Love's First Light: The Women of Black Hawk Canyon Book #1

Chapter One

Black Hawk Canyon, West Texas 1882

Time marched slowly as though mired in mud and grief. If only she could roll back the days, weeks, and months, this wouldn’t be necessary. She stared wearily at the hole.

The grave wasn’t large enough.

Rachel Malloy’s vision blurred with unshed tears. She jabbed the shovel into the rocky ground and struggled with all her might to lift another shovelful of dirt from what would be her little sister’s final resting place.

The spring rains hadn’t come so now in late August, right on fall’s doorstep, the ground had hardened to granite.

At the next plunge of the shovel her booted foot slipped off and her knee slammed into the metal scoop. Instant, paralyzing pain took her breath.

Everything inside her wanted to slide into the grave and not climb out.

Never far from her side, her dog Jax of questionable heritage huffed and lay down in the sun, his brown gaze seeming to say he knew her pain and would take it away if only he could.

For the past four months caring for her sick family, digging graves, and burying loved ones had consumed all of her energy. Alice’s grave today would make seven. They lined up like a row of mute broken soldiers.

Rachel choked back the tears clogging her throat, making it impossible to swallow.

She was the last remaining Malloy to walk the earth. Why were they taken leaving her behind? Was she too bad? Too good? Too vain? Why?

The loneliness, the eerie silence created hopeless despair inside unlike any she’d known.

Seeming to give voice to her overwhelming grief, the wind swept down the sides of the scarred rocky cliffs into the canyon with a wild shriek, blotting out the sunlight.

Her hands trembled as she pulled herself from her knees and again lifted the shovel. She bent once more to the task, sparing the small, blanket-wrapped form of her little sister a glance. Despite working hard to keep sweet Alice apart from the sick, the four-year-old had contracted the same fever.

Rachel’s heart shattered anew, and she lost sight of the shovel through the flood of tears. Why? Alice had never gotten to know much about life. Had she lived, Rachel would’ve loved and raised her, sacrificing whatever she must to give her sister the best life possible.

At least they’d have had each other and Rachel wouldn’t be alone and forgotten with no one, nothing, to banish this deafening disquiet inside her head so deep she wanted to scream.

“Go on with your life, Rachel,” her stepmother Jane had whispered in a weak voice five days ago. “Do not give up. I’ll be with you always. When you hear the chirp of a sparrow or the wind sighing through the tall prairie grass, I’ll be near.”

Rachel vowed to care for little Alice, to love and protect the child. That broken vow now sat like a wagonload of sharp spears on her chest.

Harsh sobs burst from her throat. She hadn’t known how to keep death from stealing Alice. Maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough or long enough. Or done things right.

While she contemplated her deep failing, the sky turned a dull reddish brown before she noticed. Wind-whipped sand stung her skin. Rachel struggled to remain on her feet. She’d lost sight of the house two hundred feet away. Everything familiar had disappeared. She dug faster. She had no choice. She had to get her baby sister safely in the ground.

Particles of grit embedded in her skin, coating the inside of her mouth. After what seemed like hours, she straightened. Though the grave wasn’t deep enough by half, she gave up. Yet another failure. Grabbing one end of the blanketed form, she gently lowered her sister into the narrow space.

If only it wasn’t so hard to believe and to trust that the giver of life had a better plan.

If she had some small hope to cling to.

And if only she had something left to live for.

Jax raced around, barking as though anxious to be indoors out of the sandstorm.

Rachel impatiently pushed disheveled tendrils of hair from her eyes and glared up at the angry sky. Had she strength to spare, she’d have shaken her fist at God. Why hadn’t he kept the storm back until she finished? That was little enough to ask.

In all her twenty years she’d tried to live the best she knew how. To never say a cross word even when her ten-year-old brother had dragged her clean wash in the dirt. Or when her fourteen-year-old brother had teased her unmercifully about being an old maid.

