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Trial by Courage

By Tabitha Bouldin

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Cheyenne sat straight up in bed, drenched in sweat and gasping for air as cold chills raced up and down her body. In the darkness of the bedroom, the memory of the dream continued to wash over her in waves. Shadows danced across the wooden floorboards and she struggled to get her breathing under control. The pain rolled through her in fading echoes.
Pushing her damp, nearly black hair out of her eyes, she took a shaky breath before letting it out slowly. Several breaths later and her heartbeat was almost back to normal. Cheyenne tried to block the images from her mind for only a minute before she let them consume her again.
She did not fear the night. That is not what caused the quaking in her very soul. It was fear of failure that kept her chest heaving and her breath tight in her lungs. There was no doubt she had just received one of her visions of the future and tomorrow would be another day where the battle for life and death would rest in her hands. If she managed to accomplish the task that she had just been given, it would be by the grace of her heavenly Father.
Slowly, Cheyenne’s muscles relaxed and she leaned back against the pillows. Not many were left on the bed after all her thrashing during the dream, and the dark red sheets were twisted around her legs in a crazy array. Cheyenne reached for one of the pillows on the floor and stuffed it behind her head with one hand while using the other to untangle the sheets.
She took a deep breath of the cool night air that slipped into the room. The gentle breeze caused the sheer white curtains to billow away from the double bay window with waves as soft as the velvet night. Cheyenne closed her eyes and focused her mind inward. It would take a lot of fast talking to pull this off and she prayed for success.
There was a noise at the edge of the window and Cheyenne’s eyes flew open as she turned to see Rusty sticking his nose in to check on her. His eyes glowed amber in the faint moonlight, and Cheyenne felt peace knowing he was there to see her. Some of the tension relaxed from her body when he hopped through the open window.
Rusty was a timber wolf that Cheyenne had rescued as a pup and named for the rusty red highlights in his coat. Although he lived in the woods surrounding the house, he always seemed to show up when she needed company. At full height, he was even with Cheyenne’s waist and could take down a full grown bull alone. Right now, though, he was creeping silently across the floor as he watched Cheyenne.
Acting like it was something he did every night, Rusty ambled up to the bed and crept onto the space beside her. He would not stay for very long. Being inside was something he had never been comfortable with. Running her hand down his back soothed Cheyenne so she could think, and she smiled as Rusty grumbled low in his throat. It was his way of telling her he was happy.
It was strange that she had dreamt of Willie, she thought as she leaned against the pillows and tried to come up with a plan. She only knew him from his reputation as a cop and most of that information came from her friend Frank.
She had never actually even met Willie. She had seen him in town and at church but Cheyenne knew he didn’t know she existed. It was the way she preferred things to be. She preferred to see others and not be seen enough by them to be remembered. There were only a handful of people that she considered to be her friends and an even smaller number that knew what she could do.
She usually only saw visions of people she had a close connection with or someone she was making actual physical contact with. In fact, she was sure that this was the first time she’d ever seen the future of someone without either of those conditions playing a part.
Whatever the reason, she could not ignore the vision. She had tried that before, with disastrous consequences. Her heart still ached with the pain of her failure. Even after all these years, she felt the pain of her mistake. It was a mistake she hoped to never make again.
Cheyenne sighed and brought her attention back to the current vision. She didn’t have time to become sidetracked by things she could no longer change. Willie’s life depended on her getting this one right.
The sequence of events from the vision played through her mind again, and she concentrated on the details rather than the pain that came with it. Each scenario she ran through her mind ended the same. Either Willie was critically injured or ended up dead outright. Cheyenne refused to give up; she would not let Willie die.
A few hours later, frustrated with the pain, Cheyenne growled low in her throat and Rusty whined. Cheyenne reached out to run her hand along his back again as she whispered into the darkness of the night. “Sorry, friend, I’ll get it figured out. I just wish there was a way to do this without hurting so much.”
