MONTANA  CROSSWINDS

PART FOURTEEN (FINAL):

“How is Henri?”  She asked him, discombobulated now as to her standing with

Cort, the doctor, with her own feelings, and reason.  She had heard the door open

despite his efforts to be quiet, was afraid to open her eyes to further disintegration. 

When he crawled into the bed with her, she let out a long slow breath she had been

holding, as if she could hardly believe he was with her again.  Petulance of an hour

before had morphed into honest regret.  “He looked as though he was about to fall

over.  Tell me he went home…” she whispered, as he settled his long form beside

her.  She noticed new bandages on his arms and felt her head spin.  Groaning softly,

she rolled slightly away from him.  “I’m sorry, Cort.  I’m the one who should make

 amends.  I did more damage than that bear ever could.  All because of my temper.”

Ah, she needed to talk. Licking his lips, he tried to settle his brain, tried to form

words  because that was  what she needed from him.  "Henri, collapsed  in the

hallway, Rachel," he began. "Something about blood pressure. He's in a wheel

chair back where the doc was working on my arm."  He paused. That was already

a lot of words. Closing his eyes just briefly, he forced himself to continue. "Wilfred's

my doc's uncle.  Henri's in no shape to drive us back to Peacefield."  He carefully

chose not to use the word 'home'.  "So Wilfred's coming to take us to the Inn for a

couple of days.  Hope that's ok." 

So many words, but was he really saying anything?  He wasn't quite sure. Most of

his brain seemed to be still out in the hallway, stuck somewhere in the mass of jello. 

He'd touched his ring to hers, hoping that would say everything for him, that he

loved her, that they were man and wife and he was still glad of it.  Now she was

apologizing to him.  Her words, though, had slid in through his skull sideways...or

something...he didn't know...and he couldn't quite make sense of them, why she was

saying them.  She had done nothing but tell him what she was feeling.  "You can do

that, you know," he murmured, unaware she would have no idea what he meant. 

Did she think she couldn't do that?  Had he made her feel that shut away from him?

He'd been on his side facing her but rolled onto his back. Putting both palms on his

forehead, he spread his fingers widely upward, letting them rake through his hair,

leaving them there as he closed his eyes. He saw Rachel lying in the grass, the huge

paws of the bear on her back. He saw Henri sagged into a wheelchair, the bear

carrying the  baby off into the field in its jaws. The images began to turn, to merge,

to swirl together  in strange patterns that  gradually formed  into the  shape of a

rattlesnake that he chopped at again and again with a hoe, killing it just once not

nearly good enough, chopping and chopping at it until it lay in scattered pieces on

the dusty planks of the barn. Then its severed head began to grow until it became

the open mouth of the grizzly, only the eyes were the ice blue eyes of Mikol.

Oh, God...

...he was losing his mind and his fingertips pressed hard down into his scalp.  He

began to mutter softly in Latin, repeating old familiar phrases over and over, trying

to keep himself anchored to some sort of reality because he saw again out of his eyes

as the little boy was gunned down by the burning mission, felt again the smash of

Ratsy's gun butt on his hand, looked again at Rachel's eyes as Mikol's warp sucked

him away from her and into hell. No, he said silently to himself, no, Cort, you can't

lose it. Rachel needs you. Henri needs you.

Pressing the heels of his hands hard into his eye sockets, he tried to make the visions

stop. Why was he cracking open like this? He didn't understand. Was it because seeing

Rachel lying there today with the bear...was that too much like when he was 14 and

the rattler had slithered away from his grandmother's fallen body? Something in him,

something in his world had died that day. He'd always known that. It was why when

Herod had come he had gone with him. Why not? What did anything matter? What

did anyone matter? Then Father Michael had changed it back, back to where people

mattered again. But he'd lost all that. Losing it again was why he'd slept with Ellen,

that almost desperate urge to grab at life, to take it without gentleness or caring, just

to take it because it was there and he wanted it. Then Rachel had come and everything

mattered again. He'd let himself love her, merge his being into hers so extraordinarily,

that for the bear to take it all away, to leave him desolate again on the plains shooting snakes...no, he couldn't do that again. Not again.

