Wishes and Dreams (3 page)

She surmised that he must have once known a Pam with her coloring, and offered a smile.

Kyle spun her around the dance floor, or at least, he tried. Little room for movement with so many dancers crammed into the space. “First time here?” he asked. “My buddy and I come here a lot, and I would have remembered seeing you.”

“First time,” she confirmed.

The upbeat music lasted a few minutes; then the band announced they were taking a breather and would be right back. To mollify the crowd still in the mood to dance, the band turned on digital tracks by famous country singers before splitting from the stage. The first tune was slow, and Ciana found herself wrapped in Kyle’s arms. The guy was nice enough, but it
wasn’t where she wanted to be. “Maybe we should grab a seat.”

“No way. I like having you up against me.” He buried his face in her hair. “You smell like strawberries.”

Since she knew the evening with him would go no further, she edged away. As she did, the song by the singer coming through the amps slammed into her consciousness.
“Our lives are better left to chance.… I would have missed the pain … but would have missed the dance.”
Ciana froze.
Not this song
. She couldn’t listen to this song right now.

“Hey, what’s up?” Kyle asked.

Ciana pushed off from him. “I—I need to leave.”

“What! We’re just getting started.”

“That song—not a favorite.” Ciana turned, bulldozed through the crowd to the door.

Kyle came after her. “It’s just a song. It’ll be over in a minute.”

She paid him no mind but pushed through to the outside.

“It’s Garth Brooks, lady. Who doesn’t like Garth?” Kyle called.

A bouncer at the door stopped Kyle from following her, and Ciana rushed away from the nightclub. A fine, soft rain was falling in a world lit by streetlamps and neon signs shining from the doors and windows of other bars and clubs along the city’s famous strip. The streetlights turned the night an eerie golden color, while neon streaked blurs of reds, blues, and greens, swirled together like on a painter’s palette. Ciana moved at a fast clip down the slippery sidewalk, far away from the noise of music and laughter. Yet even as she moved and the sounds faded, she realized that no matter how far she went, she could never outrun the memories that chased her. Memories were the kind of baggage you never left behind.

The western sun beat down from a clear blue sky, a heat tinged with the coolness of the approaching autumn. Jon was in Colorado now, still chasing the circuit. He stood at the side of the large corral and watched a black bull charge out of a chute, hell-bent on tossing the rider seated on its back. The cheering crowd packing the fairground bleachers went wild. The spectators saw such contests as a matchup between man and beast, and while they might cheer for the rider, everyone knew that the fifteen-hundred-pound bucking, twisting bull had the advantage. Staying seated on the bull until the buzzer sounded was important. Staying seated to standards set by the judges was the difference between winning and losing on points.

Jon mentally gauged the rider’s chances. The rider held on to a handle on a wide leather strap around the bull’s girth with one hand, but he’d slid and was listing to the left. Jon didn’t ride bulls, only bucking horses. He got on well with horses. To Jon, bulls were mean and dumb.

Suddenly, the bull did an amazing twist and snap back and the rider lost his grip, plunged off sideways, and landed sprawled on the ground. The crowd gasped, stood in unison. The bull, head down, went after the rider. If the animal caught the man, the beast would gore him and stomp on him. The thrown rider scrambled to get to his feet and out of the angry animal’s path.

Declan shot out from the side of an enclosure in his clown getup, waving his arms and shouting. The bull whipped around, charged. Horses and riders were coming fast to get between the two men and the enraged bull. Dec was fast; the bull was faster. His horn caught Dec’s pant leg, tossed him high just as a rider dropped a lasso around the animal’s thick neck, and his well trained horse braked to a stop. The jerk of the rope stopped the bull cold. It didn’t stop Dec from going over the bull’s back and high in the air like a rag doll. He hit the ground so hard, Jon heard a bone snap.

Jon leaped over the railing and into the corral on a dead run. He dropped to his knees beside his friend. The spectators went quiet. Men with a gurney pushed Jon aside, but not before he realized that Dec wasn’t moving, and maybe not even breathing.

“There you are!” Eden came beside Ciana breathlessly. “I couldn’t find you. When did you cut out?”

“I felt like the walls were closing in on me. I had to get out of there.”

“You could have told me.”

“It happened fast. I just ducked and ran. Sorry.”

They were together in the Riverfront Park on the banks of the great Cumberland River flowing through downtown Nashville, just blocks from the nightclub. The concrete path had been designed especially for joggers, walkers, and bike riders. On summer evenings it was usually crowded, but because of the rain, Ciana was pretty much by herself, which was how Eden had found her so quickly.

“Was the guy you danced with a complete jerk?” Eden hooked her arm through Ciana’s.

“No. He was turning out to be a nice guy. I … I just wasn’t interested. How about your guy? Did I ruin it for you?”

“No. Turns out I wasn’t very interested in him either. Guess it wasn’t such a good idea to come out tonight after all.”

“I’m just a party pooper.”

“But that’s always been the case.”

Ciana snickered. “Please don’t sugarcoat your words on my account.”

The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and humidity settled on them like a cloak. “What were you thinking about so hard? You looked a million miles away when I came up.”

