“It’s not for Connor and Zoey, hon. I planted these especially for you. Don’t you know what it means? You used to know a lot about flowers and their language. You said your grandmother taught you.”
“She did.” In fact, he had used that long-ago knowledge to compose the bouquet for Jillian. He searched his mind and came up blank. “I can’t seem to remember this one.”
“Lily of the valley means the “return of happiness.” That’s why I picked it for you, James. It’s time. Your time.”
“Evelyn, I—”
He awakened then, to find the morning sun gilding the stones on the cold fireplace and his face wet.
God. Dear God.
He felt off-balance, both comforted and shaken. Part of him wanted to linger in the glow of the dream, and the other part wanted to get to work on something, anything, that would ground him. Eventually the desire for solid reality won out, and James forced himself to get up and get moving.
Still, the effects of the dream lingered. Frequently throughout the day, he found himself having to run a sleeve over his eyes. It had been so good, so damn good to see Evelyn, to see her whole and smiling. To see her long dark hair glinting in the sunshine, see her in her favorite gardening clothes—faded jeans and one of his shirts with the sleeves rolled up a half dozen times. A smudge of dirt on her face and laughter in her dark eyes. Just hearing her voice had eased something inside him.
Later, when the initial glow had worn off, he remembered that she’d spoken about Jillian and a terrible suspicion formed.
Please don’t let my wolf have anything to do with this.
That’s all he needed was to have his furry alter ego try to further its goals by invading his dreams, by planting images of the one person he was most likely to listen to. It couldn’t do that, could it? What if the comforting dream, in which Evelyn was so vital and alive, was tainted? Fixed? Nothing more than lupine propaganda?
Christ, I’m getting paranoid.
He
was
the wolf and the wolf was him. Still, his animal side had acted on its own more than once, and there was no denying it was totally devoted to Jillian. Maybe his wolfen self was really his own subconscious—and the dream just a product of his own desires.
And maybe he was losing his goddamn mind . . .
Luckily there was no lack of farmwork to bury himself in, no shortage of tasks big and small to occupy his time and his thoughts. He spent most of the day plowing under the entire section of old alfalfa to enrich the soil, and had passed Connor’s house only briefly. Hadn’t noticed anything different. But late in the afternoon, after he brought grain to the horses in the front paddock, he caught a glimpse of something
white
in the gardens flanking Connor’s steps. Mounds of white, low to the ground, almost like snow heaped amongst the sword-like iris leaves and the clusters of yellow daylilies.
What the hell?
Furious that his black-thumbed brother had carelessly dumped something on the garden, James stalked over to see—and the empty feed buckets dropped from his hands.
Lily of the valley was everywhere. Barely eight inches tall, the tiny white bells on delicate stems massed above broad emerald leaves, crowding between the irises and the daylilies, spilling out of the garden in such abundance that the little plants were even coming up through the cracks in the walkway, pushing through the gravel driveway, marching across the lawn. Lily of the valley was a spring flower and preferred shade—yet the miniature plants sat in the hot June sun looking fresh and dewy, as out of place as roses in a desert.
Stunned, James sank to his knees between the forgotten buckets. He had worked the soil between the neglected daylilies and irises by hand, knew for a fact,
knew
, there were no other bulbs of any kind in the garden. He had weeded only two days ago. The rich dark earth had been bare when he was done. There had been nothing there, nothing at all.
Evelyn.
He remained motionless for a long time, not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe, in case the beautiful apparition vanished. It wasn’t until a breeze picked up and wafted among the diminuitive blossoms, making them bob and sway, that James ventured to touch one. He could feel the tiny stalk with its bell-like blooms, cool and fresh. Real. Suddenly he leaned into the flowers, gathering a great armful of them. Clutching them to his chest, he bent his head and inhaled great lungfuls of the scent again and again. He crushed handfuls of the delicate bells to his face where their essence mingled with tears. The delicate sweet scent seemed to wrap itself around his aching heart like a healing balm, bringing a powerful peace.
