Soul Dreams (5 page)

With Thanksgiving coming up the next week he really looked forward to spending the holiday with Holt and Jennie and Grange, celebrating the way they always did. Besides, after two years, he figured the time had come to give an engagement ring to Caro McCoy. Like him, she’d gone off to school and come home to work in the family business. Only for her it was the newspaper. One minute she’d been a gangly kid, the next a woman who made his balls ache. He felt good about this.
Life
was good.

As he headed out to find Grange, the scent of smoke drifted across his nostrils, stopping him in his tracks. What the hell?

Screams of “Fire!” pierced the air, and he headed toward the sound on a dead run. Nothing was worse around horses and cattle than fire, something everyone was acutely aware of. As he rounded a corner, he ran into a nightmare scene in the yard next to the main barn. People raced around everywhere, some leading horses, others yelling for people. Grange headed in his direction leading Blake’s horse, Charger. The animal was wild-eyed with fear, and Grange hung onto the halter rope for dear life.

“It’s the big stable,” Grange yelled, as he tried to get Charger out of the way. “I’ve got this guy out, but they can use all the help they can get.”

Blake stared at the barn, his stomach churning as flames leapt to the sky. The entire structure was ablaze. For events lasting more than one day, competitors kept their horses out of the trailers they hauled them in and stabled them in the facilities provided. The old wooden barns were slowly being replaced by steel structures, but this one hadn’t been touched yet. A fire with all this old timber would be a disaster. As he ran, the terrified screams of the animals and the shouts of people mingled in a cacophony of sound.

The hoses hooked up for riders to wash and water their horses had been directed to the burning building. But it seemed to do little more than keep the worst of the flames at bay.

A man rushed by him, leading two horses attempting to pull away from the grip he had on their leads.

“Any left inside?” Blake hollered as he raced for the barn.

“Two is all,” the man shouted, “but they’re in the far stalls. We can’t get to them.”

“What about the door near the stalls? Can’t we get them out that way?”

The man shook his head, even as he tried to keep his horses moving. “The whole side of the barn is lit. We can’t get near the doors.”

Horses are still trapped in there
?
Fuck that shit
. Blake sprinted over to the men holding one of the big hoses. “Soak me down good,” he ordered.

He stood while they hosed him down with the heavy stream until he was wet everywhere. Yanking off his dripping shirt he tied it across his face like a mask. Then, pulling in a last lungful of air, he dashed into the flames.

“Hey!” someone hollered. “Hey, get out of there. The whole place is about to go.”

But the terrified screams of the trapped horses split the air, and he plunged ahead. Diving into the fire, he used brute strength to kick open the back door to the barn, open the stalls to the two remaining horses, and chase them out into the yard. His skin was so hot, Blake was sure he was ablaze like the structure. As soon as the horses were out in the open, he headed after them. But as the last horse cleared the barn, a vicious crack sounded over his head. He looked up to see one of the main beams tear loose from supports, heading right for him. Lifting his arms to cover his head, he curled into himself and tried to move out of the way, but the timber dropped too fast. It hit him with all the force of a full cattle hauler, knocking him to the ground.

And the lights went out.

He had no idea how long he lingered in the black void. He only knew as he began to surface, he didn’t want to leave it. Waking up brought intense pain, so he fought awareness. The sound of voices filtered through the haze, people urging him to open his eyes. He wanted to tell them to go away, make them understand it hurt too much, but he didn’t seem able to speak. Something was wrong with his mouth. He tried to lift his hand to see what the problem was, but someone with a tender touch placed their fingers gently on his arm and prevented him.

“Grange?” The name came out garbled.

“Right here, son.” The older man’s voice was low and soft. “Been right here with you all the time.”

He tried several times to speak, but his face seemed to be covered with something and his mouth was dry as dust.

“Water?” he asked.

A thin straw slipped between his lips, and he sipped the cool liquid. It seemed to take every bit of energy he could muster simply to drink.

“Can you hear me, Blake?” Grange again. “I need to tell you some things.”

