Defiant (15 page)

He couldn't even bear to look at Mr. Foster. He couldn't bear to see the censure or blame in his face. He kept hearing Mr. Foster's words that night, over and over again.
I have no interest in filling that role
. Now, after what happened, Mr. Foster would have even less reason to like him.

When his mother had asked him whether he wanted to take over some soup, Jeff had said no, and his mother had taken one look at his face and gone herself.

He went about his chores woodenly, trying to do his mother's too, so she could spend more time nursing their stranger back to life.

And he missed Jake. He missed him terribly. He used to tell Jake everything, all he couldn't tell his mother. Jake had been his only friend after leaving the Ranger station. Jeff bit down on his lip to keep from crying. Men didn't cry, he reminded himself.

He had tried to look for Jake, but he didn't have much time now. There had simply been too much to do. Taking care of the stock, milking their cow, feeding the chickens, helping with the cooking and cleaning chores. But at evening time, he would take his horse and go up and down the banks, calling for Jake.

It had been three days since the dog disappeared. He knew it was fruitless to continue, but he decided to try one more time. He entered the barn, trying to avoid the closed door to the room Mr. Foster occupied. But now it was open, and though he tried to sneak by, he heard the man's voice.

“Jeff?”

Jeff stopped in his tracks. He thought about pretending not to hear. He thought about it very seriously. But he knew he couldn't. If he was ever to be a man, he had to face up to the consequences of his actions. He turned and reluctantly, shyly, entered the small room.

Mr. Foster was sitting up on the cot, his arm and chest swathed in bandages. He was clean-shaven, and Jeff guessed his mother had shaved him earlier.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I'm sorry, Mr. Foster … about causing so much trouble.”

Mr. Foster's mouth was twisted into a half smile. “Are you all right now?”

Jeff was struck dumb with shame. He should have asked that. He should have done it two days ago. He should have come in then and apologized and thanked Mr. Foster, but he'd been too … embarrassed. He nodded.

“That's all that's important.”

“But you were … hurt again.”

The hard face relaxed ever so slightly. “Nothing worse than a number of other times,” Mr. Foster said, “and for a far better reason.”

“Jake—”

“I know,” Mr. Foster said. “Your mother told me. I'm sorry.”

Jeff couldn't stop himself. He felt a tear running down his face. “It's all my fault.”

A muscle flexed in Mr. Foster's cheek. “Jeff, you were being a boy. Bad things happen sometimes. You learn from them. But don't take all the blame yourself. It was an accident.”

“But Ma told me—”

“There's never been a boy yet who always did what his mother told him,” Mr. Foster said.

“Did you ever …?”

He nodded, much to Jeff's surprise.

Jeff didn't have the nerve to ask any additional questions. “I'm glad you're better,” he said shyly instead.

Mr. Foster smiled again, some of the warmth back. “I'm glad to see you. I was worried about you.”

Jeff hesitated. “I didn't want to bother you.”

“You don't bother me.”

“But you said—”

Mr. Foster's brows knitted together. “I said what?”

“That night … you were going to leave, I heard you say—” Jeff couldn't force any additional words from his mouth, but he could see Mr. Foster was trying to remember. Then the man's eyes glittered with understanding.

“My God, is that why you left so early in the morning? So you wouldn't have to see—”

Jeff shifted his weight again nervously. He hadn't wanted Mr. Foster to think he had spied on him.

But Jeff's very silence seemed to answer Mr. Foster's question for him, and Jeff heard a long, quiet curse. Then the man's mouth snapped shut as if remembering where he was.

“That had nothing to do with you, Jeff,” the man said. “I didn't mean that I don't like you. It's just that I'm poison for people like you and your mother. My God, it was never you. It was me. I was afraid I might bring harm to you and your ma.”

Jeff stood a little taller, some of the bleakness leaving him. Still, his eyes must have revealed a little doubt, because Mr. Foster continued after a moment, his voice low and harsh. “You remind me some of my own son. I … let him down. I can't do that again.”

Jeff swallowed hard, a lump thick in his throat. He knew Mr. Foster was a private kind of man. He knew instinctively it cost him dearly to say what he just did. “You saved my life,” he finally said.

