PROLOGUE

John Morgan’s heartbeat drummed in his ears.  Keeping a tight rein on himself so he wouldn’t shout with elation, he looked down and watched the sunlight sparkle off the tiny yellow nuggets resting so unassumingly in his hand.  Never had he seen anything quite so deadly wrapped in such a pretty package.

He’d been looking for it, for so long.  Father never believed there was gold in this country, but he knew better.  Too bad he couldn’t have the satisfaction of saying ‘I told you so’ to the old man, but he was long gone now, not that it mattered.  Only the gold mattered.  The bright, glittering stones were the answer to everything.

Looking around again to be sure he was alone, he calmly carved his mark in a tree, so he’d know where to return.  Yes, the gold was the answer to all his dreams; all he had to do was get the land where it rested.  Not an easy task, for he knew he stood on the Evans’ property.  But the gold had always called to him and now that he knew where it was, he could answer.  It didn’t matter how; he would get this land and his gold.

CHAPTER 1

Flames licked through the canvas wagon cover.  Great billows of black smoke to escaped through the top.  Horses whinnied.  Men shouted.  Cattle bawled.  The scene was utter chaos.

Catherine Evans shouted orders, turning as a big black stallion charged into the fray.  The large man on his back countermanded her orders and barked out his own.

Duncan McKenzie.

Nudging her own stallion, Wildfire, with her knees, she intercepted them.  “This is my ranch and my men.  I give the orders here.  Where the hell have you been?  You’re a week late.”

“I came when I could.”  Duncan turned to join the men.

“No, you stay.”  She whipped around to face the men beating at the fire on the wagon.  “Forget the wagon.  It’s lost.  Get those cows.  Now.”

After the men scattered she rounded on Duncan.  “When you could, isn’t a good enough answer.  This is a working ranch.  I have to be able to depend on every man here.  And if I can’t, then I don’t want them.  I don’t even know why Dad sent for you anyway.  We don’t need a gunslinger.”

“James has his reasons for asking me to come.  As for gunslinger, the need has yet to be seen.”

She disregarded his response.  “You know about field dressings and I’ve got a man missing and probably hurt.  Zeke was driving one of these supply wagons.  I could use your help.”

She galloped to the other side of the camp, riding around debris thrown from the supply wagon.  Burlap sacks once full of coffee and beans littered the ground beside empty flour and sugar sacks.  Tinned food lay bent, smashed under cattle and horse hooves.  Ignoring the destruction, she went straight to an overturned supply wagon.

Duncan reined in beside her. “The whole place looks like a battlefield.”

“It is a battlefield and if you’re here to help, then do it.”

“I don’t see anyone.”

She stopped rifling through loose pieces of debris and cocked her head toward the wagon.  “Did you hear that?”

There was a weak and distant groan.  Catherine saw a muddied, work worn black boot sticking out from underneath
.
“It must have upended during the stampede.  Zeke was driving.  We have to get him out.”  She let out a shrill whistle and Wildfire came running to her side.  “Good boy.”

She freed her lasso from the saddlehorn, dallying up the front wagon wheel.  Duncan did the same to the rear wheel.
“Let’s flip the wagon over.  When I holler, you have that horse of yours pull.”  She made sure both ropes were tight.
“Now!  Pull.  You too, Wildfire, come on boy.”  The wagon came slowly up and over onto its wheels, wood creaking as it bounced on its axles but it held together in one piece.

She ran around the wagon to the man on the ground, checked for bullet wounds and found none.  The wound on his head bled profusely, as they are want to do, but didn’t appear too deep.  Running her hands over him, she found his right leg broken.  “Zeke, are you all right?  Zeke, can you hear me?”

She looked up at Duncan.  “It’s broken.  It’ll need to be set before we can move him.  I can’t do this on my own.  I don’t have the strength to set the leg properly.  Will you help?”

“Sure.  I need two straight pieces of wood and something to bind them.”  He took his knife and cut Zeke’s pant leg open to see how badly the leg was injured.  She could see the bone hadn’t broken the skin and there was no bleeding, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.  He could stabilize it enough to get the man to a real doctor.
Catherine returned with a couple of loose boards she’d ripped from the wagon as Duncan started to cut off Zeke’s boot.  He hesitated when Zeke moaned, clearly in agony.

“Miss Catherine, is that you?  What happened?”  He was in obvious pain, but still lucid.

She smiled at him and gently brushed the hair back out of his eyes.  “I was about to ask you the same thing.  You’ve got a broken leg and I know it hurts, but before we set it tell me what you remember.  All I heard was the cattle rushin’.  By the time I got out of the timber, it was all over.”

Zeke closed his eyes.  “It happened so fast.  Roy Walker and his men rode in.  Next thing I hear gunshots.  I tried to control the team but the wagon got pounded by the cows and tipped…I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened after that.”  He closed his eyes then opened them wide.  “The team!  Where’s Abel and Bessie?”

