4Ever N MyHeart

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sky sifted through the pile of wood that he had gathered before dusk, and fed three large branches to the flames. He sat on his bed roll and pulled the buffalo robe snuggly around his shoulders. His father had gifted the robe to him as a teen when he and Johnny had returned from their Vision Quest to the mountain.

He closed his eyes and drew a sharp breath as the memories flooded his mind. Most were happy. Others were sad and tragic. He had a wonderful childhood until his father, on the way home from the Black Hills, had driven over the edge of an embankment only 300 yards from there. Both of his parents had died in that wreck. It had been rumored that another car had been involved—that a White Man had run them off the side of the road—but there had never been enough conclusive evidence to confirm it.

Sky stopped caring. It didn’t matter if the car had been run off the road. His father shouldn’t have been drinking that night.

It had taken Sky fourteen years to forgive the man. He hated his father for taking his family and for destroying the dreams that he and his father had shared for the future. And then he hated himself for hating his father.

Sky looked to the heavens, to the waning moon. The more he thought about his father, the more he realized that he was no better. He should have learned from the man’s mistakes. Instead, he had followed the same path, had gone on a binge and had headed down a road of destruction that had cost him the lives of Shayla and Jessie … . And a mean drunk he was, at that.

And now, he had set a bad example for Horse. The kid was walking the same path as he had. Sky could only pray that Horse would pick and choose his battles more wisely; that he would own up to his mistakes and recognize the lessons that each one had to offer him.

He shivered when a rush of air slithered beneath his robe and sent a chill from spine to shoulders. He balled his jacket into a pillow, laid the buffalo robe on top of his sleeping bag and slid between the layers. Rolling to his side, he watched the feathery steam of his breath in the firelight.

A cheap hotel would be nice, he mused. But now he was lucky if he had enough cash to make it to West Yellowstone. At least his money had been well spent. The old six-string guitar that he’d bought from Clyde was the incentive that Horse needed to re-channel his energy, occupy his time and give him a reason to feel good about who he was.

Sky smiled. Horse had lit up like a firefly when Sky had given him the guitar. The kid loved music. His fingers were always drumming or picking some imaginary instrument. If music was Horse’s passion, then now the kid had a means to achieve it, to create it. As soon as Sky got some cash he would buy Horse an extra set of strings.

The faint sound of a Coyote yipped in the distance. It was answered by a much closer cry—the Trickster … . Sky’s eyes grew heavy, and in minutes he was dreaming.

He was standing in a bed of golden straw. A damp muzzle touched his palm, and he turned to find a newborn foal shuffling about on wobbly legs. He laughed, recalling the dark bay that had once been his grandfather’s prized colt, the same pony that his father had broken and had gifted to him as a youngster. It had been a long time since he had ridden a horse, had felt the power and strength beneath him, the wind in his hair, the scent of horseflesh. It had been a happy time in his life.

The stall door slid open behind him. He didn’t need to turn to know that it was the woman in his Vision. She breezed past him, then stopped and turned. She was smiling. When the colt attempted a small buck, her eyes danced and glinted in the soft, red light of the heat lamp. She laughed, and Sky laughed with her. He couldn’t recall the last time he had laughed. It had been a long time coming.