The only one that was awake when I got to Uncle Ben's was Lily Mae, or so I thought. The first words out of her mouth were, "How's Miss Donovan?"
I let out a breath. "She'll be fine," and then I slumped into a kitchen chair. I really hadn't thought about what happened last night until just now, and suddenly it was too much to think about. Bret could have been killed. Doralice was shot. What if I'd missed the cowboy entirely? I cradled my head in my hands and felt Lily Mae's soft touch on my shoulders.
"They're both alright, Mr. B. You saved your brother."
"Yeah, but if I'd been quicker Doralice wouldn't have gotten hurt." That idea had plagued me since last night.
"You just said it yourself. She'll be fine." She pulled a pot of coffee off the stove and put a cup in front of me. "What's really botherin' you?"
I drank the coffee and wondered the same thing. "Nothin'. I don't know. When did Pappy go to bed?"
"He didn't," a voice said, and Pappy was in the seat next to me. "Whatta you need, boy?"
"Are you an Ben goin' into Maude's tonight?"
"We were plannin' on it afore all this happened."
"And now?"
"You need me for somethin'? Wait, Maude needs me for somethin'?"
"Yeah. She wants to know if you can run the house game so she can cover the bar."
He nodded and gave me a Beauregard smile. "Sure, I can do that. You alright?"
I nodded but didn't answer the question. "I gotta get changed." I started to stand up and walk away; Pappy grabbed my arm.
"What's wrong?"
"I coulda lost 'em both."
"But you didn't. Just remember that. You didn't."
I nodded again, and Pappy let go. I trudged up the stairs and down to the room I'd been sleeping in, went in and closed the door. Then I sat down on the bed. Why was this bothering me so much? Was it really about Bret? Or was it about something else entirely? Doralice? Was I wrong when I said I loved her the way I'd always loved her? Had it turned into somethin' different when I wasn't looking?
I stood up and took off my coat, vest, shirt, and tie, dropped them on the bed and went over to the small dresser that held a wash basin and a towel. I cleaned up and shaved, and at least the outside of me felt better. I put on a black shirt and my buckskin jacket, grabbed my wallet and put it in the inside pocket, and went back to the door. When I pulled it open my brother was standing there.
"Just about to knock," he told me.
"How'd you know I was here?"
"I heard you an Pappy downstairs." Bret looked like he'd gotten straight out of bed; rumpled pants, shirt half unbuttoned, messy hair. "You just get home?"
"Yeah, and I'm leavin' again."
"Back to Maude's?"
"Yeah."
"Bart, if there's anything I can do –"
I looked up at him, and I knew he was serious. "There is. Quit askin' me about New Mexico."
Something flickered in his eyes for just a moment, then it was gone. "Alright. I will." He moved aside and I left. Straight down the stairs and out the front door. Noble looked at me like I'd lost my mind but didn't make a sound. I turned him around and headed back to Little Bend.
XXXXXXXX
"Those are your choices," I told Doralice. "God or Jules Verne."
"Jules Verne," was her answer. "I've never read anything of his before. Is he good?"
"If you give him a chance," I told her. "Not as good as Dickens, but I've read all of those. So, on to Jules Verne." And with that I began reading to her. "It was on Sunday, the 24th of May, 1863, that my uncle, Professor Lidenbrock, came rushing suddenly back to his little house in the old part of Hamburg, No. 19, Königstrasse . . . "
I read to her for almost three hours, stopping on more than one occasion for water, or food, or just a moment's rest. Simon came by and checked on her, pronouncing that she was freed from the confinement of bed tomorrow, and we both took a nap around two in the afternoon. Doralice insisted I join her in bed, just to hold her, of course, and I had no objections. I always sleep better when there's a beautiful woman in my arms. Doesn't everyone?
I woke with an odd feeling; nothing unusual for me, but I knew that I had to explain my trip to the woman I was sharing a bed with. I wasn't quite sure how to do that, so I put it off until Maude left for the evening. "How's your head?" I started by asking.
"The horse that kicked me feels like a small pony now. That's an improvement, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it is. I was hoping you'd say that. There's something I want to tell you." For just a second there was a look of panic on her face, and I tried to ally her fears. "Couple of months ago – when I was at Uncle Ben's but I didn't come into town – somethin' happened that you don't know about."
"When you died, you mean?" Apparently she knew more than I thought. "When you left for the river, your father came to see Maude. He told her; she told me. It breaks my heart, to think I could've lost you before I ever found you."
"There's more than that, darlin'." I sat down on the side of the bed and took her hand in mine. "The eight days I fought the fever – I created a whole town, a whole life in my delirium. People I played poker with and got to know. A job I accepted. Don't laugh – I took a job." I had to stop and wait while she tried not to giggle. Finally she settled down, and I continued my explanation. "There was a girl. A girl I didn't know at first – but a girl I grew to love. And I was happy, and content. Remember, this was all in my head. Until I stopped breathin'."
Doralice sat and listened to me, watching me the whole time. Ever since she'd stifled the giggle, she'd made no sound, just kept track of me with those aqua blue eyes – and I had no idea what she was thinking. Why was I telling her all this? Because Bret had made it sound as if I should, and maybe he was right. It seemed important that she should know about it, at least know why I was goin' to Las Cruces. It seemed like the right and honest thing to do. It seemed like what you would do when you loved someone; tell them the truth. It was important to me that she understood how I felt. When had it gotten to be important? I'm not sure.
"But?" she asked me.
"But I came back; I mean I came back to Bret and Pappy and Ben. I didn't stay in Las Cruces, in my head or my delirium; I came home. And I started breathin' again. I only remembered bits and pieces of it, until Bret told me everything I'd talked about while I had the fever; then I remembered it all."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I want you to know why I'm goin' to Las Cruces. Somethin's not right; it's not finished. And I hafta find out what it is. I'm not gonna be settled about this until then." We sat there for I don't know how long, with her hand in mine, in silence and contemplation, until she finally raised her eyes and looked me in the face.
"Are you coming back?"
"Yes," I answered her as truthfully as I could. "I'm comin' back."
"Are you coming back to me?"
I looked at her hand, and it looked small and dainty in mine. Like I said before, something had changed, and I don't know quite when that happened. "Yes, I'm comin' back to you."