Cherished: The Mountain Man's Babies(7)

My body is alive, and when he thrusts deeper into me, my legs shake, my thighs tremble, and I come. I come against and for him and with him. He comes in me too, filling me with his creamy release, the release made for me. The release we share.

I want it again and again and I want it forever.

I will have it.

But before he even stops rocking against me, before my body steadies itself, soaking up all he gave me, we hear a rustle in the trees. Branches snapping.

We stop moving, hearing the footsteps, the hollers, the calls.

Someone is looking for me.

Several someones are looking for me.

"Cherish, where are you, woman?"

James locks eyes with me. Wordlessly, we move quickly, pulling on pants and buttoning shirts and sliding on shoes, and the people are moving faster through the thicket.

And then they are here, a group of men, my father and husband to be, Luke too, and James’s father. Everyone looks at him, then me, anger on their faces, fear in my heart. But I am dressed and James is dressed and there is nothing to prove.

But that doesn't matter. Not to these men. Men who are motivated by a God I don't understand, a God who has forsaken me and left me more times than I can count.

"What in God's name is going on out here?" my father yells.

George, the man I am meant to marry, moves closer to me as if sniffing the air. He asks the question that would put James in the grave if he chose to be honest.

"You tarnishing my bride to be?" he yells.

James is steel-faced and jaw clenched and he moves to step in front of me. I will him not to, knowing my father like I do, knowing through the grapevine of women how they are treated by their husbands. The men here put on a good show, some may not even physically hurt their wives, but emotional abuse is real too, and I am terrified of the affliction.

Not just to me, but the way they may hurt James.

But he doesn't care. He only has eyes for me.

He looks at me, his heart raw and mine for the taking. I will take it, now and for always, but I can't bear to see him hurt.

But he loves me. He always has and he tells them that.

"Cherish is the woman I love, the woman I want to marry. You can't come between us."

I love him for his bravery, for his honor, and his commitment.

But as a shovel is raised by the hands of a man I don't even know, and is slammed across the back of James' head, I know he is also a fool.

Because he may love me, but his words will cost him everything.

I was right for never giving in before, I knew what our love would cost him.

His life.

They swing the shovel again, and he falls backward into the shallow creek. His head is bloody, the clear water turning dark as he’s pushed under the current. Once, twice.

I try to run toward him, but I’m dragged away, my screams loud, until I force them to stop. I muffle them with my knuckles, knowing every cry for mercy will result in more pain for my beloved. I turn my head, watching as he is beaten to a pulp.

Watching as the man I love is murdered by my father, my family.

No.

No.

No.

I stop screaming, not knowing how to use my voice once James is gone. I start pulling away from the hold I'm in, bound by my father and George. I fall to the wooded ground, my body desperate to crawl backward, toward him.

Toward James.

But they won't let me. They pull me to standing, dragging me away from the river, away from the man I love.

In the distance, he makes no cries, no pleas, nothing.

I'm taken from the oak tree and led away to a life I never wanted but had been too scared to break free from.

I'm led away from James.

And in my heart, I know I am the very thing that killed him.

After all, if he had never met me, he'd still be here.

Instead, he’s gone forever.





Chapter Six





Over the last year, I've been through hell and back.

But I’m still standing.

Still breathing.

Still holding onto hope.

Cherish.

Cherish.

Cherish.

She may have grown up as Abigail, but now… now her name is exactly right. I cherish her in all the ways that matter. Her name is always on my lips. On my mind. A part of my soul.

I live for her, though it's been a full year since I laid her perfect body on the bed of the forest, under the hot sun and blue sky. A year since I saw her smile in a way I hadn't seen in years. She was vulnerable and broken, but in my arms, she felt whole.

I saw that in her eyes when she looked at me, asking for forgiveness she never needed. She is my salvation, and I don't need her to be a martyr, dying for an idea about herself that was never true.

At least never true for me.

But it's been a year and a lot can happen in twelve months’ time.

God knows I've seen it all.

Like waking up beaten and half-dead on a freight train headed south. I would have jumped, but my arm was broken, along with some ribs and a busted ankle—that much was clear. My head was cloudy, my memory shot; I didn't know if I was a day from Idaho or five. And when I finally came to and stepped off the train when it came to a stop, I found I wasn't alone. Jonah was with me, making me drink water, trying his hardest to clean my bandages. He kept me alive.