He knew he had been becoming more and more obsessive about keeping her safe. Now

that was compounded by the presence of the baby inside her.  He remembered the

agonizing strain in his arms and shoulders as he struggled to maintain his grip on her

when she was hanging off the parapet of Kamen and Mikol had been pounding on his

spine.  He remembered knowing that he was coming to the end of his strength, that

she would fall, that he would follow...because he must.  It was Henri who had saved

them both. Henri, not him.  There was something about the final moment of that,

when he had looked into her terrified eyes, knowing he was almost done, knowing he

could not save her by himself.  It had done something to him deep inside beyond the

place where words could put a name to it.  He had learned that she could die and he

could do nothing to prevent it.  Ever since, he had struggled against that knowledge. Surely...surely...if he was with her he could keep her safe!  Life had to be like that...

it just had to!  But when he'd seen the bear atop her, her life seemed to him like

water slipping through his fingers, and he was back at the parapet with his muscles

vibrating with such extreme stress and fatigue that he knew she would fall, would

fall because he had not been able to stop it. There was always a rattlesnake behind

the grain sacks.  Always.  Everywhere.

He was completely unaware he'd been making little sounds way down in his throat

as though someone were stepping on his heart.  What he did understand, though, as

he lay there, was the attraction of madness. How lovely it would be simply to let

one's mind float away, float away to some place where everything was soft and warm

and safe and neither rattlesnakes or grizzlies ever came.  His grandmother would be

there. He knew that. And Father Michael. He could populate it with Rachel and the

baby, with Henri and Pavel. Perhaps they could sit on that log, dangling their feet in

the stream and sing old songs all day? How tempting it was just to let go and find

himself there. He even let his mind reach toward the misty archway that would give

him entrance, let the fingers of his soul play idly with the long strand of ivy that hung

down just this side of the large stones.

"It doesn't hurt over here," a soft voice whispered out of the fog. "Are there pines?"

his mind whispered in reply. "Pines are everywhere," the voice said. "Come and

see."  He took one step toward the arch and then another. It was easier than he

had expected. His hands slid to his sides and he began to smile. Then...

The sound of his voice seemed to steady her as he gave her the update, but his words

didn’t make her feel any better.  Now there was guilt about Henri and how he was

taking this.  She had watched him touch his ring to hers, knew what he was trying

to say, but the selfish part of her still wanted something from him: reassurance. 

He gave it to her, as always, but there was something in the set of his jaw, in the

way he slumped onto his back that told her he was holding it all in.  She sighed,

more out of sadness than anything else.  The bear had broken something open and

right now, in this moment, as she took from Cort’s demeanor that now was the time

to put words away, all she could feel was devastation.  Their bodies had been ripped

open, their feelings, their sense of peace…

The bear.  It was almost Faulknerian…no that wasn’t it…she hated Faulkner! 

Don’t compare to Faulkner…

In her thinking, sleepiness began to creep back, even while she lay at Cort’s side,

waiting for him to settle himself…waiting for…what, she knew not.  His hands,

which he had pressed to his eyes, his temples, began to fall, and with it some kind

of vitality from his face.  This she saw as she lifted her head to look at him, hoping

he would open his eyes and look back at her.  But he didn’t.  He was murmuring

to himself, and as his hands fell to his sides, a slow smile spread across his lips. 

She shuddered, a dark shadow falling on her heart. 

“Cort!”  She whispered, prodding him in the side.  He didn’t respond.  He was

communicating with something in him, someone else.  Tears of fierce panic stung

her own eyes.  “Cort, where are you?  What are you thinking?” 

A flashing memory of some moment, she couldn’t recall when…Maximus! 

Something in that expression reminded her of Maximus finally relinquishing his

life to the Other Side.  Henri’s tale of Cort ‘leaving’…Mikol’s warp…all flashed

in her mind at once. 

“Cort, please speak to me,” she begged, shaking his shoulder.  “You can’t wink

out on me like this.  Don’t leave me.  You keep leaving me and scaring me. Don’t!” 

His ring!  She pulled up his left hand, the wedding band, the single diamond

glittering in the harsh light of the lamp over her bed. 

“Remember the star, Cort,” she murmured, vision completely lost in tears now. 

“I pledged myself to you by this star.  Don't.  Just don't...wherever it is you're

trying to go to, don't.  I’m lost without you.”

"Come and see," the voice repeated.

"Yes," he replied softly, almost eager to explore this new, soft territory. He was

steadily feeling lighter as layers of pain sifted off him onto the grass rather like

clothing he would no longer need. There would be no pain beyond the arch. 