James sat amid the blossoms for a long, long time. Calm. Clearheaded. And thankful beyond all words. Thankful for the affirmation of his dream, grateful to have seen Evelyn whole and happy. Thankful to know that his rebellious wolfen side could not possibly have conjured this.
A return to happiness.
Evelyn said she had chosen these flowers to convey that message to him. As he contemplated that, a number of ideas suddenly fell together in ordered sequence like tumblers in a lock about to open. James thought of the wolf,
his
wolf, and its efforts to embrace survival whether he wanted to live or not. Remembered Birkie’s words, that survival meant going on with life in all ways. Recalled Connor’s certainty that it was too late to turn back, to turn away from being human. James had been so angry, so frustrated with all of them. So resistant to everyone and everything.
Worst of all, he had resisted the one person, right in front of him, who had been courageous enough to move forward with her life and make something of it after a terrible and traumatic ordeal. Jillian was not just surviving, but thriving. How could he do less?
A return to happiness.
James knew suddenly, clearly, that it was time for him to fully return to life and embrace all that it meant.
He had to find Jillian, had to find a way to undo the damage he’d done.
“The doctor said four weeks of rest. You’ve barely had one.”
“I can’t see myself missing four weeks of work. That’s too much.”
“That’s the verdict, hon. You heard it yourself after the CAT scan.” Birkie put a fragrant cup of herbal tea on the bedside table. “Nothing but a lot of rest is going to improve that noggin of yours. And even when you start to get better, any overexertion is going to bring the symptoms back full force.”
Jillian sighed.“I know the drill. I’ve had a concussion before, a few years ago. From the attack.”
“And you also know that having a concussion before is exactly why you can’t expect to bounce back in a couple of days from this one.”
“It’s just so darn hard to do nothing. Lying here, lying still, my mind works just fine. I feel fine and think I should get up and do something.”
“You are doing something—you’re whining.” Birkie grinned. “First time in over a week. That tells me you’re starting to heal. But you were paper-white and sweating after the ride over here yesterday. I’m still not convinced you should have left my place just yet.”
Jillian had had her own doubts about her decision. She’d traveled by ambulance to the city for the CAT scan, sleeping through most of the ride there and back. A little dizzy, a little headache, but not too bad. After that, she’d expected riding over to the clinic in Birkie’s truck would be a snap, but she hadn’t taken into account the fact that she would be sitting up. The dizziness and nausea were so intense, she’d had to close her eyes most of the way. And once at the clinic, she’d been forced to head straight to her bed to sleep it off. “You’ve been wonderful to me, but I really wanted to be here. It’s home now.”
“Well, I understand that a person needs to be in their own familiar surroundings with their own stuff. And at least I can look in on you while I’m here during the day. I admit I worry about you at night, though.”
“All I’m going to do is snore, I promise. You won’t be missing anything but having to wait on me.”
“Ha. There was a real burden. You didn’t need any watching after that first night, and you slept most of the whole first week. It’s not like you demanded heated towels and chocolates on your pillow.”
“Chocolates on my pillow was an option? I wish I’d known.”
“Drink your tea, hon, and we’ll see about the chocolate. By the way, I’ve been putting your mail on the table. You have quite a stack built up.”
“Bless you and thank you. I’d forgotten all about it. Although I imagine it’s mostly bills.” Jillian sat up carefully. Sipped at the tea. “You know what really bothers me? I still can’t figure out how I managed to get a stupid concussion. Believe me, the air bag went off. I didn’t hit anything.”
“Maybe not, but the air bag certainly hit you. You know, I’ll bet you drive with your hands high on the wheel, don’t you?”
“What?”
“Say, about two and ten o’clock. Add to that the fact that you’re on the short side like me. Bang, the air bag goes off and the impact probably drove your wrist right to your head. Broke the wrist, nearly cracked the skull.”
