Hunter's Moon (Hunter Family Saga; Half-Moon Ranch 1) (8 page)

Jack moved forward. When his gaze fell upon the
portrait of Beth still gracing the wall over the
fireplace, turbulent emotion was evident on his face.

"Your mother was a very beautiful woman."

"Yes, she was," Brent answered. He clenched his
fists in an effort to control his anger. He wanted to
rage at his father that it was only because of him that
she was gone. "We buried her in the family plot."

Jack nodded, then looked around. "Where's
Abby?"

"Hard to say."

"You don't keep track of your little sister?" he
asked.

"Abby is not so `little' anymore, and besides,
I've been gone for almost two weeks. There's no
way of knowing where she might be," Brent said
coldly.

"Well, she should be here at the house."

Brent's mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. "Abby
doesn't spend much time around the house. Usually
she's out working with the horses or checking stock.
I already told you she can ride and rope."

"That's no job for her."

"I'm sure she'll be interested to hear your
opinion on that, since she's been doing it for years
now.

"Oh, Brent, you're back." Frances Riley, the
housekeeper who'd been hired while Jack was in
prison, had been working in the kitchen when she'd
heard the sound of voices.

"We just got here," Brent told her.

"You must be Frances," Jack said quietly. "Brent's
told me about you."

She nodded in his direction, then quickly looked
back at Brent. She didn't want anything to do with
Jack.

"Is Abby around?"

"No. She went into town yesterday for a visit with
Iona."

"Iona?" Jack repeated, surprised at the mention of
her name. It had been so long since he'd seen any of
his friends.

"She helped Abby a lot right after..." Brent paused,
then went on, "They've stayed close ever since."

"And Edmund? How is he?"

"As successful as ever," Brent answered, hoping
his silent resentment didn't show. He had never
been able to forget Edmund's coldness the day
he'd shown him the extent of the Half-Moon's
debts. He looked at Frances. "When is Abby
coming back?"

"Sometime tonight," Frances told them. "She just
needed to get away for a little while."

Brent understood what Frances wasn't sayingthat Abby was torn by the prospect of their father's
return and needed time away to gather her thoughts
and prepare herself to see him again.

"Are you two hungry?" she offered. "Would you
like anything to eat?"

"No, not right now."

"Well, if you change your mind I'll be in the
kitchen." She directed her comment to Brent.

"Thanks."

She hurried off, leaving the two men alone.

Jack was tense as he glanced up at his wife's
portrait again. Nothing had changed, yet everything
had changed. He realized painfully that Brent had
been right.

"The front bedroom is still yours," Brent said.

"You didn't take it over, too?" His tone was sharp
with resentment.

Jack turned away from Brent and stalked off to
the master bedroom. He didn't pause before the
closed door, but opened it and went on in, shutting
it behind him.

Jack had thought seeing the house again had been
painful, but nothing had prepared him for the sight of
his and Beth's bedroom. The room was seemingly
untouched even after all these years. He closed his eyes,
fighting back the stabbing ache of emptiness that filled
him. This room had been their haven. He and Beth
had always found their bliss there-in the wide
comfort of their marriage bed-holding each other,
loving each other. But that comfort was lost to him
now-forever.

Memories of Beth overwhelmed him suddenlyall the joy they'd shared and all the love. He sank
down on the side of the bed, struggling for control.

This room might look the same, but it would
never be the same. Nothing would. Life as he'd
known it was over. There was no going back.

There had been times during his long years in
prison when Jack had dreamed of this moment-of
being free and back home. But he felt no elation, no
thrill at being home. He felt only sorrow for all that
had been lost.

Jack remembered his dreams for their future, and
all that had been lost on that fateful day...

It had been a long, long time since Jack had
had a drink, but he desperately needed one. He
got up and left the bedroom. He'd always kept
his whiskey in the cabinet right by the dining
room table, and he was glad to see the cabinet
was still there. He was a driven man as he strode
to it and opened the door. He stared inside in
great frustration. There was no liquor of any
kind. It was empty.

