Chapter 40

Weary hours later Cole found himself back at the canyon. A sharp wind had blown up, and he was glad he’d brought extra blankets for the night.

Despite what Tabby had said, he did try to listen to the canyon. He needed an answer more than ever before.

But this time? The chasm was deathly silent.

Fine. Take her side.

He tied Storm up, hauled water for his companion from the creek. Pitched another comment to the chasm.

Not like I'm depending on you or anything.

But it had felt good to get out here, away from everyone. Away from expectations and all the needs that other people had, endlessly. Especially when he couldn’t even fulfill his own. And therein lay the problem, the one he couldn’t solve.

A decent man was strong. Had strength. Wasn’t a bloody weakling, reduced by life…to nothing. Where he couldn’t be the breadwinner, the emotional caretaker. Who was lost in a numbing storm of his own.

The caregiver, for damn’s sake. Wasn’t that the point of being a man?

Protecting those you love. Having the means, and more importantly, the strength to do so. The rescuer, not the rescue. The protector.

Wasn’t that the point? 

But Tabby, damn Tabby, didn’t seem to think so. At all. It totally surprised him, as she’d leaned on him often enough. Strongly.

Her question still rung in his ears.

What would a real man do?

That really was the question. Exactly as she’d put it.

But then of course, he always went for women who knew their own minds. Had brains, and weren't scared to use them.

He poked at the small campfire with a long stick, listened to the night wind blow through the canyon. Watched the embers glow on the end of it in the pitch black of the area. Sat on the big stone that always seemed to stay in place for his visits, however infrequent.

He’d been through so much the last few months. Made a whole slew of decisions, and for the most part, nothing had damn well worked out. Though he knew he wasn't sorry he'd worked so hard to save those horses of Quinn’s, no matter what the personal cost to him was. If not for Quinn, then for the horses. They mattered.

And after that, he was glad he’d done it for Quinn’s kid too, who loved the animals. For the community as well, who needed to know their neighbours could be counted on. It was that simple.

So. With this latest thing.

What would a real man do?

He hauled out the photocopy she’d given him. He’d stuffed it in his back pocket, where it felt like it’d burned a hole clean through to his ass.

Shit. He never wanted to see this bogus piece of paper ever again. But here it was.

He read it over again. On the surface, it all seemed so decent, and good. But the import of what it meant was hell for his family.

They were back to the same, damn nonsense they'd dealt with for months. The loss of their home. The dispersion of the family, with no real future or security. Nothing to show for all they’d invested. Time, sweat, heart, caring. Money.

They were back to it, hard.

Only this time, weirdly, it was all in his hands. He was the one in control. He took a deep breath of the cool canyon air, surveyed the slip of paper.

He could ask Tabby to burn everything. Forget the whole damn genealogy. Or just leave this bit out. No one would be the wiser.

But that wasn’t what his Great Grandpa had wanted, or expected. Jedediah Bulrush Ignatius Septer Dawson. Damn. Who the hell had all those names, for crap’s sake?

He thought about the incident that had spawned the situation he now faced, that created this hell for him. One man—his ancestor —in trouble. Another man, saving his life, at great cost to himself. A selfless act, in a time of real trouble, for both.

Those words seemed to repeat in his brain, much as he didn’t want them to.

A selfless act, in a time of real trouble for both men. For one man, in particular. His ancestor.

Because of that one kind act, Great Grampa Jedediah had lived. He’d married, had kids. Because of it, Cole’s Gramps, his Dad, and now he and his sisters and brothers, all had life. They’d built, loved and enjoyed Dawson Ridges, all these years.

That one selfless act had given them so much.

He decided to read the troublesome pledge fresh and clean, without all the emotion raging in him. Without thoughts of horror and trouble and scarcity and lack and how will this affect me. Think of how he'd feel if he was Jedediah, back then.

His mind spun, back to that earlier time. To another campfire, another night, possibly in this very valley. One of his ancestors sitting, tired, full of decisions, maybe on this very rock. Putting ink to old paper, thinking.

What to do, what would a man do, when he’d been given such an incredible boon? His life. And the ability—reclaimed from death’s own door—to live life with the woman he loved.

What would he do? What would he say?

Suddenly, the paper blurred. It seemed to become translucent, faint, then materialized again. Only the hands holding it were very different, and the wind had shifted suddenly to a different wind, one from a long time ago. The words danced in front of him.

* * *

Musings on the occasion of my pledge to MY FRIEND, Hezekiah Jordan Raary, on the night when I’ve thought through what this stranger did for me and mine. I had no claim on him. There was no reason he should put himself at risk for me. Yet he did.

I’ve had time to think it through. 

I, Jedediah Bulrush Ignatius Septer Dawson, trust in the boundless abundance of this great universe to supply me what I need, and to supply my future family’s needs. Believing this, I willingly and gladly, from my heart of hearts, give the land I own to my friend and BLOOD BROTHER, Hezekiah Holstrum Jordan Raary, in exchange for my life. For the great sacrifice he made for me, at a moment’s notice, and thereafter, in caring for me, when he was sorely depleted himself and almost through death’s door himself.

There’s nothing I can do now to thank him, except bequeath this tiny parcel of land. But as I grow it, make it large, by God’s own grace, I pledge it to him, and his kin. I pledge this land and all my future holdings—except for the one modest section, by the old creek, under the corpse of trees by the road, bordered as I will hereby document, below, with exact parallels. I will keep that, and leave to the universe to grow or keep that parcel static, as it wills. And I do all this with a glad heart.

My brother’s sacrifice made the rest of my life, and any wealth I may accrue, possible. A dead man cannot farm, gain education, make plans, contribute to the world and create income thereby. May this man of exceptional principle and character be blessed in all he does, and may he find stalwart, dependable men of good character to surround himself with.

HE CAN COUNT ON MY PEOPLE, from this day forward. On our family. On the Dawsons. On our esteem and on our principle, never to be broken.

Once more, I proclaim. I trust in this grand and wonderfully abundant universe to supply me what I need, as it did these last few weeks, so unexpectedly. When I was at death’s door, without strength to care for my physical body or mental health, and was then, delivered.

Signed in my own hand, Jedediah Bullrush Ignatius Septer Dawson * * *

Everything became hazy, and abruptly, Cole was back. It was once again his own fingers holding that ancient, yellowed piece of paper. 

Now, though, one phrase hit him, hard. Raked through his body.

I trust in the universe to supply me what I need.

Jedediah trusted.

Would he?

Storm nickered quietly, nudged his shoulder. He was fully back in his canyon, with his best friend.

Shaken, Cole pulled in a deep breath.

Hell. He’d been given the answer. Once again. This time, though?

He’d gotten the message, clearly. As clear as the untouched, pristine water of the tiny creek that washed through his canyon, that played over the flat rocks and bubbled busily on its way.

He’d gotten it.

“Time for bed, Storm. The Missus’ll be waiting for us.”

Smiling at the thought of Tabby as his Missus, warmth curled through him. Damn fool woman. Big mouth too. Usually right, though. “Lucky for her, she’s gorgeous, eh, Storm?”

Cole tucked himself into his bedroll, weary, and closed his eyes. He thought through the sequence of events that must unfold.

Because tomorrow was going to be a very unusual day.