She looked at the screen of her laptop where the line “m[kluy6tom32hg” appeared, establishing the fact that the cat had stood for a moment on the keyboard before leaning forward to Amy’s face. She looked more closely at the line of characters and numbers.
How had “Tom” crept in there? The letters weren’t close together on the keyboard—O and M were separated by a row of other letters, and the T was on the left half of the keyboard. Back paw and front paw?
It wasn’t at all difficult to bring Tom Davis to mind. Amy saw him clearly—his six-foot-two frame, his grin, the warm depths of his keen brown eyes. He’d been a basketball star in high school and college—the college he’d attended on a full athletic scholarship, even though the tuition would have been pocket change for his very wealthy parents.
Tom was the kid with the new Porsche, the charming and handsome guy the girls mooned over, the playmaker on any team he joined. He’d been strangely free of the arrogance most high school sports heroes developed, and if he was aware of the girls who flocked around him, he didn’t show it. He and Amy had begun dating in their senior year. No one—Amy included—really expected the high school crush to last beyond a few months of college when the couple was separated by hundreds of miles.
It had lasted, at least until Tom began medical school. There, his basketball skills meant nothing, and for the first time in his academic career, he had to apply himself with every bit of strength he possessed to even stay parallel with his classmates. He maintained decent but not spectacular grades.
Something had to give. The weekend visits ended. Amy was devoting the majority of her time to her first reporting job, and Tom was married to Gray’s Anatomy.
The telephone calls became less frequent and then stopped altogether. Tom began keeping company with a classmate, a woman from Indonesia who was a top student. Together they spent most of their time studying. Amy began dating a musician she’d been sent to review and interview.
It wasn’t that Amy and Tom’s love had died; it simply had been overwhelmed by the life choices they made.
When Tom began his surgical residency at Harbor Hill Hospital in their hometown, Amy was freelancing articles to local and national magazines. They’d bumped into one another—literally—at a grocery store on the main street of Harbor Hill. Amy had been holding up a honeydew melon, eyeing it critically for ripeness, when a shopping cart struck her sharply in the hip. The melon had launched itself and thudded heavily to the floor, cracking the length of one side. Amy spun around to see who the clumsy oaf was who’d banged into her.
“I’m so sorry,” Tom said apologetically. “This cart has a mind of its own—it turns whenever it wants to, without warning. I can’t... Amy? Amy Hawkins?”
Amy couldn’t answer at first. Emotions flooded over her, frighteningly strong, stealing her voice as she stared at Tom Davis. Finally, she managed, “Tom—it’s good to see you.”
They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment, neither speaking, each barely breathing, totally unaware of passing shoppers and the grating announcements and muzak that flowed from the store’s speakers. Then they’d gone out to a coffee shop to catch up, each leaving a half-full shopping cart in the aisle. Two nights later they’d gone to dinner. The next weekend found them on Tom’s sailboat on both Saturday and Sunday.
It was a whirlwind—and yet it wasn’t. It was as if they’d severed the time that had passed—cut it from their lives and from their consciousness—and gone back to where they were before the weekend visits and telephone calls had ended.
“I don’t really understand it,” Tom said one night as they sat at a quiet table in a local restaurant. “How all my feelings could be rekindled so rapidly and completely. It doesn’t make much sense—but there it is.” He thought for a moment as he reached across the table and covered Amy’s hand gently with his own. “Or maybe rekindle isn’t the correct word, because maybe the fire never went out.”
Amy nodded. “I know what you mean. We’re very fortunate. Most people don’t get a second chance with their first love. It just doesn’t happen—but with us, it did.”
It was an idyllic couple of years—a modern fairy tale. And then...
The impossible happened. Tom met a thoracic surgeon from Boston Hospital at a convention, and the romance of the century fell apart like a poorly assembled toy.
OK. Things like that happen. I’m over it. And now, I have a novel to worry about.
She was glad Nutsy was still in her lap. She picked up his warm, purring body and held him against her heart.
She had the dream again that night.
