“Oh, Jen,” Barb said softly. “Adam will be fine.”
“Why did he have to go in there?”
“You saw this happening, didn’t you?” Barb said, frightening Jen out of her stiff posture. “You scared poor Rose half to death.”
“Not this,” she whispered. “Not Adam.”
“Then you don’t know what’s going to happen?”
“I wish I did,” she said. “In my vision Adam was safe. I didn’t see what happened next. I don’t know if Adam…if Mr. Thornton and the horses will be all right.”
“Just as it should be, Jen,” her friend said simply before changing the subject. “I saw your sister by my shop a little bit ago. Do you think she might have had something to do with this?”
“I hope not.”
“But you suspect she might?”
“Yes.” She glanced past Barb to the dressmaker’s shop, seeing only the old, weathered wood of the hundred-year-old building. “She may have had second thoughts about trying to steal Adam from me, but I guess I still haven’t won.”
Barb grabbed Jen’s hand tightly, pulling her toward the milling crowd of spectators. A cheer rose up when one of the trapped horses rushed through the small opening, followed by a second one. The crowd silenced as they waited for the last animal to exit the dangerously unstable structure.
When no more movement came from the crumbled building, a deadly quietness settled around the area, a hard, loud silence.
“Please, let him be all right,” Jen whispered.
* * * *
Adam heard the cheering voices as if through a stream of rushing water.
Thank God the horses are safe.
When he twisted around toward the movement of the last horse and the older man buried under a few of the collapsed beams of the non-bearing wall, a surging pain lanced through his skull. Like a bull grazing the side of his head. He touched his head gingerly, feeling the wetness of blood dripping along the side of his face.
“Frank?”
Only a groan sounded from the stilled man.
The gray stallion lifted up from the rubble then, so suddenly the wood shifted around Adam, threatening to topple the last of the trapped debris atop his bruised and bleeding body. He stayed quiet for a long moment, praying his little opening would stay firm.
The horse stilled too, as if knowing of the danger.
After the wreckage settled, the animal whinnied loud before pushing his long snout against the elderly man’s shoulder. Adam watched as Frank slid his weak hand along the littered ground, lurching upward in an awkward movement to grab the halter dangling a few inches from his face. When he wrapped the leather around his hand the horse started to move slowly out of the dangerous area.
Cheering rose up again a moment later, louder this time as the crowd realized Frank was hanging onto the horse’s bridle.
Thank God he’s safe.
And the horse.
Now if only Adam could find his way out of the rubble without it falling completely on top of him, trapping him beyond rescue, all would be well.
“Adam?”
Jen’s sweet voice spoke his name, so close he could’ve sworn she was right beside him in the damaged building.
Yet he knew she wasn’t near.
His woman was safe outside, with the big October sky spreading high and wide above her.
His Jen.
When had he started thinking of her as his? When had he allowed her total access?
He couldn’t say.
But Adam did know the exact moment he admitted he loved her within his own heart. Today, just a few minutes before watching Mr. Thornton step toward the crumbled building, he’d told him to stay away from it. Based on what he’d always considered a freaky abomination on Jen’s part, based on her psychic abilities, based on a vision she’d claimed to have had.
Two horny ghosts haunting the saloon and one freaky woman seeing future events should’ve had him racing for home, yet—
Jen was home to him now.
The thought of never experiencing the wonders of being near such a special woman left him feeling wrong, like life would be too ordinary for him without the spirit-provoking history professor. Never before had he felt so free.
I have to get out.
The outside voices, quieter and more subdued now, whispered around his aching head as he pulled his bruised body from the confines of the fallen building, crawling one inch at a time out of the rumble. He pushed at the large pieces of debris as he crawled toward the lighter area near the far wall, ignoring the little scrapes and cuts opened up beneath him. A trail of red blood lined his slow path.
The crowd had quieted again, as if waiting.
He ignored the burning along the edges of his skin as he edged a few more inches toward his escape, a measured, pain-filled effort. As he forced his bruised body toward the opening, the last of the sturdy beams fell to the ground, catching at his lower back. A hand reached out to grip his extended hand, pulling him out of the crumbling building only seconds before wood exploded around him.
“Adam?”
A soft hand touched him, caressing away his aching pain. “I… love you.”
“What?”
“Seems as if he’s okay,” Mark said, loud and firm. “But let’s give him some room anyway.”
“If you have the time now,” Frank said in a weak voice. “My boys and I could use some help repairing this building.”
“That can wait until tomorrow,” another voice, female but not the least bit weak said. “I want you to see a doctor first.”
“But dear…”
Adam stood up slowly, stopping a groan from escaping his mouth. Jen leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her grin reflected his own feeling as he watched the older woman glaring at the stumbling man.
“Don’t ‘but dear’ me, Frank Thornton,” she said. “These men can check out the building without you getting in their way. Until old Doc Smith tells me you’re fine, I’m not allowing you anywhere near Winter Creek.”
“I’m fine, Clara.”
Her voice softened. “I almost lost you, dear.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Thank God!”
“And I almost lost you,” Jen said lightly, moving Adam away from the thinning crowd. “I understand what Clara is feeling.”
“You’ll never lose me, beautiful.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“But I will get old and gray.” He pulled away from her and looked deep into her eyes. “Can you handle that?”
“Handle what?”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, trapping his body tight against her, warming him with heat like a branding iron. Ignoring the caked on blood and grime, he tightened her to him and brushed a kiss along her jaw line.
“Can I handle what, cowboy? Can I handle loving a man who is old and gray?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that all depends.”
