A Fistful of Dreams Read online

  A Fistful of Dreams

  Fevered Hearts Book 4

  Heather Long

  Contents

  A Fistful of Dreams

  Series So Far

  Acknowledgments

  The Fever

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Raising Kane Sneak Peek

  About the Author

  Also by Heather Long

  A Fistful of Dreams

  Meet Buck. Spirit brother, dreamwalker, shaman’s son—he’s never been at the mercy of his abilities nor hungered for violence…until her.

  When the spirit fever struck a town, a village or an outpost, it left few, if any, survivors. The white man blamed the Indian saying they used their mojo on them. The Indians blamed the white man for angering the spirits. The survivors knew it didn’t matter. The Fevered were forever changed.

  Rebuilding Dorado is only the first challenge…

  Surviving a vicious attack by their enemies and an outbreak of the fever has left Dorado in ruins and the Flying K under siege, now all their resources are devoted to rebuilding their town and protecting the newborn Fevered in their midst. Buck Morning Star and his siblings divide their time between training their new family members and avoiding the threat of detection the arrival of soldiers constructing a new fort pose, but Delilah haunts the spirit walker’s dreams. When Jason Kane threatens to come between them, Buck's obsession may drive him to madness.

  Her secrets could destroy them all…

  Rescued from a whorehouse in Fort Courage, Delilah Rinaldi never expected to find a sanctuary populated by Fevered and their allies. Silent since her arrival at the ranch, she longs to believe in Buck and the passionate dreams they share. But she keeps dangerous knowledge of the enemy hunting them all close to her heart—information Jason may reveal and cost her the only home and man she loves.

  Primitive, primal and provocative, their struggle is intensely personal…

  Close contact arouses a soul-stirring passion and love. But it may not be enough to sustain a relationship forbidden by their power and the tempest it can unleash.

  His dream. Her words. Their destiny.

  Copyright © 2013 by Heather Long

  Cover by Brandy Walker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-1-301-26184-0

  Series So Far

  Marshal of Hel Dorado

  Brave are the Lonely

  Micah & Mrs. Miller

  A Fistful of Dreams

  Raising Kane

  Wanted: Fevered or Alive

  Wild and Fevered

  The Quick and the Fevered

  A Man Called Wyatt

  Sign up for Heather’s Newsletter.

  For the Fevered Fanatics – you folks are the best!

  Acknowledgments

  No book is written in a vacuum and this series, like any other has a long list of people who need to be thanked. Patti for cheering me on and bucking me up every step of the way. Kim who begged me to beta read because the story kept her up at night. Virg for her fantastic ability to crit and pick apart the story points…and the language issues. Brandy who keeps me on schedule and created that gorgeous cover for Buck! Sheri for taking the time to help me flesh out the boilerplate and to the readers who are wild about their encouragement. Finally, to my Mini—she makes everything worth it.

  The Fever

  When the spirit fever struck a town, a village or an outpost, it left few if any survivors. The white man blamed the Indian saying they used their mojo on them. The Indians blamed the white man for angering the spirits. The survivors knew it didn’t matter. The Fevered were forever changed.

  Prologue

  Rain fell in sheets and turned the dirt road in front of the tent into a muddy river. Their visitors arrived in ones and twos, hurrying through the deluge to the damp shelter offered by the oiled canvas stretched out over long poles. Their people always set these up perfectly—shady and cool in summer and shielded and dry in the winter. Long flaps along the side had been lashed together to keep the wind out, but the water still managed to creep under the edges.

  “Are you ready?” Father laid his hand against her shoulder and she nodded. She was the youngest of his entourage; almost a baby and practically the only female, save for Annie, Father’s latest companion. Annie acted as her chaperone—particularly when they traveled hundreds of miles from home.

  “Yes, Father.” She brushed away some imaginary dust from the pristine white of her skirt. Always white—the brighter and the cleaner the better. She didn’t dare stain or discolor it. The fabric itched her skin; the harsh cleaning it received to keep it so frightfully bright irritated her arms. Complaining, however, would only earn her Father’s disappointment.

  “Take your place at the front. When I nod, you may sing.” He rubbed a calloused finger along her cheek, a passing caress, and walked away. More gathered—the town of Philadelphia offered them many candidates. They had to locate them all. She walked through the crowd, weaving her way to the front. Her Father’s entourage filtered to the fringe of the newly arrived and ducked out of the tent one at a time.

  The small wooden stage, a hasty construction, teetered when she stepped up onto the platform. Those gathered near the front turned to look at her, curiosity filling their eyes. She took a deep breath and let her gaze drift over the crowd, smiling a little when their lips curved and nodding politely. Over their heads, she could see Father standing at the front flap—he ushered the last pair of guests in and stepped into the gap.

