Tomorrow's Shining Dream

by Naomi Rawlings

  They were everywhere. Too many for the size of the pasture, which would probably be used up in another month if they all stayed in the canyon. How long had they been here?

  Charlotte prodded Athena down the side of the ridge, making room for Wes and the rangers who followed behind him. Cain was already barking orders to his men, never mind that most of them were still coming through the tunnel.

  Charlotte rode up to the nearest heifer, expecting to see her family’s brand with a bar that ran from the line of the A clear through the W. But the longhorn didn’t have a brand on its right flank. She frowned and led Athena around the other side of the beast. There, on its left shoulder, was the brand for the Triple M.

  “Check the brands,” she shouted. “Someone must have driven them here because they’re not all Westin cattle.”

  Just how many Triple M cattle were there? Daniel had spent weeks searching for Mattherson’s stolen cattle. Had they been here the whole time?

  And what about the A Bar W cattle that were mixed in? Could Robbie have moved them here hoping to get them over the border, but been caught before he could drive them south? Maybe the day they’d gone on their picnic, he’d been scouting the ranch for hidden pasture.

  “Spread out and look for any sign of someone penning the cattle here intentionally,” Cain called to his men.

  Wes rode up beside her and swung off his horse. “Really? The Triple M.” He touched the brand on the longhorn’s shoulder. “I told Daniel it was a lost cause.”

  “Guess it wasn’t so lost after all.”

  The truth shall set you free. The verses Daniel had quoted to her flashed in her mind. My grace is sufficient for thee… When I am made weak, then am I made strong.

  Charlotte shook her head and swallowed. She didn’t feel like she was any stronger, just weak. And she didn’t quite feel like she was free yet either…

  But these cattle were about to be.

  Light. It seared through the faint crack in his eyelids and set his head to pounding. Daniel groaned, pressing his eyes tight against the blaze of the sun.

  “Daniel?”

  A voice, masculine, though that didn’t mean anything. Voices had come and gone, gone and come, for nearly as long as he could remember. He probably recognized some of them, maybe even most of them, if he cared to think about it…

  If thinking didn’t send pain flashing through the back of his head.

  “Daniel?”

  The voice grew closer, louder, and he winced against the sound. It felt like someone had taken a railroad spike and driven it into the back of his skull.

  The memory filtered back to him. Closed Canyon. The men by the fire. The crack of a gunshot.

  Then what?

  Daniel reached up and touched the side of his face, only to find a bandage covering his skin.

  “You cracked the back of your head, not the side.”

  That voice again. Low and smooth and unrushed, drawing each word out until it almost sounded mocking.

  He dropped his hand from the bandage and tried to open his eyes a second time, only to slam them shut against the light. Still, he didn’t need to see to know who sat in the room with him.

  “What are you doing here, Cain?”

  Or at least those were the words he tried to say. Everything came out as one long, giant groan, except for maybe Cain’s name. He tried again. “Why are you here?”

  “Came to see you with your shaved head. Sure found a complicated way to go about it, I’ll give you that. And you’ve still got two months till your birthday, so I don’t know what you were in such an all-fired hurry about. That’s plenty of time to send away for a mail-order bride like Sam or Wes.”

  Wes? Daniel’s eyes flew open, never mind the pain. “Wes sent for a bride?”

  His words came out clearer that time.

  “Sure did. Says he needs someone to keep house for him now that Consuela moved back to Mexico. Seems in an awful hurry to get himself hitched again, though I don’t understand the appeal.”

  Daniel turned his head to look at Cain. Mistake. Pain ripped through his skull, forcing him to slam his eyes shut against the blistering sensation and curl his arms around his stomach, which suddenly felt nauseous.

  “Careful. I wouldn’t go moving too much. Reckon this is the longest you’ve been awake since the injury. Should probably go get the doc.” The sound of a chair scraping against the floor filled the room.

