Read Online The McKettrick Legend by Linda Lael Miller - Free Book Online Page B

up, crossed the room, pushed the screen aside to jab at the burning wood with a poker. It only made the flames burn more vigorously.
    She kicked off her shoes, curled up in the big leather chair and pulled a knitted afghan around her to wait for the fire to die down.
    The old clock on the mantel tick-tocked, the sound loud and steady and almost hypnotic.
    Sierra yawned. Closed her eyes. Opened them again.
    She thought about turning the TV back on, just for the sound of human voices, but dismissed the idea. She was so tired, she was going to need all her energy just to go upstairs and tumble into bed. There was none to spare for fiddling with the television set.
    Again, she closed her eyes.
    Again, she opened them.
    She wondered if the lights were still on in Travis’s trailer.
    Closed her eyes.
    Was dragged down into a heavy, fitful sleep.
    She knew right away that she was dreaming, and yet it was so real.
    She heard the clock ticking.
    She felt the warmth of the fire.
    But she was standing in the ranch house kitchen, and it was different, in subtle ways, from the room she knew.
    She was different.
    Her eyes were shut, and yet she could see clearly.
    A bare light bulb dangled overhead, giving off a dim but determined glow.
    She looked down at herself, the dream-Sierra, and felt a wrench of surprise.
    She was wearing a long woolen skirt. Her hands were smaller—chapped and work worn—someone else’s hands.
    â€œI’m dreaming,” she insisted to herself, but it didn’t help.
    She stared around the kitchen. The teapot sat on the counter.
    â€œNow what’s that doing there?” asked this other Sierra. “I know I put it away. I know for sure I did.”
    Sierra struggled to wake up. It was too intense, this dream. She was in some other woman’s body, not her own. It was sinewy and strong, this body. She felt the heart beat, the breath going in and out. Felt the weight of long hair, pinned to the back of her head in a loose chignon.
    â€œWake up,” she said.
    But she couldn’t.
    She stood very still, staring at the teapot.
    Emotions stormed within her, a loneliness so wretched and sharp that she thought she’d burst from the inside and shatter. Longing for a man who’d gone away and was never coming home, an unspeakable sorrow. Love for a child, so profound that it might have been mourning.
    And something else. A for bid den wanting that had nothing to do with the man who’d left her.
    Sierra woke herself then, by force of will, only to find her face wet with another woman’s tears.
    She must have been asleep for a while, she realized. The flames on the hearth had become embers. The room was chilly.
    She shivered, tugged the afghan tighter around her, andgot out of the chair. She went to the window, looked out. Travis’s trailer was dark.
    â€œIt was just a dream,” she told herself out loud.
    So why was her heart breaking?
    She made her way into the kitchen, navigating the dark hall way as best she could, since she didn’t know where the light switches were. When she reached her destination, she walked to the middle of the room, where she’d stood in the dream, and suppressed an urge to reach up for the metal-beaded cord she knew wasn’t there.
    What she needed, she decided, was a good cup of tea.
    She found a switch beside the back door and flipped it.
    Reality returned in a comforting spill of light.
    She found an electric kettle, filled it at the sink and plugged it in to boil. Earlier she’d been too weary to get out of that chair in the study and turn on the TV. Now she knew it would be pointless to try to sleep.
    Might as well do this up right, she thought.
    She went to the china cabinet, got the teapot out, set it on the table. Added tea leaves and located a little strainer in one of the drawers. The kettle boiled.
    She was sitting quietly, sipping tea and watching fat snow flakes drift past the porch light outside the back