Page 3 of Morning Dove

The look on his face said he was not taking no for an answer. Morning Dove hooked her basket over her arm and tried to calm her racing pulse before nodding and heading back to the sidewalk.

They made the ride across the prairie in silence. Ben was in a lot of pain, regardless of what he said. Morning Dove could see it in his eyes, in the slow way he moved, and grimaced when he had settled on his horse’s saddle.

The day played out inside her head like moving pictures on the way home. The men she had run into were only three in a long line of people who pushed and shoved her around. Most everyone she knew in Willow Creek loved this town and were convinced the residents who lived here were, “the best bunch of folk you would ever meet.” She had never believed it. What most of her acquaintances did not know was that the people they thought were good and kind were cruel and had hearts as black as tar. There were the exceptions, though. Ben Atwater being one of them.

As bad as it was at times, she still preferred Willow Creek to her old life back in Silver Falls. Life there had been unbearable and as terrible as it could be here sometimes, at least there was no Walter Burns. There was no make-believe marriage she could tell anyone about. No beatings or constant yelling. No unwanted touches in the middle of the night or working herself weary every single day. Here, she had a proper home, one she worked hard to keep, so she said nothing about the occasional verbal abuse she took from the townsfolk.

Here, life was perfect compared to the hell it had been.

The day Aaron Hilam rescued her would forever be the most important of her life. He had saved her in more ways than one. He gave her a new home and he and his wife Betsey treated her as if she were a part of their family. She could never repay them for their kindness. She tried. Anything she could do to help them around their small farm, she did without complaint, and she would be forever grateful to them.

Ben made a noise beside her. He looked pale. His nose had stopped bleeding, but with every step the horse made, his jaw clenched. “You should have stayed and seen the doctor.”

He smiled. “You worried about me, Morning Dove?”

The way he said her name always caused her stomach to flutter. Betsey’s brother could turn her into a deaf-mute most days. It took nothing more than a glance from him to have her tongue-tied. After living in Willow Creek for endless months, she still found it hard to talk to him. He was too—overwhelming.

The first time they met, she could not do much more than stare at him. Now, it seemed every time she opened her mouth, she ended up rambling like an idiot, so she kept quiet to keep from looking foolish in front of him.

Ben Atwater was everything Walter Burns was not. He was strong. Confident. Kind. And so handsome he was a walking dream come to life. She would happily sit and stare at him all day if she could, just to admire the way his blue eyes shined when he laughed, or to see how the sun turned his brown hair red when it hit at the right angle. He was loyal and brave and on the outside was the perfect man.

But his drinking problem told her he was not.

He was plagued in ways Betsey thought might kill him one day. She glanced his way again. If she had to guess, she would say his bloodshot eyes were the product of too much whiskey and not the brutal fight, and she had enough complications in her life without falling for a man who drank more often than not, which was why she avoided him at all costs. She barely escaped Walter, and she was not in any hurry to tie herself to someone who had as many problems as Walter did. Ben Atwater was off limits, regardless of how badly she wished he was not. He was Betsey’s brother, and that alone put him in the friend category. His drinking drove the fact home.

Fury chased away most of Ben’s pain. Morning Dove was silent at his side, and his anger built with every agonizing step Cash took. His horse was agitated underneath him, as if he could sense his mood.

He glanced over at Morning Dove again, taking in the long line of her neck. Her hair, which he knew was sleek and black as night, was pulled into a bun at the back of her head, much the same way Betsey wore hers. The calico dress she wore was more than likely Betsey’s as well and even though he’d never say it out loud, the look didn’t suit Morning Dove at all. It was too—plain. The woman at his side looked as wild and untamed as the west was wide and he preferred her that way. Putting on gingham dresses to blend in was almost criminal. He liked her in the buckskin dress she sometimes wore with her hair loose and shining in the noonday sun.

The morning replayed in his mind’s eye again. He’d caught sight of her the moment he stepped onto the sidewalk, and as he always did when seeing her, he watched her every step. Watching her bump into someone and that someone shove her out of his way as if she were nothing made something inside him snap. He was still furious about it. “Does that sort of thing happen often?”

“Does what happen often?”

She turned wide eyes to him and Ben was struck dumb when her black eyes locked on his own. He took in every lovely inch of her face and wondered for the millionth time what she’d do if he pulled her to him and kissed her like he’d wanted to do since the first day he saw her.

He blinked and cleared his throat. “Strangers accosting you?” Her looking away and not answering was all he needed to know the truth. “How long?”

She sighed and readjusted the reins in her hand. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does.”

Morning Dove was an enigma. Since the moment he met her, she’d been quiet and reserved. She spoke very little, especially to him. Today was the most he’d heard her say in the past six months.

Her back was rigid and straight, her head held high. She looked proud as she sat on Betsey’s old horse Pansy, but all it took was one look into her eyes to know she held a lifetime of secrets she’d yet to talk about. Even Aaron, as close as he and Morning Dove were, knew very little about her and what he knew, he didn’t share, claiming it wasn’t his story to tell.

Aaron and Betsey’s farmhouse came into view long minutes later and Morning Dove physically relaxed. Her shoulders loosened, her posture not so rigid now, and he’d wondered more than once if he made her uncomfortable. With her rarely speaking to him—or looking at him, for that matter—he imagined he did. He didn’t have the slightest clue why, though.

Betsey stepped out of the house with a large basket under one arm. She headed toward the clothesline, but paused when she saw them, throwing her arm into the air to wave. Her smile was followed by growing horror when they were close enough for her to see him clearly.

“Ben!” She dropped her basket of clean laundry and hurried across the yard. “What happened?”

“Stop fretting, Betsey. It’s nothing.”

“That doesn’t look like nothing.”

Morning Dove stopped and dismounted. “He was in a fight.”

Betsey gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Please tell me you weren’t in the saloon again.”

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