Chasing the Dream

by Paige Lee Elliston

  Amy had her hand on the knob of the door leading to the basement stairs when heavy pounding at the front door battled with the freight-train clamor of the storm. As she turned toward the door, it swung open.

  “Come on, Amy,” Jake shouted. “Let’s get over to my storm cellar—and let’s do it now!” A wave of rain pelted the man and spattered against the door and the wall inside the entryway. Jake’s face was dripping wet and his jeans soaked. The yellow slicker he wore glistened as Amy directed her light at him. “Come on, Amy!” he urged. “I don’t want you here alone.”

  Amy began to respond but then stopped and pawed through a closet, pulling out a long raincoat that’d probably be next to useless in the furor outside. She hustled down the hallway to Jake, who was still holding the door against the wind that was doing its best to slam the door against the wall. He grabbed her hand and led her outside, shutting the door. His pickup stood in the driveway with its engine running and lights on high beam. The heavy vehicle shuddered as it was hit broadside by a gust, and a sheet of rain obscured the vehicle and even the headlights from view for a moment. Amy’s unbuttoned raincoat stood out behind her like a cape, and in a matter of seconds her shirt and jeans were soaked with the chilling, wind-driven squall. She used her hand to protect her eyes from the stinging rain as Jake pulled her off the porch and to his truck.

  He leaned close to her and shouted into her ear, “I’ll open the door, and you jump in. If I let the door go, the wind’ll tear it off. Ready?”

  Amy nodded, not trusting her voice. Jake braced his body against the door, and Amy scrambled into the cab of the pickup, followed by a torrent of rain. The door slammed next to her with an impact that moved the entire vehicle. Jake, barely a shadow in the downpour, crossed in front of the hood and backed into the driver’s seat, both hands holding the door against the wind. “You OK?” he asked in the relative quiet of the truck interior.

  She nodded. “Yes. I’ve never seen anything like...” Her voice died out.

  “I figured your first storm would be kind of rough on you, Amy. My storm cellar has light—I have a gasoline generator—and food and water.” He grinned. “All the comforts of home.” She wondered how Jake was able to drive. Even with the high beams on, Amy couldn’t see more than a few feet beyond the front of the truck—and even then, the rain pounded so hard at times she couldn’t see at all.

  Jake’s hands grasped the steering wheel at the top, and his knuckles showed pale in the half-light. He rolled ahead in first gear, playing with the clutch, steering into the power of gusts, doing his best to stay on the road.

  When the headlamps prodded the side of Jake’s house, Amy breathed a long sigh of relief.

  “I know what you mean,” Jake said. “About half the time, I couldn’t see a thing. Stay here—I’ll go around and open your door, just like I did at your place.”

  The temperature in the cab seemed to drop twenty degrees as Jake opened his door, slid out, and let the wind slam the door behind him. In a moment he rapped on the window next to Amy and began opening her door. He waited out a long, howling gust and then tugged the door open just wide enough for Amy to climb out. “Hold on to me,” he shouted at her. He didn’t have to ask twice; the force of the wind felt like it would carry Amy off and whirl her into the sky, never to be seen again. She locked her hands onto Jake’s slicker. He clutched her forearm with a strong, reassuring hand and began walking, guiding her along with him.

  There were four concrete steps that led downward to a heavy wooden door that was well below grade. Jake hauled the door open and tugged Amy inside, leaving much of the cacophony of the storm outside. Light—seeming terribly bright after the dark—filled the storm cellar and flowed from three bulbs suspended from the ceiling. There were three steel floor jacks positioned around the room, and one at each corner. Crude shelves held canned food and large clear glass jugs of water. A coffeepot perked on a heating coil on a card table. On a ratty-looking couch Mallory Powers sat wrapped in a blanket, a fresh abrasion on her forehead, her right leg extended straight out, and her ankle wrapped heavily with an Ace bandage.

  “Mal was running a few head of horses into the warehouse arena when the wind caught the door and slammed it against her leg and ankle,” Jake explained. “Knocked her right off her horse.”

  “That’s awful. I’m so sorry,” Amy said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Mallory shook her head. “I’m OK.”

