with her past, maybe she’d know if there was a place for Shawn in her future.
“I plan to spend the time I’m at the cabin on my research. Things are too up in the air right now for me to make any other commitments.”
“Will you at least think about it?”
He wasn’t going to give up unless she conceded at least that much. “Yes, I’ll think about it, but no promises.”
Her effort at a reassuring smile must have succeeded because he gave her an approving nod. “Great. Now I’d better get back to my office. We’ve both got work to do.”
As a fellow college instructor, he knew the constant pressure to publish. She let him think that was what was driving her research, a far more acceptable explanation for her almost obsessive need to study the past.
In truth, the dream that had haunted her for years was the real reason she scoured bookstores and the internet for new primary sources of information on the lost towns of the West, and specifically about Blessing, Colorado.
It didn’t help that all she felt when Shawn left was relief. Her mother would be the first one to tell her that she was being foolish. Shawn was educated, handsome and financially secure; in short, everything Rayanne should want in a man. She liked him; she really did. What did it say about her that she’d rather focus her energy on research than on building a relationship?
This wasn’t getting her anywhere. A few more minutes of reading and then back to work. As she opened the book, a dank, musty smell wafted up from the pages, but she didn’t mind. Books as old as this one were rarely in pristine condition. Besides, it was the words on the pages that were important.
The passage she’d been reading made her smile. It was like having a private conversation with someone who had lived and breathed more than a century ago. The author, Jubal Lane, had clearly shared her interest in the boom and bust of the towns that dotted the landscape in the late 1800s. The only difference was that he’d seen them firsthand.
Jealousy was pointless, but at least she could see those same towns through his eyes. She read slowly to savor Jubal’s thoughts and descriptions, pausing periodically to make notes. When she was about to stop, a word at the bottom of the page caught her attention: Blessing.
With her pulse racing, she quickly scanned the remaining few lines. Jubal Lane had actually visited Blessing, the town that had formed the backdrop of the nightmares that had haunted her since she was thirteen years old.
Before that summer, she’d played in the deserted buildings as a child, loving every minute of her visits with Uncle Ray. But that last trip, everything had changed and she hadn’t been back since. The memories flooded through her mind.
How ironic that she’d run across a reference to Blessing now when it was too late to share it with Ray.
Rather than letting herself get dragged back into the past, she closed the book and put it in her bag. For now, she had to finish before the shipping company arrived. Most of her things were headed for storage; the remaining few would be shipped to the cabin up on the mountain where she’d need them for her research.
As she sealed the last box, she paused to look around her office. Odd that it felt as if she were leaving for good rather than for the summer. That was ridiculous. Of course she’d be back in the fall. The terms of Uncle Ray’s will had only dictated she had to live on the mountain through August, not the rest of her life.
By the end of summer, hopefully, she will have laid the past to rest once and for all. She’d return rested and ready to pick up the pieces of her life here at the university. That was her plan, and she was sticking to it.
* * *
Later that night, Rayanne curled up in her favorite chair, ready to learn what Jubal had to say about Blessing. Since no one in her family had ever answered her questions about the town, perhaps she’d finally find them for herself.
Did she really even want to?
As a rule, she did her best not to think about the solitary man who wore a black duster and carried a rifle. After all, he and the others only existed in her imagination. But if that were true, why had she continued to be plagued by such vivid, horrifying dreams about them?
Worse yet, why had she secretly compared every man she’d met to a nameless man with black hair and blue eyes?
She’d spent years searching for even a mention of Blessing with no luck until now. With a mixture of trepidation and excitement, she opened the book to the last page she’d read and started over at the top.
When she reached the lines where Jubal mentioned his next stop was to be Blessing, she took a deep breath and turned the page. His words drew her back into the past. He described the valley where the town sat with near-perfect detail, enough to convince her he was talking about the one on Uncle Ray’s mountain.
Jubal said most of the townspeople had moved on to greener pastures after some tragedy had occurred. He also alluded to a gunslinger who had met his fate in the street outside the saloon, his tone implying the man had gotten no less than he’d deserved.
Rayanne stopped right there to give herself time to process what she’d just read: there really had been a gunfight in Blessing. Did Jubal have more to say on the subject? With her pulse pounding in her head, she drew a deep breath and turned another page.
“Whoa, this can’t be!”
But it was. Not only had Jubal written more about the shootout, but he’d also included a picture. As the reality sank in, her hands shook so badly she dropped the book. She picked it up again.
Nothing had changed. Even in the faded tintype, it was easy enough to recognize the man who’d haunted her dreams for fifteen years. He wasn’t wearing a hat, but the hair was the same. So were the intense, pale eyes that stared up at her from the page. She bet they were blue. In fact, she knew they were.
The gunslinger had a name—Wyatt McCain.
He was real.
He’d lived and died right there in the dusty streets of Blessing.
For years, her family and the shrink they’d dragged her to had insisted that she’d made it all up. Her mother had blamed her father for filling Rayanne’s head with stories about the Old West. In return, her father had blamed her mother for leaving their impressionable young daughter alone with her nutcase brother. The shrink had blamed it all on her parents’ constant bickering and its effect on their daughter. Idiots.
None of them had even considered the possibility that it had all been real—the people, the gunfire, the blood and, most of all, Wyatt McCain.
Had Uncle Ray known? Was that why he’d come to her in the dream to say goodbye? He’d mentioned a gift they’d shared. What had that been about?
Now that she had a few facts to go on, she wouldn’t rest until she’d learned everything she could. Once she had her arsenal of evidence, the facts would free her of the nightmares from her past. Even if no one else ever knew the truth, she would.
A real man had died that day in the streets of Blessing, one who haunted her dreams a hundred years after his passing. She would tell his story—her story, too. Her purpose clear, she set the book aside and started a list of what she needed to take care of before she