There was no need to fight against what she had been given. She believed God had placed this gift within her, and she would use it the best way she could. But why did it have to hurt so much? Every vision she had was always fraught with pain, and coming up with a solution brought even more pain.
There were times when she thought she couldn’t bear it anymore, but He always gave her the strength to continue. Of course, she had struggled at first and tried to deny that she dreamt of the future from time to time, but eventually, Cheyenne was able to accept the fact that she would forever be different. She was OK with being different. Her life had never been normal anyway, even before the visions.
Cheyenne relaxed once more into the comfort of the king sized bed and sighed as Rusty wiggled closer until his head was in her lap. “It’s going to be a rough day today, old man.” Rusty whined at the stress in her voice, and she patted him reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, I always am. Now, let’s see how we’re going to save Willie’s life.”
Cheyenne closed her eyes and her hand stopped moving as she was once again pulled into the nightmare of death. She never noticed when the wolf slowly crept out of the bed and returned once more to the night.
Deep in the throes of Willie’s future, she dissected each moment. Every second of their encounter mattered if she was to get him out alive. Time no longer existed except in the beat of her heart and the fear that pumped her body full of adrenaline.
Several hours later she was still no closer to an answer. Frustrated more than she could ever remember before, Cheyenne threw the covers off and stomped into the bathroom. She refused to look in the large oval mirror that hung over the sink, knowing what she would see wouldn’t help her today.
Her long hair would be hanging in wavy, knotted strings around her rather rounded face due to all the tossing, turning, and sweating during the night. More than likely her eyes were dark and bloodshot, and her face would be pale from the pain, causing the freckles to stand out. Normally they would be hidden underneath the dark tan of her skin, but nights like tonight always brought them out.
No, she would not look in the mirror just yet. It was not vanity that kept her eyes focused away from the mirror. Cheyenne did not think herself pretty. It was shame at herself that she could not face. What if she failed? Her hands balled into fists and Cheyenne leaned against the cream-colored vanity with a sigh.
There were only a few hours left before dawn, and it would take every bit of that time to prepare everything. It was impossible for her to remain in bed when there were so many scenarios she needed to run through her head. Not to mention that the horses had to be fed regardless of any other plans she might have.
Slipping on her work clothes of worn-out jeans, an almost-clean black shirt, and a clean pair of socks after a quick shower, she returned to her bedroom to straighten the blue and red hand-sewn quilt back over the deep red flannel sheets. Next, she picked up all the pillows she’d thrown off the bed during her vision, all solid colored but a mixture of red and blue that matched the quilt perfectly. When that was done she made her way downstairs.
Once she was downstairs in the kitchen, she went immediately to the coffee maker. She had it programmed to start her coffee later in the morning, but today called for a cup straight away. Cheyenne stood in the kitchen, inhaling the aroma of fresh coffee as it brewed, and sighed in appreciation. As soon as the coffee was fixed to her liking, with cream and sugar, Cheyenne headed outside to the patio to continue planning the details for saving Willie’s life.
Cheyenne leaned back and sighed as the smooth taste of the coffee hit her taste buds. Sometimes you just needed a really good cup of coffee and a comfortable chair so you could sit outside in the silence. She quieted her mind and tried to listen to God’s guidance; she knew He would lead her through this if she would just be willing to listen. He wouldn’t show her this vision if there wasn’t something she could do to stop it.
By the time she finished her second cup of coffee, Cheyenne finally had a plan that she thought would work. The timing would have to be perfect, but it could be done. It was the only scenario that had been successful up to this point.
She made herself stop second-guessing every step of the plan. She had plotted every scenario she could think of and each one ended up with Willie either dead immediately or dying later in the hospital. This was the only one that had any chance of success. Taking her empty cup back into the kitchen, she started the coffee pot again. It would be a long day and she had been up almost all night, she deserved another cup of coffee.
