Chapter
Twenty-five
There was no hospital in Dunvegan, and the entire
medical clinic would have fit into the livestock wing of the North
Star Animal Hospital. In the cramped waiting room, James voiced his
opinion that maybe Jillian should be taken to the city for proper
treatment, but Birkie just patted his hand and smiled.
“Lowen and Beverly Miller are excellent
doctors. I’ve known them for years.”
Connor looked around from behind Zoey,
who was sitting in his lap. “Give yourself some credit for being a
pretty good medic yourself, James. They took an X-ray of Jillian’s
wrist and decided to plaster right over what you’d already done.
Lowen said he couldn’t improve on how well those bones were
set.”
James said nothing, just kept watching
the door, feeling his patience wearing thin with waiting. He wanted
to see Jillian. Period. He knew she was all right, yet he needed to
see for himself, see that she was alive and well. It could be a
long time before he got his fill of seeing her, of hearing her
talk. Hell, of listening to her breathe. It had been close, much
too close. The entire drive to Dunvegan he’d been thinking about
what could have happened, and thanked the heavens over and over
that he had been in time.
When the doctors emerged, they didn’t
have a chance to say a word before James was out of his chair and
in the doorway of the treatment room. Jillian was sitting in a
chair, dressed in green hospital scrubs and booties.
“New duds?”
“Yeah, they loaned me a set to go home
in. I think I like the blue ones we’ve got at the clinic
better.”
“I don’t know. These kind of bring out
your eyes.” They did, too. Her short blond hair stuck out in all
directions; her faery features were obscured by bruising and
swelling. James would bet money that she’d have two shiners by the
next day, and still those sea-green eyes arrested him.
“Ha. I think I’d have to wear red to
bring out my eyes at the moment.”
“Jillian, we need to talk.” He wasn’t
sure what he was going to say, how he was going to explain, but he
knew he had to make a start somewhere.
“No.” She shook her head carefully but
kept a hand on it as if to brace it for the movement. “No, we
don’t. Please. I really do appreciate what you did for me tonight.
Thanks for the underwater rescue and the first aid.” She waved her
cast at him. “The doctors say you’re a natural. Guess you have
another career to fall back on if you get tired of
farming.”
“Guess so. Look Jillian, I’m sorry that
I—”
“Don’t. I mean
it.” The light tone vanished from her voice, and her delicate mouth
was set in a straight line.
Jesus Murphy, what am I
doing? “I should have thought. It’s not a good time. I’ll
wait a couple days until you’ve had a chance to rest. But I have
things I need to say to you.”
“No, James. You already said them.
You’re not interested and that’s that. I don’t want you to feel
sorry for me and think you should hang around.”
“It’s not like that.”
“No? Let me tell you what it’s
not going to be like. It seems to be very
trendy to have sex and then just be friends, but I’m not wired that
way. So let’s just say a nice, clean goodbye, okay? End of story.
And as for tonight, thanks again for what you did for me, but I
have other people to help me now.” She rose and headed for the
door. Waited with folded arms for him to move out of the way. “I’m
really tired, James, and I’m going home with Birkie
now.”
“I’ll call you.” He felt like the
ground was crumbling away from under his feet.
“I don’t want you to.
Goodnight.”
“But—” She had already brushed past him
and gone out into the waiting room. Head reeling, James watched
Zoey wrap a blanket around her and Connor offered an arm for
support. With Birkie leading the way, the four of them headed out
the door, and he followed.
“You coming, James?” Connor called over
his shoulder. “We’re just going to drop these gals off and then
head home.”
No. No thanks.
He used mind speech because a hand seemed to have tightened around
his throat. Jillian was alive. She was all right. And she was
dismissing him.
The truck headed south on the main
street. James turned and walked north. He could feel the wolf
stirring within. The further he walked, the more restless, almost
anxious the wolf became. Stop it, you dumb animal.
She doesn’t want us. Get the picture? The wolf settled
reluctantly, and James could almost swear he heard it whimper.
Hell, he felt like whimpering too. This is wrong,
this is all wrong. Shit!
He reached the edge of town and kept
walking until the paved road gave way to gravel. The thumbnail moon
was out, a silver scythe in a field of stars. Farms became forest,
and soon James left the roadway and entered the trees. He paused
beneath a giant spruce, breathing in the rich scents of the woods
at night. And called the Change to take him.
