Her True Blue (A Fireworks Series)

Sierra Hill
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HER TRUE BLUE

A FIREWORKS SERIES
SIERRA HILL

FLIRT CLUB

TEN28 PUBLISHING

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Sierra Hill

Other Fireworks books

Copyright © 2019 Sierra Hill

Published by Ten28 Publishing

Cover Design: Dandelion Designs

All rights reserved.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in

any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of
the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used
factiously.

Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead,

is entirely coincidental.

Created with Vellum

J ordana
THE COLD STEEL of the gun barrel presses painfully deep into my
temple, shaking slightly in the hand of its owner.

The high-pitched ringing noise in my ears is deafening, nearly

drowning out the loud demands being barked at me by the faceless
man standing in front of me at the cash window.

The man’s posture is agitated and twitchy, his black ski-mask

covering the majority of his face, leaving just his icy-dark eyes and
the bearded lips visible, although I try to keep my head down and
eyes from connecting with his. It’s what I learned through my bank
manager training, that the less eye contact you make with the bank
robber, the more likely you’ll appear less threatening and remain
alive.

As I comply with his demands, my hands shake as I fumble with the

packets of money, a nervous laugh nearly bubbled from the back of
my throat at the irony of this whole situation. It was specifically for
this reason that I left the city two months ago, landing in this quaint,
touristy town of Milltown, Colorado. I wanted to escape the chaos of
the city.

Among other things.

“Hurry up, bitch,” he spits, his saliva splattering across the counter
between us. “Fill the bag and keep your hands where I can seem
them, or I’ll shoot you in your fucking face.”

I nod, hurrying as fast as I can, having already triggered the silent

alarm with my heel the minute he shoved the gun in my face. It was
done out of instinct, bolstered by years of teller training on how to
behave in these situations.

Surprisingly, even after five years in a large bank in Denver, this is

the first time I’ve ever been held up. So, I keep my head down, fill
the ratty bags he’s shoved at me and avoid eye contact, doing my
best to slow it down just enough to give time for the authorities to
arrive.

“I know you’re fucking stalling! Don’t make me shoot you.” And then
with a leer in his tone that sends greasy jitters down my spine, he
adds, “It’d be a shame to waste such a gorgeous piece of ass.”

The hostility in his tone and crude remark gives me pause, knowing
things could grow exponentially worse if he feels he’s being double-
crossed.

I quickly make my way through the drawer and then bend down to
the additional shelf near my knees.

I’ve been counting the minutes since setting off the alarm and am a
little concerned that it’s taking the police so long to arrive. It’s going
on one minute and forty-three seconds already and they are just
down the street from here.

What is taking them so long?

The police station is right down Main Street and I see them
patrolling all the time. In fact, I’ve seen the younger one regularly
the last few weeks. He always smiles and waves, but has never
spoken directly to me.

Maybe they’re out on patrol right now. In fact, my guess is they may
be down at the town square this afternoon, working to prepare for
tomorrow’s July Fourth celebration.

As I rise to my feet, my knees give out and I lose my balance,

clipping the corner of the counter with my chin.

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” I sputter, blood pouring out of the gash in my chin,

raining over the money I’ve just pulled out of the extra drawer. “I
fell.”

“Clumsy bitch. Hurry up. Put it all in there.” He waves the gun in my
direction as I continue to stuff the rest of the money in the bag,
holding it out to him as he grabs it hard, ripping it free from my
hand.

The masked-man jerks his head side-to-side, checking out the front
entrance and windows, seeing nothing that alerts him to police
presence, and then waves the gun haphazardly in my direction.

“Get down on your hands and knees on the floor and put your head
down on the ground.”

I whimper like a scolded kitten, slowly bending on one knee, and

then the other, leaning over at the waist as if I’m in child’s pose.
“Okay. I did what you asked. Please don’t shoot me.”

His laugh is grotesque and dangerous, laced with something more

than sinister.

“You’re damn lucky I don’t have time, angel. Because I’d dick you
hard and so fucking good in that position.”

And then, as if his face is right at my ear, not on the other side of
the counter, he makes good on his threat.

“I know where you live, Jordana Bolton. And if you say anything, I
will do exactly as I promise.”
J ordana

TEARS RUN DOWN MY CHEEKS, faster than the waterfall at

Creekside Bluffs. The minute the bank robber left, my adrenaline
spiked and then crashed, sending me in a tailspin of anxiety and
retching sobs.

I remain in the same hunched over position until I hear the sounds
of movement, the front door opening, the bell clanging as the door
swings open, and then an announcement that floods me with relief.
“This is the Milltown Police Department. We have you surrounded.
Come out with your hands up.”

Knowing I’m not visible to the officer as I sit on the floor behind the
counter, I lift my hands high above my head and wiggle my fingers
in the air as a form of surrender like I’ve seen in the movies. I know
I’m not the criminal here, but the officer doesn’t know that yet.

“Stand up slowly with your hands above your head,” he commands,

as I do as he says.

“Please don’t shoot me. I’m the bank manager.” I don’t even
recognize my own voice. It sounds like it belongs to a scared child
and not a twenty-six-year-old woman.

I rise slowly, my legs trembling with instability, reaching for the edge
of the counter, the same one that drew blood from me just five
minutes earlier. God, was it only five minutes? It feels like an
eternity.

My head wobbles, a whoosh of darkness descending over me, the

sound of waves pounding in my ears drowning out everything else.
The voice of the officer sounds so far away, like I’m in the back of a
cave, the words he shouts disconnected, muffled and unclear.

And then all I see is black.

“Miss Bolton? Jordana? Can you hear me?”

There’s a crackling noise, like the walkie-talkies my brother and I

used to use as kids. Someone cradles my head. Someone warm and
large.

“This is Dispatch. Officer Clawson, what’s your twenty?”

There’s a click, click, click and then a deep, throaty male voice.
“Dispatch, this is Officer Clawson.
Over. I’m at Milltown Savings & Loan.” Scratchy static. “There’s a 10-
18, suspect appears to have fled the scene. Aid car requested for
female victim. Do you copy? Over.”

“Copy that. Medical assistance on the way. 10-4.”

And then there’s a female voice stating, “All units requested.

Milltown Savings & Loan.”

I try lifting my head, but the wooziness encroaches on my vision and

I return my head back down.

Something hard pokes at the back of my head as the officer shifts

his position.

“Miss Bolton, I’m Officer Cord Clawson. You’re okay and medical aid
is on the way. You have some blood from a gash under your chin.
I’m going to move your head and find something to stop the
bleeding.”

The officer’s strong hands carefully move me from his lap and onto
something cushiony – a vest, maybe? – and a little sigh escapes my
lips. My limbs shake from possibly shock and my mouth has gone
arid.

“May I have some water, please?” I say with a wobbly voice that
sounds nothing like me.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right back.”

Ma’am? What I am, his eighty-year-old grandmother? The thought

would normally make me laugh, but right now the throb in my head
is too much. I close my eyes at the pain.

Officer Clawson moves to his haunches and then stands, as I get a

whiff of his scent. It’s a mixture of fresh clean soap, a hint of
aftershave and a day’s work. He smells masculine and some kind of
weird tidal wave moves over me, from my head down to my toes. It
could be from the dizziness, but I don’t think so.

He returns with a Dixie cup of water from the breakroom, once

again carefully gathering the back of my head in his palm and
propping me up, this time against his solid frame. I take the cup
from his hand and swallow the cool liquid down, feeling it coat my
parched throat, giving me a momentary sense of relief.

“Ma’am, are you hurt anywhere else?” He looks me over as he

presses a bunch of torn paper towels underneath my chin, holding it
there in his grip.

Now that I’m in an upright position, my legs stretched out in front of

me, I notice the blood spatter all over the front of my clothing.

“Dammit,” I hiss. “I just bought this blouse.”

His eyes flash toward my chest, covered in what could only be

described as a murderous amount of blood, and then they move up
to my mouth. He stares intently at my lips for a long second, before
meeting my gaze.

A slight tick in his muscular jaw before the corner of his mouth tips
up into a smile. “I take that as a no, then? No other injuries?”

I pat myself down with the free hand and shrug. “I think I’m okay.”