Mr. Foster's lips quirked up in a crooked smile. “You wouldn't have been there if you hadn't heard me say something stupid. Let's call it even.”

Jeff shook his head. “No, I can't do that. Pa taught me—”

The smile disappeared from Mr. Foster's face. “Friends,” he said softly, “don't ever owe each other anything.”

Jeff stood still for a moment, then broke into a wide grin and nodded. “I'm going to go look for Jake. Maybe he was just hurt, like you.”

“Maybe,” Mr. Foster said. Jeff liked the fact he didn't discourage him, didn't say it was useless. Mr. Foster seemed to know he had to do it, regardless.

“I'll see you later,” Jeff said hopefully.

Mr. Foster nodded.

“I can tell you some Texas Rangers stories.”

Something flickered in Mr. Foster's eyes, but he merely nodded again. “You do that, boy.”

Jeff grinned again, then whirled out the door. He saddled King Arthur and led him outside the barn. He was just about to mount when he heard a weak bark. His heart jumped. He knew that bark. He scanned the rolling hills. He thought he saw something black moving among the tall grass.

Another bark.

“Jake!” he shouted. “Jake.” He disregarded the horse and started running.

Mary Jo heard Jeff's shout.

It can't be. It's been too long
. But hope darted through her just the same. Jeff had been so quiet the last few days. She knew he was holding in his grief, and it had nearly killed her. So many losses for a boy.

She went out on the porch and watched Jeff run toward the high grass beyond the plowed ground.

Please let it be Jake, she thought. Please God, answer one more prayer.

Then she heard the faint bark. She looked toward the sound, then she heard another noise near the barn and she turned around. Wade Foster was standing there, his eyes following Jeff. His chest was bare, his arm in a sling, and he was wearing another pair of her husband's trousers she'd provided him. He was holding King Arthur's reins as he watched Jeff stoop down next to a black form. Wade Foster looked at her, a grin on his face. He looked years younger. And handsome. Incredibly handsome.

He tied the horse's reins to the fence and started limping toward Jeff. He was moving slowly, but determinedly. Mary Jo started after him, walking swiftly until she caught up with him.

They reached Jeff. He had dropped to the ground and his arms were around a thin, dirty, bloody animal that was gingerly holding one front paw up in the air as his tongue licked Jeff's face.

Jeff looked up at them, his face beaming. “He came back.”

“So he did, boy,” Wade Foster said. “You were right not to give up.”

“He's hurt, though.”

“Nothing we can't fix,” Mr. Foster said.

Wade Foster looked at Mary Jo with pleasure in his face, pleasure for her son, and Mary Jo felt tears in her eyes again.

She had already acknowledged her attraction to Wade Foster. But now, at this moment, she realized with bittersweet anguish, she was also losing her heart. Losing it to someone she knew would break it.

10

Jake had cuts, bruises, and probably a broken leg, Mary Jo thought as she dropped to the ground beside Jeff. He looked dehydrated and hungry, but then he was always hungry. His coat was matted, his breathing labored, but he growled in greeting and his tail thumped, though not as energetically as usual.

“What happened to you, Jake?” she asked, wondering whether they would ever know. But it really didn't matter. He was home.

She looked at Jake's leg, felt it, heard Jake's whining objection. “I think it's broken,” she said. “I don't know how he got from wherever he's been.”

“Can we put a splint on it, like on Mr. Foster?” Jeff asked.

Mary Jo smiled, and Wade felt bathed in its light. “Of course we can,” she said. “He got here on three legs, didn't he?”

She ran her hand along his thick, dirty fur, and found a bloody wound. She recognized it immediately. “He's been shot.” She looked toward Jeff. “Maybe that's why he didn't answer you when you went looking for him. Maybe he was unconscious.”

“Who would shoot Jake?” Jeff looked up at Wade appealingly.

“He does look a little like a wolf,” Wade said. “If someone didn't know he was a pet …”

“Everyone around here knows Jake,” Mary Jo said. “He goes to town with us.”

“A drifter, then,” Wade said.

