Seemingly in no hurry to go anywhere, the stubborn weight of the dreamwalker’s attention pressed in on him. Jason locked gazes with the man and sifted through his surface thoughts. What did he want? All he found was an echo of the words Buck had spoken. He’d told Delilah they needed to address the Jason issue. They owed him, but it wasn’t about debt. It was about friendship, brotherhood, and like didn’t enter into it. As if aware of Jason’s skimming, Buck replayed the conversation with his siren-wife.
Humbled by the readiness of Delilah’s agreement and Buck’s directness, he broke the connection and scrubbed a hand over his face. The buzz of noise he used to keep others out of his head drifted closed like a curtain. He couldn’t afford mental blindness, not while keeping watch over Dorado, but he needed a moment to gather his thoughts. “I don’t understand you Morning Stars.”
The dreamwalker grinned. “I say the same thing about your family.”
Amused, despite himself, Jason paced away to touch one of the main struts in the framework. His humor evaporated. Today was the anniversary of the day he’d met her—first realized what she was to him. Once upon a time, he’d treasured this time each year since he could take out his memories from the box he’d buried them in and enjoy the feelings she’d aroused in him.
Memories now tainted by bitter regret and loss. “I don’t want them to finish this building and I keep fighting the urge to burn it down.”
“Why?” Surprise echoed in the question, but Jason didn’t turn his attention away from the wood. The roughness of it scraped against his fingers. Unfinished.
She’d been unfinished, dammit. It wasn’t fair.
“Because in the old town this is where Olivia lived. In the quarters above the store. She lived there with her parents.” Even saying her name cut him. Why the hell had he said it? He’d kept her name locked away with every other valued memory, barricading it into a space in his mind where no other person or thought could touch it.
The soft sound of Buck’s footsteps were Jason’s only warning before a hand came down on his shoulder. The dreamwalker said nothing and, for once, his thoughts were painfully simple.
I’m sorry for your loss.
Ruthlessly, he shored up that mental wall, sealing away the memories. “We hardly have time for sentimentality—the town will need a general store.” One devoid of Olivia’s laughter and sweet smile. One occupied by another family. He rejected the idea the moment it formed.
“It can wait. We do regular enough supply runs to San Antonio and we can have them haul more in as needed.” Alarm punched a note in Buck’s voice and Jason shrugged off his grip.
“We’ve waited months. Winter was brutal enough. We need to return a measure of normalcy.” It would help the children, although the youngest ones like Cate and Ben adapted to the changes more readily. Jason had been only a little older the Cate the first time he heard the thoughts of others. Children adapted, but it didn’t make their situation easier.
“Do your brothers know?”
Frost chilled his blood. He wanted to ignore the concern in the other man’s eyes and reject the offer of sympathy. Grief strained too many years of rigid control—tested his hard-earned peace of mind. Enough. He couldn’t afford self-pity. “No, and I would consider it a personal favor if you would keep what I said to yourself.”
“That’s an insult.” Buck folded his arms. “Though I have to wonder if you understand how much of an insult?”
The clap of the mental box finally snapping shut still ringing in his ears, Jason frowned. “Conversations with my family about me haven’t gone well as of late.”
“Agreed. I didn’t come here to spy on you for your brothers. I came because it was the right thing to do and you need a friend.”
No. Friends could be killed. Families could be torn apart. They were all far better off if he remained alone. Better to shut down any offer that might put the dreamwalker in the line of fire. “Thank you for being concerned and thank you for not telling them.” The words were awkward, but he did appreciate the sentiment.
Buck said nothing, his frown deepening. “You’re grieving. You’re allowed to grieve. We all need support. There’s no shame in that.”
“It is not shame—” Awareness of another sliced his attention away and Jason strode through the unfinished shop towards the boardwalk. He scanned, relentlessly touching every mind in his range. He’d sensed him.
“Jas—” The dreamwalker cut off at Jason’s upraised hand.
