Dare to Dream (19 page)

“Now, Ms. Andrews—”

“For the last time, you sack of shit,
Mrs.
Andrews. I’m proud to be married. And stop looking at Dan like he can’t control the
little woman
. He’s more man than you’ll ever be! He isn’t stopping me because he agrees with me. Besides, he’s the only one capable of pulling me off your fat ass when I finish losing my mind.”

Dan leaned against the wall, with his arms crossed over his chest as best a muscular man with muscular arms can. One boot-clad foot left a muddy print on the wall. Donna knew her man, and a wuss he certainly was not.

“There weren’t any sightings. The BOLOs got us nothing. My guess is whoever snatched her took her out of the country quick. A lot of them Eastern countries will pay high dollar for a woman of her coloring, even more if she’s built like a boy,” he said directly to Donna’s boobs. His gaze shot up when Dan cleared his throat.

“So? Why aren’t you scoping out these countries and their black markets?”

“They’re outside our bailiwick. Feds are in charge of those places.”

“Fine. What do they say about them?”

Sheriff Dillon studied the coffee stain on the blotter and held his tongue.

“They’ve written her off, too?” Donna snorted in disgust. “Our federal tax dollars at work.”

“
Mrs.
Andrews, our best chance has always been someone spotting her. Still is. But if they took her out of the country that might never happen. If she’s locked up in a harem somewhere, no one’s gonna get a visual. Sometimes the big guns can slip in an operative deep undercover. You hear about raids every now and again. I’m sorry, but it would be best if you just got on with your lives.”

“She’s not dead.”

“I never said she was.” Dillon hastened to agree.

Donna put her forehead on Dan’s chest. His arm came around her shoulders pulling her close.

“Come on, sugar. Let’s go home.”

Donna let Dan lead the way to the truck. Home—where it all started. She couldn’t shake the feeling she missed something right under her nose. She played that day over and over in her mind a thousand times. The Feds said it was physically impossible for anyone to take Meghan away so quickly without being seen. Unfortunately, the impossible must have happened.

They had hired their own search and rescue team. The dogs with the best noses in the world still found nothing outside of the barn. They all howled up the center support pole like they’d treed a coon. No doubt they smelled Meg’s blood on the beam, but zip anywhere else.

“It was space aliens,” Donna said out of the blue as they pulled onto the long winding drive leading to their home. “They suck you up in a tractor beam—”

“You mean transport beam, and you’ve been watching too many Star Trek reruns.”

“Yeah, transport beam.” When she thought of Meghan being probed, she got mad all over again.
Damned aliens!

“Come on, sugar, let’s get inside by the fire. My Arkie bones aren’t adjusted to Rocky Mountain temperatures yet, much less two feet of snow.”

“You better get used to snow quick. They’re predicting six foot by New Year’s. With the proper conditions, this storm might even break the record set in 1890.” Donna had read all about the Blizzard of 1890 in the newspaper archives. Ten feet of snow had fallen in just under forty-eight hours.

They sat in front of the fire and watched the twirling ornaments and bright, starry lights on the Christmas tree. A real live twelve-foot blue spruce balled in burlap sat in a washtub. They’d plant the evergreen by the drive when the spring thaw came. The next year they’d add another. It was their tradition. In Arkansas, the tree of choice had been magnolia. They were Meghan’s idea. Her ideas always made sense.

Brightly colored packages with festive ribbon and bows lay tucked in between the down-swept boughs. Christmas was only a week away. Donna gazed at the star atop the tree and wished her friend home safe and sound.

Will gave up trying to find the right time to give her the dress, seemed every time they were alone his interest lay more in getting her out of her clothes. The frock would make a dandy Christmas gift, though. He grinned at the thought even as he turned a weather eye to the sky outside the barn door.

While a couple of light snows had fallen, especially higher on the mountain, they were well below the average for this time of year. They were overdue for a big one. He didn’t like the heaviness of the clouds.

Trudging through several feet of snow to the pond to break ice so the mares could drink was no fun. Pulling one from the freezing water was even less. That had happened a time or two when they tried to break the ice on their own. The ice in the shallows froze solid, but if a horse ventured farther out and pawed a hole, their weight took them down as soon as the ice cracked.

The creek ran through the corner of Spirit’s corral. The swift current made the water less likely to freeze, but it sometimes happened. At least he didn’t worry the stud might drown in the shallow water.

He found the weight he was looking for and headed back toward the house. Even the well water froze over in extreme temperatures. The additional weight helped the bucket break through the ice.

He raised a hand to wave at Meghan, her face already red from the bitter wind. She had a basket of clothes tucked under her arm. They’d freeze on the line, but somehow still managed to dry. She called it freeze-drying.

For a girl who claimed to come from the future, she certainly settled in well. She kept the house neat and tidy, the clothes clean and mended, cooked like a dream, and kept his cock happier than a rooster in the hen house. She loved him, body and soul. He only wished he had the means to show her what she meant to him. She deserved pretty clothes and nice things.

He tried to talk Charlie around. He’d never known him to be mean. But the old man seemed beyond reasoning. Oh, he’d come to a meal now and again when White Buffalo dragged him, but never said more than a word or two when Meg asked him a question.

Will had taken him aside after Meghan worked all day over the Thanksgiving meal to tell him how the cow ate the cabbage.

Yes, the old Tom was a little tough, but that was no fault of hers. Charlie just had to comment on the fowl. Will had watched her eyes fill before she excused herself from the table. She tried so hard to win Charlie over, and the man wouldn’t even meet her halfway. Will had set him straight, if he couldn’t be civil to his woman, Charlie best steer clear.

Charlie stayed at the lodge with White Buffalo, who in turn spent more time at the cabin. Apparently, Charlie wasn’t good company for anyone. Will had been a little nervous about his grandfather’s preoccupation with Meghan, but ever since Will staked his claim, White Buffalo acted more fatherly toward her. He even tolerated her abbreviation of his name.

