pick up with Caedmon and Edie as they crisscross the globe, court danger and intrigue, and uncover some of the most spectacular treasures of the ages. Let the adventure begin!

Cheers!

Kate