“Please, Malaina,” Jackson’s voice pleaded. Malaina could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. She smelled the familiar aroma of leather and bacon that was his. “I can’t lose you now, darlin’. Do you think I saved your hide time after time to let you go now? I even had the white horse this time, Malaina.”
“White horse?” she heard herself whisper.
She was aware of Jackson sighing heavily and hugging her tightly against him. As her eyes at last opened they beheld the magnificent face of her champion.
“You said yourself, way back when, that all I needed was a white horse,” he said, smiling and kissing her cheek softly as he stroked her hair affectionately.
As she gazed into his handsome face and her mind became clearer, she realized fully the danger they had all just endured. She was angry with herself for subjecting them all to such peril. Especially Jackson. She looked at the blood dried on his sleeve. The blood from the wound inflicted because of her.
Pushing him away she cried, “How dare you? Sabers! Of all things! Why did you have to make it into such a game? It was awful! He could’ve killed you!” she buried her face in her hands, sobbing violently with emotional relief.
Taking her gently by the shoulders, Jackson again drew her to him. “Sshh, darlin’. It’s all over,” he whispered into her hair.
Malaina let her arms slip around him, hugging him tightly against her own body. “He could’ve killed you, Jackson,” she reminded.
“He didn’t, Malaina,” he reminded in return. Then he chuckled, “He couldn’t a won anyway. I didn’t spend no four years at West Point to get whipped by some man who wears ruffles on his chest.”
“It’s not funny. How can you laugh? I thought I’d have to see you be killed!” she cried, hugging him tighter.
His smile showed compassion, not mockery. “I know, darlin’. But it’s over now. No more worries. No more strangers showin’ up to try and steal you away.” He kissed her cheek tenderly and began playing with a lock of her soft hair. His eyes hypnotized her as he spoke. “Now, I figure...I’ve saved you again, right?” He kissed her other cheek. “That’s six times now, ain’t it?” He kissed her forehead. “I figure...you marry me and we’ll call it even.”
“But you said...” she began. Her words were silenced and her eyes widened in disbelief as he pressed a lovingly passionate kiss to her mouth.
“I was afraid, Malaina,” he confessed and his smile was gone. “Afraid that you’d suddenly remember someday...someone in the past that you loved before. Someone you’d regret losing. Someone that you’d come to realize you loved more than your smelly ol’ cowboy.” Tears rolled from Malaina’s eyes and down her temples and she tried to smile.
“But, I own you now. And I’ve got the papers to prove it.” He kissed her quickly again, waved Collin’s ‘legal’ bill of sale in her face, stuffed it in his shirt and smiled as she pulled his head to hers to return his kisses.
Maggie and Mary were wiping their tears of joy with their strawberry and blood stained aprons. “A double wedding!” Maggie sighed.
“Malaina!” Charlotte exclaimed in horror as she watched her sister receiving and returning passionate kisses with Jackson. “Malaina! How can you? It’s so improper! Such intimate behavior. In public! Not to mention kneeling in the soil...with a man!” Malaina laughed as she looked up at her sister’s blushing face.
Jackson chuckled and winked at Baker. “I saw you lookin’ at that girl, Baker. Take off your shirt and start breakin’ her in!”
Baker grinned and turned to Charlotte. She was quite beautiful herself. He’d felt something toward her instantly. She clutched her shirt collar.
“Baker!” Maggie warned. But he ignored her.
“Ma’am,” he said, taking Charlotte in his arms and forcing his proficient kiss on her mouth. She struggled at first but then relented and returned his kiss for a moment before he released her.
Maggie smiled when she saw the look that passed between Charlotte and her middle son. Yes. She thought. They’d all be married soon.
Happiness for Charlotte caused Malaina’s heart to swell to near bursting. For she, too, had seen the undeniable expression of love at first sight that passed between Baker and her beloved sister.
Jackson pulled Malaina to her feet after he’d stood himself. Everyone was going into the house. Mary was chattering to Matthew about tending to his wound, Baker was looking dreamily down at the blushing Miss Charlotte and Maggie was babbling about her new daughter.
