“Thanks, Ma. It’ll be good to wear some sturdy clothes again.” Tucker’s grin faded as he stepped from the barn and gazed toward the woods, toward the place where he’d grabbed Shannon. “Why were you so deep in the woods? The reason I grabbed you was because I heard someone coming who was in way farther than your lookout tree.”
“Oh . . . well, I climbed down because I was falling asleep up there.” Shannon could barely think back that far. It seemed like that had happened hours ago. “I nodded off on watch. I got down to walk around and wake up. That’s when I heard someone following me. So I hid. When he went by, I followed him, hoping I could catch him, and—”
“You followed him?” Tucker spoke quietly, very quietly.
“Yes, he thought he was after me, but I—”
“You were hoping to catch him?” His voice was much less quiet now.
Shannon stopped talking. Speaking of catching things. She was just now catching how upset Tucker sounded. “Y-yes. I saw a chance to end this. I thought I could—”
Tucker grasped her arm and hauled her toward him so hard she bounced off his chest. “You promised me”—he spoke every word slowly, as if he thought she might be stupid, and his voice rose as if he thought she might be deaf as well—“if you saw anything, you would come and get me.”
“But there wasn’t time to—”
“Instead of keeping your promise, you went haring off after a man, alone, while your barn burned.”
“I didn’t know the barn was on fire.”
“That’s what this intruder does. He sets barns on fire. And he hurts animals, animals you love. Animals you seem to love more than most people. And he was heading away, which a smart woman might take to mean he was done with what he’d come to do.”
“Don’t tell me I’m not smart.” Shannon jerked at her arm, until Tucker let her go. “And don’t treat me like I’m a child, or a little delicate woman who can’t be left out alone. I had to make a snap decision. I spent only minutes from the time I realized there was even someone behind me until I hid, then went after him, hoping to catch him. I’m a strong woman, Tucker. I’ve had to be tough my whole life. I wasn’t going to try and fight him. I have a gun, and I thought I could get the drop on him and hold him until help came. When I lost him, I knew I was in danger. So I turned and ran for you. There wasn’t time to think about the barn. This . . .” Her voice broke, and she fought it. Crying didn’t help. She steadied herself as best she could. “Once I knew there was someone in those woods, all I wanted was to get to you.”
She whirled away from him, her arms crossed. A wet trail trickled down from one eye. She swiped at it angrily. Being a woman was just a plain, blasted nuisance. Tucker never had to quit talking to cry.
“I knew if I could just get to you, I’d be safe.” She remembered how afraid she’d been, how her mind had played tricks on her. How the woods had awakened frightening possibilities that now made her feel ashamed.
Now her husband was ashamed of her, too. And what’s more, she deserved it. Her animals that she cared for and tended, she’d never given them a thought when she was hiding. Of course, the intruder wasn’t even after her. Or maybe he was, but that was only a coincidence. He was in the barn, setting it on fire when she’d awakened. She’d climbed down and gone for a walk. He’d heard her and stalked her.
When she hid herself, maybe he’d been fooled or had no plans to harm her. Maybe he’d laughed at her foolish fears and been glad that she’d ducked into the woods like a scared rabbit, giving him a chance to get away clean.
And now Tucker was disgusted with her, and rightfully so. She’d broken her promise to him. She’d risked her life. She’d betrayed her sheep.
She buried her face in her hands. No wonder Pa had never been able to love her. She’d always figured it was something missing in him, but it was time to take some of the blame for that on herself.
Two sturdy hands settled on her trembling shoulders.
With relentless strength, Tucker turned her to face him and pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, Shannon.”
It was more weakness that made her sob. “I never cry.”
He chuckled quietly into her hair. “I have to say, that’s not been the truth since I’ve known you.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and clung to him, wondering how he could keep from shoving her away and heading for his mountains. Now that his leg was healed, surely she’d do something one of these days that would send him running.
