Dream Country (29 page)

“Washakie.” David said it once, then again louder.

Sage’s eyes clouded as a memory came out of nowhere. She could see red ranch trail dust and four small feet. Two were hers and two were her brother’s. The boy had eyes the color of David’s, and like many twins, he and Sage often said the same word at the same time. She could hear their mother’s and father’s voices telling them about a Shoshone chief, how his very name meant bravery and courage. She and her brother were holding hands.

“Oh, my God.”

David looked over at her, his expression calm but curious.

“Jake.” Her voice croaked, tears filling her eyes.

David stared at her. “What?” he asked.

“Is it possible?” She fumbled for his hands as the salt tears poured down her cheeks. “Is there any way? I think you’re my brother . . .”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

J
ust before dawn, the ranch was cold and frozen. White stars were brilliant in the blue-black sky, hanging low over the ridge, caught in branches of the stunted cedars. Last night the temperature had dropped hard and fast, freezing the wet snow solid. James knew the cattle wouldn’t be able to break through the crust, so he went to the barn to saddle up and ride out.

He found Daisy brushing Scout at the tie-downs. She didn’t see him at first, so he hung back in the shadow. Last night he had gone to her house, as he had been doing since they’d gotten together, and her lights were off. At first he had thought she might have turned in early. Thinking of her warm and sleepy, waiting for him in bed, had excited him more, so he had climbed the steps.

Ready to knock, he happened to look through the front window. There she was, wide awake—huddled on the floor by the fire, arms wrapped around her knees. Her hair hung over her eyes, but from the way her shoulders were shaking, James could see she was sobbing. Wanting to help her, he put his hand on the cold doorknob, and at that moment their eyes met. Her gaze was anguished; with a small shake of her head, she sent him away.

So now, seeing her so soon, James hesitated. He didn’t want to force something that shouldn’t be there, to make her uncomfortable or upset. But he wanted to hold her. That’s all, he told himself. He wanted to walk across the barn and take her in his arms. To smell her hair, kiss her skin, feel his arms encircling her body. To feel he could do something to make her better; make up for all the years they had lost.

Instead, he cleared his throat. When she turned her head, he approached from the other side of Scout, standing with the horse between them.

“You’re up early,” he said.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Did the storm bother you?”

She nodded, and he could see the tightness around her eyes and mouth, as if she were holding something inside that just might make her burst. Her cheeks were rosy, though, and that made James feel better: The ranch air was doing her good.

“I stopped by last night,” James said, watching her carefully.

“I know,” she said. “I was having a bad time of it.”

“You saw me.”

She nodded.

“What was wrong?” he asked. “I thought we—” He trailed off, too hurt to put it into words.

“It was about Sage,” she said. “With this weather—I can’t stand it anymore. She’s all I can think about. Last night I sat up, praying and watching the snow . . .”

“We could have done that together.”

Daisy’s face crumpled, as if she was in the most terrible pain. “Together . . .”

“Is that bad?”

She shook her head. “I’ve just gotten so used to doing it alone.”

“So have I.” James took a step around Scout. He waited to see what Daisy would do; she just stood there looking up at him. The barn was chilly: Their breath came out white and dissolved in the air. Daisy wore chaps over her jeans, a pale yellow sweater, and a dark green jacket. James focused on the pink in her cheeks, told himself her time here was good, really good for her.

“So much has happened,” she said, looking down at her boots and shaking her head. “Last night I sat in that house, thinking back. When we first found out I was pregnant, all I could think about was how lucky we were.”

“We were.” James didn’t feel right about touching her, even though he wanted to. So he tickled Scout’s velvety muzzle instead, staring into Daisy’s eyes.

“That our kids would get to grow up on a ranch. That I got to live in such a beautiful place. That you and I found each other . . .”

“We could still have that,” James said. “Sage will come. She can have her baby.”

“We can be grandparents?” Daisy asked, trying to smile.

“We will be grandparents,” James said it out loud for the first time. “Wow.” Just then, he noticed that she had gotten Scout’s bridle and saddle out of the tack room.

