The Long Trail (The McCabes Book 1) by Brad Dennison (microsoft ebook reader .TXT) 📗

the day before, when he saddled one of the geldings himself, hefting the saddle and tossing it onto the horse’s back, and pulling the girth tight. He could feel the exertion at the point the bullets had entered, and he could feel it deeper inside. He then stepped into the saddle and rode for a few minutes, keeping the horse to a light walk, with Fred watching should something go wrong. His bullet wounds had long since healed on the surface, but he could feel the jarring of the horse’s steps internally. After a few minutes, he began to break out in a cold sweat, so he stepped down and sat in Ginny’s rocker on the porch until he felt better.

Of course, he hadn’t told Ginny any of this. As far as she knew, he had gone for a long walk.

He was sure, in time, he would regain all of his stamina, and the wounds would heal entirely. A concern he had, though, was that neither bullet had left an exit wound, meaning the lead was still inside. He had known men who carried lead from old wounds, and the effect it could have was unpredictable. Never affected any two men the same.

But this evening, as he stood with a cup of coffee in one hand enjoying the mountain air, he felt fine. Yesterday’s discomfort and fatigue had been only warning signs, he figured, to take it more slowly.

“So,” she said, “the plan, as I understand it, is Dusty and Josh are going to ride out to Oregon after the fall roundup.”

Johnny nodded. “If Josh can pull himself away from Temperence for that long.”

Ginny chuckled. “They’re falling in love, you know.”

“You can almost feel it in the air when the two of them are in the room together.” He turned to face her. “What do you think about all of that? I mean, what do we really know about Temperence?”

“She’s a good girl, John. A girl forced to make some bad decisions. But she’s a fighter. A survivor. She was able to survive the life she had been trapped in. And I’ve been thinking – she and Josh sort of remind me of a couple I knew years ago.”

He raised his brows questioningly. “Who?”

“Do I really have to tell you? He is your son. Dusty isn’t the only one who reminds me of you.”

Johnny turned back to look at the darkening valley. “Jack’ll be home in a few weeks. It’ll be good to see him.”

“I’ve written him a letter telling him about Dusty.”

“Good.”

Johnny stood in silence for a few moments. He took a sip of coffee. The breeze picked up a bit, then died down.

“John,” Ginny said. “You said something when you first woke up from being shot. You said that Lura loved me. Why did you say that?”

How could he tell her? How could he tell anyone without them thinking he was out of his mind? And maybe he had been. Out of his mind with the loss of blood, and the fever that had been setting in. Maybe it had only been a dream, as his head swum in delirium. But somehow, on a deeper level, he felt it had not been.

He hadn’t realized until after he had his experience in that dream state with Lura and the old Shoshone shaman, and he lied in bed recuperating, with lots of time to think about it, it had not been grief that he was carrying all of those years since Lura’s death. It was guilt. Guilt, because he had believed that bullet was meant for him. And now, the guilt was gone. He felt somehow lighter, as though a burden had been removed.

“I could never explain it,” he said. “But trust me.”

She nodded thoughtfully. There was probably no one on Earth she trusted more. “So, have you had any more thoughts about riding to California to visit Lura’s grave?”

“I think I probably will. But I won’t be gone long. I’ll definitely be coming back. My life is here. And for the first time in a long time, I feel young and alive, and I intend to live my life.”

She didn’t know what had happened. Maybe she never would. But she knew it was more than simply coming back from near death. Whatever had happened, she was grateful. She hadn’t seen him this full of life since before Lura died.

Welcome back, John, she said to herself, and brought her cup of tea to her lips. What a day this had turned out to be, indeed.

Ginny closed her eyes and took in a deep lungfull of the evening mountain air, relishing the scents of balsam, and the scent of grass and of earth. And the subtle yet unmistakable scent of peach blossoms.