Given my dreams, I wondered if I was only able to recall part of our relationship. How else could I explain the vivid intensity that flowed from my subconscious? It couldn’t be my imagination; I’d never seen the enraged expression on Smoke’s face that replayed in my mind. I’d live happily for the rest of my life without seeing him so angry outside of my nightmares.
According to Maureen, in two days, Smoke would take me to Asheville, where I would meet with the stroke specialist, the physical and occupational therapy teams, as well as Dr. Mansfield. The idea of it exhausted me. I was about to get up and go into the bedroom when I heard the front door open.
“Smoke?” I called out when he didn’t turn any lights on.
“What are you doing, sitting here in the dark?” Was I imagining it, or did his voice sound like it did in my dreams?
“Waiting for you.”
“Siren, it’s late. You should be in bed.”
“Where were you?”
He walked closer and turned on a small table lamp. “Working.”
He looked annoyed and sounded impatient. The muscles in his forearms were taut, and he was filthy.
“What were you doing?”
“It’s late,” he repeated.
I cocked my head. “That would be the answer if I’d asked the time of day, and a vague one at that.”
“I’m not in the mood, Siren.” He turned away from me. “Go to bed,” he said over his shoulder. When I didn’t move, he stalked down the hallway, leaving me sitting alone as I had been for the last few hours.
I got up and switched off the light, picked up the blanket I’d had on my lap, and wheeled my IV pole over to the daybed.
“Everything okay?” I heard Maureen ask from the hallway Smoke had just gone down.
“Fine. I have the pager if I need you.”
She walked over to me. “I might as well check your blood pressure since we’re both awake.”
“Leave it for now,” I snapped.
“Very well.” She left in the direction from which she came.
I’d been lying on the bed, looking out at the night sky for some time, when I heard footfalls. They were too heavy to be the nurse returning.
“Why are you still out here?” Smoke asked, his tone of voice much softer than it had been earlier. He’d also changed his clothes and looked like he’d showered.
“I don’t like sleeping in your bed.”
He pulled a chair over and sat beside me. “What’s going on, Siren?”
“I have nightmares.”
“I’d think you’d have them wherever you slept.”
“When I’m in your bed, they’re about you.”
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Of us, fighting?”
“It’s so much worse than that, Smoke.” There was enough light from the moon that I could see the pained look on his face. “It’s as though you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you.”
“Was there a time I thought you did?”
His head hung and he shook it. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you’re not shocked by it.”
“I told you before that we argued.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me.” I rolled so my back was to him, hoping he would leave.
It was a long time before he spoke again. I heard him let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve lost some cattle, calves mainly, but several thousand dollars’ worth. I found one of the places I believe the rustlers used to gain access to the herd. I was out late with the rest of the crew, trying to get it sealed off.”
I looked over my shoulder at him.
“I didn’t expect you to still be awake.”
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I didn’t speak.
“Come to bed, Siren.”
“I’ll be fine where I am.”
His fingertip trailed down my spine. “I won’t be,” he whispered. When he held out his hand, I rolled over and took it.
We slept in his bed; neither of us spoke again. When I woke, the sun was up and Smoke was gone. I knew he’d stayed with me, though, since I hadn’t had a single nightmare I could remember.
“Come in,” I said when I heard a rap on the door.
“Sorry to disturb you, Ms. Gallagher, but are you ready for your breakfast?” asked Ms. Wynona.
“Please call me Siobhan, or Siren if it’s easier, and I’ll be right out.”
“I can bring it in if you’d prefer.”
I thanked her but told her I’d rather be up and about.
“Has Smoke eaten?” I asked when I joined her in the kitchen.
“He was up before dawn, Miss…Siren.”
“Is he typically?” I asked between spoonfuls of the best steel-cut oatmeal I’d ever had.
“He isn’t here at the ranch that often, but yes, he is usually up and gone before I arrive.”
“It seems you’re always here. I thought perhaps you lived here.”
“I do.” She pointed out the window at one of the smaller houses. When I turned to look, I saw the can of Irish oats on the counter.
“Do you always have that on hand?” I asked.
“No, no. Mr. Smoke asked me to get it when he told me you’d be staying here.”
“That was sweet,” I mumbled, shaking my head and wishing I could remember more about him.
“There you are,” said Maureen, coming into the kitchen with a syringe and blood-pressure cuff in hand.
I held up my palm. “No pain medication.”
To my surprise, she didn’t argue. She took my vitals and then sat down to join me for breakfast. Soon, Ms. Wynona had us talking and laughing about growing up in the UK while she told us stories about living in the South.
We were still at it an hour later when Smoke walked into the kitchen. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said when the two women with me sprang to their feet. He turned to me. “Do you have a minute?”
“Is everything okay?” I asked as I followed him out of the kitchen.
“I want to talk to you about going to Asheville tomorrow. We’ll have to leave early.”
“Okay.” I waited for him to go on, but