“You’re not planning to ride, are you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I can’t stay inside today. I’ll go crazy. Maybe if I head out toward the main road I’ll meet her coming in.”

“There’s ice on the ground,” he said. “I don’t think you should go. It might be dangerous.”

“It’s dangerous out there for Sage, too,” Daisy said. “I’m going.”

They saddled the horses. James gave her a blanket coat, took one for himself, and they rode out. The snow was two feet deep, and there was a thick crust of ice on top. The horses’ hooves cracked it, leaving a marked trail behind them.

James had intended to head northward to his cattle, taking a shortcut through the Rock Springs Pass. Thinking it might be dangerous for Daisy, he decided to go the long way around. The sun was just starting to rise, turning the darkness from black to gray. Stars began to fade, millions every second, leaving only the brightest constellations and planets visible.

Daisy seemed to relax as they rode. Scout’s gentle gait rocked her, and the ride gave her the feeling she was doing something to find Sage. James watched how she turned her head from left to right, staying vigilant, even though it was still too dark to see much of anything. She wore her grease-wool muffler pulled up over her mouth and nose, to keep her face from freezing.

They plodded along the riverbed. Snow covered everything, making the willows and junipers droop low under its weight. The water had frozen solid in places, but around this bend it rushed over rapids, the boulders slick with ice. Crystal Lake spread off to the right, frozen and white with snow. It should have been smooth, but as they got closer, James could see the surface was covered with bumps.

“Look,” he said in a low voice, reaching over to grab Daisy’s wrist.

“What?” she asked.

“There.” He pointed at the lake. The horses stood still, their breath puffing into the frigid air. James saw Daisy’s eyes narrow as she tried to make sense of the lumps. The lake looked like a field covered with tiny boulders.

“What are they?” she asked.

Light from the rising sun reflected off the red cliff, pouring pink light over the snow-covered land and lake. James held Daisy’s wrist for over a minute, waiting for the sun to rise a little more, illuminate the bumps. He kept the horses still, not wanting them to crack the ice crust and scare the wildlife before he was ready. His heart was beating fast, because he had seen this several times over the years, each time dreaming he could show it to Daisy.

“Do you believe in signs?” he asked, his blood pounding.

“You know I do.” She was smiling behind her scarf. He could tell by the way her eyes crinkled.

“What’s the totem for marriage?”

“The what?”

“The Shoshone totem for marriage?”

“Louis told me the Shoshones believed it was snow geese,” Daisy said. “They mate for life.”

“If I can make the snow geese appear,” James asked, “will you marry me again?”

Daisy didn’t answer, but she kept smiling. James assured himself of that, watching her eyes very carefully. The tiny lines at the outside corners deepened slightly, and their expression was full of affection and mirth. The sun was coming up fast, its red reflection sliding down the cliffs and spreading light all over the snow. He decided he’d better not wait another second.

Kicking his horse hard, he took off at a full gallop toward the lake. Chieftain flew, black and sleek and hell-for-leather, loving the strange weather and his rider’s mood. Frozen air rushed past them, filling James’s lungs till they wanted to burst. James kicked again, waving his arms and yelling wildly.

“Yah!” he yelled.
“Yiii-ahhhhh!”

The bumps began to move. They wriggled like thousands of cats hiding under a pristine white comforter. Then the snow began to break, and the first heads and necks appeared—hatchlings in the new dawn. The first stirrings of wings as one goose rose in flight, and then another. As James galloped to the edge of the lake, the entire flock of snow geese took off.

Turning to grin over his shoulder, he watched Daisy’s reaction. She stared with delight and amazement, both hands held to her scarf-covered mouth. The migrating snow geese had scattered on takeoff, but now they remembered their formation. Following their leader, they created a gigantic V and wheeled southward. Daisy rose in her stirrups, throwing her arms up as if she could catch the geese that flew overhead.

As if she could catch what they had, James thought, watching her. As if she could harness their resilience and endurance and devotion, as if she could have her marriage back. Or maybe that was just what James wanted for himself. His heart was pumping, so full of love for her he thought it might knock him off his horse.

