“Now, Marshal,” she said, pointedly looking down at the tight denim of his fly, “you hold that thought. And let’s see how quick you can ride.”
****
The Flying M Ranch lay due east of Conway, no more than a good five-hour ride, in the western region of Indian Territory. The Chisholm Trail tracked the eastern border of the ranch; Jack McCall had always been one to strike hard bargains with passing drovers who wanted to use his lands for grazing on their way north.
He had turned a tidy profit at every chance, building his ranch into one of the premier cattle empires in the southwest. For all the good it did him now.
Jack McCall’s hazel eyes flickered open slowly, coming to focus on each of his three oldest sons. His hard gaze came to rest on each of them individually. Jax knew he had his ideas about each one of them; but his thoughts were his own, as always. When his indolent stare reached Brendan, he started over with Jeremy, his eyes moving across each of them again, as if he couldn’t be sure of what he was seeing.
“Jeremy?” he whispered. “Jax? Brendan?”
The three brothers stood silent, unsure of what to say.
“What took you boys so…damn long…to come home?”
Jaxson and Brendan exchanged an quick glance.
“You…expected we should come for a visit?” Jax asked sarcastically, raising a dark brow. “If you’ll remember, Father, the last time Brendan and I saw you, you left us lying in two bloody heaps, without a canteen or a horse between us.”
“You did well enough…I hear.”
“No thanks to you,” Brendan murmured.
Jack McCall’s baleful stare was formidable, even now, lying on his deathbed, but Brendan did not flinch. He looked steadily back at his father, with eyes like black granite. No one spoke for a few moments, then an enigmatic smile broke over McCall’s pain-ridden features.
“Two lawmen, I hear. Guess you—you’d rather ride the range for a paltry wage than…to run this ranch.”
“You got it,” Brendan answered without hesitation.
“What about you, Marshal?” McCall looked at Jax mockingly.
“You and this ranch,” Jax said quietly, “can go to hell.”
“Well,” McCall said after a moment, “I expect to.” He nodded slightly. “Surely, I do. But the ranch…she’ll still be here.”
Jax glanced at Jeremy, then looked back at his father. “What about Jem? He’s the oldest.”
Jack McCall gave a short bark of laughter, his eyes full of disgust as they settled on his oldest son.
“He’s a—a damn…doctor, for Christsakes! Weak, Jax, weak. Not strong, like you—and Brendan. I can’t abide weakness. And I’ve worked too hard for this place…to turn it over to—him.”
It was then that Jax understood that his father viewed cruelty as normalcy, and anything less, a weakness. Harshness was a virtue to him; the most important thing, and Jax felt a slight stirring of pity for the older man, for all he’d lost—all he’d missed out on.
“You can’t hurt us any more, old man,” Jax murmured. “You call Jeremy weak, but he’s stronger than you ever were, or ever could be.”
“Something else you oughtta understand,” Brendan said, stepping toward the bed. “Being good, being decent, being kind—it doesn’t mean you’re weak, like you think. It means you’re strong, that you care about what’s right—that you aren’t afraid. You were a coward and a thief, old man. You stole our very life from us. You made us afraid to even breathe.”
“You ran…damn you! Twice, you ran—” McCall began.
“What did you expect?” Jax asked coldly. “You were killing us.”
“I should’ve killed…both of you!”
Jax looked at Brendan. “I believe our business is done here. Let’s go.”
“And you, doctor? Will you…run out on your old man, too?” Jack McCall wheezed.
“There’s nothing I can do to help you,” Jeremy answered.
“Dammit, I’m your…your father—not your patient!” He tried to rise to his elbows, his hazel eyes burning and intense.
His oldest son eyed him steadily from where he stood. “In either case, it’s as I said. There’s nothing I can do for you.”
“Damn you!” McCall hissed. “I’m your…father!”
“No,” Jeremy answered quickly. “Not my father, Jack. You wouldn’t even give me your name. Why would I be interested in anything else you might offer at this point?” He leaned close to the bed. “I’ll tell you something. I’m glad I don’t bear your name. It was the best thing you ever did for me!”
“Ungrateful…bastard!”
“Right. On both counts.”
Jeremy turned and stalked from the room, the color drained from his face. He slammed the door behind him.
Brendan went after him, without a backward glance at his father.
“Jaxson.”
Jax turned to look at his father, unable to rouse any sympathy for him. He was going to prove himself cruel and vindictive to the grave. Jax felt a pang of disappointment. Maybe he’d hoped for some type of reconciliation, without realizing it.
“Jaxson, there’s something…I guess you oughtta know.” McCall grimaced and lay quiet a moment before he went on. “About four years ago, a—a man, a Mexican—he came here…wanting money.”
“And?” Jax asked warily.
“Said it was for his daughter.” McCall drew a deep breath. “Some whore in Conway, Texas…some little town up by Amarillo.”
“Amalia…” Jax breathed.
