Rider on Fire

by Sharon Sala

  It was almost dark by the time Adam got home. He finished his chores in the dark and then hurried inside, reaching shelter only moments before the heavens turned loose of the rain.

  Wind blew. Thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed.

  He ate a lonely meal and thought of the breakfast tomorrow, knowing that, for a short time, he would be with Sonora again.

  He didn’t know what was going to happen between them, but he didn’t want the relationship to end before they had a chance to know one another.

  He thought of Franklin, wondering how he was going to take finding a daughter and losing his life.

  Rain blew against the kitchen window as he washed the dishes from his evening meal. Lightning flashed, momentarily revealing the wildly thrashing trees and limbs and the flow of rainfall funneling through the yard to the creek below his house.

  Then another, more sinister thought reared its head.

  Sonora had said she was in danger.

  He feared she was understating the issue. The soldier in him wanted to take her to a place of safety and guard her against the world. But the healer in him knew there was another way.

  His eyes narrowed as he dried his hands and moved from the kitchen, to the medicine room.

  He paused in the doorway, thinking of a stranger on Sonora’s trail, and then moved with purpose to the shelves. Without hesitation, he chose the items he needed, then carried them outside onto the porch. Sheltered from the rain, he lit a swatch of dried sweetgrass, then purified the air with the smoke.

  He fell into the old language as easily as he breathed, turned to the north and began to chant, telling the Old Ones of the danger to one of their own, beseeching them to protect her when he could not. Then he repeated the request to the east, then the south, and finally the west.

  A wild crack of lightning hit the ground only yards away from his house. Adam staggered backward from the force of the strike. The scent of sulfur was heavy in the air. As he stood, the wind suddenly changed and blew rain up under the eaves of the porch and into Adam’s face.

  He took it as a sign that they’d heard.

  It was done.

  CHAPTER 7

  Sonora spent the rest of the evening in a daze. It was difficult to wrap her mind around the fact that she not only had a father, but that she was actually in his house. While the premise was far-fetched and almost too good to be true, whatever doubts she might have had about being his daughter ended the moment she’d seen her grandmother’s picture.

  Thinking about how she got here could make her crazy if she dwelled on it, so she didn’t. For a woman who’d spent all of her adult life dealing in truth and facts, accepting the notion of being guided by what amounted to ghosts seemed ridiculous. Still, however it had happened, she was grateful to be here.

  And, Franklin, who was normally shy and reticent toward strangers, was struggling to give her space. The last thing he wanted was to scare her off, but he felt a constant need to be with her. With his life span already limited, he was resentful that their time together was destined to be short.

  So, while they wrestled to find comfort with each other, the thunderstorm that threatened earlier had come full force. Sonora and Franklin ate their evening meal with an accompaniment of thunder and lightning, then washed dishes with rain splattering against the windows. After that, Franklin had taken her on a tour of the house, only to have it interrupted by a power failure. Sonora had embarrassed herself by panicking when the lights had gone out. By the time Franklin found flashlights and lit a few candles, the power was on.

  Now they sat in front of a television without paying any attention to the programming, trying to find points of connection between their separate lives.

  Sonora was fascinated with his artistic skills and was going through a photo album that represented a complete set of his work once he’d turned a hobby into a profession. She was in awe of where he’d been, and the heads of states he’d met in faraway countries.

  Franklin, on the other hand, was trying to hide his dismay at the profession his only child had chosen.

  “So, when did you begin working with the DEA?” he asked.

  Sonora turned a page in the album, then looked up.

  “It seems like forever, but I guess it’s been about seven or eight years now. I had just turned twenty-one. I’m twenty-nine now. I’ll be thirty in September.”

  Franklin’s nostrils flared. It was the only indication he gave of realizing there was another slot to be filled.

  “Your birthday,” he said softly.

  Sonora nodded, then stopped.

  “Oh. Yes. Another gap in our knowledge of each other, which I can quickly fix. My birthday is September 12. I’m five-feet-ten inches tall in my bare feet. I wear a size ten in clothes, and I love chocolate.”

  He tried to smile and hugged her, thankful that she was trying to make light of the vast gap between them, because the truth of it broke his heart.

  “You are tall, like me,” he said. “Your mother, Leila, was a small woman, but she had a big laugh.” His smile faded. “It was the first thing I loved about her.” Then he shook his head. “But that’s for another time. I was born on June 4th in a storm cellar while a tornado blew away the house that was here. This is the one they built to replace it, so it is the only home I’ve ever known.”

  Sonora nodded, as she listened to him talk, but she wasn’t listening as intently as she should have been. Instead, she was marking the way his left eyebrow arched as he told something funny—noticing his slim hands and long fingers; hands of an artist. His skin was darker than hers, but not by much, and she suspected part of the washed-out color of his skin was due to his illness. She thought of seeing him unconscious on the floor and not knowing the connection between them, and how blessed she was to be sitting here now.

  Then she thought of Adam coming to his rescue.

  “Tell me about Adam Two Eagles,” she said.

  Franklin had sensed what seemed to be interest between the two and could only hope something came of it.

  “His father was my best friend,” he said. “His mother was a distant cousin on my mother’s side.”