"Damn it!" In a frustrated fury, he slammed the
door shut.

"What are you looking for?" Brent asked. He had
been in the back of the house, but heard the
commotion.

"Where's the whiskey?"

Brent went cold as he faced him down. "There
isn t any."

"Why the hell not? I need a drink."

Brent's expression hardened even more. "I would
think after what happened the last time you got drunk, you'd never want to touch another drop of
liquor." His words had the desired effect. His father
went pale, "Ma would still be alive if you hadn't
been drunk that day. Since then, I don't allow liquor
in this house-ever."

Jack glared at him, shaken and yet furious, too,
over being denied what he needed. He turned away
and stormed out of the house.

Brent watched him go. He didn't care how angry
his father was.

"There's no way to avoid this, is there?" Abby looked
at Iona as Edmund drove them back to the ranch
late that afternoon.

She was seated between the couple, a place that
should have made her feel secure. Instead she felt
suffocated, as if all the open air in Texas wouldn't be
enough to help her draw a deep, peaceful breath ever
again.

Distracted as Iona often was lately, she didn't
answer Abby right away. She appeared almost
confused for a moment before finally responding,
"No, dear, there's not. I wish I could make it easier
for you, but I can't."

Iona's seeming confusion and the unsteadiness in
her voice made Abby feel worse, for it reminded her
of what she had learned in town earlier that day.
Iona had been like a mother to her since her own
mother had died. Abby loved her dearly. When
she'd overheard Mrs. Spindle and Mrs. Herbert talk ing about her in the general store, saying that she
had a problem with drinking spirits, Abby had been
ready to defend Iona. She had wanted to confront
them and make them apologize for their hatefulness,
but in that moment she'd realized that what they
were saying was the truth. It explained why Iona
always drenched herself in rose water-she did it to
cover the smell-of the liquor.

Abby felt fiercely protective of Iona, and she
wondered where her daughter, Juliana, was. Juliana
had married young and then been widowed. The last
Abby had heard, she was living back east somewhere.
Abby believed Juliana should have come home to
take care of her mother. If her own mother had been
alive, she would never have abandoned her in such a
way.

"I'm here for you, Abby," Iona told her with a
reassuring smile, extending a shaking hand to
her.

"I know," she answered, smiling weakly in return
as the carriage turned up the road to the main house.
"I guess it's time to get this over with. It's not going
to get any easier, no matter how long I try to avoid

She felt Edmund's eyes on her, and an
unexplained shiver went through her.

"You're certain they'll be here?" he asked.

"According to what Brent told me when he left,
they were due back today."

He reached over and patted her hands, which were clutched tightly in her lap. "I'm glad that we're
with you."

She shifted free of his touch.

"I am, too," she said, and tried to mean it. Staring
straight ahead, she steeled herself for the
confrontation to come.

Jack had been furious when he'd left the house.
Needing to get away, he'd headed for the stables to
have a look around.

No liquor...

He had been ten long years without a drink, and
he'd desperately needed one today. There might not
be any whiskey on the Half-Moon right now, but
he'd take care of that the next time he went into
town.

"Jack? Is that you?" Curly had been working in
the stable and was surprised to see his old boss
standing in the doorway.

"It's me. I'm back," he answered, glad to see the
longtime hired hand.

Curly stopped what he was doing and went to
speak with him. "Brent said you'd be coming back.
It's been a long time."

"Too long. How have you been?" he asked.

"Fine. We had some hard years here on the ranch,
but everything's worked out now. Brent's done a
good job."

Jack wasn't about to give Brent credit for
anything. He was the one who had worked endlessly to establish the Half-Moon as a thoroughbred ranch.
Raising racehorses was his dream. "What about the
bloodlines?"

Curly shrugged. "Brent said there was more
money in breeding and training working stock, and
he was right. It's hard work, but we've gotten good
at it.

