A Dream Unfolding (16 page)

Thomas.
 
A pang of guilt stabbed Drew at the thought of his brother.
 
The last time he saw him was a few days before he and Hannah left Cincinnati.
 
Making the excuse of running an errand, he left the clinic without telling Hannah his true destination.
 
Hiring a hackney, he arrived at the jail that housed his brother, the criminal.
 
The stench inside the jail overwhelmed his senses and almost gave credence to the voice telling him to forget his brother.

But, he could not.
 
Guilt hounded him for days.
 
All he could hear was his father’s voice asking him over and over to take care of Thomas.
 
Even though Thomas was a grown man, the promise still haunted Drew.

Following several sleepless nights, he decided to visit Thomas, though completely unprepared for the image that awaited him.
 
When the jailer stopped in front of a cell, Drew barely recognized his brother.
 
His sandy brown hair looked unkempt, caked with dirt.
 
His threadbare clothing sported a similar look.
  
Blue eyes sunk into his head, leaving dark circles.
 
Haggard and weary.

The conversation was much like Drew expected.
 
When he tried to engage, Thomas shot back angry retorts, even accusing Drew of gloating—over what, he did not know.
 
Frustrated by the accusation, Drew told him that he and Hannah were moving to La Paz.

Unquenchable desire to lash out spurred him on.
 
He confronted Thomas, making his own harsh accusations against his own flesh and blood.
 
He told Thomas that he cost him the clinic and his livelihood.
 
In his anger he said things he greatly regretted.

Once he finished venting, Drew turned to leave, shooting a pathetic “goodbye” over his shoulder.
 
It was the kind that leaves one wondering how things might go should they ever cross paths again.

Then, unexpectedly, when Drew reached the end of the long hallway, Thomas gave a chilling laugh followed by his own emotionless goodbye.
 
The reaction cut Drew deeply.
 
What he intended to be a clearing-of-the-air, turned out to be a disaster.

As Hannah reclined next to him wordlessly, Drew stirred from his burdensome thoughts of his brother.
 
He could do nothing to repair that relationship now.

The mild shaking of Hannah’s body alerted him that his wife was crying.
 
He should do something.
 
He should say something to comfort her.
 
Yet his own fractured emotions kept him from trying.

Piled on to the guilt and self-recrimination, loneliness wedged in.
 
He missed Hannah’s smiling face.
 
He missed the way she used to brighten when he entered the room.
 
It was like he was the most important man.
 
Her reaction bolstered him, added to his confidence.

Now in the absence of her smile, her soft touch, the light in her eyes, he felt insignificant and undone.

Just reach out.
 
His inner voice chastised vehemently.
 
She still needs you.

Hovering his hand in midair over her shoulder, Drew hesitated.
 
Her shaking stopped.
 
Had she sensed his hand mere inches away?
 
Wavering, indecisive, he listened.
 
Soft, steady breathing of sleep reached his ears.
 
Slowly he moved his hand back to his side as the loneliness threatened to suffocate him.

Chapter
8

The dust stirring from the cattle stung Will’s tired eyes.
 
In the two days since the Indian attack, he slept not more than an hour or two.
 
Even his exhaustion could not diminish the bright pink and orange streaks splaying across the horizon, chasing the last remnants of night from the sky.
 
God must have known he needed the little bit of peace that always rose up from his soul when witnessing such a glorious sunrise.

Other than this brief moment, peace seemed a distant friend—the kind that never wrote.
 
The burdensome responsibility he bore ushered the refreshing peace to the corner of his heart.
 
His men needed him to stay strong.
 
He had to do whatever it takes to get them and the cattle to the Arizona Territory safely.

Only things weren’t exactly going as planned.
 
With one man buried on the side of the trail two days ride behind them, and another looking like he might soon join his friend, Will fought against the strong sense of failure pushing through his fatigue.
 
If given the choice, he would rather have both men healthy and in the saddle.
 
No one
wanted
to be attacked by Indians.

Nevertheless, they had been.
 
And now it was his job to pick up the pieces and get everyone to the next milestone—Santa Fe—as quickly and safely as possible.

How could he do that when every tired muscle begged him to slip from his horse and sleep the day away?

Stifling a groan of frustration, Will turned his horse from the flank of the herd to camp.
 
Maybe his mind would function better once his stomach was full.

Pulling the chestnut mare to a stop next to the other horses, he dismounted in a wobbly manner, his feet almost buckling under him.
 
Resting his hand on the horn of his saddle, he steadied himself before unbuckling the straps.
 
Lifting the saddle from the horse that had given him too much trouble last night, he carried it away from the horses as Covington took over the horse’s care.

That horse, who he fondly dubbed Hilda, was one of the mares he bought from the livery back home.
 
She had not been cattle trained and seemed to be adjusting to the cattle very slowly.
 
Last night she nickered and whinnied far too much, setting the longhorns on edge—and Will.
 
