White Moon Rising Read online

  Relief surged through Andy. The man fell without trying to break his fall. That usually meant he was dead, but he wouldn’t take any chance. He held his hand up to Abbey, “Stay there.”

  Andy eased around to Stephen’s feet, squatted, and turned the man over.

  Stephen’s eyes staring at the sky robbed Andy of any strength he had left. He fell back on his butt, dropping the rifle from hands no longer strong enough to hold it. Although his head dropped, he was conscious of Abbey kneeling beside him, her arms around him, head resting on his shoulder.

  Her sobs snapped him awake. He turned and wrapped his arms around her. She cried on his shoulder as he stroked her hair.

  The longer he held her, the more revitalized he became. Much of the new energy flowing through him had to do with the fact that Abbey was topless, and she had a body that would bring the dead to life.

  Besides, that shot gave their position away, and this was not the best place to be without being alert. As hard as it was to pull himself away from her, he had to.

  With a lump in his throat, he swallowed before saying in a strained voice, “We have to leave. Not safe.”

  She pulled back and he tried not to stare, but he couldn’t help himself. His heart thumped, slow and heavy in his chest.

  Their eyes met and held, and he tried to swallow but couldn’t.

  As if some supernatural force was pulling them together, their heads met, both tilted, foreheads touching.

  Memories flooded Andy’s mind with a vision that had happened years before. He’d blamed himself for his wife and child’s death because he hadn’t been with them, even though he couldn’t have done anything if he’d been there. But even before that, he carried the guilt of the wagon train massacre: he’d failed to hobble his horse correctly and the horse had wandered away. Andy left the camp to find the horse, and that saved him—the only one who lived.

  Crazy Horse, his brother, took the guilt-riddled young man to the mountains where he found a cave. With the makeshift wall covering the entrance, Crazy Horse put cedar logs on the fire, and they chanted as smoke filled the cave. They continued to chant and sweat. Ragged coughs erupted from both in the smoke-filled sauna.

  Andy’s eyes stung from smoke and salt. His chest tightened like a buffalo bull stood on it. When he didn’t think he could stand it any longer, calmness took his panic away. His spirit found serenity, and his head fell back, eyes closed and he breathed normally, as if the smoke had disappeared.

  Now, he remembered that smoke, but mostly what came after it.

  With his eyes closed, he watched two indistinct figures moving toward him through a fog. He strained to make out their faces, but they had to move closer before he recognized his parents. He tried to speak but couldn’t. He wanted to talk to them, ask them if they were proud of him, or blamed him for their deaths.

  A smile creased his mother’s mouth. “Andy, we love you.”

  He heard the words although he knew she didn’t speak. His gaze switched to his father. His mind picked up his father’s words.

  “I’m proud of you, son. You are a fine man. What happened to the wagon train is not your fault. We are glad you made it. Do not forget Abbey. She is your future.” His father reached out and grasped his shoulder.

  Now, years later, as he and Abbey’s foreheads touched, he could almost feel the pressure of his father’s hands on his shoulders. His father’s words echoed in his head. “Do not forget Abbey. She is your future.”

  Their heads lifted at the same time. She was his and he would never forget her—couldn’t forget her. Then their lips, bodies, and souls molded together. The kiss, tender and sweet, ended after a while, but their lips continued to touch for even longer.

  At last they forced themselves apart.

  With his insides swirling, Andy turned away from her, placed his thumb and index finger in his mouth, and whistled.

  Moments later, Big Red trotted to him. He reached up, caught the stirrup, and pulled himself up. Opening his saddlebag, he did something he didn’t want to. He took out one of his old shirts and handed it to Abbey.

  He forced himself to turn away as she put the shirt on. She stood close behind him and wrapped her arms around him, her head lying on his broad back. “What are we going to do?” she asked.

  Before answering, he glanced around. Finally he said, “We close to Windsong. We need to gather horses and go there.”

  “What’s Windsong?”