“I’ve loved you from the very first moment, Malaina. I tried and tried to talk myself out of it,” Jackson said, pulling her to him.
“Why?” she asked, nuzzling her forehead into his neck.
“I’m a sweaty ol’ cowboy who’s always beat up and couldn’t talk good grammar if my life depended on it. And look at you...all beautiful and soft like a peach in summer. What do you want me for?”
She looked up at him and he played with a strand of her hair in his mouth.
“You smell like heaven,” she said smiling. “You’re every girl’s dream...handsome, strong, intelligent, a survivor, a protector...and I’m sure you’re every bit the lover that you make yourself out to be.”
“That I am, my darlin’. That I am.” And he kissed her again to prove it.
And now, enjoy the first chapter of
the Desert Fire sequel
To Echo the Past
by Marcia Lynn McClure.
CHAPTER ONE
Brynn Clarkston gazed despondently through the parlor window and out into the dusty, abandoned street. Even though it was a warm, bright summer day, her spirits were cool and blue. She abhorred the small town her family had recently moved to. She was a stranger to everyone and they were strangers to her. There were so few young people her age and she missed the grand set of friends she had enjoyed in the east. There were no grand shops, no scented bakeries, no park with a band playing in the gazebo. No automobiles, no opera, no medicine stores with soda counters. She sighed heavily, reflecting on her memories of the colorful, musical city that her family had left behind them. Yet, she had no choice but to accept this brown, lifeless town that she lived in now. She must call it home.
Her father, Richard Clarkston, was an educator. And a good one at that. He had relinquished his position as a professor at the university, and accepted a teaching post at the local school in isolated western town. He explained to his wife and children he harbored a craving for adventure and he felt the West would provide it. Therefore, what choice was left to Brynn, his eldest daughter? None.
And so, Brynn hadn’t complained when the family arrived to find the township and its people a little primitive compared to others she had always known. These people all bore a sort of drawling manner about their speech, and very few of the women were properly corseted.
“Heathens,” her Aunt Rebecca had called them.
Brynn knew the people in town and the farmers and ranchers that lived on its outskirts were honest, hard working folks for the most part. But, as she watched Mr. Beevis Bellmont walk past and flash his rotting-toothed smile at her, she wondered this day if any of the honest, hard working folk were in the least attractive.
Sighing heavily once more, Brynn deserted her post at the window and went to the mirror standing in one corner of the room. Yet another heavy sigh escaped her lungs as she studied her own reflection. She was a tall girl with a slender, yet pleasing figure, humbly boasting the perfect curvature placement for an ideal feminine form. Her hair was dark, long, and brilliantly soft, accentuated by red and highlights, while her eyes were of a blue that was equaled only by the pure hue of the heavens.
However, Brynn, being blessed with an overabundance of modesty and a pleasing lack of vanity, saw none of these greatly sought after attributes as she gazed at her reflection on that warm summer day.
“Darling...” Brynn’s mother chimed as she entered the room, immediately noticing the dissatisfied expression on her daughter’s face.
<
br /> Ophelia Clarkston was a woman above all others. She was the matured version of her daughter in every physical aspect, at the same time possessing the knowledge akin to a woman of experienced years and wisdom.
“You’re looking uncommonly lovely today,” she said.
Brynn sighed, knowing her mother was trying to dispel her negative thoughts. “Thank you, Mother,” she said. “But you’d say that if I were Medusa herself.”
Brynn looked at her mother wondering how such a beautiful woman as she could be ever so blissfully happy with her lot. After all, hadn’t her mother been one of the most beloved diva’s of her time? So many admirers were heartbroken when she retired from the opera in order to wed the man she loved, Brynn’s father.
As Brynn studied her mother’s flawless complexion and brilliant blue eyes, she wondered how it would feel to possess such beauty.
“True,” her mother admitted. “But, you’re not. Venus more likely.”
“Mother, I detest this dreary, dry town,” Brynn sighed, going once more to the window.
