Journey's End

by BJ James

  “My God.” Ty’s startled prayer rang through the huge room and echoed amid the rafters of the tall ceiling.

  And then there was silence.

  Casey stood, the cloth clutched against his chest, his riveted stare turning from Merrill to Ty and back again.

  “Casey.” His name was a strangled sound emitted from a throat that threatened to close. If Merrill’s hand had been larger, stronger, the arm of her chair would have broken. Her startled eyes had no time for anything but the figure gracing the center of the shabby worktable. A figure repeated again in a small, delicate watercolor.

  “I’ve never...” her voice faltered, fading away. Swallowing the threat of tears, she tried again, and failed. “I’ve never seen anything so...so...”

  “Beautiful,” Ty finished for her. “Nor have I, Casey.”

  “Merrill,” the young artist said simply.

  “Yes.” Ty hadn’t needed to be told. No one in the world who knew Merrill would need it In both painting and carving, the small figure was perfect down to the last detail. Down to the moccasins she wore most days when she rode. The moccasins she wore today.

  In both she wore jeans, an old favorite shirt. A knife was belted at her waist, and a Stetson tipped over her forehead. A saddle was slung over her shoulder, and Shadow lay at her feet. And every part of it, every nuance, stayed true, perfect to the last detail.

  “When?” Merrill asked, her voice still filled with wonder. “How?”

  “He began the day after you were here for the first time.” Carl stood in the door, with Cat a step behind. “We’d tried for weeks to get him to take up his paintbrush and carving tools. We thought it would set him on the path to recovery.” He turned to Merrill, addressing her alone. “Until you, he had no interest.

  “He worked in secret in his room.” A fond look passed between father and son. “When we thought he was sleeping, he’d found better things to do with his afternoons.”

  Casey nodded and touched the figure of wood.

  Carl and Cat advanced into the room. The door swung shut behind them. “The carving was most difficult. At first it was no more than a chunk of wood. Not even the sort he usually worked with. Just something that caught his fancy.”

  “It lay there on his bedside table, untouched for weeks.” Stripping off her gloves, Cat patted Casey’s cheek. “Maybe, subconsciously, he was looking for a subject. Something the wood would become. Maybe he simply wasn’t ready.”

  “Then Merrill came along.” Ty’s fingers laced through hers as he smiled at her.

  “He wanted to give her something.” Carl looked from the replica of Merrill to Merrill herself. “Something of himself.”

  “Me!” Merrill jerked forward in her chair, her back straight, her expression filled with surprise. She turned from Casey, then to Ty as if trying to understand. “I couldn’t! It’s too important.”

  “You,” Casey insisted. “Yours.”

  “No,” Merrill shook her head. “I can’t It’s far too valuable, and must mean far too much to all of you to part with it.”

  “You.” Casey pushed the small carving closer to her. “Yours.”

  “The carving may be of me,” she said in agitation. “And I’m ftattered that I was its inspiration. But can’t you see that I can’t take it.”

  The look of hurt that crossed his face, brought a rush of tears to her eyes. Before she could say more, it was Ty who spoke instead.

  “She’ll accept it, Casey, when she understands.” Taking her hand back in his, to Merrill he said, “The first day we came here, the first time you saw Casey’s paintings and carvings and realized he had done mine, I told you something about them. Do you remember?”

  Carl and Cat flanked their son. They understood as well as Ty what it meant to Casey for Merrill to have this carving. Especially this carving. Neither would try to persuade her, for in persuasion some of the joy goes out of giving. So they waited and watched, and hoped Ty could make her understand as well.

  “I remember.” She could never forget. “You told me that Casey always said when the time came, it would be commissioned work that would carry a price tag.”

  Rising from her chair, Merrill wandered the room. Touching this figure or that. A pony, the eagles, a silly pine marten curled around the cone of a western larch. A whimsical watercolor of a fawn curiously investigating a stalk of white, blooming beargrass. By the figure of a wolf pup chewing on a bridle, she paused.

