The broken beta - healed by innocence

Thunder rolling

*Wade*

As dawn eases over the horizon, Briony hugs Julieta tightly.

"We'll try and come by in the spring, during round-up," Julieta promises.

"I'll look forward to it," Briony assures her just before I hoist her onto the wagon. She tightens the ribbons on the bonnet Julieta gave her. As the wagon begins to roll forward, she turns and waves at the family left behind.

Dean slips his arm around his mate. Briony smiles. Soon, she'll have a husband to do the same with her. If only he will love her as much as Dean loves Julieta, She deserves that.

Briony faces forward. "Wasn't it nice of Julieta to give me a bonnet?"

I keep my opinion to myself. All I can see is the tip of her nose and, as cute as it is, it's not enough. I know the bonnet will protect her from the sun and wind, will keep her face soft, her skin pale. But it doesn't mean I have to like it.

"Will we be meeting any other neighbors?" Briony asks.

I shake my head. "Not that I know of."

"How much longer until we're at the ranch?" She asks.

"A good fifteen days," I reply. Or a bad fifteen days, depending on how I look at it. I'll drop her off at Chase's door and head on to my own small place, where I eat alone, sleep alone, and dream alone.

If I dare to dream. I've been right from the beginning. Having a woman around makes a man long for things he shouldn't. I stayed up all night listening to her even breathing, watching her snuggle beneath the blankets, and wishing that damn bundle board hadn't been there so she could have snuggled against me.

My stomach tightens as I think of Chase holding this woman through the night, protecting her from whatever it is that makes her sleep with a light burning.

A light seldom keeps my own demons at bay. I sure as hell can't keep hers away.

*Briony*

We have been traveling for four days now, and I can't help but notice how the landscape changes, becoming flatter, the trees more infrequent. In my mind, I picture the summer here, when the heat must be oppressive, and how men might seek the solace of shade beneath the scattered trees. Just as he promised, the open land doesn't obstruct the view of the sunset in the slightest.

As the light begins to fade, I take a moment to observe the trees, the brush, and the grass that seems to dance in the gentle breeze, resembling waves on a shoreline.

"What can I do to help?" I inquire, trailing behind him as he carries our supplies from the wagon, my own hands empty.

"You can gather up some prairie coal," he suggests.

"Prairie coal?" I echo, a hint of curiosity in my voice.

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. "Cow dung."

I pause, processing the information. "And what will you do with that?"

"When there's no wood, we burn cow dung," he explains, almost as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

I can't help but wrinkle my nose. "Isn't that rather unpleasant?"

"You get used to it," he replies with a knowing smirk. "But I'll gather it up. Why don't you look in the wagon and decide which can I should open for tonight's meal?"

Determined to contribute, I lift my chin slightly. "You've done everything since we left Fort Worth. I can handle prairie coal." With that, I head back to the wagon, retrieve my reticule, and draw out a white linen handkerchief with delicate tatted edges.

Resolutely, I march over to the first brown lump nestled in the tall prairie grass. I drape my handkerchief over it and gingerly lift it from the ground, ensuring that my fingers touch nothing but the fabric.

Holding the 'coal' … and I much prefer to think of it as coal rather than dung… as far away from my body as I can, I also hold my breath, carrying it back to our encampment. "Where do you want the fire?" I ask, ready to play my part in this unfamiliar, rugged life.

*Wade*

I'm stretching the tent into place when I glance over my shoulder, and I can't help the warmth that pierces my heart. I have never really thought of Briony as the prim and proper type, yet there she is, looking every bit the part with some lacy thing dangling over cow dung. "Right there ought to do just fine," I tell her.

She starts to bend down.

"No, no," I quickly amend. "A little closer to the tent might be better."

She straightens up and walks towards me. "Here?" she asks.

"Yep."

She places the dung on the ground and begins to shake out her linen.

I pause, thinking it over. "On second thought, that might be too close. A strong wind could blow through here and set the tent ablaze."

"Where do you want it, then?" she asks, her lips pursed in what seems like a mix of confusion and frustration.