  “Wait.” Daniel turned his head again, slower this time, and brought Cain into view.

  At least he assumed it was Cain. His vision was a little too blurry to be certain. “What happened to me? I don’t remember all of it. Just Closed Canyon, the campfire. The gunshot, and… and…”

  “And not the part where the rustler knocked you unconscious, then decided to slam your head a half dozen times against the boulder you’d been hiding behind?” Cain settled himself back into the chair.

  “He left me for dead?”

  “No.”

  Daniel blinked again, bringing Cain better into focus. But his head was hung and his shoulders slumped—as though he was upset about something?

  “I sent men to the canyon that night. They saw the rustler sneak up on you, heard the gunshot, and rushed the outlaw as soon as he started slamming your head against the rock.”

  “You sent men to Closed Canyon?” But Cain had insisted he wouldn’t. At least, that’s what Daniel recalled. Had his head been hit so hard that he couldn’t remember what was true and what wasn’t?

  “Yes, I sent men to stake out the area, but not enough of them. I know I told you I wouldn’t, but the notion there’d be danger wouldn’t leave me alone. I kept most of the rangers with me and went to the trail on Sam’s property.” Cain brought his head up then. The lines around his mouth were creased with worry, and a tumult of emotions showed in eyes that were usually hard and unreadable. “You asked what happened that night? I was wrong. That’s what happened. You were right and I was wrong, and you almost died because of it.”

  Daniel shifted on the lumpy bed as best as he could without moving his head. He’d almost died… because of Cain? No, if not for Cain, he’d be dead for sure and for certain.

  “I’m sorry, Daniel.” Anguish filled Cain’s voice. “I was too slow confessing my wrongs to you last time, too slow asking for forgiveness over what happened with your pa. This time around I’m saying it first thing. I should have listened to your concerns about Closed Canyon, about the rustlers not bothering to move so few cattle over Sam’s trail. I was too prideful to give what you said much thought, and you almost died. Forgive me.”

  Daniel started to shake his head, but another bout of pain flashed through his skull, and he tamped down a groan. “You’re not the only one that needs forgiveness.”

  “I am.” Cain shoved at a strand of hair that had fallen back over his shoulder. “This is entirely my fault, and I’m going to admit it this time.”

  “I’m not talking about Closed Canyon. I blamed you for what happened to my pa for too long. And then when I realized you were just doing your job, giving chase to bandits, I grew angry. I should have forgiven you as soon as I found out…”

  Daniel pressed a hand to the back of his head, where the pounding grew worse with each word he spoke. “No, that’s not right. I should have forgiven you years ago, whether you’d abandoned your post like I’d thought or not.”

  That was probably why he’d been so frustrated with God, why he’d felt like God had stopped listening to him and answering his prayers. His own bitterness toward Cain had blinded him to the principles of God’s word, and he’d spent years suffering because of it. “Instead, I used what I perceived as your shortcomings to justify my own, to make them all right, and I can’t apologize enough for it. I mean, I forgave Charlotte…”

  Her name echoed through his head. How long had he been lying in this bed? Had she married Mortimer yet? Was she already on her way to San Antonio?

  No, that’s not what he’d been te
lling Cain. What had he been saying again?

  He tried to remember a few minutes back in the conversation, but his thoughts were slippery, there one moment and then gone the next.

  “No need to apologize.” Cain clasped his hands together in front of him, his head still bent and shoulders hunched in a defeated posture. “I didn’t exactly work my hardest at mending things between us.”

  “I was still wrong for blaming you for Pa’s leg, for becoming bitter. Please forgive me.”

  Cain shrugged, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the apology. “Turns out you were right about the rustlers not talking. We caught the man who nearly killed you, but he won’t even tell me his name, let alone who he’s working for or where their hideout is.”

  “Did they drive a herd into Mexico? Is that what the note under my door was about?”