“You only need to adjust, darling. Make some friends! You never go out.” Ophelia smiled understandingly. “This very minute...why don’t you go out for a stroll. Wander down to Mrs. Johnson’s store and pick out some cloth for that new dress I promised you.”
Brynn smiled, relenting. “Very well. Perhaps the fresh air will do me good.”
❦
Fifteen minutes later, Brynn crossed the threshold of the general store.
“Good morning, Mrs. Johnson,” she greeted the jolly elderly woman deposited in a worn chair behind the counter.
“Good mornin’, Brynn. Yer lookin’ particularly purty this morning,” Mrs. Johnson complimented.
Brynn wondered at the elderly woman. She had heard talk of Mrs. Johnson’s being was well into her seventies. Yet, she was quite alert, friendly and able bodied.
“Thank you, but I’m afraid I’m feeling far from pretty today.” Brynn smiled when the woman shook her head in disagreement. “Mother has sent me in to choose cloth for a new dress. Do you mind if I have a look?”
“Not at all, peach. Go right ahead. Let me know when you find somethin’ and I’ll put it back for you until your mama comes in.”
“Thank you,” Brynn said, smiling kindly. She liked the old woman. Her eyes constantly sparkled as if she harbored some secret knowledge that amused her.
Half-heartedly Brynn began browsing through the bolts of cloth that stood nearby. At last she decided on a pretty cream colored calico with tiny blue flowers.
Picking up the heavy bolt of cloth, she returned to the counter. Holding the bolt of cloth near to her face she asked, “Well? What do you think, Mrs. Johnson? Is this the one for me?”
As she raised her eyes to look for the woman she was stunned to utter heart palpitations when she saw standing just inside the store the most inconceivably handsome man! So startled was she that her grip on the bolt of cloth faltered and the heavy thing dropped to the floor violently landing mostly on Brynn’s right foot.
“Ow!” she exclaimed. She was horrified as the vision of pure masculinity then stepped forward and retrieved the toppled bolt, setting it on the counter.
“That there musta hurt, miss,” he said as he squatted before her and brazenly took her injured foot in one hand. “Do ya think it’s broke?” he asked.
Brynn could only shake her head in silent response as the blue of his eyes captured the blue of hers.
“Glad to hear that,” he said straightening, towering over Brynn, and extending his right hand in greeting.
Brynn took his hand and he shook it firmly. “I don’t believe I’ve met you before...Miss...Miss...”
“Brynn Clarkston,” she managed to sputter at last.
“Miss Clarkston,” the young man repeated, flashing a dazzlingly white set of teeth as he smiled. “I’m Michael. Michael McCall. My family’s been ranchin’ ‘round here since right after the war ‘tween the states. I don’t get into town often...but maybe I oughta make a point of it.”
Brynn blushed as he winked at her. “We just moved here from back east,” she explained.
“Well now...that’s right refreshin’,” he chuckled. “My mama will be dern near to splittin’ a gut with excitement when she finds out there’s new folk in town. Both a my auntie’s will, too, I reckon.”
“You...you have a lot of family around here?” Brynn asked, desperate to keep the conversation going with such a profoundly attractive young man. He seemed quite nice and friendly, too.
“Shoot, yeah!” he confirmed exuberantly. “This place is crawlin’ with McCalls.”
Brynn smiled joyously. It seemed there were actual civilized human beings nearby. Attractive ones. “How encouraging,” she said.
“Hey, Mrs. Johnson,” he addressed the elderly woman. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a new...and right purty young lady in town?”
The old woman chuckled. “I figured you’d find out for yerself soon enough, boy,” she answered. “You sniff ‘em out quicker than anybody.”
Michael looked back to Brynn and smiled, still talking to Mrs. Johnson. “I come in for some liniment and witch hazel,” he said.
Brynn found it difficult to look at him directly. His eyes were too probing, as if they could see her innermost thoughts.
“Been breakin’ them horses again have ya?” Mrs. Johnson asked.
Brynn cast her eyes to the floor and Michael McCall bent his head as well until she was forced to meet his gaze again once more. He smiled at her and nodded, still talking to Mrs. Johnson.