He had almost forgotten what it was
like to Change on purpose, to be both wolf and man, aware and in
control, to lope through the forest in his lupine form, liberated,
exhilarated. He nosed along a game trail, picked up the spoor of
deer and gave chase until he had brought down an old doe. He
feasted on the hot, fresh meat, replenished his starved cells,
fueled his rapid metabolism. Drank deep from a cold mountain-fed
stream.
The sheer freedom should have brought
him joy, but James’s heart was a lead weight in his chest. He
thought about heading back to Connor’s farm. Instead, he made his
way to Elk Point. On a great slab of stone overlooking the river
valley, he laid his head on his paws with a very human sigh. He had
no idea how to get Jillian to listen to him. Nor did he have any
idea what he wanted to say to her if he could. All he could think
was that it was over between them, that he had ended the
relationship almost before it had begun. He should be glad for
that, shouldn’t he? She would be much better off without him,
safer. I didn’t want to endanger her, didn’t want
her to become a target by hanging around with a Changeling. Looks
like I got my goddamn wish.
But how would he watch over her,
protect her, when she didn’t even want him around? And how would he
be able to see her and not want her?
The moon dipped lower in the sky. The
white wolf pointed his long muzzle toward it and howled, a long
mournful drawn-out note that carried across the entire valley,
echoing off the cliffs across the river. His battered heart found
expression but not solace in the song, and he howled and howled
again until all the real wolves in the area were compelled to join
him.
Dawn gilded the eastern horizon when
James finally walked up the long lane of the Macleod farm, his
boots crunching in the gravel. He still didn’t trust his wolfen
self to stay away from Jillian so he’d returned to human form when
he’d left Elk Point. He’d hoped that the lengthy walk on two legs
would help him think things through, but he had only come to the
same conclusion as before. He had completely ruined things with
Jillian and wished he hadn’t. Wished there had been some other way
. . .
Heavy-hearted, he walked past the trees
in front of Connor’s house. Past the barns and the sheds and the
corrals to the house, his house now, hidden in a thick stand of
mixed poplar and spruce on the south side of the property. James
closed the door behind him, still very much aware of the action. He
wondered if someday he’d walk in and shut the door without even
thinking about it. Would he ever be that comfortable in his human
skin again?
It was cool but not cold in the
house—it was June after all—but he built a fire anyway. Just for
the ambience he supposed. There’s a real human
attribute. One point for me. In truth, he couldn’t care less
about how human he was, just as long as the damn wolf wasn’t in
control. That was all that really mattered, wasn’t it? James sat
heavily on the couch and stared at the fire for a long time,
willing himself not to fall asleep. The very last thing he wanted
to do was dream of Jillian again.
When the fire finally burned down to
ashes and went out, James dreamed not of Jillian, but of
Evelyn.
He was on his hands and knees weeding
Connor’s sprawling front garden. And suddenly she was next to him,
planting tiny new bulbs among the tall purple irises and sprays of
golden daylilies. In the arbitrary reality of dreams, it seemed
completely normal for her to be there. Of course she was there.
Where else would Evelyn be?
“What are you doing?” she asked
him.
“Gardening.”
“No, silly. What are you doing about
Jillian?”
“Nothing. I ended it.”
“Did she want to end it?”
“She does now.”
“But she didn’t before?”
“I never asked her.”
“That’s not very fair, James,” she
chided gently. “You haven’t even given her a chance.”
“I can’t give her a chance. It’s too
dangerous.”
“Dangerous for who,
James?”
“Something could happen to her. Someone
might find out what I am and then she’d be a target.”
“You don’t want what happened to me to
happen to her.”
“Not to her, not to anyone. I can’t do
that to someone again, Evie. Not again.”
“You’ve always had that overactive
sense of responsibility. Remember how I used to tease you about
that?” She planted the last bulb and laid her hand over his. “What
happened to me wasn’t your fault, James. It was never your
fault.”
“I should have protected you. I should
have been stronger, I should never—”
“Never have fallen in love with me?
Never have tried to make a life with me?”
His heart twisted painfully within him.
“At least you’d still be alive.”
“Maybe. And maybe not. A million things
could happen to any one of us on any given day. If I had been hit
by a bus or struck by lightning, would you shoulder the
responsibility for that too?”
He didn’t know how to
answer.
“Are you sorry you loved
me?”
“What? God, no. I . . . Evelyn, you
were the most wonderful thing that ever happened to
me.”
“But when I died, it was the worst
thing that ever happened to you. Maybe you would have been better
off never knowing me.”
“No.” His voice was firm with
conviction. “No, I can’t be sorry for that, I can’t wish that. We
didn’t have very long together, but every moment meant something to
me.”
