Desert Sunrise (Love in the Sierras Book 2)

by Belle, Sawyer

  Desert Sunrise

  Sawyer Belle

  Copyright © 2015 Sawyer Belle

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 1511478373

  ISBN-13: 978-1511478373

  This book is dedicated to my little sis; the wiry, feisty spitfire that was my shadow for so many years. This one’s for you, Jess.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to extend my most heartfelt gratitude, yet again, to my friend R.C. Matthews (author of the Wish Come True Series). You make the journey easier.

  To my dear departed great-grandfather, Valentine, thanks for all the stories. To the multitude of other family members who appear in this work, thanks for a lifetime of rich material. And to my mother - thanks for giving me the best line of the book! I love you all.

  Chapter 1

  Virginia City, Nevada Territory

  1861

  Searing, white pain rushed from the underside of her chin, along her neck and down to her belly. Her fingers wrapped around her throat where hot, thick liquid greased them like melted butter. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t scream. The front door hung open and the full, pale moon hovered above the treetops. One thought pulsed through her mind.

  Run!

  Her legs moved, but unsteadily. They felt like water, disconnected from her mind and muscles, but somehow carried her out into the night. Rocks and cactus spines bit into her legs as she stumbled and her knees hit the dirt. The burn of their piercings joined the rest of her pain as she scrambled toward the barn. Every three steps she fell, her reaching hands coated in bright red.

  Run!

  The world seemed disjointed. Time moved slowly in her mind yet unnaturally quick elsewhere. Tree branches and brush rustled more violently than the breeze. Desert critters zipped faster than usual as she crept along at the pace of a snail. The barn door shrank in the distance until she finally threw herself against it and her legs gave out again. The door opened and her face hit the dirt before she rolled onto her back. Hooves, hay and throbbing yellow lantern light seeped through the dry film over her eyes. She blinked to wet them, but it did no good.

  Void of the strength to stand, she forced herself to crawl. One knee. One hand. The other knee. The other hand, stretching as far as she could toward the black gelding eyeing her with a slant of his head. Her fingers grew cold, an iciness that crawled up her arms. She needed rest. Just a minute or two to regain her strength. Collapsing onto her back, she gaped at the wooden roof, gulping the air like a catfish. The cherubic face of her younger sister leaned over with wide-eyed fear, tears wetting her cheeks.

  The sight pulled her mind sharply into focus.

  Get up! Get her out of here!

  She rolled over and clutched a wad of straw, willing herself to her feet. Her neck felt loose, as if her head floated and could fall in any direction. The vice-like grip of tiny fingers around her wrists pulled her to a stand. She brought the horse around and struggled to mount. Without a saddle, there was nothing to use as leverage and when her body was draped across the animal’s back like an old carpet, her energy was completely spent. She had strength enough to open only one eye.

  As they neared the barn door, the lumbering hulk of his form filled the entryway. He roared, but the words became muddled in the fog of her brain. Only a deep, rumbling sound shook inside her bones. Run, she wanted to scream, but there was no need. Through her one good eye she watched her sister raise a six-shooter pistol and fire it without hesitation…

  Collette Barbier sucked in a breath when she came awake, her back rigid as she sat up in the chair and clutched the sides of the table, pulling one deep breath after another. Her eyes became heavy and wet and she blinked rapidly. One by one, elements of her surroundings came into focus. The table. The bolt of fabric. The sheaf of paper with Mrs. Mason’s measurements. The hearth. The lamp. All pieces of her new life. Nothing of her old.

  She buried her face in her hands and labored through several deep, shaky breaths until her heart calmed. When fingertips pressed against her shoulders, she flinched and spun in her seat with a sharp gasp.

  “It’s all right!” her little sister said hastily. “It’s just me.”

  She released a breath toward Helene and closed her eyes, sinking back into her seat with relief. “You startled me.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let you sleep so long, but you were so tired. You’ve been working on these orders for days.” She swallowed after a long pause. “You’re still having nightmares, aren’t you?”

  Collette rubbed her eyes as she yawned. “Not as much as I used to.” She smiled and patted the girl’s cheek. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Of course I worry about you,” the youth returned. “You haven’t seen the sun in a while. Why don’t you take a break and go for a ride? The fresh air would do you good, and Achilles could use the exercise.”

  Her first instinct was to refuse, but Helene was right. It had been days since she’d ventured outside the dress shop. Virginia City had grown so much and so quickly that it scarcely resembled the town they’d ridden into eight months ago. Not even the cave-ins of the silver mines last summer could halt progress for long.

  She found it odd the collapse had doubled the city’s population instead of diminishing it. When the tunnels flooded and two dozen miners lost their lives, all manner of experts poured into town. Engineers, scientists, builders, laborers and investors all had a hand in rebuilding the underground structures, and not even the winter’s driving snows could halt the new construction. In a matter of months, silver was being extracted again and the wealth was flowing freely.

