Salvation's Secrets (The Loflin Legacy Prequel) Page 6

  “He lives. Charles is resting.” The father dropped his chin and shook his head. “I’m not sure how he still lives except by his own determined will. His wounds are many and he’s lost so much blood, yet he still lives.”

  “You said he’s resting – is he asleep? Can I see him?” The rush of hope surged up Seth’s throat like a bullet.

  “You may see him, but only for a few minutes. Do not persist with questions which he cannot answer, do you understand, young Seth?” The Spanish grew heavy in the father’s words and Seth knew he should tread lightly.

  “I won’t. I just need to see for myself. That’s all.” Snatching his Stetson off, he followed the padre into the inner chamber where his friend and brother lay as white as snow. The hallows under Charles’ eyes were blue-black and deep. A bandage swathed his head and blood stained the bandage at the right temple. His breathing was shallow and perspiration shown on his upper lip. A night’s growth of beard already shadowed his face. Seth had seen death before. On a ranch, a boy grew to recognize death early on. Charles bore the image of a man teetering on the edge of the great abyss.

  Softly stepping back, the padre left the two alone.

  “Don’t go puttin’ dirt on my grave just yet.” Charles’ voice sounded weak and thin.

  Seth sucked in air without realizing. He reached out a tentative hand, laying his fingers atop his friend’s. “They got you good, brother.” He used the reference out of respect and love. Neither cowboy showed much affection – neither understood how. This admission would cost him, he was sure, somewhere along the way. Still, he didn’t care. Charles needed to know what he meant to Seth, even if he lived. The fact he’d almost died was enough for Seth.

  “Yea, the foreman over at the Triple M sent me after the Injuns. I told him they weren’t the ones.” Charles swallowed hard and opened the one eye, which wasn’t swollen shut. “Don’t know which one drew first, but I saw Jesus’ face. His boy shot me in the shoulder. He meant to hurt me, not kill me. It was a trap.” The coughing broke his facade of calm as pain rippled across his battered features. “They wanted it to look like Injuns and when I told them I could prove otherwise, they decided to teach me a lesson.” He finished with another coughing spell, leaving him limp and sheet white.

  “A lesson? They’re the ones stealing cattle?” Seth’s brow drew together in bemusement. Slumping into the nearest chair, he worked on the ‘why’ of the ambush. “More cattle, more money at the sale but how’d they expect to get away with a fool stunt like this?”

  “I came up on their little branding operation. They’re adding to the Loflin brand. Before they started the stampede, I found several with freshly branded hide. The triple M brand looked good enough for the stockyards.”

  Charles’ coughing started again and when Seth recognized fresh blood, he called for Father Samuel. Lingering in the outer room, he hunkered down in front of the slow simmering fire. The same fire the father had used to cauterize Charles’ wounds. His brother, his friend, the best friend in the whole world had attempted to prove the Comanche’s innocence. No one had ever stood up for someone he cared for before. Not like this. A tense surge of guilt washed over him. There weren’t words to describe the sacrifice of his friend. The gratitude embedded deep in his soul would remain forever. So caught up in his own desires, he’d managed to forget the world around them. Unworthy of his friend’s concern yet so grateful for his courage, Seth managed a quiet prayer for them all.

  “Your father will be here soon.” Father Samuel came up behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “He sent someone to town looking for the two of you. Soon word of young Charles’ deeds will travel with the survivors of this tragedy.”

  Nodding, Seth released a slow uneasy breath. His father would do whatever necessary to clean up the mess involving both of them. Surely, he’d understand Charles meant only to protect the Comanche. Earl may not care about the reason. Seth’s gut tightened with thoughts of his dire warning. He’d send them both away to school if they fouled up one more time. Swallowing hard, Seth realized this was the time.

  ***

  “You best act stricken. You’ve just lost your brother.” Earl’s harsh rasp sounded near Seth’s ear. He stiffened with the chill of the words. The charade they were instigating played out in front of the good people of Tyler and the United States Marshall who showed up a few days following the stampede and shootings bode ill for Charles and him.

  Jake laid a supportive hand on his shoulder effectively bringing him back. “It’s gonna be all right. You’ll see.”

