Page 1 of Westbound Awakening

Prologue

Rage filled eyes met his. The man's hand trembled more from fear than from hatred. It was more than crystal clear the outlaw was not about to wait to find out the reason the Calvary captain came there. The boom of a gunshot echoed in John’s ears, the burning penetrated his right leg, and before he could turn away, a second shot sent him to the ground.

1

Two weeks later, Widow's Peak, Virginia

Captain John McClain shook his head to dislodge the thoughts of that fate-filled night. The all too familiar throbbing pulsed down his leg, and he rubbed a palm over his thigh, fingers skimming over the bandaged area under the thick dungarees he wore. Although the wince that surfaced couldn't be helped, John disregarded it. From the corner where he sat, it was easy to keep a vigil on all the exits, and with his back protected, he continued to keep a watchful eye on his men. Every one of the eight tables in the room were surrounded by patrons while vibrantly dressed girls circled the space, beacons of promise much like the first rays of sunshine assuring a fresh start.

The expansive bar along the back of the room manned by a huge man named James held whiskey bottles of many types that sparkled, reflecting the lights. Several men leaned elbows on the highly sheened counter, drinks in hand.

One of his young soldiers caught his attention. The boy climbed up the brothel's stairs, his hand in one of the establishment's girls. The soldier must have sensed his gaze because hesitant eyes looked over toward him, a wide grin in place. John nodded, and it was the only encouragement the young man needed before he raced up the stairs pulling his prize behind him.

It was a lively night at Mae's Brothel, or perhaps a normal night for all John knew as he'd only been here twice during the evenings. He'd been here plenty of times over the years in the late morning after one of his men failed to show up for duty. It looked so different at night, the gas lamps providing a complementary atmosphere to the darkened interior.

Although windows were open, the meager breeze offered little respite to the heated interior. Pain and lack of visual focus brought him back to his own situation. He blinked in an attempt to will away dizziness caused by the combination of voices, piano music and cigar smoke. Even a deep drink of cold beer did not help.

Hindsight being twenty-twenty and all that, he should have listened to the camp's doctor and taken better care of himself in the beginning. The physician had insisted he take time off, allow his leg to heal fully and even ordered him to bed rest for a week. Headstrong, John did not take even one full day. Instead John dragged himself from bed and kept up with his men, riding long days in the heat, pushing away the pain and nausea. The way he saw it, since he'd been shot while off duty, it was his mistake so his men shouldn't have to pay for it by pulling extra shifts.

When a new jolt of ache trailed up his leg from calf to thigh, John considered that perhaps he should visit the doc again. Although he'd cleaned his wounds himself daily to avoid infection, it could be that he'd not be thorough enough. Something was definitely wrong.

In less than a month, he would no longer be a member of the Confederate cavalry; most of the unit was already disbanded, either going back to their prior lives or moving west to join the established cavalry units. In a few days time, he'd be headed west for a different reason. To find the damn man who'd shot him. This was definitely not the time for him, who was generally of good health, to be feverish, dizzy and lacking of energy.

The perfume of honeysuckle freshened the surrounding air, and he inhaled the calming scent.

"Why Captain McClain, it's nice of you to join us tonight. What do I owe the rare honor of your presence to?" The madam, Mae Hawkins' husky voice fell over him like a much-needed cool breeze. He looked up to meet her bright green eyes and lost his ability to speak.

A more beautiful woman did not exist, he would bet his life on it. The woman was like a goddess who deemed to walk amongst mere mortals. The blonde brothel owner cocked an eyebrow at his lack of response.

"Good evening Mae, you look well rested." He almost smiled at the slight frown, her perfectly shaped eyebrows connecting; she was probably used to more elaborate flattery from men. He continued unabated. "I am here to keep an eye on my men. Last time I allowed them to come without supervision, I had to fetch them the next day."

Shoulders back, she fanned her face and eyed him from beneath long lashes, her comely mouth pursed. With hair up in a complicated manner that allowed for some of the long blonde curls to escape and touch her shoulders, she was captivating. Enticing.

"Yes I remember." Mae lowered herself to the chair across from him and allowed her gaze to sweep over the room, always vigilant.

He followed her line of sight to two of his men engrossed with a curvy brunette who threw her head back in laughter, seeming to enjoy the game of pitting them against each other.

Not able to tear his gaze from Mae for long, he studied her, admiring the graceful curve of her neck, the soft jawline and the slight pout of pink lips.

She turned back and smiled, her eyes connecting with his. "They're good boys, most of them. Some nights they just drink too much and can't make it out the door, much less mount. I won't stand for them to leave in that condition. It's dangerous out there if they get lost. I'd rather their stern commander come for them than find out they've met with harm."

Stern? John didn't reply instead took another drink from his now warming beer and gave her a noncommittal shrug. Feigning disinterest, he studied her attire. Although the deep green dress was off her shoulders, very little of her cleavage was exposed. Unlike the other women in the brothel, he'd never seen her wear anything indecent. The few times he'd spotted her out in town, she always dressed within the bounds of modesty. Even so, she commanded attention, a beautiful woman without ties living without the restraints of society.

Her kohl-lined eyes slid toward the back hallway, and he wondered if she took customers. Perhaps as the Madam, she didn't have to work any longer, unless she chose too. Or then again, she could have private lovers. Hell, her beauty alone brought men to their knees so that she did not have to entice them with scant dressing. For some reason the thought of her bedding men made his stomach clench.

He shifted in his seat uncomfortable under her returned scrutiny.

Finally her cool eyes turned to him. "Enjoy your night John," her lips curved at his scowl. She always enjoyed his discomfort at her using his proper name. Mae waved at the beefy bartender. "James, serve Captain McClain another one on the house."

Each movement graceful, Mae rose and went toward the back of the room toward the hallway. Although seeming to glide across the floor, the sway of her hips beckoned every male's attention in the saloon to follow her movements.

When an older man with a cigar hanging precariously from his lips reached to touch her bottom, she slapped it away without turning to look, which brought the other men at his table to burst into laughter.

"Come on Mae, have some pity on my poor soul," the man cried after her. She gifted him with a smile, and he clutched at his chest in a comical response. Mae Hawkins commanded the brothel with a gentle ease that belied a firm hold.

Heated, John tugged at the collar of his shirt. The fever was not fading. If anything, he felt warmer now. No denying it any longer. He would go directly to see the doc at the camp upon his return.

A woman, Lucinda, if he remembered correctly, sat at the piano and began to sing a melancholy tune that fell over the room like a cooling breeze. The beauty of the woman's throaty voice amazed John, and he couldn't help but lean forward to listen. Even the drunks quieted at her song of sorry and loss. He could relate to the words as uninvited visions of the past years, alone with only his men for company, began to appear in his mind, one after another.