Wild Flower

  Praise for Abbie Williams

  “Williams populates her historical fiction with people nearly broken by their experiences.”

  — Foreword Reviews (Soul of a Crow)

  * Gold Medalist - 2015

  — Independent Publishers Awards (Heart of a Dove)

  “Set just after the U.S. Civil War, this passionate opening volume of a projected series successfully melds historical narrative, women’s issues, and breathless romance with horsewomanship, trailside deer-gutting, and alluring smidgeons of Celtic ESP.”

  — Publishers Weekly (Heart of a Dove)

  “There is a lot I liked about this book. It didn’t pull punches, it feels period, it was filled with memorable characters and at times lovely descriptions and language. Even though there is a sequel coming, this book feels complete.”

  — Dear Author (Heart of a Dove)

  “With a sweet romance, good natured camaraderie, and a very real element of danger, this book is hard to put down.”

  — San Francisco Book Review (Heart of a Dove)

  ALSO BY ABBIE WILLIAMS

  THE SHORE LEAVE CAFE SERIES

  SUMMER AT THE SHORE LEAVE CAFE

  SECOND CHANCES

  A NOTION OF LOVE

  WINTER AT THE WHITE OAKS LODGE

  WILD FLOWER

  THE FIRST LAW OF LOVE

  UNTIL TOMORROW

  THE WAY BACK

  RETURN TO YESTERDAY

  FORBIDDEN

  THE DOVE SERIES

  HEART OF A DOVE

  SOUL OF A CROW

  GRACE OF A HAWK

  Copyright © 2017 Abbie Williams

  Cover and internal design © 2017 Central Avenue Marketing Ltd.

  Cover Design: Michelle Halket

  Cover Image: Courtesy & Copyright: ShutterStock: AlohaHawaii

  Interior Image: Courtesy & Copyright: Addie Bratrud

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Central Avenue Publishing, an imprint of Central Avenue Marketing Ltd. www.centralavenuepublishing.com

  WILD FLOWER

  978-1-77168-109-4 (pbk)

  978-1-77168-018-9 (epub)

  978-1-77168-058-5 (mobi)

  Published in Canada

  Printed in United States of America

  1. FICTION / Romance 2. FICTION / Family Life

  TO THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE ABLE TO RECOGNIZE

  AND APPRECIATE THE WILDFLOWERS PRESENT IN YOUR LIFE…

  Prologue

  CAMILLE’S VOICE WOKE ME WHAT SEEMED MINUTES AFTER I fell asleep and I sat up too fast, reeling, reaching blindly into the humid darkness of a July night. The blood in my veins thundered like water over a cliff. Only a second earlier, my niece had been clutching my arm, screaming and frantic, and now all I could hear in the silence surrounding my eardrums was the violence of my heartbeat.

  Oh God, what is it, what’s wrong? Camille and Mathias were still in Montana; I hadn’t spoken with either of them since earlier today. I closed my eyes and concentrated for all I was worth, trying to discern a shred of an answer. Sending the thought with as much force as I could muster, I pleaded, Camille, tell me!

  Beside me, Justin woke and rolled to wrap an arm over my lap.

  “I’m here, baby.” His warm hand curved around my right thigh. “I’m right here.”

  “I’m scared.” My voice was high and hoarse. The only time a sense of foreboding had ripped through me so fiercely was the long-ago winter night my first husband, Christopher, had died.

  Justin was wide awake now, sitting up fast, the sheet falling away from his hips. He collected me close, his protective embrace easing the rigid tension in my body. “I’m here, Jilly-honey, it’s all right.”

  I clung, feeling the worried pace of his heart against my cheek, slowly regaining a sense of calm. I whispered, “It’s not that.”

  He smoothed loose hair from my flushed face. “Is it Rae? Clint?” Before I could answer, he said, “I’ll check them.”

  The hall light clicked into existence as Justin assured himself that our children were both safe in their bedrooms down the hall; seconds later he was back, gathering me against his warm, bare chest. Even in the dimness of our room, I could see the tangible force of his concern. He stroked my pregnant belly in small, comforting circles. “What is it, Jills? What’s happening?”

