Rider on Fire & When You Call My Name: Rider on Fire / When You Call My Name

“No.” She thought of Buddy and smiled. “Not even close, although I’ve had a couple of relationships and gotten a good friend from one of them.”

“Friends are good,” Franklin said.

Sonora thought of the dream she’d had of Adam, of the whisper of his breath on the back of her neck and the challenge he’d given her right before she’d awakened.

“Come to me,” he’d said.

And she would have done it—willingly. However, faced with the real man and not one out of some dream, she was far more discerning. As intriguing as he was—as handsome and compelling as he was—he was still a stranger.

Unaware of the places her mind had taken her, Franklin had shifted a few mental gears of his own.

“In the morning, I’ll show you the boundaries of our land,” Franklin said.

Sonora was so taken aback by the fact that he’d referred to the property as “ours” that she could hardly speak. Still, she felt a need to slow him down from committing to things he might later come to regret.

“Franklin…wait. Please. You don’t need to do this,” she said.

“Do what?” Franklin asked.

“Include me in your life so quickly. It’s not ‘our’ land, it’s yours.”

Franklin frowned, then shook his head.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “Everything I do these days is done quickly. I don’t have the luxury of assuming there will be a tomorrow. And knowing you exist and that you are of my flesh is a joy you don’t understand. To the Native American, family is everything, and my family has lived in this area for generations. The last four generations are buried here, and until your arrival, that heritage was going to end with my death. Now I can die with peace. Even if you choose not to live here, it will always be yours, and hopefully, the generations that come after.”

Sonora was too moved to speak. All she managed to do was nod and then look away.

Franklin sighed. “I did not mean to upset you, but these are things you must know.”

Sonora’s voice was shaking, but she looked him square in the eyes. “And by the same token, you cannot know what this means to me. I have lived twenty-nine years without belonging anywhere or to anyone. Now to have been given both at the same time is almost more than I can comprehend. I’m not upset. I’m overwhelmed.”

Franklin relaxed, then patted her hand. “Then this is good, yes?”

Sonora sighed. “Yes, this is good.”

“So…would you mind very much if, from time to time, I called you daughter?”

Sonora blinked away tears. “I would be honored. And for the same reasons, it would be wonderful to know I could call you Dad.”

There was a time in Franklin’s life when he would have hesitated to let someone see him cry, but that time had long since passed. His eyes filled with tears as he took her in his arms and held her.

They might have stayed there longer, but Sonora felt his body trembling and knew it was from fatigue. Without calling attention to his weakness, she claimed exhaustion on her own.

“I hate to be the party pooper, but this has been a long day. If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to go to bed.”

“Of course,” Franklin said, and got up as she stood.

“So…you invited Adam for breakfast, didn’t you?”

Franklin grinned.

“Quit that,” she muttered. “I’m just asking so I won’t oversleep. That would be rude.”

“Oh, definitely, that would be rude,” Franklin said, and then they both laughed out loud. “He’ll probably show up around nine. He knows I don’t get up as early as I used to.”

“I’m a pretty good cook,” Sonora said. “If you show me where stuff is, I’d love to make the meal.”

Franklin took a slow breath, and then touched her face with the back of his hand. “And I would love to eat your cooking,” he said, then puffed out his chest in an exaggerated manner. “My daughter cooks for me tomorrow. If someone had told me I would be saying these words tonight, I would have called them crazy.”

“So it’s a deal?” Sonora asked, and held out her hand.

Franklin shook it. “It’s a deal,” he said.

Sonora nodded and started to leave the room, then she paused and looked back.

Franklin was watching her go.

She bit her lip, then took a slow breath. Revealing her vulnerability was more difficult than she’d imagined it would be. Still, she’d waited a lifetime to say these words and she wasn’t going to cheat herself out of the opportunity because she was afraid.

“Night… Dad.”

Franklin smiled.

“Good night…daughter. Sleep well.”

Soon the house went dark, and both father and daughter slept with a peace in their hearts they’d never known before.

* * *

Adam, on the other hand, didn’t get much sleep. His dreams were troubled with a faceless enemy stalking Franklin’s daughter. Finally, he woke up in a sweat, and abandoned his bed for the swing on his front porch.

The air was cooler and rain washed. Bullfrogs sang from the overflowing creek while their tinier cousins, the tree frogs, contributed to the chorus. The quarter moon hung low in the sky, shyly showing its face from behind the swiftly moving clouds.

Adam walked to the edge of the steps and then looked up, inhaling deeply as he combed his fingers through his hair.

There was a power in the dark that daylight didn’t share. He’d known it since childhood, and it had saved his life more than once during his years with the military. Night was a shield for those who needed it, and kept secrets better than a best friend ever could. It protected but at the same time left the weak more vulnerable.

Adam thought about the creek running out its banks down the hill below. If it wasn’t for the copperheads between him and the water, he’d chance a midnight dip. However, his foolish days were long gone, and he would gladly settle for a cold shower.

He was about to go back inside when he heard a coyote yip. Within seconds, another answered, and then another and another, until the night was alive with their calls. He smiled. It was one of the sounds of the Kiamichi Mountains that he loved most.

He thought of the years he’d spent in foreign countries, living his life for the American government instead of for himself, and said a quiet prayer of thanks that he’d lived to make it home.

He stood on the porch and gave the coyotes their due by waiting until the chorus had ended.

“Good job, boys,” he said softly, then started into the house. He was crossing the threshold when his cat, Charlie, slipped between his legs and darted beneath a chair.

He closed the door, then got down on his hands and knees and grinned at the cat who was peering at him from beneath the small space.