  “Look, I’ve got to give the boys a hand with the horses. There’re a bunch of towels in the bathroom,” Jake said, motioning toward a closed door. “Dry yourself off as well as you can. Have some coffee. I’ll be back soon.”

  The storm shrieked as Jake opened the door and slipped out, and then the storm cellar returned to semi-silence. “Can I get you some coffee, Mallory?” Amy asked.

  “No thanks,” she mumbled.

  “Are you sure? It’s no bother.”

  “Look, this is nothing. I banged my foot a bit, is all. I’d still be out there helping the guys if Jake hadn’t made such a big deal out of it. You don’t need to start playing little miss nursemaid.” Her voice was hard and sharp, and when Amy looked into her eyes, the fire there was disturbing.

  “I’m not playing nursemaid. I just thought...”

  “If I need anything, I’ll ask for it, OK?”

  What in the world? Amy thought. All I did was offer to fix her a cup of coffee. What’s with her and her attitude? Is she in shock or something?

  Amy went into the tiny bathroom and found a stack of towels and dried her hair as best she could. Her jeans and shirt remained wet, and there was nothing she could do about that right then. The coffee—raw and hot and overly strong—tasted wonderful. She sipped and then sipped again, letting the liquid warm her.

  Mallory shifted her position on the couch and pulled the blanket a little more tightly around herself. Amy met the other woman’s eyes for a moment and then looked away. A silence built in the room, punctuated only occasionally by the creaking and groaning of the house above them. It was an uneasy quiet, at least for Amy. After several long minutes, she said, “What is it about me that bothers you, Mallory? Because there must be something. If I’ve upset you somehow, I didn’t mean to do it. Ever since we met, you’ve seemed to take a dislike to me. I don’t understand it.”

  Mal’s voice was mocking. “You don’t understand it? Maybe things are a lot different in New York City, but out here in the boonies we don’t fall all over other women’s men.”

  Surprise took Amy’s voice for a moment. “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

  “Like you don’t have any idea what I mean, right?” Mallory sneered. “You haven’t been leading Jake on with your big-time city guile, I suppose? Your oh-so-important book?”

  It was as if Amy had been struck physically and unexpectedly. Her mind reeled as she attempted to process what she was hearing and the wrath that was so obvious in Mallory Powers. She took a breath and hoped that her voice wouldn’t quiver as she spoke. “I’m really sorry you feel that way. But I need to say that I haven’t been chasing Jake.”

  Mallory’s eyes glistened. She spoke as if she hadn’t heard what Amy had said. “I suppose you didn’t know how Jake feels about me—about the plans he has for us.”

  Amy struggled against the anger that was rising inside her. She waited a heartbeat. “You’ve made your opinion known.”

  Mallory’s smile was patently false. “I sure have.”

  Amy took a deep breath and tried to reason with Mallory once again. “This whole thing is silly. The storm and you getting hurt has put all of our nerves on edge. Let’s try to—”

  “I meant every word I said.” The tremor of tension was clear in Mallory’s voice. “I don’t have the fancy college degrees you have, but I’ve forgotten more about horses and ranching than you’ll ever know, and it’s that sort of thing that’s important to Jake Winter.”

  Amy sighed loudly. “Fancy degrees? Lots of Eng
lish majors with master’s degrees are slinging hamburgers and clerking in department stores. But all this animosity toward me isn’t going to accomplish a thing.”

  “We’ll see about—” Mallory’s response was cut off by the opening of the door to the exterior and the sudden scream of the wind outside. Jake entered the room, water streaming from his hair, his yellow slicker already creating a puddle where he stood. “All the horses are in the arena, and the boys are looking after them,” he said. He grinned at Mallory and then turned his smile toward Amy. “The storm isn’t all bad. At least you ladies had the opportunity for a nice talk,” he said.

  If there hadn’t been so much tension in the room, Amy would have laughed out loud.

  The storm lost its teeth by midafternoon. A few widespread tornadoes were reported, but none had struck inhabited areas. When Amy stepped up the concrete stairs and out into Jake’s side yard, the air was fresh, cool, wonderfully clean. She inhaled deeply, relishing the purity, particularly after several hours in the storm cellar. Behind her, Jake helped Mallory hobble-hop up the steps with his arm around her waist. Mal attempted to support her weight on her injured foot and lurched sideways, yelping in pain. Her right arm clutched at Jake’s body.