  “It’s Camille.” I pressed all eight fingertips to my forehead. I moaned, “Oh God, I was just dreaming of her and Mathias. Something’s wrong…”

  Justin knew me well enough not to question my words. “I’ll call Jo and Bly.”

  Against the backdrop of my closed eyes a picture wavered into existence, a horizon in the distance, etched with the outline of a low-slung, jagged-edged mountain. For a fraction of a second, I could see Camille through misting rain; despite the dark night around her, she was momentarily highlighted by a rending in the cloud cover and a milky spill of moonlight gilded her long, wild hair. She was screaming one word, in a refrain of hysteria.

  “Mathias.” I was helpless to prevent the vision from disappearing, rippling away as swiftly as a reflection in a lake when disturbed by motion.

  Justin caught up the bedside phone and was already dialing.

  Hold on, I tried to tell them, sending the words as hard as I could through the night. Oh God, hold on.

  Chapter One

  LANDON, MN - JUNE, 2006

  SULTRY JUNE HEAT, STICKY AS FRESH HONEY AND MANI-festing as sweat upon my temples and a thin trickle down my spine. The sky appeared quilted with clouds, low and sullen on this late Saturday afternoon, and I was crabby as hell. I’d just scraped the driver’s side fender of the Shore Leave work truck against the headlight of a pristine little Audi with Michigan plates, clearly belonging to an out-of-towner. Though my father-in-law, Dodge, would offer to fix it as good as new, the owner would undoubtedly be annoyed at this destruction, best case scenario; the Audi’s headlight was in pieces at my feet.

  I stood in the hot parking lot scribbling a note on a piece of lined paper torn from my order pad, which I’d plucked from the passenger seat of my mother’s truck, my daughter tugging on the hem of my tank top and fussing that she was thirsty. I didn’t voice it but I was also craving a drink, something ice cold and about fifty-proof; because I was pregnant, this possibility was unfortunately out of the question.

  “Rae-Rae, give me just a second,” I told her with as much patience as I could manage to inject into my tone, trying to brace the note I was writing against my thigh. Rae bumped my leg with her belly and the pen jerked in my hand, creating a long scribble across the paper.

  “Dammit,” I muttered in an undertone, flipping it to the other side and starting over.

  I could feel the gathering edges of a headache and wished that my husband would magically appear and take our child off my hands, at least until I could collect my thoughts. Rae was just past two years old and though she resembled a golden-haired, brown-eyed angel, she could be hellaciously temperamental; I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised, given her genetics, and at that thought I almost smiled, finally successful with the second attempt at an apologetic note. I stuck it under the windshield wiper on the driver’s side of the Audi, thinking that I wouldn’t feel too terrible if the wind just happened to blow it away before the owner finished shopping…

  Jillian, I scolded,
hitching my purse strap over my shoulder and collecting Rae by her hand. She continued complaining as we made our way across the parking lot of Farmer’s Market, though upon entry into the familiar old grocery store she brightened considerably, breaking from my grasp and darting for the red-painted carts.

  “Mama, can we get cake?” Rae asked as I lifted her into the basket seat, angling her chubby legs so I wouldn’t get inadvertently kicked.

  “There’s cake at Shore Leave, sweetie.” I paused to select apples.

  “Let me help!” Rae insisted and I indulged her, unable to keep from smiling, passing the fruit piece by piece into her small hands and letting her drop it into the plastic bag.

  “Can we get cookies?” Rae asked next. “Daddy gets oatmeal cookies!”

  Justin was such a sucker when it came to our kids, Clint and Rae both, but most especially Rae; he was definitely the softie of our parenting team, but again I smiled at the thought.

  “We’ll see.” My favorite parenting line of all time.

  “Please, Mama,” she wheedled, already starting the begging campaign.

  “Maybe,” I hedged, kissing her nose and then turning to choose bananas. At the same moment, Rae leaned from the cart like a little monkey and plucked an orange from the bottom of a pile, displacing about seven thousand other pieces of fruit. I squeaked in alarm, dropping the bananas I’d grabbed.

