Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WesternWind 01 - Wynd River by Sinner (Ellora's Cave) Page A
Authors: Sinner (Ellora's Cave)
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her.
All around them lightning was spearing from the sodden sky and the wind howled as it pushed against
the riders. The horses were skittish and had to be held close-reined and in check. As it was, the mounts
shied with each piercing shriek of lightning and violent rumble of thunder.
After twenty minutes of sheltering beneath the tree, Cynyr indicated it was safe to continue on. The rain
had slackened and to the south, a feeble gray glow could be seen amongst the dark clouds. The storm
was breaking up, but the wind had hardly slackened in intensity.
They began seeing the rubble when they were less than a mile from Haines City. A farmhouse was
nothing more than piles of sticks scattered about the land. A man and his wife were standing at the top of
their root cellar staring at what had once been their home.
“Is everyone okay?” Cynyr called out.
The man barely looked up. He simply waved a hand. His wife stood sobbing beside him.
“That’s tough,” Aingeal said. She kept glancing back at the couple as she and Cynyr continued on.
There were a few dead animals strewn about the countryside alongside bits and pieces of metal roofs
and crushed sections of buildings. A water tower had tumbled to the ground and beneath it a small river
had formed.
“They’ve got a hell of cleanup up-coming,” Cynyr observed.
Most of the town was still intact with only a few buildings lying in ruins at the outskirts. From the deep
gully and uprooted trees cutting a swath through that end of the town, the path taken by the tornado was
apparent. Hardly a light glowed behind the windows of the standing buildings, but there was activity going
into and coming out of the town’s hotel.
“Might not find lodging here, wench,” Cynyr warned her.
“I’ve slept in barns before,” she said, pointing at the livery. “As long as there’s a roof, I’ll be happy.”
He looked at her and felt a degree of pride warming his insides. She hadn’t complained at all—not
once—since leaving the warmth of O’Hare’s Eatery. Conversation had been impossible with the
pounding rain and howling wind, but each time he had glanced at her, she’d smiled at him.
There was no room to hitch their horses in front of the hotel so they had to dismount a few buildings
down and make their way across buckled planks to the brightly glowing structure. The closer they came
to the hotel’s door, the louder the din. It seemed nearly every person in town was in the hotel and
shouting to be heard.
As soon as the Reaper ushered his lady inside, the din cut off suddenly. People backed away from the
door—putting distance between them and the black-clad bounty hunter. Nearly every head lowered and
hats were swept off in a fury of movement. The only set of eyes staring at them belonged to a man with a
star pinned to his leather vest.
Cynyr directed his gaze to the lawman. “We’re looking for shelter,” he said simply.
Aingeal heard sighs of relief come from those gathered, and a few people glanced up then away.
The sheriff was standing with his hat in his hand, rolling the brim around and around as he shuffled
forward. “I’m sure a room can be found for you, sir,” he said, his voice a thin squeak of sound.
“All we’re asking for is something dry and halfway comfortable,” the Reaper said. “We don’t want to
put anyone out.”
Heads lifted quickly at that remark. It was obvious from the townpeople’s reaction they had expected
something different from the bounty hunter. A few were curious enough to stare at Aingeal and she
looked back at them with an expressionless face.
A middle-aged man came forward hesitantly. His florid face looked pained as he spoke. “I’ve a room I
will give you free of charge, sir.”
Cynyr shook his head. “I pay for what I get, mister,” he said.
“But he’ll pay your normal rate,” Aingeal said, “and not the one you’re trying to gouge your fellow
townsmen with.”
“She’s
All around them lightning was spearing from the sodden sky and the wind howled as it pushed against
the riders. The horses were skittish and had to be held close-reined and in check. As it was, the mounts
shied with each piercing shriek of lightning and violent rumble of thunder.
After twenty minutes of sheltering beneath the tree, Cynyr indicated it was safe to continue on. The rain
had slackened and to the south, a feeble gray glow could be seen amongst the dark clouds. The storm
was breaking up, but the wind had hardly slackened in intensity.
They began seeing the rubble when they were less than a mile from Haines City. A farmhouse was
nothing more than piles of sticks scattered about the land. A man and his wife were standing at the top of
their root cellar staring at what had once been their home.
“Is everyone okay?” Cynyr called out.
The man barely looked up. He simply waved a hand. His wife stood sobbing beside him.
“That’s tough,” Aingeal said. She kept glancing back at the couple as she and Cynyr continued on.
There were a few dead animals strewn about the countryside alongside bits and pieces of metal roofs
and crushed sections of buildings. A water tower had tumbled to the ground and beneath it a small river
had formed.
“They’ve got a hell of cleanup up-coming,” Cynyr observed.
Most of the town was still intact with only a few buildings lying in ruins at the outskirts. From the deep
gully and uprooted trees cutting a swath through that end of the town, the path taken by the tornado was
apparent. Hardly a light glowed behind the windows of the standing buildings, but there was activity going
into and coming out of the town’s hotel.
“Might not find lodging here, wench,” Cynyr warned her.
“I’ve slept in barns before,” she said, pointing at the livery. “As long as there’s a roof, I’ll be happy.”
He looked at her and felt a degree of pride warming his insides. She hadn’t complained at all—not
once—since leaving the warmth of O’Hare’s Eatery. Conversation had been impossible with the
pounding rain and howling wind, but each time he had glanced at her, she’d smiled at him.
There was no room to hitch their horses in front of the hotel so they had to dismount a few buildings
down and make their way across buckled planks to the brightly glowing structure. The closer they came
to the hotel’s door, the louder the din. It seemed nearly every person in town was in the hotel and
shouting to be heard.
As soon as the Reaper ushered his lady inside, the din cut off suddenly. People backed away from the
door—putting distance between them and the black-clad bounty hunter. Nearly every head lowered and
hats were swept off in a fury of movement. The only set of eyes staring at them belonged to a man with a
star pinned to his leather vest.
Cynyr directed his gaze to the lawman. “We’re looking for shelter,” he said simply.
Aingeal heard sighs of relief come from those gathered, and a few people glanced up then away.
The sheriff was standing with his hat in his hand, rolling the brim around and around as he shuffled
forward. “I’m sure a room can be found for you, sir,” he said, his voice a thin squeak of sound.
“All we’re asking for is something dry and halfway comfortable,” the Reaper said. “We don’t want to
put anyone out.”
Heads lifted quickly at that remark. It was obvious from the townpeople’s reaction they had expected
something different from the bounty hunter. A few were curious enough to stare at Aingeal and she
looked back at them with an expressionless face.
A middle-aged man came forward hesitantly. His florid face looked pained as he spoke. “I’ve a room I
will give you free of charge, sir.”
Cynyr shook his head. “I pay for what I get, mister,” he said.
“But he’ll pay your normal rate,” Aingeal said, “and not the one you’re trying to gouge your fellow
townsmen with.”
“She’s
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