  Ty had watched her ramble. Because he was beginning to understand Merrill better than anyone in the world, he knew that she was drinking in the wonders such a diverse talent could create. Realizing that yes, she played a part in preserving it.

  “And.” he prodded her from her reverie.

  “And these come from his heart.” She was moving again, stopping only when she came to the worktable. “This,” she traced the line of the sculpture with a fingertip. “This came from his heart, and his heart isn’t for sale.”

  To Casey she said, “I’m flattered and I’m pleased that such an astounding talent chose me as subject for his return to both painting and carving. I’ll be more than proud to have it as my own.”

  The room broke into jubilant celebration, with Casey blushing even more furiously when Merrill rose on tiptoe to whisper a private thanks, sealed with a kiss.

  “Well now,” Carl drawled. “That’s the first time we’ve had to twist someone’s arm to get them to take one of Casey’s figures.”

  “It will be the last.” Merrill was laughing in delight. “I predict a great future for Casey Carlsen.”

  “If it weren’t so early, I’d break out some champagne,” Cat declared from her place by her son. “Stay for dinner. Take potluck with us and we’ll crack the best bottle then.”

  “The Sno-Cat’s yours for the taking, if you’ll stay.” This from Carl, who smiled as Merrill had never seen him smile.

  This, she thought, was how he must have smiled at Cat the day she fell in love with him.

  “Merrill?”

  Drawing herself from her speculations, she found Ty standing at her side. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “Would you like to stay?”

  It took her only long enough to say the words. “Yes. I’d like that.”

  Ty smiled and called over his shoulder. “Casey, there’s an inscription of the carving, isn’t there?”

  For once no one minded that Casey didn’t bother with struggling for the right word and nodded instead.

  “I think you’ll find it on the bottom, Merrill,” Ty said. “If Casey runs true to habit.”

  Taking up the small figure in both her hands, holding it as if a breath or a wrong move would break it, Merrill read the scrawled inscription aloud. “My eternal gratitude to...” Stopping she looked to Ty, and then to Casey before continuing. “To Short Bear.”

  She had been loved and respected unconditionally only once before. Now, with the use of the silly name Matt Danvers had given her, she knew she was again.

  “Thank you.” She could manage no more as she set the figure back in its place. No more was needed.

  “Bear!” Carl exclaimed smoothing over a charged moment. “I have news. The park service ran a rogue bear to ground and moved him to a distant and isolated region of the park. A big male, with a wounded paw.”

  “This distant and isolated region.” Cat laid a protective hand on Carl’s shoulder, never forgetting how close she’d come to losing him to just such a bear. “It’s too far for him to ever come back?”

  Carl grinned and turned his head to kiss a chapped knuckle. “Way too far. Subject resolved and closed.”

  Cat was on the porch, her shoulder leaning against a post, her arms crossed over her breasts, when Merrill went in search of her.

  “How is he?” She asked without turning, expressing a mother’s eternal concern. “Carl and I see him every day, and we watch him so closely, sometimes I think we miss the small progresses.”

  “He’s sleeping now,
with Shadow lying at the foot of his bead. He’s fine, and he’s going to be fine, Cat. No, better than fine. Complete recovery will take time, but not as long as it once was.”

  Crossing her arms closer, tugging at the collar of her jacket, Cat asked, “Do you ever think that the things that happen to us were meant to be?”

  “Some.” Merrill leaned on a balustrade. In the corral by the barn, Ty helped Carl change a sagging rail. “I’m not a fatalist. I can’t believe we’re completely at the mercy of fate.”

  “No, but look at us. The five of us. Each with his or her own problem. Each with a solution for the other. Carl for me. Ty for you.” She folded the collar closer. “He was a lot like you when he came to Montana. An idealist whose ideals had grown tarnished. He found a new perspective here, but even so, he was growing more and more insular, until you came along.”

  She turned to face Merrill for the first time. “There’s a lot unresolved between you, but you’ve been good for each other.”

  “Tynan told you about Tall Bear?”