A soft murmur she only distantly recognized as Sunrise speaking made no sense through the racket of her tears. Tucker said, “Thanks, Ma. I’ll see to Shannon, then.”
He picked her up. She shifted her grip to hang on to his neck. He headed for the cabin—he and his broken leg. She was a burden.
“I didn’t even think of my sheep. I only thought of you.”
When they got to the cabin, even though the dawn was upon them, Tucker quickly set Shannon on her feet, helped her change into her nightgown, and tucked her into bed. Before she quite knew what he had in mind, he’d changed, climbed in beside her, and pulled her into his arms. She hadn’t known how badly she wanted him close until she could touch him again.
“Let’s rest for an hour or so. Ma is going to make sure there isn’t a single spark left smoldering in the barn.”
“I fell asleep on watch. I shouldn’t need any more rest.”
Tucker kissed her long and slow, and it helped her let go of the worst of her upset. Leaving her with only a fine thread of it that she knew she’d carry with her forever. A simple knowledge that the war had hardened her heart, and no amount of peace, no amount of care poured out on gentle animals, could heal her.
She was destined to live with the ugly scars of war forever.
25
He’s coming!”
Tucker jumped so hard he fell out of bed with a hard thud. It hurt, but it was a fast way of waking up.
“Hide!” Shannon’s screams tore at his heart as much as his ears. “I have to hide!”
He reached for her. His wife. To hear her, so tormented, was an awful thing. And this wasn’t her usual dream. This was about that man last night, the one she’d run from.
He shook her gently by the shoulders. “Shannon, wake up. It’s just a dream.”
And the fire last night, well, Tucker’d had a few nightmares in his life, after some wild days. Last night was bound to set Shannon off.
“Not the saw. No! Don’t make me!” A particularly wild scream escaped her.
This was her usual sleeping horror. What was it about? He heard running footsteps, rushed to the door, and swung it open just as Ma reached it.
Ma’s dark eyes looked past him, but she didn’t say a word.
“She has nightmares,” Tucker started to explain. He was going to wake her up, but he wasn’t about to embarrass her by letting her know someone besides him had witnessed the dreams. She was unhappy enough that he knew about them.
“This happens often?”
Shannon screamed.
“Every few nights. Hard to wake her up, too. It’s the war, I reckon. Last night, I think she had a bad scare in those woods.”
Ma shook her head. “Get her to talk about it. It might help some.” Ma turned away, wise enough to let him get on with tending to what was important.
Closing the door firmly, he sat on the bed, ducked her waving arms, caught her by the shoulders and again shook her.
“Wake up, honey. You’re dreaming.” He hated that she was locked in such terror.
She fought his grip, as if he had entered her dream and become part of the terror. He dragged her close and hugged her, whispering in her ear. Praying for any ideas on how to make the dream go away and stay away.
No miraculous still, small voice of God whispered inspiration to him, only that he should hold on, so he did.
Gradually she calmed. She no longer cried out. She rested her head on his shoulder and breathed evenly. He eased her back onto the bed
and watched her, her fair skin flushed red from the ordeal.
He sat there watching her sleep for longer than he’d ever willingly sat still in his life. Her breathing suddenly hitched, and she wrinkled her nose and brought her hand up to scratch it. Then her blue eyes fluttered open. They were the strongest, brightest blue he’d ever seen.
It was a wonder to him that this beautiful woman had somehow ended up married to him, and now he was going to demand something from her she’d resisted at every turn.
Answers. Answers she fought giving whenever he’d asked in the past. This time he wasn’t going to stop until she talked to him, no matter how much she hated it.
He hoped that didn’t drive her away.
Tucker leaned forward and kissed her. How odd to wake up in full daylight to her husband’s kiss.
“Good morning.” She smiled. They were early risers, and the days were getting shorter. She liked seeing her husband when she first opened her eyes.
Then the night before came flooding back. Being pursued by that frightening man in the woods. The fire.
“Shannon, I want you to tell me about your dream.”
