The Coyote's Cry (12 page)

After discussing Gloria for a few moments, Alice said softly, “You're here six days a week, Jenna, dear. Why don't you regard our visit as an opportunity to get away for a few hours? We'll stay with Mom while you're gone.”

“That's very generous of you,” Jenna murmured. “There is something I'd like to do, and it wouldn't take more than two hours, probably less.”

“Wonderful. Just tell us if there's anything we should do for Mom while you're gone.”

“Thank you, but there's nothing right now. She's had lunch and her scheduled medication, and I believe she's napping. Just sit with her quietly until she wakes up. I'm sure she will be pleased to see you.”

“I wish I were sure of that,” Thomas said.

Jenna sympathized with the man wholeheartedly. His mother was daily losing ground, his grandfather was al
ready mourning her demise, and the whole tragic scenario had to be one very bitter pill for Thomas to swallow.

But Jenna suspected he
was
swallowing it, however painful. George WhiteBear, after all, had practically raised Thomas and Trevor. He had to have been a strong influence in the twins' development, and Jenna could hardly fault Thomas for respecting his grandfather's ways and beliefs when he'd grown up with them.

Still, a tale about a message from a coyote wasn't something Jenna could just accept and go on from there. Her logical mind worked on proved facts. Most of the time, anyway. She wasn't very logical about Bram, she knew, which could very well be the reason she suffered such bone-jarring ambivalence whenever she thought of him.

Anyhow, she accepted Alice and Thomas's kind offer and drove away from the Colton Ranch enjoying the warm and sunny end-of-June day. The Fourth of July was just around the corner, and Black Arrow always put on a parade, a carnival and after-dark fireworks. This year she probably wouldn't be attending any of the events because of her patient.

Tears suddenly stung Jenna's eyes as she wondered if she would still have Gloria for a patient on the Fourth.

“Damn,” she whispered, and wished all the way into Black Arrow that she hadn't volunteered her services that day in the hospital when she'd overheard Dr. Hall talking about needing a full-time nurse for Gloria. Jenna had wanted to force something to happen between her and Bram, of course, and it had.

But it wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind, and now she was all confused about Comanche lore and worrying constantly about Gloria.

Bram might have dropped his guard for a few teasing remarks on the phone this morning, but he had reverted to
his usual brusque self mighty fast, practically hanging up in her ear.

Jenna sighed. She must lie in the bed she'd made. The situation was nobody's fault but her own, and despising Bram for being himself wasn't an option. He was, after all, no different today than he'd ever been.

In Black Arrow she drove directly to her father's huge home, parked her car and entered the house with her key. “Martha?” she called.

The cook and housekeeper appeared. “Why, Jenna. How nice to see you. You've been busy with Mrs. Colton for how long now?”

“Maybe a little too long, Martha,” Jenna said with a smile, then realized how her reply might have sounded. “I don't mean to imply that I have a problem with caring for Gloria Colton. It's something else. Anyhow, I had a couple of hours off and came here to pick up a few things.”

“Well, it's your home.”

Jenna wanted to say that it wouldn't be her home for long. She'd been watching the
Chronicle
's classified section for apartments to rent, and eventually realized that there were always units available in and around Black Arrow. When she was ready to rent a place and move out of her father's house, she would have very little trouble finding something to her liking.

“I don't have much time. It was nice seeing you, Martha.” Jenna hurried up the stairs and went to the bed and bath suite that had been hers since childhood. Everything was in place, just as she'd left it, and she gathered a few items of clothing and then some things from the bathroom. She was putting them in a small overnight case when her father walked in.

Startled, she merely said, “Oh! I…didn't expect you to be home.”

“I didn't expect to see you, either. Martha told me you were here when I came in.”

“I'm only going to be here for a minute, Dad. I came to pick up some things I need at the ranch.” She saw her father's expression change from elated to furious.

“I had hoped you were through with that band of Indians!” Carl said with a sneer.

Jenna winced at his crudity, but held her head high. “Well, I'm not, and if you must talk about some very nice people in that arrogant, holier-than-thou manner, please do it somewhere else.”

Carl looked as though she had physically struck him. “I can't believe you would say something like that to me, your own father.”

“I'm not a child anymore. Dad, I haven't been a child for fifteen years! I have a mind of my own and everyone has a right to like whom they please.”

“Well, that includes me, missy, and don't you forget it.”

