Jagged Feathers

By Jan Sikes

Vann Noble did his duty. He served his country and returned a shell of a man, wounded inside and out. With a missing limb and battling PTSD, he seeks healing in an isolated cabin outside a small Texas town with a stray dog that sees beyond his master's scars. If only the white rune's magic can bring a happily ever after to a man as broken as Vann.

On the run from hired killers and struggling to make sense of her unexplained deadly mission, Nakina Bird seeks refuge in Vann's cabin. She has secrets. Secrets that can get them all killed.

A ticking clock and long odds of living or dying, create jarring risks.
Will these two not only survive but find unexpected love along the way? Or, will evil forces win and destroy them both?

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Jan 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781509239443

Jan Sikes

Biography Jan Sikes openly admits that she never set out in life to be an author. But she had a story to tell. Not just any story, but a true story that rivals any fiction creation. You simply can’t make this stuff up. It all happened. She chose to create fictitious characters to tell the story through, and they bring the intricately woven tale to life in an entertaining way. She released a series of music CDs to accompany the four biographical fiction books and then published a book of poetry and art to bring the story full circle. And now that the story is told, this author can’t find a way to put down the pen. She continues to write fiction and has published many short stories with a series of novels waiting in the wings. She is a member of Authors Marketing Guild, The Writer’s League of Texas, the RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB (RRBC), the RAVE WRITER’S INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHOR (RWISA), sits on the RWISA Executive Council and hosts a monthly RAVE WAVES blog talk radio show, ASPIRE TO INSPIRE.

Book preview

Chapter One

Bullets ricocheted off the Humvee. Hatred spewed from the ends of M16 rifles. Shouting erupted from inside and outside the vehicle. A faceless driver screamed, We’re goin’ in! Hold on!

Boom!

The lumbering vehicle veered sharply to the left.

A deafening explosion sent pieces of metal and body parts flying. The unmistakable acrid sting of ammonia and gunpowder filled the air. Curses, screams of terror and agony burst from open mouths. Sightless eyes stared. Oh, God! Pain ripped through his body. Sam? Oh, God! Please, no!

His heart pounding in full fight-or-flight mode, Vann Noble jerked awake. He sprang from the bed only to collapse back onto the sweat-soaked sheets.

He clapped his hands over his ears. Stop! Sucking air deep into his lungs, he fought to regain control.

Champion jumped onto the bed and whimpered, then licked his hand. The part German Shepherd, part Border Collie, had an extraordinary sense of empathy.

Vann switched on the table lamp and scratched behind the dog’s ear with a shaky hand. I’ll be okay, boy. Champion rewarded him with a sloppy wet kiss on the cheek. They were two of a kind. Champion’s missing right ear and scars that ran deep along the right side of his body bore an uncanny resemblance to the ones Vann carried on the left side of his body.

Dammit! Why did it always have to be the same nightmare? Each as real as the day it’d happened. When would it end, and the constant noise inside his head stop? And when would he adjust to not having two legs to support him?

He wiped sweat from his brow, blew out a long breath, and massaged the throbbing stump where his left leg used to be. The doctors had explained all about phantom pain, that the body still believed the limb was there. But it wasn’t and never would be. The blast that ripped the Humvee in half and took the life of his best friend made sure of that.

Four o’clock on the dot. The same as yesterday and the yesterdays that stretched backward for the past many months.

Might as well get up.

He reached for a lightweight metal prosthetic and, after slipping on a thick stocking, attached it to the stump, thankful once again that the blast had taken the leg below the knee instead of higher up.

A loaded 9mm Glock on his nightstand reflected in the low lamplight. One bullet would end this relentless nightmare. Just one.

If you can’t find a reason to live, then find a reason not to die. The VA counselor’s words echoed.

Champion nuzzled his hand with a wet nose. He let out a low whine and blinked sad brown eyes.