  A muscle ticked on the side of Cain’s jaw. “Yes, about three hundred cattle or so. My men were able to save you and take the one rustler, but I didn’t send enough of them to do more. I don’t know who wrote you that note, but the source is trustworthy. Anymore notes, and we’ll act on them.”

  “I don’t have any idea who it was.” Daniel moved his head the tiniest fraction to better look at Cain. Thankfully no nausea stirred in his gut. “What about the gunshot? The one I heard before the rustler found me? Did Aimes or Cunningham fire at the rustlers?”

  The creases around Cain’s mouth deepened. “It was Aimes getting shot. He didn’t make it. Cunningham was killed too, shortly after you were knocked out.”

  Daniel drew in a breath. Who were these men that were so well organized and eager to kill? The county had dealt with rustlers and outlaws before, but never like this.

  “Good news is we found Mattherson’s cattle.”

  Daniel jerked, which only caused pain to slash through his head. “You… you found them? Where? In Mexico?”

  “In a hidden canyon. Turns out the trail that started about a quarter mile from Mattherson’s ranch was worth following. It was old, so it disappeared in places, probably wherever it had rained, but it eventually led to a hidden canyon on the Westins’ property. Some of their cattle were mixed in with Mattherson’s, and we don’t know how any of them got there. Seems like someone would have needed to drive the cattle clear from Mattherson’s place, but the Westin cattle could have found the canyon on their own.”

  “Someone drove Mattherson’s cattle to a hidden canyon?”

  “I know it seems unlikely, but that’s the only explanation that makes sense. We counted a hundred and thirty-six head with the Triple M brand.”

  “But who? Why?”

  Cain shrugged. “Someone who knows what the rustlers are up to and doesn’t like it—maybe the same person who wrote that note. Another possibility is Robbie Ashton moved the cattle there, intending to drive them across the river at some point, but he was caught before he could. We don’t have any clues that can tell us for certain who did it or why.”

  “Does Mattherson know about the cattle?”

  “He does. You should have seen him when I rode out to his ranch and told him what we found. His face lit up like a young’un’s on Christmas morning.”

  “Reckon it did.”

  “I really should get the doc.” Cain rose from his chair. “This is the first time in a week and a half you’ve been awake long enough to carry on a conversation. He’ll want to see you—right along with half the town once they hear you’re awake.”

  A week and a half? Had he really been unconscious for that long? Maybe that explained why Cain seemed so worried. “What day is it?”

  “Monday.”

  Monday, a week and a half after Charlotte’s birthday, which had been on a Friday. That meant her wedding had been planned for last Saturday. Looked like he’d been right about her being married and on her way to San Antonio.

  Daniel pressed his eyes shut. He wasn’t going to think about it. He couldn’t—unless he wanted to end up sobbing like a baby in front of Cain. Charlotte was out of his life now, and lying here thinking of all the things he’d never have with her would only open a wound inside him.

  Something told him Doc Grubbins wouldn’t be able to patch up that kind of injury nearly as easily as he’d patched up his head.

  27

  Daniel sagged into a sitting position on his bed and tried to tamp down the nausea churning in his belly. Maybe attempting to walk to the window on his first day being fully conscious wasn’t the smartest idea he’d ever had.

  But Doc Grubbins had been in earlier, saying how he wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to walk normally again or ride a horse without losing his balance. Then Ma, Pa, and Anna Mae had invaded his room, talking about how they’d bring him home and make sure he stayed in bed and followed all the doctor’s orders the second Doc Grubbins said he could leave.

  He may have thunked his head rather hard, but he wasn’t about to let that make him an invalid.

  What was that verse Pa liked, the one about God making a person strong when he was weak? Because that’s absolutely what he was at the moment, weak. But that verse about God’s grace being sufficient was somewhere around the one about weakness. He remembered that much, even if he couldn’t recall the exact words given the way his head was pounding.

  Still, with God’s help, he’d find a way to be strong again.