“I'm sure I won't,” Jenna said, and lowered her eyes to the things in the little suitcase. “That about does it.” She zipped the case shut.

“Is that big sheriff chasing you around his house yet? Maybe you've let him catch you, huh? Is that what all this rebellion is about? I knew a long time ago that your being friends with that Willow Colton would cause me trouble.”

Jenna stared at her father with unconcealed pity. “I feel sorry for you, Dad.” Gripping her suitcase, she walked from the room.

Carl followed her down the stairs. “You feel sorry for me?
I
feel sorry for
you!
What in hell's come over you? You're sure not the same girl you were before your mother died.”

Jenna whirled around at the foot of the stairs. “I don't
claim
to be. And you don't feel sorry for me, you're con
cerned strictly with yourself and how other people perceive you. Do you actually believe that people would think less of you if you mingled with Native Americans? Called some of them friends? Dad, what makes you think you have a spotless reputation around town? Throughout the entire county, for that matter, or maybe the whole darned state?”

“And what's that supposed to mean?” Carl snarled.

“I'm sure you know, or you would if you'd let yourself face the truth.” Jenna walked away and exited by the front door, the same way she'd come in only minutes before. She got in her car, drove away and then had to pull over to dry her eyes. She had never talked so harshly to her father before; especially painful to her was the cruel way in which she had referred to his unscrupulous business methods. Even if people did talk behind his back, she shouldn't have hurt him like that.

 

Troubled all afternoon about Rand Colton's sketchy tale of a possible blood tie between the Washington Coltons—wasn't that what he'd said, that he was from Washington, D.C.?—and the Oklahoma Coltons, Bram drove around aimlessly after eating dinner at a downtown diner. He knew he should still be on the job, looking for the missing gun, working on finding Black Arrow's infamous arsonist and also the person who had burgled the newspaper office—maybe the same guy, maybe not—but he couldn't force himself to concentrate on anything but personal problems, which just seemed to keep stacking up.

The jolt delivered by Rand that morning was one for the books, though. How could there be a whole other branch of Coltons that no one in Oklahoma had ever mentioned? Did Uncle Thomas know anything about it? If there were any truth to it Gran would know, but even when she tried her hardest to speak—which wasn't often—Bram
found it nearly impossible to understand her. And if Gran
did
know about the Washington Coltons, why had she never talked about them?

Bram found himself slowly cruising the street that Will and Ellie lived on. He hadn't seen or talked to Will since right after Gran's stroke, and he suddenly felt a strong desire to communicate with the best friend he'd ever had. Bram pulled into the Mitchells' driveway and got out of his patrol car. Will's pickup was there and so was Ellie's compact. Everyone was home.

Bram rapped on the front door and Will opened it. “Hey, look who's here! Come on in. Ellie's putting the boys to bed. How about a beer?”

“I'm driving a patrol car, so thanks, but no. I'll have a cup of coffee, though, if there's some made.”

“There's
always
coffee in this house. You know that.” They went to the kitchen and Will filled two mugs with coffee and brought them to the table. They sat and sipped hot coffee and eyed each other. “What's wrong?” Will finally asked.

“So many things I wouldn't know where to start,” Bram admitted.

“Well, I'm listening if you want to talk.”

“I know.” Will was the only person Bram knew that he could sit and drink coffee with and not feel pressured into talking even if he had nothing to say. At the same time Will was the one person to whom Bram could tell something and not worry that it would get around town with the speed of light.

He took the medallion from his shirt pocket and laid it on the table. “I found this on the floor of the old depot. Take a look at it.”

Will reached for it, held it up and peered at it. “Is this engraving or whatever it is the head of a coyote?”

“Looks like it to me.”

“And you found it?”

“At the old depot.”

Will's eyes met Bram's. “Kind of spooky, if you ask me. I mean, considering your great-granddad's relationship with coyotes, it strikes me as pretty darned odd that you'd walk into the old depot and find something like this.”

“It strikes me that way, too.” Bram picked up the medallion again and frowned at it. Then he dropped it back in his shirt pocket and heaved a sigh. “I talked to a man today who thinks he and his kin might be related to me and mine. He's from Washington, D.C., and I'm assuming that's where his whole family lives, although they could be scattered to hell and gone for all I really know about them. To tell you the truth, Will, I was so rattled by this guy introducing himself as Rand Colton that I didn't ask him a lot of the questions I
should
have asked. But he said he has some old letters—no, envelopes—with Gran's name on them that once belonged to his grandfather, which was what got him digging up the past.”