Looks like you’re that reason, ol’ boy. He owed it to Champion to stick around. The dog had shown up on his front porch, starving and wounded. He gave Vann a much-needed purpose.

Coffee. He needed a good strong cup of coffee.

With trembling hands, he pulled on sweatpants and a tee, his heartbeat slowing. His gaze landed on a white stone with the strange symbol carved into it lying in a crystal bowl on his dresser.

Rena Jett’s words when she handed it to him on her wedding day still echoed. I’ve found my happy ending. Now it’s your turn, Vann. Sam would want it.

Must be crazy to consider for a minute that the stone held some magical powers.

His metal foot clicked against the wooden floor as he headed to the kitchen with Champion padding alongside.

He poured dog food into Champion’s bowl and tossed the empty bag into the burn pile, then reached for the coffee container. Shit! He’d have to go to town—only enough for one more pot.

Dread crawled up his spine. He hated going to town most of all. Too many curious people. Too many noises, and too many cars. But he’d have to do it.

A few minutes later, he leaned against the wooden railing on the long narrow porch that ran across the back of the cabin. The waxing moon reflected silver rays off the treetops. Many nights he’d stood on foreign soil and took comfort from the same moon that shimmered over the country for which he fought.

The coffee cup warmed his hands while the brown elixir settled his insides. His skin prickled as a cool fall breeze gusted around him, rustling the tree branches that shaded the cabin. He was alive. That made him one of the lucky ones. Or did it? At times he doubted. It was all a matter of perspective.

He shoved a hand through his shoulder-length brown hair. Nine months out of the military, and he hardly resembled the soldier he’d been.

The brush near the creek crackled, and Champion sprang to all fours, a growl leaving his throat.

A whitetail deer stepped out of the thicket, followed by two more.

Vann put a restraining hand on Champion’s back. It’s okay, buddy.

Man and dog didn’t move a muscle until the deer scampered back into the thicket.

The simplistic beauty of nature helped soothe his ragged, war-torn soul and body. Finding this cabin and the quiet solitude it provided had been nothing short of a godsend.

Wolf Creek ran deep a few hundred yards behind the log cabin. Cottonwood, cedar, and elm trees intermixed with thick underbrush lined the sloping grassy banks. Nothing could have been more suited for his much-needed recuperation.

He turned to go inside with Champion close at his heels. We need to get headed into town, boy.

Champion whined.

I know. I don’t like it either, but you’re out of food, and I’m out of coffee. He rubbed the dog’s head. We’ll go before most folks climb out of bed, but first I need a shower.

The spray of water over his head warmed his skin and rinsed away any remnants from the recurring nightmare.

Taking the time to spread fresh sheets on the bed and tossing the sweat-soaked ones into the washer, by six a.m., Vann nosed the jeep down the country lane toward the main highway, with Champion perched beside him.

Vann and crowds of people didn’t mix. They sucked all the oxygen out of the room, making it difficult to draw a breath. Military doctors had labeled them as panic attacks. To Vann, it represented weakness, and that was unacceptable. So he tried to avoid situations that triggered them.

The military had a moniker for everything. TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury) was a term they’d used to describe the ringing noise in his head. Doctors assured Vann it would lessen with time. Some days he doubted them.

A handful of bleary-eyed truckers sat inside the Traveler’s Truck Stop as Vann pushed through the door. He chose a table near the front window with his jeep and Champion in plain sight.

Once, he’d tried bringing him in, but the owner said only service dogs were allowed. Little did he know, Champion was more than a service dog. He was his lifeline.

He devoured the sausage and eggs when they came, then ordered two sausage biscuits for Champion, who sat at focused attention in the front seat like a well-trained soldier guarding the jeep. The dog didn’t miss the tiniest movement. Whoever trained him had done an excellent job. But then what? Did the owner die, not want him anymore, or hurt him in a fit of anger? Whatever the answer, Champion’s fighting spirit and intelligence went far beyond normal.

Vann paid for their breakfast and stepped out into the chilly early morning air.