  Once they reopened, the pace of the city roared back to life, eager to make up for lost time. Wealthy investors remained in town instead of returning to their homes in San Francisco and Denver. Mansions were built along with rows of businesses and buildings catering to the luxuries and tastes of the upper class. What began as a small mining town rapidly swelled to a city as fine and opulent as any in the west. With the influx of wealthy men and their families, Collette spent every waking moment sewing dresses.

  She wouldn’t complain. The money piled in faster than she could have dreamed. Helene suggested hiring another seamstress, but Collette quickly swatted down the idea. She was not ready to welcome another person into their circle of trust yet. They were still relatively new to the city, and she hadn’t decided whether they would stay.

  She reached out to take Helene’s hand. “What do you think of Virginia City?”

  “I think it’s the richest place on Earth.”

  Collette chuckled. “But what do you think of it as a place to live? Can you see us here permanently?”

  Helene nodded eagerly. “I like it. I love all of the excitement and action here, and we can make a lot of money. What else do we need?”

  Collette surveyed the surroundings of the small sitting room and thought back on the childhood she had, the childhood her sister was denied. Helene would never know the peace and joy of having vast acreage of God’s country, miles of nothing and no one to disturb her or her thoughts. True, they had a roof over their heads and plenty of money to stash beneath a loose floorboard. What else did they need?

  Space, Collette thought. Long, green expanses of it.

  At that moment, she decided her sister was right. She stood and stretched the muscles of her aching back.

  “I think I will take you up on the ride,” she told Helene. “Will you be all right without me for a bit?”

 
Helene patted the side of her calf where her pistol was strapped. “I’ll be fine. Go, clear your head.”

  Collette grabbed her black hat from the rack and tied the frilly lace into a bow beneath her chin. She locked the shop door and made her way through the bustle of Main Street to the rented stables where she boarded her horse, a black gelding named Achilles. In short order, he was saddled and led out of town. Once the slim road veered toward the tiny hamlet of Gold Hill, Collette steered them from the path and up into the cottonwoods cloistered on the hillside of Mt. Davidson. The ground rose and Achilles leapt up it with ease until they rode the ridgeline, stopping above the cemetery to watch the sun fall.

  The view from the spot always made her eyes glisten. The hills surrounding Virginia City were brown and dull, but just beyond them were the magnificent towers of the jutting Sierra Nevada Mountains, their peaks dusted with lingering snow that gave way to the dark green swaths of forest below. The valley floor was lush and filled with fertile land hugging the banks of a lake with clear, crystal waters.

  She shut her eyes and savored everything she could sense; the warmth of the fading sun; the breeze; the smells of sagebrush and creosote; dust and horse hair. Her eyelids fluttered open at the screech of a falcon soaring overhead, and she watched him, mesmerized by the way he floated on the air currents like a feather.

  Achilles’ head snapped up, his ears swiveling around. Collette studied him, knowing something had drawn his attention from behind. She turned him around to peer down into the graveyard. Two men stood there, and she recognized them instantly.

  “Ahhh,” she drawled in a thick French accent before she chuckled. “So, za leetle brother has returned.”

  Valentine and Morgan Kelly stood before the grave of their murdering friend, the man whose life she had been forced to take at Morgan’s ranch last summer. Months passed since then, since she helped nurse Valentine back from the dead. He still looked as handsome as she remembered. His dark hair had grown out, with his jaw supporting a winter beard. He’d lost some weight, no doubt from inactivity, but he still stood tall and confidently, which made her grin. It would take more than a couple of bullets to knock the swagger out of a man like Valentine Kelly. Not unlike another man she once knew. She shivered, and not from the chill air.

  He turned to leave, and she frowned at the noticeable hobble in his step and his use of a cane. She’d hoped he’d be completely recovered by spring, given that he’d been able to stand on his first day awake. His return to Gold Hill could only mean he was as recovered as he’d ever be. She wondered what his future held, knowing he still owned his portion of the thick vein of silver running beneath the mountain upon which she perched. Working in the mines was back-breaking labor, and he didn’t look equal to it at the moment. Val’s partner, Sandy, had been working the mine alone for the past few months.

  She stayed on the rise until the sun disappeared. The night was cold in the high desert, the winter unwilling to relinquish itself to spring, so she tapped the horse’s flanks and sent him back down to the road that returned to Virginia City. Main Street was alive with song and laughter. All of the day shops along the wooden boardwalk were closed, the only open doors offering drink, gambling and women. Collette dismounted in the stables and returned to her store, making her way into the back rooms which served as their living quarters.

  Helene sat in the corner chair, stitching a piece of clothing by the dim light of a lantern. Her long blond braid hung over a shoulder. Collette studied her sister’s features and felt the slow upturn of her lips. She would grow into a raving beauty, Collette was sure. Helene looked up and smiled.

  “Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Collette tossed her hat onto the rack of headpieces and pulled the pins out of her hair. The thick blond mane tumbled down, and she combed through it with her fingers as she stood in front of the window. “I did see something interesting, though.”

  Helene glanced up with a curious brow. “Oh?”

  “Valentine Kelly has returned to Gold Hill.”

  A slow smile crept over Helene’s mouth. “Oooooh.”

  Collette rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You know better.”

