A Fistful of Dreams Page 16

  Delilah’s reservations vanished in the first touch of his lips on hers. She sank into the sensations tingling through her. Shock and delight shivered across her skin and any sensation of cold vanished. He nuzzled her lips, massaging her mouth with his. She pressed a hand to his chest, but instead of pushing him away, she pulled herself closer. His arms wrapped around her and she burrowed into the strength.

  He broke the kiss and rested his forehead to hers. Some part of her understood she needed to withdraw from his embrace. Maintaining the intimate closeness could send all the wrong messages, but she couldn’t and didn’t want to move.

  “I’ve wanted to do that for quite some time now.” The admission surprised her.

  “Why?” Her lips still tingled from the contact. When she closed her eyes, she knew she would be reliving every exquisite moment of the kiss.

  He grinned and her heart flip-flopped. “Because you’re beautiful, you’re stubborn, and I like you.”

  “No, I mean, thank you.” She had to be blushing, her face heated up as though she gazed directly into the fire. “But I meant I wondered why you wanted to kiss me right now.”

  “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while, but there never seemed a right time. Do you mind if I kiss you?” It seemed an odd question. Did she mind?

  She shivered. “I liked your kiss.” She leaned back against his arms, creating some space between them. No matter how glorious the contact was, she shouldn’t encourage it.

  “And there you go again.” He teased and another tingle went through her. His gentle smile and soft tone told her he was teasing even though a frown wrinkled his brow. “Don’t be afraid of me.”

  Her jaw fell open and she stopped retreating to stare at him. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Then why do you keep running away, hmm?” He kept one arm around her and used his free hand to brush her hair back, curling a lock behind her ear.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” Hadn’t he heard a single word she’d said?

  “Well, you’re killing me every time you retreat or act like you want to bolt. It hurts me to see you hurting. So, stop.” He winked and she laughed, in spite of herself, in spite of the circumstances and stared at him.

  “I don’t understand you.”

  “Luckily, you will have plenty of time to learn.” He pressed a kiss to her nose. “And now we have to practice again.”

  “No.” She grimaced. “I sang once, that should be enough.”

  “Not even close.” He shifted, tugging her over to sit right next to him, but loosening his arms from around her.

  As if on cue, Jason circled the hay and stared at the two of them. “We’re going to start at the top. This time I want you to sing and keep the compulsion out of it.”

  The demand squashed her immediate objections. Biting her lip, she glanced sideways at Buck. “Is this an excuse to make me sing for you?”

  He still held her hand in his, interlocking their fingers as though to demonstrate he had no intention of letting her go. She found she really didn’t mind at all, no matter how bad for him she might be.

  Buck laughed. “Why not?”

  Curiously more elated than down, she considered the songs she knew and chose the bawdy song. By the second lyric, she knew her gift was under wraps because she managed to shock both of them.

  Teach them to make her sing on command.

  Jason left Buck to build up the fire and took care of the horses on his own. He needed the escape from the overwhelming heat and mental strain. Delilah swayed on her feet by the time they paused for dinner. Buck nursed a powerful headache—one he kept a secret from her. She all but collapsed on the hay and was asleep before her head touched the makeshift pillow. The horses ignored him while he cleaned their stalls until he added fresh hay and feed. Fetching water took longer, but unlike Buck or Delilah, he had no problems with venturing outside into the snow. Fresh flakes continued to fall steadily with no sign of letting up during the evening. They expected a long storm, but the snow depth would soon be a concern and not because of the cold.

  The melt could lead to flooding, but in the meanwhile—Jason turned and eyed the roof to the converted barn. This was one of the older buildings on the property and used primarily during foaling with the wider aisles ideal for too young foals so they didn’t crash into walls. The roof of the barn was slanted, huge piles of snow at the edges of building suggested the heavier drifts were sliding off. But for how long was anyone’s guess.

