Travis shifted and opened one eye. The morning sun blinked bright in his face. He rolled to his side and pushed himself to a sitting position. He could never remember sleeping past dawn in his life. Usually at first light he'd already downed a half pot of coffee.
Staring at the campfire, he wished his brothers had lugged up a pot and coffee. The memory of the odor of tea in his dream came back to him so strong he swore he could almost smell it. Tea. He hated tea. One winter when he still lived at the ranch, they ran out of coffee and Martha tried to make them all drink her tea. The stuff tasted like hot water sweetened with elm bark. He promised himself he'd die of thirst before he ever forced down another cup of the stuff.
Travis rummaged in the bag of food and pulled out a biscuit. Even cold, Martha's biscuits were great, soft and fluffy. He washed it down with water and leaned back to think about his dream.
As near as he could tell it told him nothing about the future, except maybe one day he'd find a book that would keep him up all night. That wasn't all that unusual. Often when he was home he would read all night.
The smell of tea could have been coming from the mixture of green wood he'd burned last night, and the fire in his dream sprang from the campfire a few feet from the bunk.
No magic. Nothing special about the dream. No great message. But it did feel good to think about how his father may have slept on this very spot and thought of the future. Travis was more than ten years older than his father had been when he'd climbed the mountain to dream. He realized how young his father must have been when he died. Only two years older than he was now. He remembered his father as being tall and quiet, almost like Tobin. Andrew McMurray hadn't wanted to leave his family when the war with Mexico started. Trouble had seemed a world away from their ranch. But he'd gone because it was his duty. Andrew had lined his three sons up and hugged each before he left. Maybe he didn't believe his dream would come true, but he must have worried about it or he never would have left the letter telling them what to do.
Travis couldn't shake the dark mood that followed him all day. He used his cane and forced himself to walk around, staying clear of the fire. If he fell he could always crawl back to the bunk and pull up, provided he didn't fall into the fire. But he didn't dream he died burning. He didn't even dream he could walk again, or ride, or go back to his life as a Ranger. He dreamed he was reading.
All his life he'd been a man of action, and now, when he supposedly had one look into his future, he dreamed of a study, which shouldn't surprise him, since he'd spent the past few months sleeping in one.
He'd been a fool to even test the legend. It was just that-a legend, nothing more.
By midafternoon the sky grew cloudy, but Travis didn't smell rain. He wondered if his brothers were worried about him. Sage had probably driven them nuts by now, but he knew Teagen and Tobin wouldn't come unless he fired rounds. They would give him the time he'd asked for.
Before dark, he ate the last of Martha's bread and cheese. He checked his guns out of habit, enjoying the weight of the Colt in his hand. It felt familiar, like the night around him and the fire. He could almost believe for a time that he was whole and the world was right once more.
He leaned back waiting to fall asleep. If he were to glimpse the future, it better come tonight. As he drifted, he thought of how the wind always chilled his face when he rode hard.
When the dream came, it was almost the same, only this time he was standing. He held a book in one hand. Big, heavy, black-like a family Bible.
Fear cut off his breathing. His mind kept racing, saying over and over again, "One chance, one chance." He tried to look around the room, needing to see someone. Needing it so badly he felt like he would have given his life for one view.
One chance, he thought. One chance. His heart pounded in his ears as need and longing mixed with fear.
He could hear movement, like rats circling in a dark cellar. He tried to see, but smoke whispered through his dream, blocking his view. He had the sense that time was running out.
Forcing air from his lungs, he took action. In one swift move he opened the Bible, reached for the gun inside, and fired. The blast echoed off the walls as the Bible hit the floor.
Travis woke with a jerk. For a moment he didn't know where he was. The dream seemed so real. The room of smoke, the Bible, the gun in his hand.
He closed his eyes and tried to shove it all from his mind. A nightmare. Nothing more, he told himself.
But the dream still haunted him as his brothers carried him down the mountain a few hours later. He'd told them of his first dream, but couldn't bring himself to mention the second.
He'd forget it, he decided. In the legend a man only gets one dream. The second one didn't count. He'd shove the nightmare from his mind and never think of it again.
Only when he was back in the study and night came, he fought sleep, not wanting to see any part of his vision again. He never wanted to feel as if he were trapped, as if his entire life balanced on one shot from a gun hidden inside a Bible.
Finally peace settled in, and when he dreamed back in his bed at the ranch house, he dreamed of dancing with a woman with green eyes.
CHAPTER 10
Rainey Adams thought long and hard about selling the horse she borrowed from the McMurray ranch, but when life comes down to whether to eat or not, rationalizing is often served as a side dish. She reasoned that if she starved, she'd never be able to pay Travis and his brothers back for the horse, and if she didn't sell the animal, it would have nothing to eat and would die, providing no help at all to anyone.
So, three days after she reached Austin, Rainey walked down the dusty streets to a livery and sold the horse for what she hoped would be enough for a month's room and board and clothes suitable for job hunting.
Rainey had circled the town for two days and found Austin busy and overrun with visitors. Traders, soldiers, families moving in, all crowded the walks and cafes. Most looked as if they'd gone longer than Rainey had without a bath. She moved among them as invisible as the occasional rat she noticed darting from alleyway to alleyway.
Though this town was rough and smelled of campfires and unwashed bodies, it had a liveliness she'd never noticed in Washington. Here the people seemed more real, as if layers had been washed away. There were no family names. No assumed respect given because of a man's dress or even occupation. If Austin were a painting, the artist would have used only primary colors, no subtle shades. The very town seemed so alive she swore she could hear a heartbeat pounding beneath the muddy streets. Building seemed to be going on everywhere with wagon loads of lumber log piling at almost every intersection.
After Rainey collected the money for the horse and saddle, she went to a small mercantile she'd noticed the day before. Though off the main path on a side street, the place had a sunny look, as if whoever owned the store cared about first impressions.
Her choices were few here, but the clothes seemed well made, and, most important to Rainey, the place had few customers. No one would question or notice why a ragged boy bought a dress. She'd thought of changing into her one dress. Though it hadn't been washed properly or mended in weeks, it would pass if she wore her blue cap over it. But she felt somehow safer, more invisible, in the trousers and baggy shirt.
Plus, something about her wanted to be presentable when she did switch into her real clothes. Many books commented that a women not properly careful of her dress must be not only an embarrassment to her family, but mentally impaired. So Rainey walked into the store in her boy's rags thinking she'd change all at once back into a proper lady.