  Jake and Mallory shuff led unsteadily to the travel trailer. Amy stood where she was, marveling at the just-scoured appearance of everything around her. Jake’s grass sparkled with a springlike luster, washed free of dust that’d accumulated during the dry spell. The fencing around the nearest paddock looked freshly painted; Amy had never seen it free of the grit that dulled its whiteness.

  Jake came up behind her. “Everything looks good after a storm, doesn’t it?”

  Amy nodded. “It’s more striking here than in New York. There, it’s pretty much only the streets that look clean. Here, it’s everything.”

  “Smells great too,” Jake said. “C’mon, Amy, I’ll run you home, and we can check your place for damage.” They started toward Jake’s pickup.

  “My bathroom window was blown out and away. Other than that, I’m hoping everything’s OK—and that my cat has recovered.”

  Jake guided Amy to the passenger door. “I know a good carpenter to reinstall a window for you. I’ll give him a call from your place.”

  “I’d appreciate that. I don’t like the idea of having that huge hole in my wall any longer than I have to.”

  Jake started his engine, turned the truck around, and drove down the driveway to the road. “What did you and Mal talk about?” he asked. “Did she bend your ear about her training work?”

  “Well... no,” Amy answered carefully. “We didn’t get into horses at all.”

  Jake nodded and dropped the subject, making it obvious that his question had been a matter of polite conversation, not curiosity.

  “Interesting lady,” Amy said without expanding the idea.

  Jake turned into Amy’s driveway. “Sure,” he said noncommittally. “Let’s take a look at your bathroom.”

  Nutsy charged Amy the moment she stepped in the front door. He was already purring and mewing loudly.

  “Seems like your cat did just fine,” Jake observed. “If he purred any louder, we’d need earplugs.”

  Amy scooped the kitten up from the floor and cradled him against her chest. She led Jake to the bathroom as she scratched Nutsy’s chin and rubbed behind his ears.

  Jake observed the gaping hole. “You’ll need a whole new frame,” he said. “No big deal, though. Ben Callan—that’s my friend’s name—will make it look like new.”

  Jake made the call from Amy’s kitchen and left a message on the carpenter’s recorder. Then he and Amy faced one another, Amy still holding Nutsy. “Thanks for thinking of me, Jake. I appreciate it. I’ll admit I was scared.”

  Jake smiled. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Amy,” he said. “Anyone with more sense than a hedgehog is a little scared during a storm like that.”

  “That’s good to know, I guess,” Amy said. “Anyway, it’s good to have you for a neighbor.”

  The moment became self-conscious then. Jake looked like he had more to say, and his blush indicated he was having trouble putting whatever it was into words. Amy broke the tension for him by speaking. “Thanks again for all your help.”

  “Glad to help out. Well, I better get going. I have things that need doing—like checking my fences. I’ll see you soon, Amy,” he said and turned to the door.

  Was it something about Mallory he wanted to tell me? Amy wondered. Or was he in a hurry to see if he had storm damage? It’s hard to tell what’s on these cowboys’ minds. I’m sure glad he came after me, though. The thought of waiting out that storm here, alone... Even with Mallory’s nonsense, I’m glad I was there rather than here.

  Amy dumped Nutsy’s old kibble, although it was perfectly edible, and gave him a new bowlful. She freshened his water and then stood at the window over her sink, looking out over her land.

  That she felt some attraction to Jake Winter wasn’t a surprise. But the last thing I need right now is to get in the middle of some crazy triangle with Jake and Mallory. She put relationships and her book and the storm out of her mind and concentrated on scratching and playing with Nutsy.

  Amy walked into the living room and turned off the overhead light that had come on when the power was restored. Her jeans were still wet; she didn’t want to sit on her couch. The idea of dry clothing sounded awfully good, and she headed for her room. As she changed, her stomach grumbled at her loudly, and she realized how hungry she was. A quick picture of one of Jake’s burgers or a meal at Drago’s Café flashed in her mind, generating a rush of saliva in her mouth.