  His stomach fluttered and his heart beat like the drums at a war dance. “Name of place I built…my home…our home if you have it.”

  She grasped him tighter. “If that’s a proposal, it’s the one I have waited for all my life. I love you and I will have it.”

  “I love you since…first kiss.”

  Smiling up at him, she said, “I remember that. I was six.”

  Andy caught the horses she and Stephens had ridden. Before they left, he had one more thing to do. A promise he had to keep. He picked up Stephens, flopped him over his horse, and tied him on.

  “Why don’t we leave him here?” Abbey asked, frowning.

  “I promised to take him to Assimilate,” he said.

  Even more confused, she asked, “What’s that?”

  “Place where I bury people who try to take what is mine.”

  With the sun lowering in the sky, Big Red plodded ahead so tired he walked with his head hanging. Andy slumped forward in the saddle, the steps of the horse lulling his consciousness away.

  “Andy,” Abbey’s voice snapped his eyes open.

  Big Red had stopped, and for how long he didn’t know, but they were at Owl Creek. He dismounted, staggered, caught the saddle horn, and straightened. He sucked in a deep breath of wildflowers and honeysuckle growing along the creek.

  Behind him, saddle leather creaked as Abbey dismounted.

  He knelt beside the creek, cupped his hand, and drank of the cold, almost sweet water. The coolness of the water going down and the fact he was home, invigorated him. He leaned forward, cupped both hands full of water, and washed his face.

  “How much farther?” Abbey asked.

  Instead of answering, he stood and reached his hand out. When she took it, he led her across the creek and up the slope. He stopped before they reached the peak. He held a finger to his lips. “Listen a moment.”

  Moments later, the wind swept through the grass, playing the melody.

  In an awed voice, she said, “This is why you call it Windsong. We’re home.”

  Andy would always love to hear the music from the wind and grass, but nothing in his life had ever sounded better than Abbey saying, “We’re home.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Yes, let go look at our house.”

  As they topped the slope leading to the plateau, Abbey stopped abruptly. Utter astonishment washed across her face as she stared at the two-story house rising high above the mesa. She pivoted to face Andy. “You built this?”

  “The outside only, now. Inside is not done yet.”

  “How—big is—will it be?” she asked.

  Scratching his head, he thought a moment about what she meant.

  Still staring at the gigantic house, she said, “How many rooms?”

  “Front…door face east.” He pointed with his left hand. “South…is our home. North side Cap’s.”

  Hand in hand, they strolled toward the front door. “Wasn’t Cap the guy you helped in Heath?”

  “Yes, we partners in cows. He gone to…Texas to get them.”

  She stopped and her voice trembled. “You didn’t tell me.”

  “I tried. Your father told me you won’t see me.”

  Tears ran down her cheeks and her voice shook. “He lied. I will never forgive him for that. I left Heath to find you when I found out about it.”

  That answered his question as to why she was out there. He caught both her hands in his. “Yes, forgive. He think best for you.”

  He pointed. “I show you inside.”

  Before
she could respond, a low, menacing growl emitted from the shadowed doorway. She stopped, jumping behind Andy. “My, God, what was that?”

  “Sunka, a dog.”

  As he spoke, the dog approached.

  Abbey’s heart jumped into her throat, and it didn’t help her disposition any when her shield knelt to pet the dog. She was looking into his blue-gray eyes. Cold chills exploded up her spine and she swallowed hard.

  “Pet him. Show Sunka you his friend.”

  Nothing came out when she tried to speak. Moments passed before she was able to say, “He looks more hungry than friendly.”

  Andy reached back and caught her hand, pulling it toward the dog. As the dog reached out to sniff her, she closed her eyes, imagining him eating her arm in one gulp.

  When he licked her shaking hand, she opened her eyes. Gently, she laid her hand on his head. With her nerves flittering in all directions, she stroked the top of his head.

  “He get used to you,” Andy said, rising. “Come inside, see your home.”

  Her heart fluttered when he mentioned her home. Queasiness, but not the sick kind, the kind good girls shouldn’t have before marriage, floated around in her stomach.