“Good, because I’ll need to ask you some questions about what
happened so we can track this perp down and put him behind bars.
Do you feel okay to move over to the table over there?” He nods his
chin in the direction of the office normally reserved for new clients or
business and home owners who stop in to complete their new loan
applications, the walls painted a putrid green color.

I never thought I’d be the one being interviewed in there.

“I think so.” I prop my hand behind me and give myself a push up
on shaky legs.

“Here, ma’am. Let me help you.”

With one hand on my forearm and the other behind my back, I’m
overcome with a weightless sensation. My tummy drops to my toes
from the warmth that radiates and sparks where his skins touches
mine.

“I’m okay. It’s fine,” I grimace, shifting out of his hold and plopping
down on the chair with as much grace as a drunken college student
on a bender. “And please, the love of God, please stop calling me
ma’am. It makes me feel like I’m my grandmother.”

Officer Clawson gives a sheepish grin and shakes his head. “Sorry
about that, ma’…I mean, Miss Bolton. Habit. How I was raised
around here.”

Although he’s dressed to the hilt in his police uniform, navy blue
from head to toe and a vest over his chest, I do notice a bright red
flush that sprouts up over his neck as he pulls his notepad and pen
out of his pocket, flipping it over so he can take notes. I pull the
bloodied towel away from my chin, lifting it so he can get a look.

“Is it still bleeding? Do you think I’ll need stitches?”

He reaches out a hand, gently cupping my face in his palm and

inspects the injury.

“You look good,” he says gruffly, but then follows it with a flare of
humor. “I mean, I’m pretty certain you’ll live.”

I laugh at his lame attempt to make light of the situation.

“Anyway, let’s get started. It’s important we get your recollection as

close to the time the robbery occurred, so you don’t skip any details.
And by the way,” he says with a hint of remorse. “The FBI and
county authorities will be here soon, too. Bank robbery being a
federal offense, and all.”

He lifts his broad shoulders in a shrug.

“Have you investigated any bank robberies before?” I ask him,

curious about the level of crime in such a small town off the beaten
path.

I watch his forehead crinkle in thought, the tiny lines around his very
blue eyes displaying his serious contemplation on the matter. From
the looks of it, Officer Clawson appears to be about my age, maybe
a few years older, so I’d assume he doesn’t have a long or vast
history of this sort of thing.

He shakes his head and clears his throat. “No ma’am. Sorry, I mean,
Miss Bolton. You’re my first.”

Just the way he says it, how he throws it out there between us,
gives me butterflies. I’m his first.

Sucking my lower lip between my teeth, I try to hide the interest in

my rescuer. Although the robber left me unharmed before police
arrived, Officer Clawson is the first responder. He’s technically my
white knight and hero, giving claim to the rescuer phenomenon, this
strange, unexplained connection and bond we share. He’s now seen
me at my most vulnerable state in life.

Although, I’d argue that was before any of this happened to me.

Officer Clawson begins asking me questions as my jumbled brain

tries to answer through hazy recollection, hands still shaking like
they’re in the spin cycle setting.

Did he have a gun? Yes.

Did he say anything? Yes and yes.

What did he say? I tell him the particulars of what I can remember.

Could I describe his facial features? Yes, his lips and eyes.

What color was his skin? White.

How tall was he? Maybe five-ten. Only a few inches taller than me.

Any remarkable things I noticed about his appearance? His mouth.

He had a scar or something on his upper lip, half disguised by a
patchy dark mustache.

“Oh!” I blurt, making Officer Clawson glance up at my unexpected

exclamation. “He had a lisp. When he accused me of stalling and
called me bitch, he spit all over the counter and glass. All I could
think about in that moment was how gross it was and angry that I’d
have to clean it off later.”

Officer Clawson slowly lifts his head, his eyes connecting with mine,
an amused side-grin on his face. “Actually, that’s good for discovery.
We’ll fingerprint and see if we can get DNA samples from that.”

He scribbles some notes before looking back up at me.

I take note of the warmth in his blue eyes. Like the sky on a perfect
summer day, a tinge of white clouds trailing over the horizon.

“Miss Bolton.”

“Jordana, please.”

He tips a smile at me. “Jordana. You’re a brave woman. You didn’t

lose your cool and followed protocol under intense pressure. I know
you’re relatively new in town…”
I quirk an eyebrow inquisitively, wondering how he knows that. I
mean, obviously, if I’ve seen him around, the same holds true for
him. And it’s public record, and all.

He shrugs, coughing to clear his throat. “Small town. There’s been

talk about the beautiful new bank manager.”

My face flushes as I fiddle with the Kleenex in my hand, damp and

falling apart, keeping my eyes off his gorgeous, rugged face and his
rough layer of scruff that I want to touch.

“If you can believe it, I actually moved here from Denver, hoping to
get away from the crime. Among other… things.”

He’s quiet and reflective for a moment, his dark, full brows narrow
into a crease between expressive blue eyes. I don’t elaborate on my
comment because I don’t want to draw attention to my past or
anyone I was with before this. I wanted to leave that all behind and
start fresh.

And something in the way Officer Clawson looks at me feels just like
that…a fresh start.
C ord

FOR CRYING IN THE BEER, I’ve never had a problem keeping my

composure or remaining professional in the midst of doing my job
ever before. Not until her.

But Jordana had me sporting a hard-on the size of Texas. In the

middle of a goddamn investigation.

Did she notice it poking into her backside while her head was
cradled in my lap? While her face was buried in the crotch of my
uniform pants, as we awaited medical assistance?

It also didn’t help matters that I’ve seen her around town over the
last few weeks, looking sleek and gorgeous, a nice easy-swing in her
hips and a pretty smile across her lips. I practically discharge my
weapon every time I catch a glimpse of her.

And I don’t mean my service issued-gun.

Sometimes in the mornings, I’ll see her as she stops in the Milltown
Bakery down the street, always thoughtful to buy a cup of a coffee
and an extra pastry for Homeless Hank and his dog, Chuck, who
she’d stop by the park to visit.

I think I fell for her the first time I saw her bend down and let that
old mangy rascal lick her face. I mean Chuck, not Homeless Hank.

So, you can imagine what having her on my lap, alone in the privacy
of the bank, did to my muddled brain and libido. Her scent was a
sweet aroma. She smelled like a baked apple pie and the Fourth of
July.
While I was completely enamored by her beauty and essence, I still
had enough brain capacity to read between the lines during my
questioning of the robbery events and my Spidey-senses perked up
with what she didn’t say.

My instincts went on high alert, knowing there was something she

was leaving out. And as the FBI rushed in and took over the
investigation and I hauled it back to the station to write up my
report and begin putting out the APB’s, I also did a little back ground
checking of my own on Jordana Bolton.
Born in Durango, Colorado. Twenty-six-years old. Last known
address, Cherry Street, Denver, Colorado. No traffic violations or
reported accidents.

But wait. What’s this?

A year ago, she filed a restraining order against one Trever A.

Castillo. Twenty-five-years old from Denver.

Okay, this is interesting.

I dig a little further and see he has quite the excessive history of
prior arrests, including an arrest last October in Aurora for petty
robbery and breaking and entering. Since then, it looks like he’s
been serving time in county for the last nine months.

And that’s all I need to know to make my decision.

For as long as necessary, I will find a way to keep a close watch on

our new Milltown bank manager and protect her from whatever
harm might come of her.

With all the festivities around town this week, it’s been especially
busy for our small-town police force, which includes myself, my
brother Crawford Junior, or just Jr., and my father Crawford Senior.

Yep, it’s a family affair. Even goes back to my grandfather, the Chief
of Police.

The blue runs deep within our blood when it comes to serving our
town and the generations of families living in this peaceful mountain
town.

In fact, I was named after my grandfather, Cordell Clawson, who

remained the chief of police until he passed away ten years ago,
leaving my father to pick up the mantel. We Clawson’s take great
pride in protecting our community and being part of this tradition as
humble service men.

As I walk through the town square, now finely decorated in banners

of red, white, and blue, the sound of kids playing in the
neighborhood pool, women from the local churches getting their
tables ready for the bake-off and quilting contests, and the men
from the Rotary opening their booths the charity raffles, it fills my
heart with contentment and purpose as those whom I’ve known all
my life call out to me as I pass by.