  “Not tonight,” she said aloud. “It’s canned soup and a toasted cheese sandwich. I’ve had enough adventure for one day.”

  Morning brought the glorious sort of day that Amy had grown to love in Montana.

  There was a sweet and gentle breeze, the sun was barely beginning to assert its strength, and the air outside was as fragrant and promising as it was in Amy’s kitchen—where her first pot of coffee was gurgling happily. When the doorbell rang she looked up at the clock: 7:22. She set her still-empty mug on the counter and went to the front of her house. The peephole in her door showed a tall, rather thin man about Amy’s age—thirty-five or so—wearing jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up over hard, muscular forearms. His hair—dark brown with some strands of gray—was moderately long, and he wore a scruffy-looking mustache. Amy’s hand rested on the doorknob as she decided whether to open the door without verifying who the fellow was. He must have caught her movement behind the peephole.

  “I’m Ben Callan,” he said. “Jake Winter called yesterday and said if I didn’t get here early today, he’d nail my hide to the front door of his barn.”

  Amy laughed and opened the door. “You’re just in time for coffee, Ben,” she said. She extended her hand. “I’m Amy Hawkins. I really appreciate your coming out on a Saturday morning like this.”

  Ben’s smile was broad. “Can’t have a friend of Jake’s goin’ without a window, now, can we?” His voice was a distinctive one, fairly deep in tone but quiet, with clear, slightly softened vowels—a Montana voice. “I’ll tell you what,” he went on, “let me measure the space and call the supply yard to send over the frame an’ window and then I’ll take you up on that coffee you mentioned. If it’s no trouble, I mean.”

  “No trouble at all,” Amy said. “The bathroom’s right at the end of the stairs, on the left. Come on to the kitchen after you get your measurements.”

  When the carpenter strode into the kitchen not five minutes later, he smiled at Amy again. “You’re in luck. Your window’s a common size. If I can use your phone, I’ll see how quick I can get one for you.”

  Amy pointed toward the wall, indicating her telephone. “I hope it’s not a long wait. I’d hate to have to board up the only window in my bathroom.”

  Ben began to dial. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Like I said, it’s a common size.�
�� Then he spoke into the phone. “Jimmy? Ben Callan. Look, I’m on an emergency job, and I need an Anderson casement window.” He consulted the scrap of paper in his other hand and read the specifications. “How soon can you get one to me?” He gave Amy’s address and then laughed and turned to Amy, winking at her. “Great, Jim. I appreciate it. Thanks.”

  Ben hung up, looking quite satisfied with the results of the call. “The yard will have the whole kit an’ caboodle here in a half hour or so. Won’t take me long to fit the window and repair the damage and the siding.”

  “Wonderful.” Amy motioned to the kitchen table. “Have a seat.”

  The man hesitated. “Well, I was kinda wondering if we couldn’t take our coffee outside. I’ve got a new puppy in my truck, and I’d like to let him out to play a bit. OK with you?”

  Amy handed Ben a filled and steaming mug. She’d stop asking Montana men how they took their coffee. There seemed to be a state law against milk or sugar, at least with the male gender. See? I’m learning to fit in. “Let’s go. I’d love to see your puppy.”

  Ben looked into his mug and then up into Amy’s eyes. “You wouldn’t have a touch of milk an’ maybe a spoonful of sugar handy, would you?”

  When Amy broke into laughter, he looked at her curiously. “It’s nothing, Ben,” she explained. “I just thought of something funny.”

  “Oh? What?”

  “I was just praising myself for knowing that Montana guys don’t take anything in their coffee—and then you asked for milk and sugar.”

  Ben laughed. “Maybe it’s just the cowboys like Jake who drink it black. I don’t even own a horse—and to tell you the truth, I can’t say that I care to either. We contractors and handymen take milk and sugar.”

  Amy led the way to the door, and they walked out to the driveway. She caught her breath as Ben swung open the door of his pickup and a five- or six-month-old collie jumped easily to the ground and stood for a moment, looking around himself, obviously curious about the new surroundings.