A Thousand Tomorrows & Just Beyond the Clouds Omnibus (7 page)

C
ODY WAS BACK
on the tour, riding as if he’d never hurt his hand at all. Yes, he was using a lot of tape, wrapping his hand and forearm tighter than before. But a little pain was nothing. It made the battle that much more intense. Fighting not just the bull, but pain and injuries, too.

He was in second place in the standings, ten points below first despite two missed weekends. Regaining the lead was as sure as morning. His nighttime hours were different, too,
fewer beers and women, cleaner, the way they always were after a few weeks with Carl Joseph.

His mother called twice in the next few weeks.

“Your father’s been by,” she told him during the first phone call. “Carl Joseph likes him. They played football in the backyard.”

Football?
The idea made Cody’s gut ache. Mike Gunner, big former NFL player, loses thirteen years of his kids’ lives and then shows up and tosses a ball around? Like nothing ever happened?

“He’s asking about you, Cody,” she told him the next time. “He wants to watch you ride.”

“Tell him no.” Cody was in the locker room. He dropped to the bench and gripped the edge of it, his voice low so the other cowboys passing in and out wouldn’t hear him. In the background Lynyrd Skynyrd was singing “Sweet Home Alabama” over the arena speakers.

“I won’t do that, Cody.” His mother sounded impatient.

Cody pinched his eyes shut. What was the feeling tearing at him? Hatred, right? More anger and fury? But it didn’t feel like only that. It felt like little-boy sadness, too. A sadness that didn’t make sense because he’d banned it from his heart the day the yellow cab drove away.

“Cody, when can he see you?” His mother sounded tired, as if she knew his answer before he said it.

“Never.” He pursed his lips. “I have nothing to say to him.”

Whatever his mother wanted to accomplish by calling him, the end result was a good one. That weekend and
the next, he took first and second, and now he had the lead heading into the final go-round in Houston at the Reliant Center. The barrel racing was under way, and Cody took his spot on the fence, stretching the insides of his legs and the muscles that lined his groin.

As always, he watched Ali’s race. She was every bit as fast as usual, but this time something was wrong; her face was red and puffy. He looked around but no one along the fence looked worried, as if maybe he was the only one who saw that she was in trouble.

He was off the fence, jogging toward the tunnel before she crossed the barrier. He stepped into view just in time to see her hop down from her horse and lower her head between her knees.

She was coughing so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. Cody stared for a minute. Was she sick? Was it asthma? Maybe she was choking. He grabbed a cup of water from a nearby cooler. With no one around, Cody wasn’t sure what to do. He took tentative steps closer until she looked up.

“Ali?” He closed the distance between them and held out the cup.

She hacked again. “Thanks.” She took it and downed it in a single swig. A few more coughs and the redness in her face started to fade. She leaned against her horse, clearly exhausted from the struggle. “I’m okay. I… I guess I have a cold.”

“I guess.” He took a step back. “I’ve never heard anyone cough like that.”

She folded her arms in front of her and stared at him, eyes
wide. Then she nodded her chin toward the arena. “Your ride’s coming up.”

“Yeah.” He tipped his hat to her. “Get better.” He trotted off for the chutes, surprised by one thing.

Ali Daniels wasn’t superhuman after all; he’d seen a vulnerable side of her. It was all he could do to shut her image out of his mind while he rode. The first bull that night tripped and fell to his knees, giving Cody a re-ride. He lasted eight on the second. His score wasn’t great, but it was enough to win, and less than half an hour after her coughing episode, Ali Daniels stood next to him in the arena while they both accepted their championship buckles.

They were headed back down the tunnel when Cody fell in beside her. “Hey… wanna go out? Get something to eat?”

Ali hesitated. She met his eyes but only for a few seconds before staring straight ahead. “I can’t; I have plans.”

“Plans?” Cody allowed a smile into his voice. It wasn’t that he doubted her, but she traveled with her mother, and the two of them were in her trailer before ten o’clock every night. What plans could she possibly have?

“Yes, Cody Gunner.” She angled her face, teasing him. Her eyes didn’t look quite right, maybe the cold she was fighting. “I have a hot date, okay?”