“Afternoon, Officer Clawson.” Marlena Schwiezer waves from her

position near the ticket counter, her sister Mitzie sitting by her side.

“Morning, ladies. It’s going to be fine evening for a celebration.” I tip

the brim of my hat toward them, dipping my chin in greeting.
“Tomorrow should be even better.”

I wave them goodbye, continuing my progress around the square.

As I make my way, greeting everyone as I do, I nearly stop short
when my gaze lands on the Milltown Animal Rescue booth, where
Stephanie Perkins titters excitedly in conversation with the woman
whose scent still surrounds me. Jordana.

Jordana is bent over a circular pen, her back and very fine ass facing
toward me, as she tries wrangling some puppies, her soft cooing
voice drifting up through the crowds around her. That sound rises
above the noise and hits me straight in the groin.

“Oh my gosh, look at this little guy. Aren’t you just the cutest thing
ever?” I watch as she hoists the little brown furball into her arms,
snuggling the pup to her full breasts as she turns around, her face
buried in his soft fur.

“They’re adorable until they eat through every pair of shoes you own
and even your leather service belt,” I chuckle, as her eyes pop open
to find me standing at the in front of her.
Stephanie laughs, shielding her eyes against the sun that’s now high
overhead, smiling up at me.

“Well, hello there, Officer Clawson. Perhaps you wouldn’t have

experienced that problem with Homer had you given him the much-
needed puppy training that I offered and suggested at the time.”

Jordana’s eyes light up with amusement over the head of the fluff
ball she cradles against her. Her smile is crooked and the heat from
her bright green eyes does something weird to my insides.

Reluctantly I turn my attention to Stephanie, a former classmate of

my older brother, Jr., who runs the animal shelter on the outskirts of
town.

“You do know I tried everything with Homer. He’s just too dumb to
catch on to anything I taught him.”

She gives me an irritated flap of her hand. “Who’s the dumb one
here? It’s never the dog’s fault, only the owners.”

I pull out the ticket book from my back pocket, flipping open the
page and playfully pretend to write a citation. “That’s it. Here’s your
warning for disrespecting a peace officer and calling him dumb.”

The sound of Jordana’s laughter fills me with something strong, as if

I’ve had too many shots of whisky, my head and stomach floating
with a free and easy feeling.

“Do I need to call the authorities to break this up?” She lifts her
perfectly shaped eyebrows in jest as I raise my hands in surrender.

Stephanie stands, looking over my shoulder at her three rowdy kids

playing at the park. “Speaking of breaking something up, I need to
go see what has my hoodlum’s brawling over there. Can you handle
things for a second, Jordy?”
Jordana nods affirmatively as Steph darts off, yelling her kids down.
“Knock it off, right this minute, or I’ll come knock some sense into
alls of you!”

We stare after her and then I return my attention to the beauty with
the puppy. Jordana has since changed out of her work clothes into a
pair of jean shorts and T-shirt branded Milltown Animal Rescue on
the front, and the back “Adopt. Don’t Shop. The Best Things in Life
are Rescued.”

“Hey, Jordana. I’m glad I got a chance to talk to you alone. I wanted
to see how you’re doing after yesterday’s events?”

Her eyes cloud over a little, the shine dulling ever-so-slightly with
something close to worry.

“I’m okay. As good as can be expected, I guess. Thanks for your

concern.”

A big part of me wants to reach out and touch her. Enfold her in my
arms so she knows she’s safe and protected. But I don’t. I keep my
professional distance, instead telling her what I was thinking last
night.

“I drove by your place last night and was going to check in on you,
but the lights were off. And then I got my nightly dispatch call to the
Stars & Stripes bar to handle an altercation.”

She nods, leaning over to place the pup back in the pen with the
four other litter mates.

When she turns back to look up at me, there’s something different in

her expression, but I can’t decipher what it is.

“Thank you. That was really thoughtful. I appreciate it more than

you know. I don’t have a lot of people looking out for me. But I’m
sure the disturbance at the bar was far more exciting than checking
in on boring old me.”

This time, I don’t hesitate to touch her, allowing myself the simple
gesture of placing my hand on her arm. It sizzles hot in the spot
where our skin connects and her eyes pop wide, as if she can’t
believe it, either.

“You’re far from boring. In fact, you’re the most interesting thing
that’s happened to this town in years.” I catch myself then, my
words sound foolish and lovestruck. Clearing my throat, I take a step
back.

“Jordana, I’m always here for you. Just a phone call away. Speaking
of which, let me give you my direct number. That way, you can call if
you ever need me.”

A small curvature of a smile tips at the corners of her mouth. She

pulls out her phone from her back pocket, handing it to me where I
enter my number in her contacts.

I hand it back, changing the subject matter. “How long have you
been working with Steph and the animal shelter?”

As if taken off guard by the question, her mouth drops open. “Oh, I
guess the first week I got to town. I wanted a big dog for…well, I
got that and more. I now have a little army of animals at home,
including my dog, Bella, two cats, a hamster, and a lizard named
Sneaky Pete.”

“Wow,” I chuckle out loud. “You’re either quite the animal lover or
just a sucker for a cute face.”

Her eyes land on my mouth, eyelashes batting against her cheeks,

which flush with a cotton-candy pink blush.
Jordana chews at her bottom lip. An action and image that proves to
be difficult to get rid of in the hours ahead, all the subsequent
thoughts of what I could do with that mouth of hers. Those
generous and supple lips, with their satin finish and glossy texture.

I clear my throat and she cocks her head to the side.

“I’m definitely a sucker, that’s for sure. I can’t help myself. I have a
soft spot for those eyes that look at me like I can do no wrong. So
different than most humans I know.”

A puppy bark grabs our attention, as we both look down at the pen
where the little runt is being dog-piled by his siblings, all three times
bigger than him.

“I guess there’s bullies in every living form,” I note, recognizing the

concern in her comment, leaving me to wonder what happened in
her past to make her think that way. And if it has anything to do
with the man currently jailed up in Denver. “But luckily, there’s
always someone that will have your back, too.”

I point out the female alpha in the pen, who quickly overpowers the
male alpha in the bunch, diverting his attention from the little brown
runt.

“Hey, by the way,” I stammer, like I’ve never asked a woman out on
a date before. “I was wondering if you’d be interested, that is, if you
don’t already have plans with anyone else, if you would like to
attend the carnival and fireworks with me tonight? I’m off duty at
five, and since you’re new to town, I thought I’d provide my expert
tour guide services for you.”

Jordana looks between me and the puppies, as if deciding whether

my offer is worth her time or consideration.

The smile that finally washes over her face is brighter than the flash
of rockets on a clear July 4th night. And it sets off a blast of
fireworks of their own in my belly.

“I’d love to. Otherwise, I’d probably just be home with the kids.”

“Kids?” I ask reflexively. I didn’t realize she had children.

She giggles sweetly, gesturing toward the animals. “Yes, you know,
the animal farm I have at home.

They make my dating life non-existent.”

“Well, hopefully we can fix that.” I wink and head off to finish my
rounds.
J ordana

THE DATE with Cord is unexpected and completely out of the blue,
taking me by surprise and leaving me conflicted as to what to do
about it.

He’s a cop and I’m running from my criminal ex-boyfriend.

There’s no doubt we share some crazy chemistry. Even yesterday

after the robbery while I was in a dazed and confused state of mind,
Cord made me feel something I can’t even describe.
Secure.

Safe.

Protected.

I stare into my closet before choosing the floral pink and yellow
strapless sundress and a pair of wedge sandals. The weather today
was perfect, the sun hot with minimal clouds, and tonight should be
just as great. After feeding the animals I let Bella, my rescue pit-bull,
out into the backyard to do her business. Since bringing her home,
I’ve not had one bad or sleepless night. She sleeps at the end of my
bed, guarding me against any and all harm that could befall me.
Fear of being found.

Those fears are real when you have an abusive and deranged ex-
boyfriend who at any moment could be freed from prison and track
you down. Compromising everything you’ve ever worked for.

The nightmares have started up again, though, after the robbery

yesterday. I know the man that robbed me wasn’t Trever, but the
fact that he knew my name, leads me to believe there must be some
connection. Or maybe there isn’t and it’s just someone who looked
up my information in the town directory or bank website.

