“Because we are immune to the spirit fever,” Quanto said slowly. What once seemed so steady beneath his feet shifted and Buck braced for it. “Because our kind fostered its creation.”
His stomach bottomed out. Their kind—The Blood, as Quanto called it—created the spirit fever? His people were responsible for so much pain and destruction? For the hell they continued to go through?
Delilah’s dark laughing eyes appeared within his mind’s eye. Some truths, he could have wished to never know.
“It will be difficult for you to hear, my son,” Quanto sat forward. “But you must know the whole story. The history must be preserved.”
As difficult as the concept was for Buck to swallow, he didn’t doubt the truth of his father’s statement. “Why now? Why did the barrier on the ranch affect me if I’m not Fevered? I thought it kept the Fevered out…”
“I am not certain of the barrier,” the old shaman said with a shrug. “I did not construct it. You need to know now, because those who hunt the Fevered are now also hunting those of The Blood, systematically erasing them from the history and from the present.”
“Why?”
What more could those of The Blood do?
“A war is coming, Buck. A war I have fought my whole life to prevent. When it comes, if my children are not prepared, I fear you will be swept away in the tide of it.”
Delilah, The Mountain
The crystal clear mountain air filled her lungs. In summertime, she could imagine it wreathed in the perfume of wild flowers and growing things. So late in autumn, however, it held damp notes promising rain and a crisper bite with the suggestion of snow. Overhead, however, the skies were populated with fluffy clouds and plenty of sunshine. If a storm was coming, it wouldn’t be there any time soon. Buck showed her the mountain in his dreams, but this was so much different.
Walking the paths he’d run while he grew up? Seeing the crystal lake below with hardly a ripple to suggest a breeze? Wanting to explore the trails she could see heading higher up to another elevation and lower from the plateau? Heavenly was the only word she could summon to describe the land and the homes it hosted. In addition to the great cabin where Quanto lived, the land boasted a huge barn and some smaller dwellings, though they seemed in more disrepair than she remembered from the dreams.
Perhaps with Buck and his brothers gone, they had too few to do the work needed to maintain the plateau. Delilah frowned. Her husband wouldn’t like seeing the damage. None of them would, to be honest. They worked so hard on the Flying K, in Haven, and in the new Dorado.
Wyatt strode out of the trees below, and her heart thundered in her ears. Chills raced over her skin and she caught herself from turning on her heel and fleeing the other direction.
He’s not Father. The stern internal reminder did little to quell the quaking the presence of Buck’s elder brother caused. As he ascended the short trail to the plateau, she clasped her hands together and concentrated on breathing. One way to keep her gift in lockdown was to embrace it, to stay calm and to believe she could.
The notes to stun him were on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t release them. Her gift was too potent, too dangerous and could hurt so many if left unchecked. Only Buck seemed immune to her songs, so she learned to modulate her voice, to keep her abilities tamped down and inside her the coil of power unfurled then tightened once more.
By the time Wyatt achieved the trailhead, she’d found her control.
She hoped.
“Good morning,” she said, though her jaw ached from forcing it to work to shape the words.
He paused and studied her. The cool appraisal in his eyes—one blue and the other green—sent another shiver down her spine. “You have much better control,” he said after a prolonged silence. Somehow, he made the words not sound like a compliment. The air turned even cooler or maybe it was his presence.
Folding her arms, she stiffened her spine. She had a right to be there. Quanto invited her and she was Buck’s wife. Wyatt was his brother. She loved all of Buck’s brothers, and Wyatt shouldn’t be the exception.
Except he terrified her.
“I won’t bite little one,” the man said with a faint shake of his head. “You have my word.”
She appreciated the gesture, but instead of thanking him for the reassurance, she asked, “Why do you look like him?”
The resemblance disturbed her on so many levels. He looked so like Father. His expression, his shuttered eyes, even his posture and how he carried himself. If not for the eyes, she would have sworn he was Father. Yes, there were differences and if she looked closely, she could detect those as well. But meeting Wyatt’s gaze took an effort that left her more shaken than she cared to admit. Glancing away, she focused on the lake in the distance.
Most people would have asked her whom she referred to, but not Wyatt. “You should have a coat or a wrap. The temperature has a way of changing fast on the mountain.”
As if to illustrate his point, a cold wind tugged at her hair. Folding her arms, more out of a sense of preservation than chill, she tried to study him from the corner of her eyes. It was far preferable to meeting his odd gaze. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“No,” he agreed with her, the deep baritone of his voice cool. “I didn’t. Is Buck talking with Quanto?”
Since he likely knew why Quanto wanted Buck on the mountain, she saw no reason to keep their private conversation a secret and nodded. “Yes, I excused myself so they could have some privacy.”
He said nothing, his gaze riveted on the main house. The silence stretched out so profoundly, she wondered if he’d forgotten her presence. Rubbing her arms, she pivoted to face the trail leading to the glass lake. Before she could take a step, however, Wyatt said, “I would like to show you something. Someday Buck may wonder. When he does, it would be good for you to have the answer.”
Apprehension settled like a rock in her belly at the description. “What is it?”
