Dare to Dream

by Debbie Vaughan

  Oh, Meg, where are you?

  * * * *

  The next week was a whirlwind of activity. This wasn’t their first rodeo. They had built a log house from a kit made by this company before. Back home spring rains had been the problem. Here, they raced a hard freeze. They’d pretty much had to construct the house all by themselves in Arkansas, since hardly anyone had a clue how to assemble a log home. Out here, the rustic structures dotted the landscape, and men were anxious for the work.

  By the end of the week, the foundation was down, trenches dug below the frost line, and the plumbing roughed in. Dan assembled a full crew and lined up the crane needed to raise the heavy, twelve-inch-thick logs. If the kit arrived as scheduled on Monday morning, they’d be ready to start.

  The outside really went up quickly, like Lincoln Logs. They had opted for a metal roof, so that should go quickly as well. The stone and interior work always seemed to take forever. At least keeping the crew on task would help keep their minds off the stalled investigation.

  No one had seen hide nor hair of Meghan Dennehy. It was as if she vanished into thin air.

  Trying to write out everything about Meghan, Donna realized how little she actually knew about her friend prior to their meeting in college. Meg never talked about herself. Or maybe Donna just hadn’t listened. Meg knew more about the 1800s than Donna did about the present. She always had her nose in a book, reading or researching a piece of antiquity she stumbled across in the least likely place. Primitives were their shared passion. Past that, Donna had no idea what made Meghan tick.

  Donna had tried to set her up from time to time with Dan’s friends, but Meg never seemed to be interested. She had an ideal in her mind no one seemed able to live up to.

  Donna always teased Meghan had been born a hundred years too late. Instead of teasing and taking her for granted, she should have been getting to know her best friend. Was something or someone in her past the cause of her disappearance? They could hire a private investigator, buy a bloodhound, or consult a medium, and she would do so gladly if it brought Meg back.

  The logs arrived on time and work began. This plan was different than the house in Arkansas. They’d chosen a chalet style with an A-frame midsection with lots of glass front and back. Donna ignored the workmen’s gawking stares as she swung a hammer with the rest of them, setting in window frames and door facings. The physical labor helped her anxious mind and relieved some of the nervous energy.

  She hired a PI, but since she had so little background to share, he would have to start with the college and work backward to find Meghan’s past before moving forward. It would take more time and more money, but at least something was being done. The locals LEOs were at a standstill. Donna suspected the FBI was, too. Without the all-powerful judge at their back, no one seemed much interested in Meghan’s fate.

  By the end of the second week the house stood tall and proud. The tinted glass reflected the storm clouds overhead, and the green metal of the roof blended into the wood line. Thank goodness the logs had come prefinished as it was far too cold to apply stain. The weather service promised the first snow of the season.

  Boxes filled with cabinetry, plumbing, and lighting fixtures filled the main living area. Their pallets rested on shipping blankets to protect the newly finished floor. The fireplace had kept the house warm enough for the polyurethane to cure while they waited for the plumber got the heater installed.

  The master bath on the second floor was complete, but their mattress and box springs rested on the bedroom floor for now. The remainder of the furniture hadn’t been delivered.

  “At least we can work on hanging cabinets and setting toilets if we get snowed in,” Dan said as he draped himself over her shoulder.

  Donna sat on a pillow and stared out the glass wall at the barn as she did every night.

  “She grew up in an orphanage, and I never knew.” The pages of the PI’s report lay scattered on the floor, a complete dead end. “They have no idea who her family was or even if she had one. She was abandoned.” She looked at Dan, her eyes brimming with tears. “How can someone just walk off and leave a baby behind? What’s wrong with people?”

  Chapter 18

  Will sat outside the general store with a cup of coffee in his hand. His pocket watch said half past eight, yet the store was still closed up tight. Dammit all to hell! He wanted gone before noon when Miss May’s girls were up and about. The first one to spot him would tell Kathy, and there’d be hell to pay.

  Finally, a portly man, with little hair on top but a lot on his face, came down the walk, keys jingling in his hand. He was not Mr. MacGruger, but he’d do. Will gulped his coffee and swung down from the wagon.