Then she remembered the nightmare. She couldn’t find a smile anywhere.
“Goodness, what time is it? I’ve slept the morning away.” She pushed against him to get up, get moving. To get away from those penetrating eyes of his.
He didn’t budge. “The dream, Shannon.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
For a while it looked like that was going to work, but then he gently pressed her away.
“Don’t you want to kiss me anymore, Tucker?” That ought to work.
“The nightmares.” He narrowed his eyes and didn’t show a bit of guilt or interest in being distracted. “I’ve asked before, and you started talking about the war. You talked about how your pa goaded you into enlisting, but that was where your story ended. You’ve never talked about what you faced. That’s what you’re dreaming about, isn’t it? The saw. One time you said something about human limbs.”
Shannon’s heart sped up. “Please get up.” She pushed at his chest. He didn’t give an inch.
“You’re dreaming about what you did when you worked with a doctor.”
“It’s not a fit topic.” She didn’t think she could talk about those days without screaming. She just wanted a quiet life. She wanted to care for God’s creatures. She wanted peace.
“You’re not leaving this bed until you tell me. You need to talk about it, Shannon. And I need to hear it.”
“Why?” She shoved at his hands, but he held on doggedly. “Why would I pour the ugliness I saw onto someone else? What purpose would it serve to have the weight of it pressing on you? Do you want to join me in my nightmares? Do you think knowing about severed limbs, endless pain, the screaming men that I was called on to make scream more will make anything better?”
“I think you can’t live with it, Shannon. I think you’re trying to bury it, but it torments you.”
“Of course it torments me,” Shannon shouted, and her breathing sped up until her chest heaved. “Only a fool wouldn’t be tormented. But what good does it do to share that torment?”
“It might help.” Tucker remained calm but relentless. “It might make the nightmares go away.”
“Or it might just give them to you.” But it wasn’t all about sparing him, she knew. It was also about saying out loud the things she’d tried so hard to forget.
But she hadn’t forgotten, not for one second. And that’s when she knew. Her life, her devotion to her animals, even her britches, all of it was a trap. She was a prisoner to the nightmares. She lived in a cage of fear. And last night that ghoulish man had invaded her dreams, and if she didn’t face this, he’d always be part of it.
She focused on Tucker. “Last night—”
“No, Shannon, I want to talk about—”
She put her fingers gently on his lips. “I’m afraid last night may be part of it.”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion, and she deserved it. She’d distracted him before. She’d have smiled, except there wasn’t any humor to be found.
“Last night I fell asleep on watch. I know now that man must have gotten past me and gone into the barn, done all his mischief while I slept. I woke up, looked around, and saw no one. And I was falling asleep again. So I climbed down to walk a circuit around the property.”
The warmth of Tucker’s lips beneath her fingers made it hard to keep her thoughts in order, so she lowered her hand. “While I walked, I heard him behind me. At the time I thought he was following me. I’m not sure but I think he knew I was there. I felt like he was coming for me. I stopped and he stopped. I started and he started.”
Tucker’s throat worked, but he didn’t speak. This must be hard for him to listen to when he didn’t want her out there to begin with.
“I ducked into the woods and hid. I thought I was sneaky about it, yet he stopped at the exact place I did. He didn’t come into the woods, though he looked right at me.”
Tucker’s hands flexed on her shoulders, strong, gentle. He supported her, and she felt his strength propping up her own.
“There was something eerie about him. Frightening. I think he’s very clever. Sunrise said he’s not, so I dismissed him. But after last night, I realize that what she really said was the man who attacked us isn’t good enough to know he shouldn’t come for you, Tucker, someone much stronger than him. That doesn’t mean he’s not a master at moving without leaving a trace. You’ve had trouble picking up his trail. You know he conceals his tracks well. But there’s more to it than that. He drove those homesteaders off their land by burning down their barns. He may not have killed anyone yet, but I think he’s capable of it.” She swallowed hard. “And I think he liked looking into those woods at me and knowing I was cowering.”
