Dare to Dream (12 page)

“Sir, I did not stop off to watch you eat. I have a camp to make and a mule to tend. If you have something to say to me, I expect you best swallow and get on with it.”

The officer scowled up from his plate as if noticing Will for the first time. His gaze raked him. He took a swill of wine, swallowed, and said, “I have been sent by General Taylor to purchase your stud.”

A damned lie and Will knew it as such before the bastard finished uttering the words. “No sir, you have not. While I am right pleased to hear of his well deserved promotion, I know for a fact he didn’t send you to buy Spirit.”

The Lieutenant stood slowly, letting his napkin drift to the floor. “Are you calling me a liar—sir?”

“I suppose I am. You see, Taylor would never offer to buy my stud as it was him who gave the horse to me in the first place.” A bit of information the officer had missed, by the surprised expression on his face. Will had often heard of
Taylor’s Morgan
when he scouted for the Colonel, just as he suspected this arrogant idiot had
.

“You expect me to believe you? Why would he give away his prized stallion?”

“I don’t rightly care what you believe, but feel free to take my claim up with the General. He loves to recount the story of how his mare got shot through by a Sioux arrow, and his scout managed to save not only her but the foal she carried. As a reward, he gave the colt to the scout at weaning. The story does get a bit bigger each time I hear it, but the gist is accurate.”

Will turned on his heel and walked to the tent flap, paused, and turned back to say, “If you do actually speak to the General, give him my regards, and tell him we’ll have Spirit’s first foal crop ready for breaking come spring.”

Will walked to where he had left his wagon and mule only to find them missing. He turned and ran smack into the orderly. “Have you seen Bess?”

The kid laughed. “Yes sir, Will, I took the liberty of unharnessing and watering her. She and your wagon are down by the scout’s tent.” He looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “They like to stay downwind of the Lieutenant. They asked me to tell you, you were more than welcome to camp with them this evening.”

“That’s very hospitable of them, and you are?”

“Larabie, sir. I mean, Will. Corporal Benjamin Larabie.” He stuck out his hand.

Will shook it. “Many thanks, Ben. Don’t let that idiot get you killed.”

“I’ll sure try not to,” Ben called to his back.

Will walked in the direction indicated until he came upon a group of men playing cards around the campfire, only their heads and hands showing from holes cut in their blankets. Two were Indian, Navaho by their looks, a Mexican, and two white men.

“Evenin’, gents. What’s the ante?”

“We’re playing for beans.” His Irish brogue was so thick you could walk on it. He waggled red, bushy eyebrows at Will. “Would you like to be buying in?”

Will walked to the back of his wagon and riffled around for the bag of beans hidden under the pelts and was pleased to see Bess hadn’t been foraging. He held the bag high.

“Lads, we have us a rich man to skin!”

Introductions made, coffee was poured and good Irish whiskey added to stave off the cold. The stories told were rich and varied, and grew louder as the night progressed.

Troopers wandered in for a hand and a tale. One brought two rabbits and roasted them over the spit in lieu of his ante of beans, and then generously left them behind after he won. These times reminded Will what he liked about his years in the service. Asses like the lieutenant were why he was glad when his time was up. He shook the hand of one after another and then called it a night. Knowing neither he nor their families would ever see many of them again.

He wanted an early start in the morning. With luck, he could make a decent start for home before the dark caught up with him. He bundled in the blankets as the warmth of the wool and the whiskey eased his body and his mind. Thoughts of home and a girl with silver hair and gray eyes followed him into his dreams.

Meghan’s head spun, sweat drenched her naked body. She so wanted to rid herself of the blanket, to allow what air remained in the space to reach her skin, but she didn’t dare. W.B. She shortened his name in her mind. White Buffalo, the name didn’t roll trippingly off the tongue, especially hers, sat cross legged on the other side of the glowing stones. He appeared to be in some sort of Zen state, but might be acting. If she stripped off her blanket and danced around like a crazed gypsy, would he remain motionless, or join in the dance? She didn’t plan to seek an answer.

To give him credit, he had explained the need to be naked. She only had the one set of clothes and could hardly ride back to the cabin in them wringing wet. Considering the amount of perspiration running from her pores, the description was certain to be accurate.

He had been a gentleman, offering to let her strip in the small anteroom. After he undid the necessary buttons, ropes, and toggles, she was surprised her clothes didn’t just fall off. Thankful not to be completely nude, Meg was close enough. She wore a loincloth like his, no more than a rectangle of chamois between her thighs, held at her hips with a leather thong. Apparently female guests didn’t frequent the lodge, and therefore, he had no similar article available to cover her breasts. Given time, a leather punch, and some more of the soft deer hide, she could have fashioned one if she had two good hands.

W.B. wanted her to take some
herbs
. He had, to show her they wouldn’t kill her, but she remained firm. Meghan never dabbled in the drug scene and saw no need to start now. She held her ground even when he explained birch tea fell into the same category. She remembered enough high school science to understand aspirin derived from birch. As her dizziness grew, she began to suspect the powder he tossed on the rocks between dippers of water might contain the same drugs she refused. These she couldn’t avoid since she required air.

Her head lolled to the side. The blanket slipped from her grasp as her muscles loosened. Her right arm slowly lowered until her hand rested in her lap and the fuzziness faded from her mind. She breathed crisp, cold air. Meghan opened her eyes to find herself in a rocky clearing. Bald eagles soared in the blue sky above.

She nosed the sparse grass at the base of the boulder and nibbled at the blades with delicate lips before grinding them slowly between her teeth to allow the nutty sweetness to escape along her tongue. She froze at a sound. Lifting her gaze she watched his approach and felt no fear. The huge white buffalo strode up to her, gazing into her eyes. She stared as her reflection shimmered in his dark eyes, a white deer. The thunder of hooves shook the ground, and she whirled to stand at the buffalo’s side, waiting, heart racing.

