Page 49 of Wild Spirit Revival

He reached out, slinking an arm around her waist to draw her close. Before he could think about it too much, he lowered his head, brushing a kiss across her lips. When she didn’t back away, he pressed his mouth to hers.

Lifting his head, he took a step away. “Goodnight, Molly. Sleep well.”

Chapter Nineteen

The leaves of the cottonwoods rustled in the gentle Montana breeze as Molly hefted her bulky equipment box onto the back of the buggy. She secured it with practiced efficiency, her nimble fingers working the straps and buckles with ease.

“I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality,” she said, turning to face Naomi and Elijah, who stood a few feet away. Her eyes glistened with genuine warmth as she met each of their gazes.

Elijah stepped forward, his rugged features softening into a smile. “You’re welcome to stay longer.” He reached around her to check the straps on her equipment, his fingers brushing against her arm.

She felt a flutter in her chest at the slight touch but tamped it down. Molly hadn’t meant to fall for the handsome cowboy, yet she had.

“I want to develop the plates and see if my order for additional plates arrived at the mercantile.” She tossed her braid over her shoulder.

“Perhaps you’ll return. For more photographs, I mean,” he said as he helped her into the buggy. “Be careful, Molly. Danger can come at any time, from any direction.” Elijah squeezed her hand before stepping away.

With a final wave, Molly flicked the reins and set off down the trail toward Mystic. As the ranch faded into the distance behind her, the vast Montana landscape unfurled before her eyes like a living painting.

Rolling hills of golden grass stretched as far as the eye could see, punctuated by stands of evergreens and jagged, snowcapped peaks on the horizon. Molly’s breath caught in her throat at the sheer majesty of it all.

She shot another look over her shoulder, realizing she already missed Elijah. Minutes after leaving, she wanted to turn the buggy around.

Molly refocused on the beauty around her in an effort to shove away thoughts of Elijah. She noticed how the sunlight danced across the waving grass, creating a glistening sea of gold.

As she guided the buggy along the winding trail, she thought of all her plans. Her fingers itched to capture the raw beauty of this land with her camera.

A sudden gust of wind whipped strands of hair around her face, and she laughed out loud, relishing the feeling of freedom coursing through her veins. This was why she’d left her family and Chicago behind. She’d ached to experience life in all its wild, unrestrained glory.

As the buggy crested a hill, she caught sight of a fork in the trail. Certain Mystic was to her right, she followed her instincts. Within minutes, she realized nothing looked familiar.

Looking for a place to turn the buggy around, the landscape opened up into a breathtaking vista she hadn’t seen before. A hidden gem tucked away in the vastness of Mystic Valley. Rolling hills cascaded down to a winding river framed by vast grasslands and jagged mountains.

Molly stared in wonder, pulling the buggy to a stop. With practiced efficiency, she hopped down and retrieved her camera equipment. Her fingers trembled with excitement as she set everything up, her mind already composing the perfect shot.

“Just imagine what Papa would say if he could see me now.” She chuckled. “His obstinate little Molly, out here in the wild, capturing the untamed beauty of—”

A twig snapped behind her, and she froze. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she slowly turned around, her heart pounding. She found herself face-to-face with a group of Indians on horseback, their expressions unreadable as they regarded her with curiosity and wariness.

Molly swallowed hard, considering her situation. She straightened her spine, channeling every ounce of her outgoing nature and Chicago upbringing.

“Good day, gentlemen,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I’m Molly O’Sullivan. I hope I’m not trespassing on your land. I’m a photographer, you see, and I couldn’t resist capturing this stunning view.”

She gestured to her camera, maintaining eye contact with who she assumed was the leader. The silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring.

“Do you speak English?” Molly asked. “Parlez-vous français, perhaps?” She wracked her brain for the few words of Lakota she’d picked up from a book, hoping it might be close enough to their language.

As the Indians continued to stare at her, she struggled with possible outcomes. Would they view her as a threat? As she opened her mouth to try again, the leader urged his mount forward, his gaze fixed on her camera.

The leader’s attention shifted from the camera to Molly’s face, his expression softening slightly. “We are Crow,” he said in English.

Molly’s shoulders relaxed, relief washing over her. “Crow,” she repeated, a smile spreading across her face. “I’ve read about your people. Your horsemanship is legendary.”

The man’s eyebrows raised, surprise flickering in his dark eyes. “You know of us?”

“Only what I’ve read,” she admitted. “I’d love to learn more, if you’re willing to share.”

The leader conferred briefly with his companions in their native tongue before turning back to her. “I am Plenty Bear. What brings you to the land of Becketts, Molly O’Sullivan?”

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