A Fistful of Dreams Read online

  Shoulders sagging, Kid sighed. It was exactly what Harrison Miller did. He dug into their minds, their emotions, and fed off them. He’d intended for Micah to murder Jo, knowing during the act, he’d killed the woman he loved. The loop would have driven his brother insane. Kid took it away. He wore away the edges of the emotional turbulence until he could erase the command entirely.

  He’d had a headache for a month afterwards, but the rush of doing something so right with his gift filled him with power.

  “You two okay?” Noah strode down the center of the barn.

  Micah let Kid go and turned to meet the healer with an easy smile. “We’re fine, just getting the last horse settled. I thought you’d still be sleeping.”

  “Lena and Miss Annabeth decided they wanted to get a head start on the cooking tomorrow with so many extra mouths to feed. I brought up the wood and said I’d come give you guys a hand.” The healer typically lived with his brothers at their cabin, but with the outbreak and his continued care for the new babies, Jed insisted he move up to the main house. They split the difference, giving Noah one of the two closest sick houses to convert. Now he was a fast run from the main house rather than a fifteen-minute ride.

  “We’re mostly done.” Kid gave the horse a last pat and stepped forward, the other two moved out of his way and he secured the ropes across the stall. With the barn doors shut and filled with animals, it was almost warm inside.

  “Turn down the lanterns, get them all out, and we’ll meet at the exit.” Micah headed ten stalls down and started extinguishing the kerosene lamps. Kid and Noah went the other way. It took them a few minutes and most of the lights were out.

  “You okay?” Noah pitched his voice low. Frustration ebbed through Kid.

  “I’m fine.”

  “One healer to another, you’re not fine and it’s starting to show on the edges. Your temper is fraying and you’re making impulsive decisions again.” If it were any of the other brothers, Kid would ignore him, but Noah never offered his opinion unless he thought something was truly wrong. The black man’s gifts were indisputable. He brought so many survivors through the fever he’d nearly killed himself in the effort, but, unlike Kid, every time he used his gifts it seemed to rejuvenate his soul even if it wore on his body.

  “I’m a little on edge. Colonel Stanley is a good man, but there are a lot of strangers here now and we have a lot to hide.” He’d had this same conversation with Cody the day before—only, in his wolf form, all Cody did was snort and growl at him to get moving on their circuit. The wolf didn’t worry about much. He dealt with threats directly and didn’t fret about the future.

  Fret…like I’m some woman having vapors. A ribbon of irritation stretched across Kid’s nerves. Cody didn’t out and out say it, but his manner was a lot like when he spoke to Scarlett or Mariska in a temper…

  “Huh.” Kid stopped. Noah glanced back at him questioningly. Micah’s confident steps echoed behind them and Kid waited for his older brother. “How bad am I?”

  “What?” A frown wrinkled Micah’s question and with a single kerosene lamp tossing shadows around, his expression seemed almost foreboding.

  “You’re both worried—about me, specifically. No, I’m not digging, you’re both projecting.” Odd, how clear it seemed. Before it would be impressions and echoes, nibbling and gnawing on his soul. Now it was so obvious, concern in Micah, sharp and pungent like a spice whereas Noah’s carried a hint of curiosity and almost impersonal observation—the healer might not be a ‘doctor,’ but he wanted to explore Kid’s Fevered curse.

  Micah hedged, but Noah gave him a long look. The healer would give him a direct answer, and Micah would protect him. Staring expectantly at the black man, he waited.

  “You’re on edge. You’re making rash decisions. You’re seducing women and buying yourself good emotions from their pleasure. It’s feeding a darker need in you and you are daring riskier behavior with us.” Crossing his arms, Noah studied him. “And you’re in pain. It’s not a big leap to go from assuaging pain to avoiding it.”

  Truth rang in the spaces between the words and regret burned acrid on Kid’s tongue. He had a handle on all of it. He’d been coping well, riding the high of saving his brother and soothing the distraught children after their trauma. Make no mistake, they’d been traumatized. Two of the younglings drew him like a moth to their incandescent flame—both were in the hills with the others, keeping their unstable gifts as far from the arriving cavalry as possible. He would be joining them the next day.