  Working quietly, he loaded up the buckets with snow. He could set them inside near the fire to melt and water the horses later. Six trips later, he stood and let the cold wash through him. It restored his mood and eased his headache. Of all the times to be forced back to the ranch, at least the heavy, if odd, winter weather worked in his favor.

  Ignoring his headache, he stared into the distance toward the main house and focused. It was about the limit of his range, but if he concentrated, he could discern the active minds awake in that direction. Sam?

  He had to call twice before he had the sense of his older brother’s attention. A startled oath echoed like a distant shout. That’s unnerving as hell.

  Sorry. Checking in as requested.

  Are you all right down there? The storm is heavier than we expected. An understatement.

  We’re fine. She’s doing well. Any idea when this will let up?

  Sam’s negative response didn’t require words. He got no sense anything was wrong there. He told Sam he’d check in again the next night. His second mental call took a hell of a lot more focus, but Micah reacted with far more ease than their eldest brother. The kids were fine and engaged in a round of reading and writing activities with Jo—grumbling more because they were only allowed limited playtime.

  Buck likely checked in with his own brothers in dreams, so he left them alone. Kid wasn’t with Micah or Sam, and both thought he was with the other. Already pushing the limits of his own mental well-being, he searched the range of the ranch he could reach.

  Kid wasn’t anywhere.

  It doesn’t have to mean anything. Maybe he’s tucked in out of the storm further out. He half-considered asking Micah and Sam again, but rejected the idea. He knew their older brothers—they’d likely hunt for him in the snow.

  Buck?

  No more practice tonight. The reply sounded as tired as Jason felt. The dreamwalker spent half the afternoon in a fugue state, but Delilah made sure to emphasize he had to be aware of what she asked him to do. She was able to switch back and forth between the enchantments more easily now. Given enough time and practice, she might even begin to trust herself.

  Can you visit Kid’s dreams?

  If the request seemed odd to Buck he didn’t let it show. Yes. He’s asked me not to. Why?

  There could be any number of reasons why Kid would ask the dreamwalker to stay out, but those were all problems for another day. He’s not with Sam or Micah and I can’t reach him wherever he is—he’s too far away.

  Acceptance flowed through in a series of fast thoughts. Buck would search him out, only to make sure he was fine, nothing more. Jason could live with that. He let go of the mental touch and called up the noise, the hum blocking the world out.

  He wasn’t sure which was more welcome, the silence or the cold.

  Chapter 14

  The best part of the Army’s efforts to build their fort at speed was the whores who followed behind them. The men rode out the day of the storm and helped the travelers along. Their commanding officer may not be thrilled about the arrival of a wagon full of women, but they had plenty of business waiting for them.

  Kid counted on that. He coaxed Benjamin back into his human form and clothes. Delivering him safely to Scarlett and Sam at the main house, he grabbed a pack with fresh clothes and gear, ostensibly to ride out the storm with Micah and the others, but with the promise of heavy snowfall, he took advantage of everyone’s distraction to escape. The strangers at the fort would likely be an easier crowd than the d
evastated souls on the ranch and, as much as he needed to help them, he needed to get away.

  The decision was made for him after he realized he couldn’t stop staring at Sage—beautiful, tragic, and far-too-young-for-what-he-needed, Sage. The fifteen-year-old girl was lovely, but she was a girl. He could make her feel good for a while, but the option of ruining her was not one he willingly embraced. Nor was he at all eager to court the wrath of his father and his brothers.

  He carried a purse of gold hidden beneath his jacket. Paying a call on the fort, he invoked his father’s name to get an invitation to stay in their thrown together bunks. When the wagon of women arrived, he blessed every ounce of good fortune he had. The officers had their first go, but Kid could afford to be patient. Away from the constant vortex of desperate sadness, he enjoyed a tin cup full of whiskey, one of his father’s cigars, and bought his way into a game of cards.

