The Devil Between Us Read online

  Copyright © 2018 Shelly Wilson

  Published by Backabity

  Peru IN

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a database and retrieval system or transmitted in any form or any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the owner of copyright and the above publishers.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design and formatting by Serendipity Formats

  Map illustration by Michael Christopher

  Title page image copyright © tmainiero

  www.fotosearch.com

  ISBN: 978-1-7323601-1-2

  Contents

  Mount Perish Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  JODI MYERS

  This book definitely wouldn’t exist without you.

  Thank you for the endless hours.

  Let’s hope that fortune cookie was right.

  Mount Perish Map

  Chapter One

  1864

  The orange bands of early July sunlight kissed the tips of the towering pines in the foothills of northern California. A slight breeze blew at the base of Mount Perish, the cool air unsympathetic, continually assaulting her tall physique. Undaunted, she disregarded her trembling limbs and chattering teeth, focusing instead on bigger concerns than being chilled to the bone. The ground beneath her was damp and a metallic smell tickled her nose. She recognized it immediately—blood.

  She was lean and strong; all muscle from years of hard work. Her short, strawberry-blonde hair looked as if it hadn’t been combed in days, and she was dirty from head to toe. Still, the face hidden beneath was quite beautiful.

  Struggling to sit up and make sense of her surroundings, she startled a nearby squirrel. The foothills teemed with wildlife, and the movement of this one small creature set off a chain reaction of motion. Branches shook. Loosened leaves danced to the ground as birds took flight and deer scattered.

  She brushed away the pine needles embedded in her cheek as she took in the lay of the land. Evergreens lined the countryside; the atmosphere was thick with the scent of pine. Even in the dim light penetrating the dense canopy overhead, she could see the roaring river twisting its way through the trees. The water roared, thunderous in her ears. The rising fog reminded her of steam escaping a boiling kettle.

  Her eyes landed on her friend standing sentinel nearby. He stood tall and muscular, light tan in color, with a mane as dark as midnight sky. She whistled softly through clenched teeth. Her faithful companion lifted his head and came to her.

  “Good boy,” she said, voice weak, barely above a whisper.

  The horse lowered his head, allowing her to grab the reins. She staggered to her feet as he lifted his head. Lightheaded from blood loss, she wobbled like a newborn taking its first steps. Her body continued to shiver uncontrollably.

  Gently, she raised her shirt to examine her injuries. A bullet hole bled on her right side. She grimaced, gingerly reaching to feel for the exit wound on her back. Her skin was wet and tacky from the steady stream oozing from each hole. It flowed relentlessly; she needed to cauterize them before she bled to death. Fire became her priority.

  She stumbled toward some brush, hoping to gather enough wood to start a fire. Her strength waned. She grabbed the closest tree to stop herself from falling. Her attempt failed, and she slid down the rough trunk until her butt hit the ground. She cried out.

  Reaching for a stick caused pain to shoot through her body, like a dull knife slicing her in half. She fought against the agony. She had to. The effort and movement increased her blood flow. As her small collection of pine needles and wood grew, so did the bright red flower pattern blooming across her shirt.

  The tall evergreens spun before her. Everything became a blur. Dizzy, she lay on the ground.

  Eyes closed.

  Scared.

  Willing the revolving world to stop.

  Wheezing sounds now came with every breath, frightening her even more. Simply maintaining control over her rising panic presented another challenge. She curled into a fetal position, pushing her fist tight against the growing stain on her shirt, hoping to stanch the flow of blood and ease the pain. She had dealt with physical suffering before, but nothing like this.

  Her mind flashed on the rattlesnake that bit her when she was twelve. That had been a scratch, a splinter compared to what she felt now. The thought carried her to the events that brought her to this place in the woods. This place where she would surely die.

  Dying at twenty-one would be a tragedy, but at least it would be an end to her heartache. She had endured more grief than most ever will, understood all too well how brutal and cruel life could be. She missed her family terribly, and often wondered how things might have been had evil not come into her world that day.

  Not long before, she would have welcomed death. Now, everything had changed.

  He needed her.

  That was all the motivation she needed to survive, in spite of the mortal wound in her side. Flashing images and sounds took her further back in time. She desperately tried to hang on to the memories pouring through her fevered mind like sand slipping between fingers.

  And then everything went black.

  Unbeknownst to her, salvation had been riding just two-hundred yards away on a well-traveled road connecting two neighboring towns. The pair hurried along as if also concerned about life and death. She was too far hidden in the thick copse of pines to be seen by these passersby. If only she had made it back to the road hours earlier, she would have already been receiving the help she desperately needed. Instead, she had to fight for her own survival.

  She heard her horse chomping on his bit, felt his soft nose nudging against her cheek. The sunlight made her squint. Disoriented, she struggled momentarily to recall how she ended up in this place, isolated and alone. She eased into a sitting position, fighting through the pain and against the darkness threatening to engulf her once more.

