Chasing the Dream

by Paige Lee Elliston

  She put the page down and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. A little over-the-top, maybe. A little too sweet, possibly. Still, the texture I want is there. It starts with what Will can’t do and continues about what he can. That’s a good, solid reader hook. A little tweaking, some more rewording, some tightening of a couple of paragraphs... It’s not bad. It’s not bad at all.

  She was surprised when she looked at the clock: 12:21. A memory—an unbidden one—flooded over her for no reason she could define. She was in her childhood bed, her face wet with tears, her body tight with fear, vestiges of a nightmare still very real in the shapes in the darkness of her bedroom. Her frantic crying, her panicked screams, her gasping for breath, were terribly loud in the night silence. Then, suddenly, the long aisle between her room and that of her parents was filled with light, and she heard her mother’s slippers padding toward her room. She’d be safe. That wonderful surge of light promised her that. Everything would be all right. The bad things would be gone, chased back to wherever they’d come from.

  The Bennett article, Amy realized, was synonymous with the light outside of her bedroom all those years ago. And that little piece of writing was as important to her right then as her mother’s assurances had been thirty years ago. Amy held that thought, made certain that it’d become part of her. Long-held tension and fear began to lose their stranglehold on her.

  “Breakthrough,” she said aloud.

  Now there was the Jake Winter situation to deal with. It was too late for coffee, and anyway, the inch or so left in the Mr. Coffee carafe looked like watered-down tar. She poked around in a cupboard, found a box of various tea bags she’d collected over the years, put back a bag of Red Zinger, and selected one labeled “Sleepy Time.” She ran water into her teakettle and put it on the stove.

  She stretched again and considered an aspirin for the pain in her lower back. Her hands, too, she noticed, were vaguely sore, her fingers feeling a bit stiff. She picked up the pages of the article from the counter where she’d dropped them and walked to the kitchen table. Her laptop was still running, and the cursor still blinked at her. She switched the machine off and placed the night’s work next to it. She looked at the clock again: 12:36. The water on the stove began to boil. She turned off the burner and poured the water over the tea bag in a mug, which she set aside as being too hot to drink immediately. She called Bobby and walked with him out the back door and into the yard.

  As the dog ran out to his favorite spot, Amy peeked around the edge of her garage across the pasture to Jake’s place. The dull gleam of the stock truck near the metal building told her Jake had gotten back from Porterville. When he’d returned, she had no idea. She hadn’t heard a thing as she worked.

  Just as well, she thought, not really believing it. If he doesn’t come over, there won’t be an argument, and I won’t have to listen to some lame explanation of why he and Mallory were so cozy together. Amy walked closer to the fence. Voices reached her across the distance. They were male voices, she could tell that, but couldn’t make out actual words. Hooves clattered on the floor of the truck, and a horse snorted loudly. Then the hooves made a more hollow sound as a horse was led down the stock truck’s ramp.

  Must’ve just gotten in—they’re unloading the horses. Amy couldn’t really see anything but the top of the big truck, but she stood in the cool air and watched until Bobby nosed at her, ready to go inside for the night. She drank her tea in the kitchen, washed the empty mug with unusual thoroughness, and set it on the rack to dry. Both animals’ water dishes were full. There were no other dishes to clean and nothing else in the kitchen that needed to be done. Still, she stood at the counter, not reaching to turn off the light that showed she was home and awake and in her kitchen.

  This is stupid. I’m tired. I should be in bed. I don’t know why I’m standing here like a manikin in a store window. She walked into the living room, leaving the light on in the kitchen, feeling foolish but unable to head upstairs to bed quite yet. She picked up an advertising circular from the coffee table and sat down to page through it. First she clicked on the floor lamp. The brochure extolled the glories of replacement storm windows for older homes. Her own windows—and her entire home, for that matter—were barely six months old. She read the ad copy as if it held the secret of life.

  Ten minutes later she tossed the circular aside and stood, switched off the lamp, and went to the kitchen to extinguish the light in there before going up the stairs to her bedroom.

  It was then that the light tapping sounded from her door. “Amy,” Jake’s voice called quietly, not much louder than a whisper. “You still up?”

