“To? Do what? Paint lions and bears? Why? He has a perfectly respectable job, and without me to worry about, he’ll not be looking for another one for some time.” He sat back, blowing out a long breath of frustration. “I wish he’d talked to me before he left.”
The waitress arrived to take their orders, interrupting further discussion.
When she left them, Nathan leaned close again, propping his arms on the table. “But he must have spoken with you. You were with him most of yesterday. Did he give you any indications of his feelings for you?”
Drawing in a steadying breath, she started, “We talked.”
When she couldn’t think how to continue, he reached over and took her hand. “Tell me you didn’t refuse him.”
Dawn pulled her hand away and dropped her gaze again. “He offered nothing—I could refuse.” But was she being honest? Hadn’t she pulled away from him just as he was about to declare his feelings?
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
She brought her head up sharply. “What would you know of it? What would you know about me?”
Nathan sat motionless, only his eyes searching hers. “I know from those hours we spent together that summer. You didn’t think at least once about what life might have been like had we met before I became engaged?”
Her reaction brought a smile to his eyes. “I did,” he said. “Who wouldn’t be attracted to you?”
She tore her eyes from his, confused, so very confused.
He leaned even closer and whispered, “Dawn, it’s not your leg that is your greater disability, it is your poor sight.”
The anger that flared so suddenly cooled as Nathan’s opinion turned her thoughts in a new direction.
“There are men who have surely taken advantage of your position. But, Dawn, you’ve failed to see the many who would have adored you for who you were, what you’ve become. Luke is not the first, nor will he be the last, but I wonder if he might not be the very best.”
She lifted her head again, disbelief changing her expression to one of challenge. But what she read in his eyes was the honesty she’d learned to respect. Was this a universal truth, worthy of serious consideration, or something only he imagined?
Nathan looked away and jumped to his feet, holding out a chair for Lena. “Your shopping finished so soon?”
Lena gave them a strained smile. “I’ve been watching the clouds building over the mountains to the north. I think we would be wise to return to the ranch as soon as possible.”
***
Luke squatted at the base of a granite shelf where his view of the Bighorn sheep was unimpeded. Working in swift strokes, he sketched one standing like a sentinel on a flat shelf of granite. If he could just climb a little higher, he might make out the texture on its curving horns.
A few yards behind him and tied to a dead pine, the mare nibbled at new grass. The forest was renewing itself after a fire had clearly swept through this flank of the mountain. Luke glanced back at the horse, and wondered if he should leave her and go on foot a little higher. He didn’t ask the mare to offer her opinion.
Rising to a crouch, Luke had taken only a step when a deep rumble drew his attention north. Where moments before the sky was clear and blue, dark roiling clouds were cresting the mountain top. Like a monster rising up from the depths, the mass of the storm grew in size. In seconds, it would be upon him.
From the corner of his eye he saw the sheep scatter in a mad dash to lower ground. Luke ran, stumbling over downed logs back to the horse. He fumbled to loosen the reins from the branch. The mare helped, tugging at them with an urgency that was palpable. Even as he pulled himself into the saddle, the world darkened about him as the first clouds veiled the sun.
“Come on, girl. We have to get to lower ground.” It was unnecessary to tell the horse, as thunder rolled menacingly behind them. All her instincts set her feet in flight.
While the terrain prevented the horse from running, she negotiated the log-strewn trail with amazing agility. Luke simply held on, giving her the freedom to pick her way down the side of the mountain. Within minutes, the storm, born in the peaks and crags of the Idaho mountains, emptied in one torrential downpour.
As the first drops fell, Luke watched with horror as the ash-laden terrain turned to mud. The slippery footing forced the horse to slow her descent.
Another crack of thunder and horse and rider reacted as one. Fighting to keep his seat, Luke gripped the reins and the pommel with both hands. The mare slipped, going down on one back leg, recovering.