She smiled at him then, that beautiful
beaming smile of hers that seemed lit from within. “Well, silly,
I’m not sorry for loving you, either. Think about that. And think
about Jillian again. I like her. And you like her
too.”
“Jesus, Evelyn.”
She laughed at his discomfort. “If you
love Jillian, it doesn’t take anything away from me, you know. I
wish you’d give her a chance, give yourself a chance.”
He shook his head. “I won’t put her in
harm’s way like that.”
“You keep saying that. You think that
someone might hurt her because of what you are.”
He nodded, then frowned when she shook
her head.
“You haven’t considered that Jillian
spends a lot of time with Changelings already. She works for
Connor, lives in his clinic, represents him every time she goes on
a farm call, is associated with him by the entire community,”
Evelyn explained carefully as if to a child. “Not only that, she
sat with Culley and Devlin at the Jersey Pub one night, and went
shopping with Kenzie only last week. She eats at the Finer Diner
regularly, and Bill and Jessie invited her to their home. It seems
to me that whether you’re in her life or not, James, she’s already
surrounded by Changelings.”
It had never even crossed his mind. How
could he not have noticed, how could he have been so stupid?
Someone could be out there, watching Jillian, homing in on her.
Suddenly a new thought occurred to him, a way to head off the
danger. “Evelyn, tell me who it was. Tell me who—” Shot you. Murdered you. He couldn’t make himself say it
aloud.
“I don’t know everything, James. Only
the things that are important.”
“This is
important.” He hadn’t seen the intruders. Didn’t know if there were
a dozen or only one. He couldn’t even guess at a suspect. Neither
could anyone else. The fire effectively destroyed any evidence the
police might have used, and heavy rain washed away any trail so
that even a Changeling could not follow. But what about Evelyn—had
she seen, had she known? “This is goddamn
important.”
“Not as much as you think, hon.
Vengeance won’t bring you peace.”
“I was thinking more of a preemptive
strike. That’ll bring me plenty of peace.”
She shook her head. “Try mercy
instead.”
Mercy. James was
appalled by the notion. How could she say such a—
She pointed to the ground. “Do you know
what I’ve planted here?”
“Evelyn, please.” He didn’t want to
talk about gardening, but her expression was serious. Reluctantly,
he recalled the tiny bulbs she’d been working with. “Um,
crocuses?”
“Lily of the valley. Lots and lots of
it. Tell me what you think of that.”
For her sake, he tried. “I guess those
will look nice here, but it’s already mid-summer. It’ll take a long
time before these little bulbs really take hold, maybe another year
before there are any blossoms.” James considered. “Connor will like
it, though. Lord knows he needs flowers that come up by themselves.
I just don’t understand how he can be so great with animals and so
terrible with plants. Zoey, now, there’s hope for her but she’s
busy—”
“It’s not for Connor and Zoey, hon. I
planted these especially for you. Don’t you know what it means? You
used to know a lot about flowers and their language. You said your
grandmother taught you.”
“She did.” In fact, he had used that
long-ago knowledge to compose the bouquet for Jillian. He searched
his mind and came up blank. “I can’t seem to remember this
one.”
“Lily of the valley means the “return
of happiness.” That’s why I picked it for you, James. It’s time.
Your time.”
“Evelyn, I—”
He awakened then, to find the morning
sun gilding the stones on the cold fireplace and his face wet.
God. Dear God. He felt off-balance, both
comforted and shaken. Part of him wanted to linger in the glow of
the dream, and the other part wanted to get to work on something,
anything, that would ground him. Eventually the desire for solid
reality won out, and James forced himself to get up and get
moving.
Still, the effects of the dream
lingered. Frequently throughout the day, he found himself having to
run a sleeve over his eyes. It had been so good, so damn good to
see Evelyn, to see her whole and smiling. To see her long dark hair
glinting in the sunshine, see her in her favorite gardening
clothes—faded jeans and one of his shirts with the sleeves rolled
up a half dozen times. A smudge of dirt on her face and laughter in
her dark eyes. Just hearing her voice had eased something inside
him.
Later, when the initial glow had worn
off, he remembered that she’d spoken about Jillian and a terrible
suspicion formed. Please don’t let my wolf have
anything to do with this. That’s all he needed was to have
his furry alter ego try to further its goals by invading his
dreams, by planting images of the one person he was most likely to
listen to. It couldn’t do that, could it? What if the comforting
dream, in which Evelyn was so vital and alive, was tainted? Fixed?
