Big Sky Eyes

by Sawyer Belle

  He snorted then hoisted her pregnant-and-overdue body into his arms effortlessly. Mackenna wanted to protest, but the truth was that it felt marvelous being off of her feet and in his arms, so she relaxed and rested her head on his shoulder as he led them all into the lodge. He set her down on the couch and Alora was back in action, bounding into her grandmother’s arms again.

  “Are you here because Mommy’s a doctor now or are you waiting to meet my brother?”

  “Both, sweetheart,” Helen answered. “Are you ready to be a big sister?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Alora answered confidently. “I’m going to be the best big sister in the world.”

  “I believe you will be. Now, go find your papa and see what he has for you.”

  Helen made her way to the chair beside Mackenna.

  “How’re you doing, Macks?”

  “Ready to pop.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re still pregnant,” she teased. “I missed the birth of the last one. I told your father that even if I have to camp out here for another two weeks I am not going to miss this one. Are you sure you’re up for walking at the graduation ceremony?”

  “I don’t think I’m going to have to worry about that,” Mackenna answered calmly. “I won’t be going to the ceremony this weekend.”

  “Why not?” Helen asked. “You’ve worked so hard. How could you not go to your own graduation?”

  Mackenna ignored her mother’s question and instead called out to Bev.

  “How much did you pay for this couch?”

  Bev approached with a curious look on her face. “I don’t know, Mackenna. That thing is ancient. Why?”

  “I’ll give you two hundred bucks for it.”

  “Why do you want that old thing?”

  “Because I’ve just ruined it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My water just broke on it.”

  A thick silence descended on the room as everyone thought about what she’d just said. Ty, Grant and David looked at each other with panic in their eyes. Leslie gasped excitedly and covered her mouth with her hands. Bev and Helen exchanged excited grins. Brent and Mackenna stared at each other with deep love in their eyes and Alora bounced her gaze from one face to the next until she couldn’t hold back any longer.

  “What’s everybody staring for?”

  The innocent question broke the tension and everyone laughed. Ty scooped her up in his arms.

  “Come on with me, Little Pearl,” he said. “You, me, Grandpa Grant and Papa David are going to hang out in the loft above the stables tonight. Your baby brother is on his way!”

  “How come Daddy gets to stay?” she asked with a pout.

  Brent went to her and nuzzled her affectionately.

  “Because Alora,” he answered. “Your mama needs me. Besides, I was the first one to hold you when you were born. I plan to be the first one to hold your brother.”

  “Can I be the second?” she asked excitedly. Brent looked at Mackenna to answer and she nodded.

  “Of course you can, honey.”

  “Yes!” she hissed, holding her hands in triumphant fists as she left with the rest of the men.

  “I’m sorry Bev,” Mackenna called as Bev went into the kitchen to boil some water. “I’m sure this is not what you had in mind when you invited us over for a graduation dinner.”

  “Oh, honey, this is better,” she answered cheerfully. “I delivered all my babies in this home. I delivered little Alora. Truth is, I was feeling kind of sad that I wasn’t going to be the one to deliver this youngin’ once you guys moved two hours away and got yourselves another midwife. So, trust me, this is better!”

  Mackenna smiled and squeezed her mother’s hand as she rose to help Bev and Leslie with the preparations. Brent knelt beside her and put a hand behind her head, bringing her face to his for a kiss.

  “How can I make you more comfortable?” he asked.

  Mackenna was caught in the grip of a hard contraction and leaned her head back against his hand and closed her eyes, concentrating on her breathing. When the pain faded away, she panted for more air and grabbed his free hand, holding it tight.

  “Just don’t let go,” she breathed.

  “Never.”

  From the Author

  Thank you for reading the story of Brent and Mackenna. Though not my first novel it is by far the one closest to my heart. I believe every author pulls from his or her life experiences to really tap into the emotional side of storytelling and in this book I have offered you a piece of my heart and youth. I encourage you to leave a review on Amazon.

