A Fistful of Dreams Read online

  She thought he and Jason were already asleep, leaving her alone with her thoughts. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Why not?” The soft question beckoned an answer, but she didn’t know if she could explain the nervousness itching her skin or the discomfort churning in her belly. She wanted to go back to her room at the big house, lock herself behind the door and hide. The storm had other ideas, however.

  The wind held a mournful quality as it roared around the building. They elected to stay at the barn because the snow would isolate them, buffer the rest of the ranch against her gift and keep them focused. But she grew up with storms like this—they could go on for days. Endless days—and nights—trapped alone with Buck and Jason. If she lost control—if she slipped for even an instant, she could damage them irreparably.

  “Delilah?” Buck shifted next to her, sliding an arm beneath his head.

  “This is…awkward.” What if her reasons insulted him? They worked together to push the hay together to form a bed, tightening the other bales around their little fort near the fireplace. In other circumstances, it would likely be quite comfortable.

  “What is?”

  “This. Sleeping here.”

  “But you’re not sleeping.” The barest hint of a tease colored his words and she smiled.

  “I mean sleeping between the two of you.” Never had she been so thankful for the darkness. Heat flushed her face and she fought the urge to pull the blanket over her face.

  “Ahh. I wish I could offer you an alternative. It’s warmer for you this way.” The distinct hesitation between his regret and explanation niggled at her.

  “I’m more worried about what everyone else will think.” She survived weeks in the saloon with her honor intact even if her pride took a beating. Pride wasn’t a quality she valued, truthfully, not when she made so many other mistakes. Once upon a time, she could pretend she didn’t understand the choices she made. But she wasn’t a child anymore and no excuses were acceptable.

  “They’ll think it’s a blizzard and you had no choice because you’re learning how to control your gift. They know where we are and why we’re here. You don’t have to worry they will think less of you. If anything, most of us feel bad because you are even in this situation.”

  Pity. She bit her lip. They pitied her. Somehow, it didn’t make her feel better.

  “You can sleep. I will make sure nothing bothers your dreams, if you want.” He tacked on the caveat almost as an afterthought.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” They whispered, keeping their voices low since, of the three of them, Jason seemed to be the only one sleeping.

  “I can watch over them without going inside.”

  “But the last time you were in my dreams I—no.” She shook her head. No way could she risk him, she wouldn’t.

  “Last time I didn’t realize you were Fevered or listening to you sing could cause such an issue. But even without the compulsion, I still know you have a beautiful voice and I don’t regret hearing it.” The wistful longing underscoring the words startled and worried her.

  They wanted her to talk, to give her voice room to stretch, and to learn when she compelled and when she didn’t. But what if they were all fooling themselves? She always had her doubts about Jason’s immunity, and yes, she sang notes to free Buck, but they spent the whole evening talking—he told her stories, and she wanted to hear more.

  She liked talking to him. Wanting more, she felt greedy.

  Sighing, Buck pushed himself up on one arm. Backlit by the fire, he created a beautiful silhouette. “I know this is hard for you, because you’ve been alone for so long.” He held up a hand to stave off the protest tingling on her tongue. Truthfully, she’d never been alone. Father always had someone watching over her. Her escape with Jason happened because Jason shielded her from view the way he shielded himself, allowing her to slip away undetected.

  “Yes, I meant alone,” Buck continued. “You were isolated from friends and family by your own admission. I don’t know what your father told you about that, or why, but we don’t use people we care about as weapons.” He paused and, not for the first time, she wished she could see his expression. Was it thoughtful? Impatient? Did he smile? “My family, the way we were raised was to protect and take care of each other. Scarlett has a very dangerous gift and, if left unchecked, she could do tremendous damage. So can Jimmy and Cody, and Ike and Noah—we are all dangerous. We can all do things others cannot. We can hurt people. If I kill someone in a dream, they die in life. They never wake up.”

  She had no idea they struggled with gifts as dangerous as hers. Oddly, it made her feel better. How many times had he been in her dreams? How many times could he have hurt her and not done so? “Why are you telling me this?”

  Buck climbed off the hay and added wood to the fire. Thankful for the excuse to get up, she slid over to the edge and studied him. The orangish light from the rising flames revealed his thoughtful expression.

  “Because you’re terrified of hurting us, but you aren’t scared of us hurting you.” He turned his gaze on her. She opened her mouth, but could hardly refute the statement. Since arriving on the Flying K, they had all been welcoming and protective.

  She discovered their abilities little by little, an offhand remark here, an observed behavior there. One benefit to being so silent, they often forgot she was there and spoke without regard for the concept she might repeat their words. When the outbreak happened, and the attacks, they didn’t bother to disguise themselves anymore.

  No, she hadn’t known Buck could walk in dreams or his ability to kill in them. But even now, the news didn’t sway her opinion. He’d never offered her harm.

  “I guess—you’ve never done anything to make me think any of you would.” Combing her fingers through her hair, she sighed. “If anything you’ve all been kind to me.”