  “He thought it would help us understand your empathy with Casey.”

  “You know the rest? My family, their disappointment in me. The children.”

  “The children you think you should have saved.” There was sympathy in Cat’s windburned face. “Maybe you should have, and maybe you would have, if their lives had been in your hands alone.”

  “But people aren’t always what they pretend to be.” Merrill was quoting Cat from another time. “Sometimes we’re fooled and make the wrong choices. Other times we’re right. So, we make the best we can of our errors, accepting no more than our share of the blame for the harm that comes of it.”

  “A creed we all must live by, if we are to survive.”

  “I’m learning. I’ll never forget the past, but everyday I come closer to believing as you do.”

  “As all of us have come to believe. Especially Ty.”

  Merrill was quiet for a while. The rail was repaired, Ty and Carl were coming in for dinner.

  “Why did Casey name the carving Short Bear?”

  “He liked the name. He decided it fit you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re tiny.” Cat pushed away from the post, waiting for Carl as he climbed the stairs. “And as his father’s people often believe, Casey believes you have the courage, the strength, and the magic of the bear.”

  Her comment was almost lost in the stamp and thud of heavy boots. Perhaps it was fate that had Ty smiling down at her saying softly, “Hi, Short Bear. Did you miss me?”

  As she slipped her arm through his, Merrill knew that she had. And when the time came for her to leave Montana, she knew that Tynan O’Hara, the man who had made it his journey’s end, would live in her heart forever.

  Eight

  “Easy, girl.” Merrill drew a currycomb through Tempest’s rippling mane, never missing a crooning note. As she stroked and patted, whiskered lips nibbled at her shoulder. Laughing, she pushed the massive head away. “You like that, do you?”

  Bending, she scratched at Shadow’s ears as he curled around her knees wanting his share of affection. Never to be upstaged, Tempest nudged at Merrill’s elbow and crowded against her, almost pitching her over. “Don’t be jealous, madam, there’s enough love to go around.”

  As she regained her balance, wrapping her arms around the mare’s bowed neck she leaned her head against the gleaming mane. “So, do you think you’ll miss me when I’m gone?”

  “Thinking of leaving us so soon, Short Bear?”

  Startled, Merrill whirled to face him. “Ty! I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Chuckling to himself, Ty pushed away from a supporting post where he’d paused to watch the playful interaction between what must be the strangest coterie of friends west of the rising sun. They made a pretty picture there in the stall, with a shaft of light flowing through the window catching motes of dust, filling their small space with a golden haze that sifted around them like stardust.

  “You were a trifle busy.” What he left unsaid was that he’d come quietly into the barn, hoping for this moment. He never tired of watching her with them. A woman who weighed far less than either wolf or horse, controlling both with a word and a loving pat. That Shadow was a sucker for a gentle touch had long been established. But never like this. Tempest, on the other hand, was another matter. “You’ve spoiled them, you know.”

  Folding his arms over the stall portal, he reached out to scratch Tempest while she snuffled curiously at the pocket of his jacket. Rewarding the mare’s persistent search with a cube of sugar, he pushed her firmly away. “You’ve made a pet of this silly creature. When the ranch hands and guides return in Spring, they won’t recognize her.”

  He was so close. Even with the wooden barrier between them, having him so near quickened the beat of Merrill’s heart. The cool, crisp fragrance of evergreen and fresh air clung to him, blending with his own familiar scent, surrounded her with pleasant memories. He moved like a phantom in her thoughts, but as he watched her from the corridor, there was substance and seductive reality in the breadth of his shoulders and the corded leanness of his body. And though his face was hidden by the slanting eclipse of the brim of his Stetson, she knew there would be mischief in the curl of his lips, and laughter in his eyes.

  “Perhaps I have petted her a bit.” Out of habit she complied as Tempest presented her forelock to be scratched. “Do you mind?”