“On what?” Adam asked. Her mouth turned upward into a sweet grin, but before she could reply to his question Adam shook his head and said, “Never mind. I think I know what you’re expecting from me, Jen.”
“Are you the psychic one now?”
“When it comes to the woman a man loves…” he said, pulling her hard into his front. A rush of aching pain sped through his body at his abrupt movement, but he didn’t care. As long as he was holding tight to this woman, nothing would ever matter. “All men are mind readers then.”
“Well, it’s nice to know you love me.” She brought her mouth within a whispered breath of his, stopping just before their lips touched. “Because I love you.”
* * * *
“Here they come.”
Jen leaped from the old rocker she’d placed on the wooden sidewalk in front of Barb’s dressmaker’s shop, bumping into the other woman in her haste. Barb twisted around just in time to stop from falling to the snow-covered wooden planks. It’d snowed during the night, leaving a scant tw
o inches of the white powder layering the whole main street of Winter Creek. A perfect cool late October day for a cattle drive, just like Adam had told her to expect early this morning when he finally got her back to the RV.
Was it wise of her to admit she loved him? Was she ready to trust him?
She wanted to believe he’d be there for her, but it’d take time.
“You’ve got to see this.” Barb’s intense voice broke her mind out of her thoughts. “It’s amazing.”
Jen moved to the edge of the sidewalk and turned toward the loud, mooing herd of cattle flowing as one down the slight incline of the hill above the town. “They do go where the cowboys tell them, don’t they?”
“Adam said they would, Jen.” Barb looked over at her with a quick glance before twisting to face the approaching cows. Hoof noises mixed with the mooing sounds now, and the rough and loud voices of the bundled cowboys riding along the controlled ring of the cattle. “This is better than I thought it would be. William told me every room in Winter Creek has been booked for the whole weekend. Even the O’Malley’s hotel is full.”
“I know that,” Jen said, leaning further from the wooden walk in search of her cowboy. Mark waved to her, pointing behind him and laughing. At the same time Wyatt whished his hat at a wavering cow, sending it back to the tight herd. “There’s Wyatt and Mark.” Focusing her look through the dust and wet snow, Jen studied the men riding behind the cows. “And Adam.”
Barb didn’t notice her smile. “I could really get into Wyatt.”
Jen pulled her widening eyes off of Adam, and studied her older friend. “Even with a ready-made family?”
“Yeah,” she whispered, as she turned her face from her prying eyes. “She seems like a sweet girl.”
“Oh, so you’ve finally met Jamie.” Jen tried to get a glimpse of her friend’s expression. “Not talking, huh?”
She gave up searching for an answer to her silence a moment later and looked back at the traveling herd, promising to get to the middle of Barb’s demeanor another day. Mark and Wyatt rode by and saluted them with a quick flash of their hats, followed by the beginning line of the large animals. Jen stepped away from the edge of the sidewalk, shaking her head at the noisy herd.
“I met her yesterday.” Barb stood still with one hand clamped around the opening of her coat, pulling it tight around her waist. “I was a little unreasonable about her.”
“A little?”
Barb huffed out a word. It got lost in the hoofbeats of the passing cows.
Jen smiled. “What did you say?”
“I didn’t…” Barb glanced quickly at her again, then swung her head to the front without answering. “Rose should be here. She’s going to be mad she missed this.”
“She’s probably inside the schoolhouse.” Jen felt her grin lifting even higher on her lips. “She’ll come around when the herd is past.”
Jen watched her friend’s head shake side to side.
“You don’t think so?”
Barb ignored her question. “You know something funny?” She didn’t wait for her response. “All three of us have the same type of problem—men.”
“Adam’s my problem,” Jen agreed. “Wyatt is yours, and Mark is Rose’s.”
They both stayed silent until the last of the cows wandered slowly by the saloon. Jen waved madly at Adam, giggling like a small girl when he pulled his Stetson from his head and waved it in a gentlemanly gesture toward them. She lifted her hand to her mouth, hiding the wide expanse of her grin from both her good friend and her new man. He placed his hat firmly back on his head and rode in a rush to the tail end of the herd, disappearing around the slight bend out of town.
Jen sighed.
“So have you decided to give Adam a chance?”
“Yes,” Jen said. “If I want a family and children someday, I guess I’m going to have to make an attempt at trusting a man again.”
“I’m not sure if I want any children…” Barb lowered her head as her words trailed off.
“Somehow, I doubt you mean that.”
“You and Rose can have the children, Jen. I’ll just stick with my dressmaking.” Barb glanced down at her hands before changing the subject abruptly. “Here comes Rose now. Didn’t I tell you she would show up after the cattle were gone?”
Jen grinned. “And Mark.”
“Yeah.” Barb turned and leaned into the support bracing of the shop’s extended roof. “It seems even our sweet schoolteacher is hot for a cowboy.”
“Nice, isn’t it?”
“If you say so.”
About Theresa Stillwagon
Theresa Stillwagon has been writing most of her life. Since one of her teachers praised a poem she wrote for a class assignment, she’s been putting words together in the hopes of seeing them in print. Not caring if anyone other than herself ever read them. Her dream came to reality in 2008 when she signed her first writing contract. She recently signed her tenth contract.
A former resident of the state of Ohio, Theresa now lives in her RV in the sunny city of Savannah, Georgia, with her husband of twenty-eight years and her two cats, Fred and Barney.
Theresa’s Website:
http://theresastillwagon.webs.com
Reader eMail:
[email protected]
Forgotten Memories Page 24