It’s time for Tuesday Tales!
Today we have a snippet from ‘The Ballad of Crow and Sparrow’ my current MM Historical Western romance. Our word prompt today is “Colorful” and in this scene Crow, who has found himself deceived into spending time with the Wittington Gang, is riding out with the outlaws to take part – and hopefully keep the casualties down – in a planned train robbery.
This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!
I took Wind’s reins and led him out of the barn. All the men save John were milling about, readying themselves, saying goodbye to their women. Some may not come back. The train was rumored to be well-guarded. Gin danced around on her hind legs, thrilled to be heading out. I crouched down and rubbed the dog’s head. “You must stay here,” I told her as I scratched behind one ear. “I cannot have you shot if this goes badly. Stay here, guard the camp, and I will be back soon.”
Gin whined when I stood up. She watched me closely as I climbed into my saddle. She made to follow when I turned Wind’s head in the direction the other men were riding in, out of the canyon, down to the iron tracks that led north. “Stay,” I commanded of the dog in French. She sat down but her eyes held none of her usual happiness.
And so we rode out, ten of us, John smiling broadly as he waved at us. I did not wave back or acknowledge him in any way. We rode hard, slowing briefly to squeeze through the narrow gap into the hidden chasm. I glanced up as I rode through the opening, the red rock was warm to the touch and had yellow flecks of color in it. Darker red lines, almost dark, streaked through the sandstone. It was beautiful. I committed it to memory for I would likely never see the desert after this day was done. Returning to the cabin my Papa had built was a gnawing need now. Distancing myself from this foolish error was all I could think of.
Once I was free of the tall red walls, I put my heels to Wind’s sides. He threw his head, the spirit of the desert winds filling him. We rode hard for miles and miles. It seemed as if hours had passed. We’d slow to rest the horses and let them drink at the small watering holes we’d come across. Felipe rode at my right, Silva led the way as he knew the area far better than I did.
Copyright 2019 ©by V.L. Locey
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