Dare to Dream (13 page)

Once the FBI and Sheriff’s Department cleared the scene, Donna and Dan searched the house and barn again, tearing down yellow crime scene tape as they went. They meticulously went over everything possible hoping to find the one clue everyone else missed. Neither found anything to aid them in the mystery of Meghan’s disappearance.

They did discover the house featured neither bathroom facilities nor running water. How had that little old lady hauled water from the well? Oh yes, right, she didn’t. Ghosts can’t carry water or cups or teakettles. Donna stuck by what she had seen and damn it, no one was gonna convince her otherwise. Perhaps someone had impersonated Mrs. Thornton, but it had been a person
,
not an apparition.
Someone
who might be a clue, if only they could find them.

“So, what do we do for a toilet?” Donna mumbled from between the fingers laced under her chin, face down on the dusty table.

“You sure you want to do this, babe?” Dan asked as he squatted next to her. “I need to get the dozers and backhoes out here quick before the ground freezes solid. It’s not like back home. Winter hits hard, lasts for months, and the snow piles up in huge drifts.”

“I’ve been skiing at Steamboat. I know what it’s like, but I’m not leaving.” She wanted to retract the words the moment they spilled from her lips. She had been skiing here, with Bob.

“If I can get the pad excavated and the plumbing roughed in before we get a hard freeze, we’ll still be good to go. The kit comes from Denver, so it should be here by the time the foundation’s done.” He hugged her from behind. “Can you live with an outhouse until then?”

“Hell no! You’ll need a port-o-let for the workers. Tell them to deliver two and make sure the men stay out of mine. We can keep the hotel room for sleeping and showers.”

Bob had cancelled both rooms because he was an ass. But since ski season was still a few weeks away, Dan had no trouble reregistering. Off season, hotels counted themselves lucky to get any business.

“We need to get back to town then, so I can place the order and round up a crew. Once the season’s in full swing, we won’t be able to find an able-bodied man to work for us.”

Donna pouted. “Not even for a celebrity?” She fluffed her hair and stuck out her chest, not that she needed to. The girls stuck out pretty good on their own. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d used Dolly’s name to get her way.

Dan laughed and copped a feel. “You better stay out of sight anyway, or we’ll get no work done.”

“What, you can’t make the men keep their eyes on their work?” She nestled in his arms.

“Hard to do when the bossman can’t keep his eyes off you.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry you have to go through this. I know you love her. I do, too.”

Donna’s heart swelled. Only Dan said love in the present tense. Everyone else had written Meghan off. “Do you have any idea how much I adore you?”

“Well, I’d just say yes, but then you’d have no reason to show me.” Dan waggled his eyebrows.

Donna grinned, stood and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Come on. Let’s get this show on the road. You can get everything set before the town folds up for the day then maybe, if you’re real nice, I’ll let you show me the hot tub.” She tugged at his hand, leading the way to the truck.

Donna felt giddiness she hadn’t known in the five years since she and Dan married. Bob always lurked in the background, undermining everything, insinuating himself in their lives. Finally free of him, under different circumstances, they could be happy here.

Oh, Meg, where are you?

* * * *

The next week was a whirlwind of activity. This wasn’t their first rodeo. They had built a log house from a kit made by this company before. Back home spring rains had been the problem. Here, they raced a hard freeze. They’d pretty much had to construct the house all by themselves in Arkansas, since hardly anyone had a clue how to assemble a log home. Out here, the rustic structures dotted the landscape, and men were anxious for the work.

By the end of the week, the foundation was down, trenches dug below the frost line, and the plumbing roughed in. Dan assembled a full crew and lined up the crane needed to raise the heavy, twelve-inch-thick logs. If the kit arrived as scheduled on Monday morning, they’d be ready to start.

The outside really went up quickly, like Lincoln Logs. They had opted for a metal roof, so that should go quickly as well. The stone and interior work always seemed to take forever. At least keeping the crew on task would help keep their minds off the stalled investigation.

No one had seen hide nor hair of Meghan Dennehy. It was as if she vanished into thin air.

Trying to write out everything about Meghan, Donna realized how little she actually knew about her friend prior to their meeting in college. Meg never talked about herself. Or maybe Donna just hadn’t listened. Meg knew more about the 1800s than Donna did about the present. She always had her nose in a book, reading or researching a piece of antiquity she stumbled across in the least likely place. Primitives were their shared passion. Past that, Donna had no idea what made Meghan tick.

Donna had tried to set her up from time to time with Dan’s friends, but Meg never seemed to be interested. She had an ideal in her mind no one seemed able to live up to.

Donna always teased Meghan had been born a hundred years too late. Instead of teasing and taking her for granted, she should have been getting to know her best friend. Was something or someone in her past the cause of her disappearance? They could hire a private investigator, buy a bloodhound, or consult a medium, and she would do so gladly if it brought Meg back.

The logs arrived on time and work began. This plan was different than the house in Arkansas. They’d chosen a chalet style with an A-frame midsection with lots of glass front and back. Donna ignored the workmen’s gawking stares as she swung a hammer with the rest of them, setting in window frames and door facings. The physical labor helped her anxious mind and relieved some of the nervous energy.

She hired a PI, but since she had so little background to share, he would have to start with the college and work backward to find Meghan’s past before moving forward. It would take more time and more money, but at least something was being done. The locals LEOs were at a standstill. Donna suspected the FBI was, too. Without the all-powerful judge at their back, no one seemed much interested in Meghan’s fate.

By the end of the second week the house stood tall and proud. The tinted glass reflected the storm clouds overhead, and the green metal of the roof blended into the wood line. Thank goodness the logs had come prefinished as it was far too cold to apply stain. The weather service promised the first snow of the season.