  “Uh-oh, Mama!” she cried delightedly, bouncing in the seat.

  I sighed and looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of a “real” adult who would come take care of the problem, before kneeling carefully, mindful of my six-month pregnant belly, to collect the errant produce. I retrieved the last orange and stood to tuck it back on its stand when a female voice behind me drawled, “Well, hello there, Jillian.”

  I looked over my shoulder in semi-annoyance which changed at once to a burst of consternation, suddenly confronted with the sight of Aubrey Pritchard. More specifically, my husband’s ex-wife.

  “Hi, Aubrey,” I managed, pleased at the relative calm of my voice. Aubrey looked much the same as when I’d last seen her, tall and willowy, her skin a deep, glowing bronze from the summer sun. I noticed small wrinkles webbing her eyes and felt a spurt of purely vindictive glee. I couldn’t truly claim to hate this woman but I still disliked her way down deep in my bones; I was reminded of this fact as her gaze roved over Rae.

  “Congratulations,” she said after an uncomfortable silence. Her eyes swept down to my belly before returning to my face and she studied me with unapologetic appraisal for the space of two heartbeats. There were many things she might have said, but she chose, and I was not mistaking the bite in her voice, “Your hair’s gotten so long.”

  The situation was surreal, facing off here in the produce department, Rae watching with unblinking fascination; Jim Olson called hello to the both of us as he pushed by with his cart. As though in response to my silence, Aubrey flipped her auburn hair over one shoulder, an old, self-affirming gesture I recalled from our teenage years. Throwing me a nasty, unexpected curveball, she said, “He always had a thing for you, you know. Yet, I’m the one everyone blames.”

  My eyebrows lifted, my chest went tight; she really wanted to get into this now? In the grocery store?

  When I didn’t take this bait she pressed the point, shifting her weight to the opposite hip. “He used to talk about you all the time, how worried he was about you. And yet when I step outside our marriage, I’m the cheater, I’m the—”

  “Aubrey.” I kept my voice low but allowed an unmistakable note of warning.

  She bit back further comment with real effort, I could tell, her sparkly, mauve-shadowed eyelids lowering. Flipping her hair to the other shoulder, she settled for, “Like it matters anyway. I’m just in town for a few weeks. Like I could ever live in this shithole again.”

  “Come on, Rae-Rae,” I murmured to my daughter, clutching the cart handle. Aware that I was running away, I pushed the cart around Aubrey without another word.

  “Tell Justin I said ‘hi,’ ” she called in a singsong and I just barely resisted the urge to flip her off over my shoulder.

  “Aw, baby, I’m sorry,” Justin said later that night as I lay over his chest on our bed, my cheeks hot with frustration as I related the story. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and let his warm hand linger on my jaw. We were virtually alone; Rae had been in bed for an hour and Clinty was sleeping over at his best friend, Liam’s. Justin added, “If she knew you were upset it would only make her that much happier. She’s that way, mean-spirited. Jilly-honey, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have let her talk to you like that.”

  “I shouldn’t have let her talk to me like that.” Tears broiled and wet my eyelashes, which made me even more furious. “She totally caught me off guard. And Rae was right there, J. I’m just so pissed.”

  Justin grinned at my use of the letter as a nickname. It was a joke between us; his full name was Justin Daniel, shortened by some to J.D. – which didn’t suit my husband at all, but this didn’t stop his sister and her husband from using it. I’d started using “J” to tease him, and the habit had stuck. He shifted and used both thumbs to brush away the tears that spilled onto my cheeks. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said, tenderness displacing the swell of my anger. In the amber-tinted lamplight, I studied this man I loved beyond all else, his strong jaws stubbled with dark beard a day past shaving, framing the sexy mouth that routinely kissed every inch of my skin. His straight nose and incredible, long-lashed eyes of rich brown, the shade of coffee without cream and just as hot. His black hair that was as unruly as ever, through which I spent most every night stroking my fingers. The planes of his cheeks, the squint-lines in the outer corners of his eyes, the shape of his firm chin.