Cedar Springs, Texas, wasn’t a big town, but big enough to suit Vann. This time of the day, it was practically deserted—a plus.

Once he’d finished making the necessary purchases at the only grocery store open that time of morning, he turned onto Main Street and slowed.

He passed Marge’s Flower Shop, where he peddled his nature art.

A movement behind him caught his eye in the rearview mirror. A woman sprinted down the sidewalk as if she were running from the devil himself.

Curious, Vann slowed even more. He reached under the seat for his pistol, the cold steel reassuring against his palm. He then pulled into a parking spot in front of the local drugstore. His military training kicked in.

Survey the area. The enemy could be anyone. His breath hitched.

The woman covered the blocks, growing closer. A dark-colored backpack flapped against her back, and her boots pounded the pavement.

Vann squinted and focused on her face. Sheer terror registered. It was a look he’d seen on more faces than he cared to remember. But he’d never seen that look on a more strikingly beautiful face. Her actions raised more questions than answers.

He eased the jeep door open. Champion yipped. Stay, Vann warned.

Every muscle taut, Vann stepped onto the sidewalk and stuck his gun in the back of his pants.

When he made eye contact, the mysterious woman let out a whimper, turned, and sprinted back in the direction she’d come.

Damn! What or who in the hell was she running from? Vann turned in a full circle to find no one else in sight. Maybe she’d stolen something.

One thing he understood, without any doubt—the woman was terrified.

Should he go after her?

He’d best mind his own business, although that was hard to do when someone was in trouble.

He strode back to the jeep and climbed in. Instead of heading for home, he drove in the direction she ran. His trained eye swept both sides of the street but detected nothing out of place other than the sprinting woman.

He shrugged. Oh well. Might as well leave her be.

Ready to turn back toward the highway, he flipped on the blinker, then let out a sharp gasp when the woman suddenly collapsed.

Shit! He jammed the gear into park and rushed toward her, pistol drawn.

Ma’am? He approached with caution. When she didn’t respond, he knelt beside her and touched her shoulder. Hey, lady. Are you all right?

Still no response. He stuffed the pistol in his belt and turned her over. She had a pulse, and there were no signs of blood. Drugs? Maybe.

Champion joined him. He sniffed the woman and licked her cheek.

The woman moaned and attempted to stand. I’ve got to get out of here! They’re coming, she mumbled.

Who’s coming?

She crumpled against him.

I’m taking you to the hospital. Vann supported her head with his arm.

Her dark eyes fluttered open. No, please. No hospital.

Vann took the opportunity to examine her eyes. No sign of dilated or pinpoint pupils. That ruled out drugs. Lady, you obviously need medical attention. Want me to call an ambulance? He dug his cell phone out of his pocket.

No, she cried. Please! She suffered through a prolonged rattling cough.

Who in the hell is chasing you? Vann helped her sit up.

She looked around wildly and tried to push to her feet. Oh, God! I can’t let them get me.

Who? Vann brushed her long dark hair out of her face. You were running to beat the devil.

She coughed again. Please, she rasped. No hospital. I can’t. People die there.

Yes, and people also get well there. Is there somewhere else I can take you, then?

I have nowhere, she whispered and closed her eyes.

Shit! I won’t just leave you here on the street like this. You must have family or friends. Someplace you can be safe. Or I can take you to the nearest police station.

No! Her chest rattled with each exhale, and another coughing fit left her breathless.

Vann glanced up at the sound of a vehicle. A black SUV slowly approached from several blocks away. His gut clenched, and the hair rose on the back of his neck. He had to do something—and quick.

Okay. That’s it. You’re going to the hospital, like it or not. He pushed to his feet and helped her up.

She coughed again and leaned heavily on his arm.

That’s my jeep over there.

Vann slipped her backpack off and lifted her onto the seat, glad for his determination to stay in excellent physical shape following his rehab. She hardly weighed anything. He tossed the backpack onto the floorboard, and Champion jumped in.

