Love and Fury: The Coltrane Saga, Book 4
Page 34
He was tall and built well, firm, corded muscles glistening as the merciless sun beat against his bare back. Hard, lean thighs strained against tight denim pants as he doggedly followed the plow. The plodding mule struggled, pulling the plow through the dry, parched earth. Insects flitted annoyingly around man and beast. No breeze stirred, and the oppressive heat hung like a shroud.
Damn, it was hot. Travis Coltrane could feel his bare skin tingling, knew that already the sun was searing his flesh. But he would not burn. Before long, his skin would be the color of leather. Travis was a French creole, and naturally dark-skinned. He would only become darker. Sweat trailed down his forehead and into his gray eyes, stinging. He wiped the salty moisture away with one hand, ignoring the burning in the open blisters of his fingers and palms. Some were already bleeding from the rough, splintered wooden plow handles. It was this way every spring when he first began the plowing, but soon the blisters would close and become hard.
Suddenly the plow lurched sharply, hitting a mound of earth, and even as Travis saw the swarming wasps and realized he had hit an underground nest, the angry horde was upon him. He quickly dropped the worn reins, letting the mule trot away and escape. Travis stumbled backward, swinging his arms at the attacking wasps. Just as he felt a sharp sting on his shoulder, he ran across the field toward the bordering woods.
Reaching safety beneath the gnarled limbs of a great oak, he stared at the quickly rising welt, grateful to have been stung only once.
He leaned back against the rough bark of the trunk and breathed deeply, closing his eyes. Lord, how he hated this. He hated what he had been doing for the past two years and he dreaded what lay before him.
Two years. He shook his head, wiping at the sweat on his face. Had it really been only two years? Jesus, it seemed more like twenty. It was becoming harder and harder for Travis to remember any life other than the drudgery of the farm.
If this is all there is, he asked himself miserably, if this is what my life is all about, then why didn’t I just die in the damned war?
Gettysburg. Antietam. Bull Run. He had been in all of them, by damn. One of the best officers and riders in the whole goddamn Union cavalry. That’s what others had said about Captain Travis Coltrane, leader of the infamous Coltrane’s Raiders, feared by the Rebels and respected and admired by the Union Army.
Sitting there, in the still, hot spring day, Travis could almost smell the sulfur and smoke once more, hear the shouts and cries of his men as they charged into battle, the clanging and clashing of sabers. And he had led those men, by God. They had looked up to him and—
Bullshit.
The steely gray eyes darkened as bitterness and self-loathing washed through him. Was he on his way to becoming just like the old men who spent their days sitting in front of the courthouse in Goldsboro, telling and retelling their battle stories, each tale becoming more glorified as it was repeated? Some still wore their tattered Confederate uniforms, even four years after the war had ended.
People, he told himself, particularly old soldiers, chose to forget what was painful. And Lord, there had been so much pain in that infernal war. Now that it was safely in the past, it was all glory.
Was he becoming just like them, sitting here beneath a tree and staring at the empty fields and hating his life so much? Would he waste the rest of his life longing for remembered glories?
He lifted his gaze to the heavens as though there might be an answer somewhere up there. Why did it have to be this way? Year after year of coddling that goddamn ground, planting tobacco and corn and praying for rain, praying the insects would not come, praying for a good harvest in the fall so there would be money to get through the long winter and feed for the livestock he had managed to acquire. Was this all there was? Travis asked the sky.
He snorted with contempt. Pray! Hell, he never prayed. He just cursed life when things didn’t go the way he wanted them to. Farmers prayed over their crops. Travis did not consider himself a farmer and he never would.
He looked across the field at the little cabin he had built with his bare hands from the smoldering ruin it had been. The neighbors had burned down the original house, for the good Southern patriots of Wayne County had not taken kindly to old John Wright marching off to fight for the North.
Now there were two rooms. It wasn’t much, but Travis still felt pride over what he’d managed to do with the ruins. He had done it all alone, with sweat and grit. He had cut the oak trees, sawed them into planks, then smoothed the surfaces that would be on the inside. The results had been worth his hard work, for the interior walls shone brilliantly with the natural beauty of the blond oak wood.
He had done the same with the floors, not wanting Kitty or John to risk stepping on a rough, splintery surface.
A room for sleeping and loving. A room for cooking and living. And a little porch off the back, covered in twisting morning-glory vines, where they could sit and watch the sun go down…while holding hands and dreaming of what they hoped the future would hold for them.
For now, that’s all there was, but by God, when there was enough money, he was going to make it bigger and better, because John and Kitty deserved so much more than a two-room cabin.
John.
He grinned, thinking of the little boy who looked so much like him that Travis sometimes thought he was looking at himself age three. But, he thought, John wasn’t himself. He had Kitty’s spirit, but seemed not to have inherited either of his parents’ horrible temper. He was a serene child, a little too adult, perhaps, for his age. But he was accustomed to amusing himself, playing games in the corner of the kitchen. There were few children John’s age in Goldsboro, and since the neighbors had never forgiven John Wright, for whom the boy was named, it was just as well that the child had been kept apart from those neighbors and their hatred.
His face softened as his thoughts turned to Kitty. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Just thinking about her, he felt the familiar stirring in his loins. How good it was to hold her, be inside that tender, always eager, woman-flesh.
Kitty. His woman. His wife. The mother of his son.
Love and Fury
Patricia Hagan
The bestselling Coltrane saga continues with Travis and Kitty’s son, Colt.
The Coltrane Saga, Book 4
Colt’s long-lost half-sister Dani was raised somewhere in Europe, and he hasn’t seen her in fourteen years. But now he has to find her in order to learn what she plans to do with her share of the family fortune. Too bad the evil and conniving Gavin Mason has found someone to impersonate Dani so he can get his hands on the money.
Briana de Paul is willing to go along with the ruse because she needs help for her ailing brother. But it is forbidden love at first sight between Colt and Briana, as he struggles to keep his desire under control. However, one moon-swept night, they yield to their passion, and Briana is forced to admit how she tricked him into believing they were kin.
On a quest to find the real Dani before Mason can, Colt and Briana are swept from the rugged deserts of Nevada to forbidden Parisian nights, from the wintry Alps to magnificent Monaco mansions, where they suffer untold danger and incredible intrigue as they fight for a love that no man can destroy.
This book was originally published by Avon Books in September 1986.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
Love and Fury
Copyright © 2012 by Patricia Hagan
ISBN: 978-1-60928-99
3-5
Edited by Heather Osborn
Cover by Valerie Tibbs
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Original Publication by Avon Books: September 1986
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: March 2012
www.samhainpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
About the Author
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