Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Storm by Angela Taratuta. 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.
It was the sight of the tree, its great trunk gashed open and buzzing with bees, that nearly did Storm in. He'd stood up to all sorts of pain and peril of late, but the thing that delivered the killing stroke was the sight of the bee tree and the thought of the sweetness hidden within. His mind went instantly back to the Green, back to the kitchen. Back to Her, and how she would hide the honey jar from him in an attempt to keep him from stealing it.
The memory of their game, of the secrets they shared, wrapped taloned fingers around his heart, and squeezed until he was breathless. It was torture. It was cruelty. It twisted a knife inside him until he could barely stay on his horse.
He had been attracted to her nearly immediately when they'd met. The sight of her hair, unbound and blazing in the afternoon light, had caught his breath in his throat and made his mouth go dry. She certainly wasn't the first or only beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but by the time he'd become accustomed to her beauty, he had become undone by her intelligence and her wit. Though he wouldn't admit it to himself back then, he loved her. Every time she whispered a rude comment into his ear, every mysterious sugar cube that turned up in his pocket, he'd felt her grip on his heart tighten. She was earth, she was sky. Without her, he couldn't stand. He couldn't breathe.
He watched the bees buzzing around the tree as Yellow Sky cantered forward, feeling his throat tighten with emotion.
The game in the kitchen with the honey...it as an excuse and they both knew it. She would hide it and he would try to find it. Sometimes, he'd find it and steal it bit by bit, just to see how long it would take her to notice. And then she would scold him and hide it again. She thought he was stealing it because he had a sweet tooth. He did indeed, but that's not why he was constantly raiding the honey jar. He was raiding the honey jar because the flash of her eyes and the way she said his name when she was pretending to be angry turned his blood to fire.
Wash had been right. Storm was "well and truly banjaxed, so he was." Storm had been manacled to an overturned chair, a deranged madman bent on flaying him alive with a red hot knife, and the main thing that had gotten his attention was the fact that as he lay on the floor, he'd figured out where the honey jar was hidden.
Thinking of her is what got me through that whole awful ordeal. If I hadn't had her to focus on...
He could see Jesse out of the corner of his eye, watching him as they rode, and was startled to feel tears coursing down his cheeks. Let him see. I don't care. What does it matter?
Jesse held his gaze and gave him a faint nod. "You alright, brother?"
Storm looked away, focusing his eyes on the trail and shaking his head. No. I've never in my life been this not alright. He steadied himself, forcing his emotions down as he halted Yellow Sky and slid out of the saddle. His eyes were hot and heavy, and he drew an arm across his face, drying it with his sleeve.
Scarcliff pulled his horse up alongside. "What?"
Storm narrowed his eyes, scanning the dusty landscape. There was metallic gleam in the reddish sand at his feet, and he bent to pick it up. It was a pewter button, blue wool thread hanging from the loop on the back. She left this. It could be from anyone, but it's not. It's Her. His heart pounded in his ears. "This way," he said, turning back to his horse. "They went this way."
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