  “Mr. MacGruger under the weather?” Will asked as the man fumbled his keys.

  “Under the sod. Died two months ago,” the man replied without a hint of emotion.

  Will stuck his hand out. “I’m Will Thornton from up the mountain. I’m really sorry—”

  “The horse trader?” The man took Will’s measure before taking his hand. “A Cavalry man asked for directions to your place yesterday or the day before. I forget which.”

  “Did you give him any?” Will had a bad feeling in his gut.

  “How could I when I only just met you?” He finally turned the right key in the lock. “He did ask around town, though. You aren’t in some kind of trouble, are you? I don’t want no trouble—”

  “No, no trouble. He thought I had a horse for sale that wasn’t. I met up with him on the trail and set him straight.” He fished Charlie’s list from his shirt pocket and handed the paper to the gent. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Jenkins. Oliver Jenkins, brother to the widow. I’ll have this tallied up for you in a second.”

  “Take your time, I can start loading—”

  “Not until the bill’s settled.”

  Shit! Will heaved a sigh of exasperation. He’d never clear town soon enough if this man didn’t get a move on. It quickly became obvious math was not Jenkins’s strong suit. Will had to point out his errors, help the man refigure, and it was nigh on to ten o’clock before he got started loading.

  Will shoved the last case of canned goods under the flour sacks when the slant of the sun flashed on something red in the back corner of the store. He’d meant to find a pretty for Meghan, and red was for certainly her color. After a quick scan of the street, he ducked back inside and darted to the back.

  His grin grew from ear to ear as he envisioned her in the dress. She’d need a shawl for winter. The dress wasn’t designed for the cold with its little puff sleeves and squared neckline that dipped to a point at the bosom. The slender skirt had a bustle in the back. The whole outfit was done up in red calico. He held his hands up to judge the size. Best to buy a spool of matching thread, just in case.

  As he toted the dress box to the wagon, small hands covered his eyes, and breasts pressed against his back. “Guess who?”

  His blood curdled. Damn, he’d been caught!

  “Did ya get me a present?” Kathy’s hands began tugging at the box. “I’ll be real grateful.”

  What did he ever see in the girl? Well, besides that. His patience, worn thin, snapped. “Give over Kathy, it ain’t for you!”

  She put her hands on her hips, and sang out loudly, “You taken to wearing dresses, Will Thornton?”

  “How do you know I bought a dress?” Why was he even talking to her?

  “I know a dress box when I see one. If not me, who’s it for?”

  “My wife.” Where the hell did that come from?

  Kathy’s face turned as red as her hair. Spit flew from her mouth when she screeched her accusation, “You got yourself married! Why you no good, two-timing, son of a—”

  “Hey now! If I’m a two-timer, what do you call yourself?” Will gave one more tug on the box, tucked it under his arm, and climbed into the wagon seat. He’d stop to fix the tarp later.

  “If you’re so married, why didn’t you bri
ng her with you?” Kathy smiled smugly.

  Before his brain knew what his mouth was about to say, he’d said it, clucked to Bess, and moved the wagon out, leaving Kathy with her mouth hanging open.

  He had lost his mind. In a few short hours, not only would the whole town think him married, but a soon to be papa as well. Why did he say Meghan was in the family way? The more he mulled the blunder over, the more he liked the idea. Though, admittedly, he liked the idea of what went into getting Meghan with child more than the rest.

  He and Bess made a slower go up the mountain with a full wagon. He drove until dusk, stopped and unhitched the mule, then pulled the tarp over the supplies. He’d put his bedroll on top for the night. The flour sacks might be lumpy, but they’d be warmer than the ground, and his presence would keep away most of the varmints. His Winchester would take care of the rest.

  He fed Bess, built a fire, and cooked his dinner of roasted rabbit with a tin of peaches for dessert. He climbed into his bedroll early. The sooner he went to sleep, the sooner the sun would rise, and he’d be one day closer to home. A fitful slumber made him toss and turn, his mind returning again and again to his words to Kathy. He’d never considered asking Meg to marry him, or that she might say no.

