Tribute

there.”
    “Did you want the pony or the call sheets, Cilla?”
    “For a while, I wanted both. But I’d have been happier with the pony.” Cilla nodded, looked back toward the house. “Yes, and the family home. You’re right. That’s why I’m here. But it’s not enough. The secrets, the shadows of them. They’re still here. People get hurt in the dark. Steve got hurt in the dark.”
    “Then turn on the lights.”
    “How?”
    “I’m just a dream.” Janet smiled, shrugged. “I don’t have any answers.”
    WHEN SHE WOKE, Cilla grabbed the phone she’d dropped in her sleep and speed-dialed the hospital.
    No change.
    She lay in the dim light of predawn, the phone pressed between her breasts, wondering if she should feel fear or relief. He hadn’t died in the night, hadn’t slipped away from her while she slept. But he still lay trapped in that between world, that place between life and death.
    So she’d go talk to him, nag him, browbeat him into waking up. She climbed out of bed, cleaned herself up. She’d make coffee, she thought, make lists for any of the subs she might miss while she was at the hospital.
    As she passed the next bedroom she stopped, and studied Ford. He slept half in, half out of the sleeping bag. And what was out, she had to admit, was very nice.
    The dog curled at the foot of the bag, snoring like a chain saw in mid-massacre. Ford hadn’t wanted Spock to spend the night alone, she remembered, and went to get him when they returned from the hospital. Went to get his dog, she thought, after he told her he’d be sleeping in the spare room.
    He wouldn’t leave her alone.
    She went down, made the coffee, drinking hers on the back veranda. There had been no patio in the dream, but her subconscious had known Janet had added that, and the walkways. The crops in the field, another given. The kitchen garden? She couldn’t remember if that had been original, or one of Janet’s additions. Either way, it was something she herself wanted.
    And the barn? It was no longer red. That bright color had weathered away long ago. The coffee turned bitter in her throat as she stared at the yellow tape crossing the door. If Steve died, she’d tear the bastard down. Tear it down, burn it, and everything inside it.
    Squeezing her eyes shut, she battled back the anger that wanted to scream out of her. If he lived, she told herself, if he came back whole, she’d paint it that bright, happy red again. Red with white trim.
    “Please, God.”
    Why God gave a damn if she burned the barn to the ground or painted it red with yellow smiley faces she couldn’t say. But it was the best she had.
    She went back inside, poured another mug and carried it upstairs to Ford.
    She sat cross-legged beside him and, sipping her own second cup of coffee, gave him a good study. Unlike his dog, he didn’t snore, which added points in his favor, but the way he sprawled indicated bed hog. Points deducted. He had a good growth of stubble going, considering he hadn’t shaved the day before, but she had to admit it added a sexy edge to the package.
    He wasn’t what she’d call buff or ripped, but reasonably toned over a build that leaned toward skinny. Just a touch of gawkiness, she mused. Add a few cute points for that.
    He had good arms. Strong, lean rather than bulky. Best, she thought, they knew how to hold on. Major points, she decided. He just kept racking them up.
    And the lips—top score. Leaning over, she rubbed hers to his. He made a humming sound in his throat, reached out. When she eased back, his eyes blinked open.
    “Hey.”
    “Hey yourself.”
    “Did you have a bad dream?”
    “No. A strange one, but I’m prone to them. It’s morning.”
    “Uh-uh.” He shifted enough to turn his wrist, blink at his watch. At the foot of the bag, Spock yawned, a high-pitched whine, then went back to snoring. “Nope. Six-forty isn’t morning. Crawl in here with me. I’ll prove it.”
    “Tempting.” More so when he tugged her head down again and improved, considerably, on her casual wake-up kiss. “Very tempting,” she said. “But some of the crew should be pulling up in about twenty minutes.”
    “I can get it done in twenty minutes.” He winced. “That probably didn’t translate to my advantage.”
    “Have coffee.” She held out the mug, waved it slowly under his nose.
    “You brought me coffee?” He sat up, took the first sip. “Now you have to marry me.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah, and bear me eight