by Jo Grafford
Bert sniffed but didn’t respond. Her rigid shoulders only relaxed a fraction when he fired up the coal burner. “Oh, Kane!” She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “All worries about Matthew aside, I’m tremendously happy about today. You’ve made all my biggest dreams come true.”
Not quite all of them, my dear. But he intended to before the day was through, Lord willing. “You’ve made a good number of mine come true as well,” he assured huskily. He reached for her hand and tugged her inside the basket. “Let’s win this race and make another one of both our wishes come true.”
“I love you,” Bert whispered as they watched The Bride Herder begin to inflate. “I love you so much it hurts.”
Kane’s fingers tightened over hers. But before he had the chance to form a worthy response to such a monumental and heartfelt declaration, a trio of guns shot into the air, signifying the beginning of the race.
He swiftly dropped her hand, exited the basket, and flew up the ladder to release the balloon hooks. When he rejoined her, she was utterly engrossed in the long row of balloons taking off at uneven intervals down the field. Some took off quickly while others ascended at a more sedate pace. The wind was blowing in an easterly direction, which was perfect for the depth of the pasture.
“There’s Matthew.” Bert’s voice held a note of concern as she watched his balloon ascend more rapidly than the rest. “He’s giving it too much hydrogen. I know it!”
Kane shook his head. “His problem at the moment, not ours.” He didn’t take his eyes off their own burner. It was too important to keep a steady blast of hot air moving upward though the mouth of the balloon. “Best to focus on steering our own sky beast, darling.”
“But there will be no second Annual Bent Hot-Air Balloon Festival if he incinerates himself,” she grumbled. “Egad! He’s so high, he looks as small as a bug.” She shaded one hand over her eyes. “He must have hit a different air current. It’s taking him north instead of east like the rest of us.”
To Kane’s chagrin, she pulled back on the rudder and began to turn their balloon in Matthew’s direction.
“I thought you wanted to win this race,” he protested.
“I do. Or rather, I did.” Leaning into the rudder so she could hold it with her hip, she cupped her hands over her mouth. “Power down, Matthew Crutchfield! Power down!”
To Kane, she growled, “That fool is going to catch fire any second at the rate he’s going. Power up as much as you safely can, while I steer us underneath him.”
His chest swelled at the realization that the woman he was courting was genuinely more concerned about Matthew’s safety than she was about winning the race — or impressing the Redburns or proving herself to the rest of world, for that matter. Any final doubts he had about marrying her crumbled. She was the one and only woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
“Powering up!” he declared as he ran the burner to its maximum capacity. “Let’s go save that scalawag from himself, sweetheart.” He briefly scanned the heavens and discovered that Bert hadn’t exaggerated in her description of his friend. He and his balloon were hardly more than a speck against the backdrop of clouds.
“We’re almost there.” Bert let up some on the rudder. “Almost there. Mercy!”
At her horrified exclamation, Kane glanced up again.
“He’s on fire!” Her voice shook with horror. “Help me, Kane. Hold the rudder steady while I—”
Whatever else she’d planned to say was muffled behind a grunt of exertion as she hoisted herself to the basket railing. It was a mighty fortunate thing she was wearing a split skirt, because her legs were spread wide for leverage. The fabric around her knees rippled like kites in the wind while she held on to the ropes securing their balloon to its basket.
“You’re going to have to steer us the rest of the way,” she called breathlessly to him.
“Count on it,” he snarled. “Right after you tether yourself on.” Unwilling to take any unnecessary chances with her safety, he threw the end of their anchor cord up to her, the one their ground crew normally used to tug them the rest of the way to their landing point. They would worry about that after Matthew was safe.
She had to momentarily cling to one of the basket ropes to secure the cord around her waist. She glanced up as she tied. “Mercy!” she muttered again. “He’s in real trouble, Kane. The whole basket’s on fire, and he’s coming down fast.”
“What do you want me to do, love?”
“Now that we’re in position, you can cut our power.” She glanced down frantically to gauge their distance to the ground.
“Are you crazy?” he shouted back.
“Probably,” she shouted back. “But we’re going to have to use our balloon to cushion his fall. It’s the only choice we have.”
Or Matthew was a dead man. He nodded in understanding at what she left unsaid.
Unfortunately, such a maneuver would incinerate their own balloon, which meant they, too, were facing a crash landing. He needed to start their descent now to minimize the impact.
Clenching his jaw, he switched off their burner.
“Stay on the rudder,” Bert cried. She kept her face tipped in the direction of the crisis taking place in the heavens above them. “A little to the west,” she ordered at one point. “He’s falling faster! Now to the south,” she added moments later.
“I hear you, doll.” He hoped she found his words more assuring than he felt. The only other time in his life he’d been this focused or had so much adrenaline pumping through his veins was during the bull riding event at the Bent rodeo. He’d also never before been this terrified, and it wasn’t on his own behalf. He couldn’t bear the thought of his brave, beautiful Bert sustaining any injuries on his watch.
He glanced at the ground again. He was closing the gap, though not near as quickly as he wished. By his best estimate, they had a hair’s breadth chance at surviving a crash at this point.
