Heart of a Dove (40 page)

Authors: Abbie Williams

I cupped his face with my right hand; he placed his over the back of it and kissed my palm.

He said, “It was close to a new moon, and overcast, and when I woke I couldn’t get my bearings at first, as the mist had settled in so thickly. I heard Whistler then. Someone was trying to steal the horses and she alerted me. I was half-crazy, I acted without thinking, and I was up out of the blanket and charging before I knew I had moved. Shots were fired at me but I could only think of saving my horse. I figured they would have to kill me before they got her. Behind me, Boyd and Gus made for the trees, meaning to circle around on the bastards.”

“Then what?” I whispered. I could feel the tension holding his body rigid.

“I caught hold of Whistler’s bridle and I saw that the man gripping her lead line was a goddamned Federal. There were three of them, piss-drunk from the sounds of it, and this one turned in his saddle and aimed at my forehead. His pistol clicked on an empty chamber and I felt as though that click was the sound of my heart exploding. It has never yet dulled in my memory, no matter how much I pray otherwise. He cursed his ill luck and grabbed his saber…”

“Sawyer,” I whispered. His throaty voice was even more husky than normal as he continued.

“He slashed at my face. If he’d leaned even a hair farther forward I’m certain he would have killed me. Boyd and Gus were firing from the cover of the trees by then, and the other two Federals were occupied shooting back at them…and I…I snapped as would a kindling stick. I grabbed his wrist and dragged him from horseback…I had my belt knife…and I stabbed his throat.” He clenched his teeth before finishing in a hoarse whisper, “I stabbed his throat and I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop until Gus hauled me from the body.”

“What of the other two men?” I asked, aching for his pain.

“They rode into the darkness. I never saw their faces. I vomited until there was nothing left to leave my body. I was so covered in blood Gus and Boyd thought I was mortally wounded, but the slash on my jaw was the only place I’d been cut.”

I sat up, with determination, and pressed my lips to his scar. There, against his skin, I whispered, “He would have killed you. Words cannot explain how grateful I am that he did not succeed, Sawyer,” and his arms enclosed me.

It was near to dawn before we spoke again; we slept for a time, braided together, and it was as the first faint light of day tinted the air around us a soft gray that Sawyer whispered, “Thank you for letting me tell you such a thing about myself. I would not upset you for the world,
mo mhuirnín mhilis
.”

I moved closer to his warmth and whispered, “I would never be upset with you for telling me something about yourself, Sawyer, never. Good or terrible, I will listen.”

“I do know such, sweetheart, and I thank God for that, every day.”

Later that
morning we gathered around Gus’s grave, with its two small crosses, one for him and one for the child. I let myself believe that Gus would look after his child, wherever their souls now lingered. I prayed with all of my heart that this was so. The Missouri prairie was desolate as a gray and dismal dawn stained the eastern horizon. I could hardly bear to look upon the mounded earth in which Gus’s body would rest from now forth, hundreds upon hundreds of miles from Cumberland County and all of his kin. All we could do here on the prairie was pile stones atop the raw, turned ground. We stood four abreast, until the sun cleared the edge of the prairie and there was nothing left to do but ride on.

“With any luck, we should be within Iowa in perhaps three days’ time,” Boyd said as he mounted Fortune.

“First we gotta return Rambler, the borrowed horse,” Malcolm reminded him as he climbed atop Aces. Sawyer and I claimed the wagon, drawn by Admiral and Juniper. Whistler, tethered to the side, seemed to dance with the anticipation of continuing our journey.

“That we will,” Boyd responded tenderly. His eyes moved from Malcolm to us and despite everything, his dark eyes held some of their old twinkle. “That we will.”

- -
-

The story continues in
Soul of a Crow
, coming in 2015

Acknoweldgments

This one is for my dears –

My dear husband, Will, and my three daughters, who I love like crazy, and who have been so gracious as to share me with my laptop.

My dear sisters Emily and Marni, who were the first to read this book.

My dear mom Marta, who instilled in me a love of nature and all things magical.

My dear friends Trish and Laura, who love ‘Old West’ lore too.

And I must thank –

Creative Director of Central Avenue Publishing, Michelle Halket, who is a wonderful editor, entrepreneur and all-around cool lady, not to mention a good friend, who took a chance on me and who has helped my writing career in countless ways.

My two favorite musical groups of all time (hyperbole intended), the Wailin’ Jennys and The Be Good Tanyas, whose music I listened to almost constantly (albums Firecracker, Blue Horse, and Bright Morning Stars specifically) as I wrote this story – do yourself a favor and check out their incredible music.

The Pioneer Woman, whose gorgeous, good-humored, heart-warming, and sometime downright heart-wrenching weblog (of the same name) and stunning photography helped inspire my vision of the horses in this book, most especially Whistler.

Fictitious character (though to me he will always be real) Augustus McCrae, Texas Ranger, whose wisdom I keep close to my heart.

And, most importantly, to those of you who believe there is more to this life than you can see –

Further, researching this story has given me poignant insight into a world not so very far removed from our own, and to the heartaches and struggles, and ultimately the tremendous courage, of women who worked as prostitutes in this country during the latter half of the nineteenth century.

About the Author

Abbie Williams has been addicted to love stories ever since first sneaking her mother’s copy of The Flame and the Flower; and since then, she’s been jotting down her own in a notebook. A school teacher who spends her days with her own true love, their three daughters, and a very busy schedule, she is most happy when she gets a few hours to indulge in visiting the characters in her stories. When she’s not writing, teaching or spending time with her family, you’ll find her either camping, making a grand mess in her kitchen at various cooking attempts, or listening to a good bluegrass banjo.