In the yard, the Burns had sprayed brightly colored paints or dyes outward in a spiral, creating a winter wonderland tie-dye project. They stood in the center and stared up at him on the wide steps.
Mrs. Burns waved him down.
How had he missed them when he’d gotten out of the truck? Was he so locked into distraction that he didn’t notice something so important? When he reached the bottom though, the snow bank from plowing the drive reached his hat brim.
Lost in thought as he’d been, no wonder he’d missed them.
Around the steps and under the deck like a tunnel, Jareth wended his way past the empty kennel and onto the decorated yard.
His leather boots would stain in the dye. Dirt he didn’t mind, but wearing Easter eggs on his feet wouldn’t gain him any respect on the ranch hand circuit. Stopping at the edge of the swirling color, Jareth smiled. “Hello, Mrs. Burns, Mr. Burns.”
Cyan’s mom glided gracefully in her full skirts to join him at the edge. Her husband took a little longer as he ambled, walking between splotches and splashes of blue, yellow, and magenta.
“Please, call me Cyndi.” She turned and pointed at the deepest blue curves. “We named Cyan after the blues of the earth. Her personality would’ve been better suited to a fuchsia or a tangerine.”
Jareth hid his wince at the thought of Cyan being named anything other than what she was, especially if it was tangerine.
Her mom reached up and twisted a short lock of Jareth’s hair between her fingers. “Although the perfect complement to blue is a burnt orange and I suspect in the summer months, you’re more of an auburn. Am I right?”
He nodded, captivated by the ease she fell into around him.
Her husband’s heavy-lidded eyes didn’t waver as he watched Jareth. “What did you need? Cyan’s not here.”
Jareth cleared his throat, tucking his hands into his pockets. He nodded. “Yes, sir, I know.” He paused, a sheen of sweat cooling the back of his suddenly hot neck. “I actually came to apologize to you and your wife, sir, about what happened on Christmas day. I was the one who told Kettleson about… well, I told him and, I don’t like excuses, but I thought it would make him back off of Cyan. He wanted you not to press charges for Cyan getting shot.”
“You mean, for you shooting her.” Mr. Burns narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “You didn’t want to be held responsible for your actions, is that right?”
“No, sir, not at all. I didn’t mean to shoot Cyan. It kills me that I did. It kills me that I even gave into the pressure of the bounties that Kettleson offered on the pelts. Cyan loves the wolves. I would never intentionally hurt her, sir.” If he had a second chance with Cyan, he’d spend the rest of his life trying to prove that to her. And most likely an eternity proving it to her dad.
“Gulliver, leave the boy alone.” Mrs. Burns rested her hand on Jareth’s arm. “There’s been a storm brewing between Cyan and Kettleson a long time now. It was only a matter of time. Yes, we were angry at being arrested, but to be honest, I think it’s what my husband needed.” She glared at her husband when he grunted and looked off to the side. “Cyan was mad and hurt, but she was so excited when she got evidence against Kettleson. She wouldn’t have been able to get that evidence, if you hadn’t told her. She also would have been here when the police came. She wasn’t. I’m grateful for that as well.”
Jareth didn’t know what to say. She forgave him? Was Cyan’s father going to shoot him? The uncertainty of a few seconds spread before him like a trail he’d never traveled. What did he do?
Samson barked, his tail whipping back and forth as he approached Jareth, nuzzling his knee and upper thigh. He’d obviously been rolling around in the colorful snow as patches spotted his coat with color.
Jareth reached down and rubbed behind Samson’s ears – the only place on his body not decorated with dye. “Cyan didn’t take him with her?”
Mr. Burns replied, his voice gruff. “There’s no room on campus. She’ll be home soon and can see him every day, if she wants.”
“It’s amazing how attached she grew to him. She asks about him all the time.” Mrs. Burns smiled. “He’s been helping us call in the spring. The spring equinox is just around the corner.”
“Dear, it’s not working. Spring won’t be here for another two or three months.” Mr. Burns studied the sky, his hands stained with blues and greens.
