Changeling Dream
Page 25
James sat amid the blossoms for a long, long time. Calm. Clearheaded. And thankful beyond all words. Thankful for the affirmation of his dream, grateful to have seen Evelyn whole and happy. Thankful to know that his rebellious wolfen side could not possibly have conjured this.
A return to happiness. Evelyn said she had chosen these flowers to convey that message to him. As he contemplated that, a number of ideas suddenly fell together in ordered sequence like tumblers in a lock about to open. James thought of the wolf, his wolf, and its efforts to embrace survival whether he wanted to live or not. Remembered Birkie’s words, that survival meant going on with life in all ways. Recalled Connor’s certainty that it was too late to turn back, to turn away from being human. James had been so angry, so frustrated with all of them. So resistant to everyone and everything.
Worst of all, he had resisted the one person, right in front of him, who had been courageous enough to move forward with her life and make something of it after a terrible and traumatic ordeal. Jillian was not just surviving, but thriving. How could he do less? A return to happiness. James knew suddenly, clearly, that it was time for him to fully return to life and embrace all that it meant.
He had to find Jillian, had to find a way to undo the damage he’d done.
“The doctor said four weeks of rest. You’ve barely had one.”
“I can’t see myself missing four weeks of work. That’s too much.”
“That’s the verdict, hon. You heard it yourself after the CAT scan.” Birkie put a fragrant cup of herbal tea on the bedside table. “Nothing but a lot of rest is going to improve that noggin of yours. And even when you start to get better, any overexertion is going to bring the symptoms back full force.”
Jillian sighed.“I know the drill. I’ve had a concussion before, a few years ago. From the attack.”
“And you also know that having a concussion before is exactly why you can’t expect to bounce back in a couple of days from this one.”
“It’s just so darn hard to do nothing. Lying here, lying still, my mind works just fine. I feel fine and think I should get up and do something.”
“You are doing something—you’re whining.” Birkie grinned. “First time in over a week. That tells me you’re starting to heal. But you were paper-white and sweating after the ride over here yesterday. I’m still not convinced you should have left my place just yet.”
Jillian had had her own doubts about her decision. She’d traveled by ambulance to the city for the CAT scan, sleeping through most of the ride there and back. A little dizzy, a little headache, but not too bad. After that, she’d expected riding over to the clinic in Birkie’s truck would be a snap, but she hadn’t taken into account the fact that she would be sitting up. The dizziness and nausea were so intense, she’d had to close her eyes most of the way. And once at the clinic, she’d been forced to head straight to her bed to sleep it off. “You’ve been wonderful to me, but I really wanted to be here. It’s home now.”
“Well, I understand that a person needs to be in their own familiar surroundings with their own stuff. And at least I can look in on you while I’m here during the day. I admit I worry about you at night, though.”
“All I’m going to do is snore, I promise. You won’t be missing anything but having to wait on me.”
“Ha. There was a real burden. You didn’t need any watching after that first night, and you slept most of the whole first week. It’s not like you demanded heated towels and chocolates on your pillow.”
“Chocolates on my pillow was an option? I wish I’d known.”
“Drink your tea, hon, and we’ll see about the chocolate. By the way, I’ve been putting your mail on the table. You have quite a stack built up.”
“Bless you and thank you. I’d forgotten all about it. Although I imagine it’s mostly bills.” Jillian sat up carefully. Sipped at the tea. “You know what really bothers me? I still can’t figure out how I managed to get a stupid concussion. Believe me, the air bag went off. I didn’t hit anything.”
“Maybe not, but the air bag certainly hit you. You know, I’ll bet you drive with your hands high on the wheel, don’t you?”
“What?”
“Say, about two and ten o’clock. Add to that the fact that you’re on the short side like me. Bang, the air bag goes off and the impact probably drove your wrist right to your head. Broke the wrist, nearly cracked the skull.”
“Have you been watching reruns of CSI again?”
“You bet. But the Millers said so too. And we found out later that there was a recall notice for that particular year and model of truck because the air bag was discovered to be too powerful. Let me tell you, Connor had that truck over to the dealership the next day to have that bag ripped out and replaced. He feels terrible that this happened to you.”
“I’m sure being hit by the air bag was better than hitting the tree. I should feel bad about Connor’s truck. I must have banged it up pretty good.”
“James says you banged yourself up pretty good on the undercarriage. Lowen says that could account for the concussion as well, plus you’ve got nine stitches in three places to show for it.”
“Nine? Huh, I thought I counted seven.” She fingered gingerly through her hair.
“You can count again this afternoon when Bev comes by to take them out.”
Jillian closed her eyes and eased back down on the bed. The urge to get up and do something had abruptly passed. Not only was all her energy gone, but she couldn’t even remember what it was like to have any. Her collarbone was throbbing again too, but she reminded herself to be thankful it was just bruised and not broken. Although it was tough to remember that when pain woke her in the night. “I feel really bad that Connor’s going to be shorthanded.”
“You’re the one that’s shorthanded. That cast still itching?”