  Or at least that had been the plan.

  “It’s not extremely bad, yet.” Yes, he had a headache, but he was also tired.

  “You’re not sleeping, you’re barely eating, and you’re spending all your time with the children. Look, I’m not saying you aren’t helping them, but the first rule of healing is to tend yourself or you will be no good to anyone. You are slipping—your control is not perfect and you’re fumbling through the dark to do the right thing. Intentions mean a lot, but if you make the wrong choice…” Noah broke off when Micah touched his arm.

  “What are you feeling, Kid? Deep down. What are you experiencing?” The patience in the older Kane soothed him more than anything else. Of all his brothers, Micah was the easiest to be around. He didn’t dish out judgments or expectations; he was nearly always calm and peaceful. The restive attitude appealed to animals and humans alike. If it weren’t for the fact Kid knew he wasn’t Fevered, he’d half suspect his brother’s talents were his own, but it was Micah being Micah.

  What am I feeling? He focused on the question, sifting through the exhaustion and disconnection. “I don’t know.” The answer worried him. “I’m tired—a lot. I feel like we’re all on the edge of something, like a storm is coming, and I’m itching inside my skin.” He tried to choose his words carefully, but he wasn’t quite sure how to explain.

  Noah ducked his chin. “Come stay at my cabin for the rest of the night. Sleep there, away from everyone else…”

  “There’s work to do.”

  “No. There isn’t.” Micah nodded to the healer. “Noah’s right. You need a break from people.”

  “Those kids—”

  “—will be fine.” Crisp confidence punctuated the end of the sentence. Noah pointed a finger at him. “You are getting sucked into what everyone else is feeling and that’s why you’re not sure what you are, which is dangerous.”

  How the hell is helping people dangerous? Rebellion stiffened his spine. He didn’t want to be alone in his own head. If he was, then he’d have to think about all the people he failed. The children needed him—hell, his own father did. He had no excuses to avoid them. “Leave it alone. When the cavalry is off the property and we can bring the children closer in, I’ll take a break.”

  Micah sighed, conceding. “He’s right, we’ve got too much on our plate right now. We’ll deal with it after the Army is gone.”

  Noah nodded slowly, but disturbance rippled across his expression.

  “I promise,” Kid implored. He needed to get a grip on this, but he needed to be there for the others, too. If they sent him away—no, he wouldn’t contemplate the potential disaster it might provoke.

  The healer frowned. It went against the grain of his nature to agree to suffering for another. The discord rang through him, but Kid bled away the worry. His stomach burned and agitation jangled along his nerves like bridle bells. Noah blew out a breath, giving in.

  “Fine, but not a moment longer than absolutely necessary. I can stay at the other house. You need the break.”

  “Agreed.” Kid relaxed and smiled. They let go of their objections and the argument was done. He bought himself some time. “You think Lena and Miss Annabeth would feed us?”

  It was still the middle of the night and he was starving. They extinguished the last of the kerosene lanterns and shut the barn up. The cold wind slapped at his face, driving away the last vestiges of his exhaustion.

  Quanto found Wyatt sitting in
his kitchen. The snow layered deep beyond the mountain retreat. It fell steadily over the last few days, closing the passes and leaving them in isolation. This time of year had once been his favorite, the few months when the slumber of the earth and the weeping of the sky blanketed them in safety, before his children left their safe haven.

  Sitting, he let Wyatt fetch him a hot drink and a plate of flat bread, meat, and cheese. He worried about his children—all of them—but none more so than the man sitting across from him. They’d been friends, allies, and family for years. The restlessness within Wyatt lay dormant for decades, ignited with Scarlett’s exodus from the mountain. The threat to their family aggravated him and only Quanto’s request kept him from riding.

  “Is it time?” Wyatt stared at his coffee.

