The Thunder Rolls

by Bethany Campbell

  She smiled at Ken and wondered why she felt like crying.

  “It’s okay,” he said, squeezing her hand and nodding. “Everything’s going to be okay, Nora. I promise.”

  She bit her lip and nodded, too.

  He leaned over and gave her another short, simple kiss on the mouth. But despite its brevity it somehow gave Nora a heart quake that shook her with delight.

  “I do,” she said. “I love you.” She blinked back tears. He smiled and squeezed her hand again.

  “Hey!” Rory yelled from the swings. “Will you guys stop smooching—and will somebody give me a push?”

  “Duty calls,” Ken said, but when he rose, he kept her hand in his.

  She smiled when he made her sit down on a swing, too, and he took turns pushing both her and Rory. Nora held on to the swing’s chains and leaned back, looking up into the flawless blue sky. She felt liberated and lucky and giggly and girlish.

  Girlish, she thought. Yes, it was as if Ken were somehow giving back her lost girlhood. She laughed, Rory laughed, and Ken teased them both.

  Then it was all over, too soon. Ken had to be back at the ranch. Nora and Rory walked him to his truck. He held them each by the hand. When he said goodbye, he looked down solemnly at Rory.

  “Mind if I steal just one more? She’s so sweet, your mama.”

  Rory shrugged and gave him a knowing look. “Help yourself,” he said, sounding surprisingly sophisticated.

  Ken bent and gave her a last kiss. It was as short and plain as the others, but it gave Nora another happy heart quake.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” he told them. He had promised to take them into Austin to the movies. He’d told Nora they should include Rory in their plans because the boy would be gone for the weekend. She was touched by his consideration.

  And she and Ken knew that on Friday she and Ken would truly be alone together. They smiled goodbye, knowing that they would be at the lake all weekend if they wanted. The thought made Nora excited and frightened and guilty and shivery by turns.

  When Ken drove off, she and Rory waved goodbye, then started back to the Longhorn. She was surprised Rory let her keep holding his hand. Maybe he wasn’t as secure about things as he seemed.

  “Does it bother you?” she asked carefully. “That he—well—kisses me?”

  Rory gave another of his philosophical shrugs. “No. It’s nice. I never saw a guy kiss you before.”

  She gave his hand a squeeze. He frowned and looked thoughtful. “I never saw Dad kiss you,” he said. “I can’t remember anything like that at all.”

  She nodded sadly and said nothing, thinking the conversation was over.

  But then he went on, and his words chilled her. “All I remember,” he said, bitterness in his voice, “is how he hit you. He threatened to hit me the other day. And he said he’d beat on me if I ever told. But I don’t care. Someday I’ll be big, and he can’t.”

  Oh, Rory, Nora thought in dismay, I’ve got to protect you from this. I’ve got to.

  Something was going to have to be done. If Gordon was actually threatening Rory with his violence, she had to act. She would see Martin Avery. She would do whatever she had to. Her face, which had been smiling so shortly before, grew troubled.

  “I don’t think Ken would ever let Dad hurt us,” Rory said, shaking his head somberly. “Do you?”

  Nora wanted to stop and hug him, but she knew it would only embarrass him. So she ruffled his hair as lovingly as she could. “No,” she told him with conviction. “I don’t think he’d ever let anything hurt us. He’s such a good man, Rory. The best man I’ve ever known.”

  Rory was silent a moment. He swallowed. “But, Mom? One thing bothers me.”

  “What, sweetie?”

  “Ken doesn’t have a gun. Dad does. He’s got a lot of them.”

  In spite of the heat, the marrow of Nora’s bones went icy. She shook her head. “Rory,” she said, “let’s not even think such things, okay? Let’s just not think about something like that.”

  Rory nodded, but he looked more worried than before. “Mom?” he said again, his voice a bit shaky.

  “Yes?” She held his hand more tightly and patted it.

  “There’s something else I didn’t tell you or Grandma.”

  Nora felt the cold within her grow icier. “Yes?”

  “Dad’s taking pills. A lot of different pills. I—saw him.”

  Pills, Nora thought in panic. A lot of different pills. Of course. That would explain everything. Why Gordon’s behavior had become so much more erratic, so much more unpredictable lately—

  Oh, no, no, no, she thought. I have to do something—right now, right away, as soon as possible.