Nothing more than lupine propaganda?
Christ, I’m getting
paranoid. He was the wolf and the
wolf was him. Still, his animal side had acted on its own more than
once, and there was no denying it was totally devoted to Jillian.
Maybe his wolfen self was really his own subconscious—and the dream
just a product of his own desires.
And maybe he was losing his goddamn
mind . . .
Luckily there was no lack of farmwork
to bury himself in, no shortage of tasks big and small to occupy
his time and his thoughts. He spent most of the day plowing under
the entire section of old alfalfa to enrich the soil, and had
passed Connor’s house only briefly. Hadn’t noticed anything
different. But late in the afternoon, after he brought grain to the
horses in the front paddock, he caught a glimpse of something
white in the gardens flanking Connor’s
steps. Mounds of white, low to the ground, almost like snow heaped
amongst the sword-like iris leaves and the clusters of yellow
daylilies. What the hell? Furious that his
black-thumbed brother had carelessly dumped something on the
garden, James stalked over to see—and the empty feed buckets
dropped from his hands.
Lily of the valley was everywhere.
Barely eight inches tall, the tiny white bells on delicate stems
massed above broad emerald leaves, crowding between the irises and
the daylilies, spilling out of the garden in such abundance that
the little plants were even coming up through the cracks in the
walkway, pushing through the gravel driveway, marching across the
lawn. Lily of the valley was a spring flower and preferred
shade—yet the miniature plants sat in the hot June sun looking
fresh and dewy, as out of place as roses in a desert.
Stunned, James sank to his knees
between the forgotten buckets. He had worked the soil between the
neglected daylilies and irises by hand, knew for a fact,
knew, there were no other bulbs of any kind
in the garden. He had weeded only two days ago. The rich dark earth
had been bare when he was done. There had been nothing there,
nothing at all.
Evelyn.
He remained motionless for a long time,
not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe, in case the beautiful
apparition vanished. It wasn’t until a breeze picked up and wafted
among the diminuitive blossoms, making them bob and sway, that
James ventured to touch one. He could feel the tiny stalk with its
bell-like blooms, cool and fresh. Real. Suddenly he leaned into the
flowers, gathering a great armful of them. Clutching them to his
chest, he bent his head and inhaled great lungfuls of the scent
again and again. He crushed handfuls of the delicate bells to his
face where their essence mingled with tears. The delicate sweet
scent seemed to wrap itself around his aching heart like a healing
balm, bringing a powerful peace.
James sat amid the blossoms for a long,
long time. Calm. Clearheaded. And thankful beyond all words.
Thankful for the affirmation of his dream, grateful to have seen
Evelyn whole and happy. Thankful to know that his rebellious wolfen
side could not possibly have conjured this.
A return to
happiness. Evelyn said she had chosen these flowers to
convey that message to him. As he contemplated that, a number of
ideas suddenly fell together in ordered sequence like tumblers in a
lock about to open. James thought of the wolf, his wolf, and its efforts to embrace survival whether he
wanted to live or not. Remembered Birkie’s words, that survival
meant going on with life in all ways. Recalled Connor’s certainty
that it was too late to turn back, to turn away from being human.
James had been so angry, so frustrated with all of them. So
resistant to everyone and everything.
Worst of all, he had resisted the one
person, right in front of him, who had been courageous enough to
move forward with her life and make something of it after a
terrible and traumatic ordeal. Jillian was not just surviving, but
thriving. How could he do less? A return to
happiness. James knew suddenly, clearly, that it was time
for him to fully return to life and embrace all that it
meant.
He had to find Jillian, had to find a
way to undo the damage he’d done.
“The doctor said four weeks of rest.
You’ve barely had one.”
“I can’t see myself missing four weeks
of work. That’s too much.”
“That’s the verdict, hon. You heard it
yourself after the CAT scan.” Birkie put a fragrant cup of herbal
tea on the bedside table. “Nothing but a lot of rest is going to
improve that noggin of yours. And even when you start to get
better, any overexertion is going to bring the symptoms back full
force.”
Jillian sighed.“I know the drill. I’ve
had a concussion before, a few years ago. From the
attack.”
“And you also know that having a
concussion before is exactly why you can’t expect to bounce back in
a couple of days from this one.”
“It’s just so darn hard to do nothing.
Lying here, lying still, my mind works just fine. I feel fine and
think I should get up and do something.”
“You are doing something—you’re
whining.” Birkie grinned. “First time in over a week. That tells me
you’re starting to heal. But you were paper-white and sweating
after the ride over here yesterday. I’m still not convinced you
should have left my place just yet.”