One thing for sure, this woman was no ordinary street person with her fancy inlaid boots and soft leather jacket.

Only two blocks away, the black SUV approached faster.

He met her dark eyes, pools of sadness and despair, when she gripped his hand. Please, mister. You can’t take me to a hospital. They’ll find me there.

Vann sprinted to the driver’s side, keeping an eye on the approaching vehicle now only a block away. The hairs on his arms stood on end like they always did when in enemy territory.

Time to move. He jammed the gears, and tires squealed as he made a U-turn, meeting the SUV head-on.

The window on the driver’s side lowered, and the unmistakable glint of blue metal sent him sailing down a side street. But not before a bullet whizzed by the jeep, missing its target.

Oh, hell! Get down, he yelled.

A sharp turn down a deserted alleyway put him closer to the highway. He pressed on the gas.

With one eye on the rearview mirror, he took fast zigzag turns until he reached the main road.

He’d lost them. But questions flew around his head like a swarm of angry bees.

A glance at his passenger and Champion assured him they were both safe. He slowed and put a hand on the woman’s arm. If you won’t let me take you to the hospital or the police, what in the hell do you want me to do?

Her bottom lip quivered. Take me with you. Another round of coughing left her gasping for air. She leaned against the back of the seat with her eyes closed.

Damn, damn, damn! The last thing he needed was a sick female to tend, even if she was beautiful.

She had problems. Problems he didn’t need. Problems that could swallow him.

If you can’t find a reason to live, then find a reason not to die.

His conscience wouldn’t let him abandon her. But as soon as she recovered enough to talk, he had to have some answers. There must be somewhere safe for her to go. But for now, that appeared to be his cabin.

He blew out an audible sigh and turned the jeep toward home.

Chapter Two

Vann pulled to a stop in front of Solace Cabin, the name he’d given it shortly after moving in. An intricately carved wooden plaque hung above the door. He’d enjoyed carving it while he healed tiny pieces of his soul.

The mysterious woman hadn’t opened her eyes since they left town. Only deep, rattling coughs disturbed the silence.

Vann touched her arm. We’re here, miss.

The woman put a hand over her eyes and rasped, Thank you.

Let’s get you inside.

He practically carried her through the door to the sofa, where she sank onto it and moaned. Just the brief contact with her told him she had a high fever.

Will you be okay while I get the groceries out of the jeep?

She nodded.

Champion, stay with her, he commanded.

The dog let out a short bark and rested his head on her knee.

Vann grinned widely. He’d swear the dog understood every word he spoke.

By the time he carried the last bag inside and fetched the woman’s backpack, she’d removed her boots and curled up in a ball on the sofa.

Only the coughing let him know she was still alive. He covered her with a soft blanket and motioned to Champion to come with him. The dog turned his head and stayed glued in place. He’d seemingly appointed himself as her official guardian. Vann patted the dog’s head. Okay, boy.

As soon as he put the essentials away, he set a kettle of water on the stove to heat. The woman needed medicine. But what?

He had bottles of partially used antibiotics left from his surgeries, and even though he knew the dangers of sharing medicine, she needed something. Which one would be best for pneumonia? From the deep rattling cough, he would bet that was what she had.

He lined the bottles up and opened his laptop. By the time the kettle whistled, he had his answer.

Now, to get her to take the medicine.

He admired her unique beauty for a long minute before disturbing her. Whoever chased this woman best not seek her out on his property. Every protective instinct he had kicked in. He and Champion would guard her.

He gently touched her arm.

She opened her eyes wide with a confused gaze and let out a half-scream that morphed into deep coughing.

It’s okay, Vann reassured. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe here.

Sorry. She pushed herself up on one arm. I’m so tired. So tired.

And you’re sick. I’ve got some medicine for you. He handed her a glass of water and three pills. This is an antibiotic. He pointed to a tablet. And these are ibuprofen. I don’t have anything except honey to help with the coughing. I’m brewing peppermint tea.

