Salvation's Secrets (The Loflin Legacy Prequel) Read online

  Salvation’s Secrets

  (Prequel: The Loflin Legacy)

  By Catherine Wolffe

  Copyright 2014 Catherine Wolffe

  All Rights Reserved

  Discover other titles by Catherine Wolffe at www.catherinewolffe.com.

  Cover design by Ally Thomas

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

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  Adult Content

  In order to protect minors from viewing inappropriate material, please know that this book may contain language, situations or images inappropriate for children under 18 years of age.

  Series Disclaimer

  Salvation’s Secrets is the prequel to the series entitled The Loflin Legacy. It is not essential to have read Book 1 and 2 of the series before reading this prequel. If you’d like to find out more, go to my website at www.catherinewolffe.com and click “My Books.”

  Books by Catherine Wolffe

  Salvation’s Secrets (Prequel: The Loflin Legacy)

  Comanche Haven (The Loflin Legacy #1)

  Casey’s Gunslinger (The Loflin Legacy #2)

  The Lady in the Mist (A Werewolf’s Tale)

  The Lady in the Mist (The Western Werewolf Legend #1)

  Waking Up Dead (The Western Werewolf Legend #2)

  Wolfen Secrets (The Western Werewolf Legend #3)

  The Western Werewolf Legend (Books 1-3)

  A Dance in Time (J.T. Leighton, Time Traveler #1)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Excerpt from Comanche Haven (The Loflin Legacy #1)

  Books by Catherine Wolffe

  About the Author

  Salvation’s Secrets

  (Prequel: The Loflin Legacy)

  by

  Catherine Wolffe

  Chapter 1

  Shooter Creek Ranch

  Tyler, Texas 1846

  The air filled with the scents of sandalwood and lilac as afternoon approached evening. Female laughter floated on the breeze. Drawn to the curious sounds and smells, Seth Loflin maneuvered his bay into the trees lining Shooter Creek. His heart skipped a beat with the sight before him.

  The woman was the most mesmerizing creature he’d ever seen. Her jet-black hair hung to her waist and her skin, reminded him of a creamy praline, the kind they sold on New Orleans street corners. Would she taste as sweet on his tongue? Water swirled against her thighs as she exited the creek with the help of several attendants. Unaware of his presence, she trailed a long, slim finger through the water, giving the lazy current a deliberate ripple. Her graceful back curved slowly into a trim waist, which flared into agilely rounded hips above lithe thighs. She looked relaxed, as if she’d enjoyed her bath. Tall and regal, her stance reminded him of royalty.

  As the other women helped her up the bank, disappointment set in immediately, when they cloaked her body with a blanket. Okay, so he’d have to get a better view. “Let’s go, boy.” Urging his horse, Sarge, forward proved tricky. The darn low lying limbs of the Mesquite trees, lining the banks of Shooter Creek, wanted to reach out and snag everything. Wouldn’t do to disturb the leaves littering the ground either.

  Snap!

  The women’s dark heads jerked up as they went on alert, searching the trees for an intruder. One called out in Comanche, “Who’s there?”

  “Way to go, Sarge.” Caught yet still determined, Seth slid nimbly from Sarge’s back and stepped into the clearing mere yards from the bathers.

  While alarm ran through the voices of the others, the magnificent creature with the coal black hair didn’t shy away. Half covered in the blanket, she only stared at him. The nudity another woman might hurry to conceal proved of no concern to this marvelous dream-come-to-life. The perplexed, yet curious glaze she pinned him with stole his breath. Her eyes were as green as the bonnie banks of Ireland and almond shaped in her lovely face. A sultry mouth of warm rouge formed an ‘oh’ as her gaze traveled over him. The heat from her gaze did something to his libido. Glancing down at his erection twitching in his pants, Seth blinked. Where had she come from? So many questions flooded his consciousness he lost his voice.

  Before he gathered his wits, the women hurried the maiden up the bank and out of sight. In their wake came the sound of native voices.