  Amy clicked on the lamp in the living room, paused for a moment, and eased the door open.

  “Jake,” she said noncommittally.

  “I know it’s awful late, but I just got in and unloaded the stock and... well... I needed to talk to you. I saw your kitchen light on, and I figured you might still be up.”

  “I worked late tonight,” Amy said. “Something I needed to get finished.” They stood two feet apart for a long moment. Even in the murky light from the single lamp in the living room that filtered into the entryway, Amy could see that Jake looked tired—and a bit scruffy. His hair was windblown, the Western shirt he wore needed a trip through the washing machine, and a shave wouldn’t have hurt his appearance, either. He even smelled a bit gamey: not bad, necessarily, but of work and horses and road dust. Actually, she admitted to herself, the scent was masculine and outdoorsy and not really unpleasant. She swung the door open wider and said, “Come on in. There’s no sense in standing out here to talk.”

  Amy led Jake into the living room and turned on the overhead light as she passed the switch plate on the wall. She sat in a love seat facing the couch. “Sit,” she said. “I have some iced tea, if you’d like something to drink.”

  “No thanks. I won’t stay long.” He brushed at the back of his jeans and then sat on the couch.

  “How was the rodeo?” Amy asked.

  For a brief bit of time the fatigue left Jake’s eyes, and a smile began to form on his face. “It went very well. My bull—Little Butterball is his name—wasn’t ridden to the buzzer once all weekend. He’s looking real good. And one of the guys drew a ninety-three riding my bronc Locoweed. This kid from Hidden Falls put a great ride on him, had the crowd on their feet.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad it went well for you.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled into the room in the same manner storm clouds invade a sunny day. Jake shifted on the couch and leaned forward, hands clasped on his knees. “I guess you don’t really want to hear about the rodeo right now,” he said.

  Amy didn’t reply.

  “I heard you were in Porterville early yesterday. Wade told me he saw you.” He waited a beat. “You didn’t stay for the show.”

  “No. I mean, yes, I was there, but no, I didn’t stay.”

  “I... yeah. I see.”

  Amy breathed an exasperated sigh. “Look, Jake, this isn’t necessary. I think I misunderstood some things that I shouldn’t have. I made an assumption that was silly and that I shouldn’t have made. I thought—well, what I thought doesn’t make any difference. Let’s just forget the whole thing and get back to being neighbors.”

  Jake’s eyes found hers. “Is that what you want, Amy?”

  A quick flicker of anger arose in Amy, making her words sound harder than normal. “Look,” she said, “let’s quit dancing around this, OK? The time we spent together meant something to me.”

  “It was important to me too, Amy. It meant that we were becoming close to one another, that it was good for us to be together, that—”

  “Maybe I was thinking too fast and too far ahead, Jake. It seems to me that Mallory is very important to you, and not just as a trainer. I saw you and Mallory kissing at your trailer at the rodeo.”

  Jake looked stunned. “What’re you... I don’t get it, Amy. Mallory? Wha
t are you talking about? Where did all this come from?”

  Amy shook her head. “I was just beyond the trailer Saturday morning when you and Mallory came out of it, Jake—with your arms around each other, laughing like a pair of... I don’t know what.”

  “You have it all wrong, Amy. What you saw wasn’t what you thought it was.” His words were urgent, his voice tight and louder now. “You’re jumping to a conclusion that isn’t based on what’s real. And you’re not giving me a chance to explain what you saw.”

  “You don’t owe me an explanation. I have no claim on you, or you on me. What you do with your time or whom you spend it with is totally up to you.”

  “You’re wrong, Amy,” Jake interrupted. “You’ve taken one little moment and built it up into some great conspiracy against you, and you’re not willing to hear me out, to give me the chance to tell you what really happened Saturday.”

  “OK, then,” Amy said quietly. “Why don’t you tell me about what I saw? If I’m so wrong, tell me why I’m wrong.”

  She saw how his throat moved as he swallowed hard once, and then again, before speaking. “First of all,” he said, “Mal Powers works for me—she’s my employee. She trains horses and she does other things too. Such as helping out at rodeos where I’ve taken my stock, just like Wade or Wes or any of the other people I pay every two weeks.”

