Under A Prairie Moon (27 page)

He was gone when she opened her eyes. Heavy-hearted, she urged Taffy Girl toward the house, hoping, praying, that somehow he would be waiting for her there.

“Let him be a ghost again,” she begged. “Please. I don’t care if he’s real or not, just don’t take him away from me.”

She rode to the barn, dismounted and led the mare inside, hoping against hope that Dalton would be there. But the barn was empty.

She brushed Taffy Girl, forked her some fresh hay, filled the water barrel.

Please…

She started at every sound, real or imagined, always hoping that he would be there, that she would look over her shoulder and find him standing there, smiling his roguish smile, one black brow cocked in wry amusement.

Carrying the saddle to the back of the barn, she draped it over the rack, then opened the pouch where she had packed the buckskin dress and moccasins. Seeing them, remembering the days and nights she had spent with Dalton, brought tears to her eyes.

Refusing to relinquish her hope, she went to the house. Everything was as she had left it. There were several messages on her answering machine from her mother, several more from John, one from her father, another from her brother. She listened to them, hardly hearing the words, not caring that they had been worried about her. She wondered fleetingly how long she had been gone but didn’t care enough to find out. She felt dead inside, cold, empty, lifeless.

Slowly, she went from room to room.
Please be here.

She stood in her bedroom, remembering the night she had held a gun on him and threatened to call the police, remembering how frightened she had been.

Please…
She went into the bathroom. Standing in the doorway, she remembered hanging the curtain rod and slipping on the edge of the tub, and how good it had felt to be in his arms when he caught her.

She wandered into the kitchen, recalling the nights she had sat at the table, listening as Dalton told her the story of his life, remembering the day he had followed her into Saul’s Crossing, the day they had gone over to the Holcomb ranch to buy Taffy Girl, the day they had ridden down to the hanging tree…

The hanging tree! Of course. If he was anywhere, he would be there.

Leaving the house, she ran down the path, her heart pounding.

Breathless, she placed her hands on the rough bark of the trunk, praying that she would feel that brush of cool air that meant Dalton was near.

Please!

She stood there for a long while, hardly aware of the tears that washed down her cheeks.

“Dalton, come back to me, please come back to me.”

She stared up at the tree, waiting, wishing, but nothing happened. The sun was warm on her face, the air was still.

“He was real,” she said. “I know he was. I couldn’t have made it all up. I couldn’t have.”

He had been real. He had told her the story of his life. They had traveled into the past. She hadn’t dreamed it. She couldn’t have. There had to be a way to prove it had happened.

The diary! She ran back to the house and up the stairs. In the bedroom, she jerked open the dresser drawer and grabbed Lydia’s diary, quickly flipping through the pages to July 4.

She quickly skimmed the first few sentences, until she came to the passage about the dance that night.

…a repeat of the one held in the spring. At last, when I had given up all hope, Dalton arrived with the woman claiming to be his cousin. Cousin, indeed! The little whore. Could not believe it when Russell asked her to dance, but I didn’t care, as it left me alone with Dalton.

Kathy blew out a sigh. She hadn’t imagined it then. It had happened, all of it, just as she remembered.

With a sigh, she began reading again, hoping to find a clue as to what had happened to Dalton.

Asked Dalton who she really is, but he said she was just a friend. He must think I’m a fool, if he expects me to believe that. Wanting to be alone with him, I tried to get him to take me outside, but he refused, and then, all too soon, Russell was there.

How my heart burned when I saw the way Dalton smiled at that woman. He had no qualms about taking her outside. I watched for him the rest of the night, but they never returned to the dance.

July 5th.

This morning, I learned that Dalton is no longer working for Russell.

July 10th.

Russell went to town today. Tonight, at dinner, he mentioned that Dalton and that woman had left town together the day after the dance.

August 15th.

Dalton has still not returned, nor does anyone seem to know of his whereabouts.

August 30th.

The impossible has happened. I am in the family way…Russell will never let me go now…

Putting the diary aside, Kathy switched on her computer and pulled up the web page that had sketched Dalton’s life.

