Lonesome Rider and Wilde Imaginings Read Online Free PDF

his chair relishing the warm burn of the brandy in his throat. He closed his eyes. Sometimes, because of the memories, he hated to do so. Sometimes, he would see a spring day, with a few white clouds drifting across the sky. Then he would see Mara waving from the well, and his father standing on the porch, smiling at him and Mara, so damned proud that he was about to become a grandfather. Then Mara would be running toward him. He would wave at her to stop, because she shouldn’t be running then, it was too close to her time.
    Then …
    The men. Three of them would be on their horses, clad in red leggings. They would be coming out of Kansas, onto the Missouri side. Coming because John McKenna had damned John Brown for being a heinous murderer and not God’s instrument against the inhumanities of man. …
    He could hear it still. Dear God, he could hear it still. The first blast of the shotgun. He could see it all, again and again, as if the world had slowed, as if he watched it all take place again in the black recesses of his mind and heart.
    He could see the first bullet hit his father right in the chest. He could see the handsome old man fly back, snapped against the logs of the farmhouse. He could see the crimson stain spill across his white cotton shirt.… He could hear his own scream. His cry, his warning, and he knew exactly where he was—again.
    He had started to run, and felt the agony in his chest, burning his lungs. He never had a chance of reaching Mara. There had been another burst of fire. God, he could hear it explode, too. Then he could see Mara, flying backward, falling, falling to the ground.
    And she, too, had been stained in crimson, a massive hole in her chest, and he had been running and screaming. He had seen men—had seen their faces. He had thrown himself upon the first of them, the blue-eyed one, still mounted, and had dragged him down, his bare fingers around his throat, throttling him.
    Then there had been the pain. Blinding, searing, like a flash of fire and light before him. Then there had been darkness. Blackness, a terrible void.
    Blade didn’t want to awaken from it, he didn’t want to survive. He was afraid to awaken, he wanted it to be a dream, never the truth, dear God, he didn’t want to awaken.…
    â€œMr. McKenna!”
    Startled, he jerked his head up. He’d dozed. Resting there on the fine leather chair in Mrs. Peabody’s library, he’d done what he hadn’t done for a long, long time.
    He’d let down his guard.
    It was her fault. The woman’s. Jessica Dylan’s.
    But it was Mrs. Peabody standing in the doorway, smiling benignly. “I didn’t need to waken you, Mr. McKenna—”
    â€œBlade, Mrs. Peabody. We’ve been friends some time now.”
    â€œWell, then, that’s fine, Blade, but you’ll have to remember that my Christian name is Rose.”
    He smiled. “That’s fine, Rose.”
    â€œI wouldn’t have interrupted you—you were really resting so nicely—except that I know how you love a good steaming bath when you come off the trail. It’s all ready for you upstairs. I’ve gotten that nice Mrs. Dylan all taken care of, and now it’s your turn! I’ll be seeing to my dinner now. I haven’t had a guest in a day or two, and now you and Mrs. Dylan in one night. I’m anxious to whip up a fine meal for you both. It’s so nice to have the company.” She cleared her throat delicately. “I know how you like a game of poker, too, Blade , but I do hope you’ll be having dinner here before adjourning over to Henry Larkin’s place.”
    He stood, setting down his brandy glass. “Rose, your meals are always the finest in town, and you know that quite well. Of course I’ll be having dinner with you.”
    â€œAnd Mrs. Dylan.”
    â€œAnd Mrs. Dylan. And then I will be spending the remainder of the evening over at the