Go into it.Īnother mournful wail of the wind set Gavin quivering. Oh, now don't carry on so, the woman urged. As it passed over the ruined structures, it seemed to wail. Wind whipped through the shattered remains of the once-vibrant frontier town, bringing with it the stench of burned lumber and scorched flesh.
In front of the crouching woman, the air vibrated, as though with heat. A softly-pitched voice cut into his swirling thoughts, drawing his eyes back to the woman.Ĭurious, Gavin drew closer, forcing himself to ignore the moaning from his cart. What a strange fire that it could burn a town to cinders and not ignite the summer-dry grass, he thought. Beyond, the open prairie stretched far as the eye could see, but closer in, where any part of the small town had stood, only devastation remained. Here and there, a shattered wall stood unsteadily, its height chopped off as though by a blunt ax-a blunt ax of flame, judging by the charred edges. Twenty houses, a store, a church and a livery stable had been reduced to smoking splinters and yawning, open cellars. Trying to quell his inappropriate humor, he scanned the grim scene. The irreverent thought needled him with guilt. It seems prefabricated houses burn just as easily as a hut made of twigs. If she was aware of the man standing a short distance away, she gave no indication. It appeared to have been partially crushed when the ceiling fell in-a ceiling that now lay in chunks, like morbid stepping stones-beneath the woman's knees. Weak sunlight filtered through the lingering smoke to glint on golden hair-messily pulled into a hasty knot-as well as an object clutched in her dirty hands.Ī bent and twisted pot-bellied stove lay in front of her. Soot smeared the back of her loosely-cut gingham dress. In the smoldering ruins of a burned building, a woman knelt. He shifted to the right and blinked in surprise. Nothing but death and carnage, charred wood and ruined plaster. Only a hot, stale breeze sent wisps of smoke toward the horizon. He turned to the left, searching for signs of movement, but saw nothing.
What on earth happened here? I've never in my life seen such utter destruction, so few survivors. Gavin scanned the ruins of a once-growing community, eyes straining against the smoke and a sting of tears he would have denied, had anyone seen them. I would also like to thank my husband, Edwin Stark, for reminding me that my darker side is part of me, and nothing to fear that without darkness, it's hard to appreciate the light. I would like to thank my author friends and family for their help in perfecting this work, most especially my sister-in-words and editor extraordinaire, Julie Northup. Our group may be no more, but I hope our conversations never die. This book is dedicated to the members of the Western Romance Authors Forum.
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