Blake tried to frown but discovered he couldn’t move the muscles on his forehead and a sudden burst of fear shot through him. He forced his eyes open, despite the pain, only to discover his vision was foggy. Grange’s face hovering over him was vague and distorted. What the hell was happening to him?

“Help!” He thought he was shouting, but he could barely get the word out.

“Blake?” Grange touched his arm again. “I told the doctors this would be better coming from me, so listen to what I’m saying. I want you to understand and believe no matter what I’m here, and I’m never leaving your side. We’ll get through this together.”

“What…happened?” he managed to croak.

Slowly and carefully, Grange reminded him of the fire, the trapped horses, the way he'd run into the blazing building. The beam falling on him. In a calm, steady voice, Grange detailed Blake’s injuries to him. Third degree burns on his face, second degree on his arms, chest and back. His left leg broken in five places, the bone so shattered the doctors were ready to give up on it.

“At first the docs didn’t even think they could save your leg,” Grange told him, “but I wouldn’t let them take it off. I knew it would be the end of you.”

The more he explained the more upset Blake became. In fact, he was so agitated the nurse had to give him an injection to calm him down.

“Blake?” Jennie’s familiar voice broke into his despair. The touch of her hand on his arm was, almost soothing. “Holt and I are here, and we’re going to stay as long as possible.”

“She’s right, Bro.” Holt’s voice. “We have to go back to the ranch for a little while, but we’ll be back for Christmas.”

“I’m going to set up a tree in the room,” Jennie told him, her voice filled with determined cheer.

“No,” he managed to groan.

“Don’t say no,” she argued. “We love you, and we want to be with you. We’ll get through this together. As a family.”

“Where’s…Caro,” he managed to get out.

No Caro? Had they deliberately kept her away or was it her choice? He certainly was no longer the man she was used to.

“She was a complete wreck, Blake,” Jennie said in her gentle voice. “They gave her something for her nerves. But she wants to celebrate Christmas here with us, too.”

Blake wanted to scream at everyone to leave him alone. Celebrate Christmas? What a joke. He had nothing left to celebrate any more. What could he possibly do with his life after this? He didn’t need them to crawl into this black hole with him.

The medication took effect, and he was falling into the void again. They should have let him die. This would probably be the end of him anyway.

***

“Dinner’s almost ready.”

Grange’s rough voice broke into Blake’s painful reverie. He blinked. “Dinner?”

“Yeah, you know. The meal you eat at night.” He clomped over to where Blake sat and stood in front of him. “I got good stew and biscuits. Come on.”

“Maybe I’m not hungry.” Blake knew he was being an ass. He often speculated why Grange didn’t get mad enough to tell him to go to hell and walk out on him. But he was unbelievably grateful the man stuck with him.

“Eat anyway or I’m throwing it out. And I purely hate to waste good stew.”

Gritting his teeth, Blake levered himself out of the chair and painfully made his way down the stairs. He refused to use the cane the doctors had given him, so negotiating the stairs was an endurance test. He’d perversely bought a two-story house to keep reminding himself, he supposed, of how badly crippled he was.

Grange already had the food dished up and on the table by the time he lowered himself into his seat. He had to admit the man knew how to cook. The stew was fragrant and savory and the biscuits light as a feather. Once he began eating, Blake realized how hungry he really was.

“Good work.” He leaned back and rubbed his full stomach. “When I finally die in a pool of self pity, you should get a job cooking for someone.”

“If you think it’s so good, maybe we should invite the book lady in to share it. I could make my famous apple pie.” Grange actually cracked a smile. “Last time, you ate near the whole one by yourself.”

“No.” Blake thundered the word then dialed back his emotion. None of this was Grange’s fault. “Sorry, but you know why I can’t do that.”

“You could always shut off the lights,” Grange snapped back. “Then the house would be as dark as your personality is these days.”

Blake maneuvered himself to the coffee pot. After his outburst, he wasn’t about to ask Grange for anything. But as he sipped the strong brew, a thought circled in his brain. Was Nina Foster a woman who might be interested in playing games? Was she as fascinated by him as he was by her?