  By the time the snow turned to a blizzard, the officers were done with their turn. When his number came up, he folded his hand and ignored the bills he left in the pot. The wind blasted him all the way across the camp to the cabin where the women turned their trade. He took his time looking the girls over. He passed on the first two—they were tired from the journey, tired from their lives, and tired of people. The third girl was his age, fresh, and her eyes lit up the moment she set her sights on him.

  She was perfect.

  He paid extra to keep her for the rest of the night and by the time he was finished, she could barely move and he relaxed for the first time in weeks, drunk on her pleasure. She murmured to him in Spanish, massaging his chest with her palm and he let her talk. It only took him a while to recover. When he could stir to move, he pushed her over, closed her mouth with his and took more of her pleasure as he gave it to her. The blaze of feeling soaked through the raw, ragged, and torn places inside.

  For a little while, he forgot about the agony of it all and lost himself to the ecstasy.

  “They are finally asleep.” Jo fell on the bed and closed her eyes. Exhaustion blanketed her or maybe it was her husband. A smile curved her lips at the last thought. Her husband wrapped an arm around her and pulled her up against him. He was so easy and gentle with his affection. She never wondered how he felt about her or what he was thinking.

  “You love them.” It wasn’t a question. He pressed a kiss to the spot behind her ear.

  “Yes, I do.” She sighed. “But they’re exhausting.”

  He chuckled softly, nuzzling her neck. “Yes, yes they are. But they are adjusting better than we could hope.”

  “You know, they really are.” She needed to get up and strip out of her dress, brush her hair and clean her face. Sadly, she lacked the energy to do any of those things and Micah snuggled to her back encouraged her to stay exactly where she was.

  “I know that tone of voice.” Micah shifted and she rolled over to face him. Resting on an elbow, he propped his head against his fist. “What’s wrong?”

  It probably wasn’t worth mentioning. With so much going on, she could be making too much of it. They’d barely had time to breathe in recently. “It’s nothing.”

  “No. Nice try, darling. Tell me, what’s wrong?” He slid a hand to the back of her head and loosened her bun. When he began combing his fingers through her hair, she could truly appreciate why the horses were so very fond of him.

  “Hmm…I can’t think of much when you’re doing that.”

  He laughed softly and kissed her nose. “I will happily let my hands wander all over you after you tell me what’s wrong.”

  “You’re ruining my moment.” She wrinkled her nose at him, but he wasn’t budging. Sitting, she pulled free of the magical caresses on her scalp and unbuttoned her dress. “The kids are what’s wrong. Most of them lost their whole families, Micah. The littlest ones, like Cate, are attaching themselves to us as their new family and they have moments of acting out and they cry, which is to be expected, but most of the kids aren’t. Except for some of Shane’s more physical outbursts and the fight between Ben and Jose, they are handling all of this beautifully.”

  Stripping out of her dress, she hung it up on a peg. Goosebumps raised the flesh on her arms. Picking up her hairbrush, she crawled under the covers and sighed. Micah already stacked some hot bricks at the base of the sheets and the warmth seeped into her skin.

  “So you’re problem is the kids aren’t more upset?” He snagged the brush from her hand and started running it through her hair.

  “Yes. I know kids. I know how hard it is to be away from family, to feel alone and to think you’ve lost all of it—it’s devastating.” She didn’t have to imagine the feeling, she’d been there—for the majority of her marriage to Harrison Miller, she lost everything, even her sense of self. Reclaiming her freedom, her ability to love and let Micah love her took everything she had and she understood what was going on, for the most part. “The kids shouldn’t be functioning this well.”

  The rhythmic brushing calmed her more than she thought possible. He said nothing, but she knew he mulled over her words. He never made her feel stupid. Even when he didn’t agree, he would present a thoughtful and well-reasoned argument. If he gave her one right now, she’d stop worrying about why these children—children who survived a devastating illness, who faced a lifetime of being identified as different from the people around them and who lost whole families and in many cases their friends and everyone else they knew all seemed to cope well with barely a hint of the dark tragedy marring their interactions.