Luke looked ahead to the dry bones of the dead pines spreading out for a mile or more, a hillside of kindling. Thunder, closer this time, moving rapidly from the north and rushing down the mountain’s flank. He pressed his knees to the mare’s side, feeling her labored breathing against his leg. If they could get below this stand of ghostly sentinels, they might find shelter.
A brilliant flash of light lit the sky, instantaneously followed by ear-deafening thunder. Luke swung his head, seeing a tree explode, mere yards behind them. “Faster girl!”
It occurred to him then that both of them might be better off if he dismounted, making them a smaller target for the lightning. He kicked one leg free just as the second bolt struck to their right, so close he could smell the acrid odor of sulphur. In terror, the mare leaped to the side, throwing Luke off balance and tumbling from the saddle. He hit the ground. In that moment, the thunder accompanying the flash, seemed to explode within his skull, vibrating down his spine. He blinked, staring into the clouds swirling above him as everything turned black.
***
Dawn stood outside their suite, looking up at a velvet sky sparkling with stars. She felt so very small. Her thoughts flew to Luke. Was he soaked by the storm, or had he found shelter? Was he looking up into the heavens, pleased with himself, reveling in his freedom to set off on his own, becoming whatever he imagined?
She wrapped her hands around the porch post and tipped her head back, staring into the silent night sky. “I’ve heard some call you Father. I haven’t found you willing to love as freely as mine. Show me you are. Luke’s never had a father he can rely upon, one loving him as mine has loved me. Show him you’re that father others claim you to be. Maybe I’d believe—if you did.”
“Would that be proof enough?”
Dawn spun, to look up into the earnest face of her friend.
“I’ve found most people require more than a single declaration.” His voice rose, imitating that of a woman. “Do you love me? Prove it by giving me the moon. Prove it by giving up your art to take a job that will support my lifestyle.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.” She turned to him, resting her back against the porch post. “Is that the rest of the story you didn’t share?”
“Pretty much. She wouldn’t have been satisfied with me.”
Dawn didn’t see any regret in his expression. “But you loved her.”
“Yes. I did.” He shrugged. “Or, I imagined I did.”
“How does anyone know when it’s true? I look at Lena and Evan and even Jessie and Bart, and I can believe their kind of love can endure. It wasn’t just passion that brought them together. I think it was something more intangible.”
“And you want to know if what Luke feels for you is real.”
“I want to know if what I feel is something more than gratitude.” Saying it aloud was worse than hearing the voice quietly whispering in her head. “I want the same for my father. I want to believe Melody Corbyn loves my father for who he is, not what he is or may become. I want to believe in something that will last.” Dawn searched Nate’s eyes, looking for the honesty expected from him. “How will I know?”
Nate stepped closer and took her face in his hands, staring for a long while into her eyes. A flicker of a smile suggested he’d found what he was seeking, and he leaned closer yet, whispering, “You’ll know.” Then, he pressed his lips to hers. They were warm and soft. Although she leaned in t
o him, enjoying the sensation, she felt no rapid pulse or heated response of her body to his.
He parted from her, still cupping her face in his hands. “My dear, confused Dawn, that was the kiss of a friend. When it’s the caress of one who loves you with every fiber of his being and in all the ways a man can love a woman, you’ll know it isn’t merely friendship he offers you, but all he is.”
***
When Luke crawled up from the depths of his unconsciousness, the unnatural quiet of his surroundings made him wonder if he gone deaf. Disoriented in the dark, he lifted his hand in front of his face and wiggled his fingers. No, he wasn’t blind. He groaned as he lifted himself on one elbow. His head throbbed, and he brought up a hand, probing his temple. His hand came away sticky.
Pushing himself upright, he took stock of his body. Aside from bruises, he found nothing broken. He turned his head, looking for the mare. The movement brought a stab of pain, making him wonder if lightning had struck him. He pressed a palm against his temple, a pointless effort to relieve the throbbing. In turning, he had learned the horse was gone, along with his saddlebags, the map, his food, water and extra ammo. He breathed out a relieved sigh. The rifle lay a few feet away, looking undamaged.