  “Fair enough. And what have you done since you arrived?” Rather than rejoin her, he settled on the stones of the hearth. Glancing over her shoulder at Jason, she eased off the hay and walked over to the hearth. It was much warmer this close to the fire. “You kept your silence, not even confiding your fear to anyone, because you wanted to protect us. You helped out at the house. You performed chores even when no one asked. Miss Annabeth said you were forever carrying up water from the pump or delivering lunches, like the ones you used to bring out to me. You tended the ill and fetched supplies. Noah said he never ran out. Even when he was too exhausted to get fresh laundry, you brought it and carried away the bad—at a risk to yourself, might I add.”

  He ticked off the items on his fingers. “When Cobb and Molly were born, you stayed with them. You looked after those babies tirelessly. Scarlett sings your praises. She’s walked the floors many a night and said you were right there with her. You slept even less than she did, if that is possible. Not once have you hurt any of those people—”

  “But you—”

  “I’m not finished.” He cut her off firmly. “But since you brought it up, what happened to me was my own damn fault. I prowled through your dreams because I wanted to hear you, I wanted to know you, and you didn’t invite me.” Huffing out a long breath. “I did you a disservice and you have every right to be angry with me for it, and yet you’re not. So tell me, Delilah, what have you done wrong to make us want to shun you?”

  When put that way, her feeble arguments toppled. “I like being here and I’m scared if I mess it up for all of you, you’ll want me to leave.”

  “We don’t abandon our family.” Buck captured her hand and sandwiched it between his own. Awareness tingled over her. She wanted to lean her head against him, let him take on the whole of the burden, and let it go. Soul-deep weariness swamped her. “Whether you are ready to admit it or not, you are family. I meant what I said. I will help you. I know you have it in you to control this, to be the master of your fate.”

  “I want to believe you. So badly.” She trembled with a longing she barely understood.

>   “I have faith enough for both of us.” He tugged her closer and slid an arm around her. “So believe. You’re not alone. Not anymore. We’re all supporting you in this. Every single one of us.”

  Giving in to the desire, she laid her head against his shoulder and let him pull her closer. Closing her eyes, she let herself imagine the reality of comfort, the closeness of another. She couldn’t begin to label the need this answered in her. He smelled of wood smoke, leather, and sage. She could almost imagine the dry heat of the desert she dreamed he belonged in; rolling tumbleweeds, the painted horses, and a feather in his hair.

  His chest vibrated with a low sound. The low musical hum washed over her. He stroked her hair, soothing brushes of his hand against her back. Exhaustion swallowed the last of her reticence. Being held was the nicest thing she could remember. He rocked her gently, and somewhere her sleep-deprived mind recognized the humming was more of a low chanting. She didn’t understand the words, but they offered a balm to her battered senses. The lullaby swept away her reservations and a yawn stretched her mouth wide. Snuggling closer, she stopped worrying about propriety and the unusual circumstances that brought her here…

  For a moment, and even if it only lasted a moment, she wanted to bask in his attention.

  She wasn’t alone.

  Buck leaned against the porch rail and waited. He constructed the dream carefully, adding every nuance from the warm sun overhead, to the green grass swaying in the gentle breeze. The late spring temperatures were warm, but not hot. The air filled with the fragrance of growing things and the occasional hum of a bee lazily traversing the honeysuckle strung along a latticework. No, the Morning Star cabin didn’t resemble this yet, but it would. Every change they made, every addition, worked toward this goal.

  Mist swirled through the sunshine and Delilah appeared, walking toward him. She wore a plain brown skirt and a muslin shirt. The simplicity of her garments added to her fragile beauty. Her unbound hair fell like nightfall over her shoulders and she walked with an air of caution.

  “This is my dream,” he said by way of greeting. He wouldn’t invade hers again, not unless she invited him. “If you aren’t comfortable, I can send you back.”

  She paused a few steps away and turned in a slow circle, hesitating only when she looked at the cabin. He knew what she saw. A completed second level and longer sections jutting out from the main room. Their plan was to add enough for at least four full bedrooms. They might have to add more, or Cody and Mariska might elect to build their own cabin nearby.

  “This is what you’re trying to build.” She walked forward again, studying the shutters. The natural wood fit against the backdrop. The lean-to stable they used now was bigger, able to house as many as six horses, and a paddock stretched out behind the building. On the opposite side was a vegetable garden and a second paddock with two cows chewing at the grass lazily.

  “More or less.” He extended his senses to the dreamscape and erected a barrier. The nebulous sensation spread out around them, cocooning the scene in safety. Jason intruded in her dreams, but here—he shouldn’t be able to access this one. “It’ll take time to get to this stage.” He gestured to the porch. “But this piece is finished.”

  “I remember.” A smile curved her lips. She accepted his hand and climbed the three steps onto the wooden porch. It was wide enough to accommodate all of them on those lazy summer evenings when they kicked back with a glass of whiskey and just were. They’d fixed the hooks for a porch swing, but left it for springtime before they set it up. He didn’t have to wait in the dream.

  “I didn’t know you intended it to be so large.” She trailed her fingers along the railing and walked the length of it. “You like working on the house.”

  He maintained his stance, leaning against a post. His dream or not, he wanted her to have free rein and get comfortable. “Yes. You can see the sweat of your efforts turn into something.”