Will slowly shook his head. “Your life is never dull, I'll give you that, Bram. But a guy you never heard of claiming to be a relative seems darned strange to me. What does he want? I mean, in the end, what is he really after?”

“Good question.” Bram became thoughtful for a long moment, then said, “It can't be money, Will. The Coltons around here have jobs, but no one's wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. Just from his car and clothes I'd have to say that Rand—if that's really his name—has more money than any one of us. Maybe more than all of us put together.”

Ellie walked in. “Well, hi, Bram. I didn't hear you come in.”

“I was about to leave, Ellie. I'm still on duty. Just stopped by to say hello.”

“How's your grandmother doing?”

“Not very well, I'm afraid.” Bram got to his feet and drank the last of his coffee. “Will, thanks for the coffee. Ellie, tell the boys I'll come by and see them when I get the chance.”

“Try to bring Nellie with you,” Ellie said with a laugh.

“I'll try. Bye, Ellie.” When Will walked with him out to the patrol car, Bram asked, “Is she pregnant, Will?”

His friend's proud grin lit up his whole face. “Yes sir, she is.”

Bram got into the vehicle. “I'll pray for a girl this time.”

“Do that. Nothing would make Ellie happier. Of course, if it's another boy she'll welcome him, too.”

“She's a wonderful mother and you're a lucky guy.”

“Hey, you could be just as lucky if you'd give the poor lonesome gals of Comanche County half a chance.”

Bram started the ignition and began backing out of the driveway. “Blow it out your ear, Mitchell,” he called through the open window.

I
t was going to be another long, lonely evening, Jenna thought while wandering Bram's big empty house. She had completed her nighttime ritual with Gloria, and the elderly woman was already sleeping. Jenna knew it would be hours before she herself felt sleepy, and she had her choice of watching TV or reading, neither of which seemed at all appealing. She was on edge and had been since exchanging those cross words with her father. Thomas and Alice had stayed only a short time after her return to the ranch, but there had been Gloria's needs to keep Jenna occupied. Now there was nothing to occupy either her hands or her mind, and while she restlessly roamed, resentments old and new gnawed at her.

Volunteering to come out here had been a huge mistake, she thought unhappily. Sleeping with Bram had been an even bigger mistake, even though her lack of good sense in that department had been caused by her deeply rooted
feelings for him. Obviously he didn't suffer from the same weakness of mind and spirit that she did. When he thought of her at all—
if
he did—what went through his mind? Did he consider her cheap? Easy? Just another notch on the old bedpost?

At moments like this she could easily hate him. No one would ever convince her that he had lived the way he was living now before
she
moved in. He stayed away from his own home as much as he could because she was in it.

And yet she knew he didn't want her to leave. He had praised her on her care of Gloria more than once, and Jenna believed wholeheartedly that Bram Colton didn't hand out undeserved compliments to anyone.

“Oh, shoot,” she said out loud, heaving a sigh. Why couldn't Bram come home and just be nice? Share a meal with her? Talk and laugh with her? She would never make demands he didn't want to fulfill…would she?

Jenna plopped down into a living room chair and cursed herself for falling in love with the wrong man. She had let him take advantage of her weakness for him, and even worse, would probably do it again if he were ever around long enough to make another pass.

Tears threatened, which only made her angrier than she already was. There were more fish in the sea than Bram Colton, and she was
not
going to spend the best years of her life crying over him.

Rising, she went to the kitchen and put on the teakettle. While waiting for the water to boil, she remembered the old books in Bram's closet. Were they still there, hidden under that blanket? She didn't feel comfortable accusing Bram of anything that even hinted at dishonesty—despite resenting him on a personal level—but why on earth would he have obviously valuable old record books from the courthouse concealed in his closet?

He must have a reason, she told herself, a perfectly ra
tional reason, and she should never think otherwise. And if that were the case then he wouldn't mind if she looked through them. It might be a pleasant way to pass the evening.

With that seemingly logical decision in mind, Jenna strode boldly to Bram's bedroom and went to his closet. The blanketed bundle was still there, and she hesitated a moment, wondering why. But then she told herself to stop trying to analyze a man she would
never
understand. Bending down, she pulled the top book from under the blanket and carried it to the kitchen. It was much heavier than she'd expected.

