A Fistful of Dreams Read online

  “Yes.” She sighed. “But I’m tired. Or I’m asleep and I’m tired. Which is weird. Are we still sitting in front of the hearth?”

  Whether she meant to distract him or not, the question amused him. “No, we’re back on the hay. You went to sleep so I carried you over and tucked you in. I added some more wood and then followed you into sleep.”

  Her cheeks flushed deep pink. “I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.”

  “I’m not.” He allowed himself the pleasure of brushing the hair away from her cheek. Her skin was every bit as soft as he imagined. “You were tired. Asleep I could bring you here. Does your head hurt a lot?”

  “It’s not unbearable. It’s just—”

  “Sore.” He nodded slowly. “Quanto used to say our gifts have muscles like our bodies. Using them strengthens them, but so does controlling them.”

  Bewilderment chased away the embarrassment in her expression. “I don’t understand your explanation.”

  Extending his arm, he imagined his knife there and it formed. Delilah let out a gasp. Casting a sidelong glance at her, he grinned at her fascination. “With practice, I can bring anything into the dream I want. But, it isn’t what I want to show you.”

  He threw the knife and it landed point first into one of the wooden beams bracing the overhang. “Muscle memory is required.” He concentrated and the knife vanished from the beam and back to his hand. Throwing it again, the blade landed in exactly the same spot and vibrated from the force. “I practiced for three months to get this throw as accurate as I could.”

  “Why did you want it so accurate?”

  “Because Jimmy can hit any target, anytime, no matter how large or small. He never misses. It’s really aggravating and I wanted to be better at something than he was, so I practiced.” He chuckled. “And no, before you ask, I’m not better. But I don’t miss and if I have to hit a moving target, I can.”

  She giggled and the sound went straight to his soul, ringing through him like a perfectly tuned bell. He soaked up the sound like rain on parched earth. She never laughed.

  Never.

  A change was definitely needed.

  Shaking his head, he forced his attention back to the explanation. “Your gift—all of our gifts—they’re like this knife. We have to learn the balance, perfect the aim, and know when to let it go so it always hits the target we intend. But like the knife, we have to know when to keep it sheathed.” He slid the knife into the boot sheath he always wore for it. “So we don’t hurt anyone because we’re waving it around or carrying it in our hand.”

  Sobering, she nodded. “And my head hurts because I don’t know how to sheathe my gift?”

  “I think it hurts because you do know how. You don’t do it often, so it takes more effort to keep it leashed than it does to wave it around.” He waggled his fingers in the air. “A fist, if you clench it, will hurt if you never release it. You’re clenching your fist, your holding your gift back, and you’re getting a cramp.”

  “Then I really shouldn’t sing.”

  It was his turn to laugh. “Not the reason I told you that.”

  “No, but it makes sense. What if I can’t keep my fist clenched when I sing?”

  “Then you let it out and hopefully you recognize when your fist lets go so you can rein it back in.”

  “You make it sound so easy.” She wrinkled her nose. He gave the swing another push, letting her get used to the idea on her own. They sat there in perfect peace, the day as beautiful as he could wish for, and he liked having her there. He grew accustomed to her regular visits during the autumn. He enjoyed her presence.

  “It’s not supposed to be easy. It’s a burden. A burden we all bear. And I admit, I want to hear you sing for a far more selfish reason than helping you.” The breeze pushed at her hair and an errant tendril drifted against his cheek. He indulged the fantasy and smoothed it back into place.

  “You like to live dangerously?” Her eyes actually sparkled and her brows rose.

  Did she just tease him? Delight flooded him. “Well, that, too. But I like your voice. I loved listening to you sing. It was amazing. You were always dreaming of the desert and it was warm and the moon was always full and the air dry, carrying a hint of perfume—a flower I didn’t recognize. I could listen to you for hours. Even the songs I didn’t recognize, I liked.”