He was too tired to deal with a skittish horse.
 
But, he rode Jackson most of the day before, maybe a bit too long before giving him a rest.
 
When he asked for a mount, Covington suggested Hilda since she was the freshest.

Tossing his saddle on the ground, Will fought against the temptation to lie down without breakfast.
 
Instead, he forced his feet towards the makeshift table where Snake dished out breakfast.

As he neared the table, a flash of silver caught his eye.
 
Owens worked quickly to stash the flask, but not before it registered in Will’s foggy brain.

Slamming his palm down on the table, Will said, through gritted teeth, “Owens!
 
What do you think you are doing?”

Feigning innocence, Owens just shrugged.

In no mood to deal with insolent behavior, Will leaned forward into the man’s face.
 
The smell of alcohol invaded his senses.
 
“I will not have my men drinking on the trail!”

“Calm down, boss.
 
I’m not on until this afternoon.
 
How else do you expect me to fall asleep in broad daylight?”
 
Owens said, his eyes narrowing to tiny slits.

Adrenaline shot through Will’s body, bringing him fully awake.
 
He struggled not to hit the man as he tested Will’s resolve.
 
Reaching his hand to Owens’ inside vest pocket, Will took the flask, opened it, and dumped the contents into the dirt.
 
Then he handed the empty flask back to Owens.

“I expect my men to have a clear head while we’re on the trail.”

Owens’ face turned beet red.
 
When he started to stand, Whitten clapped his hand down on his shoulder.
 
The forthcoming response died on Owens tongue when Whitten shook his head in warning.
 
At least the fool listened to his friend, Will thought, walking from the scene.

Splashing cold water over his face, Will blotted the soothing liquid away with the sleeve of his shirt.
 
For a brief moment he closed his eyes, calming his temper before he did something stupid, like firing Owens.
 
Replacing his Stetson on top of his head, he took the bowl of grits Snake offered.
 
Leaning against the chuck wagon, some distance from his men, he ate slowly.
 
Exhaustion tugged at him.
 
Lord, I just need to make it to Santa Fe.
 
Give me the strength to get us there.

Finishing the last bite of grits, he dished up more.
 
Grabbing a clean spoon, he walked to the litter where the young Indian boy lay sleeping.
 
Taking a seat next to the sleeping boy, Will could not shake the feeling that there was something unusual about him.
 
His angular jaw line and tanned skin gave him the appearance of being part Indian.
 
Yet, his fairer hair suggested otherwise.
 
The scars on his back told the story of painful abuse.
 
His thin arms and legs gave him the appearance of a young boy of twelve or so.
 
But, the dusting of facial hair on his chin inferred he might be older.

Regardless, sitting here staring at him would not answer Will’s questions or help him figure out what to do with him.
 
Reaching over the boy, he gave him a gentle shove.

As the boy’s eyes fluttered open, he shrank away from Will, fear widening his blue eyes.
 
He has blue eyes, Will thought.

Softly, reassuringly, Will asked, “What’s your name, son?”

No answer.

“Do you speak English?”

A slight, almost imperceptible nod was his answer.
 
His recoiled posture still spoke of fear and distrust.

Holding the bowl of food towards the boy, Will introduced himself.
 
“Name’s Will
Colter
.
 
Would you like some food?”

Slowly the boy reached out to grasp the bowl with shaky hands.
 
Once he had a firm grip, he quickly pulled the bowl close to his chest, shoveling the food in as if he had not eaten for weeks.

“Take it easy,” Will warned.
 
“There’s plenty more if you are still hungry.
 
Don’t want to make yourself sick.”

The boy slowed his eating, keeping one wary eye on Will.

“Looks like your wounds are healing nicely,” Will commented, not sure why he continued with the one sided conversation.
 
Maybe if he kept talking, the boy might see he had nothing to fear.

As the boy swallowed his last bite, Will held out his hand for the empty bowl.
 
The boy gave it back, letting go quickly as if it were on fire.
 
Standing, Will refilled the bowl with more grits and grabbed a hard biscuit.
 
When he returned, he gave both to the boy.
 
The second round of food disappeared as quickly as the first.

“If you’re feeling up to riding,” Will started, “I’d like you in the saddle today.
 
It would help us cover more ground.”

The boy nodded.

Will waited another minute, hoping the boy might show some sign of speaking.
 
Hearing nothing and needing to move on with his day, he turned to leave.

“Hawk,” the timid voice spoke.

Will looked over his shoulder, “Pardon?”

The boy responded with more confidence this time.
 
“My name is Hawk.”

“Well, it is nice to meet you, Hawk.
 
See Covington for a horse and saddle.” Will said, pointing to the wrangler.
 
Maybe in time, Hawk would learn he could trust Will.

After returning the empty bowl to Snake, Will led Jackson from the herd of horses.
 
As he lifted his saddle from the ground, a shadow fell across his back.