  He had to know her name. Seth gathered Sarge’s reins, leaping into the saddle. His intention to follow proved short-lived when three tall, muscled warriors blocked his path. Speaking Comanche, Seth tried communicating with the Indians.

  “My name is Seth Loflin. This is Shooter Creek land, which belongs to my father, Earl Loflin.”

  The tallest warrior’s gaze traveled over Seth slowly before replying. “The People are camped nearby. My uncle, Chief Lone Eagle seeks the deer, which water here. He comes in peace.”

  Seth nodded. “I’ll tell my father of your intentions. Your people may hunt free of concern.”

  The thick-chested Indian inhaled deeply before nodding. If he held concern over the reference of land his people had lived on for centuries being claimed by a white man, he didn’t let the rub show. “My name is Broken Horse. I am Lone Eagle’s kin. I believe you call the family connection, nephew. I am pleased to meet you, Seth, son of Earl Loflin.”

  The good natured grin came as natural as breathing for Seth. “I wonder if I might meet your uncle, the chief.”

  Broken Horse cut eyes back toward a campsite where smoke now trailed into the darkening skyline. “You are welcome. Follow me.” Speaking to the other two men in the group, he pointed toward the camp. The two left at a trot with what could only be orders to prepare for a guest. “Where did you learn English, Broken Horse?”

  “I learned at Fort Tyler. Your army sought communications with The People. Lone Eagle saw my education in your language as a good thing. Long before you arrived, the Indians of Texas communicated through sign language with the men who came before you. In many cases it proved ineffective.”

  “I’m impressed. You speak as though you were born to the language.

  He cut Seth an agreeable grin. “The People need to understand many things about your lives and reasons you are here. I provide a service between the two cultures.”

  “A very necessary service, I’d wager. Will my presence in camp concern your uncle?”

  Broken Horse shrugged. “That depends on your motives for coming, Seth Loflin.” He cut Seth a cool eye. “What were you doing watching our women bath?”

  Busted! No need in trying to lie. Broken Horse could have made buzzard bait out of him in short order. “I wanted to meet the regal young woman with the emerald eyes.” Glancing down, he searched Broken Horse’s face. “Can you introduce me?”

  He grinned. “I can. But why should I, Seth Loflin?”

  Within the blink of an eye, Seth grinned. “Because, if I don’t get to meet her, I’ll die.”

  Huffing out a breath, Broken Horse shook his head. “Are all white men as stupid as you?”

  Seth’s eyebrows winged up. “I’m not stupid. I’m in love!”

  “It’s the same thing. But if you insist, I’ll introduce you. You have to know, it won’t do any good.”

  Seth’s brows drew together. “W
hy do you say that?” Sincerely baffled by his new friend’s statement, he tried again. “Does she have a man?”

  “Of sorts.” Broken Horse squinted into the setting sun. “You’ll stay and eat, Seth Loflin. Soon, I think you’ll understand what I mean.”

  Best not to let on he didn’t understand a word of what Broken Horse meant. After all, he was still determined to catch another glimpse of the beauty, while keeping an eye out for trouble. He wasn’t a fool – he knew the Indians might mean trouble. The Comanche waged war on outlying settlements and ranches further west. Indians driven from their lands by whites bode ill for settlers venturing into unseen danger. So far, there’d been no trouble in Smith county. He hoped things remained so.

  There were ten or twelve teepees set up around a central fire pit. Children, some, as naked as the day they were born, ran back and forth among the structures, laughing and shouting. A couple of dogs raced after the children. Women paused in preparation of the evening meals to stare at the newcomer.

  Familiar words came back to him. Shooter Creek’s housekeeper, Maggie, always with a sound wit, said ‘you gather more flies with sugar than you do salt’. Making sure he had a smile on his face, he tipped his hat to several women working nearby. If anyone from the ranch had seen him acting like a besotted fool, he’d have taken a ribbing for weeks. Broken Horse’s presence was enough.

