Salvation's Secrets (The Loflin Legacy Prequel) (7 page)

In response, the bay nickered heartily.

“Besides, there’s always work to do.” He
sighed, glancing off into the trees. Work kept the longing at bay
during the daylight hours. In the wee hours of the morning, though,
when nothing stirred except the wind in the trees, he’d wake
feeling empty and alone, as if he waited for her. Perhaps that
sliver of time was hers. She’d come to him on the wind and wrap him
in passion. His heart would sing and his body would take all she
had to give. He’d share the time with her before the world, called
Shooter Creek, awoke.

Running his fingers through his hair, a sigh
escaped. “Let’s go, boy. No use in wallowing in it, is there?”

Sarge’s magnificent chocolate brown head
rose as if to answer his master. Quickly he jerked his mane from
side to side. The horse, always responsive, always obedient, picked
up the pace. Soon they were trotting down the path leading back
from the creek. The pleasure of the ride didn’t last long.

Gunshots pierced the silence. Seth jerked,
his muscles tensing at the sound. Up ahead the sound of cattle
lowing and blatting intensified. Bovine bolted and the ground shook
with their thundering hooves. He had to think quickly. Another
gunshot followed by more rapid ones. His heart skipped a beat with
the thought of Charles and a gunfight. Blood hammered in his head.
Luckily, he managed to steer Sarge into the protective cover of a
rocky outcropping as the cattle charged past, missing them only by
inches. More alarming was the scene he rode up on as dead men lying
in contorted positions littered the ground. The face of the one,
which concerned him most was battered and bruised.

Charles lay in a pool of blood. “Lord, let
him have a pulse. Holy crap! Swallowing hard, he counted again.
There’s four bullet holes.

Charles groaned weakly.

“I got you. Don’t worry, old man, you’re
gonna be all right.” Air was hard to come by. Charles doubled in
size as Seth attempted to get him up and to Sarge’s position. I
won’t make it very far if I have to drag you the whole way. Christ!
There’s so much blood. Repositioning his hold on Charles, Seth
tried to staunch some of the blood flow. He turned to those already
gone and snatched up whatever lose clothing he could tear off. More
concerned about how he’d get help for Charles, Seth didn’t take
time to consider what had happened or whose fault it could have
been. A rope and a tree for leverage and he managed to hoist the
unconscious Charles onto Sarge’s broad back. Tyler was closest,
he’d try for help there. Gathering his wits, Seth set out to find
help with his brother in tow.

***

“Who’s there? State your business.”

“Father? Oh, thank God. It’s Seth Loflin,
Father Samuel. I’ve got a man that needs help. Charles Harrington’s
been shot. Please…let us in.”

“Seth? Charles?” Father Samuel peeked out of
the door. “Are you alone?” Without waiting for an answer, he
motioned him inside. “What happened? How bad is he?”

His rapid-fire questions rolled over Seth’s
head like water. Maneuvering Charles limp body across the tiled
floor of the mission, he heaved a heavy sigh when he finally
managed to deposit Charles in the bed as directed by Father
Samuel.

“There’s so much blood.” Seth looked down at
his hands covered in crimson. They were shaking uncontrollably.

Father Samuel gave orders as he ripped
Charles shirt from his chest. “Get me some hot water and the sharp
pointed knife in the kitchen drawer. I need sheets for bandages.
Look in the cabinet in my bedroom. Hurry, boy. He doesn’t have much
time!”

Stumbling backward, Seth grimaced. Charles
battered face lay deathly still on the pillow. Would Charles be
alive when he got back with the things Father Samuel asked him to
get? A small prayer Maggie used to say kept darting around in his
head. Breath, damn it, breath! How he’d like to give Charles a
piece of his mind when Father Samuel managed to save him. The
bastard couldn’t die on him now. He had things he needed to
say!

The old grandfather clock made a really
annoying sound when the timepiece chimed the hour. Seth wiped at
his eyes. They felt as if they held most of the sand between here
and the Saline River. A clink in the bowl of red water next to the
bed had him searching Father Samuel’s face as he turned to him.
“It’s time to pray, my son.”