  If you enjoyed this glimpse into the often overlooked beauty of Northern Nevada I invite you to travel back into the bustling days of its birth in my novel Silver Nights With You. The days of the great Comstock Lode discovery whipped the western frontier into a frenzy where eyes burned with lust for riches. Throw in a greenhorn debutante, a gorgeous miner, a smooth talking schemer and saddle them with robberies, lynching and a cave-in and you're sure to enjoy one wild ride!

  Read on for an excerpt and be sure to check out my website to purchase this or any of my other published works or follow my blog for more news and information. Thanks again!

  http://sawyerbelle.com

  http://sayitsawyer.wordpress.com/

  Silver Nights With You

  Gold Canyon, Nevada Territory

  1858

  No amount of oil could silence the creaks or soften the edges of the old leather saddle. Morgan pulled the reins and groaned as he shifted back and forth uncomfortably. His younger brother, Valentine, stopped beside him and chuckled, leaning forward to brace a forearm across the saddle horn. He tipped his hat back off his forehead to see more clearly.

  “Problems in your pants there, brother?” Valentine teased.

  “Not if you like a sharp wedge of rawhide riding your ass crack,” Morgan replied before huffing and dabbing his forehead with the back of his sleeve. The inside of his mouth still felt gritty from his last taste of the alkali water they’d pulled from the springs several hours before. Large, dark circles of sweat spread beneath his armpits.

  They’d been riding for four days straight through nothing but barren desert, heading west toward nowhere in particular and Morgan could feel his patience running as thin as their sulfuric water supply. He untied the canteen from his saddle and took a long swig. His black hat was thick with dust so he pounded it against his thigh to clean it, baring his dark brown hair to the desert heat. Dampened by sweat it curled softly, the foremost locks falling to tease the creases near his temples.

  A few dribbles of water escaped his swallow and fell over his chin. The entire lower half of his face was so coarse with dark stubble that he could light a matchstick off of it. His eyes, an iridescent light brown, stung from dryness and dirt and he rubbed them wearily before replacing his hat.

  “Hot damn, Val! Are we done chasing the wind yet? Surely that run-in with the Lahontans was enough adventure to satisfy your energy?”

  The youthful, handsome face of his similar-featured brother smiled over at him.

  “Careful, Morg. You’re starting to show your old age.”

  “Yeah, well, looking after your reckless hide all these years hasn’t done me any favors.”

  “Oh, come on, now. No favors?” Val asked with a suggestive lift of an eyebrow. “You haven’t had your share of pleasure in the process? That paddleboat down the Missouri proved profitable for you at the tables. And I’m sure Marianne didn’t sour the experience any.”

  Morgan chuckled, then swiftly snorted. “What good did it do us? You went and blew the entire lot in Texas.”

  “True, but if I hadn’t we would have never had the experience of driving cattle up into Colorado with the Bar JR boys.”

  “What do you mean ‘driving cattle’? The Mexicans practically chased us up into Colorado. The cattle just happened to come with us.” He shook his head at the memory. “What a damn fine way to learn that the cattle had been stolen
from across the Rio Grande.”

  Val laughed. “I believe the foreman called it comeuppance for the two hundred horses those same Mexicans took from the Bar JR. Even still, without them you would have never got it into your thick head to turn cattleman one of these days.”

  “Why not?” Morgan asked defensively, raising his arms out to his sides. “It was a good experience. We learned a lot and it’s a good, hard, honest living. Much better than your idea of racing from town to town looking for the sweetest pot of honey.”

  Val shook his head in defeat. “I do enjoy the sweet stuff. What can I say?”

  Morgan smiled briefly but sobered. He and Val had some good larks, but he was ready for peace and a quieter life. Val was restless, full of itches that needed scratching, and Morgan knew that he had done nothing but enable that aimless existence for the four years since their folks had died. He was well into his third decade and had nothing to show for it but a string of small adventures. He was ready for a slower pace, and God willing, a wife and family, too.

  “Seriously, Val. We’re one state away from the coast. There’s nowhere to go from there. What do you plan to do after that?”