It took all of his concentration to scan in this manner, skimming the surface and not pressing any deeper. The otherness hovered on the edge of his senses, like a word half-forgotten, but he knew he was there. Dammit… Scouting visually, he gazed towards the eastern perimeter of the town—away from the construction. The mental signature seemed stronger, but it faded too rapidly for him to hold.
“What is it?” Buck shadowed his steps and pitched his voice low, damn near close to a murmur.
“The doppelganger.” Ryan. They had a name for the Fevered who’d traveled with Harrison Miller and his gang. Jason’s memories of the man, discolored by Harrison’s brutal torture and attempts to break his mind, were hazy at best. He knew every mind that should be in Dorado and the other stood out.
“Close?”
“Not anymore.” Even the faint trace he’d held onto and tried to use to track the other back had dissipated. “What the hell does he want?”
The answer continued to elude him. Miller was dead. All of the men with Miller, save for Ryan, had also been killed. So why did the doppelganger stay? What did he hope to accomplish?
“Is he still after Delilah? Or maybe Jo?” Tension threaded the words.
Frustrated, Jason blew out a breath. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He can’t possibly think he can steal Delilah. Controlling her would be impossible unless he knocked her unconscious. MacPherson is…” Please God. “…hundreds of miles north. He couldn’t keep her unconscious for that long.”
“Jo’s gift is animals. She speaks to them. What good would she be against someone like that?” Buck’s scowl deepened. “Or worse, what if it’s not capture he’s going for?”
“It doesn’t matter what he wants with them, he won’t get to them.” The cold in his blood iced the statement. “He cannot cross onto the ranch…” Because if he could, Ryan would have already done it. If Jason could pin the bastard down, he could break into his mind and find out what he wanted.
Then he’d kill him and end the threat once and for all.
“We’re still not sure the barrier’s working.” Buck studied the workers around them, his gaze thoughtful and assessing. “Wyatt crossed onto the ranch without invitation.”
“I am aware.” Not that he had an answer. Touching Wyatt’s mind? Not a mistake Jason would ever repeat. Blackness, brutal and swift, had punched through him and shut him down so hard, it had taken him days to comprehend even the split-second of the thoughts he’d touched. Suppressing a shudder, he turned away from that memory willingly. “Your eldest brother is a force to be reckoned with. We can’t be sure he wasn’t affected by the barrier and didn’t just ignore the pain. You said it was pain, right?”
“Pain, loud—like bees stinging you over and over again.” Buck grimaced. “Miserable feeling.”
“Would it bother him?” He didn’t want to say Wyatt’s name, though he had a far better understanding of the awe the Morning Star siblings held for their eldest brother.
“I don’t know. I don’t think much bothers Wyatt.” He wasn’t looking at Jason, his gaze remained steady on the workers. “You know all of these guys? No way they could be an imposter?”
“I won’t say impossible, but it’s highly improbable. I haven’t exactly been circumspect in scanning them whenever I see them. I know every mind here—check them periodically to make sure nothing has changed about them.” The oddness of discussing the idea wasn’t lost on him. He so rarely discussed his abilities—only once did I make that mistake and n
ever again—but Buck already knew what he could do so he saw no harm.
“What if when the guy doppelgangs he takes on the same kind of thoughts?”
“Doppelgangs?” Humor spiked at the word.
“Well, whatever Ryan does.” Buck’s expression darkened. “What would you call it?”
“It’s as good a word as any.” Jason shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think he can do that.”
“Why?” The dreamwalker held up his hands when Jason turned to face him. As if by mutual decision, they walked back to the unfinished general store.
“Because Cody identified the scent on the faux Jimmy as wrong when he encountered him in town. If he can’t manufacture a scent, I can’t imagine he can manufacture the thought patterns.”
“He can mimic a gift. Cody said he shifted into a wolf.” It was that aspect of the doppelganger’s ability that truly worried them all. He may not have realized what Jimmy’s was when he got a hold of him, but the wolf brother hadn’t been so fortunate. If Ryan got his hands on one of the more martial gifts, they would have problems. Inside, Buck leaned back against one of the wooden braces and folded his arms. “If he can mimic Cody’s wolf, what do we do if he copies you?”
