When Dreams Collide

by Brenda Sinclair

  “Is he okay?”

  “Mild concussion. He has to stay in the hospital overnight. I believe he’ll be released tomorrow. But he’s refusing to talk to me again.”

  “Dusty is probably embarrassed that he fell, frustrated that he’s back in the hospital, and he’s taking out his disappointment on you.”

  “Maybe you’re right. But I’m to the point of asking myself, why am I hanging onto this relationship? Why am I still dreaming of being his wife some day? Why am I putting up with all the verbal crap he keeps slinging my way? I don’t deserve to be treated like this, Amanda,” stated Susan, emphatically.

  “No, you don’t. But Susan, you have no idea what he’s going through. Having survived cancer, I can relate. I spent so much time just wondering what my life was going to be like when I came out the other end of the surgery and the treatments. Would I be alive? How long did I have? Would I be dead by age forty? Sooner? Was the cancer really gone? Would it return some day? It nearly drove me crazy thinking about it all.”

  “So, you’re saying Dusty is going through the same thing?” Susan shifted her cell to her other ear.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Amanda blew out her breath. “Dusty doesn’t know what his future holds. He’s making progress, but how long will it be until he can walk again? Or will he ever walk again? Are there complications that will flare up in his future? What if he does walk again, but then something happens to cause him to backslide? Can he go through it all again? He’s thinking all these thoughts, and he probably believes he’s sparing you the drama of it all by removing you from the equation. If you aren’t a part of his life, then it’s one less thing he has to think about or worry about.”

  “But that’s crazy. I don’t care if it takes a month, a year, whatever, for him to walk again. If ever. I just want to be a part of his life, be there for him.” Susan heard the annoyance in her voice.

  “Men have enormous egos. What they consider perfectly logical leaves a woman shaking her head. Women are nurturers. It’s what we do. Men think that they’re being a nuisance, or that a woman wouldn’t want to be bothered by their problems.”

  “Yeah, if it’s a total stranger, but I thought we’d be together forever. He’s treating our relationship like it’s all totally expendable. How often do you find the perfect person for you? He isn’t taking that into account at all. Unless he doesn’t love me as much as I love him.”

  “That’s not it. Dusty is nuts about you. Once he works this all out physically and in his head, he’ll get it together again and welcome you back into his life.”

  “Can I get that in writing?” teased Susan.

  “Trust me.” Amanda laughed. “You guys are perfect for each other.”

  “I just don’t think he’s ever going to propose. Maybe I should just cut my losses and move on.”

  “Really?” Amanda sounded skeptical.

  “Yes. No. I don’t think I could do it,” admitted Susan, truthfully. “He may be a pain in the butt, but he’s also my Mr. Right. I know that, but I’ve got to get him to realize it.”

  “Exactly. Don’t give up on Dusty. He loves you, and when the time is right, he’ll make his move. He’s a smart guy, and he won’t let you get away.”

  “Thanks. I’ll let you go and check on that little fellow who stole your heart.” Susan hoped Amanda wouldn’t pick up on the envy she felt. “I’ll just leave Dusty be, and wait until he realizes he needs me in his life.”

  “Wise choice. Don’t give up on him, Susan. Thanks for calling.” Amanda hung up.

  ****

  Dusty returned home two days later with assistance from Ms. Walters. She never berated him for foolishly not waiting for her before he attempted to climb out of his wheelchair. He’d asked himself a hundred times why he’d attempted it. Cockiness? Impatience? Stupidity?

  The next day, the therapist arrived and made up for Ms. Walters not mentioning the incident by chewing out his ass. And then he worked him so hard he thought his muscles would bleed all over the living room floor.

  His therapy regime continued day after day and intensified as the weeks went by. Soon, Brian allowed him to use a cane. His movements seemed awkward and slow, but his therapist assured him he was making remarkable progress. He wanted to walk outside, but by now it was early December and snow had fallen. Trying to walk in the slushy mess seemed too risky.