The sun was beginning to peek over the mountain as she pulled on her boots and headed down to the barn for morning feeding. Horses greeted her from every stall door with nickering and head bobbing the moment she appeared in the doorway. The wide range of colors peeking out the doors made her smile; it was like looking at her very own rainbow. Everything from chestnut red to dappled white watched her as she walked down the hallway.
Cheyenne kept six horses in the barn and several more in the pastures outside. Horses had always been a great passion for Cheyenne and she started keeping them as soon as she had a place of her own. The barn was one of her favorite places to be. The sweet scent of fresh hay, horses, leather, and molasses combined into a smell that could calm even the tormented soul.
Taking a deep breath, Cheyenne felt herself relax slightly as the peaceful scene printed itself on her memory. She had to stop to scratch ears and pat noses as she moved down the hallway and into the feed room. Her horses wouldn’t stop asking for attention until they received their customary pats and scratches.
There would be just enough time today for a quick feeding before she needed to go into town. Promising each one she would return for a longer visit, she poured the feed into individual pails that were secured near the stall doors. Once everyone had their morning grain and were happily munching away, she checked all the water buckets and filled the ones that were beginning to get low. Cheyenne made a mental checklist of things she would need in her truck while winding the hose back and making sure the feed room door was secure.
Once outside the barn, the sight of the sun shining behind her house gave her a breathtaking view that she had to stop and admire. Cheyenne thanked God every day for the blessings He had given her and the home He had allowed her to have. Her log cabin was strategically placed in the middle of fifty acres with only one long gravel road leading from the house to the main road.
Cheyenne was always able to know who was coming and going to her home. The nearest town was several miles away once you did make it to the road and right now, Cheyenne had no neighbors. Hopefully, it would stay that way until she had the money to buy the surrounding land. It wasn’t that she didn’t like people. It was just that when she was at home she wanted to be left alone.
The cabin had been built specifically for her. It was two stories with wraparound porches on both levels so she could see in every direction at any given time. It was made entirely of hand-hewn logs on the outside with hardwood floors throughout the entire house and a red metal roof. Her barn matched the house’s exterior and was exquisite enough that some people would mistake the barn for a second house.
The walls inside the house consisted of a mixture of finished sheetrock walls in some rooms and the bare wood in others. She had maintained an open floor plan and all the ceilings in the upper level consisted of high vaulted ceilings with the bare beams exposed. She had filled it with lots of colors by using paintings and area rugs that suited her personality, along with as much western décor as she could find.
Cheyenne truly loved her cabin and would be happy if she could stay on her own land and never have to go anywhere. Since that wasn’t the case, Cheyenne shook herself out of her reverie and prepared everything for the trip to town. She knew there was a chance she could be hurt. There was always a chance for danger, but her job was to make sure Willie survived. She wouldn’t fail him.
Checking her truck one last time, Cheyenne made sure she hadn’t forgotten anything that might be needed for today’s adventure. If her timing was right, and she prayed that it would be or this would all be for naught, she would arrive at her destination just as the officers changed shifts. This would give her just enough time to act out her part and wait for Willie to arrive.
It was Frank’s favorite joke that Willie patrolled this particular road so much he must know how many flowers bloomed on the hillside. Apparently, he loved to park by the hill and run radar on people. Luckily Cheyenne had recognized the landmark in her dream. That’s why the shooter would be waiting for him there and why Cheyenne had to get there first. The hill was the perfect location for an ambush. She started up the truck and made the long trip down the gravel road and toward their town of Brookwood.
Her hands were shaking by the time she reached the edge of town, and she took a few deep breaths to settle her nerves. Only a few more miles left and a few minutes later it would all be over, for better or for worse. She just had to put herself in God’s hands and do the best she could. Everything would end up the way it was meant to be.
One more deep breath and she shoved all the fear down deep inside where it wouldn’t be in the way. It was time, Cheyenne could see the hill coming up and she let her foot off the gas. Gradually she forced the truck to a stuttering halt, and as it died, she grabbed her cell phone and hopped out onto the asphalt. Her boots made a solid thump on the blacktop and Cheyenne slammed the door closed behind her.
