Praise for Abbie Williams
“Williams populates her historical fiction with people nearly broken by their experiences.”
— Foreword Reviews INDIES Finalist (Soul of a Crow)
* Gold Medalist – 2015
— Independent Publishers Awards (Heart of a Dove)
“Perfect for romantic mystery lovers … a sweet, clever quickstep with characters who feel like longtime friends.” — Foreword Reviews (Wild Flower)
“Set just after the U.S. Civil War, this passionate opening volume of a projected series successfully melds historical narrative, women’s issues, and breathless romance with horsewomanship, trailside deer-gutting, and alluring smidgeons of Celtic ESP.”
— Publishers Weekly (Heart of a Dove)
“There is a lot I liked about this book. It didn’t pull punches, it feels period, it was filled with memorable characters and at times lovely descriptions and language. Even though there is a sequel coming, this book feels complete.”
— Dear Author (Heart of a Dove)
“With a sweet romance, good natured camaraderie, and a very real element of danger, this book is hard to put down.”
— San Francisco Book Review (Heart of a Dove)
A
LSO
B
Y
A
BBIE
W
ILLIAMS
THE SHORE LEAVE CAFE SERIES
SUMMER AT THE SHORE LEAVE CAFE
SECOND CHANCES
A NOTION OF LOVE
WINTER AT THE WHITE OAKS LODGE
WILD FLOWER
THE FIRST LAW OF LOVE
UNTIL TOMORROW
THE WAY BACK
RETURN TO YESTERDAY
FORBIDDEN
THE DOVE SERIES
HEART OF A DOVE
SOUL OF A CROW
GRACE OF A HAWK
Copyright © 2018 Abbie Williams
Cover and internal design © 2018 Central Avenue Marketing Ltd.
Cover Design: Michelle Halket
Cover Image: Courtesy & Copyright: iStock: RYROLA
Interior Image: Courtesy & Copyright: Abbie Willliams
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by Central Avenue Publishing, an imprint of Central Avenue Marketing Ltd. www.centralavenuepublishing.com
RETURN TO YESTERDAY
978-1-77168-130-8 (pbk)
978-1-77168-131-5 (epub)
978-1-77168-132-2 (mobi)
Published in Canada
Printed in United States of America
1. FICTION / Romance 2. FICTION / Family Life
TO LIFE, AND ITS SWEET, WILD, COUNTLESS PATHS.
AND TO THE IMMEASURABLE IMPORTANCE OF GOOD FRIENDS, CLOSE FAMILIES, AND TRUE LOVES. …
Chapter One
Dakota Territory - June, 1882
MARSHALL SAT ON ONE OF TWO MISMATCHED CHAIRS IN the little soddy where we would spend this night, a dishtowel wrapped around his neck as I shaved away his thick beard. I worked with deliberate care by the light of a single lantern, using a straight-edge razor; he rested his hands around the curve of my hips, watching me as I worked. Despite the fact that I was naked from the waist up, wearing nothing but one of my old underskirts, a well-worn garment once white and now the color of faded daisies, he could not take his eyes from mine.
“Your face,” he breathed, trying not to move his jaw until I lifted the razor to swish it through a small bowl of warm water. “I dreamed of your face every night. Your eyes and the shape of your mouth, and the way your forehead crinkles when you’re thinking hard.” He added, “Your smile,” as I did smile, stroking my bare belly with his thumbs. “And the sweet little freckles on your nose and the way you blush when I compliment you. I feel like I haven’t stopped dreaming.”
I shook my head at his adoring words, cupping his chin. I had successfully shaved half of his face and admonished in a whisper, “You hold still.”
“I mean it,” he insisted. “Do you know how many nights I lay awake longing for you until I thought I would die? And now you’re here with me. I’m afraid to wake up.”
I leaned closer and licked his nose. He snorted a laugh and for a second it was as though no time had passed since our first date way back in 2013, when I’d done the same thing. I muttered, “Don’t make me flick you.”
He smiled, though tears wet his gray eyes. “Angel, you can do anything you want to me. As long as you’re here. Just stay with me. Be close to me. That’s all I will ask of this life, ever again.”
I leaned to kiss nose this time, then his lips, thinking of Miles, who – had fate taken a sharply different turn – might very well be my husband on this muggy June night in what would one day become South Dakota. The thought of Miles Rawley was a wound in my innermost heart which would never altogether heal. Miles had loved me and he’d been killed before my eyes; before he died I’d told him I loved him, and this remained true. I loved him because he shared a soul with Marshall; Miles had been Marshall in this place. Marshall and I were the ones displaced here in the nineteenth century. My thoughts of Miles tangled into my love for Marshall, one inextricable from the other; I had no doubt Miles’s soul was right here in front of me, fulfilling his promise to find me again. I studied my man’s familiar eyes, the long-lashed, smoldering sensuality of them, and whispered, “You.”
Marshall understood with no additional explanation; he whispered, “I can’t be away from you. I won’t be, until I die and death separates us.”
“I know,” I murmured, tenderly stroking his hair. “I know, love. And even then I’ll find you, I promise.”
“After I die?” he whispered, tightening his grasp on my hips.
We were both exhausted from days of strenuous travel, riding under the grim cloak of constant worry that Fallon Yancy would find us as we slept; only compounding this daily stress was the fact that I’d divulged the truth about Fallon’s role in Marshall’s mother’s death and
