Dream Country (33 page)

“Help! Mister, help!” the kid yelled.

The girl’s wailing was high and horrible. James kicked harder, driving Chieftain faster, the horse’s hooves smashing through the ice crust. The boy crouched down, intent on his work. Twice, calling for help, he had looked backward. But suddenly he was hunched over again, face-forward and focused, seeing that James was on his way.

David heard the rancher riding up, but he just stayed crouched between Sage’s legs, giving all his concentration to getting the baby out. He had seen many puppies born on the farm, and he had been present for the birth of his mother’s real son, so he had known, when these last contractions began, that Sage’s time was now—that there wasn’t any chance to get to any ranch house.

“Aaaaaah!” Sage moaned. “It hurts!”

“The baby’s coming,” David said. “You have to push now. Can you hear me, Sage? Can you do it?”

Sage didn’t waste her energy on words. Her face red and twisted, she bore down, trying to have her baby. David had his gloves off, his hands cupped and ready. When he saw the tiny head, he took hold of it. The infant was as small as a puppy, tinier than any human child should be.

The horse galloped up, and then the hoofbeats stopped. David heard the big man jump down out of the saddle, come marching over through the crisp snow. He heard the sharp breath as the rancher saw what was happening.

“Sage?” the man said, his voice breaking.

Sage couldn’t hear, or if she did, she couldn’t look up. She just held on to the front seat, having her baby. David’s heart was pounding. He didn’t trust or like ranchers; their work was too close to what happened on puppy farms. They raised animals to trust them, then used them to make money. But this was the DR Ranch, and he was Sage’s father—the man she had come three thousand miles to see.

“She needs help,” David said, not wanting to turn around, let go of the baby’s head.

“Let me help her, then,” the rancher said. He threw his leather gloves down on the ground and stood beside David. David waited for the man to get into position, moving his big hands toward the baby, hovering in place just long enough for David to see them shaking, then slide them around David’s hands onto the baby’s head.

“Oh,” Sage groaned through clenched teeth. “Oh, God.”

“You’re doing fine, sweetheart,” the rancher said. “Just a little more. That’s right.”

“It hurts. Daddy, it hurts.”

“I know, sweetheart. Push if you can. Just a little more. There, there you go. That’s it.”

David took a step back. The animals were all huddled by the back wheel, keeping each other warm while not straying too far from Sage. David crouched beside them, letting the dogs climb onto his lap and the kittens inside his jacket. They squirmed around, wanting to get settled. David closed his eyes.

“Oh!” Sage screamed.
“Ouuuuuccccchhhhh!”

“One more,” the rancher said. His voice was so kind, full of love. David hadn’t thought ranchers—or fathers—could sound this way. He heard him talking to Sage, her answering back, as if they had been together all these years instead of separated most of her life.

“My baby!” Sage cried. “Is he born? Is he okay? Oh, please . . .”

“Oh, God,” the rancher whispered.

“My baby,” Sage wept, holding out her arms. “Give him to me. Oh, Daddy. Oh, Jake, I want my baby!”

David looked over. The rancher held his hands around the baby’s tiny head and shoulders, and David could see what he had known the minute he had touched the baby’s head: Sage’s baby was being born dead. David’s heart lurched. He had seen dead puppies, but nothing had ever made him feel like this. Sage was waving her arms, and he couldn’t even bear to look at her.

The rancher had tears running down his leathery cheeks. He had the baby out, and he held it in his arms, trying to breathe into his mouth. The baby’s head and limbs lolled, but the rancher hardly seemed to notice. He ripped at his own front, unbuttoning and pulling his coat and jacket off. Throwing the blanket and sheepskin to David to tuck around Sage, he kept trying to save the baby.

“Live, please,” the rancher said, his voice cracking. “Please.”

“Daddy, give him to me!” Sage breathed.

David jumped up. He wanted to help, but he didn’t know how. Sage and the rancher seemed out of their minds. Now the rancher was pulling off the flannel shirt he had on. His arms got stuck, and he held the baby crooked in his left elbow, but he finally shook the shirt off.

“Did I have a boy?” Sage asked. “Or is she a girl?”

The rancher had pulled a knife from a sheath on his belt. With it, he cut the umbilical cord. Swaddling the infant in his shirt, he kept trying to make it breathe. His arm muscles were huge, bigger than the baby. David felt afraid of the energy in the man’s eyes. As he watched, the rancher knelt down in the snow.