  Back at the coffee shop, she gave Rory a handful of quarters so he could distract himself with the jukebox. Then she drew Dottie into the kitchen.

  When she told Dottie what Rory had said about the hitting and the pills, Dottie’s face went gray. She clutched Nora’s arm spasmodically.

  “Dottie,” Nora said, “I have to do something. I’ll have to ask a lawyer what can be done. I’ll have to see Martin Avery—”

  Dottie squared her shoulders and took Nora by the upper arms. “I’ve already talked to him, sugar. I’ve been worried about something like this. Make an appointment. I’ll pay for it. I’ve got money put away for an emergency, and this is an emergency. I felt we might have to do something like this.”

  “Dottie—you’ve already been to see him?”

  “Honey,” Dottie said, taking Nora into her arms and hugging her tightly, “I want you and Rory to be happy. Gordon’s hurt everyone enough. I won’t let him hurt you anymore. I won’t. I’d rather die first.”

  “Oh, Dottie,” Nora said, laying her cheek on the other woman’s shoulder. “I love you so much. I really do.”

  She took great comfort from Dottie’s closeness. But she wished Dottie hadn’t spoken of dying. It scared her. Too many people were talking about dying lately.

  Too many things scared her these days.

  It frightened her.

  “SO SHE’S GOIN’,” Cal said. He sat on Ken’s old couch, his hat cocked low over his eyes, his booted feet crossed. One hand toyed with a strap of the saddlebag he’d brought with him. “To the lake house, I mean.”

  Cal’s pose was deceptively lazy. Ken sensed tension in the younger man, in spite of Cal’s one-cornered smile.

  Ken sat shirtless in a chair across from him, polishing his boots. He was about to set out to pick up Nora and Rory. He tossed his friend an impatient glance. Things had reached such a point with Nora he didn’t feel right talking about them. “I don’t believe it’s gentlemanly to discuss her.”

  Cal picked up a long-necked bottle of beer and sipped at it lackadaisically. “Gentlemanly,” he repeated.

  “I know it’s a foreign concept to you,” Ken said. It wasn’t a fair shot, because Cal had changed his ways since Serena. But the closer the weekend drew, the more apprehensive Ken became. He wanted everything perfect for Nora.

  Cal slapped his flat stomach and pulled his hat brim farther down over his eyes. “I just wanted to have a little heart-to-heart with you, Slats.”

  Ken set down one boot and took up the other. “Save it for Serena.”

  “This is man-to-man talk,” Cal said, setting his jaw. “You and Nora are gettin’ so closelike, I thought I oughta talk to you about protection.”

  Slowly Ken lowered the boot. His face darkened, and he lifted one brow in displeasure. “Are you crazy?” he demanded. “I’m the one that made you put those packets in your billfold when your mama thought you wasn’t carryin’ nothin’ but your library card. If it wasn’t for me, you’d have probably screwed yourself to death by now.”

  Cal pushed back his hat and cast Ken an indolent hazel glance. He sipped the last of his beer. “True.” He set down his bottle and patted the saddlebag. “But—”

  Ken threw the polishing rag at him in disgust. Cal ducked, but he didn’t laugh. He barely
smiled.

  “Butt out,” Ken ordered. “I don’t need advice from you. I’m a grown man. I’m a responsible individual. I can take care of myself—and my woman.”

  Cal’s forehead creased and his brows lowered. “I’m sincerely tryin’ to give you a tip, old stag.”

  Ken yanked on first one boot, then the other. He took a blue shirt that hung from a doorknob and thrust his arms into the sleeves. “Why don’t you give me some goddamn privacy instead? Or you want to come to the lake house with us? Coach me, maybe?”

  Cal’s face grew grimmer. “We got plans, thanks.”

  Ken relaxed slightly and began buttoning his shirt. “Thank God for small blessings.”

  Cal’s face grew more sober. “Don’t thank anybody until you’ve heard what I’ve got to say.”

  Slowly Ken raised his eyes to meet those of the other man. He finished buttoning his shirt and rolled up the sleeves. He didn’t like the troubled look in Cal’s normally laughing eyes. “What are you tryin’ to say?”