  Her face reddened and she dropped her gaze, but she couldn’t quite contain her smile. “Thank you, I think. I like to sing. I used to practice when no one was around and, one time, the town we were in had this saloon and there were dancing girls and they wore these beautiful red dresses. I wasn’t supposed to go inside, in fact my driver told me to stay in the carriage, but I could hear them singing and I wanted to know the song.”

  “Yes?” He had a hundred questions, but he held all of them in check.

  “It was very bawdy. Very, very bawdy.” She giggled again. “So I tried to memorize the words and when I was supposed to be practicing a hymn, I would sing that instead.”

  Opening his mouth to respond, he snapped it shut abruptly. He wanted to ask how she got away with it, but he didn’t have to. No one would have listened to her practice. No one would have been there to applaud her efforts or even know how beautiful she sounded.

  Bastards. Every single one of them.

  “Well, don’t sing the bawdy one. Do you have a favorite song you liked to sing?”

  “Yes.” She exhaled the answer so quickly it actually startled him. Pursing her lips, she gave him an impatient look. “Fine. You win. Now I actually want to sing it so you can hear.”

  He grinned. “Thank you.”

  “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I am so warned.” He gave her an encouraging look and leaned back. Eagerness tingled in his spine.

  Clasping her hands together, she leaned back and closed her eyes. She went so still, he worried she changed her mind.

  “When a morning star shines on the lonely road, it keeps you safe when darkness falls, far from home your heart remains true.” The lyrics crystallized into the most pure sound he’d ever had the pleasure of hearing. The music washed over him, and he held his breath when she faltered.

  “When shadows fall and you are alone. Follow in the stars, to find your way. A promise to you my love, I will be here waiting.” Her voice gained strength and confidence. It spiraled up and he sighed, listening to her words. He didn’t know the song and he didn’t care. She sang even sweeter than he remembered. “When your journey winds away from the sun, reach for the light inside until your journey is done. As long as the morning star shines, I promise to be with you and should darkness fall, I will be the candle that lights your way.”

  She let the last note fade away and glanced at him. He grinned. “That was beautiful.”

  He hadn’t missed the morning star line or the reference to the journey. But the nearly plaintive quality of the song buoyed his resolve. Her loneliness echoed in everything she did, particularly when he knew to listen for it.

  “Are you okay?”

  He covered her clenched hands, brushing his thumb against the skin. “Yes.”

  “How can we be sure?” She tilted her face up, studying him. He leaned closer and when she didn’t back away, he couldn’t help but look at her beautiful mouth. Considering their position, it would be very easy to lean in and kiss her.

  “I—”

  She vanished and he barely had enough time to make sure she was safely returned to her own dream before his eyes jerked open.

  Jason stared down at him with a frown. “Okay, you’re good.”

  Son of a bit—Sparing a look at Delilah, he found her curled on her side, facing him, fast asleep. He lunged off the hay and landed the first blow to Jason’s jaw before the telepath could read the action coming.

  He practiced that muscle control, too.

  Chapter 12

  The blow staggered him, but Jason managed to block the second from landing. What he lacked in fighting skills
, he more than made up for in speed. He backpedaled away from the sleeping Delilah and managed to block the next two blows before a third drove all the air out of his lungs. Fighting to stay upright, he locked gazes with Buck and took control of his body, freezing him in place.

  “Let me go.” Buck growled through clenched teeth. Despite the temper crackling in his eyes, he didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t want Delilah woken anymore than Jason wanted to disturb her.

  “As soon as you calm down and keep your fists to yourself,” Jason wheezed the words. His gut was on fire from the blow and his jaw throbbed. Copper flavored his mouth. He must have bit his tongue.

  “Fine. Sorry I hit you. But you can’t jerk me awake if I’m deep in a dream, particularly not when I pull her into mine. She could get trapped and it could kill her.” Hard anger threaded the words together. Jason released control of his muscles and Buck stumbled forward a couple of steps.

