Bowen barked orders to the waiting team as he and RuthAnne vaulted themselves onto General’s back. The group fled from the mine, down the mountain road.
A series of explosions rang out behind them. Flashing light pierced the darkness. The earth shuddered beneath their feet as if demons attempted to claw their way out of hell. Behind, the mine collapsed. The mountain groaned and dust settled. All that remained of El Tejano and his lair had been buried by his own hand.
Chapter 43
General rocked along at an easy gait, but RuthAnne’s grip around Bowen’s waist hadn’t loosened since the harrowing journey. She cocked her ear to the symphony of desert sounds that greeted the dawn. Cactus wrens jabbered their raspy calls. The steady hoots as the quail answered one another. Lonesome mourning doves flitted from the trees. Even the heavy footsteps of mule deer echoed as they searched for a breakfast of tender mesquite leaves.
Looking at Charley, Ross, and Reggie’s grim faces and slumping shoulders, she could tell how exhausted they all were. RuthAnne was overcome with the notion that they were returning from battle as they reached the Rillito ford on the outskirts of Fort Lowell.
With a nod, Bowen pulled General over to stop at the water’s edge. The others went on ahead, each tipping his hat to RuthAnne as they passed. Her eyes were full. No words needed to be said.
Bowen slid from the saddle, taking RuthAnne’s hand and helping her down. She winced in soreness. The physical evidence of the previous night would be with her for some time to come. He gently guided her to the creek and sank down beside her on the small, sandy beach.
“Thought you’d want to wash away some of that soot before we give everyone the good news...”
“Good news?” Her words were full of cynicism, but relief filled her soul as she sank her toes into the sand. “Have I thanked you, Bowen? For coming to my rescue? Again?”
“No need to thank me, Ruthie. I’m the man who loves you.”
He looked painfully serious, save for the glint in his eye. He cleared his throat and cupped her cheek in his hand. “Did he hurt you very much?”
“I’ll make it.”
She thrilled at his touch, leaning into him. Her body neatly melted into his, like a puzzle piece that had been tried every which way and finally fit. Was this love? Real and everlasting?
She released herself from his grasp, turning to let her fingers trail through the cool, clear water, bringing a handful to her lips. Sweet. She swallowed, wincing slightly at her bruised throat. She would make it. Marcus, on the other hand...
Memory threatened to rock her to the core. RuthAnne focused instead on the beauty around her: the desert in the morning; the dappled sunlight through tree branches; the way the spattering light formed rainbows on the water; the soldier who sat beside her, who wouldn’t take his eyes off her for even a moment. Bowen’s hand found hers, his thick fingers curling around hers possessively, his thumb tracing the back of her hand.
“When I saw the fire at the stable, I came apart inside. I didn’t know how much I needed you until...until I thought you were lost to me forever.” Tears welled in his eyes. Emotion tinged his voice to breaking. It was more than her heart could bear.
“Bowen...”
“Let me finish.” He rose to his feet, pacing at the water’s edge. “I need to know where we stand, once and for all. I’m a soldier, RuthAnne. I go where the army sends me. It could be here, or it could be the outer reaches of the northern territory. This life’s about duty. And honor. And sacrifice. Would you be willing to share it with me? As my wife?”
RuthAnne closed her eyes to imagine a future with Bowen by her side. Where she had once envisioned flinging open the doors of a dress shop she could call her own, she now saw opening the doors of a house full of stair-stepped happy, dirty faces, each one bearing a striking resemblance to their father. Instead of making clothes for strangers, she foresaw a family to be cherished. Here at Fort Lowell or anywhere else the army would send them. Together, as husband and wife.
Opening her eyes, she drank in the sight of him. Memorizing his weather-lined face. His sun-darkened skin. This moment. And she knew what her answer would be.
He knelt beside and drew her close, crushing his lips to hers without waiting for her reply.
Laughing, she pushed him back, wiping a line of soot from his brow. “You presume a great deal, don’t you?”
“Better get used to it,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. He leaned in and kissed her as she had never been kissed before.
A word about the author...
Ashley Ludwig is an Arizona native, though she has been transplanted to her new home in Southern California wine country. She lives with her husband, their two daughters, and dog.
She received her Bachelor of Arts from the University of Arizona, with a degree in Anthropology and a minor in History. Ashley worked for several years as an Archaeologist across the American Southwest. She has turned her passion for research and attention to historical detail to her true love, writing inspirational, historical romances.
Visit Ashley at www.ashleyelizabethludwig.blogspot.com/
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