Timeless Bond (Timeless Hearts Book 8)

by Peggy L Henderson

  Preview of Timeless Pleasure

  by Sandra E. Sinclair

  Chapter 1

  Stunned beyond belief, Bradley Stolfi stood in front of the bank, halfway between tethering his horse to a hitching post and drawing his eyes back into his head. His reflexes were usually a lot swifter than they were acting at the moment. He felt frozen to the spot as he watched the scene play out in front of him. It couldn’t possibly be her—the girl destined to break his curse, risking her life that way.

  Since the age of fourteen he’d done nothing but dream of her. Almost thirty years of age, he’d all but given up. Yet here she was, wearing the tightest pair of pants he ever did see. She wore a man's shirt, a waist length buckskin jacket, her braided hair like burnt honey made lighter from the reflection of the sun haloing all around her. If angels were real...

  She was the nearest vision of what he’d believed an angel would look like. Her beauty needed no paint to make her stand out, her looks unique and oddly familiar. She’d come racing out of Miss Cissie’s boarding house and into the middle of the street, just as the spooked horses and buggy carrying three young’uns came charging toward her.

  If his instinct would have kicked in as he saw the scene happening, he’d have been right back on his horse chasing after the buggy and children, in answer to their mother’s screams. But catching a glimpse of her had set his heart racing and slowed down any attempts he may have been planning. His feet had taken root.

  The woman turned to face the clamoring beasts. If she was afraid of her fate she didn’t show any signs of it. She simply held up her hands whispering under her breath as the snorting, heaving horses descended, hastening toward her. She waved her hands while her legs stayed still as if doing some elaborate foreign hand waving dance.

  Then she shifted to the side, her hands still moving like a tide on a calm sea. Each move she made seemed intricate and slow. Which was impossible when watching the speed at which the horses were rushing along the empty street.

  Ignoring the onlookers she continued to whisper and wave. Bradley couldn’t hear what she was saying, but the sounds she made that he could hear and easily make out were ancient. He felt as if he knew them or had heard them before—a long time ago.

  He rubbed his eyes and looked again, as he saw the creatures slowing down. By the time they’d gotten close enough to her, they were walking. The horses walked right up to her and began to nuzzle her fingers. She smiled and his stomach clenched. He buckled and caught a hold of the hitching rail to steady himself.

  There was a roar of cheers and claps all around him as witnesses to the spectacle showed their appreciation of what this young woman had done. The mother of the children came racing up, fighting through the gathering crowd now circling the woman and horses.

  Still anxious, the mother cut through the circle. She stared apprehensively at the strange woman for an instant, as she maneuvered around her to the buggy, gathering her children to her. Kissing their little heads one at a time and then back again several times. She stared at them in disbelief, tears streaming down over her stained face as she kissed her children some more.

  The young woman continued to hold the reins, calming the horses again after they became fired up by the commotion of the crowd. Her gaze darted around her, confusion in the depths of her eyes. It was as if she’d never seen the town before. Maybe she hadn’t. He would remember if he’d seen anyone as lovely as her in these parts.

  The town had grown, but it wasn’t so big you didn’t recognize a familiar face when you saw it. Her face was familiar to him but not because he’d seen her in town before. His connection to her had longevity and was a lot more personal.

  Her death-defying feat seemed to have distracted the crowd from what she was wearing, but not him. He saw it all and none of it was familiar to him. Her leather and suede were not processed in the usual way.

  Before Bradley chose to be white, he was Indian first. He spent many hours helping his mother soak, smoke and scrape the hide of various animals, so his father the leathersmith could work his magic crafting and molding the leather into whatever he wanted it to be.

  The bulk of his father’s income had come from saddle making. His father could just about make anything asked of him, and made a great sum of money doing so. Bradley, on the other hand, never did inherit his father’s eye for making something out of nothing.

  He was able to follow his father’s patterns when he got older, but mainly he soaked, smoked, dyed, scraped, and poked holes. No, what he inherited from his parents being together was nothing he wanted to think about.

  He wanted to get closer to her. If she was the one to fix him, he needed to know. Able to move once more, he walked through the crowd like a hot knife through butter, until he was at her side. Her scent made him dizzy.

  The mother of the children was thanking the other woman and loading her children back into the buggy. The stranger whispered into each horse’s ear, all the while stroking their necks. Then she smiled at the mother.

  “They should be all right to take you home now,” she said, her voice as sweet as a bowl of summer berries. She let go of the reins and stepped aside. The crowd began to disperse after a few folks patted her on the back and furnished her with praise.

  She nodded absently, her attention seeming elsewhere as she searched about her. A look of wonder and surprise in her expression, she continued to gaze around her in dismay.

  Bradley wasn’t sure what to do, so he followed her back to the side of the road in silence, racking his brain for something intelligent to say to her and gain her attention. At the moment, he may as well be invisible for all the notice she took of him, surprising as he wasn’t a small man. More of a mountain over most men in this town.

  This sensation of her lack of acknowledgment was new to him, making him almost want to grab her arm and spin her to face him. But he wasn’t a man who manhandled women, since he was very aware of his size and strength. A little gift from the curse.

  He had to be real careful how he treated and interacted with folks. There was only one day a month when he was unable to control himself and he’d usually take himself off to be alone during those times. Standing here beside her, he felt a calm he’d never known before, not even from the comfort of his mother’s arms.

  “You look a little lost. I’d like to offer you my services, if I can assist you in any way,” he said, deciding to get at the grassroots of what seemed to be the most obvious of her plights.

  “I’ll be all right in a little while. At the moment I feel as if I’m in the middle of one of my grandpa’s John Wayne flicks. I just need to get my bearings and I’ll be fine,” she said without looking at him.

  “I’m not sure what a flick is. But I feel safe to say there’s no one named Wayne in this town and I just about know everyone in it.”

  She brushed the free strands of her unusual braid, from her face and gazed up at him. Her eyes seemed to shrink him to a mere boy. Her smile made him weak. Her face held none of the astonishment he was used to receiving from women when they saw him, nor did she show signs she desired him. He’d grown used to seeing that look too. Her gaze was void of anything other than a vague interest in what he’d said.

  The feeling of being ordinary in her eyes irked him. He wanted to be more, and from the way she looked at him, he could see he had his work cut out.

  “Bradley Stolfi, you can call me Brad. Everyone else does.” He smiled and she seemed to flinch.

  Well, he’d never had that reaction to his smile before.

  “That’s good to know. I like Mr. Stolfi, seeing as we ain’t friends.”

  “We could be, if you’re staying in town,” he said shortening his grin maybe he’d shown too much teeth before.

  “I doubt that. But maybe you can help me. I’m looking for my cousin.”

  Brad tilted his head not knowing what to make of this woman. She looked feminine in features and body, but she didn’t act in the least way delicate. “Do you and
your cousin have a name?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said and her hand jutted forward. “I’m Emily Appleton and my cousin is Raven Eyez.”

  So that’s why she looked familiar. He thought her the woman of his dreams when in truth she was just Mrs. Thornton’s kin.

  How could he have been so wrong?