She shook her head, “Don’t worry, they’re fine.”

Zeke nodded then looked at Duncan.  “Who’s this?  A new ranch hand?  Replacing me already?”  He tried to smile, but winced in pain instead.

She patted his hand.  “Don’t be silly Zeke, you know you’re irreplaceable.  Besides, I can’t let your Sarah and little Jacob go, so I guess you have to stay too.  This is Duncan McKenzie.”

“Mr. McKenzie, any friend of James Evans’ is a friend o’ mine.”  Zeke lifted his hand.  “But if you continue cuttin’ on my boot, I’m goin’ to kick you with my other leg.  They’re the only boots I got.”

“Pleased to meet you.  I’ve got to get this boot off so I can set your leg and if you kick me I’ll have to knock you out.”

“No way.”  Zeke ripped his hand from Duncan’s and tried to rise, but Duncan held him down.

Catherine grabbed Zeke’s hand and gently held it.  “Don’t worry.  I’m gonna buy you the best boots in Creede.  I’ll make Gordon send all the way to Chicago if I have to.  I’ll even make sure that Jacob has a pair to match his Daddy’s.”

Zeke stopped struggling and relaxed.  “The best, huh?”

“The best.  I promise,”

“Catherine’s promised and I’m a witness.  Let’s set your leg and get you home.”

“Can you hold him down while I set it?”

She took a deep breath and nodded.

Duncan turned to Zeke and said calmly, “This is going to hurt like hell, but I’ve got to do it.  I’ll be as quick as I can.  Yell, if you want.”

“Here, bite down on this, it’ll help.”  Catherine handed him the leather sheath from her knife.

“Just get it done.”  Zeke closed his eyes, put the leather between his teeth and locked his jaw.

“Wait a minute.  You’ll need something to bind it.”  She pulled her shirt from her pants and tore two strips from the bottom.  She laid the cloth next to the boards within Duncan’s reach.

“All right, hold him still.”  Duncan pulled hard with both hands to set the bones back into place, while Catherine put all her weight on Zeke’s shoulders to hold him down.  Placing one board on either side of the leg, he tied them tight with the strips of cloth from her shirt.

Zeke had not uttered a sound.  He’d fainted.

When her concentration was on Zeke and his broken leg, she was fine.  Now that it was over, she could let go.  She sat back and trembled.

Duncan leaned forward and touched her shoulder.  “You all right?  You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine.”  She grasped her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them.

“Are you?”

“I couldn’t have done it alone.  Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

She hated to admit that she needed help.  Especially, his help, but she was glad he’d come when he did.  He extended his hand to her.

“Thanks.”  Taking a deep breath, she got to her feet and dusted herself off.  She was not the vulnerable girl she’d been.  She was a woman.  A woman determined to make her way in a man’s world.  One little stampede wasn’t going to change that.  “We’ll have to make a litter to take him back to the ranch.  Even though the supply wagon didn’t break anything when we flipped it back on its wheels, Wildfire doesn’t take to pulling a wagon.”

“Jake can pull the wagon.  Tie Wildfire to the back and I’ll drive while you take care of Zeke.  Fair enough?”

“Fair enough.”

He harnessed Jake to the wagon and Catherine gathered all the blankets and other soft stuffs to pad it.  Together they managed to load Zeke.

As they pulled into the ranch yard several hours later, Catherine’s father, James, slammed out of the house followed by a very pregnant, young blond woman and a little boy.

“Did you find him?”  James called as the buckboard pulled to a halt.  “Did you find Zeke?”

“We found him.  He’s got a broken leg but he’ll be good as new in a few weeks,” Catherine said as she jumped to the ground.  “He’s going to need some tender lovin’ care, Sarah.”

Sarah ran to the end of the wagon and clamored up despite her bulk.  “Zeke, honey, are you okay?”  She knelt beside him, grazed his cheek with her knuckle, while tears rolled in streams down her cheeks.

Tenderly, Zeke wiped the tears from her face.  “Here now, we’ll have none of that.  I’m going to be fine.”

“Papa!  Up!” demanded Jacob.

Duncan set the brake and went around to the back to help lift Zeke from the wagon bed.  Instead a curly haired blond boy confronted him, pulling on his pant leg.

“Up Mister.  Pease.”  Jacob held his arms up for Duncan to lift him.

Duncan didn’t want to lift the sweet child.  He didn’t want to hold this tiny body in his arms for even a moment, but it looked like he had no choice.  Catherine, the only one near enough to do it, just stood there with her hands on her hips, and a grin on her face, waiting.

This small child was not going to defeat him.  He’d faced desperate men, men willing to kill to save themselves from Duncan McKenzie, bounty hunter.  None of them frightened him as much as this one little boy, who couldn’t be more than two or three.  All Duncan had to do was bend down and lift the child, but his knees shook and he could feel himself quiver inside.