Jenna placed it on the kitchen table, then hurried to the stove to turn off the burner under the whistling teakettle. After preparing a pot of tea, she sat at the table with a cup and turned back the cover of the old book.

She loved the precise, formal penmanship. In places the ink had faded badly, but most of the entries were legible. Jenna turned page after page, reading some of the notations that recorded important data about Black Arrow's early inhabitants. Occasionally she ran across a name she recognized, which she found fascinating. She'd always known that some of the families in the area had ancestors who had pioneered in Oklahoma long before statehood.

She had almost finished drinking the pot of tea and had reached the last section of the book when some script on the yellowed pages suddenly leaped out at her. Excited by her discovery, she read the dozens of entries recording the transfer of federal land to people of Comanche blood. And much to her delight, she found an entry for “WhiteBear, Juab.”

Juab must have been George WhiteBear's father, she thought, and quickly scanned the final few pages for more information on that rather famous land transfer. When she reached the end, she pushed the book aside and hastened
to Bram's closet for another one. She toted it to the kitchen as well and eagerly opened it.

The land transfer recordings took up several pages of the second book, and Jenna looked them over in a perfectly innocent search for other familiar names. But nothing could have prepared her for one entry. The name was Elliot GrayEagle, and “Elliot” was spelled exactly the same way as her own last name.

She stared at that entry as though it should mean something, but of course, it couldn't possibly. There were no GrayEagles on her family tree. And besides, the name was reversed. If it had been GrayEagle Elliot, she might have cause to wonder, but…

With her heart pounding, Jenna sat back. She knew perfectly well that Elliot wasn't a common Comanche name. And yet…?

She began turning pages again, looking, reading, searching for another notation for Mr. GrayEagle. She was so accustomed to listening for any sound Gloria might make that she was able to do that and still concentrate on the book in front of her. Jenna was almost to the end of the second book when the GrayEagle named jumped off the page at her.

Only this time it was an entry that read: “Son, born to GrayEagle and Moselle Elliot.”

“My God,” Jenna whispered in shock. She had heard the name “Moselle” before—from her own father, in fact, a long time ago when he'd been boasting proudly of the Elliot family's contributions to Oklahoma's development.

Was it actually possible for him to be ignorant of the true nature of his own history? He had Indian blood,
Comanche
blood! So did she!

Well, that wasn't a given. A white man could have sired Moselle's children, but Jenna didn't think so. In fact, she
was convinced that her dad, Carl Elliot, was a direct descendant of GrayEagle and Moselle Elliot.

And so was she.

Jenna felt weak and shaky. This was incendiary information and just might destroy her father if it became common gossip. Dare she even tell him about it? Dare she tell anyone what she'd unearthed in these old books?

Through the density of fog and confusion clouding her brain Jenna heard the front door open and close. Bram had come home! Startled out of her fearful preoccupation, she jumped up and tried to pick up both books at once. One fell to the floor with a horrendously loud bang, and Jenna scrambled to scoop it up again.

Bram walked in. He stopped and frowned at her. “What are you doing?”

Jenna turned three shades of red. “I…I—”

“Damn!” he said. “I forgot all about those books. But suppose you tell me how they got from my closet to the kitchen table? And where's the third one?”

“Don't you dare yell at me!”

“Then start talking!” He was tired and so saturated with problems of every description that there wasn't a drop of patience in his entire system. Not even for Jenna, who truly looked like the proverbial kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She also looked mad as hell, probably because she
had
been caught.

“I'm not one of the criminals in your jail, so don't treat me like one!”

“I never said you were a criminal. Hell's bells, don't put words in my mouth. The ones I come up with on my own are bad enough.”

“I could come up with a few choice ones myself right about now,” Jenna retorted, although she was so internally shaken at being caught like this that her only wish was for invisibility. But would she back down from this man's
righteous fury? Never! “What I'd like to know is why you've been hiding in your closet important and probably valuable books that had to have come from the courthouse!”

“I brought them home for safekeeping!”

“Likely story!”

“Don't believe me. Right now I personally don't give a damn what you think.” Bram stormed out.

Jenna sank back in her chair, totally drained by anger she had no right to feel. She'd snooped and gotten caught; it was as simple as that.