  Cal lifted one shoulder, but the gesture wasn’t nonchalant. “I’m tryin’ to talk to you about a—different kind of safety.”

  Ken made an expression of disgust. “Will you get off that, dammit? It’s personal. And I’m able to take care—”

  Cal reached into the saddlebag and drew out a holster and gun, a Smith & Wesson .38. “I’m talkin’ a little more basic type of protection.”

  Ken’s eyebrow rose. He recognized the gun. It was Tyler’s. He stared at Cal, his expression wary. “What the hell…?”

  “Gordon Jones is what the hell,” Cal said without a flicker of emotion. “I think he’s comin’ back. I think he’s comin’ for Nora. And I think he’s in a real bad mood.”

  Ken swore and sat down again. He put his elbows on his knees and stared at Cal. The younger man looked dead serious.

  Cal held the holster and gun out to Ken. In silence, Ken shook his head. Cal drew his hand back, but kept tight hold of the holster.

  “Look,” Cal said, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Bubba Gibson came to see Daddy today. Said he wanted to talk about buyin’ horses. But that ain’t what he wanted to talk about. Not really.”

  Ken nodded, but he didn’t understand. What did Bubba Gibson have to do with this?

  Cal cocked his head, as if looking for the right words. “This is hard to explain.” He shrugged in concern and puzzlement. “Daddy says Bubba wasn’t—himself—you know? There was something botherin’ him.”

  Ken nodded. His eyes had gone their coldest blue.

  “Well,” Cal said, stroking the holster absently, “Bubba finally says Gordon Jones is threatenin’ to come back for Nora. And he’s talkin’ crazy. Mighty mean and crazy.”

  Ken’s eyes narrowed.

  Cal’s mouth drew down at the corner. “Daddy didn’t get it at first. For a long time he said Bubba talked in circles. But he was nervous. Real nervous.”

  He bent forward, more intent, his gaze as implacable as Ken’s. “He finally spit it out—Gordon thinks it’s Bubba after Nora. Because of what happened in the Longhorn. Gordon’s been goin’ for Bubba, harassin’ him—by long distance. Threatenin’ him.”

  “Threatenin’,” Ken repeated tonelessly. He didn’t welcome threats, nor did he back away from them.

  “See,” Cal said earnestly, “Gordon must not know about you yet. He thinks it’s Bubba after Nora. And Daddy sure didn’t tell Bubba about you—he just gave him a mighty hellacious lecture for gettin’ into such a fix. Then Bubba went off, sulled up like a possum.”

  “Gordon’s threatenin’ Bubba,” Ken said, his lip curled.

  “So far. But when he finds out it’s you Nora’s interested in, he might just go nasty loco. You’re the one he’s gonna go loco on.”

  Ken lowered his head and swore through clenched teeth. “But Nora ain’t heard from him. Not a word. She would have said.”

  Cal put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Who knows what goes on in his head? That boy ain’t right, hoss. And it sounds like he’s gettin’ less right all the time.”

  Ken raked his hand through his hair and stared at the floor. He said nothing.

  “You ought to take the gun,” Cal said.

  Ken raised his head, a stubborn slant to his mouth. A pulse ticked in his temple. “I don’t like guns. I don’t want a gun.”

  “Slats, he’s got guns. He’s always had ’em. He thinks they make him a man or something.”

  Ken’s mouth curled more contemptuously. “He’s wrong.”

  “Yeah? Well, he’s wrong, but he’s got a gun. What good’s it gonna do you to be right if he starts sprayin’ bullets?”

  “Oh, hell,” Ken said bitterly and pushed his hand through his hair again.

  “Take it,” Cal insisted, holding out the gun to him again. “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me. Daddy said Bubba was spooked. I think it spooked Daddy himself. He told me to come talk to you.”

  Ken shook his head, his expression obstinate.

  “Then take it for Nora and Rory,” Cal almost pleaded. “Look, they could get hurt, too.”

  Ken frowned harder. “There’s better ways. Let me talk to Bubba myself. And then Wayne Jackson. Let the sheriff handle this.”

  Cal sighed in exasperation. “How do you know when this damn fool might show up? The sheriff might not be around. What is it with you and guns, anyway? You never say. You got a major problem or something?”