“Oh for goodness sake, Duncan, just lift him up so he can see his Papa is all right.”  Catherine knew.  He didn’t know how she knew, but she did.  His only real weakness…children.

Getting a grip on himself, he bent and hoisted the anxious little boy up and over the wagon’s gate.  He was light as a feather, so tiny…so innocent.

Catherine was beside him.  “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

He didn’t miss the laughter in her sparkling silver gaze or the smile formed by her perfect rosebud lips.  Without answering he stalked toward the house and the front door.

Duncan closed the door behind him and took a deep breath.  He could still smell the fresh bread that Alice baked that morning.  He glanced around the foyer, glad to see it hadn’t changed.  Directly in front of him stairs led to the second floor and the bedrooms.  Down the hall to the right of the stairway were James’ study and a storeroom.  The formal parlor, which still looked like it hadn’t been used, was to his left.  The Queen Anne chairs and overstuffed divan looked as new as when he’d helped James haul them in.

Beyond the parlor was the formal dining room.  A massive oak table and chairs dominated it, in stark contrast to the lace curtains covering the windows.  They hadn’t used when he’d lived there, preferring instead the comfort of the kitchen.

Duncan shook the memories from his head, turned and started for the storeroom where he heard James muttering expletives.

“Dagnabit,” James said, “I’ve got a canvas stretcher here I got for just such an emergency, if I could just get it out from behind these steamer trunks.”

“Here, let me help.”  Duncan quickly moved the trunks and freed the stretcher.

“Good to see you, Son.  You’ve come at the perfect time.”

“To help with this maybe,” he said, lifting the stretcher and following James out.  “But not soon enough to keep this incident from happening or keep your daughter from jumping down my back for being late.”

“Things happen for a reason, Son.  You’ve got to find the reason.”

“From what Zeke said, the reason is named Roy Walker.”

“He’s only part of it.”  James walked out the front doors and over to the wagon.  “Sarah, let’s get you down so we can get your husband out of there.”  James lifted the pregnant woman easily.  He looked good to Duncan.  He was still as tall as Duncan’s own six feet four inches and had remained fit and strong despite his advancing age and the graying of his brown hair and mustache.

“Catherine, you and Sarah take Jacob here and make sure the way into the house is clear.”

James ruffled the lad’s hair then lifted him from the wagon.  “You go help your Ma and make sure to pick up all your toys, okay?”

“Yup, Big Jim.  I pick up toys.”  The youngster ran off as fast as his chubby legs would carry him toward the small house across the yard.  Catherine followed with Sarah, who still weeped and moved much slower now she knew her husband was all right.

He watched Catherine settled her arm around Sarah’s shoulders and calm her.  “Come on now.  If you don’t settle down, Doc’s going to have to deliver that baby instead of check on Zeke’s leg.”

Sarah laughed and wiped her tears away.  “You’re right and Doc would not be a happy man.  I’m not due for another couple of weeks.”

When they lifted Zeke onto the stretcher and off the wagon, he let out a groan.  Duncan knew he tried to keep it in, but a broken leg is a painful thing.  “Catherine, do you have any laudanum?  Zeke could use some until the doc gets here.”

“Sure thing.  Be right back.”

Before they entered the Zeke’s house, James said to him, “Don’t worry about a thing.  We take care of our own here on the JC.  You and Sarah have a home here as long as you want it.”

“Thanks, Mr. Evans.  I really appreciate knowing that.  I didn’t know how I’d provide for them while I’m laid up.”  Zeke raised his head from the stretcher.  “I’m really sorry about this, Mr. Evans.”

“Pshaw.  Think nothing of it.  None of this was your fault.  I’m just glad you weren’t hurt worse.”

Zeke nodded and laid his head back down.  They got him settled him on the bed and walked out of the house, leaving him to Sarah’s tender ministrations.

At the front door James turned to Duncan.  “I’ve sent for the doctor and after you get cleaned up I’d like for you to come to my study.  We’ve got some talking to do.”

That sounded ominous to Duncan, but he nodded.  “Where do I clean up?”

“In your room.  I’ve had it cleaned for you.”

“I can stay in the bunkhouse with the rest of the men?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  You’re family.  You’ll have your old room.”  James stopped, his hand hovered above the doorknob.  “This is your home, Duncan.  Always has been and always will be.”

Something in the dark recesses of Duncan’s heart was moved by James’ declaration.  Home.  How long since he’d been any place he could call home?  Ten years.  There had never been anywhere else for him but here.  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Duncan drove the wagon the short distance to the barn where he unhitched Jake and untied Wildfire, fed and watered them.  He flung his saddlebags over his shoulder and headed to the house.  When he finally opened the door to his room, he stared in wonder.  Nothing had changed.  Everything was exactly as he had left it ten years ago.