“Have you been watching reruns of CSI again?”
“You bet. But the Millers said so too. And we found out later that there was a recall notice for that particular year and model of truck because the air bag was discovered to be too powerful. Let me tell you, Connor had that truck over to the dealership the next day to have that bag ripped out and replaced. He feels terrible that this happened to you.”
“I’m sure being hit by the air bag was better than hitting the tree. I should feel bad about Connor’s truck. I must have banged it up pretty good.”
“James says you banged yourself up pretty good on the undercarriage. Lowen says that could account for the concussion as well, plus you’ve got nine stitches in three places to show for it.”
“Nine? Huh, I thought I counted seven.” She fingered gingerly through her hair.
“You can count again this afternoon when Bev comes by to take them out.”
Jillian closed her eyes and eased back down on the bed. The urge to get up and do something had abruptly passed. Not only was all her energy gone, but she couldn’t even remember what it was like to have any. Her collarbone was throbbing again too, but she reminded herself to be thankful it was just bruised and not broken. Although it was tough to remember that when pain woke her in the night. “I feel really bad that Connor’s going to be shorthanded.”
“You’re the one that’s shorthanded. That cast still itching?”
Jillian surveyed her wrist and its fluorescent-pink casing. “Nope, not today. At least not yet.”
“Good. Don’t worry about Connor, he’ll be just fine. He managed for several years before you showed up. Ran full tilt, but managed. Besides, it won’t hurt for him to gain a renewed appreciation for you. We’re finished with calving season until January rolls around, so that takes a lot of the pressure off. And James has been riding along to assist with big projects like herd checks and such. Speaking of James, he asked about you again this morning. He still wants to see you.”
Jillian knew he had phoned Birkie’s house at least once a day, sometimes twice. What was it going to take for him to get the message? And how long could she hold out? She opened her eyes and looked at her friend. “I don’t want to see him, Birkie. I just can’t. It’s hard enough to be firm about this, you don’t know how hard it is.”
“I think I have a pretty good idea, hon.” She sat on the edge of the bed and seemed to consider something. “You know, I haven’t said anything to you before, but perhaps I should have. James cares about you a lot, much more than you know. Much more than he knows, I suspect.”
Jillian automatically shook her head and was instantly sorry. She froze in place until the wave of nausea subsided and the pounding in her skull faded. “I gotta quit doing that,” she squeaked.
“Here, let me help you with the tea. It’ll help settle things.”
The tea soothed her stomach immediately, which didn’t surprise her. Birkie’s concoctions were always effective, although Jillian had given up asking what was in them. The older woman rattled off Latin plant names as easily as if they were ordinary baking ingredients.
“James will be back you know, hon. He’s not a man to give up once he knows what he wants.”
“And you think he wants me.” She didn’t dare entertain the notion that it might be true. She had closed that particular door, locked it and piled mental furniture against it. Didn’t want to open it again. “Dammit, he dumped me, Birkie, dumped me and didn’t even tell me why. It hurt a helluva lot. It still hurts. Why would I want to give him the chance to do that again?”
“Men are funny creatures. They do the most ridiculous things sometimes for the most noble of reasons. He might have been trying to let you go because he believed it would be better for you, even though he wanted you very much. Being protective.”
Jillian stared. “You’ve got to be kidding.
Protective?
What is this, the Middle Ages? No wonder he sent such a strange bunch of flowers to do his talking for him.” Her voice rose enough to send nail-like spikes of pain through her head, but the surge of anger wouldn’t let her stop. “And protect me from what? I should have been protected from
him
. Why didn’t he tell me to my face that he didn’t want a relationship? And he sure could have mentioned it before I slept with him.” She swore then, both from fury and pain. “If James really had some stupid archaic notion of protecting me, he could have brought up his concerns and discussed them with me so I could make my own damn decision.” Jillian sank back on the bed, utterly spent and unable to tell which hurt more, her heart or her head. Her stomach roiled treacherously.