“Sage,” he said quietly.

The girl was nearly hysterical, but at the sight of her father holding the baby, she started to calm down. David watched their eyes meet, father and daughter, and he saw the smile of joy dawn in Sage’s eyes.

“Daddy,” she breathed. “It’s really you.”

“Sweetheart,” he said. “You had a boy.”

“I did?” she asked, her voice high and thin, reaching around the sheepskin jacket he had laid on top of her to hold the baby.

“He was too small,” the rancher said, his arms trembling. David stood behind him, staring at the tense muscles in his back. It was frigid out, but the rancher didn’t seem cold at all. He talked in a steady, quiet voice, taking his time. “He was just too small. He didn’t make it.”

“Didn’t make it?” Sage asked in disbelief.

The rancher shook his head. David shuddered. He remembered his first puppy: When it had died, his father had told him to throw its body in the trash and stop bothering him, he was watching the Nebraska Cornhuskers. Staring at the rancher, bare-backed in the snow and not even flinching, David wondered about life.

“He’s beautiful,” the rancher said. “He looks like you.”

“Can I hold him?” Sage reached out.

The rancher nodded. Leaning into the car, he placed the dead baby in Sage’s arms. Once he was in there, it seemed too much for him. He kissed the top of the girl’s head, embracing her and the infant. When he pulled himself away, he had tears all over his face. David watched him step back, giving Sage a minute alone with her baby.

“She needs help,” David said again.

“I know,” the rancher said. His cowboy hat had fallen off, and a gust of wind blew it skidding across the ice. He stared at David, assessing him. “Can you ride?”

“I can drive. This is my car.”

The rancher didn’t question him. “I’m not leaving her to ride home. Take my horse, and I’ll drive the car.”

“Forget it,” David said, not trusting any rancher alone with Petal, Gelsey, and the others. “The animals need me. I’ll drive, but I’ll give you a ride. Is the ranch far?”

“Three miles.”

David herded the animals back into the car, the rancher climbed in behind Sage, and they set off. This trip was almost over: David would get Sage to safety, and then he’d leave.

Chapter Thirty-Two

L
ouisa loved to rehearse with the greats. She would choose a CD by one of her favorites—Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, Reba McEntire—and sing along with her headphones on. Sometimes she sang with Garth Brooks, sometimes with Waylon Jennings, occasionally with a recording of herself. Usually it picked her right up, but the fight with Dalton had her feeling downcast, and not even singing helped. Quitting her session early, she went into the kitchen for a cup of coffee and found Daisy and Alma standing there.

“Who’s with Dalton?” was the first thing Louisa asked.

A guilty look crossed Alma’s face, but only for a second. She was too busy staring out the window. “Where’d he go? Oh, I wish I could have talked him into going home, where it’s at least
warm
.”

Louisa watched Daisy walk over to Alma, put her arm around her shoulders. Together the two women stared out the window. Alma’s posture was ramrod-stiff, as if she didn’t want any part of Daisy’s comfort, but Daisy was undeterred.

“He’s so young,” Daisy said. “To be out there alone. I know, I know how you feel.”

“It’s a heartache,” Alma said, breaking away. “That’s all I can say. You do your best, work yourself to the bone, and it’s not enough. He sees his father acting like a brute, and that’s good enough for him. Excuse me, while I see to Mr. Tucker . . .” Bowing her head, she hurried out of the room.

“What was that all about?” Louisa asked.

“Her son was here,” Daisy said.

“Doesn’t seem to have lifted her spirits any.”

“No.”

“Yours, either.”

“No,” Daisy said. She looked so frail, standing by the window, looking out at those big, snow-covered mountains. Such fine bones, such sorrow in her posture, the attitude of waiting hanging on her like a black shawl: Daisy looked like a country-western-song heroine come to life.

“Usually I love snow,” Louisa said. “But this is a downbeat day. I tried singing, exercising—nothing’s helping.”

“It’s funny,” Daisy said. “Riding with James, I felt happier than I have in . . .” She trailed off, as if counting back years. “I got my hopes up, I guess.”

“About you and him?” Louisa asked.

“About everything,” Daisy said, her voice low.

Louisa nodded. She knew all about that—blind optimism, Dalton used to call it. Louisa would expect the best without believing the facts. She would plan a picnic and count on the sun, no matter what the weather map said.

“I was hoping for a miracle,” Daisy said. “That Jake—”

“Jake?” Louisa asked, confused.