  Amy began to respond, but Jake held up his hand, his eyes showing fire now. “Wait. Second, Mallory was staying at the boardinghouse in Porterville where the rodeo committee put up those who weren’t pulling trailers and didn’t have places to stay. She came to my trailer Saturday morning because there was no hot water left at the boardinghouse—some kind of a plumbing malfunction—and she was all grubby from feeding my stock and cleaning the animals up to get them ready for the first show. She asked if she could use the shower.”

  “And you—”

  “And I,” Jake interrupted again, “went over to the coffee stand while she was in the trailer. I brought back coffee and called in to her, asking if she was decent. When she said she was, I went in. We drank our coffee, and she said she needed to get back to the holding pens, and I had a million things to do at the chutes and with the contestants. We must have just been leaving the trailer when you saw us.” He paused. “That’s all there was to it.”

  “That’s not exactly what I saw, Jake,” Amy said. “Mallory was cozied up next to you. She kissed you on the cheek. And I didn’t notice you having any problems with that.”

  Jake exhaled a long breath. He tensed; Amy could see he was about to stand up. “I guess you’ve already made up your mind,” he said. “That you’re flat-out wrong doesn’t make any difference to you, right?”

  “How am I wrong? Tell me that, Jake.”

  Again he exhaled loudly. He broke eye contact, and instead of looking at her face he concentrated on his hands clutched together on his knees. “Look, Mallory is kind of... Well, she’s had a... a thing for me for a few years—ever since I first met her, actually. She’d flirt with me constantly. She’d even call on the phone, late at night, every so often. All that stopped over two years ago. Then, recently, she wrote to me telling me how well she was doing with cutting horses and outlining how well I could do with a trainer like her here on my ranch. I was already very interested in cutting horses. The market for them is huge. I talked with her a few times, and she seemed like she was all business. There was no more nonsense.” He looked at Amy again. “So, I hired her. Maybe I was wrong. But I didn’t do it because I was looking for a girlfriend. When I met you...”

  “When you met me, what?” Amy asked.

  “You were... Special is such a dumb word, but that’s what you were. I was... well... attracted to you. I liked your intelligence and your sense of humor and the way you’d left a different kind of life behind you.” Several moments passed. Then, Jake added, “Ya know?” bringing a transient half smile to Amy’s face.

  “But what about what I saw at the trailer, Jake? What about that? If there’s nothing romantic between you and Mallory, what was all the touchy-feely stuff and the laughter?”

  “The touch-feely was on her part, no? Did you see me reach out to her at all? I’m sure you didn’t. And what was I supposed to do? Hit her with a stick because she put an arm around my waist? Gave me a peck on the cheek? Because she made me laugh?” He stood and looked down at her. “Believe what you want, Amy. But what I’ve said is the truth.”

  Amy stood from the love seat.

  “Seems to me that you’ve got a lot to think about,” Jake said. “Like whether or not I’m playing some kind of devious game with you and your feelings. I guess right now isn’t the best time to talk about it. You need some time to take a good, close look at what you think happened Saturday, and what I’ve told you actually happened. So, why don’t you do that? Think about it, I mean?”

  His hand began to move out to her and then dropped back to his side. There was some pain in his eyes, she thought, but no sign of duplicity. “Tomorrow morning about nine I’m going out riding,” he said. The beginning of a smile creased his face. “I’ll have Daisy all saddled up. I thought I’d come by here before I went out. If you were inclined to climb up on the ol’ gal, well, we could maybe ride some and talk some more.”

  “I don’t know, Jake...”

  His grin grew larger. “Whatever. I’ll be here at nine, either way. If you don’t want to go riding, I guess I’ll turn ol’ Daisy over to the Alpo folks. Seems a shame, though.”

  Amy couldn’t hold back her laugh. Before she could say anything, Jake was moving to the entryway. “I’ll be by at nine,” he said, closing the door behind him.