Either way, I told the FBI the truth about the man, including the
description of his characteristics and features. What I didn’t mention,
however, was what the man said right before he left the bank. His
promise to come to my home and violate and kill me. Yeah, that’s
exactly what nightmares are made of.

My hands tremble as I open the back door of my cottage home to let

Bella back inside, handing her a treat from her treat can.

“Good girl, Bella. You watch the house while I’m gone tonight, okay?
You do your job and you’ll get extra belly rubs when I get home.”
Her sweet pink nose nudges at my hand in appreciation for the treat
as I rub her clipped ears the way she likes. Someone had used her
for dog fights before she was rescued, and her sweet ears are a
gnarled, chewed-up mess. Poor girl. I look exactly the same, only on
the inside, where it’s hidden from others. Scarred and marred from
an abusive past.

Cord wasn’t kidding when he said there are bullies in every breed,
but mostly in my experience, it’s only humans who use their cruel
ugliness to hurt others.

Bella’s ears perk up and she cocks her head from side-to-side. “What
is it, girl?”

She runs to the door, letting out a tough-ass bark that would
frighten anyone away. But I know it’s Cord because I heard his car
pull up in my driveway.

Grabbing my purse, I sling it over my shoulder and pick up my

sweater as I walk out the door. I catch Cord off-guard on the first
step of my porch.

He looks up at me and rears back, reaching for the handrail to

stabilize himself. His reaction has me grinning.

“Wow, you look beautiful, Jordana.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, adjusting the sweater over my shoulder. “I

wasn’t sure what I should wear tonight. So, I went with casual.”

His gaze drinks me in from head to toe. “You’re perfect.”

Tingles climb up the back of my legs, up my spine and then back

down again, settling low in my belly.

I haven’t had someone look at me with that much appreciation for a

really long time. Maybe not ever.
“Here, let me help you in the car.” Cord reaches for my hand, placing
his palm in mine and escorts me down the steps and to his vehicle,
opening the passenger side for me.

As I stoop to get in, I notice this sports car isn’t his typical vehicle.
“Aren’t these the types of cars most police officer target and pull
over?”

He laughs at my comment, leaning his head in through the open

door, one hand on the car roof, the other on the door frame. “Yes
ma’am, you’re right about that. Good thing I know a few people in
blue that can help me out if I get a speeding ticket.”

Cord’s eyebrows raise in mirth and then he shuts the door of the
Dodge Challenger and swings around the front into his spot.

As he settles in and turns on the motor, which I swear causes Bella

to howl from inside the house, he swivels his head to look at me. I
notice the light stubble left over from his razor, whether on purpose
or it’s the type of growth that immediately returns no matter what
he does. Either way, I like it a lot.

Dark and delicious.

“Do you like surprises, Jordana, or would you rather know in

advance what I have planned for us tonight?”

I take a second to think about it before I respond. “When I was

younger, I loved surprises. But now after experiencing a few too
many unwanted bombshells, I’ve become a bit more skeptical. So,
I’d have to say I’d prefer knowing, if that’s okay with you.”

Cord winks with a tip of his chin. “Exactly as I thought. Okay then,
here’s the plan for tonight and you can feel free to override anything
you don’t agree with.”
He backs out of my driveway and pulls onto the main road. The sun
is just beginning to disappear behind the mountain range to the
west, leaving the night air cool against my skin.

“First, let’s go pick up some barbecue at Fred’s BBQ Shack. Then,

we’ll do a brief stop up at Tillman’s Ridge Point to watch the sunset.
It’s a sight that does not grow old. And then, we’ll head down to the
Town Square, play some carnival games, where I’ll win you a
gigantic prize I’ll carry for you the rest of the night, and then, we’ll
watch the fireworks as we listen to the country band at the band
shell. How’s that sound?”

I can’t help myself as I reach for his hand, removing it from the
steering wheel, interlacing my fingers with his.

“It sounds absolutely perfect.”

THE NIGHT IS PERFECT, just as he designed.

Although through no fault of his own, I made a mess and spilled

barbecue sauce on my dress, right at the top of my boob requiring
that I awkwardly scrub at it with a napkin. But the food was
delicious at Fred’s, just as he promised. In fact, I ate so much I was
glad I wore a sundress to cover the food baby in my stomach.

After dinner, Cord drove us up to the point overlooking the small

mountain town below. The normally busy view point is surprisingly
deserted tonight, since most everyone else is down in the center of
town at the festival. We’re alone in a secluded spot, with the lights
of the town below twinkling up at us.

“Have you always lived in Milltown?” I ask, as we sit on top of his

hood, still warm from the heat of the engine.

“Yes, ma’am. Third generation resident and police officer at your

service.” He winks and gives me a proud salute. “I joined the Army,
served my country and then returned home.”

Cord leans back, propping his head up with his arm as he lays on his
side to face me.

The chill at this elevation and this time of night is a bit more than I
had planned and the sweater I brought along isn’t cutting it. I shiver
as the breeze blows across our bodies.

Cord shifts, sitting up and taking off his leather jacket, settling it
around my shoulders

“Here, this should help.”

I inhale deeply, the spicy, masculine scent of him mixing with the
sweet aroma of his warm leather. I like having him wrapped around
me in this way.

“Thank you.”

He resumes his position, his fingers toying and feathering softly over
my knuckles on my lap. “You’re welcome.”

“How about you? Always been a Colorado resident?”

I nod. “Yeah, I was born and raised in Durango and then went to
school in Denver.”

“You still have any family back there?”

“Nope. Everyone gone. No reason to go back.”

I try to keep it light, not wanting to share too many details about my
chaotic life before and what I’ve been running from ever since.

While, yes, I did go to school in Denver, it was because I was

shipped into foster care when I was thirteen after my mama went to
jail for drug trafficking. It was there in the system where I met
Trever when I was sixteen. He was everything I wasn’t. Fearless.
Brave. Bigger than life. And a con artist and criminal.

But I was blinded by his charisma, and I fell hard, having never
experienced love before him. I was naïve and incredibly gullible,
easily led astray by a kid who by the age of eighteen, was in and out
of juvie and on his way to becoming a life-long criminal.

So completely opposite of Cord, who has served his whole life rather
than stolen from the people around him.

How would I ever be able to tell him about my past without him
looking down on me in shame?

For now, it’s not something I plan on sharing at all. If ever. The less
he knows about the old Jordana, the better.

Plus, I worked hard to dig myself out of the hole I was born in and
tried to make something out of my life. That’s why I moved to
Milltown. To start over.

To begin again under the big Colorado sky, where according to the
state’s slogan, the fresh air and fond memories made daily can help
me begin again.
C ord

WE DECIDED to adventure down the ridge trail and pathway leading

to a small ledge overlooking town. It’s a large flat boulder that
seems perfectly designed to accommodate lovers and offers privacy
from every direction.

As we lay on our sides, heads propped up on our elbows to face

each other, I feel a wave of contentment. Like this is what I’ve been
waiting for all this time. The reason I’ve remained single and not
settled down yet.
The night grows later and the sky darker, and our conversation
continues to captivate me. Or rather, the woman I’m with has
captivated me.

Although I know she’s hiding something from me about her past, all
I really care about is being with her now, in the present.

We talk about animals, and music, her favorite pastimes, favorite

foods, the growing spread in the metro area, the traffic between
here and Denver, and the advantages of small-town living. And of
course, previous relationships.

Which for me is non-existent.

Jordana looks at me with wide, incredulous eyes. “You mean to tell

me you’ve never had a girlfriend?”

My laugh holds a tinge of discomfort and embarrassment. “Well, I’m

not a virgin, if that’s what you’re thinking. But no, I’ve never had a
girlfriend. Never found anyone who checked off all the boxes, you
know? I left at eighteen for the military, returned to train as a police
officer and here I am. Just never settled down.”

“I didn’t mean to imply you are a virgin,” she whispers, glancing

away before setting her gaze back on me. “I’m just surprised
someone hasn’t locked this down.” She gestures like she’s Vanna
White and I’m her showcase prize.

I take the opportunity to move in closer, our hips touching, knees

bumping together. She’s warm and soft, offering something I can’t
quite put my finger on, but wanting to explore the connection
behind the zing of electric current emanating through my body every
time we touch.