  “Hell if I know. There’s always the sea.” At the disobliging look on Morgan’s face Val continued. “Don’t tell me you’re really thinking of settling down somewhere?”

  Morgan dipped his head thoughtfully and pursed his lips. “Yeah, I reckon so. I’m thirty-two next year, a full decade more than you. I’m tired of wandering, kid.”

  Val ignored his brother’s tone and unspoken plea. “Aw, we’ll just get you a new saddle. That’s all you need. Once you can sit more comfortably, you won’t care how long you’re doing it.”

  Morgan blew out a breath. “You’re honestly telling me that you haven’t thought about settling down at all?”

  Val shrugged dismissively. “I haven’t found a place that’s given me a reason to stay. Besides, Morgan, how are you gonna settle when we’ve got nothing? It’s not like you can just pick a spot of land and dream up timber and cattle.”

  “True enough,” Morgan agreed. “But if we stayed put in one place and held onto our money it could work. All it takes is a boundary fence, a house and a posted notice and we’ve got ourselves some land.”

  Val nodded grudgingly and nudged his horse into a walk. “And what place has sunk into your heart enough that you would you stay put in it, brother?”

  Morgan tapped the flanks of his horse to carry on. Cresting the swell of a small and sandy hill, they stood still once again to look down and admire a lush valley with a wide, clear lake and thick forests laid against a back drop of grand mountain spires. He felt a twinge in his chest and at once saw his life there in that fertile land.

  “This would do just fine,” he finally answered.

  Val scoffed and rolled his eyes skyward. “You’re a man of few needs, brother. I think you’d be happy anywhere.” His gaze fell inward. “I envy that of you.”

  “You mean you require more than my company for happiness?” Morgan teased.

  Val laughed. “Well, let’s go down there then and check out your homestead.”

  Morgan shook his head softly. Val had a way of saying a thing by using words that meant the exact opposite. It was a testament to how well Morgan knew his brother that he could decipher what the man was really saying. He looked longingly at the valley floor and kissed it goodbye, knowing that Val was not ready to slow down.

  They moved through the loose desert floor at a slow canter for a few minutes before Morgan felt a noticeable dip in his horse’s hind leg. He slowed to a trot and peered back. As suspected, his horse was limping and carrying his hoof high above the ground.

  “Hold up, Val,” he called, dismounting. He spoke in low, soothing sounds to calm the animal whose legs were quivering tightly beneath his palm. He ran his hands over the muscles, noticing where and when the animal tensed. A thumb-sized spindly burl had lodged itself into the coarse hair near the horse’s fetlock. He unsheathed his knife and worked carefully at cutting it out. Once it was dislodged, he massaged the spot to ease the animal’s suffering. When he lifted the hoof to examine it he stared in wonder at the metal shoe.

  It glimmered in a thin coat of dust and Morgan’s brow creased. Using the pad of his thumb, he wiped the surface clean and held his finger up to his eyes. It was a fine powder that spread from one finger to the next as he rubbed them all together. He examined the next hoof, finding it there as well. By the time he had checked all four his hand was coated in the stuff. The daylight glinted off of it, shining like ground up sun rays. Soft. Burnished.

  Golden.

  He sucked in a breath as it dawned on him what he held in his hands. Coughing in disbelief, a deep round of incredulous laughter shook his shoulders.

  “Hey Val!” he called excitedly. “You say you haven’t found a place that’s given you a reason to stay?”

  “Yeah,” Val answered warily as he brought his horse around.

  “Well, how about now?”

  He held his shimmering palm up to the sunlight watched it beam like the hand of God in the white desert sky. Val’s eyes widened and a slow smile split his face. He leapt from his horse and picked up a hoof, finding the shoe coated as well. He wiped it onto his palm and held it up to the sky as Morgan had. While he stared in wonder his breaths fell heavier and he panted silently for a long minute. Finally, Morgan grasped his brother’s golden palm in his and together they laughed.

  “Gold, baby!”