What had it gotten her?

The deaths of every last member of her family.

But maybe Alice’s death had been her fault. Maybe she’d brought this on herself.

Maybe it had to do with her shameful secret, a secret that lodged in her chest like a clump of spikey thistle and clung to her tongue.

For a moment she didn’t know if the raging storm was real or if it was only inside her where everything was bruised and raw. As though angry that she doubted the reality of the storm, the wind increased, becoming like a crazed beast, knocking her off her feet. She clawed at the brambles that grew close to the rocky West Texas ground and rose, bracing herself.

In the murky haze she could barely see her hand in front of her face.

Fear set in. She’d known of others who’d lost their bearings in such a storm and never reached safety. She didn’t mind meeting her Maker, in fact would dearly welcome it. She just didn’t want to be injured and lie in pain for days before anyone found her.

Rachel struck out blindly with Jax barking and racing in circles around her. Bending into the wind, she stumbled on. If only she could see.

Something struck her between her shoulder blades and the ground gave way underfoot. She tumbled head over heels, sprawling, her head striking something hard.

At last her prayers were answered and she’d get to join her family. Peace washed over her as she plunged into blackness.

Was that a scream?Heath Lassiter reined in his horse and listened for other noises.

But when the sound didn’t come again, he dismissed it as the shriek of the wind. The foul weather could play tricks on a man, make him hear things that weren’t there.

He strained to see through the air so thick with dirt it clogged his throat and stung his eyes. Where was that sick heifer he’d set out to find? Despite the bandana he’d tied around his nose and mouth, particles of sand clawed at the tender lining of his throat and chest like marauding little beasts. His eyes probably had half the dirt in the county in them.

What he wouldn’t give to be safe inside the sod house in which he and his sister lived on the canyon rim.

He leaped across a big root on top of the ground and spotted a dark form lying face down. He rushed toward the figure and upon drawing closer saw the dress.

Whether the woman was alive or dead he couldn’t tell.

A dog of varying shades of brown and gray lay beside her with his head resting on the woman’s body. A low growl rumbled from the large animal’s throat as it sprang to its feet.

“It’s okay,” Heath tried to soothe the animal. “I’m here to help. Let me see to your mistress.”

After a moment, the dog seemed to understand and lay down, watching him with wary eyes.

It appeared the woman had fallen striking her head on a huge rock. He knelt and gently rolled her over, praying she was still alive.

Relief came when a moan sprang from between her pale lips.

Heath thought he recognized her as one of Isaac Malloy’s offspring. He’d heard that the fever had swept through the family and some hadn’t made it.

Maybe this girl was ill with the fever.

Didn’t much matter though. Most people who lived a good ways from town on the desolate West Texas plains depended on their neighbors for help. Isolation tended to make them a close-knit bunch. But the Malloys were different. They’d always kept to themselves. Heath had respected their privacy and not forced himself on them.

Whether or not this girl had come down with the fever, he wouldn’t turn a blind eye. He’d take her home and his sister Sally could see to her.

If Sally deemed the woman’s injury in need of more medical attention than she could provide, he’d ride to the nearest town of Estacado. The Quaker town some twenty-five miles northeast had just sprung up, only he hadn’t heard if they had a doctor.

Heath carefully lifted the thin young woman in his arms. A sack of potatoes probably weighed more than she did. She snuggled against him as if unconsciously seeking respite from the wind. A protective urge wound through him.

Propping her with one hand, he used the other to pull himself into the saddle behind her.

“Come along, dog. Let’s get to the soddy.”

The canine gave a sharp bark and fell into step with Heath’s horse. Surrounded by the screech of the wild Texas wind they began the climb to the rim.

A short time later, Heath pulled up in front of the half soddy and half dugout, built back into the hill. Along the front, he’d placed a row of mesquite branches to provide added strength.

His older sister Sally flung the door open before he got to it with the unconscious woman.