  “Why should I?” Catching a curl that always seemed to defy the band at her nape, he twirled it around his finger, discovering that even in dusky half light its many hues were lustrous and golden. A ribbon of silk, he thought, captured in a hand more accustomed to the harsh pull of a rope, or the saw of a rein. “You’ve spoiled all of us.”

  “All?” As he wound her hair around his hand, and as his knuckles brushed the sensitive flesh beneath her jaw, Tempest and Shadow were forgotten. “Even you?”

  “Especially me.” A gentle tug brought her closer. “Most especially me.”

  “How so? When I’ve ruined your winter solitude?” She’d been right, there was laughter in his eyes. And something more. Something still and quiet that made her voice grow whispery and vague. “I’ve filled your house with my clutter, rummaged in your private possessions, interrupted your writing. And, on principle, been a nuisance.”

  “On whose principle?” He was speaking nonsense. Simply uttering words that had nothing to do with what he was thinking, what he was feeling, or wanted to say.

  “Mine.” The word was a husky murmur. “Yours,” she added quietly as she swayed toward him, mesmerized by him, going willingly wherever he might lead.

  “You haven’t been a nuisance, you aren’t given to clutter, nothing I have is private from you. And my writing can only be the better for such a lovely interruption.”

  The barn was chilly, kept just warm enough that the livestock wouldn’t suffer the cold. But the last brought its own flush of warmth. A slow trembling tension closed her throat and turned the pounding of her heart to thunder. “A pretty compliment.”

  “No.” The width of the door was a chasm. Her mouth, only inches from his, was much too far away. “Truth, not praise.” He felt the sudden rush of her breath against his cheek, and almost lost the thread of his chatter. “There will be other winters, time enough for solitude.”

  But would he want them? he wondered. Could he bear the long, lonely days? Would the solitude he’d cherished be no more than emptiness now that she’d shared a part of his world?

  Long. Empty. Lonely. The words echoed in his mind.

  Empty.

  Lonely.

  “Merrill.” There was sudden disquiet in him. Perhaps for the life he’d lived. Perhaps for his life as it would be. But as his lips brushed over hers at last, while his Stetson tumbled to the floor and he bent to drink deeply of the passion she brought to him, none of it mattered. Neither yesterday, nor tomorrow. There was only today, only this. Only Merrill.

&nbs
p; Touching her, letting his fingers glide over her hair, soothed him. Even as the fires of desire blazed steadily and the yearning grew. He wanted more than a kiss. More than a touch. He’d wanted her at the homestead, on the floor, with the fire burning, and moonlight drifting through the windows. He’d wanted her on the bluff, buffalo grazing at their feet, the threat of a rogue grizzly in the air. He’d wanted her in the snow, meeting challenge with challenge, strength for strength, with a hunger that wouldn’t have felt the cold.

  He wanted her now and here. In the barn, with straw as their bed, and only honesty between them. With her dusky skin and her rippling hair as golden as the haze. Stardust, yet not.

  “Sundust,” he muttered, coining a new word as he drew away. The perfect word.

  As if he’d been given the cue he’d been waiting for, Shadow rose from the corner of the stall where he’d lain quietly. His tail moved tentatively. Responding to his mood, Tempest tossed her mane and whickered as she nudged at Merrill’s shoulder.

  A reminder for Merrill, for all she’d forgotten. All his touch and his kiss swept from her mind.

  When she would have turned to the horse, he stopped her with a fleeting touch. “You never answered my question.”

  She heard, but his words seemed to come from far away. Her head turned from side to side, her scattered wits not tracking with the direction he’d taken.

  She was heavy eyed and languid, as he’d imagined she would be when he made love to her. A look that was almost his undoing. Only the scrub of a day old beard flushing her cheeks, reminded there were better times and better places. With a finger at her chin, simply because he wanted this small contact, he reminded, “I asked if you were thinking of leaving us so soon?”

  It took her a while to find her voice, and then it was rough and unsteady. “Only long enough for a ride to the Carlsens’, then another with Casey. He’s ranging farther and farther afield, and I promised we would ride as far as the homestead for a picnic. I didn’t think you would object.”