Rain Dance

by Rebecca Daniels

  Joe braked carefully, turning from the highway and onto Wheeler Road. “You said it was dark.”

  She turned back, a deep furrow forming between her brows as she frowned. “I…I don’t know. I think so—that is, it must have been.” She looked away, her voice turning thoughtful. “I remember what a lonely sound that was—those coyotes howling.” She gave her head another shake, turning back to him and smiling. “But at least I remembered something. I can’t tell you what that means to me.”

  Her smile was so brilliant it very nearly took his breath. “It’s a step in the right direction.”

  They rode the rest of the way in silence. Reaching the entrance to the narrow, twisting drive to his house, he slowed the Jeep.

  “Is that it up there? That stand of trees?” she asked, sitting up in the seat once more.

  “That’s it,” he replied, turning on the drive and picking up speed again. “Almost there.”

  “It looks so green—not like the desert,” she said, peering through the window.

  “There’s an underground spring and a well.”

  “Carrie said you raise horses. Mustangs?”

  “That’s right. My pride and joy.” He carefully steered around a big pothole in the road made bigger by the recent rain. “I’m going to breed the best, but that’s a ways off yet. We’re a pretty small operation now.”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  He shot her a skeptical glance. “Hardly exciting. Just a lot of hard work.”

  “But what a dream,” she commented, catching sight of the house as he pulled the truck to a stop. “How lucky you are to build something like that together.”

  “Together?” Confused, he turned to her. But she already had the door open and was stepping out onto the drive. “Hey wait…Rain. Together? What—”

  The slam of the door abruptly cut him off. Yanking the keys from the ignition, he climbed out of the SUV.

  “Rain, what did you mean—”

  “How lovely,” she said, cutting him off.

  Joe looked up at his two-story house with its steep roof, twin dormers and wraparound porch and couldn’t deny the swell of pride. How different her reaction was in comparison to Karen’s when she’d first seen the house. All she’d been able to do was complain about the dusty drive and how old and run-down the place had looked.

  “It looks so different from the houses in town,” she continued as he came around the vehicle.

  In an area where low-slung ranch houses and adobe and tile prevailed, the pointed roof and stained-glass windows did make his house an anomaly in the desert, which was probably what drew him to it in the first place.

  “The story is the original owner built the place for his new bride as a wedding present,” he explained.

  “Really?” She shaded her eyes from the sun, looking up at the weather vane perched at the top of the pointed roof. “Quite a wedding present I’d say.”

  “Apparently she had grown up in Boston and he’d felt so badly about taking her away from her family, he’d had the house built to look exactly like her family’s home,” he continued. Although he’d told the story a number of times to those interested enough to ask, this time it seemed to have new meaning to him. He found himself thinking about the new bed linens he’d purchased with Rain in mind and how he’d tried to pick out something he’d thought she might like, something he thought would make her feel comfortable. “He’d hoped it would make her feel more at home, help her not feel so lonesome living way out here.”

  “How romantic, and how thoughtful,” she said in a quiet voice. Turning, she looked up at him. “Did it work?”

  “From what I understand, they raised six kids in this house,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “I think it would be safe to say that it did.”

  “A happy ending,” she said, her face brightening with a smile. “I think I like that.”

  Joe opened the back door and pulled out the brown paper bag Carrie had packed for her. “From what I understand, after about forty years here, they moved up to Alaska. One of their kids worked for an oil company up there.” He slammed the door closed. “I know the place sat empty for a long time—seven, eight years—before I came along. It got pretty run-down, especially the stables.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “About six years. I’d known about the place for a long time.” He gestured to the porch, following as she started toward it. “I grew up on the reservation just south of here. When I found out the place was vacant, I made some inquiries, found out it was for sale and put a down payment on it while I was still in the navy. Moved in after my discharge and have been trying to do repairs and improvements ever since. And like I said, there’s still a lot to do.”

  “I think it looks great and it’s obviously a great place to raise a family.” When she reached the porch steps she stopped. “And Sheriff, before we go inside, I just want to say again how much I appreciate your opening up your home to me. It is incredibly generous of you both….”

  “Both?”

  “…and someday I hope to repay both you and your wife for everything you’ve—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, bringing up a hand and stopping her. “My wife?”

  Chapter 6

  Rain pulled the brush and comb from the brown paper bag and set them down on the bathroom counter beside the toothbrush, toothpaste and small bottles of shampoo and lotion. Except for the clothes awaiting analysis in a state crime lab somewhere in Carson City, the small row of toiletries were all the possessions she had.

  He had left her alone to “unpack,” which she could have done a hundred times over in the last several minutes. Still, she had appreciated the moment to herself, was grateful for some time alone to try to regain her composure.

  Carefully folding the bag into a neat square, she looked around for a place to store it, deciding instead to toss it into the waste basket beside the counter. After arranging the articles on the shelf of the medicine cabinet, she closed the door and looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t know the name of the woman looking back at her, but it was familiar—it was the face of a woman flushed with excitement and smiling.

  “Stop it,” she demanded of the reflection. But as though to mock her, the smile only widened and turned sheepish.

