Dare to Dream

by Debbie Vaughan

  “She must either have screamed in the loft or as she fell. Even if the blow didn’t knock her unconscious, the landing would. We measured twenty-four feet from the loft to the floor.” Gresham voiced his thoughts. “She couldn’t jump up and run after a fall like that, even if she didn’t break anything, which is highly unlikely.”

  Donna’s knees gave way, and Bob made a grab to hold her up, catching her under her arms. He eased her to the floor and pressed her head between her knees.

  Heart pounding in her ears, Donna could barely hear her own question, “So, you think someone carried her off?”

  “It seems the most likely scenario. We’ll take a blood sample, of course. Is her type on file anywhere?”

  “Yeah, at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Little Rock. She told me she had an emergency appendectomy when she was thirteen. They should still have it in back file.” Meg would try to get away if she wasn’t too injured to move. Donna choked back her sob and took a deep breath. “No vehicles were nearby, or we would have heard them. We didn’t pass anyone on the way up the mountain. It was real quiet until the storm rolled in. They must have been on foot. You need to get the dogs in here.”

  He took her hand and she allowed him to help her to her feet. “I made the call, Mrs. Andrews. I’m good at my job.”

  “So I’m told, Mr. G. I’d hate to call my father-in-law a liar, so you find my friend and you find her fast. You really wouldn’t want me on your bad side.”

  “I don’t suppose I would.”

  This time she got his full smile. Perhaps he was stronger than he looked if her threat didn’t bother him—or stupid. She didn’t think he was stupid, and for Meg’s sake, she hoped she was right.

  * * * *

  The dogs went crazy inside the barn. Their handlers didn’t know what to make of their behavior. They caught the scent easily enough from Meg’s dirty clothes which Donna provided. They ran a pattern from where the truck sat to the house and back to the barn, but no further. They had three different handlers each with a different breed of scent hound: bloodhound, blue tick, and redbone. All had multiple rescues under their collars, but still ended up singing to the ceiling in the barn. Their mournful howls, eerie in the twilight.

  “She’s not dead! She’s not. I’d know.” Donna cried and beat on the judge’s hard chest with her fists when they unloaded the cadaver dogs. “They can’t give up on her, they can’t.”

  “Sweetheart, calm down. They aren’t giving up, they’re just following protocol. She’s been missing over seventy-two hours—”

  “Don’t you think I understand that?” Donna snapped.

  “There’s nothing more we can do tonight. Let’s get back to town and get you in a warm bed.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Donna, listen to me.” Bob held her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. “They’ll need you to go over evidence for the next few days while the search continues on the mountain. You can’t do that if you’re exhausted. The best way for you to help Meghan is to take care of yourself. Eat. Sleep. Do you understand?”

  No, she didn’t understand, not any of it. Therein lay the problem. Nothing made sense. If Meghan fell from the ladder, she should have still been laying at the foot of it when Donna arrived. Hell, she was probably unconscious before she even hit the ground. Donna grimaced again remembering the bit of scalp the tech had pulled from the beam. Meghan hit the timber hard. Even if someone had been waiting to carry her away, they would need to pick her up and cart her out. Donna should have seen them leaving, at least caught a glimpse, but she hadn’t. Meghan seemed to have vanished into thin air.

  Chapter 10

  Meghan woke from the strangest dream. Sort of a Wizard of Oz scene, only Donna played Dorothy, and instead of crying for Auntie Em, she called for Meghan. While unsure of the meaning, it reminded her she needed more information. She’d been here for what, three days, four? She really had no idea how much time had passed and had even less of a clue about where Donna had gone or why she hadn’t come back. She’d let her weakness, inability to speak, and Will get her sidetracked. Time for some answers—after she relieved herself.

  She needn’t worry about being overheard. From the commotion in the kitchen, Charlie and Will were having an argument. She squatted over the enamel pot and got an earful.

  “You best get gone before the snow starts. We need winter supplies, and you’re already a week behind schedule messin’ ’round with that filly.”

  “Hold your tongue, old man.”