The misty, warm clouds of it were beginning to touch his face when something,

someone pulled at his hand. He was annoyed and, at first, tried to pull it away,

not wanting the interruption of his plans.

Then he heard someone as though from a great distance calling his name and in

the swirls of fog about him, he saw the brightening glow of a small star. It was

enough to make him pause, to stop his forward step and set his boot back on the

grass.  He stood there, quiet, watching the glow of it enlarge near his face and

he cocked his head, fascinated. Then as if it were some enormous pulsar of light,

it exploded into forward motion and burst over him, into him, and he heard

Rachel's small, sad voice saying, "I'm lost without you."

"No," he murmured aloud, "I won't let you be lost."

He opened his eyes and found her bending over him, her tears falling on his face. 

"Rachel? What's wrong? Why would you be lost?"

She shook her head, unable to stop the flow of tears; sniffed.  Her fingers played

with his wedding band.  "Don't you remember our wedding vows?  How I said I

looked to you as my guiding star?  Whenever you sink into this silence, whenever

you...run away...I...," she took a deep breath, needing to control her own words. 

"Don't you see?  You're my abiding companion.  Where were you going just now? 

You looked as if..." she faded off, not sure she could express the intuition she had. 

Rationale made it seem so silly. 

Taking a deep breath, she began again on a different tack, one more grounded in

the reality of their situation.  "That bear was scary.  And we were both unprepared. 

And you and I will be hurting for some time.  But I don't want there to be mangled

flesh between us, not where our hearts are concerned.  And I don't know where

your heart is sometimes.  Even when I don't see you, I believe that you are there,

but you seem so...scared...of something, and I don’t know how to comfort you.  I

became your wife to lessen your pain, not increase it.  I know I just did..." she

added, with a bitter laugh, referring to losing her patience with him, "but it just

feels like you won't let me be the wife I want to be for you.  Don't you remember...,"

Rachel said, another intuition, another remembrance lighting up in her, "don't

you remember something Father Pavel said...something about...how our love is

not...not an exercise in safety?  If you want to make me safer, I will go where you

want me to go.  But you can't be afraid to talk to me about it.  You can't shoulder

the burden of this marriage on your own."

He still felt slight foggy. "Going?"  He looked at her blankly. "I was...."  Then

he remembered the archway and for a moment covered his face with his hands.

"Oh, God, Rachel! I...I...almost...."

He turned, stricken, and looked at her, leaning up on his right elbow. "Everything

you've just said," he started, his voice low, serious, as he collected himself, "is true.

I...," he lay back down, taking her hand and holding it again to his chest as he

spoke.  "I...sometimes...it's just so...hard." He exhaled a deep shuddering breath,

knowing he had to let her in, had to let her see all his cracks and broken places.

Licking his lips, he squinched his face up tight briefly, then looking straight up,

began. "When I was little...on the farm...I had this idea that all the world was like

that, like barns piled with hay and the scent of Grandmother's cookies coming in

from her open kitchen window. Sure, there was a lot to do...an awful lot...but each

morning I knew what I needed to do, knew pretty much where the day would be

going...and she...she was always there, strong and sturdy like a hitching post that

I could tie my trust to and know everything would be ok.  I just...just...settled into

that, you know, thought that was how things were, how they'd always be.  Then

one day when I was 14 and she asked me to move some grain sacks for her, I went

out rabbit hunting instead. She must've stood there, watching me go and then gone

into the barn to do it herself.  I hadn't got very far when I heard her cry out so...

I came back...ran across the field...back to the barn." He breathed deeply. "And

there she was, lying propped against the grain sacks, clutching her leg. I saw the

snake going back behind the sacks, back into the shadows, and I went for the hoe.

But she told me to cut her, so I dropped it and got my knife. I tried everything she

said, but it had been a huge snake and the bite was just too much for her. She

went fast. I couldn't believe how fast she went, Rachel. I think her heart must have

given out. It was just so...fast."

He lifted her hand, kissing her knuckles, then put it back on his chest. "I...I'd seen

a couple of dead people before, but nobody I loved. And she was across my lap like...

like I held you in the car on the way here. Like that. And she just suddenly went

all...heavy. I knew she was gone. I just sat there and held her for the longest time.