  Chapter 1

  Two years later

  The late-summer heat pressing down across the desert with the weight of a full-bellied sun was far worse than any summer she had experienced in the hills of Virginia. The windows of the stage coach were open, their curtains furled to let a hot breeze blow across the sweat-dampened necks of the occupants, and Lila felt a pang of pity for the mules speeding them across the stretch of dull, brown desert. She leaned against the thick leather strap that served as a back for the middle of three bench seats and heaved a weary sigh. Just where was this golden California anyway?

  Having traversed the Central Overland Trail across expanses of forests and hills, flat plains, thick mountain passes and hot white desert, she wondered if they had already seen everything glorious the country had to offer. She reached up and unclasped the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons at her throat and unfolded her collar to expose the glistening flesh of her chest and throat just above her camisole. A swift frown from her father in the seat across made her redo the last two buttons but she stopped there. She didn’t care if the entire Union army saw the swell of her cleavage. The heat was so thick that it hovered above the ground for miles.

  “Are you trying to cause a scandal, Lila?” her father admonished quietly.

  “No, I am trying not to faint.”

  His eyes softened in sympathy and his voice lost its edge. “I’m sure we’re nearing the next station. A quick stretch of the legs ought to do you some good.”

  His voice was paternal and soothing, but she turned her gaze back to the outside world and forced her mouth into a pout. “I’m still not talking to you,” she declared.

  She hadn’t wanted to leave Virginia. In fact, she had begged him to stay but he would hear none of it. The flowers had barely begun to sprout from her mother’s fresh grave before he was liquidating their belongings and packing up their life to head west. He told her that the east coast was congested and swarmed with corruption. Talk of war spread from parlor to parlor while salacious tales of golden riches near the Pacific graced the papers.

  Little more than a month had passed since they’d traveled by train to the Missouri River, booked passage on a steamboat north to Kansas and boarded the stagecoach in Atchison. Each passenger had only been allotted twenty-five pounds of baggage before boarding. While this didn’t affect her father’s belongings, she had had to part with half of her wardrobe. Despite reassurances that he would purchase a new one in California, the loss was a devastating addition to
her heavy sorrow and she had vowed then and there that she would never speak to her father again.

  Tears threatened to gather in her eyes. She knew it was silly to cry over discarded trunks, but all of those fine things! The satin, velvet and brocade bodices, the lace-trimmed fichus and capes, gone from her forever! Now, the laughably small valise resting on her lap housed two day dresses, their necessary accessories and underpinnings, a plain and unflattering nightgown, and her most prized possession: a photograph of her mother taken two years ago. She pinched her eyes against the sudden moisture, knowing that it wasn’t the lost wardrobe that gnawed on her heart.

  In all of her life she had only seen four photographs, and two of them were in the photographer’s shop in Boston. Her parents had taken her to the city for a two-week holiday and they were introduced to the man at a dinner party of one of her father’s old colleagues. He fussed over her mother’s beauty and begged to immortalize it. Within the week they found themselves turning up to spend an entire afternoon attempting to capture the image of Lynn Cameron.

  The day had been comical with Lynn unable to sit still or keep from laughing for the necessary hour of the exposure. It took a hidden clamp to hold her head straight and a stern lecture from the photographer on relaxing her mouth, but Lynn refused. It was wholly against her nature, she exclaimed, and she would rather be forgotten than to be remembered with a frown.

  The photographer professed that it was impossible for a person to smile for an hour and the final effect would be a blurred mouth. Lynn happily took up the challenge, and won. The result was a beautiful portrait of Lila’s mother seated at a desk, her arms folded primly, the lacy edges of a fichu lying delicately across her torso, her brown hair bundled and hidden mostly beneath a flowery bonnet.

  And the smile.

  Lila frowned sadly as she silently thanked God that she could still see her mother’s smile every day.

  The coach wheels bumped over the hard ground and she winced as her eyes opened again. The pleated skirt and slip she wore made poor padding for her tender backside slamming against the hardwood bench and she regretted her decision to wear a corset. Her chestnut hair was piled atop her head and fitted snugly beneath the pins of a crisp felt hat the cerulean color of her dress. It was like a hot nest roasting her scalp.