“Heck, yes! Them boys need to be broke if’n we’re gonna get ‘em sold. It makes Mama so awful nervous to have Daddy doin’ it, you know.”
At last the handsome cowhand looked to the elderly woman. “S’pose ya better throw in a new shirt too, Mrs. Johnson. I done ripped this one near to shreds and Mama will have a fit when she see’s it.”
Brynn hadn’t noticed before, for she had been so entranced by the pure attractiveness of the man. But, now she looked to see his shirt untucked from his Levi’s and haning open exposing the browned, muscular torso beneath. There were several tears in the garment and one shoulder was blood stained, obviously from a wound that lay beneath.
Gasping at the unexpected sight of a man’s bare chest, Brynn reflexively closed her eyes to shade them from it. She opened them again, however, when she heard the amused chuckling of Mrs. Johnson and the young man.
“Ain’t used to blood, huh?” Michael McCall asked her. “Don’t worry, Miss Brynn, it’s just a little ol’ scratch.” Reaching up he pushed the shirt from his shoulder revealing a painful looking laceration. “Though I don’t normally admit to it...I got bucked off this mornin’ and hit the fence. It don’t hurt much now.”
Brynn looked away shyly. The blood was far from making her uncomfortable. It was the sight of a half nude man that did so.
“Let me get those things together for you now, Michael,” Mrs. Johnson said, standing and going into a room that adjoined the store.
Brynn took a deep breath as she looked up to find the man again smiling at her.
“So, what brings your family out here?” he asked.
Brynn swallowed with difficulty and answered, “My...my father has accepted a teaching position here.”
“He’s a teacher?” he asked.
“He was a professor at the university, but he wanted to move west. So, here we are,” she explained. She was aware that her hands were nervously wringing her skirt, but she was unable to will them to cease.
“How many Clarkstons are there?” he asked, smiling and taking a toothpick from a small dish on the counter. He opened his mouth slightly, setting the pick on his tongue. Then he closed his mouth again, the toothpick protruding from one side of his mesmerizing grin.
Brynn cleared her throat and cast her eyes down briefly before answering. His smile was all too intriguing! “Five,” she answered. “My father, my mother, myself, my sister Sierra, and
my brother Scottie.”
“You’re the oldest child?” he asked.
She looked up to him then. “Yes, sir.”
He chuckled. “Darlin’, I can’t be more’n two years older than you now, can I? You call me Michael.”
Brynn smiled. “Very well.”
He chuckled again. “My mama will like you. It’s been some time since she had a conversation with someone so proper. She’s darn near nagged herself blue tryin’ to get us childr’n to talk right.”
Brynn smiled and was again mesmerized by the toothpick as she watched it slide to the middle of his lips and begin flickering up and down rapidly.
Michael chuckled and took the pick from his mouth. “Nasty habit, I know. But Mrs. Johnson keeps these out here just for us. It’s a sight nicer than tobacca, don’t ya think? ‘Sides...tobacca turns yer teeth all yeller and black. Ain’t a girl on this earth that wouldn’t rather a man had white teeth than yeller. Especially come time for sparkin’. Don’t you agree?” he asked.
Brynn cleared her throat again nervously and muttered, “Yes. I suppose that’s true.”
“Here you go, boy,” Mrs. Johnson called as she returned. “Witch hazel for all them bruises yer bound to have collected on your seat. Liniment, and a nice white shirt. Don’t go tearin’ this one up tomorrow, you hear me?” she said smiling.
“No ma’am, I won’t,” Michael said taking the items from her. “In fact, why don’t we save Mama the trouble of havin’ a fit today, Mrs. Johnson.” And before Brynn could attempt to shade her eyes or turn away, Michael McCall stripped off the tattered shirt and threw it into a basket meant for garbage that stood nearby.
“Heathens!” Aunt Rebecca’s voice echoed in Brynn’s mind as she stared at the shirtless man before her.
The thought quickly passed through her mind that maybe heathens weren’t so bad. Provided they all looked like Michael McCall and not Beevis Bellmont.
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