I let my eyes scan over her body and a slow smile emerges over my
lips. I lean closer, a hand skimming down her arm, touching smooth,
pearl soft skin where the jacket has fallen off her shoulder.
Her lips part in a gasp.

My voice is low and thick, but out here where there’s nothing but
nature, it seems to echo around us.

“You interested in locking this down, Jordana?”

Her whisper floats between us. “You make me feel protected. I like
that.”

My lips find the small expanse of skin at her jawline, forcing her to
tilt her head to the side as I plant kisses across the flesh.
Goosebumps form, and I can feel and see tiny shivers scattering
through her as she trembles slightly.

“Do I make you feel anything else?” I wrap my hand around her hip,
fingers curling at the small of her back, and I tug her into me, solid
meeting soft.

Jordana gasps and the sound ricochets down to my cock. I’m hard
and aching for her.

“Everything,” she murmurs, the tip of her tongue darting out to lick
at her bottom lip. “You make me feel everything.”

Dipping my head, my lips slowly find hers, as I place a soft kiss

across her mouth. The kiss deepens, as her lips fall open and I take
the opportunity given to explore her sweetness with my tongue. She
tastes of everything home. Just like she smells, it’s the sweet taste
of apple pie and Fourth of July.

My pulse hammers under my skin and my body responds to her

eagerness. Shifting to my back, I pull her along with me, centering
her on top of me without losing the connection of our mouths. My
body thrusts upward in an unbidden move as she straddles her
knees on either side of me and plants her hands on my chest.
“Cord,” she says huskily, her eyes fluttering open as she pushes
herself up, staring down from her perch above me.

Using the pad of my thumb, I sweep a trail over skin across her
cheekbone, and then lift the auburn curls that have fallen in front of
her face away and over her shoulder.

She gives a tentative rock of her hips pulling a deep groan from my
chest. I plant my thumb on her bottom lip, smoothing the surface.
Her tongue peeks out to circle the pad before sucking it into mouth,
lips closing around it on a moan.

I drop my hand, experimentally skimming my thumb over her

nipples that poke out behind the corset of her dress. She presses her
chest forward into my awaiting hand.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been touched,” she purrs, as my hand
drops to her knee by my hip, the hem of her dress bunched up,
exposing skin there.

I inch a little further, now at the meat of her thigh, so warm and
generous. I brush my thumb tenderly over the curve of her leg,
exploring and traveling the places unseen but that have me
simmering with desperation for more.

Jordana wiggles her fingers at the bottom of my T-shirt, sliding them

under until she’s mapping a trail over my abs and pecs, my cock
thickening in delight at the way she hums eagerly at what she finds.

“You are so…solid.” Her voice is laced in awe and admiration. “So
strong.”

Our lips attack each other again, this time greedier and hungrier for
more. My hand has reached its intended destination under her skirt,
sliding around to the curve of her ass, which I palm in my hand and
squeeze it firmly.
“You feel pretty amazing, too.”

I playfully skim the round flesh of her butt, edging just underneath
her panties, as her fingernail circles the flat disc of my nipple.

My body floods with the desire to get inside her. To lose myself in
her. But I also want to respect where we’re at. Although all the
activity is happening in town right now, that doesn’t prevent some
kids driving up here and catching us in the act.

Plus, I want to do this the right way. While I’d love to flip her over
and fuck her out here in the wide open underneath the brilliant star-
filled sky, I need to slow things down.

“Jordana, we should probably think about heading back into town

for the fireworks show.”

Her hands stall just at the V of my waist and I suck in a breath,

realizing how close she was to my waistband and my cock. She
seems to realize it, too, as her eyes narrow and a look of confusion
flashes through them.

“Is this not working for you?”

And then she shows a little peek into her devilish side as she bucks
her hips over my hard ridge, causing a groan to lodge in the back of
my throat.

I growl, flipping her over onto her back, my legs, hips and cock
nicely wedged between her open legs.

“Oh, it’s working, darlin’. A little too well, don’t you think?”

To emphasize my point, I thrust into her center, where I can feel the
burning heat of her desire, even underneath her clothing.
Bending down, my lips find her throat where I suck and nibble the
sensitive flesh there, feeling the vibration of her moans.

“Jordana, if we don’t leave now, I’m going to want to undress you.

Touch you, kiss you and then fuck you. Right here and right now.”

I swear to God, the eager gasp she lets slip from her mouth is
almost my tipping point. Instead, I find my resolve and roll off of
her, adjusting the painful cock in my pants as I do.

When I turn my head to look at her again, I wonder about my

sanity, because the look in her eyes is dark and heavy with desire.

I reach for hand to help her up as we stand, pressing my body into

hers.

“Jordana, there is nothing I want more than you. You’ve gotten me

so hard someone might mistake it for a revolver in my pants.”

She giggles and opening stares at my third leg, her eyebrows lifting
appreciatively.

I waggle my finger between us. “Don’t be doing that now, darlin’. I

need to uphold my duty as a member of law enforcement. I wouldn’t
want to have to arrest us for public indecency, now would I?”

Her giggle hangs between us as I swing an arm around her shoulder

and we begin making our way back toward the car at the top of the
ridge.

As I open the door, I plant a kiss on the top of her nose before
kissing her lips to get a final taste before we leave.

“Jordana, I want to be with you. But after the public fireworks show
and only in private. Because I promise you, when I fuck you, you’ll
be seeing your own special brand of fireworks.”
J ordana

YOU’LL BE SEEING your own private fireworks.

Cord’s promise keeps running through my head as we make our way

through the crowds of people, spread out across the blanket-covered
ground in the town square.

Every head turns and every set of eyes stare at us as Cord and I
stroll leisurely hand-in-hand until he finds a spot and places the tri-
colored blanket down next to a family and their children.
I don’t recognize them, but the man has enough facial similarities to
Cord that I know it must be his brother.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? My baby brother finally got
the balls to ask the cute bank manager out on a date?” He chuckles
sarcastically, but it comes off as a brotherly rib, not mean or rude.

Cord shifts to my side, locking his arm around my waist tighter.

“Figured I’d better do it before someone else did.”

He glances down at me, a crooked grin across his lips. “Jr. and Lara,
this is Jordana Bolton. Jordana, this is my brother Jr. and his wife,
Lara. And these are their three mini-me’s. Craw, Carlisle and Coby.
My nephews.”

I wave and give them each a smile and greeting. “Hi Lara. I think we
met a few weeks ago when you came in to the bank. Good to see
you again. And nice to meet you, both.”

Cord helps me down and we nestle in as he sets down the cooler he

brought along.

“Care for a beverage?” he asks me, opening the lid and

demonstrating the variety of sodas and soft drinks he was thoughtful
to bring for us.

“A Lemonade, please.” Handing me a cup, he pours our drinks and

we settle back as the announcement from Mayor Wilton Rosedale
begins over the speaker system.

“Welcome my fellow Americans and residents and guests of

Milltown. We are honored to have you here with us tonight to
celebrate our nation’s birthday. Some of you have attended our
annual July Fourth in Milltown celebration since you were too young
to remember, and others, this may be your first time. Whatever the
case may be, I hope you enjoy the show and remember that our
freedom is the cornerstone of our country and we’ve fought to
continue our independence for well over 200 years.

And in the words of Nelson Mandela, ‘For to be free is not merely to

cast off one's chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances
the freedom of others.’ Enjoy the show!”

The meaning behind the quote burrows under my skin and slams
straight into my heart. It’s as if the Mayor spoke those words just for
me. To remind me that I have to do something now that I’m free of
my past and the former chains Trever kept me locked in for so many
years.

I can’t live my life any longer scared of punishment when I’ve done
no crime.

My only crime was to fall for someone who didn’t have the capacity
to love me back.

“Are you okay?”

The sound of Cord’s caring voice next to my ear startles me. I turn
to look up, his sweet, sky-blue eyes staring down at me with
something I’ve never seen before. Genuine concern.

Returning his smile, I link my fingers through his and drag them to
my lap. “Of course. I was just thinking that this is the first time I’ve
ever done something like this.”

“Like what?”

“This. A fireworks show,” I admit in an embarrassed whisper.

He seems completely taken back by my answer, but it’s the truth. As

a kid in foster care, I’d never been taken to these sorts of festivals
just for the fun of it. I was dragged along to many casinos with my
foster mother, the bright lights of the table games and slot machines
being the only sort of show I ever saw.

