A Cowboy's Honor

That moment would stay with him for the rest of his life, but Dallas couldn’t expect someone who hadn’t lived through those horrible, empty black spaces to understand.

“And?”

“And He did. The woman came back and asked the hospital to let me work with her at an animal shelter. There was a whole lot of discussion, but finally some government agency worked out temporary identification and a place for me to stay. I earned a little bit of money. When the dreams started getting clearer, I told them I had to go. I came to Dallas on the bus. The rest you know.”

“So the dreams didn’t come till after?”

Dallas shook his head, struggling to make her understand. “From the day I woke up I began to see things, hear things. When I fell asleep they got clearer. Some I’ve managed to figure out. Some drive me crazy.” He paused, then admitted, “The worst is Mini Belle. As far as I can tell, it’s either a cheese or a car.”

Gracie doubled over in laughter.

Dallas stared at the transformation. His wife was gorgeous. Her whole face glowed. He could not look away.

But when the laughter continued too long, he frowned. “Mind sharing the joke?”

“Mini Belle isn’t a car or a ch-cheese,” Gracie sputtered.

“What is it then?” He felt stupid, awkward, out of place. He hated not getting the joke, or wondering if he was the butt of it.

“Mini Belle is a horse.” Grace sniffed, dabbed at her eyes. Seeing his disbelief, she nodded. “A miniature horse that was particularly fond of you. You once told me she greeted you by pressing her left front hoof on the toe of your boot until you gave her a carrot.”

He listened as she explained about his work with the miniature horse association in Arizona, how he’d studied the friendliness of the small horses.

“What other words have been bothering you? Maybe I can help?”

He decided to risk it.

“Fala-bella? I’m not sure I have the pronunciation quite…” Dallas stopped. He could tell from her face that she recognized the word.

“Falabella. It’s a very rare breed of miniature horse. Originally they were found only on the Falabella Farms in Argentina. I think now there are about nine hundred worldwide. In fact, we have one here at the ranch,” Gracie told him. “It was a gift from a South American group for Elizabeth’s help with some Amazonian issue.”

“Oh.” So it was work he’d been thinking about all these months. Hope deflated. He’d prayed for some clue that would unravel the past, something to link him with Gracie and Misty. This was not it.

“What else?” she asked quietly.

“Porter. I keep hearing the word porter.”

“Ray Porter was your boss. He’s retired now.”

Dallas wanted something more personal, something that would define who and what he’d been, what he’d done with his life, what meant the most to him. He told her more, but every time he repeated a word or described a dream, Gracie related it to work. Finally he chose the one that bothered him most. “Regret.”

“You mean you have regrets?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s like a title I see on the wall of my mind. Regret.”

“Could be anything.” Gracie shrugged. “You probably regretted having to leave home that last day. We’d only been married a week, but you had a meeting in Washington State, and then somewhere near Santa Fe, I think. You said you couldn’t miss them. Maybe regret was the last thing you felt.”

“When I see ‘regret’ I don’t feel emotion,” he explained, searching to understand why that word seemed so important. “It’s more like a tangible thing.”

“I don’t know how to help you.” Gracie frowned. “I suppose we could phone Ray and ask him if the word has any significance. But I’m not sure he would know more than that. You had almost finished your contract with them. You worked freelance.”

Dallas felt certain that wasn’t the answer he was looking for. But Elizabeth appeared at that moment.

“You must stay at the ranch as long as you like, Dallas.” The woman’s warm smile chased away the anxiety clawing his insides. “I don’t know what your accommodation arrangements are, but you’re welcome to stay in what I call the bunkhouse with some of our other employees. And if you need a job, we could certainly use you. How are you with horses?”

“He’s an expert,” Gracie said, before Dallas could admit he didn’t know.

Between the two ladies they had his future nailed down in two minutes. It was like being trapped between whirlwinds, but Dallas didn’t mind. He felt relief that he could stay, get to know his wife and daughter. Somehow God would reveal the next step.

“I’ll ask our sheriff to come over a little later. He’s a friend of mine and I’m sure he’ll help us figure out a way to locate your family.” Elizabeth surveyed his shabby clothes. “Camp staff usually wear jeans and camp shirts, which we provide. You can pick some up tomorrow morning, or Gracie can show you this evening. She’ll know where to find some boots, as well.”

Though he searched her face, Dallas found no hesitancy in Elizabeth’s manner toward him. The ranch owner obviously valued Gracie’s opinion and would accept Dallas on her word.

“I’ll do my best to make sure you’re not disappointed,” he promised. But Elizabeth didn’t return his smile.

Her brown eyes darkened.

“Don’t worry about disappointing me,” she murmured, an iron inflection backing the softly voiced words. “Worry about them.” She inclined her head toward the house, where Gracie had run inside to answer Misty’s call. “They’re more important than anything.”

“I know that. It will be hard for Gracie to have me back after such a long time,” he admitted.

“But you will stay?”

“Ms. Wisdom, you couldn’t pay me to move, now that I’ve found my family.”

“Good. God created families to support and love each other. He’s brought you here for a reason, Dallas. I’m going to pray you find it.”

“Thank you.”

Elizabeth patted his shoulder, then walked out of the yard toward the main buildings, whistling a little tune as she went.

Dallas sank back into his chair and sipped his tea, watery now that the ice had melted.

“I sure hope You know what You’re doing here, Lord,” he said, trying to ignore the call Gracie’s swimming pool sent his weary body. “Because I haven’t got a clue.”

He tilted his head back, closed his eyes and waited for the shadows to come. But for the first time since he could remember, no whispers haunted him.

Chapter Three

Gracie swam through the pool with smooth, easy strokes, stretching every muscle, hoping the effort would clear her mind, leave her body limp and ready to rest.

So far it was not working.

Earlier, Elizabeth had insisted her personal physician come out to the ranch, examine Dallas and contact the hospital that had cared for him in Los Angeles. Only after the doctor had certified that Dallas was physically fine had Elizabeth allowed the meeting with her sheriff friend. He’d already been in contact with the L.A. authorities who’d questioned Dallas extensively when he’d first awakened. But L.A. had little to pass on other than that he’d been found unconscious, without identification, and no one had called to inquire. The sheriff left after offering to help locate Dallas’s parents.

Gracie had decided it would be easier, and less taxing on her emotions, if they all ate dinner in the big mess hall with the rest of the staff and some of the regular students. That knocked Misty’s routine off-kilter, so it took a while to answer her many questions and get her into bed. By then Dallas had gone with Elizabeth to inspect his new quarters, and Gracie was alone in her house.

All she could think about were Dallas’s parents and how long it would take the sheriff to find them.