Cheyenne had driven this truck for a long time and knew exactly what to do, but she tried to act like a woman who knew nothing about vehicles. She glared at the truck over her shoulder and put her hands on her hips in mock frustration. Acting out the scene kept her busy, and she opened the door again to pull the latch for the hood.
After popping the hood and staring at the engine for a few minutes, she pulled the phone out of her pocket and pretended to make a call. She acted as though no one picked up and began walking around the truck in an agitated manner. It was easy enough to feign the stress. Cheyenne thought her head might explode with the pressure building inside.
If she gave herself time to think about what she was doing, then she was afraid she would start laughing. The panic and adrenaline were warring inside her and the result could be fatal if she didn’t keep herself under tight control.
Adrenaline did funny things to people, and right now she was running on a lot of it. It was imperative that the shooter think that she really needed help or it would all fall apart. After the second trip around her truck, swinging her arms and stomping, she finally stopped by the driver side door.
Acting as normally as she could, Cheyenne stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets and leaned against the door. Occasionally, she looked up and down the road while checking her watch and maintaining a frustrated look on her face so that when she turned her head her profile would show her aggravation. Every now and then she would pull out her cell phone and pretend to call someone.
She kept her back to the hill and focused on the road ahead of her. It was nerve-wracking to know he was right there, just a few hundred yards behind her, waiting to ambush an innocent man. The hair on the back of her neck stood up knowing she was so close to danger. Her instincts urged her to turn and face the threat, but that would ruin everything. She had already run that scenario, and it was not successful.
Adrenaline continued to pump through her veins, and Cheyenne felt anger add itself to the mix. Willie didn’t deserve to be the target. She’d seen and heard enough to know he was a good man, and she would do everything she could to make sure he survived this attack. No one deserved to be gunned down like this.
Cheyenne took a deep breath of the calm, summer air. She was just far enough away from town that it was impossible to see from here, but she could see it in her mind. Brookwood was a picturesque old town with rambling buildings stacked side by side. They were filled with people living their dreams of running small businesses. They had a bakery, coffee shop, florists, pharmacy, antiques, and grocery stores in abundance. Cheyenne couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
It didn’t take long for Willie to appear in his patrol car. She heard his car approach and did her best to keep from tightening up her muscles. What felt like an eternity to Cheyenne was, in reality, only a matter of minutes. Cheyenne’s truck was easily spotted, and Willie pulled off behind her with his cruiser’s lights flashing.
Her heart jumped into her throat as he emerged from the vehicle in his dark blue uniform. He was a handful of inches taller than she was, and his shoulders filled out the uniform while his waist tapered and long legs ended in shiny black boots.
He wore a black baseball cap with Police stamped across the front in bright white letters, but she knew that underneath the hat his hair was brown with highlights of red dancing throughout. “What seems to be the trouble?” he asked as he walked toward her with his green eyes full of concern.
Focusing on the situation, Cheyenne led him to the front of the truck. “It just died on me. I had it in the shop last week and he warned me this could happen since it’s getting older. I’m supposed to let it cool off or something and then try to crank it again.” She allowed her hands to flutter around as though she was totally confused and rushed through her speech.
Willie nodded his head, and Cheyenne started counting down as she watched the vision in her head again. Whoever was on the other side of the gun needed Willie to remain still, and he was playing perfectly into their hands as he fiddled with the engine. In her mind, Cheyenne could see the hands sighting in the gun. Only a few more seconds left until the bullet would be fired.
This vision was unlike anything she’d experienced before. It was like her mind was split in three different ways. She was standing here with Willie while she watched the vision from the different perspectives of the two men. Normally, she could only see from the side of the victim, but for some reason, this one was more complicated.