  “Get yourself to town and visit Miss May’s gals. You was right fond of that little redhead as I recall. Kathy, weren’t that her name? Then you’ll see I’m right.”

  “My affairs are none of your business, Charlie.”

  “She’s a pretty little thing, Will, I’ll give you that. But you seem to be forgetting she’s a thief. How the hell did she get here? You don’t find a woman alone in these parts, ’specially not a young, good-lookin’ one.”

  They meant her! What did he mean a thief? She’d never stolen so much as a pack of gum. She bit back a yelp when she forgot to crumple the paper and about sliced her twat. She didn’t need any more injuries. And who and what the hell were Kathy and Miss May’s? She rose too quickly, causing the world to spin for an instant. She grabbed at the bed post. The dizzy spells seemed to be getting better. At least that’s what she told herself. She straightened her shirt, smoothing a hand over the flannel. This one belonged to Will. Not nearly so wide and at least a foot longer than Charlie’s, it reached mid-calf. She stuffed her feet in her boots and drew the makeshift curtain aside.

  Both men turned in her direction. A grin lit Will’s face, and she couldn’t help smile back any more than stop the butterflies somersaulting in her belly. Charlie scowled, and she gave his frown back double. Whatever burr he had under his saddle, he could just take care of himself. She took the coffee Will held out to her, drank a healthy swallow, and cleared her throat. Would her voice return today?

  She thought the words over in her head before opening her mouth. “I’m no thief.” Charlie whirled from the stove sloshing gravy over the floor. She’d said it out loud, all right. Before she lost her momentum or her voice, she drank a little more coffee. “My name is Meghan, Meghan Dennehy. I fell. Don’t ’member how I got here.” Her voice began to waver like a bad tenor. “Where’s Donna?”

  She stomped her foot and swiped at her eyes. Damn, did they even understand the last part? She tried a couple more times but only managed to sound like a strangled chicken. Will put his arms around her and rubbed soothing circles on her back. She let him hold her. He was on her side. She didn’t even glance in Charlie’s direction.

  “You did real well, Meghan. That’s sure a pretty name.” He tilted her chin up and wiped her eyes with his thumbs. “Come and sit, have a bite of breakfast. Maybe you can talk some more after.”

  Meg let him guide her to a chair at the table and set a plate in front of her. The gravy made the biscuits tolerable, barely. She kept her attention on her plate or Will and ignored the old man completely. A sense of déjà vu swept over her, sending chills down her spine. She glanced around the room, noting again the familiarity, only to dismiss the notion. She finished her food and coffee, opened her mouth, and tried again. Frustrated, she made a writing motion on the tabletop.

  “You want to write something?” Will asked.

  Meg nodded.

  Will rose and went to the small curtained area. Meg thought it might be a pantry. He came back with a scrap of brown paper and the stub of a pencil, which he handed to her and the stood at her back to watch what she wrote.

  Meg pushed her plate out of the way, took the pencil in hand, and wrote: I fell from a barn loft.

  “That’s right. You hit your head on the post before you hit the ground. The bundle on your back must have broken your fall since only your head got busted.”

  Meg grinned. He must be the old lady’s neighbor. Donna probably came here searching for a p
hone and when they didn’t have one either, left her and went for help.

  Where did Donna go?

  “Don’t know a Donna. Were you together?”

  How could he not know Donna? How had she gotten here if not with her friend? She stared accusingly at Charlie. Maybe Will hadn’t been here when Donna arrived.

  “Don’t go rolling your eyes at me, gal. You was alone when Will found you with your plunder. I don’t know of no Donna, either.”

  Will found her? This didn’t make a lick of sense. Donna wouldn’t just up and leave her, not knowing her condition.

  Where did you find me?

  Will seemed worried. “I told you, Meghan. I found you in the barn. You fell from the loft and hit your head.”

  She had missed something. Why were you at the barn?

  “The chickens came out like something was after them. I went to see if a fox got in but found you instead.”

  So he worked for the old lady? But she and Donna hadn’t seen anyone else, and why wasn’t the woman here? This didn’t add up. The more she tried to think, the more her head hurt. Why hadn’t Donna come back for her? Meghan remembered her dream. Donna had called for her... A chill ran down her spine. She thought about the storm. What if Donna had gone for help and lost control of the truck on the narrow mountain road? She might be lying somewhere hurt!