The massive bed that James had ordered special so he could stretch out his six foot four inch frame without hanging off the ends still had the same quilt on it.  James’ wife Elizabeth had made that quilt for Duncan when he’d first come to live with them twenty years ago.  He’d been thirteen, orphaned and big for his age.  None of that mattered to Elizabeth who saw only a boy who had saved her husband’s life and now needed a home and family.  He ran his hand over the quilt enjoying its comforting softness.

The bedside night table and washstand were both made of dark walnut that matched the bed, as did the wardrobe and chest of drawers.  They had marble tops, a luxury Elizabeth had insisted on saying they would last forever.  It appeared she was right.  On the washstand were a porcelain pitcher and basin, his favorite sandalwood soap, two washcloths and a hand towel.  The nightstand held a small pitcher of water, a glass, a kerosene lamp and an ashtray for his cheroots.  At this point Duncan wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to find the wardrobe full of his clothes.  He was almost afraid to look, but it turned out to be empty.  Empty and stale, just like his life had been for the last ten years.

Putting aside his nostalgia, he quickly emptied his saddlebags, washed his hands and face, and donned a clean shirt before walking downstairs to see James.

Catherine met him in the hall.  “Dad always said you’d be back.  He made sure your room was ready for you.”
“And you?  Did you know I’d be back?” he asked softly.

“No.  I didn’t care one way or the other.”  She turned on her heel and opened the door to her room.  “But I hoped,” he heard her say under her breath as the door shut.

Duncan smiled.

LEAVE A COMMENT BEFORE 11/27/2011 TO BE ENTERED INTO A DRAWING FOR A COPY OF THIS BOOK.  A WINNER WILL BE CHOSEN ON 11/28/2011 THANK YOU.

The star cruiser Dremel, orbited above the planet Delaz.  Anton hadn’t asked for the Dremel, it was the flagship of the Centauri fleet, but Darius had insisted.  “It’s our best ship.  If you should get into trouble, the ship and its personnel might get you out.”  Darius had clapped him on the shoulder.  “I’m not ready to lose you yet, brother.”
The trip from Centauri was short, only ten days, but the difference between his technologically advanced home planet, and this one might as well have been a thousand years.

Garrick Marcus, First Officer of the Dremel and Anton’s friend, read from the computer screen.  “Thoriz Slavarien, and his son Ranzon, rule Delaz with an iron fist.  All communication for the populace with the outside universe was cut off more than sixty years ago.  All shipments to or from the planet, go directly to the City of Palaqwa where communication is possible only with the Slavarien regime.”  He turned to Anton.  “The people of Delaz are in the dark about the rest of the universe.  They may not even know other people, other cultures, exist unless they live in the city and work directly with those that come to trade.”

Anton nodded.  “I’m not surprised.  The Slavariens must oppress the people in order to remain in power.”

Garrick, hands on the transporter controls, said, “Are you ready?  You’ll be transported to the outskirts of a town called Nagato.”

“I’m ready.  You have the com.”

“Affirmative, Captain.  And Anton…good luck.”

“Thanks, Garrick.  I think I may need it.”

*****

The border town of Nagato was unlike anything he’d ever seen except on a viewdisc.  The buildings were all wood and in fair condition.  The street he was on bustled with activity. This was the heart of the commercial district, stores on both sides of the partially paved street.  The original paving had been done at the same time he was born thirty five years ago…maybe even before and hadn’t been repaved since.  Wooden posts in front of each building looked like they were some sort of parking meter.  Compared to the rest of the building, the posts were new and well kept.  They couldn’t actually be parking meters for air cars or cloud cars because there weren’t any of those vehicles to be found.

Transportation was by foot or on a beast called an allorat.  His computer had a picture of it but it lacked the nuances only the real thing can show.   Four legged with brown wooly coats, they had huge eyes, tiny ears and a beak instead of a snout.  The allorat’s  beak does not have teeth, much less the razor sharp ones that their cousin the snarlot has.  Their tails were short and whip like.  Ten feet tall at the shoulder, Anton would need a ladder to get on one, if he were to actually ride it.  He apparently wasn’t the only one.  The saddle on the one in front of him had a rope ladder hanging on the left side.  It looked like it rolled up after the rider was atop the beast.

But the worst thing about an allorat was they stank.  Not your average everyday sweaty animal stink, but a stench so foul, Anton had to hold his nose and close his eyes to walk past the thing.  There was no way in this world or any other that he was going to ride that animal.

It was too dangerous for a Centaurian like himself to travel openly in Delaz. Strangers stood out.  Even dressed as a local, his rich sapphire blue robes hiding his uniform and his weapons, his longish black hair tied back with a strip of leather, he was still an outsider.  There was something ingrained in the populace, an attitude of fear that made it difficult for outsiders.  Especially those unaccustomed to the kind of constant terror that these people endured day after day.  No one wanted to say anything for fear they might be killed.