Jillian had had her own doubts about
her decision. She’d traveled by ambulance to the city for the CAT
scan, sleeping through most of the ride there and back. A little
dizzy, a little headache, but not too bad. After that, she’d
expected riding over to the clinic in Birkie’s truck would be a
snap, but she hadn’t taken into account the fact that she would be
sitting up. The dizziness and nausea were so intense, she’d had to
close her eyes most of the way. And once at the clinic, she’d been
forced to head straight to her bed to sleep it off. “You’ve been
wonderful to me, but I really wanted to be here. It’s home
now.”
“Well, I understand that a person needs
to be in their own familiar surroundings with their own stuff. And
at least I can look in on you while I’m here during the day. I
admit I worry about you at night, though.”
“All I’m going to do is snore, I
promise. You won’t be missing anything but having to wait on
me.”
“Ha. There was a real burden. You
didn’t need any watching after that first night, and you slept most
of the whole first week. It’s not like you demanded heated towels
and chocolates on your pillow.”
“Chocolates on my pillow was an option?
I wish I’d known.”
“Drink your tea, hon, and we’ll see
about the chocolate. By the way, I’ve been putting your mail on the
table. You have quite a stack built up.”
“Bless you and thank you. I’d forgotten
all about it. Although I imagine it’s mostly bills.” Jillian sat up
carefully. Sipped at the tea. “You know what really bothers me? I
still can’t figure out how I managed to get a stupid concussion.
Believe me, the air bag went off. I didn’t hit
anything.”
“Maybe not, but the air bag certainly
hit you. You know, I’ll bet you drive with your hands high on the
wheel, don’t you?”
“What?”
“Say, about two and ten o’clock. Add to
that the fact that you’re on the short side like me. Bang, the air
bag goes off and the impact probably drove your wrist right to your
head. Broke the wrist, nearly cracked the skull.”
“Have you been watching reruns of CSI
again?”
“You bet. But the Millers said so too.
And we found out later that there was a recall notice for that
particular year and model of truck because the air bag was
discovered to be too powerful. Let me tell you, Connor had that
truck over to the dealership the next day to have that bag ripped
out and replaced. He feels terrible that this happened to
you.”
“I’m sure being hit by the air bag was
better than hitting the tree. I should feel bad about Connor’s
truck. I must have banged it up pretty good.”
“James says you banged yourself up
pretty good on the undercarriage. Lowen says that could account for
the concussion as well, plus you’ve got nine stitches in three
places to show for it.”
“Nine? Huh, I thought I counted seven.”
She fingered gingerly through her hair.
“You can count again this afternoon
when Bev comes by to take them out.”
Jillian closed her eyes and eased back
down on the bed. The urge to get up and do something had abruptly
passed. Not only was all her energy gone, but she couldn’t even
remember what it was like to have any. Her collarbone was throbbing
again too, but she reminded herself to be thankful it was just
bruised and not broken. Although it was tough to remember that when
pain woke her in the night. “I feel really bad that Connor’s going
to be shorthanded.”
“You’re the one that’s shorthanded.
That cast still itching?”
Jillian surveyed her wrist and its
fluorescent-pink casing. “Nope, not today. At least not
yet.”
“Good. Don’t worry about Connor, he’ll
be just fine. He managed for several years before you showed up.
Ran full tilt, but managed. Besides, it won’t hurt for him to gain
a renewed appreciation for you. We’re finished with calving season
until January rolls around, so that takes a lot of the pressure
off. And James has been riding along to assist with big projects
like herd checks and such. Speaking of James, he asked about you
again this morning. He still wants to see you.”
Jillian knew he had phoned Birkie’s
house at least once a day, sometimes twice. What was it going to
take for him to get the message? And how long could she hold out?
She opened her eyes and looked at her friend. “I don’t want to see
him, Birkie. I just can’t. It’s hard enough to be firm about this,
you don’t know how hard it is.”
“I think I have a pretty good idea,
hon.” She sat on the edge of the bed and seemed to consider
something. “You know, I haven’t said anything to you before, but
perhaps I should have. James cares about you a lot, much more than
you know. Much more than he knows, I suspect.”
Jillian automatically shook her head
and was instantly sorry. She froze in place until the wave of
nausea subsided and the pounding in her skull faded. “I gotta quit
doing that,” she squeaked.
“Here, let me help you with the tea.
It’ll help settle things.”