  She knelt to study the railings. He grinned—she’d noticed the carvings on each and every one. “What are these?”

  “Different things. Some are blessings, others are wards against evil, and some tell the story of how we got here.” Pushing away from the post, he walked over to crouch next to her. Tracing the language carved into the rail, he read it for her. “This is the home of the Morning Star. Here you will find safety.”

  “What language is this?”

  “Mine andmy father’s. It’s older than all of us, but it’s a language used by shamans. If you carried a stick carved with these symbols—” He traced the outline of the sun ducking behind the moon. “Many tribes will grant safe passage. Medicine men are to be honored by all the People, not only their tribe.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t know much about…Indians. I’ve seen them, mostly from a distance. They didn’t come into Fort Courage, and I grew up back east so—”

  “Where?” She opened the door to the inquiry, so he pursued it.

  “Philadelphia, mostly. The city of brotherly love.” Bitterness echoed in the words. “But our real home was up by the big lakes near Canada. They speak French there, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard.” He pointed to another symbol. “This is my name.”

  Squinting, she studied the wheeled circle surrounded by feathers containing four distinct symbols. “It says Buck?”

  “No.” He laughed. “It says Hania. It means Spirit Warrior. My mother chose my name.”

  “Why does everyone call you Buck?”

  He rose and took her elbow, helping her up. “I don’t know, I think one of my brothers called me that when we were very little and it stuck. It’s easier for some to understand and it doesn’t bother me.” Half the time he forgot the name his mother blessed upon him. She insisted it came to her in a dream and his shamanic father accepted her word. He wore the same symbol on his bicep. The gift of a name was all he really had to remember his mother by.

  Odd, he never really thought about her, but he knew she was with him in spirit. His father showed him his memories in spirit walk. His mother had been a kind woman with a benevolent smile and a wicked sense of humor. Quanto loved Little Deer deeply, and whether he ever intended to or not, Buck had seen his affection for her in his dreams as well.

  “Did you carve all of these?”

  Dragging himself back to the present, he shook his head. “I didn’t carve any of them. Jimmy likes to work with wood. He makes toys, furniture, shapes, pretty much anything he puts his mind to. He carved the railings. I think he did it to remind us all of where we came from and this is the home we’re building for ourselves—not our father’s home, not the Kanes—us.”

  “Do you regret being here on the ranch?” They settled onto the porch swing and she relaxed next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

  “No. I miss the mountains, the isolation and the freedom. But I like being close to my sister, too. We all do. And the Kanes are good people. They accept us and don’t ask us to change. We help them, they help us.” Their initial decision to stay was borne of a need to keep Scarlett safe. They all had lingering doubts about her newly chosen family. Those reservations passed away with the turning of the seasons. He could return to the mountain, considered it a few times, but as much as he loved his father and their home there, it wasn’t his home anymore. “My father told me once that one day I would take flight and leave the mountain. I laughed at him, for why would I ever want to leave my home? We had all we needed there, space, freedom, and good company. The game was plentiful and crops grew well, even those that shouldn’t did. He told me children grow, they become themselves and part of their journey meant leaving behind the path to carve one of our own.”

  “So that’s why you stay? To make your own place?”

  Giving the swing a little push, he considered his answer. “For now. I don’t know if this will be the last place I stay. For now, this is where I am on my journey. Things change, the seasons turn and there may yet be a reason for my path to diverge from the paths of my brothers.” If she left
, if after all they managed, she chose to leave the Flying K, he would go with her. Leaving his brothers should have filled him with unease, but the thought of staying behind bothered him more. He didn’t examine either emotion too closely.

  Time enough for that later.

  “Thank you for showing me this.”

  “You’re welcome.” He considered his next request, but sooner or later, they needed to press forward. Her relaxed posture and peaceful expression told him this was as good a time as any to try. “Would you sing for me?”

  She jerked at the request and shook her head swiftly. “No. It’s not safe.”

  He caught her hand before she could pull away and waited for her to look at him. “It’s okay. I trust you. You’ve been talking to me for hours in and out of the dream. You haven’t tried to sway me or change my mind—because if you had, would I be asking?”

  Blinking rapidly, she considered his words. “I don’t think so.” But she lacked certainty.

  “Okay, how do you feel? Right now, in this moment?” He interlocked their fingers together when she went to pull away, he held on to her. Fear was their worst enemy—her fear of herself. He braced himself for the potential backlash.

  “Scared.” She admitted readily. “And my head feels funny.”

  “Funny how?” He modulated his voice, focusing on remaining calm and steady. He wouldn’t show her anything but patience and faith. Wyatt demonstrated to them on more than one occasion their reactions, particularly fear, could choke the person practicing. Not as if he hadn’t experienced it on more than one occasion when Scarlett worked with her fire, but he trusted his sister. He trusted she would never hurt them on purpose. He felt the same way about Delilah. She didn’t want to hurt or control anyone.

  It would make all the difference.

  It had to.

  “Kind of full and achy. I was concentrating really hard to not put anything into my words. To leash whatever it is in my voice that compels people.”

  He suspected as much. “And it seems to be working.”