Cody wanted to laugh out loud, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know her well enough to assume she was kidding. Instead he shrugged and winked at her. “Suit yourself.”

He held the door open for her and they headed into the night—her to her mother’s trailer and whatever hot date she
had that night, and Cody to the nearest bar to meet up with the other cowboys.

But it was another early night for him.

Dinner was good, the beer was flowing, and half a dozen girls made themselves available. But he wasn’t interested. No matter what they looked like or how they presented themselves, or what they had to offer, Cody couldn’t help but compare them to Ali Daniels.

And since they all fell short, he did the right thing. When he turned the key of his hotel room that night he was by himself, except for the place in his memory filled with the blonde, blue-eyed barrel racer.

A girl whose level of mystery had doubled in a single conversation.

Chapter Six

T
he hot date was a private plane ride to Denver General Hospital.

Ali had been expecting the visit since the second week of the season, and it frustrated her. This was the year she didn’t want to miss a single event, the year she planned to keep herself healthy so she wouldn’t need any downtime in a hospital bed.

But her body had other ideas.

It was Monday night now, and her mother was in the chair beside her bed. Dr. Bryce Cleary was due any minute, the same doctor who had treated Ali since she began riding horses. The visit wasn’t any surprise, really. Since early in the season, her coughing had been more intense, the spells closer together.

The lives of cystic fibrosis patients are directed by test results. Bacteria analysis, lung function, nutritional deficiencies, enzyme levels. All have to be closely monitored. When one or more of Ali’s readings fell into their respective danger zones, it was time to see Dr. Cleary.

In the hospital she would be on constant oxygen and intravenous antibiotics. Her body would get the rest it needed, the infection she was fighting would clear up, and after a week she could get on with living. At least that’s how it had always played out before.

Ali rolled onto her side and studied her mother. “You look worried.”

“I’m not much for hospitals; you know that.” She reached out and took Ali’s hand.

“Me either.”

They were quiet for a minute. Ali knew what her mother was thinking—the same thing she was thinking. Anna died in a room like this one, her body trying to find the way back to daylight. They both know cystic fibrosis patients weren’t admitted to the hospital unless their situation was serious.

There were no guarantees, no certainties that this would be merely another tune-up, another pit stop between rodeo appearances.

Her mother leaned back in her chair. “After your win the other night”—their eyes met—“why was Cody Gunner talking to you?”

A smile lifted the corners of Ali’s mouth before she could stop it. “He asked me out.”

“Cody Gunner?” Her eyebrows lifted, creasing her forehead. She still held Ali’s hand, but now she loosened her grip. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t breathe; I guess I was distracted.” Her smile softened. For a minute she could see Cody’s face as he walked next to her. “It’s okay, Mama. I’m not interested.”

Her mother hesitated. A slow breath came from her. “You know I have hopes and dreams for you. That you’ll live long enough to be loved, that when the time’s right you’ll meet someone. Someone who’ll sweep you off your feet and take you away from horse dander and dusty arenas and damp hay.” She looked at the ceiling. “But heaven forbid it be someone like Cody Gunner.”

Ali laughed, and the effort brought on a wave of coughs. “Mama… I told you I wasn’t interested.” She gulped, catching her breath. “Wish for my health, but don’t wish that I’ll meet someone.” She stroked her thumb along her mother’s hand. “I am loved—by you and Daddy. I have the life I want—me and Ace, winning on the rodeo tour, flying across arenas in every city on the schedule.” She felt her expression soften. “That’s all I need.”

Her mother looked at her, a look that went straight to her soul. “Ali, before you die, I want you to be loved the way your father loves me. Loved by a man who would give anything for you.” She paused. “Horses can’t compare to a love like that.”

Ali didn’t respond. Her mother was wrong, of course. Horses were enough; they had always been enough. But there was no changing her mother’s mind. They had this discussion at least once a month. Ali believed her mother was less interested in her meeting a man than she was in her leaving the rodeo tour.

She bit her lip. She’d already told her mother the way she felt about falling in love. She wouldn’t do it. She’d dated once, the year before she joined the PRCA. After a series of colds and a hospital stay, the boy told her he couldn’t handle
her being sick. And he didn’t even know about her cystic fibrosis.

