Home by Morning

KAKI WARNER, 2011 RITA WINNER FOR BEST FIRST BOOK FOR
PIECES OF SKY
, IS “A GIFTED STORYTELLER.”*

Praise for her novels

“[An] emotionally compelling, subtly nuanced tale of revenge, redemption, and romance . . . This flawlessly written book is worth every tear.”

—
Chicago Tribune

“Romance, passion, and thrilling adventure fill the pages of this unforgettable saga that sweeps the reader from England to the Old West.”

—Rosemary Rogers,
New York Times
bestselling author

“A romance you won't soon forget.”

—Sara Donati, bestselling author

“Draws readers into the romance and often unvarnished reality of life in nineteenth-century America.”

—
Library Journal

“Kaki Warner's warm, witty, and lovable characters shine.”

—
USA Today

“Filled with passion, adventure, heartbreak, and humor.”

—The Romance Dish

“Halfway between Penelope Williamson's and Jodi Thomas's gritty, powerful novels and LaVyrle Spencer's small-town stories lie Warner's realistic, atmospheric romances.”

—*RT Book Reviews

“This book is just fabulous.”

—Smexy Books

“Bring[s] the Old West to sprawling and vivid life.”

—BookLoons

“This is Western historical romance at its best.”

—The Romance Reader

Berkley Sensation titles by Kaki Warner

Blood Rose Trilogy

PIECES OF SKY

OPEN COUNTRY

CHASING THE SUN

Runaway Brides Novels

HE
ARTBREAK CREEK

COLOR
ADO DAWN

BRIDE OF TH
E HIGH COUNTRY

Heroes of Heartbreak Creek

BEHI
ND HIS BLUE EYES

WHE
RE THE HORSES RUN

HO
ME BY MORNING

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

HOME BY MORNING

A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2015 by Kathleen Warner.

Excerpt from
Heartbreak Creek
by Kaki Warner copyright © 2011 by Kathleen Warner.

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BERKLEY SENSATION® and the “B” design are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

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eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-59920-4

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / July 2015

Cover art by Judy York.

Cover design by Lesley Worrell.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To my family for their continued love, support, and understanding.

My thanks . . .

To all the readers who have taken the characters of Heartbreak Creek into their hearts. I appreciate your kind letters and emails, and hope this final chapter in the saga of this crusty little town meets your expectations.

To my editor, Wendy McCurdy, for her patience and gentle guidance.

To my agent, Nancy Coffey, for her weather reports and encouraging words.

To all those artists, copyeditors, salespeople, publicists, and editorial assistants at Berkley who have worked so hard to help make my books the best they can be.

To Jodi Thomas, queen of the genre and an amazingly talented lady who has so generously given of her support and expertise throughout the last five years, from my debut with
Pieces of Sky
in 2010 to this story of Thomas and Pru. You're a very special lady.

To all the doctors, veterinarians, horse trainers, friends, neighbors, family members, and strangers who have patiently answered my questions. You know who you are. With special thanks to Karen Atkerson for her invaluable help with research—Stephanie Tucker, beta reader extraordinaire—and Cyndi Thomson, a great friend, listener, and crybaby.

I love you all.

What is life?

It is the flash of a firefly in the night.

It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime.

It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

—Crowfoot, Blackfoot warrior and orator, 1830–
1890

In an eagle is all the wisdom in the world.

—Native American proverb

SCHULER, INDIANA, NOVEMBER 1871

S
quinting against bright morning sunlight, Prudence Lincoln stood at the library window of the Friends School for The Betterment of People of Color and studied the letter in her hand.

“
. . .
rise from your dreams, Voaxaa'e, and together we will fly away
.
”

What did that mean? She knew
Voaxaa'e
was the Cheyenne word for eagle, a fanciful name Thomas had given her months ago. But
fly away
where? Back to Heartbreak Creek?

Their last meeting had been horrid. When she had told him she still had work to do here at the school and needed to stay longer in Schuler, he had allowed his anger and frustration to show. It was the first time Thomas had ever raised his voice to her, and it had frightened her, awakened old memories she still fought hard to keep buried. She had reacted without thinking. When he had seen her cowering before him, arms raised in defense, he had been stunned. Then hurt. And without allowing her to explain, he had walked out the door and had never come back.