The barn seemed so big, so empty. It had never felt like that before.  Then I carried

her back in the house and lay her on the bed. She looked cold, so I put her pink

shawl over her arms. I...I don't even remember walking back to the barn. I was

just...there...with the hoe in my hands, pulling back grain sacks until I found the

rattlesnake. And I chopped it. Oh, God, how I chopped that thing. I wanted to

kill it again and again and again. The floor got all smeared with it...little pieces

everywhere...but I couldn't seem to stop chopping it.  Nothing was...enough."

"Finally I went into the shed where we had a saw and I took the planks we were

saving to repair the loft and I...I...made her a box.  Wasn't very good. Pretty bad,

in fact." He let out a wry, strangled laugh. "Then I went out to her favorite spot

under the old tree she liked. We just had the one tree. She used to take me there

when I was really little and read to me. So I dug a place for her. Didn't seem deep

enough so I dug and dug. Took me a long time. I remember looking down into that

dark hole when I was done...leaning on my shovel and looking down into it like it

was the gateway to hell.  Pretty much was...for me, it was. Then I brought the box

out and put it in the hole without its lid.  Everything...together...was too heavy for

me so I did it all in parts. Was the only way I could do it. I felt so bad, you know,

doing it like that. In the house I wrapped her shawl around her real good and

brushed her hair a bit.  Then I carried her out to the tree...telling her how sorry

I was I was having to do it like this for her. She deserved so much better."

"I got her in the box and just stood there looking down at her like I had at the empty

hole. It was just too...much...to put the lid on, not to ever see her again. Took me a

long time to do that. She'd baked cookies for me that morning and I still had one in

my pocket so...I leaned down and put the cookie in her hand. It was all I had to send

her off with...that cookie." Tears were flowing down his cheeks as he told her about

it. "Even when we were at the Inn, Rachel, and I was sitting there eating Margaret's

cookies...I was remembering that cookie. She...she always had one in her apron

pocket for me...was part of how she said 'I love you'...so it seemed only right somehow

to send her off with one. Then I put the lid on. Oh, God, the sound of the lid...then

the shovelfuls of dirt on that. It was like...like I was burying who I'd been along with

her. I felt so dead...so awfully, awfully...dead. More than she was."

He turned his head to the side, looking at her, his chin trembling. "Then I got my

gun and walked and walked and sat there, shooting at rattlesnakes.  Knew this area

in a rocky gully where they liked to go. That's when he came...John Herod. Got off

his horse and sat and talked with me a long time.  Asked me if I'd come ride with

him, told me he'd show me the ropes of gettin' by. So I went. I was already dead so

nothing mattered. And I began...hurting folks. Could shoot someone in a bank and

not blink an eye. It just didn't...matter."

He knew he was talking a long time, possibly more than he ever had at once in

his life. But he also knew that if he didn't lay himself bare before his wife, that

something between them was in danger. Henri had wheeled down the hall to

join them so Wilfred wouldn't have to go all over to gather them up, but Cort

had begun to talk as he arrived at the door, so he stayed outside in the hallway

to give them privacy, but Cort's words sifted out through the slightly-opened

doorway and Henri sat there, eyes closed, listening to his son uncover the depths

of his heart.

"John showed me all his tricks with a gun.  I was already a good shot with a

rifle, but he taught me about handguns, too...and I was good.  It just came to me

all natural. I practiced all the time...got better and better.  He used to watch me,

this odd  look in his eye.  I didn't know what it meant,  not till that last day in

Redemption.  We went everywhere together...always together...and I thought he

cared about me, kind of looked on me like a son, you know.  Then we got all shot

up that day in the bank in Nogales. Thought I was going to die.  Probably would

have, too, if Father Michael hadn't taken us in.  He sat by my bed, talking to me...

telling me stuff I hadn't thought about since Grandmother died...telling me things

I don't think even she knew about. I wondered why he made sure John had a

different room from me.  Mine had two cots, but Father Michael put him in a

different one.  Then I understood it was because he wanted to talk to me without

John around."

"One day when we were pretty much better, Michael was in my room, talking as

usual and John was at the door.  Neither of us saw him there, but he must've seen

that Michael was having an effect on me. That's when he came in and said it was

time for us to be moving on, time to kill Michael. He could've done that himself if

he just wanted Michael out of the way, but he wanted me to do it, wanted to stop

that door of mine from opening up the way it was doing, stop the light from getting

through. I told him 'no' and that was when he put the gun to my head and started

counting, that was when I knew I didn't matter to him at all. He would've shot me.

