Heart of a Dove

by Abbie Williams

  I heard a gunshot from somewhere behind, and was certain that Dixon was firing at me. Nothing struck my flesh, but someone was in pursuit. It was surely Dixon, as I could still hear Sam’s howling in the distance. Then suddenly through all of the hellish fear and pain, through my labored breathing and the ringing in my ears, I thought I heard Sawyer.

  “Lorie!” he roared, his deep voice frantic, feral-sounding. My heart flared like kindling, feet stalling in shock.

  Oh God—

  But my wordless plea was cut short as Dixon crashed against my back and caught me around the waist.

  “Sawyer!” I screamed, just before Dixon’s forward motion propelled us nearly to the ground.

  Instead of falling over with me, he spun, so that my legs came out from beneath me. Instinct guided my actions, my hands grabbing at his face behind me, sliding ridiculously, harmlessly, over the sweating surface. My fingers scrabbled over his nose. Another gunshot, closer, and Sam’s rage was abruptly cut short. Dixon grunted and swung me viciously to the ground, knocking loose all of the air in my lungs. I reeled and then tried to scuttle away, my elbows raking the earth, but he stomped a boot onto my hem and stopped me, kneeling down, his face that of a demon. He took my neck in his hands.

  Running footsteps pounded in our direction. Before I could blink, the stock of a rifle swung in a whistling arc through the night, connecting with the side of Dixon’s head. His skull split with a sound like a ripe muskmelon and he slumped instantly, his hold loosening. I rolled away and to my side, watching in stupefaction as Sawyer, scarce five feet away from me, swung the rifle brutally, like a man chopping firewood into sections, dealing two additional blows to Dixon’s head; there was little left to recognize as human after the final swing and he tossed aside the rifle with a groan, his breathing harsh.

  Sawyer was alive.

  He was here, and he was alive.

  In the next second he was upon me where I lay on the ground, curving his body over mine, cradling me under him as his frantic words rushed out, “Lorie, oh God, Lorie, it’s me, it’s me and I’m here, you’re safe, you’re safe, sweetheart. Oh God, where are you hurt? What did they do to you?”

  I could see him in the glow of the firelight, and he was alive.

  I sobbed brokenly, unable to believe that he was here, when I’d thought him dead. He leaned above me on his forearms and knees, putting no weight upon me as his hands cupped my face with infinite gentleness, ran down my neck, my ribs, my hips, then back up and over as he assessed the damage to my body.

  “You’re alive, you’re alive, oh Sawyer, you’re alive,” I couldn’t stop saying it as he sheltered me beneath him, kissing my forehead, my cheeks, my lips, though with extreme care, as though I may shatter apart. I gripped his shirtfront and clung. I could smell his skin and I could taste his tears as they fell to my lips.

  He was alive. He hadn’t been taken from me.

  “Let me look at you,” he said, still desperate-sounding, as though he couldn’t believe I was alive before him either. “I am so sorry, sweetheart, I am so sorry. I will never forgive myself. I will never ride away from you again, do you hear me?”

  “You’re alive,” I said again. “They told me…oh Sawyer…they told me they had ki…they had killed you.” Even understanding that they had lied to me, I could scarcely speak the words, still choking on sobs. I clutched him as hard as I could, as his hands roved over me, brushing hair and tears from my cheeks, cupping my face.

  His eyes burned into mine as he vowed, “I will never leave you again.” He choked on a sob, his hawk eyes agonized. “What did they do, what did they do to you, sweetheart? Can you get your arms around my neck?”

  I nodded as he shifted enough to curl me into his arms. He rose to his full height, cradling me, and I clung to his neck, though my side hurt so much I whimpered, unable to help it.

  He moved towards the fire with hurried yet careful steps, tears rolling down his face, his beautiful face with its planes and angles, my Sawyer, here before me. I saw Whistler near the fire; she was safe, and she had carried him to me. Once there he knelt carefully and he said, his voice harsh with anguish, “When I heard you scream I would have killed anyone in my path to get to you.” He kissed my face so tenderly, then let me softly to the ground. “I’m so sorry,” he said, breathless with fear and concern. “Where do you hurt? You’re so bruised, love,” he moaned.