  “No.” Quanto shook his head. “Not yet.”

  Wyatt rose. “As you wish.”

  He wanted to say more to his son—to his oldest friend—but the man strode out into the snow and slammed the door behind him.

  The time for holding Wyatt back would end soon.

  May the Great Spirit protect them all.

  Chapter 3

  Delilah leaned against the wall at the top of the stairs. The Army colonel stood near the drawing room, talking to Micah. The whole house was awake. Voices drifted from the dining room and the kitchen. She lingered in her room as long as she dared. If she didn’t come down soon, she feared someone would come up for her. The front door opened and Buck strode inside with the cold wind. His gaze skated over Micah, the colonel, and lifted slowly until he stared right at her.

  No use pretending she hadn’t noticed. She exhaled a breath and pushed away from the wall. Sliding her hand along the banister, she descended the stairs. Buck waited for her at the last step. “Hacho,” he murmured. The word shivered over her. She longed to return the greeting and the urge threatened to overwhelm her.

  “Good. You’re both up. Please, join us at the table.” Jed paced past them and motioned toward the dining room. Buck offered his hand and she took it. The swift contact sent a tingle through her.

  The others pressed in closer, everyone following Jed into the dining room. The whole family appeared to have gathered, save for those who left with the children. The children who remained were also absent. She knew everyone gathering around the table—Jed’s sons Micah, Kid, and Jason. Their Fevered allies Noah, Buck, and Cody. Cody’s wife, Mariska, and Micah’s wife, Jo, were not present. Of the women, only Scarlett joined them, but her husband Sam, the eldest of the Kane sons, was absent. The Colonel was the last to step into the room.

  His boots on the floorboards sounded like an ominous drum, a desperate cadence signaling danger approached. Delilah went cold. Scarlett patted the chair next to her, but the last thing she wanted to do was sit.

  She should never have come down.

  “It’s okay.” Jason pulled a chair out. It wasn’t right next to Scarlett, but one over. Buck followed, right behind her. She didn’t have a choice. Sitting, she tried to ignore Buck taking the seat on her left and Jason claiming the one next to his sister-in-law.

  Jed stood at the head of the table, one hand resting knuckles down against the tablecloth. Lena and Miss Annabeth entered. The Kane men rose, all at once back, to their feet with the colonel, Buck, and Noah following a little more slowly. Cody hadn’t bothered to sit at all. He leaned against the wall, watching.

  “Thank you. Most of you know Colonel Miles Stanley, but most of you don’t know he is aware of the Fevered and he is our ally.” The patriarch wasted no time on preamble as the women sat and the other men took to their chairs.

  Ice slithered through Delilah’s veins. She fastened her attention to the empty plate in front of her.

  “But we all need to remember Colonel Stanley’s men do not know, and we’re going to keep it that way. Miles has questions for us to answer. And he’s agreed to answer our questions. We’re going to cooperate and help him.” Jed sat down.

  “Pa—” Micah glanced at him.

  “It’s fine, Micah. Your father and I discussed this last night with Jason. It’s better to keep us honest.” Colonel Stanley leaned forward and hands folded. “Particularly with so many new unknowns.”

  “Colonel Stanley.” Scarlett leaned forward and looked down at him. “Why are you coming here now to build your fort? This isn’t the safest time.”

  “It’s never the safest time, but word of the outbreak reached Washington far more speedily than it should. We had dispatches sending troops to Dorado two months ago.”

  “Two months?” Buck frowned. “Less than a few weeks after it happened. No one left—how…?”

  “Maybe we should start at the beginning.” The colonel held up his hand. “Let me tell you the whole of the story and then you can ask your questions.” He waited for their murmur of agreement. “Have any of you heard of Adam MacPherson?”

  Ice shackled Delilah and her fingers slipped on the glass. It slid from her hand, but Jason caught it. The whole world seemed to stop, grinding to a halt, and she stole a look at the Kane brother to her right.

  Trust me, Delilah.

  Philadelphia, winter 1849

  * * *

  She stood on the precipice of a choice.

