Soul of a Crow Read Online Free

better,” I agreed, closing my eyes, thankful beyond measure; there would never come a time, even if fortune was kind enough to allow us the rest of our lives together, that I would take for granted the feeling of being held secure in his arms.
    â€œIt was a good shot,” he said again, gently stroking my hair. Though I had neatly braided its length this morning it was currently half-undone, tangled and damp with rain, but Sawyer was undeterred. I contentedly rested my nose at the juncture of his collarbones, feeling the rasp of his stubble, as he cupped the back of my head and pressed his lips to the slim, white scar near my left ear.
    â€œI put them over there,” I mumbled, drowsy with warmth; I did not manage to open my eyes as I indicated vaguely in the direction of the dead rabbits, though I flinched inadvertently as thunder sliced apart the sky. Sawyer’s arms tightened in response, and I whispered, “Boyd said we’d clean them after the storm.”
    â€œYou rest, darlin’,” Sawyer said, his voice low and sweet, so familiar to me; the soft cadence of Tennessee lingered in his words. He said, “There are shadows beneath your eyes, and I mean to see them gone. You rest, and I’ll hold you.”
    * * *
    When I woke, the air outside was utterly still, the canvas wall slanting above our heads tinted with the placid auburn tones of an evening sun; from outside, near the smoldering fire, I could hear the comforting rise and fall of Boyd and Malcolm engaged in quiet conversation. Sawyer was snoring, flat upon his back, one arm stretched outward, the other curved about my waist, and his forearm was no doubt numb, pinned as it was beneath me. I was rolled into the quilt like a sausage in a flapjack, and smiled at the sight of him asleep. Unable to resist, I smoothed my fingertips along his fair hair, trailing over the blue-striped ticking of his pillow, softly as a cottonseed alighting upon the surface of the river.
    Sawyer issued a particularly loud snore, almost a snort, and I muffled a giggle, stretching to kiss the small dark mole on his neck; it was one of four on his upper body, the other three positioned in a neat row on the left side of his powerful chest. I leaned to kiss him in that exact place, my loose hair falling over his nose and chin, and he snorted again, groaning a little and then moving with purpose, engulfing me in his arms and exhaling a rush of air directly against the side of my neck, where he knew I was enormously ticklish. My breathless laughter was followed by the immediate sounds of Malcolm scrambling to our tent, curious about the racket within.
    Positioned just where the entrance was laced, Malcolm demanded, “What you-all doing in there?”
    â€œNever you mind, kid,” Sawyer teased, while I climbed atop him and ineffectually attempted to poke his ribs. Sawyer was too quick, rolling to his front side and blocking with his elbows, preventing my jabbing fingers from making contact, and I could suddenly smell roasting meat. When I looked that way I saw that the rabbits were gone; surely Malcolm must have crept within to retrieve them for Boyd’s knife. The resultant scent was rich in the air, and my stomach responded accordingly. I left off tickling him and aligned my front with Sawyer’s back, hooking my chin at the juncture of his neck, so that my breath was near his ear. Face buried in the pillow, his laughter was muffled.
    â€œWe best join them,” I murmured, with reluctance, and in fact found myself latching one thigh even more securely about his hip in order to keep him here a little longer, forcibly if necessary; I sensed rather than saw his grin. I shifted to rest my lips between his shoulder blades, feeling his hard muscles beneath my breasts and belly. He turned effortlessly, keeping me atop his body, stacking both forearms under his head and grinning at me in the way he had that set everything within me to quickening. I