Crowkiller, Dalton (1844–). Born in Dakota Territory, Crowkiller gained notoriety when he killed Hager Whittaker in a gunfight in Virginia City.

Crowkiller is believed to have gunned down more than two dozen men in cold blood. Nothing is known of his death. There is speculation that he retired from gunfighting and changed his name, but there are no known facts to substantiate this theory.

Kathy read the short article three times. It was true. They had traveled into the past and changed history. Lydia didn’t go insane. Dalton wasn’t hanged.

What had happened to him? Had he stayed in the past when she was swept back into the future, or had his soul finally found the rest it had been denied for the last hundred and twenty-five years? There had to be a way to find out. Tomorrow, she would go into town and go to the library. Perhaps she could find something there. She had to know.

Suddenly weary, she went downstairs. Folding the buckskin dress into a neat square, she curled up on the sofa, the tunic under her head, and closed her eyes. Maybe, if she was lucky, she would dream of Dalton.

At first, he thought he was dreaming. His body felt lighter than air and for a moment, he thought he was in the nether world between heaven and hell again, that he was destined to spend eternity in a formless gray cloud. Not a bad thing, he thought, and knew he would count himself lucky if he could just be a ghost again, with Kathy again.

Gradually, the gray haze thinned, disappeared. The colors he saw were brighter, clearer, the sky was an incredible shade of blue.

And then he saw the lodges spread across the floor of the valley, and he knew where he was.

A man appeared in the distance, a tall man clad in white buckskins. A woman stood beside him, all pain and fear gone from her eyes, a radiant smile on her face.

There was no need for words. A thought willed him to his mother’s side and he felt tears sting his eyes as he embraced her, and then his father.

“Dally,” his mother said, her voice tremulous. “Oh Dally.”

“Hi, Ma.”

She smiled at him, alive and radiant. And then her smile faded. “You can’t stay here, Dally.”

Dalton laughed a short, bitter laugh. “Is heaven throwing me out again?”

“You have not yet lived out your span of years,” his father explained. “You have a long life ahead of you.”

Dalton shook his head. “I don’t want to go back. There’s nothing waiting for me there.”

“Kathy is waiting for you,” Julianna said quietly.

His heart clenched at the sound of her name. “Kathy?”

“Of course. The two of you are fated to be together. She carries your child.”

A bright flame of hope caught fire in Dalton’s heart. “You mean I can go back, to her time?”

“If that is your wish.”

He nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. Kathy. To be with her again, to hold her, to love her. “What do I have to do?”

“Nothing,” his father said. “All that was needed was for you to decide where you wished to spend the remainder of your life.”

“Have a care, Dally,” his mother urged. “Few are given a second chance at life. Make the most of it.”

“I will.”

She hugged him again, hard. “Be happy.”

Her words echoed in his ears…
be happy
…
be happy
…. echoed and faded and he found himself drifting, falling, spiraling though a familiar gray mist.

When awareness returned, the sun was just climbing over the horizon, and he was standing beneath the hanging tree.

She was dreaming, she thought, a glorious dream from which she hoped she would never awake.

Dalton’s voice was whispering in her ear.
Ohinyan
,
wastelakapi
.
Ohinyan
…
Ohinyan
…

She felt his lips brush her cheek, felt the bed sag as he stretched out beside her, and it was so real, so real. She squeezed her eyes shut, hardly daring to breathe for fear she would awake and find it all a dream.

“Kathy?”

His voice, filled with tenderness and the sound of unshed tears. It sounded so real.

“Kathy, darlin’, wake up.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.” She shook her head. “If I wake up, you’ll be gone.”

“I’ll never leave you again, darlin’, I swear it.”

Afraid to believe, desperate to believe, she slowly opened her eyes to find him bending over her, his hair falling over his shoulders, his dark eyes glowing with love.

“Dalton! Is it really you?” She touched his cheek, ran her hands over his chest. His skin was warm, vital, alive beneath her fingertips.

“I missed you,” he said.