“I was worried sick about you,” Sally scolded. “This storm is fierce. I told you I had a feeling in my bones something was coming but you insisted on going out. No more stubborn man was ever born. You never listen to a word I say.”

“Found an unconscious woman near the Malloy place. Seems she hit her head on a rock.”

“Get her inside.” Sally held the door for him then ran ahead and swept back a curtain to the alcove where she slept. “Put her on my bed for now. I’ll tend to her.”

Heath eased his load onto the stuffed feather mattress and stood looking down, wondering who she was and how she came to be out in this weather.

“Do you recognize her?” Heath asked. “Don’t think she’d been out there long. I heard a scream before I discovered her.”

“I don’t like it that she’s unconscious. Could be serious. We’ll know soon I reckon.” As usual Sally’s voice was an octave shy of a foghorn. If Heath didn’t know better, he’d think she’d raised it to be heard above the storm. The bad thing was he did know better. This was her normal way of speaking to him. Years ago, he’d gotten his fill of her bossing him and decided to ignore her. Now, she thought he was deaf.

The dog, a male now that Heath could see, leaped upon the bed and bared his teeth, taking his protective nature a bit far. Still, he admired his loyalty.

“Good heavens, get that animal out of here,” Sally hollered, putting her hands on her ample hips. “I can’t doctor my patient if he keeps threatening to tear into me.”

Heath cautiously reached for the mottled dog only to draw back when he leaped, snapping at him. “I’ll offer him some food. Just a moment.”

When he returned with a bowl of water and a small portion of last night’s chicken, the dog looked at it longingly but made no move to get off the bed.

“Come on. Aren’t you hungry?” Heath asked softly.

Though loath to leave his mistress, the animal finally leaped down.

“There you go. See?” Heath crooned then glanced at Sally. “I don’t think he’s going anywhere. He just wants to make sure we don’t harm his lady. Appears we have little choice but to let him guard her.”

Sally sighed and smoothed back the woman’s tendrils of blonde hair so light they had a silvery cast. “She looks like a beautiful angel. You say you found her near the Malloy place?”

“If I was a betting man, I’d say she’s one of the Malloys. I can’t imagine what she was doing out alone in the storm.”

“Well, it blew up in an all-fired hurry. She probably got caught in it.” Sally turned. “Don’t just stand there like a big galoot. I need some water. I’ll see about finding a nightgown. Get along now. Shoo.”

Heath knew when it was best to give in and do as his sister asked. Sally had a heart of gold and he loved her dearly but sometimes she was a tad overbearing. Six years older than he, she took her bossing to a higher level as though it was some righteous calling. After their parents were killed in a wagon accident, Sally had assumed her place at the head of the family and refused to relinquish the reins now despite the fact that Heath had made the cattle ranch profitable through enough blood, sweat, and tears.

Yep, he figured when Judgment Day came Sally would stand with her hands on her hips and demand to know why the Good Lord had taken so long. Muttering, he shook his head and left to fetch water for the patient from the kitchen. He could refill their supply later.

By the time he got back, Sally had a nightgown laid out at the end of the bed.

“Thank you, brother,” she bellowed as usual, taking the pail and towels.

“Shoo!” She held them with one hand and pushed him out of the alcove with the other. “Make yourself scarce. Got work to do.”

“Let me know if you need anything else. When this wind stops, I’m going to mosey over to the Malloys.”

But, by the time he got the first three words out, the curtain separating the alcove from the rest of the house snapped shut in his face and left him talking to himself. Muttering, he shook his head and went to add some mesquite limbs to the fire in the stove.

A rabbit stew simmered on the top, filling the dwelling with a delicious aroma. He lifted the lid and glanced at the thick brown bubbling gravy that caressed the vegetables and meat. He couldn’t wait for supper.

By his estimation, he had about two more hours of sunlight. Tying the bandana again around his nose and mouth, he trudged back out to tend to his horse. But the black gelding had already found his way to a barn made of limestone that offered respite from the biting wind.