But Mary Jo wasn't satisfied. Most of the ranchers around here had dogs. None of them would shoot someone's dog, not unless it was going after stock. And Jake loved everyone, nearly everyone, and most other critters. Now, though, the why wasn't important. Taking care of Jake was.

She looked at Jake. He had lain down. She wished she could pick him up, but he was a big dog, too large for her to carry all the way to the house without possibly injuring him more.

Mary Jo rubbed under his chin. “Can you walk home, Jake?” His tail wagged slowly in assent, and he stood, putting his weight on three legs.

She looked toward Wade, noticed his frustration, and she knew it was because he couldn't help more. But his frown smoothed out as he looked at Jeff. “He'll make it,” he said. “He has a strong heart.”

So do you
, she wanted to say, but held her tongue.

Jeff walked next to Jake, his hand buried in the dog's fur as the animal limped along on three legs. Mary Jo looked at them, a lump in her throat. Jeff was still bruised from his own struggle in the water, and Wade Foster was swathed in bandages. Her ranch was fast becoming a hospital.

Her gaze turned upward and met Wade's, and his mouth quirked in that half smile that revealed no emotion. He was a puzzle, and Mary Jo reminded herself that she wouldn't have time to sort him out completely.
He won't be here long enough. Remember that. Don't forget. Don't let Jeff forget
.

Yet Jeff was looking back up at their stranger with eyes that shone with admiration. She felt a cold chill go up and down her back. They reached the porch, and Wade Foster hesitated, as if trying to decide whether he should stay.

Mary Jo knew he must be hurting. She was surprised he'd lasted on his feet this long, but she didn't want him to retreat back into the loneliness of the bare room in the barn. Not now. Jake returning was a triumph for them all. “I think we need to wash Jake, clean that wound of his. Maybe you can help,” she said to Wade Foster, more tentatively than she'd intended. “He likes you. He might stay still for you. You can sit there with him.”

He nodded curtly, his eyes wary again. Mary Jo wondered whether she had imagined that brief pleasure in his eyes just minutes earlier.

Wade sat, and Jake settled down awkwardly between him and Jeff, licking his injured leg and whining softly. Mary Jo went to the pump in the kitchen and filled a pan with water, then fired the stove. As the water heated, she went to the door and looked out.

Jeff's arms were around Jake's neck again, his head buried in the dog's fur. Mary Jo shook her head, but had no heart to say anything. Wade Foster was also watching them, his head bent at an angle where she could see his expression. A small smile, a hint of wistfulness, that odd vulnerability that had stabbed her several times previously. His face was naked with a longing she sensed was for his own son. He leaned over, placed his left hand on Jeff's smaller one reassuringly, and said something Mary Jo couldn't hear. She did, however, see Jeff's grateful smile.

She moved from the door and waited until the water had heated. She found a piece of cloth and tucked it in the pan with some soap and went outside. She thought wryly that she was becoming very good at nursing.

She set the pan down on the porch and turned to Jeff. “Can you find me a nice strong branch and whittle a splint for Jake?”

He nodded but left only reluctantly, his face turning frequently back to Jake as if the dog might disappear once more. Mary Jo bent her head to study the bullet wound along Jake's neck. “Thank you for helping,” she told Wade.

Wade didn't say anything, just ran his hands down the dog's back, calming him. Jake's body twitched as Mary Jo's hands found the bullet wound again, cut the hair away and washed it. She flinched as the dog's body shuddered, but Jake obviously knew she was trying to help. “I could kill whoever did this,” she muttered to herself.

“You don't think it was an accident?”

She shook her head. “I don't know. As I said, people around here know Jake. And he wouldn't attack anyone, not without reason.” She looked up at him anxiously. “It couldn't be anyone after …?”

He shook his head. “I don't think so. That … man they found was the last of three.”

Mary Jo swallowed hard. “Jeff has lost so much …”

“He's a strong kid,” Wade said. “He'll do all right.”

“He felt so … guilty.”

Wade hesitated a moment, then looked into her eyes. “He heard what we said that night before he went to the creek. He thought I … didn't like him. I think that's why he disappeared that morning.” He turned away from her.