by Mikea Howard
His consort approached, wrapping one arm around him, the other snaking out to lay her palm upon the bark. Kissing his neck, she trailed her tongue up to his ear, sucking on the lobe. “She’s not just here for you, my heart.”
Addressing the tree, he said, “I know you’re an ancient legend spanning eras, continents, and worlds. To some you’re nothing more than a dream, to others, a pretty fairy tale to generations. For those in need of their own happy ending, you are a gift. We would never take you for granted.”
He pulled his consort in tighter, kissing her forehead for loving him.
Branches of swirling color waved above them.
Epilogue
Six months later, Sector Two
Kicking her crossed ankles back and forth, Dottie rocked the porch swing in a gentle motion. In less than half an hour she and Tim would be visiting a ghost of her past. The screeching of brakes, grinding of gears, and stuttering of the land yacht’s diesel engine heralded her husband’s attempt to pull the beast around to the front of the house.
Hopping out of the bus, Tim smiled from ear to ear. “I believe I’m getting the hang of it.”
Rising from her seat, she laughed, shaking her head. “We may have ta buy ‘nother by then.” Dottie stuck out her hand, palm up. “Might be best if I drive us there.”
Donning an exaggerated frown, he tossed the keys to her. “Fine, but I get to bring us back home.”
Her touring pride and joy roared to life, the steering wheel warm under her grip. Her old manager, Arthur, used to do most of the driving. On the rare occasion, he’d ask for a break. Dottie would get the chance to revel in rolling down the open road from the Captain’s seat. Surrounded by quiet, she’d be able to mull things over while Art slept.
Unlike Tim, she shifted through gears with ease, maneuvering down the road. Increasingly familiar landmarks had Dottie’s stomach fluttering with mixed emotions. Considering turning around and bouncing on her whole idea, she let up on the gas.
“Why are we slowing? Are we there?” Tim moved up behind her.
“I’m pretty sure I left the kettle on back at the house. We’ll have ta try comin’ out some other time.”
Tim’s comforting hand rested on her shoulder. “Have you forgotten, Na-qui-si? Even when we’re not in our animal forms it’s impossible for you to hide your true emotions from me. The same anxiety racing through your veins is rushing through mine.”
Once safely parked on the side of the road, he pivoted, squatting next to her. “I’ll never push you into something you’re uncomfortable with. We’ll go back home, if you really want, but remember you’re not confronting your past alone. I’m here to share my strength.”
Reaching out, Dottie cupped his cheek. “Yer right, love. I’m jus’ a bundle of nerves.”
He wrapped his fingers around hers, easing them to his lips for a kiss. “Should I take over driving? Is it much further?”
“Dear God, no.” In an attempt to hide the truth behind her reaction, she added, “I mean, it’s not necessary, the turn is jus’ up there.” She pointed to the dirt road ahead on the right.
Tim’s raised brow and suspicious gaze suggested he hadn’t been fooled.
Damn this bonded connection.
Forcing out an exaggerated sigh, Dottie patted his head. “All right, Edo warned me ‘bout bird shifters and their . . . drivin’ skills. How’d he put it? Oh, yeah. Better ta have ‘em in the skies than on the road.”
Mimicking being wounded, Tim grasped his shirt over his heart, falling back into the aisle. Eyes closed, a slow smirk spread across his lips. Rising to his elbows, he gave her a genuine smile.
Laughing, Dottie focused on the road ahead. “Shall we continue?”
Standing to his full height in her periphery, he gripped her shoulder. “I’ll follow you anywhere, love. We’re stronger together than we’ll ever be apart.”
The trek up the dirt road to her childhood home proved a challenge not only for her, but for the land yacht too. Overgrown trees and brush had taken over, leaving a tight squeeze.
She cringed as limbs scraped along the vehicle. The Roaming Enforcers would not be pleased if Dottie ruined their paint job to fool the Animal Gang. Proceeding on, the foliage closed in tighter, choking out the light.
Right when she feared they couldn’t go any further, they burst free of Spanish moss and vines into a sundrenched opening. Amid tall grass stood the ramshackle remnants of the little shotgun shack.
Setting the brake and turning off the ignition, Dottie rested her chin on the steering wheel, staring out the windshield. “It’s tiny.”
Fingers entwined, they approached the front steps. The screen hung by one rusted hinge, having broken free of the other. The door ajar, it groaned as Dottie pushed, opening it wide. The stench of wild animals having taken over the residence assaulted her.