“Smart boy,” Heath murmured as he removed the saddle and rubbed down the animal.

Once Hondo was comfortable and fed, he drew a second pail of water from the well and returned to the soddy to wash the grime from his face.

His thoughts turned to the mysterious woman. There wasn’t room to pace in the small soddy to calm his nervous energy so he stood at the only window, staring out. A niggling feeling told him something bad had happened over at the Malloys’ place and he chafed at marking time until the wind eased.

Sally emerged from the alcove with an armful of the woman’s clothing.

“How is she?” Heath asked. “Does she have the fever?”

“No, just a big goose egg on her head.”

“Not surprised.”

His sister folded the dress and petticoat and stacked them neatly on a low stool. Then she filled a teapot and set it on the stove. “That girl’s lucky you came along. She could’ve died.”

“It was meant to be I reckon.” He rose and went to the door to look out. “The wind’s finally starting to die down just a hair.”

An hour later, he looked out again and trudged to the alcove. “If you don’t need my help, I’m going to ride out to look around. See about the damage.”

“Good idea,” Sally blared. “If that girl in there does belong to them, they must be worried sick. Watch the sky and be careful going down into the canyon. I can’t come looking for you. And don’t be late for supper. And if she does belong there, tell the Malloys I’m right sorry.”

Heath wagged his head, mentally comparing his sister to a snapping turtle. Get your hand too close and you’d regret it. He frowned, grabbed his hat, and saddled up the mule, letting his gelding rest. The Malloy place lay about three miles from his property.

The standoffish family had settled in Black Hawk Canyon where the Comancheros met the Comanche Indian tribes to swap rifles and stolen horses in exchange for white captives. The Comancheros would then ransom them back to grief-stricken families. If the families couldn’t or wouldn’t pay the ransom, the ruthless traders sold their prisoners to the highest bidder.

Three other families—the Malloys, Gregorys, and Quinlans—along with the Lassiters had fought to settle the rocky land that covered thousands of square miles. It hadn’t been easy, and blood stained every inch of ground.

Yet, the floor of Black Hawk Canyon was a beautiful place with an abundance of water, trees, and wildlife, unlike his spread up on the rim. His father had chosen up there for the ability to spy trouble before it reached them. There were always Indian and outlaw raids and they stood a better chance of surviving than those down in the valley.

The storm had slowed to a low roar, but occasional big gusts almost knocked Heath off the mule. With the slow pace, it took some time to reach the trail leading down.

The hair on the back of his neck stood as he neared the Malloy homestead.

Everything was eerily quiet, and the smell of death permeated the land.

He rode past a big cottonwood tree that hadn’t begun to turn yellow for fall and the fresh mounds of dirt. His breath caught painfully in his throat. He counted seven graves. Two were within days of each other.

To the best of his recollection, that would account for the entire Malloy family except for the woman he’d rescued. A shovel lay beside the last one that appeared hastily dug. This had been the reason she’d been out in the windstorm. She’d buried the last of her family.

A big black crow sat perched on one of the graves. Its angry caw seemed to mock, daring Heath to approach.

He didn’t have any answers, only dozens of questions. Stopping to pick up the shovel by the half-filled grave, he finished spreading dirt on top then continued on to the weathered barn. After he checked and fed the livestock, he’d take the animals to his place. Only that would require several trips.

A glance at the timepiece he took from his pocket and flipped open revealed he only had about an hour. Moving the animals would have to wait until morning.

From the looks of things, it appeared the Malloys had precious little. About a dozen goats, a strange looking black Angus bull, a handful of chickens, and a broken-down swayback horse were about all he saw.

Heath’s heart ached for the injured woman in his sister’s bed. So much loss.

He only knew one thing—she needed a friend.

And as long as Heath drew breath he’d sign on for the job. Because that’s what one soul did for another.