She swallowed the pills and handed the water back to him. Thank you. My backpack?

It’s right here. Vann shoved it across the floor. Do you have more comfortable clothes to change into?

She shook her head. No. Nothing.

I can get you a T-shirt if you want. Vann waited.

Yes. That would be good. May I use your restroom?

Sure. Vann reached the bedroom in large strides and retrieved a white T-shirt from a dresser drawer. As tiny as she was, it would easily come to her knees.

With the shirt draped across his arm, he helped her off the sofa and grabbed the backpack. Do you have a name?

He wondered how she’d been running so hard only a short time ago. It must have been terror-fueled adrenaline, a phenomenon he’d witnessed more than once.

She leaned heavily against him. Nakina Bird, she rasped.

****

Nakina struggled to find enough energy to unzip her backpack. She had to make sure everything was still in place. A quick glance told her it was all there. Part of her wished it wasn’t, but Mr. Gordon’s words ran through her head. When you get to Dallas, go straight to the address on the package. They will take care of everything from there.

Images flashed through her mind. The evil sneers and hateful accusations wouldn’t go away. Her breath caught in her throat. How could she have been so utterly blind to what her employer was involved in? Where had her psychic gift disappeared to when she needed it for survival?

The thud of a shovel striking the hard ground, the stench of death, and the blackness of evil that she’d not only seen but felt in her vision had frightened her so much she’d taken leave of her good sense and jumped off the bus when it came to a stop. She didn’t even know the name of the town. All she knew was her vision was real and that most likely Mr. Gordon was dead by now.

She moaned. Damn him for involving her, for shoving the package and key into her backpack along with a bus ticket to Dallas.

But she hadn’t made it to Dallas. The men who had most likely killed her boss were hot on her trail. An overwhelming sense of urgency had sent her fleeing from the bus and into hiding. And, judging by what happened in town, her instincts had been right.

How many days had passed since she left Newton? When her cell phone died, she no longer kept track of time. Days and nights of huddling in dark alleyways in the cold rain had taken its toll, and now she was sick.

The bathtub called to her, and she longed to sink down into hot soapy water. But she didn’t trust herself to have the strength for it. The slightest exertion sent her into another coughing fit.

She leaned heavily against the bathroom cabinet and slipped the clean white T-shirt over her head. Thank goodness for the angel of mercy outside the door who’d taken her in.

She needed time to regroup, to heal, and to plan her next move. And because of his help she might get that chance.

A deep cough almost took her to her knees.

When she caught her breath, she splashed water on her face and rinsed her mouth.

She shivered and tugged the T-shirt closer. Its softness against her skin brought an almost unbearable discomfort. She’d always reacted that way to fever.

Memories of her angelic mother tucking covers around her and placing a cool rag on her burning forehead brought stinging tears to her glazed eyes.

Oh, if only she could turn back time. Why hadn’t she told her mother about the vision that morning? If she had, maybe they wouldn’t have died.

She choked back a sob and opened the door.

Better?

She nodded, handed the backpack to the kind stranger, and accepted his arm to lean on. Do you have a name, mister?

Vann. Vann Noble.

Nice name, Vann Noble. I apologize for barging into your life.

No apology needed. I’m happy to help. He chuckled. Besides that, my dog has taken quite a liking to you, and he’s an excellent judge of character.

They reached the living room, but instead of helping her to the sofa, Vann steered her toward the bedroom.

Where are we going? Nakina rasped.

You are very sick, and I’m giving you my bed. I’ll take the sofa.

I couldn’t. Her steps faltered.

You can, and you will. No argument.

She dropped onto the bed. The smell of clean sheets wafted through her consciousness.

There. He slipped the covers over her and tucked them around her shoulders.

Just like Mom used to do. She closed her eyes and gave in to the exhaustion.