Everything in her kitchen looked the same: the windows, the sink, the appliances, Nutsy’s water and food bowls, the kitchen table with her laptop sitting on it, screen up and ready. Nevertheless, the familiar room felt different—different in a disquieting way. Amy sat at the laptop and tapped the “on” switch. The keyboard flashed and the opening graphics appeared on the screen. The sounds of the computer were strange. Instead of the steady, electronic hum to which she was accustomed, the machine made a grinding sound, a metal-against-metal type of friction noise.
“It’s nothing,” Amy said aloud. “It’s a little slow is all.”
Her hands were slow to move to the position poised over the keyboard. Her fingers, her hands, both her forearms, were heavy, almost numb. She forced a smile through a growing sense of fear. “They’ll be better soon. This will go away.”
Although there was no specific idea in her mind, she pressed a key. Nothing happened. She pushed harder, and the key resisted her. She pecked at another key, and another. Nothing happened. The screen saver remained in place, the keys unyielding no matter how much pressure Amy exerted.
She shoved the laptop across the table; her tears made her vision shimmer. The grinding noise continued.
Amy’s face was damp as she wrestled her way out of the dream. She awoke to find the sheets wrapped cocoon-like around her. She gasped for air as if she’d run a long distance, and her heart pounded crazily in her chest. Her hand trembled as she reached for her bedside lamp and clicked it to life. The light chased the darkness, but it seemed almost too brilliant, stinging her eyes for a few moments. She used the back of her hand to wipe away the tears.
“I can beat this,” she said aloud. “I will beat this.”
Two days later when Amy was awakened by Nutsy stepping on her head, something seemed very different in her bedroom—not wrong necessarily but different. She smiled when she realized what it was: pure, bright, warm sunshine was streaming in through her window. Amy struggled out from beneath her covers and walked the couple of steps to the window. Then, she simply stood there in the broad shaft of light, savoring the feel of it against her skin and on her nightgown. Nutsy wove his way around and between her ankles, purring loudly, relishing the sensation of sunlight on his coat.
Even the view of her lawn from the window couldn’t dampen Amy’s mood. The grass still looked like a thousand duffer golfers had been let loose on it and failed to replace their multitudinous divots, but she ignored the damage and let her eyes feast on the rapidly drying ground.
She hurried through her shower, dressed quickly, and went downstairs to her kitchen. That room too was cheerful and welcoming, filled with brightness and warmth. She opened the window over the sink, and the earthy, fertile scent of Montana swept into her home, chasing the residual dampness and gloom as if it’d never existed. She hummed as she placed a fresh filter in her Mr. Coffee and ground enough beans for three large cups. The aroma of the coffee was in perfect partnership with the smells from outdoors—each tickled her senses delightfully. She added ice-cold water from the large Brita pitcher in her refrigerator and fed Nutsy while the coffee brewed.
This is the sort of day in which nothing can go wrong, Amy mused. She reached into a cupboard for her corn flakes and then stopped without taking down the box. The end of the rain calls for a breakfast at Drago’s Café, maybe even the cholesterol special: bacon
, eggs, hash browns, a short stack of blueberry pancakes—with syrup. She sat at her kitchen table with her first mug of coffee, her face still creased into a smile, just as it had been since her cat had awakened her. Her laptop was where she’d left it the night before. The computer hulked on the table like an electronic gargoyle, chiding her for not moving her novel forward.
“Later,” she said aloud to the machine. “I have errands to run and a big breakfast to eat first.” Amy laughed to herself, and her glee at her own silliness felt good to her. She wasn’t one to speak to inanimate objects, but today doing so seemed perfectly sane and logical. She finished her coffee, put her mug in the dishwasher, checked Nutsy’s water bowl, and grabbed her purse.
When she stepped out onto her front porch, she stopped abruptly, gaping at the black quarter horse that stood eyeing her lazily, its reins on the driveway surface. The old fellow she’d met outside the Winter barn strode around the corner of the garage.
“Mornin’, Miss Amy,” he said. “I never introduced myself the other day. My name’s Wes—Wes Newton.” He tipped his Stetson to her.