Jason froze.
“I’d wondered if that occurred to you. If he absorbs a gift or can mimic it and he mimics yours, will you be able to scan for him?”
Damnation. “I don’t know.”
“We need more bodies in town.” Buck’s gaze collided with his. “And we need to know how to tell you from him. Cody and Mariska know your scent—that’s one way.”
“Maybe.” He considered the time he spent in the doppelganger’s company. Ryan had not been in charge of his captivity. He’d come and gone multiple times, however. If he could mimic a gift, why hadn’t he?
“Share with those of us not in your head, Jason.” A hint of amusement softened the darker worry in Buck’s voice.
“I was just thinking I spent more than a few weeks with them—Ryan appeared multiple times, always in a different face, rarely as himself. Though I suspect he must have once or twice because I did recognize him from time to time. He has to touch what he’s going to mimic—I think he needs blood, but maybe he doesn’t.” It annoyed him that some images lacked clarity. Shunting the physical abuse to the side had taken nearly all of his concentration. He could have handled the pain, but Harrison kept trying to dig into his mind—his emotions—to pull out of him what he needed.
Jason had to bury himself deep to keep the brutal empath out. The action cost him memories, distorted them and left him with more questions than answers.
“Either way, you don’t get to ride alone anymore.”
“By that logic, Buck. I could be Ryan now and you wouldn’t know.” Unfortunately, since he’d pointed it out, he had only himself to blame when Buck made him cross the boundary to prove he hadn’t been replaced.
The act, though, no matter how irritating, helped him to forget for a little while. Forget that he wouldn’t see her again.
Forget about missed opportunities.
He could be grateful for the respite, no matter how short-lived.
Dorado, Summer, 1836
“Jason!” Sam twisted in the saddle. “Keep up. Pa will skin us if we aren’t back by nightfall.” Not really, but he’ll get angry and then I’ll be the one who gets it because I should have made sure you were home safe.
Hands flexing on the reins, Jason gave his mare a little kick to catch up to his elder brothers. He hadn’t meant to fall so far behind, but in the dark of the pre-dawn hours, he liked pretending he was alone.
…have to make sure we’re back before sundown…work in the barn…training going well with Dancer and Shadow…is Patty’s gait off? Micah studied the sorrel mare Jason rode, his face contorting with a scowl. Didn’t he clean her hooves before he saddled her?
“Yes.” Jason exhaled explosively. “I did!”
Both of his brothers stared at him, and if not for his instant awareness that they’d said nothing, he might have laughed at their twin expressions.
“Did what?” Sam rode in a circle until he came up next to Jason and then all three pointed their horses toward Dorado. The ten-mile ride was a challenge. It would take hours to get there. But Sam knew all the short cuts. Big responsibility, Pa said. Look out for my brothers, get them there and get them back. Don’t dawdle.
Jason grimaced because he didn’t know which part to answer first. Maybe if he focused on the actual question and not the part where Sam’s mouth hadn’t moved? “I was keeping up.”
The response pacified Sam, and Micah slowed his horse to let them pass him up. Okay, she’s not really limping. It’s the uneven ground—wonder if Pa will pick up anymore Indian ponies this year. Cobb and Mr. Stevens both said we could cross-breed with the warmbloods, sturdier, faster horses—better on uneven ground. Miss Annabeth said no sugar for us, but if I pick up some cubes for the horses—
Make sure we’re back. We can camp out tonight, if we only make it back to the river. This side of the river—have to pick up packages at the postal delivery and mail Pa’s letter back east. Don’t know what that’s about. Pa hardly writes anyone. Listen for news, bring back any word—and, if the Spanish are in town, head home.
And so the entirety of the ride went. Jason remained mute, listening to the constant drone of Micah’s never ending litany. Sam repeated Pa’s instructions over and over until Jason could have recited them for him. Distance didn’t do much good, but if he lagged behind he knew they weren’t talking to him.