  “Must find.” Her hand started to tremble so hard she couldn’t hold the pencil.

  “Meghan? Meghan, are you all right? Meghan!”

  * * * *

  “Might have been a stroke. The palsy was only on the right side,” Charlie said as she awoke.

  She opened her eyes—eye? Her right eye didn’t work right. She closed her left. She saw through her right eye, but almost as if she looked from under a half closed lid. Charlie had mentioned a stroke. She visualized herself with the right side of her face sagging. Tears seeped from her left eye.

  “She’s awake. Meghan, how are you?”

  Will seemed so worried. She tried to raise her hand to stroke his cheek, but it wouldn’t move. Her mouth felt funny. She tried to smile, but only the left side of her lips responded. Inside her head she laughed. Well, Meg, my girl, you are falling apart at the grand old age of twenty-six. Her internal hysteria waxed into determination. With her left hand, she made the sign for writing. While Will fetched the paper and pencil, she tried her right foot. It wiggled. She bent her knee and sighed with relief. The paralysis was only partial, so if a stroke, a small one.

  She wiggled her right foot wildly when Will returned, and he rewarded her with a smile worthy of her effort. Meg maneuvered the pen into her left hand while Will steadied the paper. Very carefully, she wrote, Must find~~Don a ~~storm. The note made sense to her, but then she knew what she meant. Would Will understand her scribbling? She scanned his face for some sign.

  “You think this Donna may have got lost in the storm? Is that why you stole our blankets?” Will sucked air through his teeth. “I didn’t mean steal, darlin’. You borrowed them for when you found your friend. You want me to look for her?”

  He’d called her darlin’, so she chose to disregard his previous verbal stumble. She clutched his hand.

  “It appears you get your way after all, old man. I’ll take the wagon and head toward town, but only because I’ll need it if I find her hurt. You’ll get supplies because I’d be ornery not to. I’ll be coming straight back. Can I trust you to take care of Meghan?”

  Charlie looked like he’d been hit with a hammer, and even Meghan was taken aback by Will’s harsh words to his dad. What had transpired between the two while she lay unconscious this time?

  “I’ll care for her like she was my own.”

  Will’s expression softened and he placed his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “A man can’t ask for any more.”

  “I’ll get my list, some extra blankets and such.”

  Will came to sit on the edge of the bunk and held her useless right hand. “I’ll be gone a fortnight, maybe a little longer since I’ll have to go slow to keep an eye out. She got hair like yours?”

  Meg nodded as best she could and shrugged her left shoulder.

  Will ran his fingers through her tresses and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Yellow hair then, but not near so fine and soft as yours, nor as fair, I expect.” He nuzzled her earlobe. When she shivered, he chuckled. “I expect you well when I return, so you best get to work.”

  Nerve endings shot lightning bolts through her system, with her twat receiving most of them. This lovely, perfect, wonderful, caring man was interested in her. Her! And here she lay in rack and ruin. Her timing had serious flaws. And she needed to pee… really, really bad.

  Meg waved for the paper again. When Will lay the sheet on her chest, she managed to scrawl the letter P and pushed it back toward him. A devilish smile spread across his face. He rose and drew the curtain while she waited.

  “Go ahead.”

  He couldn’t mean…? She wouldn’t. She couldn’t! But in the end, nature won out. What began as the most mortifying experience of her life ended as the sensual experience she had ever known.

  Will begged her forgiveness, which at that point she was in no state to deny. He left her with a kiss on her lips, heated flesh, and a firm desire to get well soon. The man should work for Hallmark!

  Chapter 11

  Will hated to leave the girl. Meghan Dennehy, she called herself. And while he chastised himself for abandoning her, he admitted she wasn’t a girl, but a woman. All the necessary parts were fully formed. He mentally kicked himself for the fool trick he played on her. Why didn’t he just help her to the pot? He had been thinking with the wrong head, and not for the first time. Both heads seemed preoccupied with Meghan since the moment her hair tumbled from under her hat.