Cheyenne focused on the timing and refused to remember the pain. If she was successful, then Willie would feel nothing at all. Willie straightened and turned toward her, leaving his back exposed to the hill and the waiting shooter. He opened his mouth to tell her something just as Cheyenne saw the flash of a gun barrel in the corner of her vision.
She launched herself forward and hit Willie full on; it was like running into a brick wall and she grunted at the impact, but she managed to make him take a step back while his body turned sideways, which was just enough to move him out of the way of the bullet.
They both had heard the rifle shot as Cheyenne started forward, and Willie was starting to turn as she hit him. Even then, she hadn’t anticipated how much force it would take to move him out of the way, and fire burned across her back as the bullet cut a path from shoulder to shoulder.
Willie was too focused on the attack to see what had happened, and his defense system kicked in on full alert. Since Cheyenne managed to keep her facial expression one of shock and not pain during the half second he saw her before turning toward the threat, Willie had no idea of her injury.
All that mattered to Cheyenne was that she had succeeded, and Willie was safe. The shooter wouldn’t try again today. As soon as the bullet was fired and missed its target, the shooter would run. When Cheyenne had shoved against Willie’s chest, he’d wrapped his left arm around her waist while reaching for his weapon with his right hand. He used the force of her push and continued the spin all the way around until he could push her down beside the truck wheel.
Cheyenne’s feet left the ground momentarily and her hands sought purchase in Willie’s shirt until they were back on solid ground again. They both ducked behind the truck and Willie let her go so his hand would be free to grab his radio in order to call for backup.
Cheyenne sat down by the wheel and waited. It took all of her willpower to keep still. Willie would understand panic, but she did not want him to see her pain. With her back pressed against the tire, it would be impossible for him to see the blood dripping down her back. The black t-shirt wasn’t in her usual wardrobe except for when she was in the barn, but it had felt right for today.
Cheyenne scuffed the toe of her boot in the gravel while she listened to Willie call in on the radio. She could tell him the shooter was gone, but he would want to know how she knew. How do you explain something like her gift? If she spoke in any way about the shooter, he would automatically assume it was because she was part of the whole thing.
Not to mention the simple fact that there was no way she was telling him her secret, and even if she did he’d never believe her anyway. Cheyenne would consider herself lucky if she got out of this without being considered a suspect. Willie was smart. He would eventually remember that she had hit him like a linebacker before the bullet was fired. Right now, all he was concerned about was their safety, but soon all the details would demand to be remembered.
While Willie’s back was turned, Cheyenne stood so she could reach into the truck through her open window and grab her black leather jacket. She could feel the blood running down her back and didn’t want anyone to see it. The black t-shirt she was wearing might be sufficient to cover the blood, but it wouldn’t hide the holes made by the bullet, and it was always better to take precautions.
It was also a risk to reach for the jacket. The area hadn’t been cleared of the shooter yet. Plus, Willie might remember the t-shirt and wonder why she suddenly needed a jacket in early May. They were both sweating already, and the sun had only been up for a few hours.
Thankfully, the jacket was a light leather that barely reached her waist, so it wasn’t overly warm. Cheyenne knew she could claim shock made her chilled if she was asked. It would be the truth because even though she might be sweating, her hands were ice cold. She wasn’t sure if it was from shock, adrenaline, or because of the bullet wound, but she needed the jacket.
In her mind, it was worth the risk. Cheyenne couldn’t handle Willie seeing her wound and getting all riled up about it. He would make her go to the hospital, and he would make her go to the station for a report.
Both were things she wished to avoid, and neither would help them find the shooter. Cheyenne slipped her arms into the jacket and sat back down on the ground. She listened to his voice while he radioed the station and marveled at the calm, controlled tone he managed to convey.
Once Willie radioed in he turned to Cheyenne. “Are you OK?” She nodded her head yes, it wouldn’t help anything if he found out she had been shot. If she needed treatment, she could always go see Christi, Frank’s wife. Christi was a registered nurse, and she patched Cheyenne up from time to time when she got into her little escapades. Cheyenne avoided the hospital as much as was humanly possible.