  An entire pot of coffee was needed to wake him enough to get Bess in her traces. He hadn’t gotten two winks of sleep. He sucked a piece of hardtack rather than wasting time with cooking a proper breakfast. Somewhere around dawn the thought had struck him. They had spent so little time together, and most of that with her ill. If she judged him by the trick he played on her before he left, some serious wooing stood between him and her heart. Committed, he planned to do whatever proved necessary to win her.

  In the wee hours of the morning, he realized he was in love with the tow-haired girl. His heart had been trying to tell him, if he’d only taken the time to listen. He’d do whatever needed to be done to make her his, not just her body, although he wanted that bad, but her love.

  Heart and mind in accord at last, he kept Bess’s nose pointed toward home. They didn’t stop until dusk. Will built a fire, filled her feedbag double, fitted it to her, and rubbed her down. She worked up a sweat on the grade, no sense letting her get chilled by the night air. When the mule was taken care of, he built a fire, dropped some jerky into the pan, added some water, and a chopped potato into it for good measure. He sank down to eat his meager soup with a smile. He’d be home by tomorrow night. The thought warmed him more than the fire.

  That night he slept soundly, his arms wrapped around a flour sack.

  Morning dawned bright and cold. Will was glad for it. The last part of their trip had the steepest grade and with a full wagon would be a hard pull for Bess. Whether he wanted to or not, a rest stop midday was called for.

  No oats for the mule this morning, too much hard work on frozen ground to risk a founder. She’d get hay when she got home and be back on her grain the next day. In consideration of her, Will only drank coffee and skipped breakfast. Bess prodded him with her nose, unappreciative of his sacrifice. She wanted her feed.

  The morning sped by, and they made good time. Will spotted a clearing with some grasses as yet untouched by the deer and elk, so he let the mule graze for a bit while he took care of business in the bushes. Feeling a mite more comfortable, he chewed on a piece of jerky and washed the meat down with a cup of water. He gave the remainder of the canteen to Bess.

  Refreshed, they began the last leg of their journey. He’d be sorry to tell Meghan he had seen no sign of her friend. It would have been nice to allay her worries some. Had her palsy improved? Had she missed him while he was away? Were she and Charlie getting on better now? He still couldn’t fathom what got into the old goat. He was right friendly with most folks and seemed to be genuinely worried about Meghan in the beginning.

  When they reached the last winding mile of road before home, all Will’s thoughts, save one, vanished. Scenario after scenario played in his mind. She would fling herself into his arms and kiss him senseless. Meghan would cry and say how much she missed him. Even they evaporated when he rounded the last bend and the farm came into sight.

  Her laughter floated through the air like birdsong as she gripped the stallion’s mane. Spirit galloped around the paddock like a trick pony on the end of the lunge line held by his grandfather.

  Obviously Meghan had recovered, thanks, he was sure, to White Buffalo’s ministrations. Hadn’t he wished for that very thing and on more than one occasion? So, why was he so bothered by the man’s presence now?

  He saw Meghan’s wave when she spotted him. When Spirit spotted him the stud trumpeted his greeting, tore the line from White Buffalo’s hand, and leapt the fence. Meghan, hung low over his neck, kept her seat even with no saddle to aid her. Will’s heart climbed into his throat, choking him, and then plunged to his feet when he heard her joyous laughter.

  He shook his head as Spirit slid to a stop in front of him. Meghan beamed. Her face flushed with cold and excitement as she leaned down to wrap her arms around the horse’s neck. Will drank her in, noting the jeans pulled snug at her crotch as she straddled Spirit’s back. He shook his head even as his lips turned up into a smile.

  Sad this habit he was developing, just plain sad to be jealous of his horse.

  Chapter 19

  What, so were they Amish or something, Meghan wondered? The buckboard became clearer as Spirit flew toward Will. The rig looked just like the one Donna found in the shed beside the old lady’s barn except in much better condition. She’d seen no tractor or truck on the place. Not that she’d seen much: cabin, sweat lodge, outhouse, and corral. She hadn’t even made it into the barn, although she was dying to. Perhaps Will would show her around now she seemed better?