  The wagon bounced into a chughole washed out by the rains and damn near bounced his ass right off the seat. Served him right.

  He’d embarrassed her. His heart felt like a fist squeezed it. Poor little pitiful thing. He’d taken advantage, knowing full well she couldn’t get to the chamber pot on her own. He wanted an excuse to touch her again and got his wish, but at what cost?

  His frown curled into a grin, remembering how her embarrassment had given way to something more. The remembrance caused his cock to harden.

  She tried so hard to ignore his ministrations. By the time he washed her clean enough to suit him, she panted like a dog on a hot August afternoon, eyes closed, face flushed, skin shining through the dew of sweat. She was a sensitive filly. He readjusted himself, but his britches seemed determined to geld him. He deserved his torment, he told himself, and turned his focus to something else.

  Remembering he needed to pay more attention than usual, he tried to push thoughts of Meghan from his mind. He promised to look for her friend, Donna, which was why Bess pulled the wagon and not Bob. Both mules were surefooted, but Bess about drove herself, leaving him to pay attention to the drop-off and watch for signs.

  Where was his granddad when he needed him? He could track a sparrow in flight. If Donna lay injured out there, he’d find her right quick. He might also be able to help with Meghan. He taught Charlie his medicine. Charlie was good, but as shaman, White Buffalo knew more than anybody. What knowledge he hadn’t learned on his own, the sacred Fathers had shared with him. What knowledge he hadn’t garnered on his own, the Fathers shared with him.

  Will watched for yellow hair. If this Donna’s hair was uncovered and the color resembled Meg’s, he’d be able to spot her easy enough from the road. Trouble was, if she had been hurt, she might wander off into the woods, fall down a gulley, or slide down the mountainside. Two days and nights in the wilderness, wearing no more clothes than Meghan had when he found her, didn’t bode well. The cold, damp air turned to freezing cold at night, ice making the few pathways all the more treacherous.

  He adjusted his thinking, and his gaze sought more than fair hair. He scanned for signs of scavengers, fresh-chewed bones, drag marks, and bits of cloth
clinging to twigs. When they broke from the cover of the evergreens, he searched overhead for vultures but found nothing amiss. As the sun lowered in the sky, he kept an eye out for a likely campsite. The scenery changed from year to year and season to season. A clearing he had used before might now well be filled with six-foot saplings.

  He caught the rancid odor before he rounded the bend. A shift in the wind brought the smell of rotted meat. At the first growl, he drew his Winchester. He dropped anchor but didn’t tie Bess. She’d do fine as long as she had her head. The draft mule had killed a mountain lion a few years back. A wolf or two wouldn’t be near as much trouble as a cat, assuming their hunger made them stupid enough to attack.

  A pack of five feasted on a kill, theirs or one they stole. With them writhing all over the carcass, Will couldn’t tell what their meal had been in life.

  “Here now! Get!” The wolves froze but didn’t move off, so Will shouted again. “Get on with ya’ you pack of fleabags! Get!”

  Three moved off, but two stood their ground. Good enough. He didn’t need to waste a shot. With three out of the way, he saw the antlers of an elk. He backed away, leaving them to their feed, and returned to the wagon.

  “Well, Bess, we need to move on a ways. I don’t hanker to camp downwind tonight.”

  Dusk closed around them while Will set up camp. The small clearing promised enough forage and browse for the mule and a spot big enough to build a fire. The wagon, empty except for some pelts, would make a dandy bed. He unhitched the mule with no thought of tethering her. Bess was a good girl. Besides, he planned to use her feed sack for a pillow. She’d likely be chewing his hair before morning.

  Rifle in hand, he walked deepening circles around the camp but saw no signs a human passed that way. He relieved himself, returned to the fire, gave Bess her evening oats, and set about cooking his meal of beans, bacon, and some of Charlie’s hard-as-hell biscuits. Charlie might be a good cook when it came to most things, but he didn’t bake worth shit. Well, he made fair cornbread. He could churn and can as good as any woman. Will offered Bess the rest of his biscuit. Seemed even she had trouble chewing it.