  There was no wife. It wasn’t just a fact, it was a revelation. There was no Mrs. Sheriff Mountain, no lady of the house—not anymore, anyway. What Carrie had neglected to add when she’d talked about Joe’s wife was that the lady was now the ex-Mrs. Mountain.

  Hallelujah!

  “Stop it!” she demanded again.

  She turned around, leaning back against the pedestal sink. Maybe she couldn’t stop smiling, but she didn’t have to stand there and look at the sappy grin. And it was sappy—sappy and ridiculous and completely uncalled for. So why couldn’t she stop?

  It had nothing to do with her. The sheriff’s marital status was of no concern to her. She had no business having an opinion about it one way or the other—and especially given the circumstances. She barely knew the man, barely knew herself.

  Why was she focusing so much on whether he was married or not? He’d been nice to her, that was all. No sense making more out of it than it was. It was important to keep perspective in all of this, to remind herself that he was a stranger who had extended a hand to her in a time of need.

  She turned around and looked at herself in the mirror again. “All right, that’s enough,” she snapped at the silly woman grinning back at her. Forcing the muscles in her face to relax, she squared her shoulders. “You’re going to straighten up and pull yourself together.” She pointed a warning finger. “Or it’s the principal’s office for you.”

  Suddenly something vibrated through her, something like a chill that had her bolting to attention. But before she had a chance to think about it, before she could even react, it was gone.

  “What the hell?” she murmured to the reflection. “What was that?” But the infuriating
woman in the mirror only stared back, her expression blank. “Well, enough of this.” She inhaled, pulling deep, cleansing breaths into her lungs. “You get out there and take care of business.” She started to turn away, then glanced back. “And just remember to keep perspective and don’t let that imagination of yours go running amok, got it?”

  With her resolve intact, and her composure, she darted out the bathroom, down the hall and into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Leaning back against the smooth, solid oak, she looked around the room.

  The house had five bedrooms and she couldn’t help feeling pleased that Sheriff Mountain had chosen this one for her. She couldn’t remember what her life had been like before, didn’t know if she’d liked austere, empty spaces or had preferred to surround herself with color and form, but it didn’t matter anyway. The important thing was, she liked what she saw now.

  It wasn’t a huge room, but it was filled with sunlight. A small window seat filled the space made by the dormer, looking out over the front drive and the stables beyond. The four-poster bed was small but sat high off the ground and the antique-lace-trimmed comforter and pillow shams looked crisp and clean and inviting. A nightstand with a small lamp was beside the bed and a highboy stood along the wall opposite it—inside which she found a few additional articles of clothing.

  There was so little for her to draw from, so few experiences she’d had. With her past erased, her life had been reduced to only what she had known in the past several days. There had been no sunshine and laughter for her, no comfort and security. Yet something instinctive had her responding to the room and to the house. To one whose life had only known darkness and cold, it was a warm and wonderful place and she found herself rejoicing in it.

  “Rain?”

  The knock on the door behind her had her jumping.

  “Yes?” Turning around she cracked the door open.

  “I—I thought you might be hungry,” Joe said, peaking awkwardly through the tiny open space. “I thought I’d fix us some sandwiches, if you’d like.”

  “Uh, yes,” she stammered, opening the door wide. Something rumbled in her stomach at the mention of food. She thought about the bowl of oatmeal and two slices of toast she’d left untouched on her breakfast tray this morning. She’d been too nervous to eat then, but her appetite had definitely returned. “That sounds wonderful, thank you.”

  “I’ll just go get things started,” he said, taking several steps backward. “Whenever you’re ready, you can come down.”

  “I’m ready,” she said, stepping into the hallway. “I can help.”

  “Rule of the house,” he said, stopping her. “I always fix the first meal. And sandwiches are something I can handle no matter what Cruz says.”

  Rain loved Joe Mountain’s kitchen the moment she stepped into it. Sunlight poured in through the greenhouse window above the sink, and white ceramic tiles covered the wide expanse of kitchen counters. A round oak table sat in the bay window breakfast nook in front of an old-fashioned potbellied stove.

  Lunch was a fairly simple affair of cold cuts, chips and sodas, yet Rain couldn’t remember having tasted anything so heavenly. Not even that first meal in the hospital when she had rediscovered what it was to be hungry, had anything tasted quite as wonderful as her ham-and-cheese sandwich.

  “That was delicious,” she said, popping the last corner of sandwich into her mouth and pulling another handful of chips from the bag on the table.

  Joe leaned back in his chair, watching as she popped several chips into her mouth. “Would you like another sandwich?”

  She glanced down at her empty plate, then to his and felt her cheeks flush red. She’d all but inhaled her sandwich while he’d barely taken two bites of his.

  “Uh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I’m fine. That was plenty.”

  “You sure?”

  She didn’t want to impose, but the truth was, she was hungry. “You sure you don’t mind?”

  He smiled as he leaned forward and reached for her plate, pushing himself away from the table. “I don’t mind at all.”

  “I guess maybe they should have warned you,” she told him as he walked to the kitchen counter.