Using his thumb, our hands still clasped together, he runs it over my
thigh, hidden underneath the blanket. It shoots a thrill over me like
nothing I’ve ever experienced. It’s tender and sweet, but also filled
with the dangerous promise of what’s to come later. What we’ll do
with one another once we’re alone in the dark and not surrounded
by the friends and his family and the entire town.

“I’m glad I get to be with you for your first.”

Me, too.

I didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this. My heart

clamors loudly in my chest, ready to jump through my throat from
the spectacular lights and music display I just witnessed. My jaw
hurts from staying wide open from all the ‘ Ooohs’ and ‘ Ahhhs’ I’ve
mumbled over the last thirty minutes.

“Ready to go?” Cord finishes folding up the blanket as I say goodbye

to Lara, who I’ve made plans with to get together for coffee
sometime in the coming week.

Nodding my head in agreement, I take the blanket from his arms,

placing my hand in his. It seems so strange that this is only our first
date. It seems I’ve known him for years and the way I feel about
him this soon is crazy.

Something about Cord speaks to my heart. The physical and

emotional connection I have with him is so strong, so powerful, it
lights up my soul brighter than any fireworks show in the world.

We get to his car and he follows me to the passenger side, opening

the door but crowding me in against the frame before I can get in.

“Jordana,” he murmurs in my ear, his chest pressed against my back,

as he spins me around to face him, arms locked above me, caging
me in. “Tell me if I’m coming on too strong or crossing the line here,
darlin’. Tell me to back off if it’s not what you want.”

Clutching at the hem of his shirt, I pull him closer, tilting my head at
an angle so my lips meet his. I instigate the kiss, but he takes
charge and deepens it. Slipping my fingers underneath the material,
I slide them up over his taut stomach, enjoying the sensation as
they clench and ripple under my touch. I fan them out over his rib
cage, my index finger toying with the round of his nipple.
Another random document with
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 “And now, my child,” continued Mr. Robinson, “let us turn our
inquiries upon our own hearts.
‘Does no dark sign, no ground of fear,
In practice or in thought appear?’
“How strange it is that we, who have such high notions of integrity
in our intercourse with our fellow-creatures, should so often fail in our
transactions with Him before whom all things are naked and open,
and who will accept only the worship of the heart. O, my child, when
our prayers, our praises, our duties, are laid in the balance, what
must be said of them all?”
“They are found wanting,” replied Emma, with deep and solemn
feeling.
“Most wanting,” said her father emphatically; “corrupt fruits from a
wild and poisonous tree. Let us then take those hearts which God’s
word and our own experience declare to be deceitful above all
things, and desperately wicked—let us take them to the fountain
opened for sin and uncleanness, even the blood of Christ, which
cleanseth from all sin. Without his precious atonement and perfect
obedience to the divine law, how ruinous must have been our guilt;
how utterly naked and destitute our souls! But can we hope that they
are pardoned and accepted? Let us seek, also, their daily renewal;
continuing instant in prayer, and watching thereunto with all
perseverance, let us unsparingly detect all their crooked ways, and
pray that the spirit of holiness and truth would work in us to will and
to do of his good pleasure. O, how can we sufficiently magnify that
complete and great salvation, which redeeming mercy offers to our
fallen race? Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for He hath visited
and redeemed his people! And blessed be his glorious majesty
forever; let the earth be filled with his glory, and let the whole world
say, Amen!”
“I do say Amen, papa,” rejoined Emma, fervently; “and I do hope I
am truly thankful for those instructions which have shown me the
value of spiritual blessings, and taught me also that in simplicity and
godly sincerity I ought to have my conversation in the world.”
 S. S. S.

“That’s a very bad cough you’ve got, friend Smith.”

“Yes, neighbor Jones, but it’s the best I’ve got!”

The man who is guilty of the theft is frequently the first to cry,
“Stop thief!”
 The Hyena.

I am a very good-natured person; apt to see things in a favorable

light; fond of picking out pleasant objects to contemplate, and am
usually able to find agreeable qualities in every body and every
thing. But I must confess, that, with all my disposition to be pleased, I
can see very little that is pleasant in the countenance of the hyena.
What a horrid fierce look he has! His countenance seems to bespeak
perpetual hunger and thirst for blood; he looks as if his supper would
taste all the better if it were attended by the agonized struggles and
cries of the victim upon which he feasts! He really looks as if pain
and distress would be but as pepper and spice to his meal.
But the fact is, no animals are cruel; that is, fond of inflicting pain
from mere malice. Even the tiger slays but to eat, and the hyena, ill-
favored as he is, has his part assigned to him by nature, and this is a
useful one to man and beast. He is a native of the warm parts of
Africa, and the southern part of Asia. He seldom kills an animal
except when pressed by want, preferring to feed upon the carcasses
of those he may find slain. It is a horrid part of the story of this
creature, that he will sometimes go into a grave-yard and dig up the
remains of people buried there; and he will, also, follow the march of
an army to feast upon the slain after a battle.
Living in hot countries, and feeding upon the decayed flesh of
animals, the hyena is useful by removing putrid masses of flesh that
would otherwise infect the air with pestilence. He is thus a
scavenger, and shares with the vulture the task of delivering the
countries they inhabit from fruitful causes of fatal disease. Though
we may not admire the face of the hyena, still we perceive that the
world could not well do without him.
There is a common notion that the hyena is so wild in his nature
as to be untamable; but this is a mistake. The creature is frequently
tamed in India, and then lives quietly about the house like a dog. He
is attached to those who are kind, but is spiteful and revengeful to
those who abuse him.
 This change in the character made by training, is a strong proof of
the force of education; for not only is the tamed hyena made gentle
in reality, but his countenance is actually rendered mild and
inoffensive. This shows that the character is written in the face, and
bids young people beware how they let their passions mark
themselves upon their countenances.
 Jewish Women.

We do not read that a Jewess was to be seen among the crowds

of priests and the rabble who insulted the Son of man, scourged him,
crowned him with thorns, and subjected him to ignominy and the
agony of the cross. The women of Judea believed in the Savior; they
loved, they followed him; they assisted him with their substance, and
soothed him under afflictions. A woman of Bethany poured on his
head the precious ointment which she kept in a vase of alabaster;
the sinner anointed his feet with a perfumed oil, and wiped them with
her hair. Christ, on his part, extended his grace and mercy to the
Jewesses; he raised from the dead the son of the widow of Nain,
and Martha’s brother Lazarus; he cured Simon’s mother-in-law, and
the woman who touched the hem of his garment. To the Samaritan
woman he was a spring of living water. The daughters of Jerusalem
wept over him; the holy women accompanied him to Calvary—
brought balm and spices, and, weeping,
sought him at the sepulchre. His first appearance, after his
resurrection, was to Mary. He said unto her, “Mary!” At the sound of
that voice, Mary Magdalene’s eyes were opened, and she answered,
“Master!” The reflection of some very beautiful ray must have rested
on the brow of the Jewesses.
 Story of Philip Brusque.

CHAPTER VI.
Serious Adventures.