Another sharp bark and then Samson crouched, his body rigid as he watched the edge of the woods. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and his growl rumbled from deep in his chest.
In a split second, he took off like a shot, before Jareth could figure out what was happening. “Samson, wait!”
A grayish body moved under the boughs of the pines just off the lawn, then another.
Samson’s colorful fur looked like a rainbow streak as he sprinted toward the wolves. He didn’t pause as he launched himself at the front one, their snarls and barks loud as their bodies smacked into each other.
Mrs. Burns gasped, pressing her hands to her mouth.
Running to help Samson, Jareth pulled out his revolver and held the muzzle pointed down as he moved. He stopped twenty feet from the struggle and didn’t hesitate as he shot the other wolf trying to slink toward him to attack.
He couldn’t get a bead on the one fighting Samson. They moved like a knot, intertwined, and rolling, growls emanating from the center. Jareth stayed on the balls of his feet, watching the perimeter for any others from the pack, hoping and praying Samson would break free. He needed a clear shot at the wolf.
A sharp yip and a crunch and the wolf bolted back from Samson who drooped to the ground. Jareth pulled the trigger and the wolf dropped where he hunkered to watch his opponent.
Blood marked the snow around Samson, mixing with the rubbed off paints and dyes from his fur. Bright red mingled with blues, yellows, and greens in a symphony of color that almost hid the gruesome scene in its effects.
Nothing could hide the simple whimpering coming from Samson. The whites of his eyes were bright as he searched for someone, probably Cyan.
Mr. and Mrs. Burns approached, hands wringing cautiously. Tears coursed down Cyndi’s face as she sought Jareth’s reassurances. “He’s going to be okay, right? I can run and grab some poultices.”
“No. Don’t.” Jareth crouched beside Samson, but the blood was too thick and his chest barely moved with breath. Tendons and flesh hung from the side of his neck. Blood matted his fur. Samson closed his eyes, but the soft whimpers continued.
Jareth had seen that before. One of Jareth’s cats when he was growing up had been hit by a car. He’d watched that animal die over four hours, in absolute pain. No one was around to help him put the beloved feline out of her misery.
He recognized a death wound when he saw one.
“Samson’s not going to make it. I need to…” Jareth didn’t say the words.
He knelt in the bloody color around Samson, stroking the top of his head and softly humming. With his free hand, Jareth aimed the gun at the side of Samson’s head.
As if he knew what was going to happen, the dog slowly opened his eyes and met Jareth’s teary gaze with his own – as if to say, it’s okay, I’m good.
Jareth pulled the trigger, his own body jerking with the sound.
Cyan’s parents turned into each other, their sobs low and contained.
Two wolves.
And Samson.
How would Cyan ever forgive him now?
~~~
Jareth washed his hands in the laundry room downstairs. He didn’t dare go anywhere else with his blood and dye-ruined clothes. Dirt and mud crusted the bottoms of his jeans and he couldn’t get the dirt from the creases in his palms or knuckles.
He’d buried Samson and marked the grave at the head of the trail Cyan walked her dog on. The wolves he’d tossed into a shallow grave and covered them with dirt and rocks.
The frozen ground had been hard to work through, hopefully the grav
es held through the ground thawing in the spring and early summer.
Jareth probably would never know.
A knock on the door announced Mrs. Burns’s arrival. “I brought you some clothes you can wear. The ones you have on need to be cleaned.” She held out a neatly folded stack of pants and a shirt with soft, wool socks.
“Thank you.” He didn’t tell her he had all of his clothes in the bed of the truck. They were walking carefully around each other as it was.
“I appreciate what you did. That couldn’t have been easy. I know it wasn’t easy to witness.” She sighed, her eyes still swollen from the emotional incident a few hours before.
Jareth squirmed under her inquisitive gaze. “Not a problem, ma’am.” He dried his hands and loosely accepted the clothing.
Mrs. Burns took his free hand in hers. She searched his face. “Do you like the real Cyan or the one she’s always trying to hide behind?”
“The real one?” How many Cyan’s were there? Or better yet, how many did Mrs. Burns know about?