Fingering the gash along with the knot surrounding it, he assumed he’d struck something harder than the dirt. His fingers shook as he drew his hand back, and he stuck them beneath his arms for warmth. At first, the cold temperature puzzled him until he accounted for the elevation where snow remained in north-facing overhangs. Remembering the flint he’d used last night, he patted his shirt pocket. He blew out another long shaky breath, as his fingers found it.
With the rising moon, shadows of tree specters revealed themselves. They’d find a new purpose. In a short time, he had collected charcoal from the closest downed trunk. But what could he use for kindling? He smiled to himself, and reached to his back, pulling his sketchbook from where he’d tucked it into his pants waistband. He thought of the irony of using his hard-earned sketches as fuel to save his life. When he could control his trembling hands enough to strike a fire, the tiny flames licked hungrily at the pages torn from the book.
He pulled off his shirt and lay it across the same tree trunk supplying fuel for the fire. The shirt he wore beneath was damp, but he couldn’t convince himself to remove it. He reasoned that one shirt was fine, but he pulled off his socks and boots, extending his feet to the glowing coals.
Assessing his situation, he knew he could survive a night on the mountain. It was a long way down for a man on foot, but like the horse, he’d eventually find his way back to the ranch. That’s what he told himself even as his teeth chattered and his empty stomach rumbled. He laughed aloud. If so little could defeat him, he needed to use his ticket and return to St. Louis as soon as possible. A little discomfort was a small matter.
Distant and singular, a howl pierced the quiet. Luke squinted beyond the circle of firelight, hearing nothing but the crack of the fire and his own pounding heart. “This isn’t the time to give into your imagination.” After throwing the last of his sticks on the fire, he reached for the rifle and pulled it onto his lap as the darkness settled ponderously about him.
Chapter Twenty-one
A Future and a Hope
“For I know the plans I have for you,” says the LORD. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11
July 7, 1890
Nathan loaded his bag into the back of the wagon. Dawn watched him from the porch steps, holding little Rowena in her arms. Jessie and Lena, fresh morning aprons tied over their dresses and wearing warm smiles on their faces, each held a hand of the renegade, Tommy.
Nate said something to Evan and strode back across to the porch steps. He grasped Lena’s hand and held it in both of his. “Lena, I can’t think of a more gracious hostess than you’ve been to me this past week. I think you and Evan are going to make a great success of this ranch. You can count on me to tell my friends about what you’ve established here.”
Lena rose on tiptoes and brushed his cheek with a kiss. “Thank you, Nathan. You’ll always be welcomed.”
“Jessie Long, I am speechless to describe your baking. The cinnamon rolls alone are worth the trip.” He kissed her cheek, causing Jessie’s cheeks to burst into a bloom of freckles.
When he stepped up to Dawn, Rowena a barrier between them, he kissed the child’s downy head instead, and winked conspiratorially at Dawn. “I wouldn’t tempt fate by kissing you again.” he whispered as he leaned close to her ear. “I might forget we’re just friends.”
“Thank you, Nate, for everything.”
He held her gaze for a while before saying in a more serious tone, “Wait for him, Dawn. Don’t be afraid of the future.”
Dawn’s father took Nate’s hand and gave it a firm shake. As she watched them share a joke so amiably, she wondered if her father felt any disappointment that she and Nathan had not developed more than a friendship here. But Nate was right, his kiss was tender and sweet, but no more. Still, was he correct? Was there some mystical, prophetic awareness communicated through a kiss? It seemed fanciful, but she secretly hoped for a chance to discover the truth for herself.
Nate threw a wave to them all, trotted back to the wagon, climbed up beside Evan and they were off.
Dawn settled herself on the porch with the southern view taking in the stream. She looked up from time to time and watched as her father walked the bank, fishing pole in hand. A work of fiction lay open on her lap. She’d read the first paragraph a dozen times.