  As her memory returned, so did the severity of her situation. She drew a burst of strength from this urgency, staggered to her feet and rifled through her saddlebag. She hissed in agony when she collapsed back to the ground. A flint rock gripped in her weak fist was the spoil of this small victory.

  She removed the knife hanging on her hip. Her hands shook as she repeatedly struck the blade against the flint. Finally, she managed to land a spark on the pine needle tinder. Her blue lips quivered as she carefully blew life into the fire. She hurried. Giving in to unconsciousness was a luxury she could not afford.

  After arranging the kindling, crisscrossing small twigs on the flame, a small amount of hope rekindled as the tiny fire sprung to life. She fed it more wood until satisfied with its size. She stared anxiously as it began to burn. A loud, popp
ing spark darted skyward. She flinched.

  Knowing better than to put a loaded pistol near fire, she pulled it from her holster and shot at a bush off in the distance. A shot rang out, and then another, followed by the clicking sound of an empty cylinder.

  With her foot, she nudged a rock toward the edge of the fire and propped the gunpowder-free weapon on the makeshift support. Flames licked the barrel. Her heart pounded as the end of the barrel glowed red with heat. She wondered if she had the fortitude to do what needed to be done.

  She knew she didn’t have a choice.

  She removed a lead ball from her pouch and put it in her mouth. With her tongue, she guided it between her teeth. She wiggled out of her buckskin coat, wrapped the sleeve around her hand, and reached for the heated gun.

  Holding in a deep breath, she bit down hard on the round piece of lead, and jammed the scorching tip of the barrel on the open wound. Her teeth carved grooves in the lead as she clenched them harder.

  The pain, stench, and sound of her sizzling skin filled her senses. She fell onto her side, landing with such force the bullet shot from her mouth when her face hit the dirt. She closed her eyes, thankful to release her grip on consciousness at last.

  Chapter Two

  1853

  Sarah Pratt was bent over a washtub, the ache in her back momentarily forgotten as she mulled over the list of supplies she needed to purchase on the trip to Granite Falls later that morning. An all too familiar spasm shot a wave of pain through her body. She gripped the tub, leaving her husband’s shirt floating in the sudsy water. Pressing her fists firmly in the small of her back offered little respite.

  Stretching, she glanced up at the clear and cloudless October sky. Should be nice weather for the trip to town, she thought as she absentmindedly swept away a stray strand of hair which was stuck to the side of her face. Eager to finish the chore, she plunged her hands back into the steaming water.

  Just inside the cedar log house behind her, Sarah’s eldest daughter, Jamie, poured water from a bucket into a cast iron pot which hung over the fire. She then stood with one hand resting on a cool stone, sunk deep in the mortar of the large fireplace, and the other on her hip as she waited on the water to heat. Jamie glanced repeatedly at the ornate clock sitting atop the hand-hewn mantle—the one possession her mother was protective of.

  Along with her mother’s gentle nature and soft-spoken ways, Jamie was also gifted with the same wispy, blonde hair. Truth be told, the two looked more like sisters than mother and daughter, and on more than one occasion they had been mistaken as such. Even though she was only sixteen, Jamie Pratt was fast becoming a beautiful woman.

  The grin that had been playing at the corners of Jamie’s mouth grew into a true smile. The approaching trip to town was the reason for her joy; more specifically, their stop at Carlson’s General Store.

  Jacob worked there and she liked him—a lot.

  Jamie had no misconceptions. She knew the handsome eighteen year old could have his pick of any girl he might want to court, and yet, she had the impression he was fond of her too. At least, she hoped so.

  Any time her family made a trip to town, he made it a point to stop what he was doing and spend a few minutes talking to her. She also noticed no matter what they bought, he took the time to walk the purchases out and load them into the wagon. It was unnecessary, but she was grateful for any extra time she got to spend with him. Their exchanges over the last three years were always brief. Even so, these interactions managed to make her blush and tickle her stomach.

  Sarah’s youngest boy, Toby, was busy mucking out the stalls inside the barn. It was by far one of his least favorite chores, but on that day he didn’t seem to mind. He worked quickly as his calloused hands deftly swung the pitchfork, for this was no ordinary day for him. It would be the first time he was allowed to drive the wagon into town for supplies.

  At thirteen, Toby was of slight build. Much to his dismay, he still hadn’t had a growth spurt. What he considered to be muscles his younger sister teasingly called ‘kneecaps on a sparrow’. The remark would send him into a sullen rage, even though he knew it was true. He would sometimes wander off somewhere secluded to sulk about his stature, until his older brother, Daniel, would find him.

  Daniel was Sarah’s eldest child. By seventeen, he had grown into a tall, responsible young man. Toby’s strongest desire was to be just like him. This wish dominated Toby’s thoughts as he continued to swing the pitchfork, ignoring the bits of manure-caked straw sticking to his sweaty arms.