Just knowing that...damn, that was big. Michael knew John would kill me, too. I

could see it in his eyes. He nodded to me to do it, to shoot him. John got all the

way down to 'one' and I could hear his trigger start to move before I pulled mine.

But my bullet didn't sound like gunfire to me...was like a huge, slamming door...

like the coffin lid, only louder. John grinned and asked me if I was coming.

I told him 'no' and he just walked away. Left me there with the dead priest and

walked away."

He blinked rapidly several times, pushing himself on with his story. "So that was

the second time everything came to an end. Nothing was the same...like after

Grandmother died. I was in a whole, different world, a world that started with

the body of someone who was...important...to me. It always changes over with a

body. Always. So I lived that new life as best I could, finding my way in a strange

and very different place. And that lasted until that little boy was shot down as he

ran to help me while my mission burned. I looked at him lying there, so tiny, his

blood seeping out into the dirt. I didn't even get to bury that one. The only sound

I had that third time was my own chains."

"You know the story of that as well as I do, though.  Then that ended with John's

body and...you were there...in your green dress.  Everything was so...brown...even

me. But you, you were green."  He kissed her hand again.  "And we were together

in a whole new world again, together with all that NanoCorp brought into it, with

all we did in Gladiator and Kamen.  Then that part was done and there was Mikol's

body on the rocks.  He didn't get buried, either."  He sucked in a sharp breath.  

"Didn't need to be." 

"Then everything was new again and you and I were married and I had a new

father, a whole new family...and we came here.  And it was like before...like

being back on the farm before Grandmother died.  Only it wasn't...not really. 

Because back then I had known nothing but the security of her presence,

that sense that everything would always be all right.  But on Peacefield, I had this

string of deaths that I knew and I was all too aware that there were snakes behind

the grain sacks.  If...if I hadn't gone out rabbit hunting...she might have been ok,

Rachel.  I left her and I wasn't there and she died because of that.  Because I chose

what I wanted to do rather than be there for her.  And Michael, he died because

I chose my life over his. And the little boy died because of me...because Foy and

Ratsy had come for me. So I...I...can't trust any more that death isn't lurking

somewhere around me and that, somehow because of me, my loved ones will pay

the price for caring about me. And I know I've done wrong by you, Rachel, know

I've been trying to keep you like a little bird in a cage so you'll be safe. But nothing

works...not even that. Because you were just in your little garden where you should

have been safe, safe there with the flowers and the herbs, but death came and found

you...even there." He rolled toward her, cupping her face with his hands. "I know

I can't keep you safe. I know that. But it tears me apart that I can't. I've started

over so many times, lost everything so many times, I can't do it again. I can't stand

there looking at the body of someone who has died because they love me."

Tears brimmed in his eyes. "Can you help me, Rachel? Can you help me let you be

free? I can't do it on my own. I can't...stop...how I feel, what I feel because of all that

I've known, all I've seen. I...I...don't want to make you think I'm trying to carry

everything alone. I don't want to carry it alone. I...can't. I think it almost broke

me a few minutes ago. I think I was going somewhere where...where I wouldn't

have to deal with the pain of it any more. But I want to be here...with you...with

our baby." He sighed deeply. "But it's not easy for me, to stop wanting to pack

you in cotton fluff, it's not easy. And when I see...like today...how easily you could

be taken...it's just so much harder.  You would be the biggest loss of all. You know

that, don't you?"

He was done. Words had spilled and spilled out of him and he had no more left, so

he put his lips on hers, softly, gently, with just the slightest pressure. Then he pulled

back just enough to murmur, "Show me how, Rachel, show me how."

She had wanted the floodwaters, the dam to burst, and now, as he poured forth his

heart, long hidden agony draining out upon her as she lay beside him, she held very

still, letting him move her hands where he needed them, letting him move through

his thoughts while she quietly watched.  She could see everything he described, feel

everything he experienced, wanting so much to become large so she could wrap him

up, enfold him, make him feel safe, exquisitely aware that someone who strived so

much to keep her solid was dangerously vulnerable himself.  She watched his face,

every nuance, unmindful of her own tears. 

“We can find out together,” she whispered, her lips replying, brushing against his

as she spoke.  His hands still cupped her face and she placed her own hands over

them as well as she could while they lay on their sides, injuries forgotten, the entire

hospital forgotten.  “You’ve never done wrong by me.  Ever.  Especially not in

wanting to keep me safe.  Don’t ever believe for a second that I would refuse what

you willingly give me.  I am so sorry if I made you think that.  I know that’s part of

how you love me…and…and if,” she gave him a tremulous smile, “if this, your love,

is all I ever know, I am so very blessed!  But,” she added, turning her mind to his plea,

“I’m at a loss, too.  I don’t know how to keep death at bay.  I don’t know how to…

guarantee that we won’t come to harm.” 