Pru's half sister had written from Heartbreak Creek that he
had gone to Britain with Ash and Maddie Wallace to purchase thoroughbreds. But she hadn't heard a word from Thomas.

Terrified that she would never see him again, she had written to him in England, trying to explain her fears.

And now, months later, he responded with this? Bemused, she read again the words written in the familiar bold script she had taught him back in the one-room schoolhouse in Heartbreak Creek, Colorado Territory.

“Look for me, Prudence Lincoln. When the wind blows cold and the Long Night's Moon rides in the sky, I will come to you. Listen for my voice in the shadows. Then rise from your dreams,
Voaxaa'e
, and together we will fly away.”

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

“Are you ready?” a voice said behind her.

Turning, she saw Cyrus Marsh standing in the doorway beside her valise, one gloved hand on his hip, holding back his overcoat, the other gripping the brim of the hat he tapped impatiently against his leg.

“I can't go, Mr. Marsh.” As she spoke, she slipped the letter into her coat pocket, not sure why she didn't want him to see it. She disliked Mr. Marsh, and had from the moment they had met. Despite his practiced smiles and polite words, she sensed an undercurrent of coldness within him.

“Oh?” His blond brows rose in arcs above eyes of such a pale hazel they seemed yellow against his sallow skin. “I'm sorry to hear that, Miss Lincoln. We've gone to a great deal of trouble to make arrangements for you to join us on this trip. May I ask why, at the moment of our departure, you feel you can't go?”

“I'm expecting a visitor. He's coming a long way, and I wouldn't want to miss him.”

“Your Indian friend.” His voice carried no emotion, but she saw the slight curl in his thin lips. “A woman as beautiful as you, Miss Lincoln, shouldn't waste herself on an ignorant savage.”

Pru's chin came up. “Mr. Redstone is neither ignorant nor savage.” Most of the time, anyway.

The hat tapped harder, faster.

Behind him, a small figure moved silently through the hall.

Lillie. Eavesdropping again. Pru would have to speak to the girl. Not that it would help. The child had little enough to keep her insatiable curiosity and bright mind occupied, and
listening in on the lives of others was her dearest pastime. At least the girl was honorable enough not to repeat the things she heard.

“When do you expect him?” Mr. Marsh asked.

“When the wind blows cold and the Long Night's Moon rides in the sky.”

“Mid-December,” she guessed. “I'm not sure of the exact date.” Possibly around the twenty-first, since that would be the longest night of the year. Thomas's colorful speech was often difficult to decipher.

“Perhaps you could write back and ask him to delay the visit.”

“I wouldn't know where to reach him.” Pru realized she was rubbing her fingers over the scars on her right wrist and made herself stop. Confrontations made her nervous. Bad enough that Mr. Marsh ordered Brother Sampson around as if he were still a slave, but to have him interfering in her life was intolerable. She had never been a slave, despite her mixed blood, and was unaccustomed to such treatment. Still, as trustee of the school that employed her, he deserved at least a show of respect. “He's traveling from England, you see.”

At least that's what Maddie's latest letter had said. The freighter carrying the thoroughbreds, Thomas, and the Wallaces' wrangler, Rayford Jessup, was scheduled to arrive in Boston near the middle of this month. From there, they would travel by rail to Colorado, with stops along the way to rest the horses, which would drag out the journey for several weeks or more. Maddie had concluded by saying she assumed Thomas would stop to visit her on his way through Indiana, and for Pru to expect some changes.

Changes?
In Thomas? He was solid as a rock. He certainly had no need to make changes.

“If he's not due until mid-December,” Mr. Marsh said, regaining her attention, “that would still leave us ample time to accomplish our purposes in the capitol. I see no problem.” Looking pleased, he set his hat on his head. “I'll instruct the school administrator to send word if your Indian arrives before we get back. But should he do so, you can leave a note, telling him you'll return shortly. Schuler is only a six-hour train ride from Indianapolis.”

“But things could have gone more smoothly than anticipated,” Pru argued. “He might arrive any day. I would like to be here if he does.” Being Thomas, if he did arrive and found her gone, he might simply leave. He had a habit of disappearing when things weren't to his liking.

