Valley of Dreams (Wild West Wind)
The feeling was stronger that afternoon, an almost palpable miasma. Something was wrong--but what?Wearing her red-fringed skirt and white shirt, Cassie Lockwood studied the performers of the Lockwood and Talbot Wild West Show as they lined up for the opening parade around the wide open arena. The United States flag snapped in the breeze above the uniformed riders waiting for the big wooden gates to swing open. She glanced down at the scruffy dog sitting placidly by Wind Dancer's right knee. If Othello wasn't picking up on it, then surely the feeling was only in her head. He scented trouble faster than he did birds.Ignore it, her mind commanded.Concentrate on the parade and getting through this performance.She went through this ritual before every act--butterflies vaulting in her middle, her mouth as dry as a desert. At least she'd progressed to the point that her hands no longer shook. Her father had said he always thought of his valley, and that calmed him down. But she'd never been there. All those years he'd promised they would go to the valley in the Black Hills of South Dakota. But he died before he was able to keep the promise. So she'd promised him she'd go there herself. Were deathbed promises breakable? The thought clenched her throat.Think on something else.--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.