  I gathered myself together enough to reach for his right hand and held it tightly, willing him to calm himself. My words were jumbled as I tried to explain, “Sawyer, they didn’t…this morning…this morning…the baby…I bled everywhere…”

  He controlled his emotions with visible effort, again my calm and capable Sawyer, tucking away the passionate anger that had driven him to find me here on the prairie. He said softly, “I am going to get a blanket for you to lie on, and I am going to look you over.” He bent over me, kissing my forehead, before going straight to Whistler, who nickered and nudged him. I watched from on the ground, content just to keep my eyes upon him.

  “What about Malcolm and Boyd?” I asked, suddenly frightened again. “Their horses are here…”

  “They’re safe,” he said gently. “They’re safe, love.” He spread the blanket and then lifted me atop it, stroking hair from my temples. He held my eyes as he said quietly, “They shot Gus, honey. He’s gone.”

  “I know,” I whispered, as fresh tears leaked hotly over my temples.

  Sawyer caught my hands into his and kissed them, then worked to gently unbutton my dress. With little effort on my part, he slipped it down over my body, leaving only my filthy shift. He drew in a harsh breath when my dress was removed, the panic coming back to his face.

  “There’s so much blood,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “Oh God, you’re hurting. Your lip, sweetheart. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” He steeled himself again and worked efficiently, easing the petticoat and shift up to my hipbones. His strong hands were warm and gentle as he spread my thighs. He said, low, “Tell me what happened. When did you start to bleed?”

  “This morning,” I whispered. “They came upon us so quickly. It was him, it was Sam. Ginny paid him to come after me.”

  Sawyer’s eyes were growing feral again.

  “The man who cut you,” he said, and there was such menace in his voice that were Sam Rainey still alive, he would regret every last moment of his life. But he was gone, Sawyer had dispatched all three of them, of that I was certain, and I had sunk my arrowhead into Sam’s eye, before he’d died.

  “Yes. And Jack was with him too. I didn’t know the other, but he said…he said…” and my voice trembled and choked just to remember. “He said that he had…killed you and Malcolm…and Boyd. He said it was never too late to kill….Rebels.” I hadn’t meant to weep again. “I spent the last twenty-four hours…thinking you were dead…Sawyer, oh God…I just prayed that they would kill me quickly.”

  He bent back over me, again with no weight, bracing himself, his hands bracketing my face. He kissed my eyes, my cheeks, resting his lips against me and simply breathing, letting me breathe him. I held him fiercely, pressing my face to his heartbeat. He was here. He had found me, and I would never let him go, not ever again.

  “This morning, I thought I heard you calling for me,” I whispered, closing my eyes.

  “I was, sweetheart, you did hear me. I found…” His voice hitched, but he went on, raggedly, “I found Gus this morning, and you weren’t there. I was out of my mind with fear, begging you to tell me where you were. Then I heard you too, Lorie, I heard your voice in my head and I knew where to follow.”

  I had known it, I had known.

  “It’s the strength of what binds us,” I whispered.

  “It’s stronger than anything I have ever known,” he said. “I found you. I will always find you, this I swear.”

 
“Sawyer,” I whispered, and his eyes took on a new determination.

  “Here, sweetheart, let me look at you,” he said, easing back to inspect the damage to my body. He kept his voice soft and kept speaking, calming me, as he inspected me with gentle fingers. “Darlin’ girl, my sweet darling, I don’t see any new bleeding, I don’t think, though there’s plenty dried on your legs. I remember Mama helping often at birthings. She talked of feeling a woman’s belly to make sure there wasn’t any swelling inside of her,” and his fingertips moved carefully to my abdomen. He said painfully, “You’re so bruised, sweetheart.”

  “Sam kicked me,” I said, low.

  Sawyer’s face was severe with fury at my words. His fingers shifted to my side and explored along my ribs. After a moment he said, “I have more experience with broken bones, and I don’t think…I don’t think anything is broken, sweetheart, just bruised.” He was getting worked up again, his eyes fierce, overspilling with tears. “I would kill them a thousand times over for this, for hurting you. Oh God, why wasn’t I there?”