Through watering eyes, she made light of her past. “Smells ‘bout the same as it did back then.”
Entering into the long hallway style building, memories surfaced. To her surprise, only good, pleasant ones came to mind. Taking stock of the living room, Dottie recognized the remnants of the couch where she’d cuddle next to her mother as they read the day’s news. Listening to the cadence of her mom’s voice as she recited the story of a new shop opening in town, or the description of an affluent newlywed bride’s gown.
Passing through the doorway into the kitchen, she smiled and reminisced about the fruit covered area when her mom’s pressure cooker exploded as they hung clothes out back. Her mama’d been madder than a wet cat, but she’d laughed, tickled to tears by the steamed peach painted walls. She’d pulled an additional chuckle or two out of the woman as they scrubbed desperately before her stepfather returned home.
Next, Dottie and Tim wandered into her parents’ bedroom. Pride swelled deep inside, remembering the times she’d nursed her mother back to health from a debilitating hangover. Her throat knotted at how the woman would pull Dottie down to lie with her, kiss her head and call Dottie her ‘li’l angel.’
She stopped as they entered the last room. Empty shelves lined the walls of storage, but since they seldom had food to fill it, the space became her tight, cozy room. There, on the floor, sat her small tattered mattress. She’d formulated her aspirations of being a singer as she lay there, staring at the ceiling. Overcome with joy, she recognized those dreams had come true.
Stepping out the back door, fresh air washed over her. She’d done it. Dottie faced her past, and it hadn’t been the horrendous task she’d envisioned. She let the sun warm away the unnecessary fears, marveling at the notion of how having her husband by her side kept the phantoms she’d feared at bay. Spinning, she wrapped her arms around Tim, squeezing him tight.
They exchanged no words, only silent understanding as emotions transferred across their connection. He rested his cheek against her hair as he hugged her back, holding her until she’d had her fill.
Stepping away, she took his hand. “C’mere, there’s one last thing ta show you.”
Dottie wove through the trees surrounding the property. She vibrated with excitement when the light of the clearing broke through ahead of them. There in the middle of the small meadow, stood her Spanish moss-covered cypress.
Peeking over her shoulder, she gave Tim a wink. “I’ll race you ta the top.”
They sprinted up the thick branches. Unlike their magical tree, Dottie received no help. Thankfully her love stopped halfway and waited for her to join him on a stout limb.
Positioning herself between him and the trunk, she scanned the beauty around them. “Thank you, Tim, for not only findin’ me, but for bein’ the other half ta complete me.”
Switching her focus to his deep brown eyes, she leaned in as he dipped his head, kissing her. Filling her with his love.
Mak
ing her whole.
Thank you for reading SOUL SONG, by Mikea Howard, Book Ten in THE SOUL MATE TREE COLLECTIVE! If you enjoyed the read, please consider leaving a review on Amazon.
The Collective continues with November’s release, THE STORM WITHIN, by Cerian Hebert:
For two years Juliana Hopkins has mourned her late husband, killed in a devastating car accident that nearly took her life as well. Unable to escape her reoccurring nightmares, she walks the trails in her woods. One night she finds a tree she knows doesn’t belong. She’s drawn to the tree’s mystical beauty, and the ghost of her late husband, telling her it’s time to move on and open herself up to love again. Juliana falls asleep against the trunk of the beautiful tree.
A destructive ice storm strands neighbor Aidan Byrne, a renowned painter and self-imposed hermit, at Juliana’s home. He’s been in love with her for years, but he can’t push aside his solitary lifestyle and pursue her.
An ex-newspaper editor, Juliana has always been intrigued by the reclusive painter, and the fact that he’s handsome to boot, doesn’t make it any easier to avoid the growing attraction between them. She’s always wanted his story, but he holds onto his past tightly. He’s lived most his life wrapped in guilt because of the untimely deaths of his brother and sister when they were children. He finally confides in Juliana, who believes there’s a chance the siblings could still be alive. Against his wishes, Juliana digs into the tragedy of the orphanage fire that took the lives of Aidan’s siblings.
Her investigating puts their budding relationship at risk. Aiden doesn’t want to relive the pain of losing his siblings again, but he discovers that losing Juliana could be worse.
LINKS FOR MIKEA HOWARD:
Website: www.mikeahoward.com
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Twitter.com: mikeahowardwrit
Instagram.com: mikeahoward
Amazon: amazon.com/author/mikeahoward