Western Historical Fiction Author

The Nermernuh came from the mountains.

Relatives of the Shoshone people and speakers of a dialect of the Uto-Aztecan language, they migrated to the Great Plains in the seventeenth century. They were a nomadic tribe of hunter-gatherers with little culture, religion, or government and judged by their kinfolk to be inferior warriors.

Then they acquired the horse, and the world changed.

In a few generations, the Nermernuh transformed into one of history's greatest light cavalry and a society utterly dedicated to war. They had no warrior class because every man was a warrior. While everyone else in North America fought on foot, the Nermernuh fought from horseback and became the lords of the South Plains. Their empire spanned a quarter of a million square miles, south to the Rio Grande, north to the Arkansas River, west to the Pecos River and Taos, and east to the Cross Timbers and San Antonio, and they raided hundreds of miles beyond their domain.

The Spanish called them Komántcia, derived from the name given by the Nermernuh's cousins, the Utes, who called them Koh-mahts. In the Ute language, Koh-mahts translated as “those against us,” “anyone who wants to fight me all the time,” or simply “enemy.”

Comanches.

Silas Grant woke up screaming.

He prayed the nightmares would end. The voyage across the Gulf of Mexico held the horrors at bay, that and exhaustion, blood loss, and descent from the terror of the raid on Santa Anna's hacienda. But in the days since he disembarked the schooner Woodbury in New Orleans, images assaulted his sleep and would not relent.

Every night the same.

Blood. So much blood. Drops and spatters and sprays and pools. Silas covered in blood. Blood in his mouth and hair. Other men's blood. Blood of the men he killed.

Faces. The faces of the guards Silas shot during the onset of the battle. The faces of Diego and Miguel, who Silas killed with a knife. The face of Huerta, or what remained of his face. And a man whose face Silas could never see, no matter how hard he tried. Silas couldn't get the man to turn, to look at him, until he realized the man was lying face down with his head bashed in.

Gunfire. From rifles and muskets and shotguns and pistols. A courtyard filled with smoke and confusion. Shooting a man on the hacienda roof. Shooting a man in the courtyard. Shooting Huerta to secure the Texians' escape.

And blades. Always blades. Cutting a throat. Plunging into a chest. And a hideous, gleaming bayonet. Stabbing. Slashing. Covered in blood, and Silas knew it was his blood.

That's when he awoke, every night. In New Orleans, in Houston, on the road to the Brazos Valley. But it would be different when he got home.

In his own bed, with Emily beside him, he'd be all right.

He sat up only a few inches but much too far and much too fast. If only he could get his unconscious mind to understand what a dreadful mistake was sudden movement with a bullet hole high on his left shoulder and a bayonet gash across his right side.

At least the pain cut short his scream.

“Silas?”

He struggled to remember where he was and surveyed a room lit by dim moonlight creeping through a shuttered window. Pictures of Daniel Boone and Zebulon Pike from Youth's Companion magazine tacked to cabin walls. Books neatly stacked next to the bed.

“Silas, what's wrong?”

And Emily lying beside him.

Oh God, I'm back. I'm home!

Everything crashed down on him. He had returned to the Brazos Valley yesterday, and these were the predawn hours of his first day home. His first night in his own bed, in his family's house, a place he knew would keep him safe from the phantasms that had plagued his every step from Manga de Clavo.

His mind still struggled to accept what had transpired in the last hundred days. He and a handful of Texas Revolution veterans found and rescued David Crockett. And his relationship with Emily Perry moved from infatuation to intimacy. They were lovers.

Now he was sharing his bed with Emily, though she wore a nightgown and he was in his drawers, his shoulder and abdomen wrapped in bandages.

“Baby, are you all right?” Emily said.

“Mm,” he grunted, heart racing, head pounding, sweat-damp sandy-blond hair plastered over his forehead. He slumped on the bed and Emily smoothed an unruly lock from his eyes. “All right,” he said. “Just a bad dream.”

The bedroom door opened and his father and mother paused in the entry to make sure they hadn't mistaken passion for pain. Silas's wounds made sex impossible. Besides, it was just too weird to make love in his parents' house.

Duncan and Alice Grant stepped inside. His parents and little sister shared one of the two bedrooms on the east side of the home while he and his brother Thomas slept in the other. To provide privacy for Emily and allow Silas space to convalesce, Thomas moved across the hall to the cabin's west side, where at night he had the largest room in the house containing the parlor, kitchen, and dining areas to himself.

“What happened?” Duncan said. “Are you hurt?”

“No more than I already was,” Silas said. “I had a nightmare. Sorry I woke you.” His breathing slowed but a dull ache remained in his temples. It felt like his head was in a vise.

Emily lit a candle and checked Silas's bandaged side. “I don't think he's bleeding.”

“After sunrise, we'll check to make sure he didn't damage his stitches,” Alice said, examining Silas's shoulder.

“Do women always talk about you as if you can't hear them?” Silas said.

“Pretty much,” Duncan confirmed.

Emily smiled, and Silas marveled that even at this hour of the morning, her red hair glowed and emerald-green eyes sparkled in the candlelight. She leaned forward and kissed Silas. “You need to rest. Try to sleep.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“And no more nightmares,” his mother said.

“Yes, ma'am.”

Silas's baby sister, rubbing sleep from her eyes, appeared in the doorway and peeked around her mother's dressing gown. Thomas was nowhere to be seen. Probably still sacked out. Kid could sleep through a thunderstorm and had on several occasions.