  He nodded to her once and stepped out into the rain, shutting the flaps behind him. The press of bodies in the makeshift room warmed the humid air. She counted to sixty, giving Father and their people time to get distance from the tent.

  Her audience stared at her patiently, the low murmur of their voices and the shuffle of their feet the only sound beyond the splatter of rain thumping against the tent. Clasping her hands together, she bowed her head. She didn’t have to peek to know many others followed suit—the gesture for prayer invited company. The ripple of noise faded to silence.

  Closing her eyes, she let the song in her heart free. She sang of love, forgiveness, patience, and openness. She sang of a life free from fear, snuggled safe in the bosom of like minds and when the last bars of her song faded, she lifted her head to find the audience staring at her, their bright eyes sightless and numb.

  A tremor skated over the surface of her skin. This part always scared her. But Father’s instructions were explicit and he knew what was needed, didn’t he? He’d always taken care of her. Her second song told the story of Father, of his goodness, mercy, and conviction. She implored them to trust him, confess their secrets, and let him take care of them.

  The audience swayed in time to the music she created and when the last note faded, she took a deep breath and bowed her
head. A minute later the tent flap opened and Father strode back inside. His men split into two columns, framing the gathered in a square. He walked right up to the stage. Catching her face in his warm hands, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and beamed.

  “You can go now, child. Annie is waiting for you.” He never let her stay for the sermon. After all, she’d heard it all before and her work was to prepare them.

  Her task completed, she needed to go.

  “Yes, Father.” She whispered the words, careful to control the treble of notes in her voice. Her gift hummed too close to the surface after singing. He held her hand as she stepped down and waited for her to make her way to the tent edge. Annie wrapped a cloak around her to protect the dress and pulled the hood over her head. Hand in hand, they dashed through the rain, careful of splatter, and into a waiting covered buggy.

  The driver clucked to the horses and they were off. Thunder boomed in the distance and she glanced back toward the great tent. Father would take care of them all.

  He always did.

  Chapter 1

  Winter, 1851

  This was the last time, Buck promised himself. The last time he would invade her dreams. The rocky landscape greened over the last several months. The barren wasteland she wandered through night after night transforming to rolling grasses as though the prairie swept through the desert to reclaim Delilah’s hope.

  At least, he believed it to be the message in this dream. Two weeks since the last time he brushed across her dreamscape, two weeks since he allowed himself the simple pleasure of hearing her sing. The secret he nestled in his heart and guarded deep in his soul—Delilah possessed the most magnificent voice. A voice she never used in the waking day, no matter how much they tried to persuade her.

  Oddly, instead of sunshine, the night sky stretched out across the horizon. Stars glittered against the velvety midnight black. He walked along the bank of a stream. The water twisted through the landscape, plunging down into the grass and appearing again near a rocky outcropping, only to splash down into a deeper pool.

  Young trees struggled against the grass, stretching juvenile branches skyward. Oaks, cypress, and two others he couldn’t identify. They were as alien to her dreamscape as they were to the Texas hills the Flying K called home. Jogging lightly, he picked up his speed. He knew to follow the river. He circled the outcropping until he looked down into the pool of water.

  Delilah sat alongside the bank, bare feet dipped into the water. Palms flat against the earth, she stared at the moon’s gleaming reflection on the watery surface. Despite the ripples from the water tripping over the rocks, it was as though some great hand scooped out the stars and filled in the bowl of the earth.

  Her long black hair fell, unbound, to her waist. She wore a light chemise and an even thinner underskirt. Pristine white, the cotton glowed against her darker, richer skin as though she dressed in gathered moonlight.

  A rock skittered away from his boot and she looked up. Her expression transformed from thoughtful reverie to one of warm greeting. The smile blooming on her lips tapped heels to the slow trot of his heart.

  “Hello.” He murmured the words and slid down the rest of the path toward the pool’s edge. As in their daytime encounters, she didn’t speak. She gazed at him with liquid black eyes, dark as the night sky above. Fearless, but calm, she waited until he sat down a few feet away to drop her gaze back to the water.

  “Sorry I haven’t been around.” He kept his voice to a low murmur, the quiet swish of the breeze through the grass and the water tripping over the rocks the only noise—not even night birds serenaded them. “We’ve had a lot of work to do. I've been pretty exhausted.”

  It was a lame excuse. He was never so tired he couldn’t walk in her dreams, but he forced himself to stay away. She sought him out whenever he was home, closer to central life on the ranch, particularly after the events of the last summer.

  The construction of a new Dorado and the arrival of the first Army detachment kept the ranch in an uproar. The Fevered worked hard to keep the ranch patrolled and the new Fevered children contained while they learned. Their secrets, hidden tightly beneath a lid, threatened to spill over with every new arrival. During the initial visit, Buck, Kid and Jimmy took a party of eight children up into the hills to camp amongst the rocks. Their dangerously unstable gifts took finesse to control, finesse they didn’t possess. Hopefully the pending arrival of the next wave would be shorter.