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Come on, you know there’s the one that we see and then there’s the one who eats meat, and has a fake tattoo she claims is real. She cries when she’s happy and mad but shows no emotion when she’s sad… at least to anyone not close to her. My daughter never shares her real feelings, because she doesn’t know quite who she is yet. She’s like her father… always trying to be bigger and more than the perfection they are.” Sadness drew her eyes down at the sides.
Jareth nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah, I love everything about her.” Where had love come from? He wasn’t quite sure he was ready to admit that to anyone. He needed to break down just what exactly he was feeling before he spouted it out to the world.
Her smile reached her forehead, lifting everything in its path. “Love? I just thought you liked her.”
“So did I.” Grinning at his own revelation, Jareth turned his back to begin unbuttoning his shirt.
“We don’t stand in the way of love around here.” She patted his back, moving to the door. “We’ll tell her about Samson. She needs to understand we love her despite her bacon habit – she’s worse than her father. Like I can’t smell when he sneaks meat.” Mrs. Burns chuckled as she ducked out the door.
The clock above the door read three in the afternoon. If he hurried, Jareth could get to Bozeman no later than eight-thirty. He had time to figure out just how in love he really was.
He’d never been in love. What the heck was he supposed to do with it, if she didn’t want anything to do with him?
Beg. He would beg.
And if that didn’t work…
Maybe he’d take up spraying paint in the snow.
Chapter 20
Cyan
Sherri burst into their shared living room, panic-induced hand flailing startling Cyan. “Oh, crud! Cyan! Tommy’s out. I can’t find him anywhere.”
Cyan shot upright. “You’re kidding me, right? Your tarantula is running around unchecked?” She grabbed the nearest magazine and rolled it into a tube. “I swear, Sherri, if that thing comes near me, I’m killing it. Swatting it across the room.” She lifted her feet, tucking them beneath her butt on the couch. Wasn’t it bad enough that she shared her apartment with Sherri and all her bugs? Why did she have to deal with a hairy spider that was bigger than her hand?
She shivered, eyeing every cranny that looked too small but she knew otherwise. That spider hid in all kinds of things Sherri gave it to play with. Honestly, the spider didn’t scare her. She’d held him a couple times. But teasing Sherri was the only thing that made her happy anymore.
Sherri gasped. “You are not. Just tell me if you find him. He won’t hurt you. Closest thing I’ve had to a boyfriend in ages.” She lifted a towel on a chair and searched along the walls.
Cyan’s cell phone beeped. “My parents are calling. I’m going across the street for some coffee. Find him or I will.” She ended on a sing-song high pitch.
Sherri waved her off and Cyan answered her cell as she pulled on a large coat. It was the snow that was a problem in Bozeman. No, the wind driving through your clothing and skin all the way to your bones was. She could handle the drifts of white as they piled around car tires, but when the wind tried stacking the snow around her feet she’d had enough.
“Hey, Mom. How’s it going?” Cyan crossed the street as fast as she could, missing her mother’s hello with the wind fuzzing up the call. “Sorry, Mom, just a second.” Slipping into the warm interior of the campus coffee shop, Cyan slid into a private booth and focused on her mom’s voice.
“I said, hello. How is your research going?” Cyan’s mother made weekly calls to Cyan, either out of responsibility or duty or maybe she really was interested, Cyan didn’t care. She liked the connection more and more. She hadn’t always. But lately, anything that tied her closer to the area, made her feel less alone.
Even with Sherri in the same apartment, she couldn’t help feeling as if she was missing something.
“Research is fine, Mom. Just working on my paper.” Of course, she couldn’t tell her mother that everything had stalled since leaving home. No word from Jareth had left her anger in limbo. She wanted to move forward, wanted to just stay mad at him, but she couldn’t. He hadn’t done anything on purpose. She knew that. She needed closure though, one way or another.
How could a guy like Jareth have figured out a man like Kettleson? The man was notoriously heartless. Jareth couldn’t be further from that type.