“Miss Lincoln.” Marsh paused as if struggling with words—or his temper. Marsh hated to be contradicted, especially by a woman. “You know how important this trip is. Not only for Brother Sampson, but for your education initiative, as well.”

“Yes, but—”

“And with backing from important key people in Indianapolis,” he went on, ignoring her protest, “the two of you can advance equality and education for blacks more than the Quakers have ever done.”

“I understand that, and I—”

“Our efforts could reach all the way to Washington. Isn't that what you want? What we all want?”

“Certainly, but—”

“For God's sake, then why are you defying me? Do you think I'll allow you to ruin everything because of a damned Indian?”

Pru shrank back, old fears flooding her mind.

“Christ.” Dropping his hands to his hips, Marsh let go a deep breath.

Moments passed. Tension weighted the air while Pru stood locked in fear, waiting to see what he would do next.
Breathe. Show no fear.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was as cold as the glint in his near-colorless eyes. “I didn't want to have to resort to threats.”

Threats?

Tipping his head to the side, he said in an almost conversational tone, “I know what you've been up to, Miss Lincoln.”

Fear ballooned into an almost overwhelming urge to flee. How could he know? How did he find out? “I-I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Don't you?” His smile showed small, pointed teeth. A predator's smile. “I know the Underground Railroad has started up again. Only this time, it's not to aid runaway slaves seeking freedom, but to help black felons and agitators escape into
Canada. The misguided fools helping them could go to jail. Or worse. I know you're involved, so don't bother to deny it.”

She didn't. “They only want to live free, Mr. Marsh. Instead of being brutalized in the name of Southern Reconstruction.”

He waved a hand in dismissal. “Save your speeches. If I could, I would turn the lot of you over to the authorities today.”

Perspiration gathered under her arms. “Why do you care if a few desperate colored people seek a better life?”

“I don't. But I do care about Brother Sampson and your education initiative.” He leaned toward her, that icy gaze eroding her courage. “The more people who flock to hear him preach, the more exposure your cause will get, and the more opportunities will come my way. A grand future awaits us all . . . as long as there are no scandals. No untoward attention. Nothing to raise questions or generate doubt. Voters can be so fickle.”

The hairs on the back of her neck lifted. This was about votes?

“You're an intelligent woman, Miss Lincoln, especially for one of your race. Surely you're aware that you and Brother are my stepping-stones to the real power in Washington. I've invested a great deal of time and effort toward that goal, and I will not allow
anything
to jeopardize those plans.”

He moved closer, his yellow eyes burning with the fervor of a fanatic. “So be warned, Miss Lincoln. Behave. Stop this foolish business with the railroad, because if you persist, I will exact a terrible price, if not from you, then from someone dear to you. One of your students, perhaps. Or your Indian. Maybe even Brother Sampson. But rest assured, someone will pay. Do you understand?”

Pru fought to drag air into her lungs.
He's insane. Evil, like Satan is evil.
Just being near him made her feel unclean.

Another step. “Have I made myself clear, Miss Lincoln?”

Pru nodded.

He studied her for a moment, then stepped back, his smile once more in place. “Then we'll speak no more of it.” Bending, he picked up her valise. “While I put this in the carriage, you write that note to your Indian. When I return, I'll take it to the administrator, along with my instructions to wire us if Mr. Redstone arrives before we return. And do hurry, Miss Lincoln.
Brother Sampson is waiting, and you know how the cold aggravates his hands.”

Light-headed and shaking, Pru watched him leave the room. Terror careened through her mind, muddled her thinking. But one thought kept surfacing. After she finished this last rescue through the railroad, she would tell Brother Sampson about Marsh's motives. Perhaps together they could find a way to stop him. But for now, and for his own safety, she had to send Thomas away.

And there was only one way to do that.

The pain of it almost doubled her over.

On leaden legs, tears streaming, she went to the desk by the window and extracted a piece of paper from the drawer. Struggling to keep her hand steady, she wrote . . .

Dear Thomas,

I fear you misunderstood my last letter to you. I am not seeking a reunion. Our last visit made it clear to me that despite the deep feelings I have for you, we come from such different worlds we could never build a solid future together. I am sorry. Please give everyone my regards when you return to Heartbreak Creek.

I will always remember you fondly.

Prudence Lincoln