Frank and Christi were the only two people who knew about Cheyenne’s gift other than her brothers. Her secret had come out when she saved Frank’s life once. She shook her head at the irony of her current situation. Cheyenne tried to keep immobile, but it seemed you used your back muscles for almost everything, and her back was on fire right now.
Cheyenne was grateful for the black t-shirt and jacket. She just prayed Frank showed up soon so she could leave. Willie peeked up over the hood of her truck, and when no gunshot met his movement, he nodded at Cheyenne. “I think whoever it was is gone now.”
Looking up from her place on the ground, she agreed with him. “Be stupid to stick around now that you know he was there.”
The sound of sirens pierced the early morning air, and Cheyenne looked up in relief while trying to keep the dizziness at bay. Willie had kept busy watching for the shooter, and Cheyenne was grateful for the distraction. It was obvious by now that whoever had pulled the trigger was no longer around.
Frank seemed to be under the impression that the shooter was long gone since no other shots had been fired, and since he was the first to arrive, he came straight over to them. Cheyenne knew he would recognize her truck, and if she hadn’t given him a warning, then Frank knew he wasn’t at risk. “What do you think? Hunter shooting on the other side and thought the hill would stop the bullet?”
Willie shook his head. “Could have been but it sounded closer than that, and he was behind the hill shooting down this way, not from the other side of the road.”
Once Willie updated him on the situation, Frank turned to her. “Just can’t stay out of trouble, huh?”
Cheyenne would have shrugged her shoulders, but that was impossible with the inferno burning on her back. Instead, she put one hand on the wheel of the truck and pushed herself up onto her feet. Even that small movement made her want to hiss in pain. “You know me, always the thrill seeker.”
Willie had walked back to his car so, Frank was able to ask, “Are you hurt?”
Cheyenne sighed in frustration, Frank knew she couldn’t lie to a direct question. She was able to sidestep Willie because he had said, “Are you OK?” She was OK, she hurt like crazy, but she was OK. Nodding her head at Frank, she replied, “Yeah, little bit. The bullet grazed me. Is Christi home?”
Frank didn’t answer but turned to Willie as he walked back over to them. “Hey man, I’m gonna let her go to my house and rest. She’s a bit shook up, and Christi is there for her to talk to. There’s no need in her hanging out around here while we wrap up. You can come by if you have any questions.” Willie nodded in agreement, and Cheyenne climbed in her truck while barely suppressing a groan.
Frank stayed by her door for one last question. “Can you make it to the house? I don’t want you passing out on the road.”
She grabbed the towel from the duffel bag in the passenger seat and slowly stuffed it under her jacket between her back and the seat cushion. “I’ll be fine, Frank, I just want Christi to clean it for me.”
Frank nodded. “Well, I’ll be right behind you anyway. We have to check the area but it won’t take long.”
Cheyenne cranked the truck and pulled out on the road. Frank’s house wasn’t far, and she arrived just as the adrenaline wore off and the lightheadedness started to really sink in. Frank must have called ahead because Christi met her at the door and took her straight into the kitchen. Somehow Cheyenne managed not to stagger while she made the walk from her truck to the kitchen.
Cheyenne sat down in a chair and leaned her head on the table while Christi finished getting her supplies together. She raised her head at Christi’s question. “Where were you shot at?”
Cheyenne replied, “Across the shoulders,” while slowly shrugging out of the jacket.
Christi held her towel and motioned for her to remove the t-shirt as well. She complied because she had no choice if she wanted Christi to treat the wound, and Christi was not happy with her right now. It was obvious since she stood there waiting instead of trying to help Cheyenne.
Taking a deep breath, Cheyenne bit her lip while pulling the shirt over her head. The shirt hit the floor with a wet sound that was barely heard over the scrape of the chair legs while Cheyenne sat down again. The cool air in the kitchen brushed across her damp skin, and she shivered while sitting there in nothing but her jeans and bra. 

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