The tea soothed her stomach
immediately, which didn’t surprise her. Birkie’s concoctions were
always effective, although Jillian had given up asking what was in
them. The older woman rattled off Latin plant names as easily as if
they were ordinary baking ingredients.
“James will be back you know, hon. He’s
not a man to give up once he knows what he wants.”
“And you think he wants me.” She didn’t
dare entertain the notion that it might be true. She had closed
that particular door, locked it and piled mental furniture against
it. Didn’t want to open it again. “Dammit, he dumped me, Birkie,
dumped me and didn’t even tell me why. It hurt a helluva lot. It
still hurts. Why would I want to give him the chance to do that
again?”
“Men are funny creatures. They do the
most ridiculous things sometimes for the most noble of reasons. He
might have been trying to let you go because he believed it would
be better for you, even though he wanted you very much. Being
protective.”
Jillian stared. “You’ve got to be
kidding. Protective? What is this, the
Middle Ages? No wonder he sent such a strange bunch of flowers to
do his talking for him.” Her voice rose enough to send nail-like
spikes of pain through her head, but the surge of anger wouldn’t
let her stop. “And protect me from what? I should have been
protected from him. Why didn’t he tell me to
my face that he didn’t want a relationship? And he sure could have
mentioned it before I slept with him.” She swore then, both from
fury and pain. “If James really had some stupid archaic notion of
protecting me, he could have brought up his concerns and discussed
them with me so I could make my own damn decision.” Jillian sank
back on the bed, utterly spent and unable to tell which hurt more,
her heart or her head. Her stomach roiled
treacherously.
“Easy there, hon, it’s all true. Every
word of it. Now don’t you think you’d feel better if you told him
exactly what you just told me?”
Yeah. Yeah, she probably would. She’d
tried to be firm and reasonable at the doctors’ office. Even with
her heart in tatters, she’d tried to walk away—okay, more like limp
away—with some dignity. It was obvious now that it wasn’t going to
be enough. James refused to stay away. Still, she was far from
ready for a confrontation. “Can’t it wait until I’m vertical? I
might want to punch him out and I just can’t manage a proper Tae
Kwon Do position lying down.”
“You just let me know when you’re
ready. I’ll try to hold him off until then, but I confess it hasn’t
been easy for me to shoo him away. He’s hurting too.”
“He’s hurting?
What did I ever do to him?” Jillian narrowed
her eyes at her friend. “What is it you know that I don’t? Has he
been talking to you?”
“Not a single blessed word, hon.
Haven’t even seen his handsome face except the night of the
accident. However, what I know is that James is a complicated man.
There’s a tender heart behind the thorny exterior. Things haven’t
been easy for him since his wife died.”
Died? Jillian
was silent for a long moment. “You said he had been married but I
just assumed he was divorced. She died—that’s so awful. Why didn’t
you tell me that before?”
“I guess because it was awful. Maybe I
hoped it would come up when you and James were talking, that maybe
he would say something and I wouldn’t have to. Foolish of me, I
know. But Evelyn was my niece, you see, and well, I guess I prefer
to remember the happier things.”
“Oh Birkie, I’m so sorry.”
The older woman leaned over and
squeezed Jillian’s hand. “Thanks for that. Actually, I think you
would have liked Evelyn. You remind me of her in some ways. It
happened several years ago now, and most of us have made peace with
it as best we could. Except James, that is. He still blames himself
for it.”
“Why? How . . . how did she
die?”
“Murdered. Shot by an intruder in her
own house. She was pregnant.”
Jillian swallowed hard. There were no
words for such an enormous tragedy, the terrible waste of a life,
of two lives. And what had the loss done to James?
Birkie continued as if she had heard
Jillian’s thoughts. “James feels it’s his fault for not being
there. He was out moving cattle and arrived home to find
her.”
My God. “But how
could he think it’s his fault? He couldn’t have known, couldn’t
have anticipated. Nobody expects something like that to happen,
especially not in their own home. Did they . . . did they catch the
murderer?”
“No.” The older woman shook her head.
“James was shot too, when he entered the house. Didn’t see who it
was. Whoever did it walked away. And I think that made it even
worse, for all of us.”
Jillian understood that all too well.
The men who’d attacked her had never been found either. It had
taken a lot of counseling, a lot of hard work, to create some kind
of closure when closure could not naturally be found. Eventually
she had discovered a measure of peace within herself, but there
would always be moments that had to be managed, like that flashback
on the trail below Elk Point. She found herself wondering what it
was like to be James. Were there moments that still haunted
him?