“I need to tell you what happened today, but first I want you to understand something.” Her mother took on a tone that told Cyan to brace herself.
Cyan raised her eyebrow, staring out into the swirling drifts of snow as they danced around street posts and mail boxes. “Okay, I think I’m ready.”
“Your father and I need you to be yourself. We don’t care that you eat meat.” Her mother spoke firmly as if she expected an argument.
Shock rippled through Cyan. “How’d you find out?”
Her mother laughed. “You’re not as great at deception as you’d like to think. Your clothes smell like a butcher shop and I know what bacon smells like after being married to your father for over twenty-five years. The man has tried to hide his pork addiction for so long. But it’s most noticeable after a huge bout of pain and pain relievers. He kind of gives in and eats to make himself feel better.” She sighed. “My point is, stop hiding things because you think I’m going to be disappointed.”
Cyan looked at the grains of the wood in the table in front of her. She rubbed one long line that turned into a whorl. “Are you disappointed?” She wouldn’t be surprised, if her mom was, but a huge part of her desperately wished she wasn’t.
“In how you eat? No. That you hide your true self from us? Yes. But I understand. It can’t be easy having parents like us. How many more fake tattoos do you have?”
Cyan closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with her free hand. “You know it’s fake?”
“Oh, heavens, girl. It’s shinier than the wax on a bent rose petal. Is your blue hair fake, too?” Her mom wasn’t angry sounding, more inquisitive, with strong curiosity.
“No. I mean, no, my blue hair is real.” She couldn’t think of what else to add. She must be so disappointing to her parents. She couldn’t even pull off a fake tattoo. She didn’t like tattoos, but hadn’t known how to say so. The self-apply versions seemed like the best answer whenever she went home.
How long had they known? She didn’t know what to say, so she sat in silence, waiting for more.
Her mother’s tone lengthened, each syllable lilting and sad. “I want to tell you that we saw Jareth today.”
Cyan stilled, dropping her hand to her lap. “Okay.”
“He came and apologized to us, which was unnecessary but your father appreciated it. We owe him and you one.” She paused, and then continued. “Your father and I pride ourselves on believing in freedom of choice and loving who we choose. Yet we still try to co
ntrol you and your heart. I’m not disappointed in your choosing to be unreal with us. I’m disappointed that we made you feel it was necessary. I know your father was worried, but I don’t feel he needed to be.”
Cyan interrupted. “Jareth didn’t keep Kettleson’s money, Mom. I know you guys thought he was a sellout, but he isn’t. He doesn’t have money but he won’t give up just anything for it.” Her desperation to stick up for the man revealed just how much she’d forgiven him.
“I know. Dad tried buying him off too when he came by after Christmas looking for you. Jareth turned him down.”
Something twisted in Cyan’s chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’d already left for Sherri’s. I didn’t want to bother you.” Sorrow colored her mother’s words blue. “I have more to tell you. When Jareth was here, some wolves attacked Samson.”
Cyan gasped, pressing her fingers to her lips. She didn’t see the wood in front of her, or the lights, so focused on the conversation.
“Jareth had to put Samson down. He then buried your dog for us and got rid of the bodies of the wolves. He shot two of them.” She lowered her voice, tears evident in the hitch to her syllables. “I’m really sorry, Cyan.”
“It’s okay.” Cyan stared straight ahead. She wouldn’t let herself absorb what her mom said – any of it – until she was alone tonight. Maybe she’d cry, maybe not. But she wouldn’t break down right then.
Couldn’t. She didn’t want to face the pain building inside her.
“It’s okay.” She said again. “Wow, well this has been a revealing conversation. I’m sorry I’ve lied to you both, Mom. Can you tell Dad for me? I need to help Sherri find her tarantula. Can I call you later this week? I do appreciate the call, Mom.”
“Of course.”
They hung up and Cyan stared at the vinyl padded seat across from her for another drawn out moment. She pushed her way out of the booth, pocketing her phone before running back across the street.
Forbidden Trails: A Clearwater County Romance (The Montana Trails Series Book 2) Page 14