  Ken’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing. “Yeah. I got a problem. But it’s private, all right?”

  “Yeah?” Cal said cynically. “I hope you can keep it private. I know you got your principles and all, but don’t get too damn noble. It could get you dead.”

  “I can take care of me, and I can take care of mine,” Ken said, his eyes like chips of ice.

  Cal’s face was as somber as Ken’s. “I guess we’ll see,” he muttered. “Won’t we?”

  BY THE TIME Gordon reached Monterrey, his nerves gave him such pain he felt like a man on fire. He left the stockyards and headed for the nearest bar, letting Luis and his henchman unload whatever needed to be unloaded—hogs, guns, ammunition—Gordon no longer cared. He drank Dos Equis, and found, like a man under a spell, he couldn’t get the prayer out of his head:

  Matthew, Mark, Luke and John,

  Bless the bed that I lie on.

  It ran through his mind, repeating like a broken record. It no longer made sense to him, but nothing made sense at this point. It was as if someone had pulled out the linchpin of reality, and reality was coming apart.

  He knew he should stay in Monterrey and rest, but he could not rest. He wanted back across the border so badly he almost cried again.

  In the bar, he took enough amphetamines to give him energy to get back to Val Verde on the Texas side. Then he had to pop more pills—downers this time—to stop his hands and knees and voice from shaking.

  On the way back to the stockyards, he thought people on the streets were looking at him strangely. When he picked up his truck, he thought Luis looked at him strangely. When he crossed the border, he knew the guards looked at him strangely.

  He prayed, Bless the bed that I lie on.

  He went through the border check as if moving through a terrible dream. When he finally was safe on the American side again, he once more had to pull the truck off the road and weep. He had never been so frightened in his life, and the fear wouldn’t go away. It was as if it had poisoned him.

  All he wanted was to be home in Crystal Creek. He wanted his mother and his old room and his old bed. He wanted to hang on to Nora so he could convince himself he was still real. He wanted to possess her so violently that all his own fears of violence were snuffed out.

  It occurred to him that there was someone he was supposed to hate for trying to take Nora from him. At the moment, he could no longer remember whom he was supposed to hate or how much. It seemed he should be phoning somebody and talking about killing.

  It seemed there was som
ebody he was supposed to kill.

  Vaguely it occurred to him that maybe Nora wouldn’t be happy to see him again. The thought angered him so much he was nearly sick.

  But then he remembered he had a plan for that scenario, too. He’d just knock her up and get her pregnant again. Pregnant again. Keep them pregnant and barefoot. That was how it was supposed to be done. That was how.

  Rest. He had to get rest.

  He steeled himself and took a combination of pills to calm and strengthen himself, and when he could drive again, he checked into the first motel he could find.

  It was a fleabag, but he didn’t mind. He took two sleeping pills, and fell into the bed fully clothed and slept for the first time in thirty-six hours.

  He dreamed he was a little boy in Crystal Creek again, and almost everyone loved him. Those who didn’t, he killed with his shiny little gun.

  Bang. Bang.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  KEN CAME LATE to pick up Nora and Rory, which was unlike him. When he finally arrived, he was quieter than usual.

  Maybe he’s decided he really doesn’t care about us, Nora worried. Maybe he wishes he’d never gotten involved.

  But Ken, even though he seemed distracted, was attentive to Rory. During the movie, he put his arm around Nora and held her hand. There was such intensity in the simple touch that she knew he cared for her, cared so much it gave her a strange, swooping feeling that shook her.

  But something’s wrong, she thought. Something’s bothering him. She herself was still deeply troubled by what Rory had said about Gordon, about the pills and the threats of violence. But she and Ken couldn’t talk until they had taken Rory home and tucked him into bed.

  What complicated charades adults went through for the sake of children, Nora thought sadly; how many times had she pretended to be brave and all-knowing for Rory when in truth she was frightened and didn’t know what to do?

  She was grateful when the boy was finally in bed, and Ken took her by the hand, leading her to the front porch. He sat on the same wide railing again, leaning against the wall.

  He drew her down next to him, so that she was safe in his arms, her back against his chest. She let her head rest against the comforting solidity of his shoulder and snuggled closer to him. His arms tightened around her more securely.