The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

56: Whispers In the Dark

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Storm by Laura Hollingsworth. All graphics by me.

Book 1: The Green, Book 2: Lynch's Boys, Book 3: The Road Home, and the Riders & Kickers Anthology are available on Amazon under the name Regina Shelley. So if you hate waiting for chapter posts and/or want a more polished read, the finished product is available now.

There was absolutely no way in the world that Lights the Storm was going back to sleep tonight.

No way in the world. Not if he took opium.

Not if he took a war club between the eyes.

He lay in the straw-stuffed bunk in the scout's cabin, staring at the heavy shadows in the rafters, his body burning with the memory of Her, and his mind frantic with dark, desperate thoughts.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to stop thinking about what had just happened. They had nearly crossed the line. He figured they'd actually crossed it long ago, but he'd been wrong. That line was not this line. Her hands had been like flames on his skin, and they'd been everywhere. Freed of her rigid underpinnings and stays, her body had been soft and warm and pliant beneath her sleeping clothes and dressing robe, and when she'd snuggled up against him, his grasp of reason had nearly abandoned him entirely. She'd intended to make love to him. Right here in Bridger, behind the guest quarters. He knew Fiona. She'd planned it from the start.

And the thing about it...the part that bothered him...was that he'd known it from the beginning. He could hardly fault her for being reckless at this point. He knew damn well that he was just as reckless. Maybe more so, because I know better.

In fact, looking back, he could scarcely believe he'd managed to find the strength and the control to come to his senses when he did. Even now, his frustration was a palpable ache and he gritted his teeth and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyelids, silently cursing himself.

If we'd been caught. If someone had seen us...

Fiona has no idea. No idea. How could she know? She doesn't know what she's getting into. She thinks she does, but she doesn't.

Storm knew. And the more the icy cold of reality seeped into him, the more horrified he became of the thought of what would happen to her if anyone knew about the two of them.

Her life would be over. So would mine, but I'd get the easier deal. They'd probably just kill me. That would be the end of my hell. It would be the beginning of hers.

He closed eyes, hearing her words in his head. 'It's always going to be like this, isn't it?'

Only until we're found out, beloved, he thought grimly. Then it will be far worse.

She had been angry when she had left him standing in the alley, a disgusted look on her face. She hadn't wanted to hear him telling her that they had to ignore each other, that they couldn't speak inside the fort. It stung him that she'd thought he was acting on a fear of Collins. He tried not to dwell on that, because it made him hurt and angry every time he thought of it. How could she think that?

He rolled over onto his side, his his arm bent beneath his head, and shivered beneath the rough army blanket. She thought that because it was true, the Voice of Wisdom was whispering in his ear. You might not be afraid of Collin's actions, Lights the Storm. You're not afraid of his fists or his guns. You're afraid of his words. And you're terrified everyone will hear the truth in them.

Already, too many people knew the truth. Lundy Bad Medicine knew. Lundy Bad Medicine, with his freckles and his ruddy-toned, bronzy hair, who knew better than anyone what what going on and how it might play out. And Wash and Dev. And, most likely, so did Many Stars and Wounded. Bad Medicine's ambrotype was burned into Storm's eyes, into his memory; Bad Medicine's Scottish mother holding the hand of his Absaroka father. The young scout's voice whispered through his mind, haunting him, drowning out the Voice of Wisdom. 'Happiness,' he had said. 'Yes, it was hard'. Storm drew his pillow over his head, folding it over his ears, and shivered again. 'Happiness.'

She made him deliriously happy. He'd never been so happy in all his life as he was when he was with Fiona.

So... Wisdom's voice cut insistently through the pillow. You'll be so much happier without her? She'll just get on with her life without you as if none of this ever happened? That will be easier choice in the end?

He froze, startled, and sat up, staring into the darkness.

Bridger is not the place to figure this out, Lights the Storm. Keep your mouth shut, stay alive, and get the hell out of here when you can. If you manage that...you might end up with your own scandalous ambrotype someday.

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