Delaz was a poor planet that had once been a part of Centauri’s monarchy, but too long now had it been under the rule of Thoriz Slavarien and his family’s brutal control.  The only people who had air cars were the Slavariens.  Not even the other noble and wealthy families were allowed the technology.  If Anton used one he might as well paint a giant target on his back.

There were only two classes of people on Delaz.  The haves and the have nots.  The haves wore richly decorated robes over jumpsuits just as Anton did now over his uniform.  The color of the robe indicated the house of the owner.   The more elaborate the robe, the richer the person.  The more slaves owned, the richer the person.

Then there were the have nots.  The slaves.  Anton soon learned the purpose of the posts in front of the buildings.  Not for the allorats, there was no fear they would run away.  The posts were for the slaves.  The male slaves wore manacles at wrist and ankle.  Each of the posts had built-in chains that the slaves could be attached to.

In addition to the manacles, the male slaves wore a sleeveless shirt, a wide leather belt and pants.  No shoes, nothing else.  The females he saw wore even less.  Their clothing was two pieces.  A long vest, open on both sides and held together with a wide leather belt.  No under garments, no shoes.  They didn’t wear manacles, but a ring on the back of the belt fastened to the post chain.  Anton was appalled.  He’d never seen anything so barbaric in his life.

Zelton Slavarien had sold Jondalara into this life.  It was a good thing he was already dead or Anton would have another reason to kill the bastard.

According to the Dremel’s computer, he should be outside the main planetary capital of Palaqwa tomorrow.  The only semi-modern city on the planet, it was protected by a force shield.  The Slavariens were reviled because of their slave holding and knew it.  If not for the rich stores of various metals needed by the outside world they wouldn’t be dealt with at all.  As it was there was little choice, one had to have relations with the Slavarien family if one wanted the unique metals this planet had to offer.

Anton had to make his way on foot because of the shield and the fact that the only space port was Slavarien controlled.  Shuttling to the space port would have announced his arrival to the family he was here to destroy.  He would find Jondalara and take her from here but then, then he would return and destroy everything that the Slavarien family loved.  Just as they’d destroyed him.

*****

Near Palaqwa, tall trees, surrounded by thick shrubbery, gave plenty of cover for a clandestine meeting of rebels and their explosives dealer…Anton.  The sale and exchange of the explosives was only a ruse to find Jondalara.  Not that he wouldn’t blow up the whole damn planet to find her.  He would.  And she’d be returned to Centauri no matter the obstacle.  He’d promised Audra.  Back to Centauri, back to her family.  Back so he didn’t have to fight the depression and hopelessness, the darkness he so wanted to go into, anymore.

Of course, after he found her, he’d need to get them both out.  The authorities would expect him to take her and try to leave by way of the spaceport.  Anton would instead head south at the first hint of trouble, the opposite direction of the Slavarien controlled spaceport, until they were out of the range of the force shield.  Then he’d have them transported aboard the Dremel for the ten day journey home.

He could transport through the shield but it was dangerous and to be attempted only in a dire emergency.  The shield, if strong enough, would scatter your particles and you’d end up as space drizzle.  He doubted the Palaqwa force shield was that strong.  It was old and, his starship computer told him, riddled with holes.  Still there was no reason to take the risk.

Reckless with his own life, taking missions that were considered suicidal, he nevertheless planned this one carefully so the mission would succeed.  He hadn’t been so careless before he was captured by Zelton Slavarien and tortured for weeks.  For him nearly dying made him daring some would say rash.  He pushed himself to defy death over and over, taking unnecessary chances in the process.

Anton was still a general in the Centaurian army.  His work life was fraught with danger.  He was cautious with others’ lives but not his own.  He knew how quickly everything could end.  He’d seen the look on countless spouses’ faces as he’d brought them the news of a loved one’s death.

He would never have a spouse left to suffer because of him.  He had no need to marry now.  Centauri had its Queen and King, Audra and Darius.  He wasn’t needed to fulfill a prophesy any longer.  A prophesy that peace would come to the planet upon the marriage of the House of Danexx with the House of Coridian.  Audra had fulfilled the prophesy by marrying Darius.  Peace did come because Slavarien was killed and his followers rounded up and prosecuted.  That was all Audra’s doing.  She was a brave woman and would be a great Queen.

And he didn’t want to marry, especially now.  All he wanted was to finish this one last mission.  That wasn’t too much to ask.  One day at a time until he finished.  Delivered her home.  Then he could retire to the darkness that called him.  He had a hard time admitting to himself what he’d endured, much less telling anyone else about it.  He knew he should.  Mind wizards would have a field day trying to ‘cure’ him of the aftermath of his torture.  He wasn’t up for it.  They could use someone else as a test subject.  For now he had a job to do.

According to his intel, this band of militants had knowledge they would trade for the explosives he was bringing.  Buying them in Palaqwa was too dangerous.  So they’d contacted one of his operatives.