  “You planning on wooing every woman in camp?”

  Stiffening with the poke, Seth straightened his spine in the saddle and gathered his composure as the Indian translator’s laughter echoed in the growing darkness.

  No use trying to live down the fact he was trying to make friends. If a smile worked, so be it! Shifting in the saddle, Seth squared his shoulders.

  A small woman of middle age stepped forward when they reached a tent positioned squarely in the center of the camp.

  “This is Maylia. She is the maid to Lone Eagle and his daughter.” With the statement, Broken Horse’s mouth creased at the corners.

  The Indian was omitting something in his statement. Nodding tightly, Seth glanced around them, noting his presence drawing much attention. A tall, muscular Comanche brave stepped forward. He wore a red sash tied at his waist. His arms folded across his chest spoke of contempt. Understanding the man’s reluctance to having a white man in camp, Seth threw his leg over the saddle horn and slide from Sarge’s back, landing near the brave. “Can you introduce us?” he asked Broken Horse.

  “Yes.” Glancing from Seth to the stoic Indian, he said, “Seth Loflin, this is Red Bear, the next in line for chief of the tribe.” Broken Horse introduced him in Comanche to the brave.

  Noting the thin set to the man’s mouth, he figured he’d met an advisory strictly because he was white. Though he extended his hand, the man made no move to greet him, either in Comanche or as a white man would. This man hated settlers.

  “Come, Seth Loflin, I’ll introduce you to the chief.” The broad smile appeared again as Broken Horse approached the large tent and called out. Soon, he threw back the flap and entered leaving Seth waiting outside. A few uneasy minutes passed as Red Bear stepped forward, positioning his broad chest firmly in front of Seth. With his arms crossed, his eyes never left Seth. Several others gathered behind him in a show of support. The chief appeared moments later.

  His hair hung in long tight braids with feathers adorning each. A large band fit snugly around his head and fastened in the back. He wore a tunic and pants of buckskin with moccasins of soft leather on his feet. His age was hard to calculate. Comanche aged without revealing their true years. Admiring his authoritative stance, Seth extended his hand in greeting, when Red Bear and the others reluctantly parted for the chief.

  “Allow him to accept your presence before becoming social, Seth Loflin.” Broken Horse’s instruction came in a quiet voice.

  Nodding, Seth lowered his hand and waited.

  The chief’s expression held curiosity and something else Red Bear’s face hadn’t – respect. Speaking in English, Lone Eagle laid his hand on Seth’s shoulder. “Welcome to my camp.”

  Relief in hearing his native language, Seth grinned and nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  Broken Horse stepped closer. “Refer to him by his name. This will show respect.”

  Glancing from the translator to the chief, Seth nodded again. “I am honored to be here, Lone Eagle.”

  The chief’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his face creased in a weathered smile. Nodding for Broken Horse to show Seth into his tent, Lone Eagle turned to Red Bear and the braves standing nearby and spoke to them in a hushed yet commanding tone before turning to join them inside.

  The interior was dark. A small fire burned in the center of the tent, giving off a faint glow as shadows danced on the hide walls. On the left, two women bent to a task of food preparation. The smell of roasted meat and corn pones filled the air.

  Lone Eagle settled near the fire and Broken Horse stepped toward a back wall, gathering a pipe before joining them at the central fire.

  “He wishes to share his pipe with you in a show of good faith.” Handing the pipe to Lone Eagle, Broken Horse nodded for Seth to take a drag after him.

  “No fighting,” Lone Eagle said as he shook his head side to side. His eyebrows furrowed in concern and he swiped the air between them with the palm of his hand.

  “He comes in peace and asks for no harm to come to his people.” Broken Horse listened to Lone Eagle speak in Comanche and turned to Seth.

  “Many deer provide much to eat for The People. Clothes and teepees made from many deer hides provide shelter. The rest can be traded. The People prosper. We ask only for peace.” Glancing at Seth, Broken Horse nodded. “I speak the truth, Seth Loflin.”