Jillian surveyed her wrist and its fluorescent-pink casing. “Nope, not today. At least not yet.”
“Good. Don’t worry about Connor, he’ll be just fine. He managed for several years before you showed up. Ran full tilt, but managed. Besides, it won’t hurt for him to gain a renewed appreciation for you. We’re finished with calving season until January rolls around, so that takes a lot of the pressure off. And James has been riding along to assist with big projects like herd checks and such. Speaking of James, he asked about you again this morning. He still wants to see you.”
Jillian knew he had phoned Birkie’s house at least once a day, sometimes twice. What was it going to take for him to get the message? And how long could she hold out? She opened her eyes and looked at her friend. “I don’t want to see him, Birkie. I just can’t. It’s hard enough to be firm about this, you don’t know how hard it is.”
“I think I have a pretty good idea, hon.” She sat on the edge of the bed and seemed to consider something. “You know, I haven’t said anything to you before, but perhaps I should have. James cares about you a lot, much more than you know. Much more than he knows, I suspect.”
Jillian automatically shook her head and was instantly sorry. She froze in place until the wave of nausea subsided and the pounding in her skull faded. “I gotta quit doing that,” she squeaked.
“Here, let me help you with the tea. It’ll help settle things.”
The tea soothed her stomach immediately, which didn’t surprise her. Birkie’s concoctions were always effective, although Jillian had given up asking what was in them. The older woman rattled off Latin plant names as easily as if they were ordinary baking ingredients.
“James will be back you know, hon. He’s not a man to give up once he knows what he wants.”
“And you think he wants me.” She didn’t dare entertain the notion that it might be true. She had closed that particular door, locked it and piled mental furniture against it. Didn’t want to open it again. “Dammit, he dumped me, Birkie, dumped me and didn’t even tell me why. It hurt a helluva lot. It still hurts. Why would I want to give him the chance to do that again?”
Jillian stared. “You’ve got to be kidding. Protective? What is this, the Middle Ages? No wonder he sent such a strange bunch of flowers to do his talking for him.” Her voice rose enough to send nail-like spikes of pain through her head, but the surge of anger wouldn’t let her stop. “And protect me from what? I should have been protected from him. Why didn’t he tell me to my face that he didn’t want a relationship? And he sure could have mentioned it before I slept with him.” She swore then, both from fury and pain. “If James really had some stupid archaic notion of protecting me, he could have brought up his concerns and discussed them with me so I could make my own damn decision.” Jillian sank back on the bed, utterly spent and unable to tell which hurt more, her heart or her head. Her stomach roiled treacherously.
“Easy there, hon, it’s all true. Every word of it. Now don’t you think you’d feel better if you told him exactly what you just told me?”
Yeah. Yeah, she probably would. She’d tried to be firm and reasonable at the doctors’ office. Even with her heart in tatters, she’d tried to walk away—okay, more like limp away—with some dignity. It was obvious now that it wasn’t going to be enough. James refused to stay away. Still, she was far from ready for a confrontation. “Can’t it wait until I’m vertical? I might want to punch him out and I just can’t manage a proper Tae Kwon Do position lying down.”
“You just let me know when you’re ready. I’ll try to hold him off until then, but I confess it hasn’t been easy for me to shoo him away. He’s hurting too.”
“He’s hurting? What did I ever do to him?” Jillian narrowed her eyes at her friend. “What is it you know that I don’t? Has he been talking to you?”
“Not a single blessed word, hon. Haven’t even seen his handsome face except the night of the accident. However, what I know is that James is a complicated man. There’s a tender heart behind the thorny exterior. Things haven’t been easy for him since his wife died.”
Died? Jillian was silent for a long moment. “You said he had been married but I just assumed he was divorced. She died—that’s so awful. Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“I guess because it was awful. Maybe I hoped it would come up when you and James were talking, that maybe he would say something and I wouldn’t have to. Foolish of me, I know. But Evelyn was my niece, you see, and well, I guess I prefer to remember the happier things.”
“Oh Birkie, I’m so sorry.”
The older woman leaned over and squeezed Jillian’s hand. “Thanks for that. Actually, I think you would have liked Evelyn. You remind me of her in some ways. It happened several years ago now, and most of us have made peace with it as best we could. Except James, that is. He still blames himself for it.”
“Why? How . . . how did she die?”
“Murdered. Shot by an intruder in her own house. She was pregnant.”
Jillian swallowed hard. There were no words for such an enormous tragedy, the terrible waste of a life, of two lives. And what had the loss done to James?
Birkie continued as if she had heard Jillian’s thoughts. “James feels it’s his fault for not being there. He was out moving cattle and arrived home to find her.”
My God. “But how could he think it’s his fault? He couldn’t have known, couldn’t have anticipated. Nobody expects something like that to happen, especially not in their own home. Did they . . . did they catch the murderer?”
“No.” The older woman shook her head. “James was shot too, when he entered the house. Didn’t see who it was. Whoever did it walked away. And I think that made it even worse, for all of us.”