He hoped the long lost princess, this Jondalara Danexx, was worth the price his crew had already paid.  Two of his mean lost their lives gathering the little information that he had.  He knew the cost of life.  His own survival had been purchased with the lives of his entire platoon when he’d gone after Slavarien two months ago.  The price for his life was too high.  He wouldn’t wish what he went through at Slavariens hands on anyone, but he’d give everything he had in exchange for those who gave their lives that day.

The only information that bastard Zelton gave before he died, was he’d last seen Jondalara on this planet two years ago.  The Slavarien home world.  Anton spent the first few days since he arrived letting it be known he was looking for someone and had items to trade for information.  He’d also shown Audra’s picture around, hoping someone would lead him to her identical twin sister.

He’d gotten lucky last night in a bar.

Someone knew someone, who knew someone.  It wasn’t much but he’d take it.  This meeting was the first bite he’d gotten and he had no intention of blowing it.  He would get the information he needed if he had to bloody a hundred men.  There was no way he was disappointing his new queen.

If Audra hadn’t found him, beaten to the edge of life in a cell in Slavarien’s fortress, he’d be dead.  Now he struggled every day not to give in to the despair that called to him.  Slavarien’s torture wouldn’t have stopped.  Didn’t stop.  Even now the torture continued in his mind.  Med-techs could heal only so much damage, all of it physical.  No one offered a cure for the mental and emotional trauma caused by long periods of torture.   Not even the mind wizards.  You could talk to them, take drugs, or have them remove the memories from your brain with a laser.

Anton didn’t like any of those choices.  Especially the laser.  No one was going to laser his brain.  He would keep going one day at a time, working, keeping busy.  Not thinking, dwelling on what he’d lost.

If he kept his brain occupied, the hopelessness and the guilt, for the deaths of his platoon, the twenty men Zelton Slavarien slaughtered to get to him, wouldn’t devour him this day.  The two undercover operatives that got him the information to find Jondalara.  They all died because of him.  He didn’t pull the trigger, but he might as well have.
He’d expected to be the King of Centauri; he’d planned his life around that fact.  The ancient codex promised it.  Then Audra and Jondalara disappeared.   He was tend and was the only one left.  According to the ancient codex he would become king and choose his queen as there was no more of the Danexx line alive.  Then Audra was found and brought back.  So he was back to being betrothed to Audra.

Audra was brave and smart and perfect…for Darius.  Anton admired her and was attracted to her, would have married her as it was prophesized, if she hadn’t been Darius’ lifemate.

The ancient codex had always been interpreted that the eldest of the lines would marry.  Audra decided it only said the two families would join.  Nothing about the eldest.  Leave it to Audra to change the interpretation.  He smiled.  She would be a good queen.  A queen independent of the machinations of the Senate.  Senators couldn’t be trusted.

They were politicians and politicians were only out for themselves.  Lord Tybold, High Chancellor of the Senate, was an example of this.  Anton suspected that he was the traitor who’d sold him and his platoon to Slavarien.  When Anton found the proof, Tybold would die, but only after he experienced the same kind of pain that Anton had.

Since his life path had been so drastically altered, he needed a reason to go on.   Taking on this mission got him away from the happy couple, away from the memories and the guilt.

Anton arrived at the rendezvous hours before the meeting time.  He wanted to get the lay of the land and put the meeting place under surveillance, as well as search for any traps or ambushes awaiting him.

The clearing was small, grassy and surrounded by large rocks, perfect for weary travelers to use as seats.  There was a fire pit in the middle of the circle of rocks, which looked like it had seen much use.

From his cover in the shrubbery, he watched a small contingent of twenty men position themselves loosely around the perimeter of the small clearing.  He couldn’t call them soldiers.  They were not well armed and, being a lifetime soldier himself, he could see they were not well trained.  Anton could take them all out with one ion grenade.

Still he approached cautiously.  He came up behind one, put his hand over the man’s mouth, his knife to his throat and pressed, just hard enough to get a drop of blood and the man’s undivided attention.

“Which of you is Karavar?” Though Anton knew immediately who was in charge.  All the men were dressed in drab colored, long sleeve shirts with brown pants.  Some had on vests over the shirt.  All carried a knife.  The tall man across the clearing had both a blaster and a knife.  No one else carried a blaster.  He was the man in charge.
“You hold the knife to his neck,” responded the tall, well-armed man.

Anton released the man he held, pushed him away, then turned to the tall man and narrowed his eyes.  “Karavar.   I am, Coridian, Anton Coridian.”

Karavar laughed, a rumble from deep in his chest.  “So there is no fooling you, eh, my friend?  Come let us break bread, drink some wine and talk about our problems, eh?”

“Delighted.  I’m here to sell you the explosives you’ve contracted for.  But I will trade them for information instead.”

“I have no information to give.”

“I haven’t told you what information I need.”

Karavar scratched his chin.  “Very well, what are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for this girl.”  Anton showed him the picture of Audra, taken in her wedding dress.