It might seem that, under the circumstances described, Emilie

would have been surprised and alarmed as the dark figure emerged
from the shadow of the rock, and stood forth in the full light of the
moon; but she betrayed no such emotion. On the contrary, she
proceeded directly towards the person, and was soon clasped in his
arms. The meeting was evidently one of affection; yet apparently
there was more of grief than joy—for sobs and sighs seemed to
choke the utterance of both. When at last they spoke, it was in
broken sentences, yet in a low and subdued voice, as if they were
apprehensive of discovery.
After remaining here for nearly half an hour, Emilie bade her
companion a hasty farewell, and climbing up the rock, with a light
and hurried step proceeded toward the tent which had now become
her home. She was still at some distance, however, and as she was
passing through a thicket of orange trees, she was abruptly accosted
by a man, who placed himself in her path, and calling her by name,
took hold of her arm, as if to arrest her progress. Emilie saw at a
glance that it was Rogere, and her eye did not fail to remark, at a
little distance, a dark group of men, whom she readily conjectured to
be his companions.
Emilie felt that she was in danger, but she lost not her self-
possession. Shaking off the grasp of Rogere, and standing aloof,
she said—“Is it possible that this rudeness is offered by M. Rogere?
It is a poor occupation for a gentleman to insult a woman, because
she is alone and unprotected!”
“A gentleman!” said Rogere, sneeringly. “I am no gentleman,
thanks to the gods—no, no, fair Emilie—I am something better—I am
a freeman and a lover!”
“Indeed!” said Emilie. “Is he a freeman who takes advantage of
the strength that nature has given him, to injure and distress one
who is weaker than himself? Is he a lover, who wounds and insults
the pretended object of his regard?”
“Nay, fair lady,” said Rogere; “this sounds mighty pretty, and in
France would be heroic; but remember that we are not now under
the tyranny of artificial laws and despotic fashion. We are now
restored to the rights and privileges of nature. There is no
government here, save that which is established by the God of
nature.”
“I will not stay to hear you,” said the young lady, indignantly.
“Every word you utter is an insult, every moment you detain me you
are guilty of insolence and wrong. Shame, shame upon a
Frenchman who can forget to be woman’s protector, and become
woman’s tyrant!”
“Mighty fine all this, certainly; but remember that I repudiate
France and the name of Frenchman: I am a man, that is enough,
and I shall assert man’s privileges. You must listen; you shall hear
me. Look around, and everywhere you see that in the dynasty of
nature all is regulated by force. There is a power of gravitation, which
controls matter, and bids the earth roll round in its orbit. Even matter,
then, the very soil, the inanimate clod, the senseless stones, obey
the law of force. And it is so with the animal tribes: among birds, the
eagle is master of the raven; with quadrupeds, the lion is lord of the
forest; with fishes, the whale is monarch of the deep.
“Then, in communities of animals, we see that everything is
regulated by power; even among a band of wolves, the strongest
has the first choice: privileges are exactly proportioned to power. It is
so throughout nature—might is right. It is on this universal principle
that I claim you as my own. I am the strongest man on the island; I
have therefore a right to whatever I desire. Nay, lady, start not! you
must, you shall listen! I have those near at hand who can and will aid
me, if I do but utter the word. You shall listen—you shall obey! Why
is woman made weaker than man, but that she is to be the servant
of man?”
“M. Rogere,” said Emilie, sternly, “it is humiliation for me to be
obliged to remain for one moment in your presence; it is degradation
to be obliged to speak with you. For all this you will be made to
answer.”
“By whom, pray? Who is there that can call me to account? There
is no law here, remember, that can restrain or punish me. Nature has
given me power, and I shall use it for my own pleasure.”
“I fear not that power; I fear neither you nor your menaces; and if I
remain a moment here, it is not from respect to your strength. You
dare not lay your hand upon me, for there is another power than that
of limbs and muscles. If you are a man, you have a soul, and that
soul has power over the body. Before you can, like the wolf, become
a mere creature of selfishness, before you can act upon the principle
that might is right, you must rid yourself of that soul, that thing within
called conscience. Even now it is at work; it is this which makes you
resort to false philosophy and shallow argument to justify an act that
your humor dictates, but which your soul and conscience condemn.
The wolf stops not to reason, but M. Rogere, who pleads the
example of the wolf, cannot wholly shake off reason. He cannot
imitate the brute, without offering an apology. The wolf is no coward,
but M. Rogere is a coward; there is something within that tells him
that he must not, shall not, dare not exert his strength against a
woman!”
As Emilie uttered these words, she rose to her full height, her eye
flashing with indignation. Rogere looked upon her with astonishment.
As she moved to depart, his feet seemed riveted to the ground, and
it was not till she had already proceeded a considerable distance
towards her home, that he recovered his self-possession. He then
set out in pursuit, and had no difficulty in soon overtaking the
fugitive; but at the moment he was about to lay his hand upon her
shoulder, his arm was arrested, and the well-known form of Brusque
stood before him. “Hold!” said the latter, fiercely; “touch not that
gentle being, or, by heaven, your audacity shall be punished. I have
been near, watching over the safety of this lady, and I have heard
your unmanly words to her. I now know your designs. Beware, or
even your boasted strength shall be insufficient to protect you from
the chastisement which an insolent coward deserves!”
Brusque waited not for reply. Leaving Rogere fixed to the spot and
overwhelmed with confusion, he hastened forward, drew Emilie’s
arm within his own, and proceeded with her to her house. The poor
girl was almost fainting with agitation, and Brusque could do no less
than enter the tent. After leaving her in her mother’s charge, and
giving a few words of explanation, he departed. On the morrow he
called to see her, but he found her feverish, and unable to leave her
bed.
The next day, Emilie sent for Brusque, and the two friends had a
long interview. She thanked him tenderly for his protection from the
rudeness of Rogere; and although something seemed to weigh
heavily upon his mind, he still seemed cheered and softened by her
tenderness. “It is indeed most welcome to me, Emilie,” said he, “to
hear you say these things—would that I were more worthy of your
esteem.”
“Nay, dear Philip,” said Emilie, “do not be forever indulging such a
feeling of humility—I might almost say of self-abasement. What is it
that oppresses you? Why are you always speaking in such terms? It
was not so once, my dear friend.”
“It was not indeed,” said Brusque. “Let me speak out, Emilie, and
unburthen my bosom. I was at St. Adresse your happy lover. I then
dared not only to love you, but to speak of my affection, and seek its
return and reward. But I am changed.”
“Changed! how? when? what is it? changed? Yes, you are
changed; for you are distant and reserved, and once you were all
confidence and truth.”
 “Listen, Emilie, for I will make you my confessor. I left our village
home and went to Paris, and engaged with the ardor of youth in the
Revolution; so much you know. But you do not know that I shared in
the blood and violence of that fearful frenzy, and which I now look
back upon as a horrid dream. You do not know that I was familiar
with the deeds of Robespierre, and Danton, and Marat. Yet so I was.
These hands have not indeed been dyed in the blood of my fellow-
men, but yet I assisted in many of those executions, which now
seem to me little better than murders. It is in your presence, Emilie,
that I most deeply realize my delusion. There is something in your
innocence and purity, which rebukes and reproaches my folly, and
makes it appear as unpardonable wickedness. I once loved—nay, I
love you still, Heaven only knows how truly; but I should ill act the
part of a friend by allying your innocence to my degradation.”
Emilie was now in tears, and Brusque became much agitated.
“Speak to me, my friend,” said he; “dry up those tears, and let your
sense and reason come to our aid. I will be guided in all things by
you; if you banish me, I will depart forever.”
“No, no indeed,” said the weeping girl. “You must stay—you must
stay and protect my poor parents; you must stay and be my protector
also, for Heaven only can tell how soon I shall stand in need of
protection from violence and wrong.”
Brusque was evidently touched by this appeal, but the gleam that
seemed to light up his face for a moment was instantly followed by a
cloud upon his brow. Emilie saw it, and said, “Why this doubt? Why
this concealment? What is it, Philip, that disturbs you?”
“I will be frank,” said he. “Since we have been upon this island, I
may have seemed distant and indifferent towards you; but my heart
has ever been with you, and indeed often, when you knew it not, I
have been near you;—this night, I was on the rocks by the sea-
shore, and witnessed your meeting with some one there. Tell me,
Emilie, who was that person?”
Emilie was evidently disconcerted, but still she replied, firmly,
“That is a secret, and must remain so for the present. It shall be
explained in due time; but I pray you, do not seek to penetrate the
mystery now.”
“Well, Emilie, it is not for one like me to dictate terms. My
confidence in you is so complete, that I believe you are right,
however strange it may seem, that, on this lone island, you are in the
habit of meeting a man, and a stranger, upon the solitary sea-shore,
and with marks of affection that seem only due to a brother!” Emilie
started at these words, but she made no reply. Brusque went on. “I
submit to your law of silence; but, my dear Emilie, as you have
appointed me your protector, and given me a right to consider myself
as such, let me tell you that events are approaching which will
demand all our courage, as well as our wisdom; and I cannot but feel
the most anxious fears as to the result.”
“You allude to the state of the island.”
“I do. The anarchy is now at its height. Rogere has rallied round
him the rough and the ignorant, and taught them that license is
liberty. While he cajoles them with dreams of freedom, he is seeking
his own object, which is to become sole master and despot of this
island; and I fear these deluded men will be his dupes and
instruments. It is always the case that the ignorant and degraded
portion of the community are disposed to run after those who flatter,
only to cheat them.
“The condition of the island is in every respect becoming
alarming. The fruits, that were lately so abundant, are fast
diminishing, because they belong to no one in particular; and no one
has any power or interest to preserve them. We have no fields tilled,
for the lands are common to all. If a man were to cultivate a field, he
has no right to it, and if he had, there is no government which can
secure to him the product of his toil. Everything is therefore going to
waste and ruin. We shall soon be in danger of starving if this state of
things continues. Nor is this the worst. Rogere will soon bring
matters to a crisis, and try the law of force.”
“And what is your plan?”
 “I intend to procure, if possible, a meeting of all the men of the
island to-morrow, and after showing them the actual state of things,
and the absolute necessity of established laws to save us from
famine and from cutting each other’s throats, I shall appeal to them
once more in behalf of settled government. I have hopes as to the
result—but still, my fears outweigh them. It is impossible to yield to
the demands of Rogere. Nothing but giving up all to him and his
brutal followers, will satisfy him. If we cannot obtain the consent of a
majority to the formation of some settled laws, we must come to the
question of necessity and determine it by blows. If it comes, it will be
a struggle of life and death.”
“I know it, dear Philip; I have long foreseen it.”
“I am glad that you take it so calmly. I should be flattered if your
quiet were the result of confidence in me.”
“Well, well, but you are fishing for a compliment, and I will not tell
you that I depend on you alone! I may have hopes from another
source.”
“Will you tell me from whom?”
“Nay—I shall keep my secret; but be assured that in the hour of
danger, should it come, Heaven will send us succor. Good night.”
“Good night, dear Emilie—good night.” And so the lovers parted.
Brusque sought his home, but with mingled feelings of pleasure
and pain. The restoration of former relations between him and
Emilie, was a source of the deepest satisfaction; but many
circumstances combined to cloud his brow, and agitate his heart with
anxiety.
 An Incident from Ancient History.