Jillian understood that all too well. The men who’d attacked her had never been found either. It had taken a lot of counseling, a lot of hard work, to create some kind of closure when closure could not naturally be found. Eventually she had discovered a measure of peace within herself, but there would always be moments that had to be managed, like that flashback on the trail below Elk Point. She found herself wondering what it was like to be James. Were there moments that still haunted him?
Chapter Twenty-six
Douglas didn’t know what to make of his father’s sudden improvement, but he was grateful for it. The morning after the episode with the lady vet, Roderick Harrison had awakened in his right mind—and stayed there. He hadn’t had an episode since. No dementia, no loss of memory, no cognitive lapses. Nothing. The doctors were extremely impressed, although baffled. Some chalked it up to the new medication. The Alzheimer’s seemed to be in some kind of remission, so much so that other doctors questioned the original diagnosis. No one looking at the old man would guess that the mere month before he had mistaken his only son for a hired hand.
Roderick slid easily back into the routine of overseeing the ranch. He spent increasing amounts of time with old Varley Smith, the ranch manager, which wasn’t surprising—they’d been friends for as long as Douglas could remember. His father even went to a cattle auction, winning a good-looking group of replacement heifers. He celebrated by joining Varley and a few of the hands at the Shamrock Bar, a place he hadn’t gone into in years. Not since the Alzheimer’s had begun to take hold. “I’ll look out for him,” Varley had whispered to Douglas before they drove off. And he had, as Douglas knew he would. They’d returned after midnight with Roderick only pleasantly drunk. The next day, he was in a sterling mood, eating a full breakfast with gusto and hurrying out to take delivery of the heifers he’d bought.
Normal. Ordinary. Everything just as it had always been before Roderick’s mind had begun to play tricks on him. The full moon came and went, and the wild episodes that so often accompanied it failed to materialize. Roderick remained himself. Douglas didn’t know how long this would last, but he was grateful for the respite. Especially since the mental frenzy that once so frequently gripped his father seemed to have migrated into his own brain. Even Jack Daniels hadn’t been able to keep it at bay. White wolves chased Douglas in his dreams, stalked him from behind hay bales and outbuildings during the day. He’d nearly screamed aloud yesterday afternoon when he caught a glimpse of something white moving behind the house. Turned out to be just sheets on the clothesline, put there by the housekeeper. Douglas had been so unnerved, he’d spent the rest of the day drinking himself into a stupor in his room. Slept like the dead.
There was sunlight streaming in his window when he finally woke, and the clock on the nightstand said 8:39. His father would have something to say about that, no doubt. Roderick would have been up, dressed, had his coffee and checked the livestock by six. Still, Douglas didn’t particularly care. His brain felt somewhat fuzzy but he wasn’t on edge. Was relaxed for the first time in days. He drank a tumbler of Jack Daniels before he got out of bed to make sure he stayed in that mellow frame of mind. By the time he had a shower and dressed, he felt so bombproof that if a dozen wolves suddenly parachuted into the front yard, he doubted he’d be able to raise an eyebrow. He negotiated the route to the kitchen, just as Varley burst in the back door.
“Rod’s gone.”
“What?” No, no, he was feeling too good for this. Much too good. “Gone where?”
“I don’t know. He took my pickup.”
“Well, maybe he just felt like going for a ride. He was okay this morning, right?” He willed Varley to say yes.
“Well, yeah.” Varley seemed to relax a little. “Yeah, he was just fine when I saw him earlier. Sorry to panic, Dougie. I guess I’m not used to him driving, not since we had to take the keys away from him last year. He’s probably just headed into town.”
It made sense. His father used to like to drive into Spirit River a couple times a week just to get the mail if nothing else. “Maybe you could take my vehicle and check. If I go, he’ll just think I’m nursemaiding hi
m and get all pissy. I really hate to spoil it if he’s enjoying himself.” Douglas was pleased with that last little brainwave. In reality, he didn’t feel up to facing the bright sunlight out there, never mind his father.
“Good point, good point. I’ll see if I can catch up to him, maybe talk him into going to the Diamond for coffee and pie. We used to go there a lot, give the waitresses a hard time.” Varley winked. “Don’t worry, Dougie, I’ll find him and ride herd on him without him knowing it. Let you know how it goes.”
Douglas was relieved when the ranch manager left, more relieved when he squinted through the window and saw his own pickup heading down the lane to the highway. He wondered if he should have another drink or just go back to bed. Maybe both. With his father in Spirit River, and Varley looking after him, Douglas could count on having the rest of the day to relax. He felt his mood lift at the prospect, and suddenly he felt like making some eggs, no, an omelet. A Spanish omelet, by God, with a steak on the side. He whistled as he searched the fridge for ingredients.
Roderick Harrison had often used his pickup truck as a blind. If a hunter was patient enough, waited long enough, his quarry would come to regard the vehicle as part of the landscape and ignore it. He’d shot many a coyote, sometimes a deer, from the open window while parked downwind near the edge of the timber that covered the northern section of his ranch. The method would earn him a hefty fine anywhere else, but it was perfectly legal on his own land.