  “I don’t know why they are handling it well, but you’re right. It does seem suspect.” He exhaled the words. Twisting, she caught his hand and met his gaze.

  “You thought of something…”

  “I did and I don’t like it.” He put the brush on the side table and pulled her into his arms, wrapping her up and dragging the blankets up to keep out the chill. She pillowed her head on his chest and let him work through all of it in his head. He would tell her when he was ready.

  The silence stretched, the single kerosene lamp barely competing with the glow of the fire.

  “It’s Kid.” The whisper was so low in the darkness, she thought she misheard.

  “Kid?” Lifting her head, she looked up at him. But he stared at the ceiling, jaw tight, and eyes shadowed.

  “Yes. He’s struggling. I keep on him and talking to him. But then I get distracted and I forget why we talked or what I think he needs to do.”

  Apprehension tightened in her gut. “You get distracted or he distracts you?”

  Harrison did that. He made her forget, distracted her, planted new ideas in her mind and made her “agreeable.” He did it for a long, long time. From everything she could discern, Kid shared a similar ability with Harrison. He could sense and read emotions, he could also take away pain and buoy their feelings. Micah promised her he was nothing like her abusive former husband, and from all she witnessed for herself, he seemed a kind young man, much like his older brothers—honorable and giving.

  “He wants to help. He feels everyone’s pain.” Defensiveness rippled through his voice. Hugging her husband, she murmured an agreement. “Maybe he’s helping them—by making them feel better?”

  “He can’t take all their pain. As much as we hate it—” She hated herself for saying this out loud. “We need our pain to learn, to grow and to know how to help others. If he’s taking it away, is it gone forever or only for now? And—”

  “And?” He prodded her.

  “And what happens when it comes back? When the grief hits and he’s not there to take it away? What is all their grief doing to him?” Her apprehension turned to fear. What if Kid meant well, but hurt himself more? How much pain could one man take before he snapped?

  “I need to talk to him. I will talk to him.” He pressed her head back down, and tightened his embrace. She returned the affection. She understood even as he offered comfort, he needed it, too.

  Micah took his responsibilities very seriously. His family, h
is ranch, and the people on it were vitally important to him. Kid belonged in all three categories.

  “I’ll help you.” She whispered. “We’ll do it together.”

  Sam slipped around the door and closed it quietly. Scarlett sat in the rocking chair, nursing Molly. He paused and leaned against the wood, enjoying the sight. The room was dark save for two low kerosene lamps. Most of the main rooms in the house benefitted from a fireplace and rarely had every single one been lit as they were for this storm.

  The first time he saw Scarlett set a pond on fire, he couldn’t imagine a more beautiful sight. Watching her cradle their daughter to her breast, the shock of red hair on the baby’s head so beautifully matching her mother’s, took his breath away.

  The woodstove in the corner gave off some heat, but the majority of the room’s warmth came from his wife.

  “Why do you look so amused?” She rested her head against the back of the chair, studying him with sleepy eyes.

  “I never have to worry about hot bricks in the bed again as long as my wife is in it. Sadly, she wasn’t.” He grinned. Her startled, but amused, smile added to the beautiful picture she created.

  “Hmm. They miss Delilah. She usually sits with them long after I go to bed. I don’t think I realized how much she was until the last couple of nights.” Scarlett was so much more comfortable with the woman than Sam. He still didn’t know what to make of her abilities and the level of concern in Scarlett’s brothers told him they underplayed it.

  It didn’t help when she proved to be yet another secret on Jason’s part. Though he and Jason hadn’t been particularly close—the difference in their ages and interests diverting their paths from childhood on—he thought the younger man would have more of a care for his family.

  “Stop worrying.” She kept her voice soft, but he didn’t miss the rod of iron beneath the words. “We can’t do anymore than we are.”