Bram was at the front door before he remembered the reason he'd come home this early. Veering to the right, he went to see if Gran was still awake. All things considered, the only person who could prove or disprove Rand Colton's theory of relativity, so to speak, was Gran. If it had happened—whatever
it
was—then she had lived it. There had to be a way to communicate with her, and he'd come home to the ranch with several ideas on how to go about it.

The master bedroom was shadowed, but Bram could see well enough because of the night-lights dimly illuminating the room and the adjoining bathroom. Gloria was clearly sleeping. He would have to put his theories to the test tomorrow.

Bram turned on his heel and again headed for the front door. He went outside, breathed in the pleasantly cool night air and felt something give within himself. He'd been wound too tightly lately and the bomb inside him had gone off with the wrong person. He felt like a dog for talking that way to Jenna. She didn't deserve his wrath for any reason, and her looking at those old books should not have lit his fuse the way it had.

Cursing his temper, which rarely surfaced, Bram walked down to the barns. Nellie was with him, as she always was
when he was at the ranch, and her presence helped to calm his frazzled nerves. But even feeling less explosive didn't alleviate the severe remorse eating holes in his gut. Jenna would probably never forgive his rudeness tonight, and why should she?

He filled Nellie's food and water bowls, then checked the horses' water trough. A couple of them approached the fence and Bram petted the nose of one.

“Everything's gone to hell in a handbasket,” he said to the pretty mare. “And tonight I just might have proved that I deserve every damn thing that's happened.”

He turned and walked away, stood near the barns and looked up at the night sky. Instead of stars he saw clouds. It looked to him like the area was in for some rain.

Dropping his gaze to the house, he wondered if Jenna was packing to leave. It wouldn't surprise him. In fact, why in heaven's name would she stay?

But what would he do if she left? There were other nurses, there must be, but Jenna was so perfect with Gran.

She was also perfect for him, even if he couldn't admit his feelings to her. If only he could. If only he could go back in the house, take her in his arms, tell her how much he loved her and hold her throughout the night.

It was an impossible dream and totally unrealistic, but he
could
do one thing. He could apologize and hope to high heaven that she would believe in his sincerity and stay on.

Bram walked to the house, not hurrying, because he was honestly afraid of what he might find when he went in. All too soon and yet not soon enough, he had covered the ground from the barns to the house. He chose to enter by the back door, and he went in quietly.

The kitchen was dark, and he stepped beyond it and looked around. From where he stood the master bedroom
looked the same, still dimly lit, but the living room lights were on. It appeared that was where he would find Jenna.

Inhaling an anxious breath, Bram went to the entrance to the living room and looked in. Jenna was sitting in a chair with a handful of soggy tissues and reddened eyes. When she saw him, a fresh flow of tears dribbled down her cheeks and she mopped them up with the tissues.

He'd made her cry. Feeling lower than pond scum, he slowly and hesitatingly walked toward her. Encouraged because she didn't say something like “Back off, jerk!” he knelt on the floor in front of her knees.

“I'm so sorry,” he said huskily. “You can look at those old books anytime you want. The only reason I have them is because the insurance adjuster found them still intact in a metal cabinet in one of the burned rooms and suggested I give them to a local museum. He thought they might have some historical value. I brought them home that day and forgot all about them.”

Jenna's heart skipped a beat. Historical value? A museum? Anyone examining the old books just might figure out the same thing she had tonight.

But that would take the onus off her. She wouldn't have to wonder and worry if she should tell her dad or anyone else about her discovery. If anyone
did
study the books and eventually put it all together, it would get around, make no mistake. Carl Elliot might know people in high places within the governing and business sectors of Oklahoma, as Bram had pointed out, but in Black Arrow he had very few friends. Actually, the yes-men who dogged his footsteps weren't friends, in Jenna's estimation. They were leeches, only hanging around for the occasional crumb her father threw them.

Biting her lower lip, she raised her teary eyes and gazed directly at Bram, who looked so downcast and sick at heart that her own heart reached out to him.

But he had hurt her terribly, and not just tonight. Knowing the reason behind his almost constant determination to stay away from her didn't lessen the pain it caused. And she kept letting it happen because she loved him. She was a pretty sad case, but so was he.

“Can you forgive me?” he asked in a shaky voice completely alien to the way he normally spoke.

She dabbed at her eyes again, not giving a whit if he saw her crying tonight. “I…don't know. You yelled at me for no reason at all.”

“I yelled because I'm so on edge that I feel like I'm just barely hanging on with my fingertips. You don't know all that's been going on.”