They paused at midday, just a couple of hours from town. Stripping off all the tack, they let the horses rest under the shade of the trees and drink from a stream. Jason found a spot closer to the running water and settled there to eat the food Miss Annabeth had packed for them.
His brothers said very little—out loud—and seemed content to finish their meal in silence. Jason kept staring at the water. If he tried to only listen to the spill of it splashing against the rocks, it—
JASON! “Jason!” Sam gripped his shoulder and gave him a shake. What is wrong with you? “We need to saddle up and get moving again. Clean this up and I’ll take care of your horse, okay?”
Reeling, Jason could only manage a jerky nod.
Always lost in his head. Pa’s right, he’s going to start putting on airs if we don’t get him to pay attention more. Sam squeezed his shoulder and headed back to the horses. Fighting the urge to grip his head, Jason rose on shaky legs. Fortunately, they hadn’t created much of a mess, and he buried the remnants of food they couldn’t pack and take with them. Better not to leave it out where it could attract scavengers.
The next two hours passed in similar fashion. Jason managed to keep up, but he didn’t respond to them unless Sam yelled his name. Town was better and worse in the same breath. The collective voices crashing together in his head instantly gave him a headache, but the clutter of noise didn’t allow any of them to be distinct.
It was the closest to real quiet he’d been since they set off on this chore. They stopped at the marshal’s office to give Marshal Jared a letter from their Pa. From there, they moved on to several shops—including the dressmaker’s for fabric, and the saddler for a new set of leather tools. Their Pa had entrusted them with the town run and Sam made sure to get every item handled.
Jason trailed along behind his older brothers. They’d both done this before with their Pa—he’d only done it once. Sam made sure to include him, pausing at the general store and sending him to fetch the beans, flour, and sugar. Sam and Micah took care of the tobacco, and checked for pins and soaps for Miss Annabeth.
The dried beans were loaded into a big barrel and Jason hauled the burlap sack over, and used the scoop to fill it. The sound of a little girl giggling from behind the barrel grabbed his attention and he peeked over for a look.
A delicate little figure in a lace dress sat on the floor, back to the barrel. “Scoot!” The order was high-pitched and
filled with laughter. The lyrical nature of it stunned him.
“Scoot?” Was he in the way? He glanced around him, but Sam and Micah were talking to the store keep. He and the baby girl were the only two at the feed barrels.
“Scoot!” She banged her hand against the wooden container, but she didn’t stand or look.
Shrugging, he dug in to measure out more beans and she giggled. “Oh.” Realization dawned. “Scoop.”
“Spoop!” She giggled, it really was a musical little sound and he couldn’t help a grin. “Spoop more.”
Since he needed to fill the bag, he complied and she giggled through it all. Shaking his head at her strangeness, he sealed up the bag and set it to the side. Grabbing another, he moved to the flour. It would be dusty. Fabric rustled on the wood and the tiny little tyrant crawled out. “Spoop?”
“I need flour now, not beans.” To his surprise she rose to her feet and trailed along with him, her slender fingers brushing each barrel.
“Which one?”
Since he had the scoop already in the barrel, he frowned and tapped the side of it. “This one.”
Her face scrunched, and she plowed forward, bouncing against his side. Steadying her, he braced against her thoughts and kicked the barrel with a booted foot. “Watch where you’re going, little bit.”
“I can’t.” Her chin tipped up and he found himself staring into a pair of silver-grey, pale eyes. The pupils didn’t change, they looked right through him. Latching onto his sleeve, she tugged. “Show me.”
Unsettled as all hell by the fact that she couldn’t see, he put her hand on the flour barrel. She gave him a nod.
“Spoop.”
“It’s scoop.” He said the word slow, like Miss Annabeth used to do for him.
“Scoot.” She giggled.
“Scoop. Pah. Pah. Scoo. Pah.” He repeated, but the grin tugging at his mouth wouldn’t go away. She was adorable.
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