Page 3 of Valley of Dreams

Patrick still had some control over this thirst that drove him, but how long would that last? How long before its clutches squeezed the life out of him?

Few people would even notice, and fewer still would care.

You’ve a home here, lad. You’ve a family.

He laughed in a short, humorless burst. What family would claim the lump he’d become? He’d caused them heartache enough. What right did he have to cause them more?

Patrick stood and crossed to the bureau. He set Ma’s letter next to the line of bottles. How long would they last? And what would he sell next time to buy more?

You’ve a home here, lad.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat.

You’ve a family.

He pushed out a breath.

He had an offer of a home and family. There, in that sparse room and town of spent opportunities, he had nothing. He’d simply slip further, drink more, waste away.

He reached for a bottle, but stopped, hand hovering a mere inch away. Life offered few choices now, but one remained he couldn’t ignore. He could stay in Winnipeg and drink himself into the grave. Or he could add another mark of guilt to his soul and accept the offer Ma had dangled in front of him.

The choice depended on one crucial question: was his a life worth saving?

His heart dropped to his toes as he realized—he didn’t know the answer.

Chapter Two

Wyoming Territory,1874

After two days in the stagecoach, Eliza Porter concluded that her fellow passenger was either a fur trapper, a man with a deep-seated fear of razors, or a bear that had learned to walk on two feet, mumble the occasional one syllable word, and spend hours pretending to be asleep. She found all three possibilities incredibly intriguing.

Based on the stage driver’s estimate, she and her almost two-year-old daughter, Lydia, would be set down at the tiny town of Hope Springs within the hour. Time enough for one more attempt at sorting the mystery of her furry fellow traveler.

“Do you live in Wyoming territory?” she asked.

He shook his head no.

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