  “I know you couldn’t keep your eyes off him the first time he walked in here,” Helene said.

  “That’s because his head was bandaged up from the cave-ins.”

  Helene peered sideways at her sister. “You treat him differently.”

  “I do not,” Collette said, focusing her gaze on the gossamer curtains. “I treat him the same as every other man.”

  “You don’t flirt with him,” Helene said.

  Collette turned to laugh. “Don’t be silly. Of course I do. It’s who Collette Barbier is. A determined and shameless flirt who manipulates idiotic men.”

  “Well, you don’t flirt with Val. But maybe that’s because he is not an idiot.”

  Collette snorted. “All men are idiots.”

  “Strange, then, you would find his return interesting.”

  Collette narrowed her eyes at her sister, who went about sewing as if they discussed the weather. “Well, when we last saw him, the man had just woken from his death bed.”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “Don’t you find it interesting to know he is alive and well?”

  “Oh, I knew Val would be fine. He’s made of sturdy stuff. And those gorgeous eyes, the color of whisky…” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I could melt on the spot when I look at them.”

  Collette’s brow wrinkled. “You’re too young to know about something like that.”

  “I’m thirteen.”

  “Barely thirteen.”

  “Still, thirteen nonetheless. Another four years and I could be married, you know?”

  “God, I hope not.”

  “You would deny me that?”

  “Of course not, but I hope you have a chance to grow into your own womanhood before you become someone’s wife. Love may be the wonderful stuff of your dreams when you’re young, but the reality is far more brutal.”

  Helene’s eyes softened in sympathy, a look Collette hated. “Not every marriage is like yours.”

  She stroked her throat and studied her reflection in the windowpane. “Thank God for that.”

  Chapter 2

  Spider webs stretched like silken threads from tombstone to tombstone, glistening in the fading sunlight. The slow mountain breeze curled over them, making them quiver. Valentine’s gaze crept along the marble headstones before landing on the bare wooden cross before him. His eyes narrowed at the grave of his friend, nameless and all but forgotten in this isolated burial ground. The cemetery was tucked up near the mountain ridge, out of sight from the main road and, therefore, securely out of the minds of the town folk. In a boom town, reminders of danger and mortality were unwelcome.

  Six months after David’s death, the shock had finally begun to wear off for Val. Waking in his brother’s bed with bullet holes in his lower back and shoulder, along with a splitting headache, had been hard enough to endure. Learning of his best friend’s death and betrayal had been even worse. And the woman who killed him told quite a tale. Though Val had been unconscious during it all, Collette’s story was corroborated by his family, and there was nothing he could deny.

  He knew a bitter sense of failure that he had not detected David’s true nature. They had been friends for two years, yet Val would have never believed him capable of the malice that almost destroyed them all at Morgan’s ranch last summer, and he blamed himself. His failure led to the near-hanging of his brother and to the bullet wound in Dr. Cameron’s chest. His failure led to months of nightmares tormenting Morgan’s wife. Lila’s screams would wake Val in the middle of the night, and his gut would twist with guilt. He and Morgan rarely spoke of the events of that fateful day, and never in Lila’s presence.

  Even so, the whole ordeal seemed surreal through the long winter months with life carrying on at a happy clip. Morgan and Lila were married
and expecting their first child. Morgan worked long days building his cattle business and rehabilitating Val’s back and shoulder strength while they shared private jokes about Lila’s ghastly kitchen fare. Two of their best friends, Ellie and Sandy, were happily preparing for a spring wedding in Gold Hill.

  In all of the celebration, it was easy not to grieve. But as he stood staring down at the empty cross, a hot well of emotion boiled in him, and he gripped his cane as he went to his knees and whipped open his pocketknife. The wooden cross groaned and crackled beneath the sharp steel. His skin felt pasty with sweat from the pain in his lower back as he bent forward, but he didn’t stop until the cross was branded. David Gardner.

  He relaxed onto his heels and shut his eyes, leaning his damp forehead against the cane in his grip. A deep breath escaped his lungs, and a strong hand rested on his shoulder. Morgan had accompanied him to Gold Hill after months of recovery in the Washoe Valley and he hadn’t balked when Val asked to be shown David’s grave. Val’s eyes opened and focused on the cross.

  “There was good in him, Morgan,” he said resolutely. “I know he did some horrible things. But I swear there was good in him, too. He just…couldn’t let it win.”

  Morgan took a deep breath behind him. “If anyone can find the good in someone, it’s you, brother.”

  Val frowned, and a deep crease formed in his brow. “Doesn’t do me much good if I can’t sniff out the bad, too. If I had been more perceptive, I could have spared all of the bloodshed at your place, and I wouldn’t be hunched over like an old man.”

  “I think you may be milking those injuries a bit,” Morgan said and Val looked up to see a smirk on his older brother’s face. “I don’t think you need that cane anymore.”

  “Every time I start to think I don’t, the pain boils right up again.”

  Morgan’s face sobered. “You heard the doc. The cold months will always be the hardest on you. Perhaps now that spring is around the corner, it’ll ease up.”