The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

14: Need Fear No Drowning

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Storm by Diego Candia. 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.

Sorry for missing yesterday. I had technical difficulties.  I had a very long day yesterday, and technically, I feel asleep in a chair. I set myself a reminder, too. No excuse, really. 

"Peltier?" A deep Grandfather voice, gravelly with age and wisdom,cut through the dim images fluttering across his vision. A great body of water rolled at his feet, lapping and surging at the white sand and wetting his moccasins. It was so vast that the only edge of it he could see was the one he was standing on. The sharp cries of strange white birds, swooping and dancing in the slate-gray sky, filled his ears. He struggled towards the gray-green eternity of it, overwhelmed with a deep sense of panic and loss as he waded forward, gasping with the shock of cold. It was blocking him, pushing him backwards. Deep ridges of foam-edged water slammed against his chest and sprayed stinging salt into his face.

"Peltier, wake up." Dev's huge foot settled gently onto his shoulder, jostling him. "You're having a bad dream."

Storm gasped, his body jerking as he startled awake. He hauled himself to a sitting position, looking around warily. He was sweating, and cold night air made him shiver. The dream had been vivid, intense, and had left him disoriented.

Devereaux was standing over him, his concerned face dim in the glow of the campfire embers. Framing his dark silhouette, tattered clouds scattered across the heavens, showing only teasing snatches of the stars wheeling beyond in the black sky. "You all right?"

He sighed, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders and rubbing his eyes. "Yeah." Although he'd never admit to Fiona, the day's ride had left him aching and exhausted. The residual pain in his ribs was tiring, and the burns he'd suffered back at the Green pinched and complained. The strange dream was already fading, becoming gauzy and indistinct, but leaving behind a sense of foreboding and sadness.

Dev shuffled back over to where his own bedroll lay on the other side of the fire and flopped down, fumbling the blanket over himself. "You're pretty damn unhappy for a man in love."

"I just..." He sighed heavily, sweeping the black curtain of his hair out of his face and staring at the backlit clouds rolling across the heavens. "I don't know what we're going to do when we get there. And I don't know what's going to happen when all this is over."

"Hmph." Dev's voice on the other side of the campfire sounded weary. "Which one of you made the first move?"

"She did." Storm's mind went back to that day in the barn, when she'd pushed him against the wall and kissed him until he couldn't stand on his own. "You think this is something I'd volunteer for?"

"You volunteered for it when you decided not to turn tail and run when you figured her out."

Storm snorted, defensive. "I don't know what you think I'm made of, Dev."

"Well," Dev grunted, scratching his belly. "Same stuff I'm made of, from the looks of things. It isn't like I did any better. How long's this been going on?"

"I've loved her for years. I shouldn't have stayed at the Green, and I know that. But I don't have to tell you how it is. Do I." It wasn't a question. He glanced at Dev.

"No."

"And then I made plans to end it before it got out of hand," he went on. "She did, too, Dev. She said she was leaving for England. It was over. I was going to go home to the Bighorn for a while. Clear my head. We argued about it right before she left for Fort Bridger. The next thing I knew she was in my arms, and she was kissing me and I was kissing her, and now here we are."

Dev rolled over in his bedroll and stared at him across the fire. "That was reckless."

His heart lurched inside him as he remembered the heat of her pressed against him, her heart pounding against his and her hands and breath everywhere. Reckless... he thought, his skin tingling with the memory. Like a moth diving into a lamp, heading into the light even as its wings catch fire. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "Wash knows. Him and you. Nobody else knows."

The older man nodded. "Monahan knows better than to talk. And you realize the men at Bridger can never find this out."

"Nobody can find this out."

"Glad you understand that." Dev rolled onto his back, staring at the sky and scratching his beard. He shook his head, huffed, and muttered to himself. "Damn fool Crow..."

A smirk tugged at the corner of Storm's mouth. "Damn fool Crow who has a damn fool Snake helping him do something damned foolish."

Dev's head jerked back to glance at him. Storm wasn't sure, but it looked as if a toothy grin was hiding in the dark brambles of Dev's beard. "Maybe," he said, his voice gruff. "We're probably going to be arrested or shot tomorrow. What was your dream?"

Storm thought hard, trying to pull the misty vision back into his consciousness so he could look at it. "Strange." He shook his head, remembering the birds, snowy white and crying out with the voices of Grandmothers singing. "Some spirit place all filled with water. And I had to cross it, but couldn't."

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