She reached her hand up to comb away the strands of his hair with her fingers,

wanting to say so much herself, feeling inadequate that nothing she thought of would

answer him the way he needed it.  “My heart knows exactly where you’re coming

from, how hard it is to lose someone, of thinking that I had something to do with it,”

she was trembling slightly now, realizing there were things she had never discussed

with him, “of feeling that someone else lost their life because of me.  Lisa used to be

so angry with me, so very angry.  She used to accuse me of being the reason our mother

died, of being the reason why the cancer took her so soon.  I was sickly myself and she

spent all her time taking care of me.   And for a long time, I believed Lisa.   I felt

responsible, just like you felt responsible for your grandmother’s death. But neither

of us are!  You didn’t put that snake there to bite her.  I didn’t put the cancer in my

mother’s body.  If you had been there when it bit her, would it have been any different? 

Would you have survived a snake bite?  Would I, being healthy and able to take care

of myself, have been able to keep her from dying?” 

They were both as close as they could be, their breath warming each other's face.

“I think,” she continued, still searching for the words that would crystallize what

she saw, what she herself felt, “I think I must have connected to you, responded to

you because I understood the guilt that comes with grief, and how all of that plays

out in our lives until we find ourselves in a trap, damned, desperate.  And I knew,

if I could just…reach out to you, help you escape, that you would be free.  But I'm

beginning to see it doesn’t quite work that way, does it?  It's going to take much

more than us trying to save each other.  I was there when your heart stopped, when

we first brought you over, and I fought and I screamed, but there was nothing I

could do.  I had no control over Mikol taking you, and all my vanity, my…self-

righteousness in thinking that if I just…showed up…then I could pull you to safety. 

I mean, it worked once before!  But there you were, in that kitchen, refusing me,

not recognizing me, rejecting all the effort I had gone through.  If Henri hadn’t

come at that time to talk with me, explain why you were not the Cort I had come

to know…I’m not sure what I would have done next.  Probably hand myself over

to Mikol.  I don’t know.  And then…the robbers.  That was so out of our control.  

Neither you nor I had anything to do with that.  But you helped me see that we

both did the best we could and we survived.  If there was any way I could show

you how to keep me totally safe, to keep bad things from happening, I’d do it. But

all I can think to do is keep living.  Isn’t…” she ventured, conscious she was

already on shaky ground, but seeing in her mind's eye scenes from his movie,

“isn’t that what you meant when you told Ellen there was forgiveness if she asked

for it?  Didn’t the doctor say she wasn’t living because she blamed herself for her

father’s death?”

He pressed his forehead to hers.  It was true.  She had come nearer to losing him

more times than he had her.  It hadn't really hit him before, the fullness of what

she had gone through since becoming part of his life.  But when she spelled it out

like that...she was right, so very right.  He left his face there, touching hers, his

eyes closed.  It was communion of a nature that he needed now, being utterly

spent, drained of words.

A wide, efficient nurse entered the room.  "Mr. Wells, I must ask you to remove

your person from the bed.  Doctor Adams sent me to get Mrs. Wells ready to go

home."

He turned his head to look at her.  She entirely filled the doorway and was staring

at him with small grey eyes that would brook nothing contrary to her wishes.  Slowly, reluctantly, he slid off the bed, giving Rachel's arm a slight squeeze. "I'll be back."

"You the Terminator, Mr. Wells?" the nurse said with a bit of a snort, moving into

the room.

He sidled past her, with no idea of what she meant.  As he went through the door, he

heard her remarking to Rachel, "Not much of a movie-goer, eh? Well, neither are

bears or robbers, I bet."

Down the hallway a bit, he saw Henri in his chair.  Walking toward him, he could

see the older man was deep in thought and was unaware of his presence until he

squatted beside the chair, resting his hands on one of its arms. "Henri? You all

right?"

Henri looked up, a soft smile spreading over his face when he saw it was Cort. 

"Oh, Son," he murmured, "I'm glad it's you. "I...I...."  He seemed hesitant about

something.

"What's going on, Dad?"