  Dusty resisted the temptation to call Susan, invite her to dinner, and show her how well he could manage with his cane. Something was holding him back. Guilt? Probably.

  What had he been thinking?

  Susan Sanders was the best thing that ever happened to him. He smiled as he recalled the day he met her with her dress around her waist in a hotel cloakroom, flashing him a glimpse of those lacy pink panties.

  God, he missed her. Her mind. Her laugh. Her body. Especially her body. It seemed ages since they’d been together that way. His body’s reaction to the frequent uncensored thoughts he’d had of her recently proved his most important parts still worked fine. If only his big mouth worked better, it would keep him out of trouble.

  He constantly thought about how he’d word the invitation, if he did work up the courage to phone her. Please come to dinner. Too simple. Hello. This is your friendly neighborhood jackass calling to invite you to dinner. True, but sounded too flippant. I’d like to invite you to dinner so I can apologize for being so unfair to you. Better.

  Would she even listen to him?

  Would she read her caller ID and ignore the call?

  He couldn’t blame her if she did.

  And then he realized Susan would be moving in soon, and he had probably wasted the opportunity to make amends for his shoddy treatment of her. Of course, with Susan living under the same roof for the next month or so, he’d have plenty of opportunities to demonstrate how sincerely sorry he was.

  Chapter 17

  Two weeks ago, Susan moved to Dusty’s ranch when Linda Walters left for her wedding. Every night, as she drove up the long driveway leading to the house, she was awed by the multi-colored beams illuminating the night sky, created by thousands of Christmas lights.

  Dusty had arranged all the decorations one day when she was at work. There hadn’t been a single outdoor light or any evidence of holiday decoration outside or inside the house when she’d left for work that morning. The transformation had been absolutely breathtaking.

  There wasn’t a spot on the front lawn that didn’t have something on it—inflatable snowmen, lighted reindeer, spotlights on an enormous life-sized manger scene, evergreen trees lit with white lights. The wonderful old farmhouse was covered in multi-colored lights, and a giant Santa Claus and six reindeer occupied the roof.

  The magical transformation had brought tears to her eyes. Children should live in this house, she’d thought, knowing they would absolutely love it. And then she’d silently scolded herself for her wishful thinking. Until recently, Dusty hadn’t talked to her, refused to even see her, and essentially banned her from his life. Sure, they patched up the friendship somewhat since she moved in.

  But marriage?

  Children?

  Yeah, right.

  Now, arriving home from the bank at five o’clock on Christmas Eve, she admired the outdoor decorations, spellbound again. Since she was helping out at the ranch with meals and housework, she would be sharing the holidays with Dusty. She’d booked off the entire week.

  Susan planned to enjoy every minute of it.

  She grabbed her purse and briefcase and clambered out of her BMW.

  “Merry Christmas!” Dusty greeted her from the veranda, leaning on a new three-legged cane providing greater stability in the snow and the uneven ground outside. He wore a sheepskin-lined jacket and the familiar Stetson, and she supposed he must have ventured down to the barns.

  “Merry Christmas to you, too,” she called as she carefully made her way through the ankle-deep fresh snow up the steps leading to the front door.

  She recalled
teasing him about climbing up on the roof with Brock right behind him to decorate the house. He’d laughed and explained that he’d offered some of the ranch hands a huge bonus to set it all up. The Santa Claus and reindeer as well as the manger scene were Brock’s, and they’d seen many years service. But Dusty admitted to spending a fortune on the rest of it.

  “I never tire from coming home to this magnificent sight.”

  “I hope you enjoy it. I’ll probably suffer cardiac arrest when I receive the power bill in January. But the place looks so good the final result justifies the cost.”

  “And the upside is you can reuse everything for years and years.” Susan grinned as she stared into the brightly lit skies. “I hope you’ve stocked up on eggnog to serve all the unexpected holiday guests.”

  “What guests?”

  “UFOs could spot the place from light years away. They might drop by unexpectedly.”

  Dusty laughed heartily, and Susan realized it was the first time in months she heard him laugh.