  “Warned me?”

  She nodded. “My memory might not be very good, but apparently there is nothing wrong with my appetite.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Right.”

  “Then I think we’ll probably get along just fine,” he said as he worked. “I find it helps to have a healthy appetite when you’re eating meals I fix.” He put the finished sandwich on her plate and carried it back to her. “Sort of helps things go down a little easier.”

  “Thank you,” she said as he set the plate down in front of her. Picking up the sandwich, she took a healthy bite. “Carrie said almost the same thing when I woke up starving in the hospital. I liked that food, too.”

  “You liked the hospital food?” He laughed. “You really aren’t fussy about what you eat, are you?” He watched her chew and take another bite and smiled. “Is there something especially you’re hungry for? Something you’d like me to pick up at the store?”

  She swallowed and thought for a moment. “No, I seem to like pretty much anything that’s put in front of me.”

  “Well, that’s convenient,” he said, picking up his unfinished sandwich and taking another bite. “And makes meal planning a lot easier.”

  “What kind of food do you like?” she asked, reaching for more chips. “Italian? Mexican? Chinese? Or are you a meat-and-potatoes man?”

  “I like just about everything,” he said, taking a sip from his soda can. “As a kid I couldn’t afford to be fussy. Things could get rough on the reservation and there were times we were just lucky to have a meal.” He reached for a chip, popping it into his mouth. “But in the navy I was in a lot of different places and had a chance to try a lot of different things. I ate sushi while I was in Japan and calimari in Italy. But my tastes still run pretty simple. Nothing beats a good steak as far as I’m concerned.”

  “A New York, rare, with crumbled blue cheese on top?”

  His eyes widened. “That’s my favorite. You, too?”

  She swallowed the last of her sandwich and shrugged. “I don’t know, but it sounds good.” She reached for her soda can, taking a drink. “I wonder if that counts as a recollection.”

  They looked at one another, each of them holding a can of soda, and shook their heads together.

  “Nah,” they said in unison.

  “Feel up to a little tour?” Joe asked once they’d both finished their lunches. “I thought you might like to see the stables.”

  “I’d love to,” Rain said, reaching for their empty plates and carrying them to the sink. “It’ll just take me a minute to clean up here.”

  “Leave those,” he said, crushing their empty soda cans with one squeeze and tossing them into a plastic bucket beside the back door. “I’ll take care of them later.”

  “I don’t mind,” she insisted, rinsing the plates and slipping them into the dishwasher. “I want to help.” She put the mayonnaise and mustard back into the refrigerator and returned the loaf of bread to the pantry. “Makes me feel useful.” she added, but there was something about the neatly lined shelves of canned goods and staples that caught her attention.

  “Find something interesting in there?”

  She jumped and turned to Joe at the door of the pantry. “I don’t know,” she said honestly, glancing back at the shelves of food. “Something…” She shook her head and started for the door. “I get these funny feelings about things sometimes, like maybe they’re familiar, I don’t know. Maybe I work in a food store or something—you know, restock shelves?” She walked out of the pantry, closing the door behind her. “That or maybe I just like to hang out in supermarkets.”

  “Supermarket freak, huh? Makes sense with that appetite of yours,” he concluded. “Just remind me never to take you grocery shopping.”

  They qui
ckly finished up the kitchen and headed outside for the stables. She couldn’t help noticing what a different man Joe Mountain was in his home surroundings. He seemed more relaxed, more comfortable and more willing to let his guard down. There had been something in his eyes when he’d talked about growing up on the reservation, something sad and poignant.

  She suspected he wasn’t comfortable talking about himself, wouldn’t intentionally give up a lot of information, yet he’d managed to impart a few details. She’d learned his life on the reservation hadn’t been an easy one and she’d learned he’d joined the navy and traveled the world. Of course, there were a million questions she had about both subjects but she would refrain from asking. He’d opened up his home to her; that wasn’t an invitation to open up his entire life.

  “And this is Sycamore,” he said, petting the narrow face of the two-year-old mare. “She’s my pride and joy.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Rain said, hesitantly reaching up and giving the horse a small pat on the nose.

  He had given her a quick tour of the ranch. And while it was obvious he loved his unusual house, there was no doubt that his heart belonged to the stables and the horses he housed there.

  “She is that,” he agreed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cube of sugar. Spotting the treat, the horse nudged him with her nose. “But just like every woman, she requires a little special attention from time to time.” He offered her the sugar cube, scratching her under the chin as she chewed. “Don’t you, little girl?”

  “Have you always been interested in horses?”

  “Pretty much,” he said, stepping back to open the stall door. “My dad had a couple of horses.” He took a hand brush down from a hook on the wall and slipped his fingers through the leather strap along the back. “Of course, they were just old plow horses. We never had an animal like this.” He brushed the horse’s shiny coat with broad strokes. “My dad would have loved this beauty.”

  “He’s gone, your father?”

  Joe nodded. “Died while I was in the navy.”

  There was something strained and tight in his voice, something that made her think there was a lot more to the story than he was saying. He took several more swipes with the brush, then turned to her.