“So you look for your runaway bride?  Why would I have knowledge of where she is?”

“She’s not my bride.”

“You are hunting her for a bounty, then?” he asked, a glint in his eye.

Karavar attacked without warning.  He pulled his knife and slashed at Anton, nicking his arm in the process.  Anton fell to the ground and swept Karavar’s legs out from under him.

Karavar hit the ground hard on his back. “Ugh.”

“Where is she?  Where is Jondalara Danexx?”  Anton pinned him in a flash but Karavar wasn’t giving up without a fight.  The man was big.  As big as Anton.  Anton’s training in hand to hand combat allowed him to rule the day.  He raised his hand to deliver the final blow, when he felt the cold metal of a blaster barrel at the back of his head.

“Enough, Mr. Coridian,” said a husky, feminine voice.  “Get off Karavar slowly.  Don’t make any sudden moves or they will be your last.”

Anton rolled off Karavar’s unconscious form and kept his hands high as he came to his feet.  He turned around and his jaw dropped.

Standing before him was Audra.  A tough, hardened, buff version of Audra.  Yet her short cropped hair emphasized the most amazing violet eyes he’d ever seen.  Her skin was tanned yet her lips looked soft and full, perfect for kissing.  She was a vision, a balm to his soul.

All the signs were there.  The racing pulse, sweaty palms, and sudden fever.  Most telling was the overwhelming need to make love to this woman and this woman alone, preferably now.  He wanted, desired, desperately needed her under him, over him, around him.  He’d never felt this kind of lust for a woman before.

His own lifemate.

He never thought to actually find her, his lifemate.  And for her to be Audra’s sister was something he never imagined.  But he had all the symptoms.

She wore men’s clothes.  Mostly, the same as the men in her merry band.  Tight trousers and a long sleeved shirt.  She also wore a short jacket.  Brown and green, they rendered her virtually invisible in the foliage and trees.  A sword hung from her belt on the left, a blaster holster on the right.  Though there was nothing overtly feminine about her clothing, there was no mistaking she was a woman.  The trousers emphasized the curve of her hip.  The jacket couldn’t hide her lush breasts.  Her hair was short but Anton didn’t think it was in an effort to look like a man.  It was short for another reason that he had yet to discover.

“Why are you looking for me, General Coridian?   I hear you are offering explosives in exchange for information about me.”

“So I am.”

“I scanned you.” She touched the scanner on her belt.  “You have no explosives.  You’re a liar like all Centaurians.”

“May I lower my hands?” he asked, already doing it.

She nodded her consent but kept the blaster aimed at his head and, in these close quarters, he didn’t think she’d miss.

“You are also Centaurian.  Does that make you a liar as well?” he asked.

“I am not Centaurian.  My parents abandoned me on Procon.  Left me with an uncle who had the bad luck to be murdered.  Left me to be sold into a fate worse than death.”

“Jondalara, your parents never abandoned you.  Never.”

“Again, you lie, Coridian.”  She sat on a nearby stone but left him standing.

“I don’t.”  He, too, sat on the nearest stone to him, keeping her at eye level, just as he would a dangerous animal.  She might not be one, but she was dangerous, to both his sanity and his body.  In all ways, his life was in her hands.

“They sent you and Dayanara away to save you.  To keep you safe from Zelton Slavarien.  When they heard about your uncle dying, they came for you immediately, but you were already gone and no one knew where you were or even if you were still alive.  Your parents searched for you until the day they died.  We didn’t know Slavarien sold you to the Delazin until two weeks ago.”

“Slavariens.”  She spit.  “I’ll kill them all.  I’ll kill that bastard first, if I ever see him again.”

“You won’t.  He’s dead.”

She nodded and spit again.  “Good.  Who’s Queen if my mother is dead?”

“Audra…Dayanara…your twin sister.”

“What is it with you?”  She jumped up and pointed the blaster at him.  “Can’t you say one complete sentence that’s not a lie?  Dayanara died as a baby.  Even I know that.  Uncle Abit told me.”

“Put the blaster away.  Please, before you hurt one of us.”  He raised his hands palms up.  Anything to calm her.  “We all believed her to be dead.  But it wasn’t true.  She is alive and well.  Your aunt, Margareta, spirited her to Earth, a galaxy away.  Things aren’t always what they seem.  It’s also a common belief that you died when you disappeared as a baby.  Both of you disappeared on the same day and were never found again.  Everyone thought you both dead.”

“Well, I’m not dead.  Though I wanted to die many, many times.”  Jondalara shuddered and pain flashed in her eyes as she holstered her blaster.  Anton turned away.  He didn’t want to see the demons haunting her.  He saw enough of his own when he looked in the mirror.

“Nothing that you or any of us believed was true.  All of it was lies and machinations by Zelton Slavarien.”

She raised her chin a notch.  “Lara.  My name is Lara.  Jondalara died a lifetime ago.”