  “Yeah, right…” Seth hunched his shoulders against the wind blowing in from the north. A sense of foreboding swamped him. He understood the ramifications of going up against anything Earl said. His father had him by the short hairs. His future, his very life lay in what Earl Loflin wanted. No sooner did the first dirt hit the coffin, before Earl turned and walked away. Seth caught sight of the stage leaving the station. His longing for her grew with each strike from the whip’s leather. Somehow, he needed to see her. Time was running out for him.

  ###

  Excerpt from Comanche Haven:

  (The Loflin Legacy #1)

  by Catherine Wolffe

  Chapter 1 – The Road Home

  Texas 1858

  Celia glanced out at the children running alongside the stagecoach as it slowed. Their tiny feet evoked a cloud of dust as they followed the newest visitor to their part of Texas.

  “Have you been to Tyler before?” the young blonde woman seated next to Celia inquired politely. Her name was Claudette Harding. She had the most perfect golden curls Celia had ever seen.

  “Yes, but it’s been a long time.” Celia glanced back at the children, before examining the wooden buildings dotting the street. Nothing had changed. Some were new and some no longer stood. They’d been replaced in the name of progress. Noting the result, she dropped the leather flap over the small window, before swallowing a twinge of regret. A sharp realization that nothing would ever be the same again moved through her.

  From the top of the stage, the Wells Fargo Whip called out the name of the stop, “Tyyyler!”

  “I’m expecting my gentleman-friend to pick me up.” Claudette glanced sideways at Celia as she gathered her parasol along with her reticule. “Do you have someone picking you up?” Tiny ringlets of gold bobbed about the woman’s creamy, oval face. Celia smiled to herself as Claudette continued to prattle on. The woman could talk. Claudette had boarded the stage in Shreveport. Since she’d sat down, the three other passengers listened to all manner of comments, stories and questions.

  “Yes, my cousin.” Celia peeked out of the window again. Dust swirled around the opening, threatening to engulf them all. The two men seated in front of the women waved at the dust as if it threatened their lives. The one in a stylish stovepipe hat started coughing. Reluctantly, Celia dropped the flap, waiting instead for the stage to come to a complete stop.

  The wooden door of the stage opened. A calloused hand reached in.

  Claudette took the hand, before winking at Celia. “Enjoyed riding with you. Good luck.” Bending low in the confines of the stage’s interior, Claudette exited through small opening.

  Celia considered the young blonde woman’s words. Luck wasn’t going to help her. She would need fortitude. Digging deeper, she found her determination once more. Trouble had driven her out of Texas. Now she was returning for the same reason. The letter she’d received stated her father, the chief, had fallen “gravely ill”. So she’d packed up the belongings she would need, sold the rest, and bought a one-way ticket back to Texas. Her place as daughter of the great chief demanded she come. Her love for her only living parent compelled her to make the journey.

  “Ma’am?” The hand was back.

  Celia accepted the offer of assistance from the porter, as she stooped to clear the small exit. The brilliant sun, glared down unrelentingly. A thick humidity hung heavy in the air. While most of Texas boasted hot, dry conditions
, Tyler was different. Situated close to the north Louisiana boarder, the small stagecoach stop’s climate resembled the bayou state’s more often than not. Celia remembered the local joke that the air was so humid, it was like wearing a wet blanket. In contrast, Charleston’s warm ocean breezes had been relatively dry. On a hot afternoon, they’d even been enjoyable. Fighting a tiny twinge of panic at actually being back in Texas after all the years away, Celia adjusted her stays. With the Whip’s help, she stepped onto Texas soil once more. Charleston was but a memory now. She was home.

  Celia tipped her head back, before squinting into the sun for a brief moment as if Texas embraced her. It was good to be home, she decided. Glancing back at Claudette, who busily pointed out her bags to the coachman, Celia saw the long hours on the stage in her mind’s eye. The trip had been grueling, but she’d made it. Now she could face what came next.