  “We’re related?” she asked, unaware that she was frowning.

  This time, Franklin allowed himself a grin. “Only in the most distant sense of the word. Probably what would amount to a sixth or seventh cousin.”

  “Oh. Well. That hardly counts, does it?”

  Franklin’s grin spread. “Definitely does not count.”

  Sonora realized he was having fun at her expense, and made a face at him. “It’s not what you think. I was asking only because I would want to know of any relatives.”

  Franklin sighed, and then took her hand in his. “I’m afraid, when it comes to close family, we’re it.” Then Franklin shifted gears to Sonora’s life. “Have you ever been married?”

  “No.” She thought of Buddy and smiled. “Not even close, although I’ve had a couple of relationships and gotten a good friend from one of them.”

  “Friends are good,” Franklin said.

  Sonora thought of the dream she’d had of Adam, of the whisper of his breath on the back of her neck, and the challenge he’d given her right before she’d awakened.

  “Come to me,” he’d said.

  And she would have done it—willingly. However, faced with the real man and not one out of some dream, she was far more discerning. As intriguing as he was—as handsome and compelling as he was—he was still a stranger.

  Unaware of the places her mind had taken her, Franklin had shifted a few mental gears of his own.

  “In the morning, I’ll show you the boundaries of our land,” Franklin said.

  Sonora was so taken aback by the fact that he’d referred to the property as “ours” that she could hardly speak. Still, she felt a need to slow him down from committing to things he might later come to regret.

  “Franklin … wait. Please. You don’t need to do this,” she said.

 
“Do what?” Franklin asked.

  “Include me in your life so quickly. It’s not ‘our’ land, it’s yours.”

  Franklin frowned, then shook his head.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “Everything I do these days is done quickly. I don’t have the luxury of assuming there will be a tomorrow. And, knowing you exist and that you are of my flesh is a joy you don’t understand. To the Native American, family is everything, and my family has lived in this area for generations. The last four generations are buried here, and until your arrival, that heritage was going to end with my death. Now, I can die with peace. Even if you choose not to live here, it will always be yours, and hopefully, the generations that come after.”

  Sonora was too moved to speak. All she managed to do was nod and then look away.

  Franklin sighed. “I did not mean to upset you, but these are things you must know.”

  Sonora’s voice was shaking, but she looked him square in the eyes. “And, by the same token, you cannot know what this means to me. I have lived twenty-nine years without belonging anywhere or to anyone. Now, to have been given both at the same time is almost more than I can comprehend. I’m not upset. I’m overwhelmed.”

  Franklin relaxed, then patted her hand. “Then this is good, yes?”

  Sonora sighed. “Yes, this is good.”

  “So … would you mind very much if, from time to time, I called you Daughter?”

  Sonora blinked away tears. “I would be honored. And for the same reasons, it would be wonderful to know I could call you Dad.”

  There was a time in Franklin’s life when he would have hesitated to let someone see him cry, but that time had long since passed. His eyes filled with tears as he took her in his arms and held her.

  They might have stayed there longer, but Sonora felt his body trembling and knew it was from fatigue. Without calling attention to his weakness, she claimed exhaustion on her own.

  “I hate to be the party-pooper, but this has been a long day. If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to go to bed.”

  “Of course,” Franklin said, and got up as she stood.

  “So … you invited Adam for breakfast, didn’t you?”

  Franklin grinned.

  “Quit that,” she muttered. “I’m just asking so I won’t over-sleep. That would be rude.”

  “Oh, definitely, that would be rude,” Franklin said, and then they both laughed out loud. “He’ll probably show up around nine. He knows I don’t get up as early as I used to.”

  “I’m a pretty good cook,” Sonora said. “If you show me where stuff is, I’d love to make the meal.”

  Franklin took a slow breath, and then touched her face with the back of his hand. “And I would love to eat your cooking,” he said, then puffed out his chest in an exaggerated manner. “My daughter cooks for me tomorrow. If someone had told me I would be saying these words tonight, I would have called them crazy.”

  “So it’s a deal?” Sonora asked, and held out her hand.

  Franklin shook it. “It’s a deal,” he said.

  Sonora nodded and started to leave the room, then she paused and looked back.

  Franklin was watching her go.

  She bit her lip, then took a slow breath. Revealing her vulnerability was more difficult than she’d imagined it would be. Still, she’d waited a lifetime to say these words and she wasn’t going to cheat herself out of the opportunity because she was afraid.

  “‘Night … Dad.”

  Franklin smiled.

  “Good night … Daughter. Sleep well.”

  Soon, the house went dark and both father and daughter slept with a peace in their hearts they’d never known before.

  * * *

  Adam, on the other hand, didn’t get much sleep. His dreams were troubled with a faceless enemy stalking Franklin’s daughter. Finally, he woke up in a sweat, and abandoned his bed for the swing on his front porch.

  The air was cooler and rain-washed. Bullfrogs sang from the overflowing creek while their tinier cousins, the tree frogs contributed to the chorus. The quarter moon hung low in the sky, shyly showing its face from behind the swiftly moving clouds.