About 470 years before Christ, Xerxes, king of Persia, was

leading an immense army against the Greeks. It is said that it
consisted of a million of men. When they were all gathered in a vast
plain, the king mounted a throne on the brow of a hill to review them.
It was a splendid spectacle! There were the young, and the strong,
and the ambitious, and the enterprising; and some were richly
attired, and gallantly mounted on fine horses, and armed with shields
and swords of glittering steel. It was, indeed, a proud army. But
suddenly the thought came across the mind of the king—“In the
space of one hundred years; all these living and breathing men will
be in their graves!” It was a solemn thought; and it is said that even
Xerxes shed tears.

Effects of Prohibition.

Mankind have seldom a strong desire for any thing lawful, that is
easily obtained. We are not driven to our duty by laws so much as by
ambition. If it were enacted that persons of high rank only should
dine upon three dishes, the lower grade would desire to have three;
but if commoners were permitted to have as many dishes as they
pleased, whilst the rich were limited to two, the inferior class would
not exceed that number. If gaming were reckoned ungenteel, cards
and dice would lose half their attraction. In the history of the Duke of
D’Ossuna, there is a remarkable instance given of this perverse
nature in man.
A rich Neapolitan merchant prided himself upon not having once
set his foot out of the city during the space of forty-eight years. This
coming to the ears of the duke, the merchant had notice sent him
that he was to take no journey out of the kingdom, under the penalty
of 10,000 crowns. The merchant smiled at receiving the order; but,
afterwards, not being able to fathom the reason of the prohibition, he
grew so uneasy that he paid the fine, and actually took a short trip
out of the kingdom.—English paper.
 Saturday Night.

“Oh! it is Saturday night!” exclaimed Ellen; “I had forgotten that. A

Bible story, then. I am sure I think the story about Joseph, or that
about Isaac, or the prodigal son, or Lazarus and his sisters, as
interesting as a fairy story.”
“They are a hundred times more interesting,” said Charles.
It was the custom of Ellen’s mother to tell her children a short
story every night after they were in bed. She was very glad to find
that the true and instructive histories from the good book, interested
her children as much as those stories that were contrived to delight
them.
“My dear children,” she said, “I shall not tell you a story from the
Bible to-night, but I am going to relate an anecdote—which, you
know, means a short story—of some little children of our
acquaintance.
“There are two children who have a great and kind Friend, who is
always taking care of them, whether they are awake or asleep.”
“I suppose you mean their mother,” said little Charley, who was
always impatient to get at the story.
“No, my love; this Friend gave them their father and mother.”
“Oh, you mean God,” whispered Ellen.
Her mother did not reply to her, but proceeded,—
“This bountiful Friend has given to them the most beautiful and
wonderful gems in the world.”
“Gems! what are gems, mother?” asked Charles.
“Precious jewels, my dear. Those I am speaking of are very small,
but so curiously formed that as soon as the casket which contains
them is opened, there is immediately painted on them a beautiful
picture of all the objects toward which they are turned. If it be a
landscape, like that which you see every morning from your chamber
window, there appear on the gems those beautiful mountains that
rise one above another; the mist that curls up their sides; the bright
lake that glistens in the depth of the valley, and which you call the
mountain mirror, Ellen; the large orchards, with their trees gracefully
bending with their ruddy and golden fruit; the neat house opposite to
us, with its pretty curtain of vines hanging over the door, and rose-
bushes clustering about the windows.”
“What, mother!” exclaimed Charles; “all these things painted on a
little gem?”
“Yes, Charles, all; the high mountains, and the rose-bushes, every
leaf and bud of them. And then, if the gems are turned towards the
inside of the house, the landscape disappears, and all the furniture is
painted on them, and the perfect pictures of their friends; not such
pictures as you see done by painters, looking grave and motionless,
but smiling, speaking, and moving.”
“Oh, mother, mother,” exclaimed Ellen, “this is a fairy story, after
all.”
“Are there, in reality, any such gems?” asked Charles, who did not
like that the story should turn out a fairy story.
“There are, my dear Charles; and the same Friend who gave the
children these gems has given to them many other gifts as
wonderful. He has given to them an instrument by which they can
hear the music of the birds, the voices of their friends, and all other
sounds; and another by which they can enjoy the delicious perfume
of the flowers; the fragrance you so often spoke of, Ellen, when the
fruit trees were in blossom, and the locust trees in flower, and the
clover in bloom.”
“Oh, what a generous friend that must be,” said Charles, “to give
such valuable presents, and so many of them. Are there any more,
mother?”
“Yes, Charles, more than I can describe to you if I were to talk till
to-morrow morning. There is a very curious instrument by which they
can find out the taste of everything that is to be eaten; and another
that, by just stretching out their fingers, they can tell whether a thing
is smooth or rough, hard or soft.”
“Why, I can tell that by my fingers,” exclaimed Charles.
“Yes, my dear,” said his mother; “and cannot you taste by putting
food into your mouth? and is there not an instrument set in your
head by which you can hear?”
“My ear, mother?” asked Charles.
“Yes, my dear,” said his mother.
“And do you mean the eyes by those wonderful gems?” asked
Ellen.
“Yes.”
“But I am sure there is no painting in the eyes.”
“Yes, Ellen; every object you behold is painted upon a part of the
eye called the retina; but that you cannot understand now, and you
must let me go on with my anecdote of the two children. When they
arose in the morning, they found that their Friend had taken such
good care of them when they slept that they felt no pain; that their
limbs were all active, and they could every moment receive pleasure
from the precious gems and instruments I have mentioned. They
both looked out of the window, and exclaimed, ‘What a beautiful
morning!’ The little girl turned her gems toward the multiflora, now
full of roses and glistening with dew-drops, and she clapped her
hands, and asked her brother if he ever saw anything so beautiful;
and he turned his gems to a pair of humming-birds, that were
fluttering over the honey-suckle, and thrusting their tiny pumps into
the necks of the flowers; and as their bright images shone on his
gems, he shouted, ‘Did you ever see anything so handsome?’”
“You mean, mother,” said Charles, “that he looked at the
humming-birds, when you say he turned his gems?”
“Yes, my dear; and when he heard the pleasant humming they
make with their wings, it was by the instrument set in the head which
you call the ear. There was not a moment of the day that the children
did not enjoy some good thing their Friend had given to them. They