  The horse slid to a stop in front of the wagon, and Will jumped down to grab the lead. When Spirit stilled, he held his arms up to her.

  Her smile might need to be surgically removed. Meghan had always wanted to ride, and now she knew why. The experience compared with nothing she had done before, the powerful bunch and thrust of muscle beneath her. She had control over all that power. She laughed out loud at her silly thought as Will reached to help her down.

  He held her close, and she slid the length of him. As each point of her body brushed his, flames ignited. Her laughter died in her throat when their gazes met. The darkening of his eyes indicated she wasn’t alone in the blaze. The fire licked at them both, the conflagration threatening to engulf them.

  “What’s so funny?” Will asked as he sat her feet on the ground without releasing his hold.

  “I thought how neat it was to control so much power. Only I realized I wasn’t. Stupid thought.” She smiled, suddenly shy.

  “My grandfather offered to give you lessons?” Any excuse to keep her close and in his arms would do. “He’s quite a horseman—he also fancies himself a ladies’ man.”

  Meghan’s laughter bubbled back to the surface at his final remark. “I got that part! He’s not, like, taking Viagra or something, is he?”

  Will’s sultry grin disappeared before her eyes.

  “I don’t know what Viagra is. Why? What did he do to you?”

  Meghan’s emotions cartwheeled. On one hand, she was flattered Will took such an interest, while on the other, pissed by his question. The old guy might be a little frisky, but she was fully capable of handling herself. Before she sorted out her answer, the issue became worse.

  “I eased her tension, so her muscles would relax. As you can tell, my methods work well.” White Buffalo stepped around the other side of Spirit grinning like a possum.

  His words could have been interpreted any number of ways, but his smile seemed the apparent clincher for Will, or else Meg missed some nuance in the discussion. Will lunged at his grandfather, and both men hit the ground as fists flew. Uncertain what to do, Meg realized something must be done quickly before they hurt each other, assuming they didn’t get trampled first. They rolled out from underneath Spirit, but continued t
o struggle until they rolled under the wagon and the mule inched forward.

  Meg pulled the rifle from its sheath on the wagon seat, cocked it, and fired a round into the air. Only the wagon at her back kept her from being knocked flat on her ass. The shot produced the desired effect. She winced when their faces came into view. Will’s lower lip split wide open, and White Buffalo’s nose might be busted, although, in all honesty, she would be hard pressed to tell. Broken or not, the orifice bled profusely.

  “Was that some sort of weird family ritual? Do y’all normally beat the shit out of each other when you meet?”

  Both men stared at her like she had two sets of tits.

  “You’ve got a fine mouth on you. Didn’t your ma teach you ladies don’t cuss?” Will asked finally, turning a peculiar gaze to his grandfather when he backed up a pace.

  Meghan stretched up to her full five foot six and shouldered the rifle. “I didn’t have a ma or pa in case you’re keeping score. But, the nuns at the orphanage taught manners and etiquette as well as readin’, writin’, and ’rithmatic all by the tune of a hickory switch. So, I eat with my elbows on the table, burp when I want to, and swear like a sailor when I’m of a mind. Like, right now, I think you’re both a couple of fuckin’ idiots!”

  Meg stormed up to Spirit and jumped for his back, missed, and slid down his side. She tried again, to the same end. She tossed the gun at Will so she could use both hands, and felt someone else’s on her ass. She gritted the words from between clenched teeth, “Remove your hand from my ass, or I’ll kick your teeth down your throat.”

  Either the third time proved to be the charm, or her anger gave her wings. She landed belly down on the horse’s back, swung her leg over, nudged his side, and laid her hand on the left side of his neck. The stallion swung right and headed toward the corral at a dead run with Meghan stuck to him like tree sap.

  For a moment she felt weightless, like a bird soaring through the sky. Spirit cleared the fence in one powerful burst. She rode at a trot for several laps then slowed him to a walk, enjoying their time alone. The wagon came meandering toward the house, both Will and his granddad sat peaceably on the seat. She shook her head and slipped off Spirit’s back. Now the adrenaline of the ride and Will’s homecoming had worn off, she began to feel the effects of the approaching night.