He could have hit him with a hammer and Seth
wouldn’t have been more mortified. Praying was a last resort.
Praying meant Charles was dying. Clutching the padre’s sleeve, he
tried again. “No, you don’t mean that, right, father?”

The padre laid a hand on Seth shoulder.
“He’s in God’s hands now.”

Stunned at the padre’s words, he backed up
until the timber of the inner chamber’s support hit him square in
the backbone. Nothing had ever felt as bad as the padre’s words.
Charles couldn’t die! He’d only begun to live. Hell, he hadn’t been
out of Texas and lay dying? It wasn’t possible. Stumbling, Seth
wheeled and managed to reach the outer door. He needed air. His
world was spinning and he didn’t want to think. No one could help.
No one cared enough to help he corrected. Not even his paw. Shaking
his head, Seth leaned heavily on the outer wall to the adobe
structure. The tiniest thread of light pierced his conscious. She
could help. Staggering like a drunk man, Seth reached Sarge,
leaping into the saddle. A strong tug of the reins and he was
galloping west to her.

***

A cool breath of air swirled around him. She
was close, so close and yet so far from all the pain and suffering
of his world. If he could get to her, she’d drive the demons
away.

Her head came up as he approached. The
anguish must have showed in his eyes. Taking his hand, she led him
to the private place within their world behind the falls. His
erection ached with need. Her eyes burned into his, as she dropped
the simple skin of the dress she wore. Nothing stood between his
hands and her skin except distance, which he eliminated
immediately. “Celia…” Like a breath, he whispered her name. His
lips searching for hers found her moist and receptive. Slowly, the
tension loosed and the pain ebbed with her touch. She was warm and
pliant under his rough hands. He appreciated her giving so freely
as his hands traveled down to the v between her legs. Her juices
slicked her inner thighs. A glance up found her eyes closed with
his touch. His tongue tasted her core, the quivers sending pre cum
slipping from his head. Allowing him entry, she moaned softly as he
slid two fingers inside her wet folds. No more waiting, he vowed as
with a swift tug, he laid her flat atop the rock and drove his cock
deep inside her. Her cry of delight sent the blood surging to his
erection. No one understood like Celia. No one loved him like her.
He’d never leave her, never. His father could go to hell for all he
cared. She bowed up with the urgency for more. He gave all he had,
plunging deeper and deeper with a shaft he could have sworn was
made of stone. Her cry of release came to him from somewhere
outside his own body as his climax had him shuddering with
satisfaction.

In her arms, slick with perspiration, he
collapsed and fell into a fitful slumber where gun’s fired in the
darkness and blood ran freely. The stampeding cattle thundered
across his face and he heard the screams of those he couldn’t
save.

Jerking upright on the rock, Seth sucked in
air. With a shaky hand he glanced around as his eyes grew accustom
to the darkness once more. She lay quietly on her side, her soft
bronze skin shown in the sparkles of moonlight reflecting off the
waterfall. Slowly, his heart rate steadied as he recognized he’d
been dreaming and nothing more. Still, the need to get back to
Charles had him rising to search for pants.

Celia roused and shoved at her hair. “Where
are you going?”

“I have to get back to town. Charles is in
bad shape and I have to be there.”

Her brow furrowed with worry. “What
happened?”

Rather than tell her the truth, Seth hedged
with a white lie. “He ran into some trouble out on the range and
got shot and stomped by a cattle stampede. Father Samuel did all he
could for him.” Seth swallowed and crouched beside her.

Her eyes searched his.

“He said his life was in God’s hands
now.”

Reaching up, she feathered her hand along
his jaw. The softness of her touch reminded him of an angel come to
earth. How could she be real? “I will send up a sacrifice to the
Great Spirit. You will see – everything will be all right.”

Wishing the whole situation were that
simple, Seth smiled for her. Her words, though full of innocence,
he held with reverence. Celia was pure and untouched by the cruelty
of the world around them. What he wouldn’t give to make sure she
remained so. Nothing in the world could stop him from loving her,
nothing…

***

Smoke curled from the adobe chimney of the
mission. Seth tied Sarge to the post outside and strode in to face
the news however bad it proved. If he lost his friend to the damn
rash of cattle rustling, he vowed he’d leave no stone unturned
until he found those responsible.