  Susan and Dusty made their way inside the ranch house. “Brock is joining us for dinner to toast the season, and then he and Buster are heading back to his cabin.”

  “I remembered. I’ll put my feet up for a few minutes and then I’ll start dinner.”

  “No you won’t. It’s Christmas Eve, and dinner is taken care of.” Dusty headed into the living room.

  The nine foot Christmas tree stood in between the twin front windows, with hundreds of tiny white lights totally covering the branches. Assorted blue and silver glass balls reflected the lights’ glow. Dusty bought it already decorated by donating a thousand dollars to a charity, delivery and set up in the house included. Susan thought the tree was worth every penny.

  “Have I mentioned how gorgeous that tree is?” Susan met his eyes.

  “Only a dozen times. Can I get you a drink? How about a glass of eggnog before the aliens clean me out?” He chuckled as he stepped behind the bar.

  “I’d love one.” Susan chuckled, and happy thoughts of Christmas Eve as a child popped into her mind—being so excited about Santa, and new toys and presents, and turkey and trimmings the next day. She missed her deceased parents during the holiday season more than any other time of the year, and she imagined it was the same for Dusty.

  For so long now, she’d wanted a loving husband and a beautiful home and a couple of kids of her own to make memories with. So far it hadn’t happened. And then she met Dusty. Their relationship had been so volatile, on again and off again, that she didn’t hold out any hope of a future with him. Clearly, Dusty and she were never going to be on the same wavelength. Even living and working within a twenty minute drive of each other, being able to pursue their individual dreams, so far the odds still seemed stacked against them.

  Just then, she heard a loud knock on the front door followed by the door opening and the sound of heavy boots entering.

  “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!” called Brock. Buster bounded into the living room with his tail wagging and small crusted balls of the fresh snow flying off of his feet.

  Susan stepped into the hallway as Brock shrugged out of his coat, wiped his boots on the rug by the door, and hobbled toward her, holding a large bottle of brandy in his hand.

  “Merry Christmas, Brock.” Susan kissed his cheek, took the liquor bottle from him, and headed across the living room’s hardwood floor to set the gift on top of the built-in bar. “You’re looking well.”

  “Thank you. Since I sold the ranch and took on the responsibility of running it while Dusty recovered, I haven’t felt so alive in ages.” Brock beamed. “Having this furry fellow in my life has been such a blessing. He snores up a storm, but I don’t mind sharing my bed with him.” Brock bent down and ruffled Buster’s ear.

  “All of our lives have been changed forever this past year,” observed Dusty, passing Susan a glass of eggnog doctored with rum.

  “I’ll have one of those, too, please.” Brock headed for the rocking chair next to Dusty’s recliner atop a large patterned rug beside the roaring fire.

  “Yummy,” said Susan, smiling. “I’m not even thinking about the number of calories in this.”

  “I took all the calories out before I gave it to you.” Dusty grinned, handed Brock his drink, and raised his glass in a toast. “Happy holidays. And due to many talented medical people, it will be happy for me.”

  “Amen to that, son,” added Brock, clinking glasses with both of them.

  ****

  Before Linda left for her wedding and honeymoon, she prepared several wonderful meals for Susan to defrost and heat in the oven. Susan expected they’d be eating a casserole tonight, but Dusty surprised her with Italian takeout. The meal was delicious, and they consumed two bottles of wine with the meal. The three of them continued to reminisce about all the changes in their lives since the day they’d met while Susan cleaned up the meal’s remains, brewed a pot of coffee, and stuck the dirty dishes in the dishwasher.

  “I haven’t laughed so much in ages,” she admitted over coffee, as a few tears slid down her cheeks. “Certainly, not since Dusty had his accident. And I’m so thankful that the three of us are friends again.”

  “I’m happy we’ve gotten our friendship back, too, Susan. But cowboys don’t cry,” Dusty teased, grinning.

  “Especially old cowboys,” added Brock, finishing his coffee.

  Buster sauntered over, rested his head on Susan’s leg, and whimpered while staring into her eyes.