I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen a man tip his hat to a lady before, she thought. “Morning, Wes. I’m pleased to meet you.” After a moment, she added, “Can I help you with something?”
“Nome. Jake sent me over to kinda check on the ground—see how long it’d be before we can roll them holes for you. I’m thinkin’ day after tomorrow if it doesn’t rain again.”
Nome? What does Alaska have to do with—wait. No, ma’am! Amy struggled against the laugh that rose in her throat. “I see,” she said. “And you rode your horse over, I guess.” What a moronic remark, she chided herself. No, that’s a big plastic lawn ornament Wes brought as a welcoming gift.
Wes looked confused for a moment. “Why, ’course I did. A good cowhand don’t walk nowhere he can ride to, and I never did learn to drive very good. So yeah, I rode over. Fact is, I ride just about everywhere I go.” It seemed like a point of honor to the cowhand. Amy nodded.
“I’ll be on my way, then,” Wes said. He scooped up the reins and swung into his saddle with an easy agility that showed none of his age. “I’m around most all the time, Miss Amy. You feel free to call on me if you have trouble or need help with somethin’, OK?”
“That’s very kind of you, Wes. I’ll keep you in mind. And I appreciate your coming over this morning.”
Wes Newton tipped his hat again. Amy couldn’t see him give a command to his mount, but apparently he did because the horse swung around and trotted down the driveway. Amy watched him for a long moment. His shoulders—his upper body—didn’t move the least bit. It was as if he was welded to the seat of the saddle.
Amy backed her Jeep out of the double garage and performed a neat K-turn in order to drive forward down the driveway. Before entering the road she lowered her window and the one on the passenger side. The air was warm and fragrant with the scent of grass and soil and the slightest smell of clean, well-cared-for horses from Jake’s pasture. It was like a perfume provided gratis by nature, free to anyone who appreciated it.
Julie Pulver’s red pickup was parked in front of the café along with a half dozen or so other trucks and SUVs. Amy pulled in to the curb and shut off her engine. Her perfect day was continuing—it would be good to see Julie again. Julie seemed like a woman who could become a good friend, and Amy hoped that would happen.
A few heads turned to look Amy over as she walked into Drago’s, but the majority of the small crowd was more interested in their breakfasts and their coffee. There was a pleasant, low-key buzz of conversation in the restaurant and an occasional burst of laughter. Julie sat facing the front in a booth across from another woman. Julie smiled and waved. “Amy—come on over and sit down and meet my friend Maggie.”
The woman across from Julie turned to face Amy with a welcoming smile. She was very attractive, with even features and the scrubbed, wholesome look one saw in magazine advertisements for family vacation spots. Her eyes were coffee brown, and her hair was shoulder length and a chestnut brown. She extended her right hand to Amy.
“I’m Maggie Lane,” she said. “Julie’s told me about you and your home. I hope I’ll get to see the inside some day. It’s really striking from outside—just beautiful.”
“Thanks,” Amy said. “I wanted it to fit into the land rather than look like a boat beached on that little rise the house sits on. And I’d love to give you the grand tour anytime you want to take it. I mean it—stop by, OK?”
“You bet,” Maggie said. “Sit down, Amy.”
Julie shoved over to the wall, and Amy sat next to her, facing Maggie. “Julie said your husband is the minister here.”
“Ian—yeah, he is. I’m sure you’ll meet him soon. He’s Coldwater’s unofficial welcoming committee. Now that I think of it, I’ll be with him when he comes to visit you. It’s his policy not to call on single women by himself. You can show us both your house then.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Amy said. “Boy—I woke up salivating about a huge breakfast here in town, and I got to see Julie again and to meet you on top of it. And a minister who actually takes the time to call on new people? That’s a new one to me.”
“Ian believes in old-time ministering. I think you’ll see that when you meet him.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “You live next door to Jake Winter, right? Have you met him yet?”
“Sure. As a matter of fact, I was at his place a couple days ago. Some of his horses got through their fence and did a number on my lawn.”