  Settling the black parasol trimmed in white over her shoulder, Celia searched the faces of those closest to the stage for anyone who might resemble her cousin, Broken Horse. Reminded that he’d grown into a man over the time she’d been away, she realized she wouldn’t have a clue what he looked like. Yet if his boyhood good looks had developed, he’d became a striking figure. Celia smiled inwardly. He was the closest thing to a brother she had. The contact they’d kept over the years proved precious to her.

  Glancing about again, she wondered if she would see Seth. After all this time, would he still remember her? Probably not, she mused. After all, nothing remained of the girl she’d been almost twelve years before. Frowning, Celia reminded herself she’d made a life without the cowboy who’d abandoned her then. She was a surgical assistant for the Army at Fort Sumter, in Charleston. Educated and prepped in one of the finest finishing schools in the south, Celia was her own woman now.

  “Ma’am, which bags are yours?”

  Blinking, Celia met the porter’s eyes. She pointed out her belongings, before stepping back quickly as they landed unceremoniously on the ground in front of her. “Would you have a care, sir?” Celia gave the man a withering look before dusting off her new traveling suit. Glaring at the fellow, she plucked them from the dirt.

  The coachman’s feigned concern was typical of the type of response she got from certain people. “Sorry, Ma’am.” His emphasis on the word ‘ma’am’ held a distinct callousness.

  His reaction didn’t surprise her. Most thought she was a whore. Celia tried to rationalize the assumption. After all, one didn’t often come across women dressed in fashionable clothing, nor traveling alone. Glancing about for her cousin, she was so eager to see, she saw only townspeople who eyed her warily. Ignoring the stares aimed her way she leveled her chin.

  After all, there was nothing she could do to cover her bronze complexion or her jet-black hair. She couldn’t hide her high cheek bones or her long straight nose. Celia had her father’s face along with her mother’s eyes. The combination was striking she’d been told. Her green eyes were one of two things her mother had been able to leave her. Celia considered them a gift. The broach pinned to her bosom was the other. Celia had kept it safe all these years. Having been too young to remember her mother, Celia relied on the images given to her by her father, Lone Eagle. He’d shared stories of her mother with the young girl as she rested on her pallet before falling asleep at night in their tent.

  Once more, she had to ignore the matrons standing on the boardwalk openly eyeing her with a healthy dose of disdain. Yes, she was her father’s daughter. She resembled him in so many ways. She wasn’t a whore, though. No, her only sin was being half Comanche.

  Celia closed her eyes for a moment as she considered The People. They’d taught her to always carry herself with dignity and pride. As the years passed, she came to understand just how important those teachings were to her survival. She hoped her father would be proud.

  Celia glanced back at the stage. Despite the rude behavior of the man, Celia considered herself lucky. At least she didn’t have to re-enter god-forsaken contraption meant to test one’s fortitude. Certainly, a person would repent for whatever sins he harbored deep in his soul after a trip in that wooden box from hell. Celia adjusted her jacket while searching further down the boardwalk for her cousin.

  “Let me help you with those.” The voice was too close, and too familiar. Celia’s muscles tightened before the need to escape overwhelmed her. She flicked a hesitant glance over her shoulder at the tall, broad-shouldered man bending to take her luggage from her hands. When he rose, she looked into the same steely-blue eyes she’d known all those years ago. Seth! Her mind fairly reeled with the devil-may-care look he sent her from under his dark Stetson. “Where would you like me to put these?”

  Celia’s heart tripped in her chest as she recalled the taste of his lips. In defense of the traitorous memory, she lifted her chin a fraction and managed to snatch one of her bags from his clutches. The wry grin remained undaunted on his handsome face. She wanted to scream as she wheeled away.

  Nerves ran along her backbone like the tiny legs of a spider. She could feel his eyes on her even as she stepped onto the board walkway. “Right here is fine,” she said curtly, pointing toward a spot on the planks. Doing her level best to ignore him, Celia once again positioned the black parasol primly on her shoulder and made a point of smoothing her skirt.

  “I never dreamed I’d see you get off that stage,” Seth’s tone was cool sarcasm.

  Celia watched his lips form a tense line. Her own throat was as dry as dust.