“Never mind.” Daisy shook her head. “Sage is my miracle. She always has been. I don’t know what I’d have done without her all this time, and now—I don’t know if I can wait another day. I really don’t think I can—”

Looking out the window, Louisa saw the big black car come careening down the drive. It was old and rusty, with a reinforced bumper held on by baling wire. Fishtailing on the ice, it nearly crashed into a cottonwood tree. Louisa saw Daisy’s back stiffen, watching the car’s crazy progress.

Screeching to a halt by the main corral, the driver threw open his door. He jumped out and ran around to the passenger’s side. Daisy just stood riveted, her eyes wide, watching. He was slight, brown-haired, in black jeans and boots. He grabbed the passenger door handle, yanked hard, got it open.

Louisa saw James climb out—shirtless, holding a small bundle. He carefully handed the package to the brown-haired boy, then turned back to the car. Very gently, as if he were handling a butterfly, he lifted a young girl from the front seat. He picked her up, held her against his chest, carried her toward the house. The girl held out her arms, and the boy placed the bundle in them. A parade of animals emerged from the car, thronging around the boy’s feet.

“Maybe you don’t have to do that,” Louisa said to Daisy. “Maybe you don’t have to wait another day.”

But Daisy was long gone. She had flown out the kitchen door the second she’d seen the girl. Louisa remembered Sage from toddlerhood. She had seen many pictures over the years—the school photos, the holiday snapshots—and she would have known the child anywhere.

Louisa watched Daisy fling herself at James, getting as close as she could to Sage. She was kissing her face, her hands, as if she could climb right into James’s arms and be carried along with their daughter. Louisa saw the strange boy, left out of the family group.

“Dalton, your granddaughter’s here,” she yelled, heading for the study. They had fought before, but if this wasn’t cause to let bygones be bygones, what was?

She found him leaning against his chair, his cheek red and swollen.

“Sweetheart—” she began, running to him.

“Louisa.” He grabbed her hand. “There’s a maniac in the house.”

“Alma’s son—did he do this to you?”

“All I could think about was you,” Dalton said. “Protecting you. Getting to the phone to call the police.”

“Oh, Dalton.” Louisa hugged his head to her chest, too moved for the moment to tell him that Sage had come home.

Daisy clung to Sage. She wanted to hold, examine, and smell her child—fill her senses until she could believe it was true, that Sage was really here. James cradled her in his arms, meeting Daisy’s eyes over Sage’s head as they stumbled through the ranch yard. Daisy might have expected to see elation in his face, but instead she saw grief.

“What is it?” she asked, suddenly feeling cold.

“Inside,” James said, striding through the snow toward the door.

So thrilled and shocked to see Sage, Daisy had barely noticed that James wasn’t wearing a shirt. It was twenty degrees, snow was starting to fall again, and James was bare-chested. Now she saw Sage was wrapped in his sheepskin jacket, and her nose was buried in James’s bundled-up flannel shirt.

“The baby?” Daisy whispered.

James nodded.

Daisy’s heart stopped. She stood still, watching James carry Sage ahead, waiting for it to start again. Her breath caught, and her blood was frozen. Daisy had spent the last weeks sweating and dreading Sage’s pregnancy, what this baby would do to her life, how it would rob her of all her chances. Now, watching Sage sob over the tiny inert bundle, Daisy felt cold sorrow pour over her.

“Sage.” Daisy ran to catch up, her heart thudding again.

“Let’s get her inside,” James said, his voice rough.

They ran up the path—Daisy and James carrying Sage and the baby. When they got to the door, James paused, and Daisy was too wrapped up in Sage to grab the latch. Suddenly the strange young man stepped up, opened the door. James hurried in with Sage, and for one moment, Daisy and the boy came face-to-face.

Daisy stared into golden-green eyes. They were as hot as the other boy’s eyes were cold, and Daisy could feel them wanting to look after Sage. Instead, the boy turned them on Daisy, and he took her in, starting at her hair and moving down to her feet and coming back to rest on her face. The sensation of being scrutinized was strange, but Daisy found herself doing the same thing to him. He had light brown hair, wide eyes, and the shadows of masklike markings on his forehead and cheeks.

“Are you her mother?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m Daisy Tucker. Thank you—”

“She talked about you,” he said. “A lot.”

