BlackWind Read Online Free PDF Page A

whispered.
    Tears filled Bronnie's eyes. She could feel the warmth of the amulet tingling in her palm. When he released her hand and turned away, she wanted to throw her arms around him and press her mouth to his.
    “And have your mother come in here and drag you out by your hair? I think not,” he muttered.
    “How do you do that?” she asked, her eyes wide.
    He turned his head toward her. “I want you to remember something, Bronwyn,” he said, his face grave, his eyes boring into hers. “They might be able to take you out of my arms, but they will never take you out of my heart. No matter what. No matter where you go, I will find you. I will remove anything that gets in the way between us. Don't ever forget that.”
    She lifted her chin, thinking of one of the songs her mother had sung to her as a child. “'You choose the road, love, and I'll make a vow that I'll be your true love forever,'” she quoted.
    He stared into her eyes for a long time, then smiled. “My Celtic warrioress.”
    “I like that!”
    He laughed and it was the first time she had heard him do so. It transformed his stern face, and she thought he was the most handsome boy to ever walk upon the face of the earth. A stray curly lock of flaxen hair dipped low over his forehead and she ached to reach out and push it back. She wanted to run her fingers over the mole on his right cheek and trace the faint white scar under his chin. She wanted to slip into his arms and have him hold her against his chest, a chest that had filled out nicely over the years.
    His look softened. “You'd better go.” His eyes left hers as he stared through the window. “She's getting antsy.”
    Bronnie scooted off the stool. “I'm going to the show with my friends Marti and Jean this weekend. Meet us there?”
    He shrugged. “If I can. Which one?”
    “The Albany.” She blushed. “We can sit in the balcony and have some privacy.”
    He nodded. “We'll see.”
    She tucked her lip between her teeth, wanting to say more, but not knowing what.
    “Go,” he said, shooing her away with his left hand. “She's waiting to read you the riot act.” He grinned. “Don't disappoint her.”
    Bronnie giggled and started out of the store.
    “Hey, little witchling?” he called to her.
    She looked back at him. “What's that?”
    Sean was holding up his right hand, the thumb, index and little fingers extended, the middle and fourth tucked under. “It's the American Sign Language symbol for I love you.”
    Bronnie imitated the sign and held it out to him. With that, she turned and hurried out, her gay laughter following.

CHAPTER 3

    Tift Park, Albany, Georgia, May 1984
    He pushed her higher.
    “You did it on purpose,” she scolded.
    “I never was good at math,” he responded.
    “You're good at everything you do.”
    “Not everything.”
    “You did it so you'd have to repeat the year.”
    “Maybe.”
    “No maybe about it, Cullen,” she said, pulling hard on the swing's chain to propel her body higher. She dug her heels into the air. “I know you.”
    He stepped from behind her and leaned against the swing set's front leg. “Are you complaining?”
    “You betcha,” she snapped. “I don't like having an ignoramus for a boyfriend.”
    He chuckled, folded his arms over his chest, and stared at her. “I've been called worse.”
    The smile slipped from her face. He had been called worse—mostly, she thought, by her parents. She lowered her legs to slow the swing.
    “You know it doesn't matter to me what they think,” he told her.
    She had long since given up asking him how he seemed able to read her mind. Each time she asked, he either grinned, wagged his thick brows, or simply ignored the question.
    “It matters to me,” she said, dragging her feet against the ground.
    He reached out to grab the chain of her swing seat. He stepped in front of her, grunting as her knees struck his, but bringing her to a stop. With his hands wrapped around hers, he leaned