  Yet. They will. We have to be patient. Surprisingly, of all who worked with them—or maybe not so much given his gift with emotions—Kid stabilized the worst of the children, balancing out their fears and their grief, so they could focus on the lessons.

  But it took a toll on the youngest Kane and backslid him into old habits–using sex to distract himself from the pain he took away from others. Twice in as many months, Jimmy and Cody turned away irate husbands from distant ranches hunting the younger Kane. The number of women in the area was few and Kid refused to go to the mountain. Not yet, he repeated over and over like a mantra. Not until the ranch was safe.

  The landscape around Buck shimmered, and twisted. He jerked out of his reverie and forced his mind to calm. He could hold a dreamscape stable, but this wasn’t a dangerous shift. Delilah no longer sat on the edge of the pool, but in a curved back, mahogany chair before a great mirror. Although he never stepped foot inside her rooms at the main house, he knew the construction around him.

  Riding out the shift, Buck perched on the end of a trunk tucked up against the foot of her bed. Delilah hummed to herself and her low melody wrapped around Buck’s soul and soothed the ache of lonely exhaustion. She ran a brush through her hair, gazing distantly in the mirror as though she continued to look farther away.

  The soft music and the swish-crackle of the brush sliding through her hair lulled him. He clasped his hands together and enjoyed being with her. The light knock on the door intruded on their serenity. He expected Delilah to walk over and answer it, but the door opened as if by its own accord. Delilah’s dark gaze tracked up, focusing on the mirror and she smiled, a heart wrenching, dazzling grin of pure joy.

  Buck jerked his head around and stared at the intruder. Anger fisted in his gut and he rose, blade appearing in his hand as though summoned by a thought.

  Jason Kane held his hand out, as though unaware of Buck’s presence, and Delilah rose, walking over to take it.

  No.

  Lunging forward, Buck raised the blade, but it never struck. A hard hand locked around his wrist and jerked him backwards. Delilah, Jason, and her room evaporated for the mountain, soaring pines and the smell of snow. He landed in the dirt next to a far more familiar stream and Quanto loomed overhead, staring at him.

  “What are you doing?” His father demanded.

  The rage inside of him didn’t quiet. He met the wisdom and disappointment in the elder’s eyes and flinched. “I—”

  What the hell had he been doing? Attacking Jason for knocking on her door?

  Or because Delilah looked so happy to see him?

  Why the hell is she dreaming about Jason Kane?

  “Buck.” Quanto lowered himself into a slow squat. In the dream, the man’s ancient features softened and his body didn’t seem as weak, but there was no mistaking the weight of his hand on Buck’s shoulder as his father steadied himself. “Calm yourself.”

  “I am calm.” The lie tasted sour on his tongue. “Or at least I will be.”

  Quanto gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Why would you attack the Kane boy?”

  “I wouldn’t.” But hadn’t he been about to do exactly that? Scrubbing a hand over his face, he avoided his father’s eyes. “But I—he was in Delilah’s dream.”

  “The young woman you have taken a fondness for.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Buck answered anyway. “Yes. I know you advised against spending so much time there. But she doesn’t—she still isn’t willing to talk. At least, in her dreams, I can hear her and sometimes she will
talk to me.”

  “Because she isn’t aware you are walking in her dreams. She believes it to be her own imagination and until you are willing to confess your knowledge, you are abusing your privilege.” The quiet patience in Quanto’s voice added to the sting of his reprimand.

  “I can’t abandon her.” Buck’s temper flared and he scowled at his father.

  “She is not property for you to use at your whim, and respecting our laws isn’t abandoning her.”

  A breeze stirred the air around them. Cold winter wind, carrying the chilly bite of a storm, burned his throat. “She’s lonely and I don’t count her as property. Truth be told, I wish to be her friend.”

  “Then be her friend in the waking world or tell her the truth.”

  Buck could find no fault with the advice. It was the honorable choice. His only choice, really. So why resist it?

  “A telling question. Why are you resisting it?” Quanto wasn’t a mind reader, no matter how much they might have believed it growing up. Their father knew them—sometimes better than they knew themselves.

  His anger deflated. Torn between shame for his choices and regret for his harsh words, Buck shook his head slowly. “She’s different. Everything about her is so different and it’s been hell—coping with the new children and struggling with their gifts. She never stops trying to help, only she won’t talk.”

  “Her words mean so much to you?” Quanto eased himself down and sat. A fire appeared next to them, the heat of it pushing back the chill. Buck gained enough control over himself to divert the wind away. While they may be sitting on a dreamscape of the mountain in winter, his father did not need to freeze.