  Blood pounded behind Jason’s eyes and his vision wavered. He had to stop pushing himself to his limits. That he could hold Buck, even for a minute, was a vast improvement over earlier attempts. He tried for weeks while Miller’s gang held him to control his captors and he never managed more than a few seconds.

  A throbbing pain echoed inside his head. The heat from the fire was almost too much, but he retreated toward it anyway. Better to give the Indian some space. “I didn’t know. About the dream things.”

  “No. But you acted like you knew better—you keep doing it. You make decisions for other people, control the information you share, and then seem surprised when we object. If you don’t know how something works, don’t interfere. It will be better for everyone.” Buck flexed his fingers and looked over at Delilah. Her chest rose and fell steadily. Jason touched her mind, long enough to make sure she was still there, still alive. Her thoughts barely reacted, but she seemed deeply asleep—deeply and peacefully asleep.

  “You’re right.” He rubbed his face, grimacing at the swelling on his cheek. “But you didn’t wake when I tried to wake you the first time and every thought in your mind was filled with her.”

  “I was talking to her, getting through, building trust—” He broke off and covered Delilah with another blanket before motioning Jason closer to the fire. The dreamwalker added more logs to the flames and poked them up. The blast of heat added to Jason’s discomfort, but he kept it to himself.

  “I thought you weren’t going to go into her dreams anymore.” They had agreed, particularly since Jason couldn’t monitor them there. The fact he’d been aware of Buck’s attack the first time had more to do with the way the man’s thoughts focused on him. He hadn’t even been aware of the dream until Buck himself pulled him in. He’d been monitoring Delilah’s mind, reaching out to her while she slept to see if he could discern any negative motives for her presence on the ranch.

  What a mess…

  He could only conclude Buck didn’t drag him in this time was because the man didn’t want him there.

  “I didn’t go into her dreams, I pulled her into mine and, yes, I did it without consulting you.” A hint of embarrassment touched his words. “But we talked, after you were asleep. She wasn’t comfortable with the sleeping arrangements and she’s—she’s still feeling very isolated and alone. When she finally managed to fall asleep, we connected and I wanted to keep it going.”

  “Let me know next time.” Moving to the farthest edge from the fire, Jason didn’t relax until the chill from the rest of the barn brushed his skin.

  “No.” Irritation sharpened the refusal. “Sometimes you have to go with your instincts. She trusts me, I wanted to offer her more support in that faith. I don’t need you there staring at us while we talk.”

  If he hadn’t already seen his thoughts were clear and unmuddled by the distraction of her, he would have thought his initial assessment wrong. “You realize that’s why we’re doing this together? So if she does captivate you again—”

  “Then you can figure it out in the morning and let her know to undo it. In my dreams, I control it. She can’t hurt me there.” He seemed very convincing.

  “She captivated you in dreams before—”

  “In her dreams, yes. We weren’t in mine.” Buck sat down and rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. Tiredness rimmed his eyes, exhaustion Jason shared. They’d all been pushing their limits in recent weeks. If nothing else, the blizzard would force most of them to rest and enjoy the lull.

  “Explain it to me, if you wouldn’t mind.” If it worked differently in the dreamwalker’s dreams than in hers, it was worth knowing.

  “I can control every aspect of my own dreaming.” He cast another cautionary look at Delilah and lowered his voice further. Jason had to strain to hear the next words. “Which means I can negate an ability there.”

  So how did it work when Jason went into—?

  “You only managed what you did because I didn’t realize I was still asleep.” Buck gave him a thin smile. “I won’t be so nice next time.”

  “Duly noted.” And a very interesting twist. Buck could turn off the ability of a very dangerous Fevered by taking them into his own dreamtime.

  “And no, before you ask, I will not trap anyone in my own dreaming. When I wake, it spins away and, if they are still there, it can kill them.”