****

Vann had the strongest urge to smooth back her hair and massage away the deep frown between her dark-circled eyes.

I’ll bring you that cup of tea.

Thank you, she whispered.

Come on, boy. She needs to rest. Vann softly called to Champion.

To his surprise, Champion padded behind him, almost as if he needed to oversee the making of the tea.

While the tea steeped, Vann brewed more coffee. This day was going to require it.

He had a million questions for Nakina Bird as soon as she was well enough to answer them.

Without any doubt, she was in some sort of danger. But what and from whom?

After rummaging through the cabinets, he found a wooden serving tray, set the teacup on it, and as an afterthought put some cheese and crackers on a saucer. Lord knows when she might have last eaten.

He found her lying on her side, dark hair spread out across the pillow. His breath caught in his throat, and he looked away. Never in a million years could he have imagined this scenario in his bed.

Champion put his paws on the side of the bed and nuzzled Nakina’s arm. She moaned and turned over.

Hey. I brought your tea, Vann said softly.

She struggled to rise into a sitting position after another fit of coughing.

Vann deposited the tray on the bedside table and helped adjust the pillows to support her. I also brought a snack in case you might be hungry. I’ll make chicken soup later. I’ve always heard it can fix anything.

I’ll repay you, she croaked.

Vann shook his head. No repayment needed. Just get well.

Tears filled her eyes, and she lowered her head.

Vann cleared his throat. Don’t worry. Me and Champion are here to help. Just concentrate on getting well.

She managed a half smile, then sipped the warm tea.

He pointed to a tiny brass bell on the tray. If you need anything.

You are too kind, she whispered.

Vann pulled the bedroom door partially shut and headed back to the kitchen. The chicken he’d picked up at the market would soon be in a soup pot with fresh vegetables.

After he poured a cup of coffee, he chopped onions and carrots. Champion trotted back and forth between the kitchen and bedroom door. He seemed to have trouble deciding where he needed to be.

Once the soup was on the stove and simmering, Vann moved into the living room and folded the blanket he’d covered Nakina with earlier.

His gaze went to the backpack propped against the wall. Curiosity kicked in. Maybe it held clues.

And even though it went against his principles, he had to find any possible answers.

The first zipper revealed a hairbrush, lipstick, and a few other essentials for a woman. He quickly closed it. The next compartment held the clothes she’d discarded. He pulled them out. The least he could do was wash them.

The next discovery shocked and surprised him. Feathers of various colors and sizes filled one section of the backpack. What on earth were they for? In the bottom of the bag beneath the feathers he uncovered paintbrushes, paints, a bulky package wrapped in brown paper with an address written on it, and a single key attached to a glittering black skull with red eyeballs. A large V was stamped on one side of the key.

Perhaps Nakina was an artist. That was at least something to go on. And the key had to fit a lock somewhere. But what was inside the heavy brown package with the Dallas address scrawled across it? Curiosity grew, but he didn’t dare open it. A cell phone stuck out of a side pocket. One click of the power button told him it was dead. And it was an iPhone. He only had Android chargers.

He returned everything to the backpack, then opened his laptop. Google knew everything. It might tell him more about this mysterious woman.

But did he really want to know the answers? His mind said yes, but his heart hesitated. He suddenly didn’t want to know anything bad about his house guest.

And that surprised him.

Chapter Three

Nakina drifted in and out of awareness over the next few hours with sleep interrupted only by deep, painful coughing.

She was aware of her guardian angel and his ever-watchful companion.

As soon as she was able, she would show her appreciation. Not only had they saved her life, but they’d gone a step beyond and shown her compassion.

While she sipped soothing chicken soup broth, she studied the man who’d rescued her.

Physical scars ran down the side of his neck and left arm. But more than that, she sensed deep hidden wounds that were not outwardly visible.

With light-brown hair tied back in a ponytail, emerald-green eyes, and dimples that appeared with the slightest hint of a smile, he reminded her of an actor