A stallion came over the rise to join them on the summit, rearing and pawing the air. White like the purest snow, he sparkled in the sunlight, his markings few but bold. Across his chest, a bloodred patch in the shape of an eagle, the outstretched wingtips resting on his shoulders like a breastplate. Another red patch rode his head and ears like a hat with the brim shielding his eyes. He snorted and blew, tossing his flowing mane from side to side as he worked his mighty neck, nudging his way between her and the buffalo.

Their whiteness became blinding in the sunlight, the mountain turning to a glowing blur. Meghan, the deer, closed her eyes against their combined glory.

Cool winds caressed her skin, and a low chant filled her ears. She didn’t understand the words, but her lack of knowledge didn’t bother her. Meg’s body felt boneless. The coolness brushed her face and neck then her arm and along her leg. She enjoyed the refreshing kiss on her hot skin. Her breast was lifted, and the breeze touched her flesh more intimately. Meghan’s eyes popped open.

A moment before she would have sworn she couldn’t have gotten any hotter, but now blood boiled in her veins and burned a pathway to the surface in a fiery blush. Without looking down, she realized she lay naked. More men had seen her in her birthday suit this week than had her entire life. Hell, even her doctor was a woman.

White Buffalo continued to wipe her down with a cool cloth until she caught hold of his wrist. Meghan’s momentary perplexity at his bright smile disappeared when she realized she had used her right hand. Embarrassment suddenly forgotten, she flexed her fingers, her wrist, her elbow, and raised her arm. Everything worked!

“What did you dream, little one?” He drew the blanket up under her chin, sat back on his heels, and waited.

“That I was a deer.”

White Buffalo smiled. “What color?”

“White. Does color matter?”

“In dreams, all things matter. That you are white in the dream is of great importance. That you have a spirit guide means much.”

“A spirit guide?” Meghan sat up, clutching the blanket under her arms.

“In animal form they guide the path of our dreams and aid us in life. It was once the custom to rename a male child after his first vision quest when his guide revealed itself to him.”

“So, your spirit guide is a white buffalo? Which, by the way, is a mouthful to say. Can I call you W.B.?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You can call me Grandfather.”

“Grandpa?” The title seemed extra creepy considering what his hands had been doing moments ago.

He slowly shook his head from side to side. Definitely a no.

“So, what does your spirit guide mean?” She watched his chest puff out.

“The White Buffalo represents many things. The All Father, the one you call God, takes this form to bring blessings to his chosen. It is the symbol of great power, but the dream must be interpreted as a whole to understand the meaning.”

“Well, it’s good you don’t have a God complex.” Meg rolled her eyes. “So, what does a white deer mean?”

“Deer always represent food. The white suggests food for the spirit, not the stomach. What else did you see?”

Meghan’s skin cooled, and she began to shiver. W.B., already dressed, made no move to rise, so she figured she didn’t get to dress until she told her dream. Pulling the blanket under her chin, she tucked it tight under her hips and began. “I was on a mountaintop eating a tuft of grass. It tasted nutty.” She didn’t know if the grass or its taste was important in the grand scheme of things. “Eagles circled overhead, and then a white buffalo appeared and stood beside me. I heard thundering hooves like a stampede, but only a single horse appeared, a white stallion—”

“All white?”

“No. It had a large red marking on its chest shaped like an eagle.” Meghan flung out her arms to represent outstretched wings. The blanket dropped, as did White Buffalo’s gaze. Hastily pulling the blanket back up, while well aware he had already seen everything, Meghan still managed to blush. “Any chance of getting my clothes before I finish this story?”

A mischievous smile, so like Will’s, spread across his face as he again shook his head.

Best get it told then. “He also had a red pattern on his head from his eyes up, covering his head and ears. He seemed all full of piss and vinegar and edged his way between the buffalo and me. I mean the deer. Then everything got really bright. The end. Clothes please?”

His eyebrow hitched up, but he rose and produced the bundle of her clothes from a basket and sat them on the foot of the pallet. “Shake them well. The warmth here draws spiders.”

Errgh, spiders!
That’s what got her into this mess in the first place.

As soon as he left, she lifted each garment and shook vigorously. She pulled the shirt on first, hastening to button the buttons all the way up to her neck, leaving the sleeves flapping since she had no gloves. Once in her britches, she managed all five buttons herself and even got the rope tied, praying all the while her miracle cure was permanent. She hadn’t gotten so much pleasure out of dressing herself since she turned two, and this time, she had the shoes on the right feet.

God, she was hungry.

Once dressed, they went back into the cold, which now, seemed colder. White Buffalo waited by the horse. He plastered a fur cap to her head before giving her a leg up. Her hair, still damp from sweat, would probably be frozen solid by the time they reached the cabin. She envisioned the braids snapping off and shuddered. The braids made her think of streusel. Her stomach growled.

W.B. flung himself to the paint’s back and pulled Meghan back against him. He wrapped an arm around her waist, but made no move to take the reins.

His nearness seemed more discombobulating than on the ride up. Meghan chewed on her lower lip. She’d never been into older guys like Donna. Knowing the Indian had seen her naked really screwed with her head, but at the same time, quickened her pulse. The fall must have rattled her sensibilities, not to mention her brain. He shifted behind her. No, that was only her imagination playing tricks—as was the throaty chuckle in her ear.

She took the reins in her right hand, how hard could this be?
Don’t think hard, stupid!
Turning the paint’s nose down the mountain, she hoped the horse knew the way because she sure as hell didn’t. Food forgotten, her entire focus centered on the warm body pressed against her back. Was there a Mrs. White Buffalo?