Father Samuel met him at the door of the
small hut where only the night before he’d brought Charles for
help.

Too scared to get the words out, he waited.
Father Samuel stood stoically within the frame of the small
entrance, his mouth forming a thin line. His brown eyes held
something Seth swore looked like compassion. The smell of burning
oak wafted past him and he found the courage to ask, “How is
he?”

“He lives. Charles is resting.” The father
dropped his chin and shook his head. “I’m not sure how he still
lives except by his own determined will. His wounds are many and
he’s lost so much blood, yet he still lives.”

“You said he’s resting – is he asleep? Can I
see him?” The rush of hope surged up Seth’s throat like a
bullet.

“You may see him, but only for a few
minutes. Do not persist with questions which he cannot answer, do
you understand, young Seth?” The Spanish grew heavy in the father’s
words and Seth knew he should tread lightly.

“I won’t. I just need to see for myself.
That’s all.” Snatching his Stetson off, he followed the padre into
the inner chamber where his friend and brother lay as white as
snow. The hallows under Charles’ eyes were blue-black and deep. A
bandage swathed his head and blood stained the bandage at the right
temple. His breathing was shallow and perspiration shown on his
upper lip. A night’s growth of beard already shadowed his face.
Seth had seen death before. On a ranch, a boy grew to recognize
death early on. Charles bore the image of a man teetering on the
edge of the great abyss.

Softly stepping back, the padre left the two
alone.

“Don’t go puttin’ dirt on my grave just
yet.” Charles’ voice sounded weak and thin.

Seth sucked in air without realizing. He
reached out a tentative hand, laying his fingers atop his friend’s.
“They got you good, brother.” He used the reference out of respect
and love. Neither cowboy showed much affection – neither understood
how. This admission would cost him, he was sure, somewhere along
the way. Still, he didn’t care. Charles needed to know what he
meant to Seth, even if he lived. The fact he’d
almost
died
was enough for Seth.

“Yea, the foreman over at the Triple M sent
me after the Injuns. I told him they weren’t the ones.” Charles
swallowed hard and opened the one eye, which wasn’t swollen shut.
“Don’t know which one drew first, but I saw Jesus’ face. His boy
shot me in the shoulder. He meant to hurt me, not kill me. It was a
trap.” The coughing broke his facade of calm as pain rippled across
his battered features. “They wanted it to look like Injuns and when
I told them I could prove otherwise, they decided to teach me a
lesson.” He finished with another coughing spell, leaving him limp
and sheet white.

“A lesson? They’re the ones stealing
cattle?” Seth’s brow drew together in bemusement. Slumping into the
nearest chair, he worked on the ‘why’ of the ambush. “More cattle,
more money at the sale but how’d they expect to get away with a
fool stunt like this?”

“I came up on their little branding
operation. They’re adding to the Loflin brand. Before they started
the stampede, I found several with freshly branded hide. The triple
M brand looked good enough for the stockyards.”

Charles’ coughing started again and when
Seth recognized fresh blood, he called for Father Samuel. Lingering
in the outer room, he hunkered down in front of the slow simmering
fire. The same fire the father had used to cauterize Charles’
wounds. His brother, his friend, the best friend in the whole world
had attempted to prove the Comanche’s innocence. No one had ever
stood up for someone he cared for before. Not like this. A tense
surge of guilt washed over him. There weren’t words to describe the
sacrifice of his friend. The gratitude embedded deep in his soul
would remain forever. So caught up in his own desires, he’d managed
to forget the world around them. Unworthy of his friend’s concern
yet so grateful for his courage, Seth managed a quiet prayer for
them all.

“Your father will be here soon.” Father
Samuel came up behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “He
sent someone to town looking for the two of you. Soon word of young
Charles’ deeds will travel with the survivors of this tragedy.”

Nodding, Seth released a slow uneasy breath.
His father would do whatever necessary to clean up the mess
involving both of them. Surely, he’d understand Charles meant only
to protect the Comanche. Earl may not care about the reason. Seth’s
gut tightened with thoughts of his dire warning. He’d send them
both away to school if they fouled up one more time. Swallowing
hard, Seth realized this was the time.

***