The sun, warm on her legs, tempted her to remove her boots. She resisted the urge, but moved her chair closer to the pool of sunlight. Before sitting again, she stepped from the porch, looking up to the mountains that had called Luke. What was he sketching today? Or was he riding by some pristine lake, thrilled by its beauty. Was he trying to name the color of the water? She recalled, then, her watercolor class, the color blocks in her tray—azure, Prussian, aquamarine.
A pleasant memory emerged of discoveries that summer with Nathan. As she’d dipped her brush in clear water and stroked the block of aquamarine, she’d dropped a pool of it on her paper. As instructed, she cleaned her brush and stroked it, this time, along the block of bright cadmium yellow. As the single drop of pigment met and spread throughout the pool of blue, rays of lovely spring green radiated across the page. The colors swirled, transforming as they flowed into a single pool. Such magic played out upon the stage of her paper.
Her gaze lifted to the sky. She saw again the colors on her school worktable. In her mind she sorted through them selecting the shades she imagined would match the watercolor sky stretching between hills of hunter green and gold. A tingle of pleasure coursed through her, much as she imagined electricity flowing through wires. What magic a true artist, like Luke, could create!
Loud voices drifted from the barn. Dawn picked up her walking stick and started off to see what might have happened. Maybe Luke had returned. She quickened her pace.
Bart stood by the lathered neck of his horse, both breathing hard. “I found two calves at the far end of the herd, one dead, only a part of the other.”
Evan rested his hand on the horse’s neck, his expression as disturbed as she’d ever seen him. “Could you tell what direction she took the carcass?”
Bart swung his head to the west. “Further up Fox Peak, I’m guessing.”
Evan dragged a hand down his cheek, and pulled on his chin. “Did you see any clear tracks?”
“A few, near the creek.” Bart looked reluctant to say more. He lowered his voice. “Could have been the same female Luke took a shot at last week.” Bart glanced over to the women gathered on the porch steps, then quickly back to Evan. He lowered his voice yet again, but not enough to prevent Dawn from hearing. “There was another set of tracks leading in the same direction.”
Evan’s brows lowered. “The bay’s?”
Bart nodded.
Lena
stiffened beside her. Dawn lay her hand on Lena’s arm. “What is it?”
Bart continued, “Her prints were older, so I’d say they’d passed through as much as a day earlier. Not sure, of course. You’re the better tracker.”
Lena composed herself, saying, “It’s the direction Luke was headed.”
Dawn asked, “But that’s a large range, isn’t it? Didn’t he say the horse tracks were older?”
Lena nodded. “Yes, he did. Luke could be half-way home by now.” She smiled, but no assurance lay on her lips. “Would you like to keep Jessie and I company in the kitchen?”
Try as she might, Dawn was unable to follow the conversation between the two women. She sensed they were chattering to distract her, frequently asking her questions about trivial things, life in the city and new fashions and entertainment. Their attempts weren’t working.
Luke was alone. As strong as he was, his inexperience would surely be his Achilles heel. Evan should not have let him go, but she’d also encouraged him. Greenhorns, that’s what fiction writers called them. Greenhorns had no business heading out into the wilderness without proper guides.
Luke would have gone, no matter what. She knew it was true. “Excuse me, I think I’ll find my father and let him know dinner might be ready soon,” Dawn said, starting for the door.
Lena called after her, “Dawn, I wouldn’t worry. Luke isn’t expected until tomorrow.”
Dawn pulled a strained smile to her lips, and turned away. But where was he tonight?
***
Kneeling by the stream, Luke scooped water into his mouth. Convinced it was the same stream he’d used to bathe the horse’s wounds yesterday, he felt a surge of encouragement. He was on the right path. His stomach rumbled. He thought of the jerked beef in the saddlebag, now long gone.
From the opposite side of the stream and farther downhill, a movement caught his eye.
A Portrait of Dawn Page 21