  “You’re here now,” I whispered. “Nothing hurt me as much as thinking that you had been shot, Sawyer, nothing else could hurt me when I thought that. Come here, please, oh please…”

  Immediately he bent forward and encased me in his arms. He kissed my temples, my hair. He whispered, “Night before last, they stole the horses, I’m ashamed to admit. Whistler jerked free and came back, though one of the bastards shot at her. Nicked her hide but she’s a tough girl. I knew something was terribly wrong and I rode as hard as I could to get back to you and Gus. I’m so sorry I didn’t get to you faster, Lorie, I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re here now,” I whispered again, heart throbbing against his chest. I put my hand over his heart, which beat hard and strong on my palm, absorbing this evidence of him hale and whole before me.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up, and we’ll leave this place,” he said. “There’s a creek just there, I’ll be right back.”

  Sawyer extracted linens from his saddlebag. He disappeared momentarily into the dark night and my heart seized, but Whistler stayed with me, her kind, steady brown eyes upon me, and I calmed a little. Then my eyes ranged to the tent and I saw Sam’s body, sprawled on its back. Blood had pooled beneath him and I turned my face away. Sawyer returned, falling to his knees, and used the damp cloth on the insides of my thighs.

  “You’re saddle-burned, honey,” he whispered, his fingers trailing over the welts along my flesh.

  With utmost care he cleaned away the blood from between my legs. He hurried back to the creek to rinse it before moving up my body, over my belly. He lifted my shift higher and his jaw clenched as he said, “There’s a b…” his voice cracked and he drew a harsh breath before he said raggedly, “There’s a bite mark on your breast, Lorie, oh God, I will fucking kill them, I will fucking rip them to shreds—”

  I drew myself to my elbows, concerned at the passionate anger that transformed his face. I knew it would do no good at this moment to remind him that he had indeed killed them, that they were as dead as could be. I reached for him and he caught me close, shuddering with his rage, his deep voice shaking as he repeated, “I’m so sorry, Lorie, I’m so sorry.”

  At last he calmed and I held him close as I said, “He bit me this morning, before they saw…” I gulped. I whispered, “They would have used me, I know it, but for the baby. Angus’s baby, he saved me from it, Sawyer, the poor little baby, he saved me from them. They left me alone when they saw I was bleeding…”

  He stroked my face and kissed my tears. His beautiful, tortured eyes held mine as he whispered, “Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Sawyer,” I whispered, my arms around his neck, my hands in his hair. “You’re alive. If you’d been killed, I would never have forgiven myself.”

  He said intently, “You are mine and I am yours, and I never should have ridden away from you. Mo mhuirnín milis, my Lorie, I will never ride away again. Do you understand me?”

  I nodded and he said, “I know you’re hurting, honey, I know, but we have to ride. Can you ride with me?”

  “You’re alive,” I whispered again. “I can do anything.”

  Sawyer padded the saddle with a thick blanket.

  I leaned against Whistler, letting my forehead rest upon her neck, hugging her and whispering to her. If she hadn’t broken free from Jack, I would no doubt be dead right now. I inspected the shallow gash over her right rump, tracing it gently with my fingertips. Behind me, I could hear Sawyer as he moved through their camp. His voice was low as it came back to me, and he asked, “Lorie, what happened here?”

  I looked over my shoulder to see him studying Sam’s body in the dying fire.

  He added, “I shot him, but he’s been stabbed.”

  “That’s Sam,” I said, almost tonelessly. “I stabbed him. An arrowhead. I found it earlier today.”

  “You are an incredible woman,” he said, after my words had been given a moment to register. “Incredible and brave, Lorie.”

  I closed my eyes and leaned back against Whistler’s hide. Sawyer worked with efficiency, jogging to collect his Winchester, kicking dirt over the last of the fire. He freed all of the horses, though kept only our three, walking them to where I waited with Whistler.

  “Steady, fellas,” he told them, dropping the lead lines as he reached for me. I sank into his arms, so physically and emotionally exhausted that I could hardly stay upright. I breathed against his chest, his warmth and strength, the gift of his arms around me when I’d thought I would never have that again.