I wonder what the hell I'm doing. I've seen cowboys play pranks on each other all the time, but it's been years since I've been part of one, and I've kind of forgotten how to do it so everyone ends up laughing.

I just want to hear her laugh, but messing around with manure definitely isn't the way to get there. Irritated with myself for my own stupidity, I let go of the tent and it collapses into a heap. I pick up the cow dung and toss it just a foot away. "Right there ought to do it."

Her face twists in horror. "You touched it."

I shrug. "It makes the chore go quicker."

She shudders visibly. "Should I set it on fire, or do you want to?"

"We're gonna need a few more. Since my hands are already dirty, I'll gather them. You check the cans," I suggest, trying to steer us back to a more comfortable sort of normalcy.

*Briony*

I don't protest this time. I scurry back to the wagon and study our supplies, but nothing appeals to me.

A shiver races down my spine, and I shudder with the realization of how quiet everything has suddenly become. It's silent and still, like a funeral. Even the mules and Sorrel seem to sense it as they lift their noses and turn their ears back.

I glance at the sky. It's growing darker, but not from the approaching night. Blocking out the late afternoon sun, black clouds roll in as though pushed by the mighty hand of a giant.

Without warning, the wind rises, sweeping up the dirt, whipping it around me, and startling me with its ferocity. A fat raindrop splatters on my nose.

I hear a harsh curse and spin around. Wade is fighting the wind to get my tent into place and having very little luck. I wonder if he would stay in the tent with me if it rains.

I hear a c***k of thunder. A sheet of lightning flashes, igniting the sky so brightly I could swear I'm standing in the center of it. Wade flings the tent to the ground and strides toward me, seemingly a man with a purpose.

A wide arrow of white lightning streaks to the ground. Sorrel whinnies and drops her head between her knees. The sky reverberates with rolling thunder as another streak of lightning bursts through the darkening sky. Wade reaches me.

"Climb inside the wagon," he orders as he begins to unbuckle his gunbelt.

I back up a step. "I don't mind getting wet."

"It's not the rain I'm worried about," he says as he lays his gun on the floorboards. "It's the lightning. Now, get inside." Kneeling, he removes his spurs and tosses them into the wagon.

"Are you going to get in the wagon?" I ask.

"No, I need to get all the metal off the animals." As though tired of waiting on me, he quickly comes to his feet, grabs my waist, and hoists me into the back as though I'm nothing more than a sack of flour.

The wind wails, thunder roars, and lightning flashes across the sky.

"Get down, damn it! I don't have much time!" He commands.

It's the desperation in his voice that convinces me. I lie on my side and wrap my arms around my drawn-up knees as he brings the tarpaulin over me. Darkness encloses me, encircles me, and taunts me with the memories of another time when I had been huddled in a wooden box.

The rain begins to pelt the tarpaulin, a steady staccato beat, like the distant sound of long-ago gunfire, the pounding of a thousand paws... or so it had seemed at the time.

The terrifying darkness traps me inside its windowless cocoon, blacker than night with no stars, no moon. I'm a little girl again, eight years old. Too small. Too frightened. And the enemy is coming.

I grow hot. Breathing becomes difficult... just as before. The memories rise up and howl louder than the wind that rushes past the wagon.

I can hear my mother's frightened voice. "Hurry, Briony. Hurry!"

"No, Mama! No!" I had cried.

Her fingers dug into the delicate flesh of my arm as I tried to dig my heels into the wooden floor. She jerked me so hard that I thought surely my arm would come off my body. "Come on, child. Your papa will protect you. You'll be safe with him."

"No, Mama! No!"

The room loomed closer and closer. The shadowed room. The flames from the candles flickered, and the ghosts danced along the wall.

"Hurry, Briony. Papa will save you."

"No, Mama! No, please! Papa can't save me. Papa's dead!"

I can't breathe. I'm suffocating, drowning in the memories. I yank on the ribbons and jerk the bonnet off my head. Still, I can't draw air into my lungs. Desperately, I tear at the tarpaulin.