Boxes filled with cabinetry, plumbing, and lighting fixtures filled the main living area. Their pallets rested on shipping blankets to protect the newly finished floor. The fireplace had kept the house warm enough for the polyurethane to cure while they waited for the plumber got the heater installed.

The master bath on the second floor was complete, but their mattress and box springs rested on the bedroom floor for now. The remainder of the furniture hadn’t been delivered.

“At least we can work on hanging cabinets and setting toilets if we get snowed in,” Dan said as he draped himself over her shoulder.

Donna sat on a pillow and stared out the glass wall at the barn as she did every night.

“She grew up in an orphanage, and I never knew.” The pages of the PI’s report lay scattered on the floor, a complete dead end. “They have no idea who her family was or even if she had one. She was abandoned.” She looked at Dan, her eyes brimming with tears. “How can someone just walk off and leave a baby behind? What’s wrong with people?”

Will sat outside the general store with a cup of coffee in his hand. His pocket watch said half past eight, yet the store was still closed up tight. Dammit all to hell! He wanted gone before noon when Miss May’s girls were up and about. The first one to spot him would tell Kathy, and there’d be hell to pay.

Finally, a portly man, with little hair on top but a lot on his face, came down the walk, keys jingling in his hand. He was not Mr. MacGruger, but he’d do. Will gulped his coffee and swung down from the wagon.

“Mr. MacGruger under the weather?” Will asked as the man fumbled his keys.

“Under the sod. Died two months ago,” the man replied without a hint of emotion.

Will stuck his hand out. “I’m Will Thornton from up the mountain. I’m really sorry—”

“The horse trader?” The man took Will’s measure before taking his hand. “A Cavalry man asked for directions to your place yesterday or the day before. I forget which.”

“Did you give him any?” Will had a bad feeling in his gut.

“How could I when I only just met you?” He finally turned the right key in the lock. “He did ask around town, though. You aren’t in some kind of trouble, are you? I don’t want no trouble—”

“No, no trouble. He thought I had a horse for sale that wasn’t. I met up with him on the trail and set him straight.” He fished Charlie’s list from his shirt pocket and handed the paper to the gent. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Jenkins. Oliver Jenkins, brother to the widow. I’ll have this tallied up for you in a second.”

“Take your time, I can start loading—”

“Not until the bill’s settled.”

Shit!
Will heaved a sigh of exasperation. He’d never clear town soon enough if this man didn’t get a move on. It quickly became obvious math was not Jenkins’s strong suit. Will had to point out his errors, help the man refigure, and it was nigh on to ten o’clock before he got started loading.

Will shoved the last case of canned goods under the flour sacks when the slant of the sun flashed on something red in the back corner of the store. He’d meant to find a pretty for Meghan, and red was for certainly her color. After a quick scan of the street, he ducked back inside and darted to the back.

His grin grew from ear to ear as he envisioned her in the dress. She’d need a shawl for winter. The dress wasn’t designed for the cold with its little puff sleeves and squared neckline that dipped to a point at the bosom. The slender skirt had a bustle in the back. The whole outfit was done up in red calico. He held his hands up to judge the size. Best to buy a spool of matching thread, just in case.

As he toted the dress box to the wagon, small hands covered his eyes, and breasts pressed against his back. “Guess who?”

His blood curdled. Damn, he’d been caught!

“Did ya get me a present?” Kathy’s hands began tugging at the box. “I’ll be real grateful.”

What did he ever see in the girl?
Well, besides that.
His patience, worn thin, snapped. “Give over Kathy, it ain’t for you!”

She put her hands on her hips, and sang out loudly, “You taken to wearing dresses, Will Thornton?”

“How do you know I bought a dress?”
Why was he even talking to her?

“I know a dress box when I see one. If not me, who’s it for?”

“My wife.”
Where the hell did that come from?

Kathy’s face turned as red as her hair. Spit flew from her mouth when she screeched her accusation, “You got yourself married! Why you no good, two-timing, son of a—”

“Hey now! If I’m a two-timer, what do you call yourself?” Will gave one more tug on the box, tucked it under his arm, and climbed into the wagon seat. He’d stop to fix the tarp later.

“If you’re so married, why didn’t you bring her with you?” Kathy smiled smugly.

Before his brain knew what his mouth was about to say, he’d said it, clucked to Bess, and moved the wagon out, leaving Kathy with her mouth hanging open.

He had lost his mind. In a few short hours, not only would the whole town think him married, but a soon to be papa as well. Why did he say Meghan was in the family way? The more he mulled the blunder over, the more he liked the idea. Though, admittedly, he liked the idea of what went into getting Meghan with child more than the rest.

He and Bess made a slower go up the mountain with a full wagon. He drove until dusk, stopped and unhitched the mule, then pulled the tarp over the supplies. He’d put his bedroll on top for the night. The flour sacks might be lumpy, but they’d be warmer than the ground, and his presence would keep away most of the varmints. His Winchester would take care of the rest.

He fed Bess, built a fire, and cooked his dinner of roasted rabbit with a tin of peaches for dessert. He climbed into his bedroll early. The sooner he went to sleep, the sooner the sun would rise, and he’d be one day closer to home. A fitful slumber made him toss and turn, his mind returning again and again to his words to Kathy. He’d never considered asking Meg to marry him, or that she might say no.

An entire pot of coffee was needed to wake him enough to get Bess in her traces. He hadn’t gotten two winks of sleep. He sucked a piece of hardtack rather than wasting time with cooking a proper breakfast. Somewhere around dawn the thought had struck him. They had spent so little time together, and most of that with her ill. If she judged him by the trick he played on her before he left, some serious wooing stood between him and her heart. Committed, he planned to do whatever proved necessary to win her.