  Dammit. For the barest of seconds, he thought he had a solution to the issue with Adam MacPherson. Undoubtedly, death might be where the man headed regardless of Buck’s feelings on the subject. But the man Delilah called Father knew things and it would be better for everyone if they had all of the information before they discarded him. He thought she might be the key when he first approached her, her ability made her an ideal weapon, but five minutes alone with her and he knew she’d never turn on the people who raised her. As much as she wanted to get away from them, as lonely as she was, she remained loyal.

  Choosing to help her might carve out a better piece of real estate for him in hell, but he had to try. MacPherson’s reach grew by the day and already they’d felt his fist here. It wouldn’t be much longer before he came after Kid himself and there was the rest of the newly extended family to protect.

  “So what was the point of pulling her into your dream if you could block her gift there?” He could do nothing about MacPherson right now, so better to focus on the problem at hand. Maybe if they could get Delilah under control she would be more inclined to reveal MacPherson’s secrets—like exactly where his homes and stashes were. The one she grew up in was likely abandoned now. He didn’t let her live with him.

  Jason gleaned the information during their first conversation.

  “Trust. You said it yourself. She has to trust us. If I could convince her she could do it in the dreaming…”

  “…then it might translate to the waking world. Not a bad plan.”

  “Thank you.” The Indian’s tone was dry. “I’m going back to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day for all of us.”

  “Yes.” Jason nodded, but retreated from the flickering shadows around the fire and ranged out into the colder barn. The chill air wrapped around him, filling him with blissful cold. With reluctance he walked down to the far fireplace and stirred up the coals, adding fresh logs to continue to stave off the cold.

  Outside the blizzard raged.

  Dawn arrived with a brittle cold and Delilah could barely control the chattering of her teeth. She huddled next to the fire and took over building it up while Buck and Jason split the chores. They tended the horses in the other hall, she’d nearly forgotten they were there, but the animals were blanketed and sleeping in stalls thick with straw. They’d even partnered the animals up so they were two and two. But that meant a lot of mucking.

  She offered to help, but both men told her to stay by the fire. With little else to do, she put water on to boil and started fixing food. It would be hot porridge and coffee, but hot food was better than cold. Her fingers stung with the cold, but she piled in the wood and stoked the fire up. She had to chip the ice o
n the water barrel to fill the bucket and pans. It took her a moment to get the kettle hung on the rack.

  She eyed the stack of wood. A quick search told her they would need more. Both Buck and Jason still tended the horses. She dragged on her coat and stuffed her fingers into gloves. The door proved unwieldy and it took all her strength to shove it open enough to slide out. Closing it behind her, she worked her way through the snow to the stack of wood leaning against the side of the barn. She wouldn’t be able to get more than an armful, but a few trips could restock their wood supply. The snow lay in deep drifts, which swallowed her legs up to the knees. Overhead, the lead gray skies continued to sprinkle them with flurries, but at least the wind died down.

  Five trips later, she couldn’t feel her lips anymore. She was shoving the door closed when Buck joined his strength to hers. He stared at her. “What are you doing?”

  “Fii-fii-fire—wooo—wood.” She could barely push the words out. Buck dragged her over to the fire and stoked it up. Thankfully, the kettle let out a cheerful whistle.

  “We would have gotten the wood,” Jason admonished her. He went to work on her boots while Buck stripped off her gloves and coat. “Grab her a blanket.”

  “I already am.” Buck nodded. He grabbed the blankets they’d spread out on the hay bales. Jason stripped off her socks. Pain didn’t quite describe the stabbing feeling when he angled her bare feet toward the fire and started rubbing gently. A hundred pins and needles raced up her legs.

  Buck replaced the jacket with a blanket and began massaging her fingers. Her teeth started rattling together. Dear God, she was cold. She wanted to crawl into the fireplace. Her gloves sat in a soggy pile and for the first time, she realized they’d been frozen. Her hands were red, but nowhere near as red as her feet.

  “It doesn’t take long to freeze to death and you do not have the right kind of clothes for this weather.” The admonishment in Buck’s voice held more than a trace of worry. “You let us do the heavy lifting, okay?”