“Brace for it!” Bert bawled.
Matthew’s failed aircraft plummeted into theirs, making their passenger basket shudder. They careened wildly from side to side for several breath-stealing moments. The smell of burnt fabric filled their nostrils as their balloon burst open and began to melt and peel back one layer at a time. Clouds of smoke billowed down, enveloping them.
Then their own descent picked up speed.
“Climb on the rails, and hold on!” Bert screamed.
It took a moment for Kane’s brain to register the fact she wanted the basket itself to cushion their fall. Smart girl! He did as she bade and found himself facing her in the final seconds of their descent.
Her face was hidden behind a layer of soot, but her eyes shone with love and concern for him and him alone.
“I love you, too!” he shouted back at the top of his lungs, praying it wasn’t his last chance to utter the words. Please, God! Let her live!
They slapped the ground with a crunch of wicker. Kane performed a backwards somersault from the basket like he would if he was leaping from the back of a snorting bull. He hit hard enough to knock the breath from his chest but managed to keep his body curled until he rolled to a stop.
He immediately shoved his bruised limbs upright and stood there, tottering in his boots. “Bert!” he cried, frantically scanning the wreckage for her. “Bert!”
Hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him away from the fire. “Stay back!” someone hollered. “It’s an inferno in there.”
Kane shoved the man aside and ran back to the carnage. “Bert!” he cried again.
She emerged from the smoke, dragging Matthew’s limp figure by his arms.
“Oh, thank God!” he choked, lunging in her direction.
More hands and arms converged on him, holding him back. Thankfully, the same crowd of bodies converged on her and Matthew, as well, pulling them to safety.
Men pushed the crowd away from the wreckage with their arms outstretched. “Everyone back! It’s going to blow! Everyone back!”
Chapter 9: Epilogue
Bert
Matthew was loaded on a makeshift stretcher and driven in the direction of the doctor’s office as fast as the horses could gallop. Word spread quickly that he’d sustained some burns, but no one yet knew how bad off he was. The good news was he was alive.
“He’s alive. Thank God, he’s alive.” Bert’s throat hurt too badly to lend her voice to the words, so she mouthed them again and again like a prayer. She turned away when she could no longer see the medical wagon and swayed on her feet. Hands reached for her and held her up.
“Yes, the poor man is still alive, thanks to you, love.” A cup of water was pressed to her lips. “Drink,” a woman instructed calmly.
Bert took one sip and pushed it away. “Where is Kane Jameson?” She glanced frantically around her. “Has anyone seen Kane Jameson? My flying partner?”
No one immediately answered, which filled her heart with terror. “Please,” she choked. “Just tell me this. Did he survive the fall?”
It seemed like an eternity before the throng of people around her parted. Kane stepped through the bodies, drenched in soot and ashes. Bert took one look at him, and the waterworks started to flow.
Uncaring who was watching them, she flung herself at him.
His arms came around her, and he pressed his face to her neck.
“Where does it hurt?” he snarled against her hair.
“Everywhere.” She tried to chuckle, but it came out as a croak. “And you?”
“I’m fine. Nothing more than a few scratches.”
“Thank God!” she sobbed.
He cupped her chin in one hand and sealed his mouth over hers in a hard, very thorough kiss. When he lifted his head, she no longer felt like crying.
“Kane!” she whispered in wonder, touching his filthy cheek. “I’m so thankful you’re alive.”
“I’m too tough to die,” he answered tenderly. He slowly took a knee before her. “Bless it all, but there hasn’t been a single dull moment since you blew into my life, woman, and I’d not have it any other way.” He brought her sooty fingers to his lips and kissed them one by one. “However, before the next crisis hits, I have something to ask you. Will you marry me, darling?”
The crowd around them gave a collective gasp as they perceived they were witnessing a very momentous occasion.
Bert’s heart sped so quickly it made her lightheaded. “Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, I will.”
He gave one of his cowboy howls of exultation as he shot to his feet to twirl her around and around in his arms. “She said yes!” he shouted to the world. “She said yes!”
Their audience dissolved into thunderous applause and cheers. Several of the men surrounding them stepped forward to thump him on the back and issue congratulations.
“That Chance Redburn!” One man shook his head. “He might have some unconventional ways of doing things, but he’s a true matchmaker.”
“Yes, indeed.” A second man guffawed. “Looks like he’ll be herding another bride to the alter mighty soon.”
Bert wrapped her arms tightly around Kane’s neck. She didn’t mind being caught by one of the town’s handsome innkeepers and ranchers. Not one teensy bit! She’d finally found a man worth braving the perils of marriage with.
She tipped her head back to glance up at the sky and felt her insides melt when his lips nuzzled her throat. My lands! She loved him so much! And she was already picturing the next hot-air balloon they would build together. There were plenty more races written in their stars. She was sure of it, because this was the man she was meant to herd the heavens with forever and always!
<<< THE END >>>
Thank you for reading Herd the Heavens! I hope you enjoyed meeting Bert and Kane, because there might be another installment coming for the characters in this story. Hint hint…
Please consider taking a moment to leave a review at the vendor where you made your purchase or on reader sites such as Bookbub or Goodreads. Your review can make a huge difference in the visibility my books receive with other readers. Thank you beaucoup!