“It’s this way,” he motioned toward the house and then past it. “Up the mountain further.”
Did she dare follow him? Despite his earlier words, she would never forget the day he’d arrived on the ranch or how he’d taken down all of his siblings until she’d found herself face to face with certain death. More terrifying than his ability had been the frigid rationality of his actions and manner. Had she struck at him that day, she had no doubt she wouldn’t be standing here with him on the mountain.
“Why do you want to show me?” she asked. “Truly. You thought me demonic and dangerous to everyone.”
“You are dangerous to everyone.” Wyatt shrugged. “You could raise an army to your cause, turn the head of every Fevered you met, and wield tremendous power and there are few who could stop you…fewer still who would want to. You have the beauty of an angel, and an air of fragility about you most men would cut off their arms to preserve.”
The comments startled her. Twisting around to face him, she tried to reconcile her single previous experience with the man and the words he’d just used to describe her.
His eyebrows climbed. “Thought I was blind?”
“No.” She gave a quick shake of her head. Was he overstepping with his compliment? The compliment made her uncomfortable, but only because it was wholly unexpected. “I thought—I thought you hated me.”
“No, little one, I reserve my hate for those who truly deserve it. You have tremendous power and you wield it with humility and kindness. I imagine those were the tools which kept you sane when others would have given in to the provocative allure of what you can do.”
“I hate what I can do,” she said solemnly. “So many people have been hurt because of my songs. Nothing good came of it, not until I met Buck.” Having chosen to never speak again rather than ensnare another, she’d broken her vow when Buck stepped into her dreams. She hadn’t realized his presence was not a product of her imagination, and she’d nearly captivated the one she loved to the point of madness.
“Don’t hate it and don’t fear it. Respect it.” Another shrug. “As long as you can manage those, you will be fine.”
The confidence resonating within his advice echoed within her. She appreciated the sentiment more than he knew. “Will you ever my answer my question?”
“Perhaps. Ever is a long time. Will you join me, so I may give you some insight for Buck later?”
Curiosity overriding her caution, she took a couple steps, but maintained a healthy distance. Wanting to know didn’t equate trust. Sparing a glance at the house, she said, “Why not tell Buck directly?”
“He’s learning a lot. This part won’t occur to him. Not yet, maybe not for years.” Seemingly unconcerned with her hesitance, he led her toward a path she hadn’t seen before, tucked between two great bushes which likely flowered in summer. Evergreen, they had sharp points. While Wyatt passed between them without a care for how they pricked at him, Delilah turned sideways to squeeze through.
The path angled upward. More growth lined it, creating an almost tunnel effect. Thankfully, the tree limbs overhead were bare of any foliage. The walk uphill left her winded, but she hurried to keep up. Fortunately, her skirts didn’t get caught on the nettle bushes. The path was so narrow in places, she wondered if it truly discouraged anyone from venturing this far when the weather turned warm.
At the top, Wyatt seemed to vanish. Trepidation swirled in her stomach, and she sucked in a deep breath. He said he wanted to show her something, and she trusted he meant it when he said he wouldn’t hurt her. Well, bite anyway. He said bite. Pressing forward, she took the last three sharp steps upward and entered a small clearing…filled with stone cairns.
Her heart sank straight to her stomach and she froze.
“Yes, it’s a graveyard.” Wyatt said before she could react. “Buck’s mother is buried here.” He stood at the opposite edge. Wild vines and roses grew around the rocks. Nearly a dozen of the small stone cairns filled the clearing.
“Who else is buried here?”
“Those lost along the way.” Kneeling, Wyatt straightened a rock on the stone pile, then cleared away some of the dead leaves. “He may never ask the question. I don’t expect he’ll return to the mountain.”
Though a question burned within her, she refused to ask. Was one of the graves the siren he knew? The story Buck shared with her about Wyatt’s experience told her a great deal about the distant man. His need to tell her about this grave, should Buck ever want to know, revealed more. Perhaps he wasn’t as remote as everyone believed.
“You can go now,” Wyatt said, belying her insights. “You know where it is if he asks, but only if he asks.”
“Why not tell him anyway?” She didn’t care for keeping secrets from her husband.
“Because this is a sad place and it’s the past. He is moving forward with his life. Let him not be weighed down by old decisions he can do nothing about.”
It made no sense to her.
Sighing, the man stood. “Has he ever told you about his mother?”
No. She shook her head slowly.
“He won’t. He never knew her.” Removing his hat, Wyatt studied her and the weight of his regard pressed in on her as though he read her to her very soul. Having been the recipient of his too-seeing gaze before, she fought the urge to fidget. “Tell him if you wish, but sometimes we tell a truth to relieve a burden we bear, so the other person may carry it. If you believe this is a burden he needs, tell him.”
Puzzled, Delilah shook her head. “I don’t understand why you would tell me something you don’t want him to know, then say it doesn’t matter if I tell him. Either it’s important he knows or it isn’t.”
“Life is not that simple, something I would have thought you understood.”
Refusing to be put off by the chastisement, she lifted her chin. “He is my husband. I have no secrets from him.”
“Then tell him. You will know when the time is right.” The advice implied he knew more than her, and perhaps he did.