“Hi, Katie,” Silas said.

The golden-haired three-year-old padded from behind her mother to the side of the bed and kissed her big brother's cheek. He put his left arm around the little girl despite the pain in his shoulder.

Worth it.

“Hi, Silas. Mama, can I stay with Silas and Emily?” Katie pleaded. She had been at her brother's side since his arrival yesterday.

“No, Katie,” her mother said. “He needs to sleep and so do you. We're all going back to bed.” To Alice's surprise, Katie surrendered meekly and dutifully followed her parents to their bedroom.

But once everyone was bedded down again, Katie slipped into Silas and Emily's room and inched toward the bed.

Where she found Emily waiting.

Emily rose and helped Katie into the bed on Silas's left side.

“Mind his shoulder,” Emily whispered.

Katie snuggled next to her brother and put her arm across his chest. Emily crossed to the other side of the bed and climbed in.

The bed was big enough for one, a tight fit for two, far too small for three. But for the rest of the night, Emily and Katie kept the misery of Manga de Clavo away.

★

Across the hall, Thomas Grant, awakened by the commotion, stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about the fact that a lyrically beautiful woman was in his bedroom. And he wasn't.

★

When Silas awoke after dawn, Katie was gone and Emily was up.

“You seemed to sleep better,” Emily said.

“Amazing what sharing a bed with beautiful women will do.”

Emily removed her nightgown and saw Silas admiring the view.

“Don't think about it,” Emily said, putting on her chemise.

“Too late. Besides, I can't do anything about it.”

“I know.” She sighed, no happier than Silas about their involuntary abstinence.

Silas stretched cautiously. His head felt better. “I need to get up.”

“You need to stay in bed,” Emily said. “You need to rest.”

“I am resting, but I need to get up.”

“No, you need to stay in bed.”

“No, I need to get up.”

“Oh. Let me help.” She took his hands and pulled him to his feet. “Do you want me to—”

“Thank you, my love, but I walked fifteen miles across Mexico, bleeding every step of the way. I think I can manage the outhouse.”

★

And after just one night, that was that. As Silas knew it would.

In his family's embrace. Immersed in Emily and Katie's love. Demons banished. Home.

Just as he hoped.

The headache subsided. Almost forgotten. If he tried hard enough.

Silas had himself a day. His wounds were still singing, especially when he moved, so he kept still as much as possible. His father set a chair outside, and Silas soaked up sunlight sitting with Emily and Katie. He spent a couple of hours discussing local news and gossip with Thomas. He always enjoyed their conversations.

Blood and blades scratched at the edge of his consciousness, but he drove them back, suffocating them in the warm comfort surrounding him. That evening at dinner he luxuriated in his mother's cooking.

It was a really good day. The best in a long time. Maybe the best since the days in the cabin at Groce's Landing when he and Emily first made love, before Silas rode off with Sam, before Henry died, and before the fight in Mexico.

Such a good day.

But came the night, new visions unlocked.

The instant he fell into what he knew would be restful sleep, the dead were there to meet him. Every time he woke, they simply waited. Patient. Persistent. Pitiless. When he closed his eyes, they clawed their way up from his depths. Were they haunting? Taunting? Or simply determined to force Silas to experience their deaths again and again?

“You killed us,” dead Miguel and Diego said. “We were sons and husbands and fathers, and you killed us.”

“You were trying to kill me!” Silas answered.

“I wasn't,” the dead man with the crushed skull said.

“I didn't mean to kill you—”

“You made widows of our wives and orphans of our children,” the dead guard on the hacienda roof said.

“I'm sorry…”

“Every time you forget,” the dead guard in the courtyard said.

“I'm sorry…”

“We will remind you…” dead Huerta said.

“I'm sorry!”

“That you are a killer!” the dead thundered.

His only consolation was he no longer screamed his way out of his personal perdition.

A couple of hours before dawn, Silas abandoned sleep and, in deference to his wounds, cautiously sat up, dripping with sweat and shaking, headache at full force.

“Silas,” Emily whispered. She put a hand on his arm. He gasped and flinched.

“I didn't mean to startle you,” she said.

Silas turned to the sound of Emily's voice, and she could see her lover's soft blue eyes turned coal, dilated into twin black eclipses glassy and unfocused. And frightening.

“I thought I was… was…”

“Shhhh.” She sat up and put her right hand on the left side of Silas's face, and he closed his eyes and rested his head in her touch. “Give yourself time. No one expects you to heal overnight.” She started to tell him to sleep but thought better of it. “Do you want to lie here with me?”

“Mm,” he said and settled back but then straightened. “Don't tell my folks,” and he curled up in Emily's arms until sunrise.

INCIDENT REPORT
RIO FRIO
230 MILES WEST OF THE GRANT HOME

A party of Comanches traveled to San Antonio, negotiated a treaty with the Texians, and received gifts. Afterward, a group of visiting Americans set out to trade with the Comanches.

From Description of Texas: To Which Is Added an Account of the Indian Tribes by George William Bonnell:

“From that moment our difficulties commenced. Capt. Love and fourteen other Americans, who visited their country, some of them for the purpose of trading, and others to see the country, fell a sacrifice to their treachery and duplicity, and were inhumanly murdered and robbed.”

Buy All Hot and Bleeding