  He sat in the crowd again tonight. She knew the unfortunate moment Father recognized him. Father turned, his gaze pinning her where she sat on the stage. The corners of his eyes squinted, his expression tense and demanding. When certain he had her attention, he nodded to a man sitting two rows beyond him. Delilah didn’t want to look. She didn’t want to see his face.

  But she didn’t dare defy Father in front of so many witnesses. Interlocking her fingers together, she bowed her head as though in prayer and peeked through her bangs. Her heart squeezed in warning. The man sat nearly all the way in the back. A dusting of snow glittered against the dark material of his long coat. He held his hat in his hand and his hair, dark, like the brown of wheat not quite ready for the harvest cut, hid his ears and fell in a shaggy wave against his brow. He looked young.

  She remembered him from the winter previous in Boston. Certainly, his hair had been shorter then, but the cut of his clothes was the same and, while she couldn’t make out his eyes at this distance, she knew them to be very blue. A thrill skated over her nerves. She couldn’t believe he was here—again. Their gazes locked and a pulse of awareness beat through her.

  Father made his way toward the stage. She could already hear the words he would whisper in her ear. The man eluded them before; she had to focus her song on him. He was a member of a very powerful and wealthy family—Father wanted access to their wealth and something more. Of course, success had to be her concern, not Father’s farther-reaching goals.

  Focusing on her clenched hands, she tried to calm her breathing. Her heart rabbited with fear in her chest, beating so hard she imagined it must be audible to all. Father’s approach signaled to the others it was time to withdraw. They tucked more into seats, packing them into the borrowed theater, and exited.

  “You see him, don’t you, Delilah.” It wasn’t a question.

  She nodded once.

  “Good. We’ll watch in case he tries to leave again. Pitch your song directly to him.”

  What could she do, but nod? She stole another look at the man. She didn’t know why he was so important to Father, but when he slipped away last winter—her cheek throbbed with the memory of Father’s hand slap. He’d apologized, but his fury never diminished.

  She stared at Father’s back as he walked up the aisle, shaking one hand here, pausing to press a kiss to a cheek there. So many familiar faces in this audience—and why shouldn’t they be? Some followed them on their tour of the big cities, others returned every other year and she snared them for Father with her song.

  His displeasure at losing the prize in the last row was nothing compared to his fury, if he should learn the truth.

  The man hadn’t left when she began to sing. He stayed for all three songs and, when the entir
e crowd swayed in utter captivation, he rose and put his hat on his head, gave her a gentle, if sorrowful smile, and left. Stunned, she had no choice but to lie to Father later. The man must have left before she began to sing. Her profuse apologies were met with forgiveness, but the disappointment in Father’s eyes—haunted her.

  The door closed outside and she was alone—save for her audience, a crowd numbering close to three hundred gathered to listen to Father. Every winter, it was the same. Journey by wagon or train to a city and host the tent revivals. It was all so much easier when she believed.

  Believed in Father.

  Believed in his cause.

  Believed in herself.

  Rising, she poured herself into the first notes of the song. It wasn’t hard to captivate this audience. So many had heard her before, so many were open and receptive to the lyrics, the power and the precision of her voice, and their minds flowered beneath the tones. By the second song, all swayed in time to the hymn—all save for the man in the back row.

  Like before, he listened, but he did not fall under the sweep of the music and she didn’t have it in her to focus on him. She had half a mind to add a note of doubt to those sitting spellbound.

  But Father would know…he always knew.

  Does he? The masculine whisper drifted through her mind and startled her so badly she forgot the next words and ceased her song. It didn’t matter, none of the audience stirred, their eyes glazed over and their faces blank.

  Yes. She dared the answer and looked to the man in the back row. The man rose from his seat and made his way to the aisle. Her heart skipped because instead of leaving, he walked toward her. She was alone in the great hall. Father and the others wouldn’t come in until she left. Not when it sometimes took her many songs to bend the recalcitrant to her will—to Father’s will.