  Adam walked to the edge of the steps and then looked up, inhaling deeply as he combed his fingers through his hair.

  There was a power in the dark that daylight didn’t share. He’d known it since childhood, and it had saved his life more than once during his years with the military. Night was a shield for those who needed it, and kept secrets better than a best friend ever could. It protected, and at the same time, left the weak more vulnerable.

  Adam thought about the creek running out its banks down the hill below. If it wasn’t for the copperheads between him and the water, he’d chance a midnight dip. However, his foolish days were long gone, and he would gladly settle for a cold shower.

  He was about to go back inside when he heard a coyote yip. Within seconds, another answered, and then another and another, until the night was alive with their calls. He smiled. It was one of the sounds of the Kiamichi Mountains that he loved most.

  He thought of the years he’d spent in foreign countries, living his life for the American government instead of for himself, and said a quiet prayer of thanks that he’d lived to make it home.

  He stood on the porch and gave the coyotes their due by waiting until the chorus had ended.

  “Good job, boys,” he said softly, then started into the house. He was crossing the threshold when his cat, Charlie, slipped between his legs and darted beneath a chair.

  He closed the door, then got down on his hands and knees and grinned at the cat who was peering at him from beneath the small space.

  “What’s wrong, old man? Coyotes make you a little nervous?”

  “Rowrrr.”

  “I feel your pain,” Adam said.

  “Rrrpp?”

  “Yeah, sure … why not?” Adam said. “I don’t have anyone else fighting you for the space.”

  Since he’d been given permission, Charlie abandoned the space beneath the chair for a spot at the foot of Adam’s bed.

  Both males were soon sound asleep, taking comfort in the knowledge that, for tonight, they were not alone.

  * * *

  Miguel Garcia was in Amarillo, Texas, pacing the room of his motel with his cell phone up to his ear. He’d trailed Sonora Jordan this far and then had lost her. At this point, he knew he needed help and had been trying to contact some of his men in Juarez. But, no matter who he called, he got no answer. That alone was enough to make him nervous.

  And, if he’d known the truth, nervous would have been an understatement. He didn’t know that there was already a big upheaval in his organization that had nothing to do with Enrique and Juanito’s absences. He didn’t know that Jorge was moving in on territory that had been under Garcia control for years. And, he didn’t know that Jorge had given the DEA the description and tag number of the car Miguel was driving. Miguel thought he was the hunter, but in truth, he was also the prey.

  * * *

  Gerald Mynton was beside himself with frustration. Twice, he’d missed phone calls from Sonora. He didn’t know what she was trying to pull, dropping out of sight like this without staying in touch.

  Yes, he knew he’d told her to get lost. But he hadn’t expected her to actually do it. As far as he knew, she was in imminent danger and he had no way of warning her about it. So, in order to offset the chance that they might miss connecting again, he was having all of his calls, both personal and professional, forwarded to his cell phone. No matter what time of day or night a call came in, he would get it. With this small assurance set in place, Mynton finally gave up and went to bed. And while he wasn’t a praying kind of man, he still said a prayer of safekeeping for Sonora before he could fall asleep.

  * * *

  Sonora woke abruptly, and for a moment, couldn’t remember where she was. Then her gaze fell on the carving of the kitten and the dragonfly and breath caught in her throat.


  Home.

  She was home.

  She glanced at the clock, then her eyes widened. It was already seven-thirty and Adam was coming for breakfast. She flew out of bed and raced into the bathroom. It was the quickest shower she’d ever had. She dressed in a pair of old jeans and a red, sleeveless T-shirt, and as an afterthought, pocketed her cell phone. Then she pulled her hair up on top of her head, securing it with an elastic band. She started to put on her tennis shoes, then decided against it and left the room in bare feet.

  As she started down the hall, she could hear Franklin moving around in his room, so she knew he was up, but she was going to do her own investigating into what was available in the kitchen, without bothering him.

  Before she started looking in the fridge, she made a big pot of coffee, hoping that the men liked it strong. Soon, the enticing aroma of freshly brewing coffee filled the air as she began looking to see what was available to cook.

  It was easy to spot the bacon and eggs, and she found half a loaf of bread and two kinds of jelly in the refrigerator, as well. A set of canisters on the cabinet revealed flour and sugar. After digging through the pantry, she found a partially used bag of self-rising flour, a can of vegetable shortening and a small bottle of sorghum molasses. She was in business.

  She turned on the oven to preheat, laid her cell phone on the counter out of the way, then dug through the cabinets and drawers until she found the rest of what she needed. It wasn’t long until the smell of baking bread was added to the aromas drifting through the house.

  Sonora was frying bacon when she sensed she was no longer alone. She looked up. Franklin was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She smiled.

  “Good morning. How did you sleep?” she asked, as he moved toward her.

  Franklin touched her shoulder in a gentle, hesitant manner, then kissed the side of her cheek.

  Sonora leaned against him for a fraction of a second, then made herself smile, when all she wanted to do was cry. This family stuff was harder than she would have thought.

  “I slept well,” Franklin said. “And you?”

  “Like a baby,” Sonora said. “How are you feeling?”

  He shrugged. “Some mornings are better than others.”