"I didn't mean to, I was just out in the hallway, but I heard a lot of what you were

telling Rachel.  I know we talked about some of those things back in Kamen, but

you...you...well, I just want to tell you again how much you mean to me."  He

rested a palm atop Cort's hands.

Cort smiled fondly back at him.  "I think I know."  Then he stood and looked back

down the hall toward Rachel's room.  "Nurse is in there now getting her ready to

go.  I'll be glad to get out of this place."

Just then he saw the welcome form of Wilfred coming down the hallway.  Spying

them, Wilfred raised a hand in greeting.  As he approached, he eyed Cort's arm

with its complete swathing of bandages.  "Bullets and bears, my boy," he said,

shaking his head in amazement.  "You and Montana got quite a relationship goin'

there."  Then he saw that Cort's right hand was also bandaged. "Bear get that,

too?"

"Nope, barbs," Cort grinned, keeping the 'b's' going.

"Ah," Wilfred chuckled. "So this your Dad, eh?"

"Yes, I'd like you to meet my father, Henry Dawson."

Wilfred shook Henri's hand.  "Glad to meet you Doctor Dawson," he said, having

heard a bit about him from his niece, Jean.

"Henri," Henri amended.  "I hear you have a really nice place north of here."

"Yep, Silver Inn's the best. I'm glad you'll be seein' it."  He turned to Cort.  "Got

some old buddies of mine gonna take care of the livestock at Peacefield for you till

you're up for going back, Cort.  So just you and the missus rest up as long as you

need at the Inn, ok? Margaret's all pleased to be having you back."

"Sagebrush is all right?  I hated leaving him all saddled in the field like that, but there

was nothing else I could do."

"He's fine, mare is, too. No worries."

Rachel's door opened and the nurse wheeled her out.  She looked a little pale from

the effort of getting dressed, but the IV was gone, and her hair brushed and Cort

smiled at the sight of her.  Dr. Adams came around the corner, handing Cort some

papers for her and a small bag of medications.  "There's a couple in there for you,

too, Mr. Wells," he explained.  "You both follow the directions for the antibiotics

and the pain meds." He looked at Rachel.  "I'll see you in my regular office day after tomorrow."

Henri sat up front with Wilfred on the drive north while Cort and Rachel sort of

leaned together in the back seat and both went to sleep.  Wilfred pulled up into his

personal parking spot, which was a great deal closer to the inn than the guest lot

and opened the car door. Margaret had heard the car and came out, drying her

hands on her apron.  "Sakes alive," she murmured, looking in the back seat at the

two young people rather crumpled together.  "Poor babies. When I think of all

they've been through, just married and everything."

Henri had gotten out and come around to where she was, introducing himself, then

he reached into the car and gently touched Cort's shoulder.  Cort awoke with a start,

no idea for a moment of where he was.  "Rachel?"  She was ever his first thought

and when he saw her, eyes still closed, leaning against him, for a second he was back

in the other car, Henri racing toward the hospital.  But then she yawned and sat

straight and he let out a long breath of relief.  He saw the log side of the Inn through

the far window, knew where they were.

He helped Rachel out of the car, disgusted because he wanted to carry her but

couldn't with his wounded arm.  But he put his right arm around her and with

Wilfred on the other side, they got her inside and settled in a soft chair.  "I've

just about got your room ready," Margaret said.  "The Turret Room is occupied,

but I'm putting you in the Bridger View Room.  That'll be better anyway...no

stairs.  It's nice and secluded in the lower level of the turret, but still has good

views of the mountains and forest.  Even has its own private entrance and deck." 

She looked at Henri, "Got a nice room for you, too, Doctor Dawson...big ol' iron

bed, kinda Victorian and all."

She turned to hurry away about her business, but looked back at Cort, who was

sitting on the wide arm of Rachel's chair.  "You need a cookie, young man.  One

look at you and I could just tell you need a cookie! I'll be right back!"

Cort looked down at Rachel, a soft, understanding gaze passing between them.

DIRECTLY CONTINUED AS "TOO QUICK TO DIE"

(NOTE TO READER: The Terry/Dee storyline from the end of Lost in the Empire

is now up with the title X-PROOF, written by Sharon. Now ALL the NanoCorp

storylines have merged again into one in TOO QUICK TO DIE, which will be taking

our characters back into The Quick and the Dead.)

BACK TO LIBRISCROWE

BACK TO PART 13

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