Of course not, jackass. She doesn’t know what a wreck you are. You’re damn lucky she keeps hauling your books out here, as friendly a greeting as she gets
.

Anyway, he’d about decided his chances of finding his love for life had gone up in flames along with the rodeo barn. And his body.

“I think next time I’ll ask her in for a cup of coffee,” Grange said, hanging up the dishtowel.

Blake’s head snapped around. “No, you won’t. You know the rules.”

“Fuck your damn rules. I’d like to sit across the table from a pretty woman now and then, even if you don’t. Be nice to see someone else for a change.”

“So go into town,” Blake told him. “Go to the bookstore and pick up the damn books yourself.”

“I’m not the one who insists she deliver them personally so I can peek at her from a window like some pervert.” The disgusted tone in Grange’s voice was unmistakable.

“Don’t you think I’d give anything to be face to face with her? Maybe even ask her out?”

Grange studied him for a long time. “No, I don’t. Because if you meant it, we’d be at the damn hospital talking to the doctors. Anyway, it’s bad enough avoiding questions when I go into town for groceries and gas.” He turned away. “She’s a nice lady, and she hauls your shit out here. We should show her some common courtesy.”

“She gets paid for my shit.” Blake dumped the rest of his coffee and set the mug in the sink. “She doesn’t need to come inside this house.”

“Nope. Made up my mind. You can hide in your room like you always do.” He stomped out of the kitchen.

Blake stared after him. The man was certainly ornery enough to go ahead and ask Nina Foster into the house. Her scent would probably linger in the air. Her voice would drift up the stairs to his room. And he’d no doubt have to deal with the mother of all hard-ons. The way he was now, when all he was doing was thinking of her.

He actually was reading some of the books she sent. After his first order, they’d discussed in his instant messages what appealed to him, and Nina Foster was a bloodhound at finding them for him. The old west, he told her. Both fiction and non-fiction. Those old-time cowboys had been his heroes when he was growing up. Since what he thought of as “the disaster,” he had time to immerse himself in their history. There wasn’t much else he could do these days. He’d actually read more than he let on to Grange, although he didn’t know why he kept it such a secret. Maybe it was his own perverse nature.

She’d asked several times if he didn’t think an e-reader would work better. She had a discount retailer she bought from and could save him a lot on the price. He could never tell his book angel—his secret name for her—how as he took each book from the bag, he held it to his face, checking to see if her scent still clung to it. Smoothed his hands over the dust jacket, trying to imagine exactly where she’d touched it. Sometimes, he sat in the big chair in his room, holding the book, not even reading it.

God, it had been so long since he’d been with a woman. Not since Caro, who had sent him a long and painful letter explaining why she couldn’t be with him any more. So much for his happy ending. The pain had diminished but never completely disappeared. What he wouldn’t give to feel a woman’s body beneath him. Especially this one. Run his hands over her soft skin. Feel the swell of her breasts and suck on each pebbled tip. Taste every inch of her skin. Inhale her scent as he licked the wet flesh of her pussy. Slide his cock into her and feel her tighten around him.

Jesus
!

He was thinking himself into a major hard-on, and he wasn’t in the mood for a cold shower. Maybe he’d climb into bed, take himself in hand, and relieve the pressure. Except, of course, whenever he did, he felt like a sixteen-year-old kid again. Shit! He really was downright pathetic.

The sound of the chime on his laptop startled him out of his maudlin reverie. Who the hell would be messaging him? He hoped it wasn’t Jennie or Holt. He’d set up the Instant Messenger so they could communicate with him, since he wouldn’t talk on the phone. Grange had pestered the shit out of him until he’d at least agreed to this. But he wasn’t in the mood for either of them tonight.

It dinged again, so he made his way painfully over to the desk to see what ID name had popped up.

Booklady
!

He glanced at his watch. Eight o’clock. Surely she wasn’t back at the bookstore. The website said she closed at six and in this weather he couldn’t imagine her going back after delivering his books.

He clicked on the message.

Booklady:
Hi! Double checking on my selections. Were they okay?

Blake:
You aren’t back at the bookstore, are you? The snow’s coming down harder.

A moment later the answer came back to him.