“Marry me!” he yelled across the long expanse of dawn-pink snow. It was punctuated by Chieftain’s hoofprints—the mark of one rider.

Daisy didn’t call back, but as James watched, she began to ride toward him. Scout was old and slow, but she had always loved to run. The palomino began a slow canter, her hooves cracking through the crust, and as James watched, Chieftain’s prints were joined by Scout’s. Their trails merged until Daisy was sitting right beside him.

He said again, straight to her face: “Marry me, Daisy.”

“I love you, James.”

The snow geese had disappeared from sight, but they could still hear the beating of a thousand wings, the loud honking that echoed off the mountain walls.

“Devoted for life,” he said. “That’s what I want to be to you.”

“It’s what I want too.”

“You couldn’t have felt it, being so far away,” he said, his throat tight with cold and incalculable passion. “But it’s what I’ve been all along. I never stopped.”

She nodded, her eyes shining and bright. Reaching over toward his saddle, she took his right hand and squeezed it tight.

“I know that,” she said.

“For you and Sage. For Jake, too. For our family. Marry me, Daisy.”

“So we can be a family again.” Daisy clutched his hands.

“Say yes—”

“When Sage comes home.” Daisy’s eyelashes were frosty with tears. They froze there, just under her eyes, and they stayed. “Ask me again then, James. I can’t say yes until our daughter is safe.”

“I understand,” James said, his voice thick with tears because he understood so well.

They stayed by the edge of Crystal Lake for a few minutes more, not speaking again, listening for the snow geese. But the flock was gone, continuing on their migration to warmer, safer lands. Holding Daisy’s hand, James waited for his heartbeat to return to normal. It never did, and it probably never would while she was right there. But after a while, when the sun had cleared the mountain and turned the sky bright blue, he let go of her hand and started to ride.

Toward the main road, away from the lake and river, away from the canyons and range. The cattle were hungry, waiting for someone to break the ice and let them graze, but James decided to let them wait. Paul would get to them, or some of the punchers.

Right now James was going to ride with Daisy to the highway, where there was no livestock at all. Maybe a few cars and trucks would pass by, ranchers with business to take care of after the storm. James and Daisy would be watching for the one with Sage inside, bringing her home to her parents.

Bringing the Tucker family back together.

From his bed, Dalton had watched James and Daisy ride off before dawn, and now he sat by the window, hands folded on his lap while he dozed and dreamed of being young. He had such strength! He could ride all day, his muscles as strong as the horse’s. The landscape was washed with colors, a hundred shades of green in a single leaf, the canyon walls a palette of reds. Winter came fast in Dalton’s dream, in the time it took to draw one breath. The snow was heavy, and it broke houses apart. When the roof fell in, all Dalton had to do was move the timbers, pull Rosalind and James out to safety.

“Oh, God.” Dalton woke with a start. “Oh, dear God. Rosalind, my Rosalind.”

“What’s that, Mr. Tucker?” Alma, the nurse, asked.

“Nothing,” Dalton muttered, wiping his eyes.

The dream had seemed so real. That sense of strength and ability—the power to save the people he loved most. He hadn’t had to leave the job to his young son—to try and fail to rescue his mother. In the dream, Dalton had been able to be the strong one—the father and husband—and lift those broken roof beams right off his beautiful wife.

“Want a tissue?” Alma asked, thrusting the box at him.

“What for?”

“Your eyes are watering. So’s your nose.” She wadded up a tissue and dabbed at his face, exactly like his mother used to do.

“Stop that, young lady,” he said sternly.

“Why are you crying?”

“Ask me that again, and you’re fired.” What had life come to, that this nurse-lady could walk through his ranch house like she owned the place, asking Dalton Tucker why he was
crying
?

Already the dream was fading. He stared down at his withered hands and wrists, trying to bring back the shimmering strength he’d had in his dream—and his youth. As he sat there, watching the morning sun flood through the windows, he thought of how quickly life had passed by. In the blink of an eye!