“Probably his broodmares in that east pasture, right?” Julie asked.
“Right—that’s what Jake said, the east pasture. He seems like a great guy, and he’s certainly a good neighbor. He’s going to have his men roll my lawn.”
“Jake is a great guy,” Julie said.
Maggie nodded. “Most—maybe all—of the unmarried women around here think he’s great too,” she said, grinning. “When he was coaching the 4-H Horse Club, all the girls had crushes on him.”
Amy laughed. “I guess I can see why.” After a moment she asked, “Has he ever been married?”
“No,” Julie answered. “He says he never had time. He’s worked awful hard to build up his rodeo stock business, and, well, he couldn’t even find time for casual dating, and certainly not for a relationship.”
Maggie’s cell phone disrupted the conversation. She dug it out of her purse, flipped it open, and said, “Hello, Maggie Lane.” She listened for a long moment, and then the smile left her face. “OK, Ian,” she said. “I’ll be right home. We can go to the hospital together. I’m glad it’s not more serious. Right. Bye.” She returned the telephone to her purse.
“Annie Richards fell and broke her ankle,” she said. “The ER doctor called Ian. We’re going to stop in and see her.” She looked at Amy. “Annie’s ninety-two years old and gets confused at times. Ian’s afraid she’s giving the doctors a tough time. I’m so sorry, Amy—I was enjoying talking with you. But we’ll see you when Ian and I visit.”
“That’ll be fun, and I’m looking forward to meeting Ian. We’ll have more time to visit then. I’m sorry about Mrs. Richards.”
“Me too,” Julie said. “Tell Annie I said hello and sent my love.”
“Will do.” Maggie smiled. “See you soon, Amy.” She turned and hurried from the café.
Ellen, a waitress at Drago’s since the day it opened almost thirty years ago, appeared next to the booth. Julie introduced her to Amy.
“Good to meet you, Amy,” Ellen said. “Welcome to Coldwater. You’re going to like it here.”
“I already do, Ellen. Nice to meet you too. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of one another.”
“What can I bring you this morning?” Ellen asked, her pencil poised over her pad.
“I have this all planned.” Amy smiled. “How about two eggs over easy, an order of bacon, a side of hash browns, and a short stack of blueberry pancakes—and coffee, please.”
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br /> “Great,” Ellen groaned. “You’re just like Julie. You could eat a barrel of nails a day and never gain an ounce, right?”
“Well... weight’s never been a problem...” Amy admitted.
Ellen shook her head in mock disgust. “If I had a breakfast like you just ordered, my rear end wouldn’t fit on the seat of my lawn tractor.” She smiled at the two women and walked off toward the kitchen, tearing the page with Amy’s order from her pad.
The conversation went easily in the booth, interspersed with laughter. Amy’s massive breakfast was perfect, and Julie lingered with her over coffee. They left Drago’s together and said their good-byes on the sidewalk in front of the café. Amy climbed into her Jeep and sat for a moment as Julie drove off. She savored the moment, savored Coldwater, her new home.
Later that afternoon Amy sat at her kitchen table, laptop open and running in front of her. Nutsy slept on her lap. She wasn’t a terribly rapid typist, so her fingers moved somewhat slowly but quite steadily over the keyboard.
On good days the images flowed from her brain and somehow translated themselves into words at her fingertips, and the pages filled with prose. It was, she thought, more of a semi-spiritual process than a physical or emotional one. And, she knew, some days were better than others. She read over the few paragraphs she’d written, sighed, and dragged the cursor backward over the lines, deleting them. The raucous jangle of her telephone interrupted her work. She took a deep breath and then answered the phone.
“Amy Hawkins.”
“Hi, Amy. This is... uhhh... Jake.” He paused for a moment. “Jake Winter.”
Amy grinned. She’d recognized his voice after his first couple of words. “Hi, Jake. What’s up?”
“Well... how are you, Amy?”
“I’m just fine,” she answered, a bit puzzled. “I’ve had a really good day.”
“I see.”
He sees? OK, what is going on here?
Chasing the Dream Page 3