  The importance of the chief’s statements wasn’t lost on Seth, even though he’d only reached his eighteenth birthday. He’d heard the stories of massacres and devastation. “Tell him we want peace too. The people are welcome to all the deer they can kill. My father’s land is plentiful with wildlife. We ask only for the safety of our people and livestock.”

  Broken Horse reiterated his words for the chief. A broad smile creased his face. Breathing a sigh of relief, Seth nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a woman coming toward them with a large tray of meat and cornmeal bread. His intake of air was involuntary. It was her! The beauty from the creek. Dressed in a buckskin dress, which skimmed her knees, she knelt and offered him food yet kept her eyes diverted. Her long eyelashes brushed her face like dark fringe against warm satin.

  He took the meat and a flat, unleavened bread patty without even seeing what he held. In the fire’s light, her skin glowed to a golden bronze. Smooth and supple, her arms were firm and shapely.

  “This is my daughter, Celia. She is Little One to The People.” Lone Eagle squared his shoulders in pride with the introduction.

  Seth’s breath left him. Unable to do more than nod, he gazed in awe at the lovely vision before him. “Ma’am.” He finally managed as he nodded.

  Broken Horse coughed. “You wanted to meet her, didn’t you, Seth Loflin?”

  Realizing the joke was on him, Seth flicked a glance at a grinning Broken Horse. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Shrugging, Broken Horse’s bottom lip jutted in a moment of thoughtful consideration. “I wanted to see your face. That is why.” With his taunt complete, the Indian translator smirked at his new friend across the fire. “Be sure her father likes you first. Then you can try for the daughter.”

  Seth shook his head. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Feeling a bit foolish, he glanced up to find Lone Eagle smiling and nodding at him. He’d have to agree, there wasn’t anything to loose in making friends with Lone Eagle. Seth saw it as a win - win for all concerned.

  ***

  “So tell me about her.” Charles Harrington stood at the water trough, gazing at Seth from beneath the shade of his black Stetson. His tall, rangy body, clad in dark pants and a leather vest over a white shirt reminde
d Seth of a cool, poker faced thief. One dark eye peered out at his friend and surrogate brother, while the other squinted against the sun. He rolled the habitual unlit cigar that was always in his mouth from one side to the other. Charles would enjoy the smoke when he settled down for the night, Seth knew.

  “Who?” Gathering the reins of his horse, Seth was in no mood to fool around with vague questions from his longtime friend. They’d grown up together pretty much under the same roof after Charles’ paw died. Earl made sure he had a place to lay his head, when the need arose. Charles remained a loner, though, never dependent on anyone or anything except his own wits and skill. It was that skill Seth hoped didn’t get him killed. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Seth made sure he faced away from Charles’ interrogative stare in hopes he wouldn’t see through his lie.

  “The girl.” Charles habitual, cocky grin splayed across his face briefly before he turned to step into the saddle. “The one that’s got you all tied in knots. You’re as irritable as a cat with its tail caught under a rocking chair.”

  Scowling at the older, more experienced cowboy seated in the well-worn saddle, Seth merely snorted. “She ain’t got me tied in knots.”

  Like any older brother, Charles, who was five years Seth’s senior, huffed out a breath in disbelief. “So says you.” He bit off the end of the cigar he’d purchased in the mercantile and glared at Seth. “You planning on telling me why she’s eating your insides out? Or, am I gonna have to wrestle it out of ya?”

  “You can try but it ain’t gonna do you no good. You remember, I always win.” Seth vaulted into the saddle and yanked on the reins, steering the bay out into the dusty street. Giving the horse a nudge with his spurs, he was galloping out of town with Charles’ laughter following.

  It wasn’t long before Shooter Creek land lay beneath their horses’ hooves. Earl Loflin owned most of Smith county and a large amount of the two adjoining counties. As far as a man could see was Shooter Creek land.