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He still limped. He still ached. But using a chain saw and swinging an ax made him feel as if he had a useful place in the world, and helped wipe away the memory of the time he’d spent trapped in a hospital bed.

The problem was that nothing would wipe away the memory of the time he’d spent with Alessandra.

He did his damnedest to put it all in perspective.

A handful of days with a beautiful woman. The ever-present element of danger. Add in great sex and any man might kid himself into thinking it meant more than it really had.

That was what he told himself over and over, but it didn’t take away the sleepless nights or speed the passage of what felt like endless time, and maybe that would have been okay except there were moments he felt the walls closing in, which he knew was the way his mother had felt, along with the need for some kind of temporary oblivion, which he knew was what had led his father to booze.

Three days ago, with the whisper of fall in the air, he’d rolled out of bed, saddled his horse and ridden into the hills, never stopping until he’d reached the highest point of elevation on his land. It was a particularly beautiful spot, a grassy knoll surrounded by tall stands of ponderosa pine and Black Hills spruce, with a seemingly limitless endless view of prairie below.

A shadow had fallen over him. He’d looked up to see a golden eagle circling low on a current of wind. The magnificent bird had seemed almost motionless. Then it had flapped its wings and flown off, leaving behind a long tail feather that drifted slowly to earth.

Tanner had caught the feather in his hand.

He hadn’t touched an eagle feather in decades. Not since the Sun Dance. Eagles and their feathers were sacred to the dance.

He’d looked at the feather. Touched it with his fingertips.

And suddenly he’d known what he had to do.

He’d unsaddled the horse. The animal would do fine. There was plenty of grass to graze and a stream running with cold, sweet water a few hundred yards away.

Then he’d collected small rocks and stones, arranged them in a circle. He’d stripped off his clothes, left them in a neat pile, tucked the feather into his hair and stepped into the circle. Sitting down cross-legged hadn’t been easy. It had hurt, but he’d known it was vital to let himself experience the pain.

He’d sat very still, hearing the wind in the trees, feeling the sun on his naked shoulders. After a while, he’d closed his eyes and laid his hands, palms up, on his thighs.

Morning had given way to afternoon, afternoon to night. Owls hooted. Coyotes howled. The horse whinnied softly and came to stand quietly beside its master, just outside the stone circle.

Morning came

again, and afternoon, and night.

On the third morning, just at dawn, Tanner stirred.

He felt—there was no other word to describe it—the presence of something passing high overhead. He looked up. It was not an eagle this time.

It was a plane.

Hungry, thirsty, exhausted, his thoughts were not as precise as they would otherwise have been, but he knew seeing a plane here was unusual.

This wasn’t the normal route to or from the airport.

Years ago, his vision quest had brought him a wolf. Surely planes didn’t qualify as spiritual messages.

Still, something inside him stirred.

He rose to his feet. His leg felt cramped. His balance was a little shaky. But he felt better. Cleansed. Alive.

And angry.

At himself. At the man he’d almost let himself become.

He dressed quickly, whistled for his horse, stroked its neck and muzzle when it trotted to his side. He saddled the animal, mounted it, touched his heels lightly to its flanks and started for home.

What had he been thinking, running away as he had? Because he had run. From the hospital. From the life he’d always known, the man he’d always been…

The woman he would always love.