Will frowned. Meghan still had some difficulty with her speech and right arm from time to time. She never called attention to it, went out of her way not to, but he noticed and was concerned.

He used to worry when she took to riding Spirit, but the big stud was a different horse around her. He stood stock-still for her to mount and dismount, always wary of a shift in her weight. She seemed so happy up on his back. Will couldn’t bring himself to deny her. They looked good together. Her long hair matched his mane and tail, and the cocoa color of his body blended with the oiled chamois color of the coat his grandfather had made for the
bride
.

White Buffalo treated them as man and wife. Frankly, Will thought the same. He knew he needed to ask for her hand, and Meg accept, to make them so. They might have to wait until spring or summer to go to town and find a preacher or have the traveling one pass through. The parson didn’t matter so much. Some couples had several little ones before they said their vows.

Will, planned to ask her Christmas Eve.

He smiled as he watched her coming toward him, bundled in her coat. A scarf was tied over her ears under the battered cowboy hat he’d found her in that first day. He noticed her gloved hands holding the leather bag containing a tomahawk. Finally, his scolding paid off.

He bent and kissed her cold lips. “Where do you think you’re off to?”

“I thought I’d take Spirit on a sassafras hunt. I marked some trees while they still had leaves. If I don’t dig some soon, the ground will be too hard, and I’ll have to do without until spring. I think I’m addicted.”

Will, thought so, too. Prone to upset stomachs, the tea seemed to soothe her. He suspected the birch tea to be the cause of the stomach complaint, but she needed the brew to ease her arm.

“Are they far?” Will studied the sky overhead. “We’ll have snow soon.”

“No. The grove is about halfway to W.B.’s lodge, down in a hollow. The leaves all drifted there and kept the ground warm, or I wouldn’t be able to dig now. You want to come?”

“Yes, but I can’t. I need to get things buttoned up around here before the storm hits.”

“You’re really sure there’ll be a storm? I’ll stay and help. I won’t die without the roots.”

“Thanks, darlin’, but you go ahead. Just hurry back.” He kissed her frozen lips and turned her back toward the corral, sending her on her way with a pat on the butt. Spirit bellowed at the sight of her.

He watched her climb the fence rails, shaking his head, aware of what would happen next. From the top rail she slid onto the waiting horse’s back with neither saddle nor bridle to aid her. She moved the pouch up to the crook of her elbow, grabbed a handful of silver mane, and leaned forward. Spirit went from a standstill to a full gallop in a heartbeat, aimed straight at the fence. He tucked his front legs and sprang into the air, clearing the top rail by a good foot.

“Yee-haw!” floated back to his waiting ear.

He’d never seen anything like the two of them. Few Indians rode as well. Even his grandfather seemed bewildered, and few things caused him confusion.

He hurried to the well to attach the weight.

Laughter bubbled from deep within her and out through her frozen lips. Meghan clung like a monkey to the stallion’s back, and hunkered low on his neck to avoid tree branches. She loved this horse, loved the feeling of freedom when she rode and the power of his muscular body moving under hers. Spirit seemed to read her thoughts. A hand to either side of his neck turned him in the opposite direction. A shift in her seat brought him to a stop and squeeze of her knees increased his speed.

They meandered through the trees as the mountain rose in front of them, reaching the hollow in twenty minutes or so. Faded red fabric marked the trees she wanted. Meg slid from Spirit’s back, totally unconcerned he might wander away. She withdrew the tomahawk and used it to clear the leaves from the ground at the tree base, and then to hack away at the hardening soil until she exposed the roots.

There was a knack to harvesting sassafras. Too many root cuttings would kill the tree. She’d marked six trees. They all grew together making it difficult to tell where one root system ended and another began. This made her selection more difficult. She chopped away, trying to be careful, and finally filled her bag. From her pocket she removed the packet of fishmeal W.B. had given her. Fishmeal boosted root production and helped prevent shock to the plant. She dusted the roots liberally, covered them, and added the leaves back as a top dressing.

Spirit nickered as she approached. Meghan dusted the soil from her gloves and knees. Scrubbing laundry on a rub-board was not her idea of fun on a good day, and this wasn’t one. Her right arm spasmed as she scooted the bag to her elbow. “We need to find a stump, big guy.”

The stallion nudged her with his nose and bowed.

“Well, damn. Who taught you that?” Not wanting to seem unappreciative, Meghan grabbed a handful of mane in her left hand and swung her right leg over. As soon as she straightened, the stallion stood. She leaned to wrap her left arm around his neck. “Thanks, sweetie.”

Something wet kissed her cheek. A snowflake drifted through the trees, then another.

“We need to get home, fella.” She leaned down, and the stallion moved off down the trail.

Christmas would soon be upon them, a white one. Will would cut a tree, and they’d make decorations. She had started some. W.B. had given her cornhusks when she’d asked about them, and she made angels. Donna would love them. Meg missed her and wished she was there to talk to and ask the million everyday questions as they occurred to her about men, relationships, and love. But if she had to trade Will in to get Donna, she’d keep Will.

She wished she could win Charlie over. He hated her, pure and simple. He was the only dad Will had, and it hurt her to know she stood between them. She didn’t know what else to do. Maybe when he realized they weren’t packing up to move away, and she wasn’t out to break Will’s heart, he’d come around.

Spirit shied and reared. Meghan held on for dear life as he trumpeted his challenge and pawed the air. When his feet touched ground, Meghan saw the two men in their path for the first time. They wore blue britches with dirty, yellow stripes up the side. Cavalry britches. One loosened a rope to form a lasso as the other advanced with a leer spread across his tobacco-stained lips.