Jack didn't want to hear him sing Brent's
praises anymore. By taking up mustanging
and concentrating on cow ponies and the like,
his son had forsaken everything he'd planned
for the ranch. The Half-Moon was his ranch,
not Brent's! He had worked his whole life
toward achieving his dream, and now he was
going to have to start all over again.

Start over ...The thought jarred Jack, for in the
past he'd always had Beth's support.

Beth...

Jack suddenly needed to get away by himself for a
while.

"Well, it's good to be here," Jack told Curly as he
moved off.

The ranch hand nodded and watched him leave
the stable. He thought Jack was a sad figure of a man
now, nothing like the vital, commanding boss he
used to be.

Jack left the stable. He knew where he had to go,
and he was glad there was no one else around. He
needed to be alone for what he had to do. He made his way to the family cemetery a distance away from
the house.

Elizabeth Quincy Hunter

Jack stared down at Beth's name on the
tombstone.

If only he could turn back time. If only he could
change what had happened that day. If only...

Pain tore through him. Anger rose up within him.
There could be no changing what had happened.
There was no way to make things right again.

Beth was dead.

So deep was Jack's grief as he mourned at his
wife's graveside, he didn't notice the carriage arriving
at the house.

"Don't be nervous, dear; everything is going to be all
right. We're here with you," Iona told Abby as
Edmund brought the carriage to a stop before the
house.

"Thank you." She gave the older woman a
heartfelt look as she mentally prepared herself for
what was to come. No matter what Iona's problems
were, the older woman's presence would be welcome
at her father's homecoming.

Abby took a deep breath and descended from the
carriage. Iona had wanted her to wear a dress today,
but she'd decided not to. She wore pants to work
around the ranch, and the good Lord knew today
was going to be work.

Just as Abby turned and started up the walk, the front door opened. Abby actually found herself
holding her breath as she waited to see who was
going to come outside. Relief flooded through her
when she saw it was Brent.

"So you're back," Abby said, her expression still
wary as she glanced past him, expecting to see their
father following him.

"We got back a few hours ago," Brent explained.
Then he looked at the banker and his wife. "Hello,
Iona, Edmund."

They returned his greeting as they, too, climbed
down from the carriage.

"So Papa did come with you. He's really here?"
Abby asked.

"Yes."

"Where is Jack?" Edmund inquired.

"I don't know for sure. He left the house a while
ago, and I haven't seen him since."

"You don't sound too concerned," Edmund
remarked.

"I'm not. He'll be back. Come on inside." Brent
held the door for his sister as Edmund took lona's
arm to steady her as he helped her up the porch steps
and into the house.

"How is Papa?" Abby asked once they'd settled
in.

Brent shrugged. "The years in the Huntsville
prison were hard on him. His return isn't going to
be easy-for any of us."

"I know." She had adored her father as a young girl, but all that had changed on that horrible, fateful
day. "Why did he come back at all, Brent? Why?"

"He says the Half-Moon is his home, and he's
staying.

"He always loved this ranch," Edmund agreed.

"And he almost lost it, too," Brent said, unable to
disguise the note of bitterness in his voice.
"Edmund." He looked the banker straight in the eye.
"Before Pa gets back here, I want you to give me
your word that you won't make any more loans to
him if he comes to you."

"Do you think he might?" Edmund asked.

"Anything is possible with Pa, but we've worked
too hard getting the Half-Moon out of debt. I don't
want to put the whole place at risk again over any of
his wild-eyed schemes."

The banker's eyes narrowed, but his voice was as
silky as ever.

"I'll do what I can to support you, Brent, but your
father is still the ranch's rightful owner, isn't he?"

"His name may be on the title," he admitted, "but
when he left, he put me in charge."

"You know, Brent, if the situation did arise, you'd
be far better off borrowing from me than anyone
else."

"The situation is not going to arise. We won't be
borrowing money from anyone ever again," Brent
declared fiercely, remembering all too clearly how
hard-pressed he had been to make their payments on
time. Edmund had never been able to seize their property, but after their conversation ten years ago,
he'd known the banker wouldn't have hesitated to
take it if they'd fallen behind.