“How did his mother die?”
When he straightened, she was thankful for her distance. The tall imposition of his presence struck her again, as did the wicked familiarity. The air was so much chillier and his eyes frosted over as though ice spread from within to discolor the surface. “She was murdered.”
Bile coated her throat. “And he doesn’t know.”
One nod, then the most unexpected thing happened, Wyatt circled the grave once, and bowed to it—then turned to her. “No, he believes his mother died of the fever and that is when he was infected.”
“If he is old enough to think she was sick…” Reality settled upon her shoulders brutally. “He was there when she died.”
Another nod. “Quanto married a woman of another tribe. He never thought to take a wife until he met Running Doe. He loved her very much, but she missed her people, so from time to time, Quanto would return her so she could visit them. On one of those visits, she took Buck with her. They called him Tumbling Bear…” Wyatt’s brief smile and hint of laughter shocked her for the level of gentle affection present. “He spent more time tackling and chasing than he did walking. He was barely three summers old. One moon she would spend with her people, then Quanto would bring them home.”
Dread curdled inside of her.
“When the moon passed, we went to bring them home.” Everything about Wyatt seemed to take on a distant quality as though he weren’t truly with her. “I will spare you the details. We found Buck huddled beneath his mother’s body, hidden. At first, we thought he’d died as well, but he merely slept, exhausted and traumatized. The whole of her people had been wiped out.”
Quiet horror filled her eyes with tears. She barely remembered her mother, a half-forgotten dream woman who sang her to sleep…but Delilah only remembered her alive.
“Whatever happened that day, Buck was there. He saw everything. Our first night back on the mountain, after we’d taken care of the bodies, Quanto went into his dreams to find him. Buck escaped to the dreaming and wouldn’t come out. It took his father a full week to coax him from the shadows, while we fed the body and cared for it.”
When the moisture slipped from her eyes, she didn’t stop the tears.
“Quanto buried the memories in the dreaming where Buck took them. When he woke, he was Tumbling Bear no more—only Buck remained.”
Buck, for his mother, Running Doe. She understood what Wyatt told her. “The matter Quanto needs to discuss with him, it could wake those memories?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Wyatt said. He crossed the graveyard to her and, despite the dip in the temperature, she didn’t retreat. “He will need someone to pull him out if the memories swamp him again.”
A second blast of reality slapped her. “You want me to sing him out if he gets lost again.”
“Yes.”
“But my voice doesn’t work on him,” she said with a swallow.
“It will if he needs you,” Wyatt told her. “You protect him because you love him. It’s how I know you really do love him. It’s instinctive, the need to protect those we love.” Without a shadow of doubt, she knew Wyatt loved and loved deeply, but what little insight he allowed her closed when he turned away. “Come. I’ll take you back to the house.”
He disappeared down the path, and Delilah looked at the graves. The one Wyatt tended was not the one he said belonged to Buck’s mother. Her heart ached for Buck. Keeping secrets wasn’t right, yet—when he’s ready. It wasn’t a case of if, but when, and she would be there for him and tell him the story Wyatt told her.
Leaving the graves, she followed their earlier trail. Wyatt waited only a few steps down, having not fully abandoned her. In silence, they made the trek down the steep slope. Once, when she slipped and nearly stumbled, a force kept her upright and steadied her feet.
Wyatt could move things without touching them. At the opening to the path, the briars pulled back further, pushed aside by the same unseen force which allowed her to step out without inj
ury or incident. “Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” He kept his gaze skyward, and she followed his look, trying to see what he saw. The thick clouds grew denser, but the blue sky remained visible.
“Is it going to snow?”
“Yes. We have only a few days left. Go inside, where it’s warm.” Then he left her and strode toward the barn. Crushing sadness emerged from beneath the crunch of ice in his tone.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Buck stepped out onto the porch. He made it to the steps and glanced first toward the lake, then swept the area searching. Taking advantage of his distraction, she studied him for a moment. So much strength and compassion housed in his frame. He’d taught her to trust and to believe in herself because he believed in her. When his dark eyes alighted on her, she smiled.
His frown reminded her of her damp cheeks and she wiped away the tears. With long strides, he covered the distance between them. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just remember how much I love you.”
His expression softened and she wrapped her arms around him. His embrace was equally fierce and she closed her eyes. She could keep the secret until he was ready. He was hers to protect, too.
“Hey.” His voice softened. “I’m right here.”
“I know,” she whispered. “Don’t ever leave.”
“I won’t.” The promise resonated with her. He was her home and her everything. They could face whatever life threw at them together. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes.” She leaned away then laughed. “I talked with Wyatt.”
His frown deepened. “Did he do something to upset you?”
“Not really. He approves of me.” She chuckled. “He loves you very much.”
Buck’s brows raised. “Does he?”
“Oh yes.” Teasing her knuckles down his cheek, she said. “How is your father?”
Buck blew out a breath then said, “Filled with tales to tell me. We may have to stay for a few days. Is that all right?” Below the surface of his concern, a sadness echoing Wyatt’s earlier told her more than anything else.
The Quick and the Fevered Page 19