  “There you are!” Claudette came rushing up to Seth who dropped Celia’s bags to catch the vivacious blonde as she flung her arms about him. “Oh, I’ve missed you so.” She planted a big, noisy kiss on his mouth.

  The blow, though not physical, hit Celia directly in the heart.

  “Well now, darlin’, maybe you should go shopping in Shreveport more often.” With the young blonde wrapping her arms about him in a very public display of affection, Seth‘s mouth crooked in a sardonic grin as his eyes met Celia’s.

  Celia could only stare. Her pain grew as Seth’s attention shifted to Claudette’s account of Shreveport and shopping. Gripping the parasol until her knuckles grew numb, she watched the couple. If only she could escape. Unable to stand the view any longer, she turned to search for her cousin among the throng of people. With her back to them, she closed her eyes and tried to ignore the ache settling behind her heart.

  “Celia! Celia, wait. You’ve met my Mr. Loflin, I assume?” Claudette’s face was aglow with affection and something akin to possessiveness when Celia turned back to face them.

  “Yes, Mr. Loflin was kind enough to help me with my bags. Thank you, sir.” Her pointedly vague reference to her knowledge of him as well as her cool show of appreciation brought about only the slightest of tips from his Stetson.

  “My pleasure, Ma’am.”

  Celia’s breath caught, as she understood he would continue the ruse they’d just met. The ache in her chest swelled as she glanced into those intense blue eyes.

  “Come in and have a bite to eat with us, won’t you?” Claudette reached out and took Celia’s gloved hand in her own. “My word, dear, you’re trembling. You simply must come in and rest. The trip was grueling, wasn’t it?” She motioned in the direction of the Tyler Inn. “Come in out of the heat for just a few minutes. The repast will do you good.”

  Celia’s eyes darted from Claudette to Seth. He simply smiled knowingly at her. Surely, he would object.

  “Celia!”

  Breaking away to the sound of her name, she searched through the crowd.

  “Celia?”

  Turning to the sound of the deep voice, Celia spotted the tall, muscular figure of a man dressed in buckskin striding toward her. Recognition had her heart tightening and tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Seth and Claudette were forgotten as her face broke into a grin and she broke into a very, unlady-like run. Squealing in sheer delight as her cousin grabbed her up in a bear hug, and spun her around, Celia buried
her face in the crook of his neck. Joy filled her as he spun her around again.

  Easing her down, Broken Horse smiled broadly. “Little One, look at you.” Holding Celia at arm’s length, he let his eyes travel over her. The expression on his face said he was pleasantly surprised at what he saw.

  Celia noticed him peer over her shoulder with a bewildered brow as if he was searching for something. “What?” Bemused, Celia turned, trying to decipher his point of focus.

  With his face shadowed in seriousness, Broken Horse confided, “I was expecting a girl with scraped knees and a dirt-smudged face. Instead, I’m to believe this beautiful, young woman before me is my cousin?”

  Relaxing backward in his hold, Celia couldn’t help the smile that creased her lips. “Cousin, you stretch the truth too far.” Her eyes twinkled as she laughed. “Besides, you’re biased.”

  With admiration, Broken Horse eyed her. “I promise you this, you’re the most beautiful creature in these parts, Celia, and that’s the truth.”

  Her color rose at the complement.

  Kissing her gently on the forehead, he gave her one more hug.

  When he straightened once more, she touched his arm. “Oh, Broken Horse, it’s so good to see you. You haven’t changed a bit.”

  Broken Horse appeared wounded. “Haven’t I?”

  She peered up at him in mock consideration. “Well, maybe some. You’re certainly taller.” Celia squeezed his upper arm and her eyes widened in true astonishment. “What have you been doing? You’re strong as a horse.”

  His laugh was deep and genuine. With a grin on his handsome face, Broken Horse shook his head. “You’ve been gone a long time, cousin. Things change.”

  Celia nodded in agreement. Cutting her eyes fleetingly behind her, she caught Seth watching her intently. At his side and seemingly undaunted by his lack of attention, Claudette fiddled with his lapel and continued to bombard him with her latest adventure. On that point, she could agree with Broken Horse. Some things certainly did change, so she held her tongue.