  I let my hands glide from his muscular chest to frame his face with its livid scars that I never noticed anymore, moving so that my breasts rested flush against his bare chest. I was wearing an old, periwinkle blue tank top, so threadbare that it was nearly worn through in spots, and absolutely nothing more. Justin’s eyes kindled with a familiar heat and his lips curved in the wayward grin I’d come to know so very well in the past three years.

  “Jilly,” he murmured, sliding both hands slowly over my ribs, continuing downward along my hips, at last taking firm anchor around my ass, which he cupped and used to settle me atop his nearly-naked body.

  I spread my thighs over his boxers, smoothing my hands over his collarbones and then to his wide shoulders, so solid and warm beneath my palms. I sighed a little, in pleasure, a jolt of heat between my legs as he shifted. His fingertips teased the juncture of my thighs and I arched my spine, skimming the tank top over my head.

  “God, you are a beautiful woman.” His voice was hoarse with desire. “Come here, woman, and put your nipples in my mouth.”

  I curled my fingers into his chest hair and shook my head. Justin caught my hips in his hands and his dark eyebrows lowered menacingly, like a pirate who was intent upon having his way with a captive. My smile widened at the thought; we’d played that little game on more than one occasion. Justin kept an old red bandana in the nightstand on his side of the bed, which had done its fair share of duty as a headscarf, a garter, and sometimes to bind my wrists. And there was truth to the rumor about the second trimester of pregnancy, of which Justin took wholehearted advantage; to be fair, I couldn’t get enough of him as it was.

  “We’re so naughty,” I reflected as Justin cupped my breasts, heavy against his broad palms, and told me with his eyes that I should bend forward and let him have his way.

  “Hell, yes,” he agreed, and I giggled, then moaned as he tipped me into his mouth and lightly bit my nipple before taking it sweetly between his lips.

  A soft thump from the bedroom across the hall; I murmured, “Dammit.”

  Justin rolled me beneath him, growling against my neck as he tugged the sheet over us. Not a moment too soon, as Rae pushed open the door and came s
traight into our room, dragging her tattered elephant by its trunk. She stood regarding us with her eyes squinted in the bright light of the lamp.

  “Mama,” she implored, rubbing her nose with her free hand, just like Clint used to do.

  My heart melted and I reached for her. “C’mere, little one, what’s wrong?”

  Justin leaned and caught Rae under the arms, hefting her effortlessly atop the mattress and smoothing a hand over her soft golden hair. His wide palm bracketed her head. Rae burrowed against Justin with a happy grunt, her little feet churning to get beneath the covers with us.

  “Daddy, I had a bad dream,” she whispered. “Elephant, too.”

  Justin tucked Rae into the crook of his arm and rocked her close. My heart was undone for the countless time since giving birth to our daughter; Justin was an amazing father, as I always knew he would be, and tears wet my eyes as I snuggled against them, sandwiching her between us.

  “Tell Daddy all about it,” Justin soothed, but Rae’s long eyelashes were already fluttering closed.

  I kissed Rae’s forehead, feathering her downy hair. She sighed and popped a thumb into her mouth, and moments later fell fast asleep. I leaned and kissed my husband’s forehead, whispering, “Now get this girl to bed and get back in here. And hurry.”

  Justin grinned and covered Rae’s ears. He added, “Don’t start without me. Wait…on second thought…”

  “Hurry,” I ordered again.

  “Holy shit, baby,” he said upon reentry a minute later, locking the door behind him. I had started without him.

  Justin was out of his boxers and braced over me before I could blink, and I muffled a shriek, giggling and struggling, but he held his ground, dark eyes lancing heat right through me. He cupped the flesh between my legs, displacing my hand and biting my shoulder. I groaned, lacing my arms about his neck, lifting my hips into his touch.

  “You’re so…incredible at that…” I whispered, growing ever more breathless, my head bent back against the mattress. I told him this at least twice a week.