The experience convinced her that dating was a waste of time. She didn’t want to disappoint someone every time she got sick; and in the end, any relationship would end too soon. That was the way of life for a cystic fibrosis patient.

Riding Ace was enough; it was all she wanted. Her mother could dream twenty-four hours a day, but nothing would change Ali’s determination. She would stay on the Pro Rodeo Tour until her body gave her no choice but to quit. Then she would live with her parents until the end. No sad good-byes other than the ones she would have with them and Ace.

There was a knock at the door and Dr. Cleary entered the room. “Hi.” He had a manila file in his hand. “How’re you feeling, Ali?”

“Better.” She rolled onto her back and released her mother’s hand. “My lungs are still full, though. I can feel them.”

“Yes.” The doctor came to the foot of her bed and looked at her. “Your numbers could be better. You’ve lost some weight, so I’m increasing your enzymes.”

“That’s what the nurse said.” Ali managed a smile. The routine was the same every time. Eat more, take the enzymes, adjust the medication. She wanted him to get to the good part, the part where he told her how long until she could be released, until she could be back at her next rodeo.

“Is it worse than before?” Her mother’s lips were pale, narrow and pinched. Her fear was palpable. She forced a tight smile. “You know Ali. She thinks these visits are tune-ups.” She paused. “Is this one different?”

“Well… yes.” The doctor opened the file and sorted through several sheets. He looked up and met Ali’s eyes. “It’s different because after two full days of treatment, her lungs aren’t responding the way I’d like.”

Ali’s heart missed a beat. She had grown up around doctors and hospitals; nothing in the medical world frightened her. But what was Dr. Cleary saying? She propped herself up. “So increase the medicine, right? Is that what’s next?”

The doctor closed the file and let his hands fall to his sides. “Ali, your lung tissue is losing elasticity. You’ve always known this was where you were headed.”

Her mother lifted her chin, her back stiff. “So, what does that mean? She stays in the hospital longer?”

“We’ll increase her medication and keep her for a week, like always.” He pursed his lips. “The problem is, at this point, her lungs can’t rebound as well. Every time her numbers get bad, she’ll lose some of her lung capacity permanently. Some of the bacteria won’t ever go away. That’s where we’re at.”

Ali swallowed against the lump in her throat. The doctor was wrong; he had to be. Her lungs weren’t worse than usual; the feeling was the same as always. “Isn’t there anything… can’t you give me something to bring them back all the way, like before?”

“Yes.” The doctor’s tone was gentle but stern. “I can give you an order, Ali. When you leave the hospital this time, go home and stay home. Sell your horse and take up piano again. You have to stay away from all irritants if you want to slow this thing.”

Ali shook her head, her mind spinning. The doctor’s
order was out of the question. Impossible. She glanced at her mother. Was that relief in her eyes? Did she pay the doctor to come up with such a crazy suggestion? She leaned on her elbows and met the doctor’s eyes straight on. “I’m in the middle of a season, Doctor. I’m not quitting.”

The doctor clutched the file to his middle and looked at her, silent. Something in his expression told Ali he was being straight with her. Remorse fell into the mix of feelings burying her. She couldn’t blame Dr. Cleary. The news wasn’t easy for him either.

Finally he drew a slow breath and looked at them.

“Let me make it clearer.” He opened the folder again. “The dust and molds and allergens at horse arenas have done permanent damage to your lungs. If you don’t stop riding, you’ll need a lung transplant in a year or less.”

A lung transplant? Things were that bad?

Ali’s heart raced and the mattress beneath her felt wobbly and off-balance. Cystic fibrosis patients didn’t get lung transplants until their situations were dire. Unless… She held her breath, hopeful. Maybe things were different now, maybe a lung transplant would cure her. “Would that make me better?”

Her mother hung her head and shaded her eyes. This was the worst possible news; the news all of them had dreaded since Ali started riding horses.

The doctor took a step closer. “Nothing’s changed.” He patted Ali’s hand. “A transplant buys you three years, maybe four. Less if you don’t take care of yourself.”

“Doctor…” Her mother lifted her head. Tears pooled in
her eyes. “Are you saying if Ali doesn’t stop riding she
could
need a transplant, or she
will
need one?”