  She stepped inside when he pushed the door open. Her home with her man.

  As she looked around, shivers exploded through her thinking about what almost happened to her. The position she’d put herself in. Lloyd had humiliated her, made her feel dirty, and tried to break her, and he would have if Andy hadn’t saved her.

  Lloyd had soiled her soul and only Andy could make her clean. She’d always been outspoken with men, more direct than a woman should be, but as she gazed into Andy’s eyes, she couldn’t find the words she wanted to say. She wasn’t even sure what words she needed to say. All she could do was look at him foolishly, feeling young and awkward.

  He was her man and he’d saved her from more than he would ever know.

  She didn’t know how to say it, but knew how to show it. Her heart skittered inside as she lifted his shirt over her head. They gazed into each other’s eyes as she dropped it at her feet. He moved toward her when she stepped out of her skirt.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Thundering hooves shook the earth, throwing up great globs of mud, dirt, and rocks. The uproar in the sky matched the one going on inside Cap as he spurred his horse forward. Lightning transformed the obsidian night into an eerie day, leaving behind a burnt-sulfur odor. A stinging rain slashed at Cap, tearing his hat off even though he had the stampede string tied.

  On the fringes of the stampeding herd, fear sizzled through him as he drove his horse hard to the front. Any misstep by the horse would mean his death, but these cows represented Bull and his future.

  He pushed his horse harder, and then lightning revealed he’d reached the front of the herd. He swung close to the lead cow, slapping it with his coiled rope. The pain from the rope and pressure from the horse forced the cow to move away from Cap. Mile after mile, as they raced through the downpour, Cap forced the lead cow to move until he had the herd running in a circle.

  The ring began with a large loop, but as they turned, Cap forced the cows tighter and tighter. Finally, the cows slowed and then stopped.

  Bawling and with heads hanging, the cows stood, breathing hard as the rain continued to pour down. Soaked to the bone and slumped in the saddle, Cap wasn’t sure which was more tired, he or the horse.

  He straightened as Johnny pulled up beside him. “Good job turning them, Cap.”

  “How far did they run?” Cap asked.

  With his hat off, Johnny pushed his hair back and flopped the soaked hat back on his head before answering. “Eight, maybe nine miles.”

  Cap blew out a loud whistle. He hadn’t known they’d run that far. No wonder their heads were hanging. Then he remembered the scream as the cows took off. A huge lump formed in his throat. He had five men on night guard, and two of them were inexperienced. He had no doubt at least one—maybe more—was dead.

  “I’m heading back to camp, but I’ll send most of the men to you. Keep a couple on guard and send the rest out to round up what got away.” He swiped water off his face and sighed.

  Johnny’s head drooped, hiding his eyes as he said, “Do you know who we lost?”

  “No, I think the kid is okay. I’d just talked to him. Told him if the herd ran to get out of the way.”

  “I talked to Henry, too. Told him the same thing,” Johnny said.

  Waving, Cap turned his horse. There was only one way to know for sure. At least Berta should be okay. She would have been in the wagon when the stampede began and they’d run away from camp.

  The horse was dead tired and Cap let him take his own pace. He stopped once to talk to Willie and sent him on his way. He stopped the second time when he ran into Robert Bishop and James Crowley, both experienced hands who had been with the herd when they stampeded.

  They drew up with Cap, and he pointed behind him. “The herd’s about five miles that way. Ya’ll seen Goff or Henry?”

  Bishop and Crowley exchanged a glance, and then Crowley said, “We saw Henry. Haven’t seen Goff.”

  “What about the others?” Cap asked with trepidation.

  “They’re okay. All of them were in camp.”

  The remaining few miles was long. Although the rain still fell, the lightning and thunder had stopped, turning the night as dark as the bottom of a well. Cap’s horse plodded through the mud, head hanging, but Cap wasn’t in any better shape.

