The Texan's Bride by Dawson Geralyn

Author:Dawson, Geralyn [Dawson, Geralyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: A Historical Romance
Published: 2012-01-19T08:00:00+00:00

NIGHTFALL EASED over the eastern Texas landscape like a gentle death. The wind lay and the forest fell silent but for occasional sounds made by nocturnal animals as they slipped from their burrows and caves to wander the forest in the pursuit of sustenance. As the moon rose and floated across the sky, beams of milky light bathed Gallagher’s in an eerie glow, and from an oak tree at the edge of the clearing, the low, purring chuck chuck of a bullbat added to the spectral atmosphere of the night.

Ghosts played inside the kitchen’s walls, delving into the mind of the sleeping man, stirring up the nightmare which occupied that comer of the mind reserved for hell.

Branch was Britt again, seven years old and playing with his brother in the attic of Eagle’s Nest, the Garrett family plantation home in Virginia. Outside the dormer window, slaves labored in field after field of tobacco, singing a haunting spiritual song in rhythm with their work. Neither Britt nor Rob were interested in what happened in the fields; their concentration centered on the leaves Rob had stolen from the drying sheds.

Britt wrinkled his nose at the production of rolling crushed leaves inside a larger one. “I don’t see why you want to light it. It makes a great haystack for my soldiers to hide behind.”

“Hush, Britt. You’re such a baby. Now, hand me those matches.”

The dream altered, and the man in the bed tossed and flung up his arm to guard his face from the phantoms whose features burned black and crusted. They leaned over the young boy Britt, shrieking in his ear. His grandfather, his grandmother. His mother. Fire crackled around them, dancing, its smoke oozing over him and carrying the stench of death. “Your fault… your fault,” they chanted, reaching for him with bony hands.

“No!” he screamed.

“Branch, Branch, wake up.” The soft, soothing angel’s voice summoned him back from hell.

As he opened his eyes and gazed at Katie, he knew a relief so encompassing that his naked, sweat-soaked body shook with it.

A lighted lamp cast a golden glow around the room, haloing the woman who sat on the bunk beside him, her gentle hand stroking his cheek, his temple, his hair. Her voice was husky as she said, “Welcome home, Branch.”

Panic had wrapped a noose around his neck, but her every touch served to loosen the knot. She said, “Such a terrible place you must have been.”

“Oh, God, Sprite.” His pulse slowed, and the coppery taste of fear left his mouth. Branch shut his eyes and grimaced. He hated this. He was a man, dammit. Not some snot-nosed boy who cowered at the demons in the night. He hated that she’d seen him this way; he hated that he wanted her comfort. “The fire, I dreamed about a fire.”

At his temple, her hand trembled. The catch in her voice betrayed her own nightmares as she whispered a strained, “How terrifying.”

Kincaid, you’re a bastard. Branch grasped her hand and pulled it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

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