  Amy stood in place, dazed, not at all sure of what had just taken place. Then she realized she still had a smile on her face and felt better than she had in a couple of days. There’d be no advantage for him to lie about all of this, she told herself. If he had feelings for Mallory, he probably wouldn’t have come here at all tonight—he’d just let the whole thing drop. There are men who need to play one woman off another, but I can’t believe that of Jake Winter. She went into the kitchen and turned off the light, catching the lamp and overhead in the living room as she headed for the stairs. Nutsy was asleep on her pillow when she reached her bedroom, and Bobby flopped down on the throw rug next to the bed as Amy undressed and pulled on her nightgown. She looked into her own eyes as she brushed her teeth in the bathroom.

  I’ve learned a lot about people in the course of my life. I think I know whom I can trust and who isn’t worthy of trust. She recalled a couple of men she’d briefly dated and cringed. Maybe it’s having been exposed to losers like them that makes me so suspicious, so unwilling to accept good things and good people. She didn’t realize how long she’d been standing there mechanically brushing until she looked away from her eyes in the mirror and down to her mouth. Toothpaste froth frosted her lips and made her look rabid.

  It was too late to read. Amy turned off the lamp on her bedside table without touching the novel she’d started a couple of nights ago. She settled into her bed, tucked the covers around herself, and closed her eyes. She was drifting into the mindless warmth of the first stages of sleep when a thought jarred her, and her eyes popped open.

  What about Ben Callan? The hours she’d spent with him had been pleasurable—easy, fun, interesting—and more. Perhaps much more. I wouldn’t have gone to his home if I didn’t feel some attraction to him, didn’t feel something more than a passing friendship. He’s bright and sensitive and... well... cute. And kind—he brought Bobby to me, knowing without discussing it with me how I’d fall in love with the puppy. She pushed herself to a sitting position and leaned back against the headboard, staring out into the darkness of her bedroom. Nutsy, his sleep disturbed by her movements, stretched, yawned, and settled back down. Bobby, on the throw rug next to the bed, stirred for a moment but didn’t awaken.

  Was I too quick to accept what Jake said tonight? He left knowing I’d go riding with him tomorrow,
and it was clear to both of us, even though we didn’t actually say so, that a reconciliation has already taken place between us. And nothing short of the end of the world could keep me from being ready when Jake shows up with his horses tomorrow morning.

  Amy’s confusion manifested itself physically. She felt her shoulder muscles tighten. Of course I feel something for Jake Winter. But it’s equally true that I feel something for Ben Callan too. I’ve never been able to spend time with more than one man—never wanted to, either. So, what do I do now?

  By eight the next morning Amy was showered, dressed, breakfasted, and sipping at her second mug of coffee. It was, again, a typical Montana summer morning: a crystal clarity to the coolish air, the sky an almost incredibly deep shade of blue just short of indigo, and a sun that promised heat later in the day. Amy hummed as she rinsed her cereal bowl and spoon and placed them on the drying rack on the counter next to the sink. Both her animals were fed, and she’d walked with Bobby into the scrub and dirt beyond her property.

  Her laptop glared at her from the kitchen table, and she did her best to avoid looking at it—to avoid even thinking about it or recognizing that it was there waiting for her. Her Bennett article was placed in a clasp envelope with the name of the editor—Nancy Lewis—that Julie had given her, ready to be dropped at the News-Express as soon as she returned from riding with Jake. After that there’d be plenty of time to wrestle with her novel.

  Amy busied herself—killed time, actually—being domestic. She straightened whatever she could find to straighten, sifted through her mail, separated the junk, and dropped it, unopened, into her recycling box. She dusted her bookshelves and tables and suffered through a few minutes of the roar of her old vacuum as she ran it over the living room carpet. At quarter to nine she sat on the couch and paged through a new copy of Writer’s Digest, waiting to hear the sound of Jake’s horses as he came up the driveway. At precisely nine she heard the rumble of a truck and stepped to the picture window. A two-horse trailer with a pair of horse rear ends and tails showing eased up toward the house. Jake stopped his pickup, set the parking brake, and stepped out just as Amy left her house. “What’s with the trailer?” she asked as she approached Jake.