Daisy opened her mouth. She had to get to Sage, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the boy. His face was very solemn, tanned from the sun and wind, and for a moment he reminded her of a shaman. Peering at the marks on his face, she touched the dots above his left eyebrow.

She recognized the symbol. “Protection.”

“Sage said—” he began, surprise lighting his eyes.

“What?” she asked, being pulled to Sage, but feeling compelled to know why he looked so shocked.

“Nothing.” The boy was frowning now. “Just—Sage said you’d know.” He backed away, getting ready to leave. As he touched the door handle, Daisy caught sight of the owl tattooed on his wrist. The yellow eyes were bright and mesmerizing, and for a moment she weaved, as if hypnotized.

Inside, Sage’s voice became louder. She had been crying softly, and now she said the name “Jake” over and over again.

“That’s what she named the baby,” the boy said.

“Thank you for being with her,” Daisy said, wanting to keep him there, needing to go to Sage.

“Tell her good-bye.” The boy backed away from the door.

As Daisy moved toward Sage, she heard the door close behind her. James, sensing Daisy’s approach, stood up and backed away from Sage. “She needs you,” he said.

Daisy nodded, holding his arms as she moved around him.

“Where is he?” James asked. “The boy.”

“He left,” Daisy said, and for some reason saying the words made her feel empty.

“I’ve got to catch him.” James grabbed a jacket off the rack and ran back out. His voice was anxious, as if the boy had something James needed to get back. Daisy hoped he’d be able to stop him, but she blocked out the wish and turned to their daughter.

Sage, still wrapped in her father’s coat, was huddled on the daybed by the woodstove. She clutched the baby, whispering into his ear. Daisy sat beside her, not touching her, giving her this minute with her child. His features were perfect, waxen, tiny as a doll’s. Daisy gazed at his lips, his nose, his ears.

“This is my son,” Sage said.

“He’s beautiful,” Daisy whispered.

“I knew he was a boy,” Sage said. “The whole time.”

“You did?”

Sage nodded. She hadn’t looked up at Daisy, wouldn’t take her eyes off the baby. She touched his chin, kissed the soft dark hair on his round head. Now she smoothed the hair down, as if preparing to show him off. Glancing up, her eyes were wide open and expectant.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Sage said.

“I had to come,” Daisy said. “So I could see you the minute you arrived.”

“Would you . . .” Sage began, with some hesitation, “like to hold him?”

Daisy swallowed. She had to take a second to compose herself before answering, but she had already reached out her arms. “I would love to.”

Sage passed the baby to her mother. Daisy took the tiny infant, warmly wrapped in James’s navy flannel shirt, and held him to her heart. Oh, God, he was so small, but he felt so heavy to Daisy—he was a real little person, a true boy, a human being. He was her grandson, hers and James’s.

“I love him,” Sage said, leaning on her mother’s arm to peer into the face of her son.

“I know you do, sweetheart.”

“He was born too soon,” Sage wept. “He’s too small.”

Daisy closed her eyes. She held the baby to her breast, kissed the top of his head. Old memories came flooding back, of holding the twins when they were born. They had come nearly a month early, and their birth weight had been so low—four pounds for Sage, four pounds, one ounce for Jake—the doctors had been worried.

They hadn’t been much bigger than the baby Daisy held in her hands. Tears rolled down her cheeks, into the baby’s hair, and she sobbed for what might have been. She had wished that Sage weren’t pregnant, but she would never have wanted this to happen. She cried for herself and Sage, for their lost sons.

“I’m sorry.” She wept, tenderly handing the baby back to Sage. “I’m so sorry he couldn’t live.”

“He was with me all this time, through so many nights—I thought we’d be together forever,” Sage cried. “With him, I felt whole again. I named him Jake, but . . . I wish I hadn’t.”

“Why?” Daisy smoothed Sage’s damp hair. “I love that name.”

“Because now it feels . . .” Sage burst out, starting to sob again, “as if I’ve lost him twice.”

They cried together, holding each other with the baby between them. Daisy felt Sage clutching the body, grasping him tight as if she thought someone would come along to take him away from her.

“You have no idea,” Daisy said, shaking Sage as she held her. This wasn’t the time; she was supposed to be calm and steady and only sympathetic, but hearing Sage cry about her lost baby, Daisy was unable to contain herself anymore. “No idea how worried I was about you. I thought I’d lost you! God, Sage, I was so afraid I had lost you, sweetheart. Like I’d lost your brother—didn’t you know?”