LEAVE A COMMENT TO BE ENTERED INTO A DRAWING FOR THE PAPERBACK ARC OF THIS BOOK.

ENJOY!

I have a dilemma.  I don’t know what to write.  I have too many stories in my head and not just one genre.  So far I write in two different genres, historical western romances and sci-fi romances.  Talk about a split personality!

When I started writing I started the western.  My parents love story inspired me to create a story around the area where they met.  It’s a beautiful part of southwestern Colorado, high in the Sangre de Cristo mountain range.  Or about how I used to dream I was a princess from Alpha Centauri because I was sure I didn’t belong to my crazy family. But I digress as usual I’m starting to ramble.  That happens a lot in my writing too.  Darn there I go again, now back to the subject at hand.

How can I write in two such different genres?  Because the stories in my head don’t have a genre.  They are just my stories.  I’ve also started a pirate story, a story about mummies, two more westerns and three more space operas.  So which ones am I going to finish?  Hopefully all of them and many more.

Do I care that they aren’t all westerns or space operas or historical or contemporary or whatever?  Not in the least.  They are just my stories.

What about you?  Do you only have stories in the genre you write?  If you are a reader, do you only read one genre to the detriment of everything else?  Do you only read westerns?  Then try mine, Tame A Wild Heart.  Do you want a humorous sci-fi romance also called a space opera?  Try Centauri Dawn or Centauri Twilight.  Do you only read Scottish historicals?  Only romantic suspense?  Or are you as I suspect, a more diversified reader.  You read mostly Scottish historicals with a few regencies or medievals or even a contemporary thrown in.  Right?

You are not a cookie cutter of a person, just like the guy next door or Joe across the street, why should your stories or mine be?

Well apparently that is what some people want.  They want to pigeonhole every one, put them on this little box and call it good.  I don’t want to be in a box.  I don’t want to be limited in what I write or how I live my life.  So if a reviewer doesn’t like my book.  That’s okay.  It’s their opinion and I’m not going to try and change it because it is THEIRS.  Just as my writing is mine.

I can’t please everyone.  I’m learning that, really I am.  It’s just not an easy lesson for someone who had always been a people pleaser.  Now I’m learning that the only people I need to worry about pleasing is me.

Back in 2005, my husband and I went on a wonderful vacation to Hawaii.  While visiting the Dole Plantation, we saw a plumeria stick.  We thought it would turn into a bush and that would be neat to have in the house.  The flowers smell so wonderful.
Well, one thing lead to another and the ‘stick’ got shoved out of the way and forgotten.  Flash forward more than a year.  I’m cleaning out a closet and low and behold there is the plumeria, still in it’s plastic wrapping with it’s price tag on it…and a green leaf growing out the end.

Whoa!

It’s been forgotten in a closet for a year, no water, no light, how could it be growing?  The answer to that question is I have no idea, but it did.  We decided that it showed such perseverance that we should put it in a pot and see what happens to it when it get’s water and height.  Amazingly, not a lot.  It grew very slowly.

Flash forward again to early summer 2011.  In Colorado where I live there is lots of sun.  I think we have sunshine in the state on average 360 days a year or something like that.  We’d put the plumeria outside in order to  get some of that sunshine.  It is a tropical plant after all.  It had been outside for several weeks and was doing very well.  Getting taller, got a few new leaves.  Suddenly a severe windstorm came up.  It ripped every leaf off the poor tree.  Now I have two four foot trunks sticking out of a pot.  But the trunks looked healthy, so we continued to water the trunks.

The trunks seemed to be alive and thriving.  Soon leaves started appearing.  Great bunches of them.  More than we’d ever had before.  Needless to say, I was shocked and thrilled at the same time.  When the grasshoppers came and started to eat my beautiful tree, we took it back inside.

That was about three months ago.  This past week pale green, almost white, buds started to appear at the top of the mass of leaves.  My tree was flowering!  This tree we bought as a stick was now reproducing.  The flowers smell wonderful.  The tree now sits in front of the patio sliding door so it gets plenty of light and I make sure it gets all the water it needs, too.  It may flower all winter, I hope so.

My writing has been like the plumeria.  A life changing event sent my muse to the closet where it stayed in the dark, hibernating for many years.  I didn’t even know if I could still write.  It was four years before I wrote again.  Then another life changing event, a heart attack scare, made me realize how important writing was to me and if I was ever going to do it now was the time.

I finished the book I’d been “working” on for ten years, overnight.  I was in the hospital and you can’t ever get any sleep in there anyway, so I put my time to good use.  I got the skeleton done.  Sure it needed lots of editing and some of the “leaves” fell off, but I’d done it.  I’d finished my book.

Slowly my leaves came back and then the book started to flower until all the buds opened and I published it.  My stick had come back and grown in to a beautiful tree.

How about you?  Where are you in your plumeria cycle?  Do you feel like all of your leaves have fallen off?  Or are you starting to flower?