Much love,
Jo
P.S. If you enjoyed this story, keep turning the page for a sneak preview of a few more of my sweet historical romances.
Sneak Preview: Hot-Tempered Hannah
Book #1 in the Mail Order Brides Rescue Series
Unlike his name suggested, there was nothing angelic about Gabriel Donovan. Quite the contrary. While most men were settled down with a wife and family by his ripe old age of twenty-six, he preferred the life of a bounty hunter, tracking and rounding up men who carried a price on their heads. He extracted money and information and taught an occasional lesson to particularly deserving scoundrels when circumstances warranted it.
Most people kept their distance from him, and he was okay with that. More than okay. Making friends wasn’t part of the job, and he sincerely hoped he didn’t run into anyone he knew at the Pink Swan tonight. Unlike the other patrons, he wasn’t looking for entertainment to brighten the endless drag of mining activities in windy Headstone, Arizona. If any of the show girls from the makeshift stage at the front of the room bothered to approach him, they’d be wasting their time. He’d purposefully chosen the dim corner table for its solitude. All he wanted was a hot meal and his own thoughts for company.
“Why, if it isn’t Gunslinger Gabe,” a female voice cooed, sweet as honey and smoother than a calf’s hide. She plopped a mug of watered down ale on the table, scrapping the metal cup in his direction. “I’s beginning to worry you wasn’t gonna show up for your Friday night supper.”
“Evening, Layla.” He hated her use of his nickname. Hated how the printed gazettes popping up across the West ensured he would never outride the cheeky title. It followed him from town to town like an infection. He hated it for one reason: None of his eight notorious years of quick draws and crack shots had been enough to save his partner during that fated summer night’s raid.
It was a regret that weighed down his chest every second of every day like a ton of coal. It was a regret he would carry to his grave.
He nodded at the waitress who leaned one hand on the small round table with chipped black paint.
“Well, what’s it going to be this time, cowboy?” Her dark eyes snapped with a mixture of interest and impatience. “Bean stew? Mutton pie? As purty as your eyes are, I got other tables to wait on, you know.”
The compliment never failed to disgust him. Along with his angelic name, he’d been told more times than he cared to count that he’d been gifted with innocent features. If he heard another word about his clear, lake-blue eyes that inspired trust, he would surely vomit.
“Surprise me.” He hoped to change the subject. Both entrees sounded equally good to him. He was hungry enough to eat the pewter serveware, if she didn’t hurry up with his order.
Layla’s movements were slow as sap rolling down the bark of a maple tree. “If it’s a surprise you’re looking for….” She swayed a step closer.
“Bring me both,” he said quickly. “The stew and the pie. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
“Fine.” The single word was infused with a world of derisive disappointment. A few steps into her stormy retreat, she spun around. Anger rippled in waves across her heart-shaped face. “I know what you really want.”
“You do?” The question grated out past his lips before he could recall the words. Sarcastic and challenging. It had been a rough day. The last thing he needed was a saloon wench to whip out her crystal ball and presume to know anything about his life. Or his longings. No one this side of the grave could fill the void in his heart.
“I sure do, cowboy.” She was back in front of him before he could blink, her scarlet dress shimmering with her movements. “An’ I can show you a real special time. Something you ain’t never gonna find on no supper menu.”
He didn’t figure any good would come of trying to explain that his heart belonged to a ghost. Wracking his bra
in for a sensible way to end their conversation without offending her further, he stared drearily at his mug. There was no quickening of his breathing around any women these days. No increased thump of his heartbeat. Not like there had been with Hannah. His dead partner. Or Hot-Tempered Hannah, as she’d been known throughout the West.
Then again, maybe he wasn’t completely dead yet on the inside. He felt a stirring in the sooty, blackened, charred recesses of his brain as his memories of her sprang back to life. Memories that refused to die.
His mind swiftly conjured up all five feet three inches of her boyishly slender frame stuffed in men’s breeches along with the tumultuous swing of red hair she’d refused to pin up like a proper lady. Nor could he forget the taunting tilt of her head and the voice that turned from sweet to sassy in a heartbeat, a voice that had been silenced forever due to his failure to reach their rendezvous in time.
Lord help him, but he was finally feeling something alright — a sharp gushing hole of pain straight through the chest. He mechanically reached for his glass and downed the rest of his ale in one harsh gulp.
“Well, I’ll be!” The waitress peered closer at him, at first with amazement then with growing irritation. “I’ve been around long enough to know when a body’s pining for someone else.”
What? Am I that transparent? His brows shot up and he stared back, thoroughly annoyed at her intrusive badgering.
Layla was the first to lower her eyes. “Guess I’ll get back to work, since you’re of no mind to chat.” Her frustration raised her voice to a higher pitch. “I was jes’ trying to be friendly, you unsociable cad. I’ll try not to burn your pie or spill your soup, since that’s all you be wanting.” Her voice scorched his ears as she pivoted in a full circle and stormed in the direction of the kitchen.