  “Lorie,” he whispered against my hair, cradling me, cupping my skull to him. He drew back and took my face in his hands. Even in the starlight I could see the intensity of his golden-green eyes. “My brave woman. It’s all right, sweetheart, it’s all right now.”

  “Can we leave them here…” My voice trailed away as I unwittingly pictured how the three bodies would look by morning’s light. I thought of Dixon’s hands closing around my neck, the arrowhead sinking into Sam’s eye, and I shuddered and felt vomit in my throat.

  “They’re in hell now, where they fucking belong,” Sawyer said, holding me tightly, until the shaking had ceased. “I hope coyotes scatter their bones.” Against my hair he said softly, “Let us go from this place and never look back.”

  I turned to Whistler and slipped my bare foot into the stirrup, and he eased me upon her before climbing behind me. Sawyer drew me gently against his chest as he swept my tangled hair to the side and kissed my jaw, my temple. His chin was scratchy with stubble and his eyes shadowed with exhaustion and fear, but he sat as solid and strong as ever behind me, his thighs aligning with mine. His arms came around me as he tightened his knees and Whistler carried us forward. Sawyer looked over his shoulder and clicked his tongue to Aces, Admiral and Fortune, who followed after us immediately, their lines connected to Whistler’s saddle.

  I did not look back as we headed north.

  “I have never been as scared as I was thinking I might be too late,” he told me as we rode through the dark night, under glittering stars and trailed by three horses. “I tell you, Lorie, even in near three years of War, I have never been so scared.”

  His left arm was secure about my waist, his right holding the reins. I turned my cheek to his chest and whispered, “You found me.”

  “I will never let you go again,” he said intently. “Do you know how much I love you, Lorie?”

  My heart swelled with the wonder of those words, though I knew it to the bottom of my soul. I said, “I do, oh Sawyer, I do know. I love you so. I have loved you all my life, even before I met you. I have been looking for you since I was born.”

  He made a sound in his throat, a soft, half-cry, and tipped his forehead to my hair. He said, “I thought I would die to ride away from you. I love you as I never realized I was capabl
e of loving, oh God, Lorie, my sweet love.”

  And holding me close to his chest, we rode through the night.

  - 22 -

  I slept against Sawyer, secure in his arms. Morning dawned heavy and overcast, chill with a breeze that drove smooth-bellied gray clouds across the heavens. Sawyer’s arms tightened around me, and he tipped his head to kiss my cheek as I woke.

  “Did you rest at least a little?” he murmured.

  I nodded.

  “We’ll stop to water the horses and then we’ll press on, honey. I haven’t so much as a tent for us to sleep under, but I figure by tomorrow morning we’ll be back to the wagon. I had to leave Juniper, and Boyd and Malcolm are afoot. They’ll be just fine, don’t you worry. We’ll take care of Gus and collect the wagon, and then we’ll ride to them tomorrow.”

  “Angus tried to stop them,” I whispered, burying my face in my hands. “He tried. Oh Sawyer, he was so worried for me, and he tried to stop them. He did everything he could.”

  “I know, sweetheart, I know,” Sawyer said.

  “They killed him. Gus died because of me,” I whispered. I had to acknowledge it.

  Sawyer said at once, “Not because of you. Don’t think that, don’t torture yourself.” He continued, more quietly, “He died to save you, and he loved you. I know that he did, no matter how much it nearly killed me to admit it. These past days I could hardly will myself to go on, when I was without you. I knew it was wrong to leave you behind, everything within me knew it, but I tried to comfort myself knowing you were with Gus. He was one of the best men I ever knew, kind and brave. And he did love you.”

  I pressed my face to Sawyer, closing my eyes as we spoke what needed speaking. I said painfully, “He would have cared for me, and I know you’re right, I know he would have loved me and the baby. But I wanted to die when you left. I thought I would never see you again, or if I did, I wouldn’t be able to touch you or hold you…I wouldn’t have been able to be near you, because I would have come to you, Sawyer, I would have come.”