  “At least you can sense when a woman’s feeling a little emotional and requires some comforting, don’t you boy?” Susan bent down and hugged the dog. “Men are so macho, refusing to show their feelings.”

  “Buster, look at the time. Let’s head home before Susan has us bawling, too.” Brock chuckled. “Thank you for the dinner invitation, Dusty.”

  “Be careful walking home. Don’t fall and hurt yourself,” warned Susan, kissing Brock’s cheek.

  “Hurting yourself is my specialty,” mumbled Dusty, limping out to the front entryway, aided by his cane.

  “I hope you make a resolution to refrain from any reoccurrences in the New Year,” said Brock, struggling into his jacket.

  “I intend to behave myself.” Dusty laughed. “I’m tired of ambulance rides, hospital stays, and popping pills. I’ll keep working with my therapist until I’m as good as new though. Last August I never thought it was possible, but I believe my dreams for this ranch might actually come true. And I’ll be a part of it.”

  “Darn right. Happy Hooves Stables will be a successful business by this time next year,” predicted Brock. “And I’m delighted to be involved.”

  “We wouldn’t have an animal on the property right now, except for Buster here, if it wasn’t for you. I can’t thank you enough, Brock. I’m looking forward to seeing how much we can accomplish in the coming year.”

  “Me too, son. It’ll be a lot of hard work. Regardless, we’re going to have fun.”

  Susan stood in the living room listening to her favorite two men conversing in the front entryway. She held back her tears, wishing she could be included in their plans. She’d love nothing better than to share her life with Dusty, live on the ranch, marry him, and have his children. She could commute to Helena for work and continue to build her career.

  Nothing but a dream. Maybe it just wasn’t in the universe’s master plan for her.

  Dusty shuffled into the room, settled on the sofa, and rubbed his temples. “What time is it?”

  “A little after eleven o’clock. Are you tired? I don’t want you to overdo it.”

  “I’ll live. Come sit with me for awhile. If we stayed up until midnight, it would be Christmas Day and we could open our presents.” Dusty met her eyes, expectantly. He reached over and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Gosh, you’re beautiful.”

  “As long as Santa doesn’t catch us,” teased Susan.

  They sat together on the sofa across from the fireplace, drinking hot chocolate like a couple of
kids since Dusty didn’t want to mix more alcohol with his medications. They discussed the weekend she spent visiting with Amanda and her new son, and Catherine and her almost ten month old twin boys. Susan didn’t mention the brief moment of jealousy she’d experienced, seeing her friends married with new babies. But she didn’t begrudge them their happiness, she just longed for her own Mr. Right and a family for herself.

  “Susan, there’s something I should tell you,” whispered Dusty, out of the blue.

  Immediately, her heart stopped for a couple seconds. She took a deep breath and met his eyes. “Oh-oh. Will I want to hear this?”

  “I’ve led you to believe the only reason I attempted to break off our relationship was embarrassment about my condition. But there’s another reason, too,” said Dusty, entwining their fingers. “It’s something we should discuss.”

  “Okay. What’s the reason?”

  “My mother.”

  Susan gaped. “Your mother? She’s dead. What does she have to do with this?”

  “Everything. Ma was held prison on our ranch—married to an abusive alcoholic, scrimping to make ends meet during lean years, working her fingers to the bone dawn to dusk seven days a week. I don’t recall seeing her looking happy for one moment while we lived there. It wasn’t until Pa died and she sold the ranch and moved to town that she regained her confidence and enjoyed life. I don’t want that for you.”

  “How on earth would our lives compare? You’re not abusive or a problem drinker. You’re financial situation isn’t a problem. I don’t see...”

  “No, but you’d be tied to a cripple who couldn’t do an honest day’s work, or help care for the kids or play sports with them. Instead of falling asleep listening to the hustle and bustle of a big city, you’d be listening to crickets chirping and coyotes howling. I was afraid you’d regret your decision to stand by me when you realized you’d never enjoy life as long as I was alive, holding you back.”