  Sarah’s youngest, Jessica, walked the well-worn path from the stream to the house as fast as her short legs would carry her. She made her way at a steady pace, her cheeks flushed from effort, as her strawberry-blonde hair bounced against her head. She swore she had already made a hundred trips back and forth, hauling bucket after bucket. Jessica was more than ready to be done with this chore.

  During the morning meal, Jessica’s father had given her a choice: go to town with her mother, or go fishing by herself. She had jumped up out of her chair, thrilled to have a say for once. It would be the first time in her life that her father trusted her to go anywhere unsupervised. He was finally seeing her as old enough to do things without constant supervision. If she could make it through the day without any problems, her parents would trust her more in the future and she would no longer have to beg for her freedom.

  For Jessica, it wasn’t always bad being the youngest. At ten, her life was happy and carefree. She felt safe knowing someone was always looking after her. Best of all, in the little girl’s world, she was still small enough to sit on her father’s lap. She adored those times the most. Some evenings they did nothing more than talk about their day. On others, he would read to her until she fell asleep in his arms.

  While being the youngest could be a good thing, today being old enough was the greatest. Before, Toby would have to go with her. She liked having him around, but she was eager to test out her newfound independence.

  Jessica spent most of her time with Toby. As soon as their chores were done, the two would set off on some new adventure. More times than not, their mother would have to holler at them repeatedly to wash up and come in to eat. This would earn them a stern talking to by their father during the meal, but Jessica could tell by the set of his mouth his heart was never truly in his reprimands.

  Lately, Toby had begun to distance himself from Jessica. The growing teenager felt too mature to be playing with his little sister as much. He was more interested in spending time with Daniel, whom he idolized and constantly tried to emulate.

  Two days ago, Jessica had been sitting up in the large oak tree next to the barn, watching as Toby unknowingly walked right underneath her perch. Before she could say anything, Toby started talking aloud to himself in a voice she had never heard. He was trying to get his voice to sound deep, like Daniel’s. To Jessica, he sounded like a broken goose. She covered her mouth in a vain attempt to contain her laughter. Still, she laughed so hard she almost fell out of the tree. She noticed something else last night after supper. Daniel always used his fingers to rub the day-old growth of hair on his chin whenever he was deep in thought. Toby now did the same thing, even though the only things on his chin were a few bright-red pimples. Toby had a long way to go before he would ever be like Daniel, as far as Jessica was concerned.

  Jessica and Toby had many of the same personality traits and interests, but that’s where their similarities ended. They looked nothing alike. She didn’t look like Daniel or Jamie either. The one thing that set Jessica apart was her hair, beautiful and strawberry-blonde. She was the only child to have inherited their father’s hair color. He always called her “Berry.” It made her feel special because he didn’t have nicknames for any of her siblings.

  Jessica carried the bucket into the house and set it down next to Jamie. Her sister stared at the mantel with a distant look in her eyes. Hmm, Jessica mused to herself. Never one to resist an opportunity, she took advantage of her s
ister’s distraction.

  “Boo!” she yelled, grabbing Jamie by the waist.

  Jamie leapt into the air. “Don’t do that. You know I hate it.”

  “I know,” Jessica said, laughing. “I just had to. Got you real good this time.”

  “Yes, you did. You should feel my heart beating. One day you are going to scare me to death.”

  “Sheesh. Don’t be so dramatic. Getting scared is good for you. Keeps you on your toes. You need more water?” Jessica asked, still chuckling.

  “No, this should do it. You’re really going to stay home?”

  “Heck yeah. I hear the fish calling my name. Can you hear ‘em?”

  “Don’t be silly. You do know you upset Mother, don’t you?”

  “What did I do?” Jessica asked, her green eyes flashing with a hint of indignation.

  Jamie put her hand on Jessica’s shoulder. “She doesn’t want you to stay here by yourself. Why don’t you just go with us?”

  “I don’t want to. But try and talk her into bringing me home a piece of candy.”

  “I’ll try. And don’t mess up today or you’ll never get to stay home alone ever.” Jamie gave her little sister her best wiser-than-you stare.

  “I won’t.”

  “And don’t ruin that dress. There’s not enough fabric for me to make another one.”

  “I know. I won’t.” Jessica walked over to the table. She stuffed her pockets with an apple and a chunk of bread her mother had wrapped in a rag for her.

  While heading to the barn to get her fishing pole, Jessica thought of what Jamie had said. Overwhelmed by a sudden desire to thank her mother, she turned and headed back to where her mother was hanging clothes to dry. Jessica wanted to thank her father again, but he and Daniel had already left to go hunting. She would have to thank him later.

  “Got my chores done. Thanks for letting me go fishing, and you don’t have to worry. I’ll be careful,” Jessica said as she approached her mother from behind.