  He was responsible for Goff’s death, if it was Goff, and everything seemed to indicate it was. He was the one who ordered the extra guard duty. If he hadn’t, then the likelihood was the man would be alive. It wasn’t the extra duty—he had to do that—it was the fact that they had too many inexperienced people on duty during a storm.

  A light winked in the darkness ahead, and he guided his tired horse for it. The closer he came, the brighter the light. On the outskirts of camp, he sighed. All he wanted was a gallon of coffee and about three straight days of sleep.

  That was his goal until he rode into camp. Berta stood over the fire as Flapjack prepared breakfast. As tired as he was, the sight of her, and the relief that washed across her face, rejuvenated him.

  When he dismounted, Toby Mims, the coonass wrangler from Louisiana, rushed forward and took the horse.

  “Toby, can you put my saddle on something else? I need to head back out.”

  “Yes, suh, Mr. Cap,” Mims said as he led the horse away.

  When he sat, Berta thrust a cup of coffee at him and Flapjack handed him a plate with a long thin flapjack—not the round one he was used to.

  He glanced at the cook. “What’s this?”

  “I calls it a pronger. Eat it,” the grumpy cook said.

  Picking it up, he examined it.

  “It’s really good,” Berta said.

  Cap turned it over, sighed, and bit into it. His eyes widened and he glanced at the cook. “You put a hunk of bacon in the flapjack.”

  The cook grunted as if to say he already knew that. But Cap didn’t pay him any mind—he was too busy shoveling the pronger or whatever the cook called it, into his mouth.

  Flapjack glanced across the fire at Cap. “My services needed out there?” he asked.

  Being the cook on a cattle drive meant Flapjack was also the doctor, and he’d worded his question the way he did for Berta’s sake.

  “No, my services are needed.” Cap said. If he found enough to bury. The last drive he was on where they lost someone, all they found was a lump in the mud. They identified the man run over by the silver conchos on his belt.

  With the sun trying to come up, he and Berta strolled hand-in-hand to the edge of the camp after Cap ate. As they stared into the pre-dawn which was coming late because of the weather, she asked, “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

  Before Cap could answer she continued. “Flapjack has been talking in riddles like he doesn’t want me to know what’s going on.”


  Cap sighed. “I don’t know for sure yet, but we probably lost someone out there. I think it’s Goff. No one has seen him since the herd took off.”

  Her voice trembled. “I’m glad you’re safe. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  “Just keep going with the drive. Find Bull. His real name is Andy Johansson. Tell him who you are and he’ll take care of you.”

  Tears pooled in her eyes and she jerked her hand out of his, crossing her arms. “I meant I didn’t know what I would do emotionally. I don’t need to be taken care of.”

  Catching the points of both shoulders, he pulled her close. “Sorry, my mind was on something else.”

  She looked up at him. “I love you.”

  Holding her, he said, “I love you, too.”

  They held each other, both in thought, as the sun tried to come up. At last, Cap sighed and stepped back. “I have to go.”

  “I know. Please be careful.”

  He caught her chin with his crooked index finger and lifted it. “Podnar, that’s the easiest promise I have made in a coon’s age.” He bent and kissed her.

  The wrangler had a horse saddled and waiting for Cap. “Here yo’ go, Mr. Cap.”

  “Thanks Toby,” he said as he swung up on the grullo dun.

  Although he didn’t want to, Cap headed directly to where the herd had bedded down before they stampeded. It took almost an hour before Cap found what he was looking for but didn’t want to find. Even then, he almost missed it.

  Stopping the horse, he looked down. A small part of a hat was sticking out of the mud. With a lump in his throat, his gazed traveled the area, where he spotted a boot.

  Cap stood staring at the place where Goff had died. Thirty-five hundred head of running cows stomping on something or someone left little for anyone to find.

  He flipped his hat backward and off his head. The stampede string held it on his back. He swiped his face off with his dirty bandana and then sat staring over the trampled ground. They’d been on the trail exactly one day and already had a stampede and lost a man. He closed his eyes tight and said to the horse, “Three months to go.”