  He sucked in another breath, forcing the last traces of nausea away. He’d find a way to walk more than two steps again, and ride a horse, and do all of the things he’d done before his skull had been cracked open.

  But he might not be doing all of that by tomorrow, especially given that his head started spinning each time he moved, and the spinning always set off a sickening sensation in his gut.

  Crack!

  The door to his room flew open, slamming against the wall, and the sudden noise set his head to pounding. “What in the blazes…”

  “Daniel!”

  He jerked his head toward the door.

  Mistake. Another flash of pain ripped through him, which of course sent nausea into his stomach.

  “You’re awake!” A woman rushed toward him—a woman who looked an awful lot like Charlotte, but he couldn’t quite tell because his vision had gone blurry with the fresh bout of pain.

  Besides, it couldn’t be Charlotte. She was married and on her way to San Antonio.

  “I’m sorry I’m so late. Cain rode out to the ranch and told Wes you’d woken, but I was on the range. It took him another two hours to find me.” She reached the side of the bed and gripped his hand. Her large blue eyes blinked down at him, and worry wreathed her face.

  Yes. It was definitely Charlotte. Even if he couldn’t quite trust his eyesight, he’d know that lemony scent anywhere. “What are you doing here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I came to see you. But why are you sitting up? Doc Grubbins said you’d be in bed.”

  “Shouldn’t you be halfway to San Antonio? With Andrew Mortimer.”

  “Andrew left.”

  His head started spinning, and not because of the pain. “So soon after your wedding?”

  “There wasn’t a wedding. I decided not to marry him. I told Pa and Wes the night of my birthday ball.”

  A light, airy sensation filled his chest, almost breezy enough that he could fly away from the bed that confined him.

  “I told them shortly after you kissed me.”

  The light feeling left his chest and something hard lodge there instead. Maybe he needed to lie back down. “Charlotte…”

  “I know you said you don’t have feelings for me, but I love you, Daniel Harding. I love you, and I’m not going to apologize for it. You might not return my feelings, though I think my heart just might break if that’s true, but even if you don’t care for me, I decided—”

  “You can’t keep your horses.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?” She looked exasperated, as though she was ready to explode… or maybe take the bedpan and beat him over the head with it.


  Daniel felt himself wincing at the mere thought. “It’s not that I don’t have feelings for you…”

  How to even go about explaining things? He still wasn’t about to ask her to choose between him and the thing she loved most.

  But Charlotte had already made her choice, or at least one of them. She’d told Mortimer no, and she was at his bedside professing her love for him.

  Maybe God wanted him to share the secret he’d been carrying for years after all. “I know how much you love your horses, and a future with me means you can’t breed your Arabians, or even keep them. I’m not going to make you pick between me and your horses. No person who truly loves you would ever ask such a thing.”

  “So they were right.” She pulled back from him and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Huh? Who was right? About what?”

  She twirled her hand in the air. “Everyone, about the horses. They were the reason you turned away from me after we kissed. They were the reason you told me to go find Andrew at my party. Wait… was that why you said we couldn’t keep meeting anymore? Tell me it wasn’t because of my horses.” Fierceness warred with something vulnerable in her eyes.

  A hot ball of guilt to lodge in his throat. “Um, your horses may have had something to do with that, yes.”

  “You dunderhead! I’m not asking you to make me pick between you and my horses. Do you realize how much you sound like my pa? Telling me what I can and can’t choose and making the decisions for me?”

  He was not like her Pa. He’d just…

  Taken away her ability to decide between him and Mortimer for herself.

  He groaned. How could he have been so foolish? He’d thought keeping his feelings to himself was helping Charlotte, but here he’d done just as much damage by not being truthful as Mr. Westin had by hiding his illness.

  “I’ve already decided.” She was pacing in front of the bed now, her words coming faster and faster. “I chose you. Besides, I can still keep my horses. I own all the Arabians except for Ares, and Wes already said I can stable them at the A Bar W.”