Ciana stared out across the water, watched the droplets hitting the river’s surface fracture the lights reflected from downtown buildings.
Tears from heaven
, she thought. “Believe it or not, I was thinking back to the day we graduated. We were like, ‘Hey, world, here we come. Get out of the way!’ ”

“Hard to believe that was two years ago. But you’re right. We thought we owned the world. It was a great day. Even my looney mother behaved herself.” At Eden’s urging, they began to stroll.

“And my parents and grandmother were there. And remember how Arie—” Ciana stopped abruptly, unable to finish the sentence. It was crazy how grief could so easily blindside her these days. She could be thinking happy thoughts and without warning sadness would sneak up and get her in a choke hold. She cleared her throat. “Well, that was then. This is now.”

“You know what we should do?” Eden didn’t wait for an answer. “We should go back to Bellmeade and break out another bottle of good Italian wine, watch a sad movie, and cry like thirteen-year-olds.”

Ciana smiled because Eden understood. Both of them had learned that grief was a far lighter burden when it was shared between friends. “I think that’s a great idea.”

As the rain started falling more intensely. Eden glanced heavenward. “We should start toward the parking garage. Let’s hurry.”

“Why? Can’t get any wetter.”

Eden shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.”

They looped arms and walked slowly back to Eden’s car.

“Stop sneaking round my room, Jonny-boy.”

The sound of Dec’s groggy, drug-soaked voice drew Jon up short. He’d come into Dec’s hospital room as quietly as possible, dodging beeping machines, to stand next to the bed. In the dim light, the old cowboy looked nothing like the robust man Jon knew. Dec’s head was
bandaged, his right arm was in a fresh cast, and he looked smaller, as if he’d shrunk a size. Dec pushed a button and elevated the head of the bed. “They said your jaw was broken, yet you still talk?” Jon chided quietly.

Dec managed a deep throaty laugh. “Wired shut at the back, but I can get out some words. Fact is, I’m flying so high, I might just get up and walk out of here.” Dec’s words were muffled, and consonants were hard for him to pronounce, yet Jon could understand his speech. Dec motioned Jon closer, so it seemed that he wanted to talk.

“Don’t you mean ‘crawl out’?” Jon moved nearer, rolled tension out of his shoulders. “Been worried about you.”

“How’s the rider? He come out better than me?”

“Sprained wrist, cuts and bruises, but he’s okay.”

“And the bull?”

Jon grinned. “Grazing like nothing happened. You didn’t scare him one bit.”

“Good. Hate to see a good bull get shafted.”

“You need me to do anything while you’re laid up?”

“Association’s looking after my stuff, but I’d feel better if you’d keep eyes on my horse. I’m going to be here a few days.” The Rodeo Association was a group that took care of hurt riders. Everyone paid dues, knowing the money might one day go to help one of them through an accident or disaster.

“I’ll take care of him.” Jon twirled his hat in his hands, his nerves stretched piano-wire tight. “Sorry this happened to you, Dec.”

“Me too.”

The season was almost complete, and riders and personnel typically headed back to jobs, homes, and families, only to gather again when the new season began. Two years before, when he’d left at the end of the season, Jon had taken a job training mustangs for a rancher in Tennessee. That was how he’d met Ciana. Following the rodeo was a vagabond lifestyle, one he had once coveted. “Where you going when they release you?”

“Back to Montana. Got a double-wide and a grazing pasture for my horse.”

“Need some help driving home?” The finals were in three weeks, and Jon was in the running for prize money, but he’d walk away if Dec needed him.

“No,” Dec said, with finality. “I’ll go home, have a long rest, then start all over again come spring. It’s the only life I know.”

Jon didn’t miss the sound of resignation in Dec’s voice. “You can retire.”

“No pension plan,” Dec said with a grin. Then he sobered. “I have something to say to
you, Jon. May as well say my piece before you skip out or they take away my joy juice.”

“Say it.”

Declan drove his gaze into Jon’s like a light saber. “Take a good hard look at me, because this could be your future. You’re a good rider, but all that bucking and being tossed takes a toll on a man. Sooner or later, your body can’t take it anymore. For that matter, neither can your brain … all that jarring around ain’t good. I’ve been twenty-five years on the circuit. Long time, and nothing much to show for it.” Dec shifted, and in spite of the morphine pump, he groaned. “Three broken ribs,” he explained. “My story ain’t pretty. Been divorced twice, and somewhere out there, I have a fourteen-year-old girl I haven’t seen in years. This ain’t a lifestyle, Jon Mercer. It’s a sentence.”

“What’s your point?”

“Don’t end up like me. Growing old with nothing but a horse and saddle to your name. I know you have someone you care about.”

Jon stiffened. “It’s complicated.”

“Things between men and women always are, but that don’t keep it from being worthwhile. Wish I’d tried a little harder, especially with my daughter’s mother. She was a good woman. And I was a fool to walk away.” Dec lowered the bed so that he was lying flat, pushed the button on the infusion pump beside his bed that would deliver the measured dose of morphine he needed. “Now get of here. I’m going to float off.”