She nodded. “How? How is it possible for you to be here? What happened to you? Where did you go?”

He laughed softly as he sat up and drew her into his arms. “You remember that valley I told you about, the one I thought I’d dreamed?”

Kathy nodded.

“I went there again. My mother was there, with my father. They told me my time wasn’t up yet, that I had a long life ahead of me.” His gaze held hers. “Ma said you were pregnant. Is it true?”

“I think so.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Well, I’m not a hundred percent sure, and…” She shrugged. “You seemed so certain we were going to be separated, I thought it would make it harder if you knew.”

“Yeah, I reckon it would have.”

“I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“Believe it, darlin’. I’m here, and I’m never gonna leave you again.”

“As if I’d ever let you go.” She hugged him tightly. “I guess you were right. We really were fated to be together.”

“Together,” he repeated. “
Ohinyan
,
wastelakapi
.”

“
Ohinyan
,” she murmured.

“I love you, Kathy Crowkiller,” he said softly, fervently.

“More than life itself.”

“Show me,” she whispered.

And he did, every day for the rest of their lives.

Lazy Double C Ranch, Wyoming

Spring, five years later

“Hurry, Mom.”

“I’m coming,” Kathy said. “I hope we’re not too late.” Lifting the hem of her nightgown, she hurried after her oldest daughter. Julianna was four, and the spitting image of her father.

As they neared the barn door, she could hear Dalton’s voice.

“Easy, girl,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Easy now, mama. One more push.”

Kathy peered over the side of the stall. Taffy Girl lay stretched out on her side. “How’s she doing?”

“Fine.” Dalton stroked the mare’s neck.

“Does it hurt?” Julianna asked.

“A little,” Dalton said. “Look, here it comes.”

The mare gave a mighty heave and the foal slipped out of the birth canal onto a pile of fresh clean straw.

There was a flurry of activity as the mare nosed the filly, inhaling her offspring’s scent, then lurched to her feet. Dalton peeled away the last of the membrane from the foal, then dried the filly off with a soft cotton towel.

“It’s a filly,” he said.

Julianna clapped her hands. “I’m gonna name her Buttermilk.”

Dalton smiled at Kathy. “You’re crying.”

“I can’t help it,” Kathy said, wiping her eyes. “It’s so incredibly beautiful.”

Dalton looked at his daughter and nodded. He had been there when Julianna was born. Never in all his life had he seen anything to compare with the miracle of watching his daughter come into the world. And then, two years later, his son had been born. And now Kathy was pregnant again.

They stood there for the next hour, watching the filly struggle to stand up. Only when she was steady on her feet and nursing did they leave the barn.

Dalton lifted Julianna in one arm, draped his other arm around Kathy’s shoulders. He was a lucky man, he mused as they walked toward the house. He had a beautiful, loving wife, two healthy children and another on the way, the ranch he had always dreamed of. They had sold the Triple Bar C shortly after they returned to Kathy’s time and used the money to build a sprawling ranch-style house, barn and corrals on his property in Wyoming.

He carried Julianna up to bed and tucked her in, then went to check on his son. David, named for Kathy’s father, was asleep, his arm wrapped around his favorite stuffed dinosaur. Dalton stood at his son’s bedside for a moment, then padded quietly out of the room and down the stairs.

He found Kathy standing on the porch, watching the sun rise. Easing up behind her, he slid his arms around her waist. She leaned back against him and he placed his hands over the softly rounded swell of her stomach, silently thanking God for giving him a second chance at life, for giving him this woman who filled his arms and his life.

She had finished writing the story of his past. One day, when their children were old enough, he would let them read it.

It was a hell of a story, he thought, one that would have ended very differently if it weren’t for the woman in his arms.

The rising sun rose over the ranch like a benediction, bathing the land and its building in a warm golden glow, and as Dalton Crowkiller followed his wife into the house, he knew he couldn’t have been richer if the land was sprinkled with gold dust and the driveway paved with silver, because Kathy and the life they shared was the true treasure of his life, worth far more than any wealth the world had to offer.

The End