Dream Country Read Online Free PDF Page B

frost on the pumpkins. And birds in the eaves. It’s gonna be a blizzard year. Mark my words—drifts up to the roof.” Dalton coughed and walked over to the rail to spit.
    Standing there, he looked confused. His face was red and leathery, as dry as beef jerky, and James pictured his eyes lively and laughing. That image—his spirited cowboy father—was most often in his mind these days. Dalton spit into the dirt again, then turned around. Seeing James, he jumped.
    “Jesus, you scared me,” Dalton said.
    “Didn’t mean to,” James said slowly.
    “What are you doing home?” Dalton Tucker asked, as if he was seeing James for the first time.
    James just stood there. He was six inches taller than his father, his shoulders twice as wide. Dalton squinted his blue eyes, as if he was trying to remember something, attempting to weave together the facts of James riding home, the time of day, and the snowbirds in the eaves. The more he thought, the more frustrated his expression became. James saw the clouds in his eyes, wondered what was going on in there.
    “Suppertime, Dad,” James said. The old man’s face registered the memory, and James looked away just as he started to look confused again. “Where’s Louisa?”
    “Louisa?”
    Again, James just waited. There’d been plenty of times he wished his father had forgotten all about Louisa Rydell, but right now it scared him. Dalton looked afraid, too. Fear always made him angry as a bear, flashing in his eyes and knotting his hands into fists. To cover himself, he always struck out.
    “Why don’t you speak plain English,” Dalton snapped. “Don’t talk gibberish when you know I don’t understand. Start over, will you?”
    “I asked you—” James began slowly.
    “Goddamn it,” Dalton said, sniffing. Inside, the cornbread was burning. The odor was sharp and sweet, like sugar turning to caramel: James ran past him, found the kitchen filled with smoke. A pan in the oven was on fire: James grabbed a mitt, reached inside, threw a flaming brick of cornbread into the sink.
    In the next room, a child began to fret. Louisa sometimes baby-sat her daughter Ruthie’s young girl, Emma. Swearing at himself, Dalton clomped out of the room to check on her. He must have been minding the stove, watching the girl, and forgotten both in the commotion of the bird.
    “What’s this? Where’s Dalton?” Louisa Rydell asked, running in with an armful of sunflowers.
    “Cornbread caught fire,” James said, “looks like to me. You left Dad in charge of cooking and Emma?”
    Louisa looked from James to the black pan, and her face fell. Handing James the flowers, she began to scrape the charred and sodden bread into the garbage.
    “You lose that tone with me, James Tucker,” Louisa said. “I just stepped out to pick some flowers.”
    “Yeah, well, you shouldn’t let her out of your sight,” James said sharply. “Not for a minute. The house could have burned down.”
    “You telling me how to be a grandmother?”
    “My father can’t take care of himself, much less a baby.”
    “Now listen, you—” Louisa began, her eyes blazing.
    “Forgot, that’s what I did.” Dalton came to the door with Emma on his hip. She was a sweet little girl, all pink and blond. Smiling in Dalton’s arms, she seemed unperturbed by the fire and fight. “Goddamn it. Smelled the cornbread burning and forgot I had this little angel to look after.”
    James didn’t say anything. His father had forgotten the sequence, but it hardly seemed important right now. Emma held Dalton’s ears, trying to look him straight in the eyes.
That’s how it used to be with Sage,
James thought. She had loved her grandfather, and he’d adored her.
    “Don’t worry, darling,” Louisa said. She was still a fantastic-looking woman, tan and tall. She wore a full denim skirt, lavender washed-silk blouse, and purple boots. Silver earrings dangled, and turquoise beads hung around her neck. Her auburn hair hung in a long