Tucker studied her thoughtfully, considering her words. It was with great pride that she realized he was taking her seriously. Finally he asked, “Why tell me this story when I asked about your nightmares?”
Frowning, she said, “Because that man was in my nightmare. And I think he might stay there. I was afraid of him in a way I haven’t feared much of anything since the war. And you asked about the dreams.”
Tucker nodded, then waited without pushing.
Shannon leaned forward and rested her head on his strong shoulder. “You’re a man of faith, aren’t you?”
“I’ve seen too much of the beauty of the Lord’s creation to ever doubt the Almighty. Ma was one to welcome circuit riders to our home, and we shared many a meal and a church service with men of God.”
Without lifting her chin, she said, “I came home from the war, and Kylie was fragile from all she’d seen. Of course Pa was no help. I thought maybe, when Bailey came home, my big strong sister, we could air out all we’d been through. Maybe I could unload some of the burden I carried onto her shoulders.”
“But you didn’t,” Tucker said.
Shannon shook her head. “Bailey was a long time coming home. One of the reasons we’re all the way out here so far west is because a lot of the land closer was claimed before we headed out. Pa was bent on homesteading, but we were waiting for Bailey. When she finally got home, she was in terrible shape. You saw Nev when he first turned up, all skin and bones, covered with sores.”
“Brimming with hate and out of his mind,” Tucker added, wondering if that described Bailey, too.
“Bailey was just quiet. So quiet. Wounded inside more than out. She would barely talk. I could tell she had all she could bear. I couldn’t add to it.”
Then Shannon fell silent.
26
To tell him, to share this with him was wrong. Why spread this ugliness to someone else?
Tucker’s arms came around her. “Tell me, Shannon. Please. Get it out. I’m not fragile.”
She had thought she could tell Bailey, and if Bailey had been herself, she would have. But somehow keeping it locked inside had made
it grow into something bigger, even more horrible than it was, if that was possible. But Tucker was strong enough to hear her battle stories.
Swallowing hard, she said, “Pa might not have pushed us to move out west if I’d had Bailey to stand up to him, along with me. Kylie was desperate not to leave the east. But we were all still addled from the war in one way or another, Bailey worst of all, and we found ourselves in a wagon train headed for the frontier.”
“You’re still not telling me about your dreams, honey.” Tucker squeezed her a bit as if he could wring the story out of her.
Shannon pulled away just enough to look at him. “I’m getting to it, but I’m trying to explain why I’ve never told a soul, and why I’ve always thought it wasn’t fair to tell anyone. Does that make sense?”
“I reckon.”
She clenched her hands in her lap and fastened her eyes on them. “Once I got to thinking of it that way, now it doesn’t seem fair to tell you, either. I saw things that made me . . . question whether there could be a . . . a God.” She looked up nervously, then quickly went back to staring at her hands. “To tell someone of that, I might pull them from their belief. Because of me and my doubts, you could end up in hell.”
She felt the weight of it crushing her. She’d already said too much. Every day as she served her animals and did her best to ignore her doubts, she feared what she might do to others if she spoke of what boiled inside her. And she prayed! Oh, how she prayed for God to remove that stain of sin from her. The doubt.
Tucker’s strong, callused hand rested on the edge of her chin and lifted it to look her in the eyes. She stared into the face of a man who’d lived by his own rules, a man strong enough to take on the Rocky Mountains and survive, even thrive. A man strong enough to hear her story and hang on to his faith. And maybe help her find her own again.
“Where was God on that battlefield, Tucker?” Her anguish spewed out. “Where was He when so many good men died? If God numbers the days and hours of our lives, then that means He brought little babies into the world knowing they would die screaming in agony. He knew their lot in life was to endure an untrained woman hacking off their legs. You have no idea what it’s like to have a man screaming at you, begging you to stop. Strong, adult men crying out for their mothers while I . . . I worked the saw.
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