“Said she was—was dying.” Even in his agony, he watched Jax’s face. Jax could see what his father was after. He wanted to see the denial. With some inner reserve of perverse cruelty, he wanted to use what time was left to destroy Jax. He’d been willing to hand over his cattle empire and fortune to him. No one refused Jack McCall. As always, Jax thought, his father was attempting to teach him another hard lesson.
But Jax hadn’t forgotten the harshness of the man, or the way he liked to catch his victims off-guard. And he was ready for him this time.
Jax regarded his father impassively, as Jack McCall delivered the news he hoped would bring Jax to his knees.
“He said she…she’d had…your baby. She was sick—dying. She needed money—” he broke off, wheezing.
Jax gave him a lazy smile. He’d be damned if he’d let his father see the way this news affected him. For Amalia’s father to have known that Carlos was Jaxson McCall’s son, to have known that Amalia was dying, and to have been desperate enough to come ask Jack McCall for help… At least, it wasn’t as if he was unprepared, thanks to Callie. He forced the fury down, forced his hands not to ball into fists, forced himself to stand easy, and continue to smile. “That would’ve made Carlos five or six years old when Amalia’s father came to you.” He leaned closer. “Just so you’ll know, Carlos is ten now. Amalia did die, but I’ve taken care of the boy as best I could. I didn’t know he was my son until recently.”
“I didn’t…give that Mexican…a red cent,” McCall spat.
“I didn’t expect that you would have.” Jax turned and walked for the door.
“Damn you!” McCall shouted, his face livid. “Who the hell—do you think you are?”
“I know who I am.” Jax rounded slowly. “A Cherokee warrior. A U.S. Deputy Marshal. A better husband and father than you could ever hope to be.”
“The least—you can do is say…a proper goodbye!” McCall fell back against the pillows.
Jax’s voice was cold. “I think we’ve already done that. Twelve years ago. Nothing proper about it, but we should’ve left it there.” He closed the door behind him, ignoring his father’s angry shout. He needed to get out of this place. As far away from the memories as he could go.
As he came into the hallway, he caught sight of Jeremy speaking with his mother. He walked over to where Brendan stood beside the front door, ignoring the glare that Bess McCall directed toward them.
“Let’s get out of here,
” he suggested quietly.
“Again?” Brendan grinned. Then he sobered, seeing the tense set of his brother’s shoulders, knowing something more had taken place in there with their father. He’d find out just what it was later on. “We can’t leave Jeremy, Jax.”
“No,” Jax agreed. “Not this time. This time, he runs with us.”
****
“You look thoughtful, my dear.” The Reverend Talmadge Manley reached for his coffee cup. “What’s the matter, Cara, darling?”
Cara Manley smiled at her husband, her heart-shaped face serene. “I was thinking about little Sarah—”she stopped herself. “Callie.”
Talmadge smiled at his wife. “Now, Cara. I’m sure the child is fine.” He sipped his coffee. “Jaxson McCall will take good care of her, I think. He’s a good man.”
“Yes.” Cara poured cream into her own coffee and looked up at her husband. “They both seemed so—alone in the world, didn’t they, Tal? I’m glad they found each other.”
Her husband grinned. “Even if they fought it every step of the way.” He was remembering Jax’s battered face, and the captain’s, as he and his four soldiers had “escorted” Jax to the Manley guesthouse the night they’d stayed at the fort.
Cara took a sip of her coffee, ignoring the bustle of the hotel dining room around her.
“Callie was a defiant one, wasn’t she?” Tal mused. “Captain Tolbert hardly knew what to make of her, standing up to him like she did.”
Cara smiled. “She truly didn’t object to the marriage. She just didn’t like being forced into it; married at the end of a gun—four of them, in hers and Jax’s case. I don’t blame her. I girl likes to pick her own wedding day—and husband.”
Tal grinned. “She’d have picked him,” he assured her
She nodded her agreement. “I’d like to see them again, Tal. Do you suppose the marshal is healing up all right?”
“He’s tough, Cara. I think he’ll be fine, but it wouldn’t hurt to go check on them, I suppose. Should I rent a carriage to drive over, or would you rather travel by stage?”
“That would probably be safer. How…How soon can we leave?”
Although Cara tried not to appear too anxious, there was no way she could hide it from her husband, nor could she conceal the real reason she wanted to go back to Conway. After all, they’d been married for over thirty-five years. Tal knew his wife as well as he did his own mind and heart, for they were that much alike. Had it always been so? He wondered, watching her now.
She’d always been a part of him. From the moment he met her, and looked into her green eyes, he’d known he had found the other half of himself. She’d given up everything she knew and loved for him, her name stricken from the family Bible for daring to marry a man her family considered not merely unsuitable, but disgraceful. He did, after all, carry Sioux blood in his veins.
And Marshal Jaxson McCall was half Cherokee, Callie had said. Knowing that, it was easy to see; in the handsome planes of his features, his dark hair, even in the proud way he carried himself.
Tal patted Cara’s hand. “In a hurry, sweetheart?”
Cara turned her hand over and captured her husband’s strong brown fingers in her own. “I want to tell her—it’s worth it, Tal. No matter what, it’s worth it.”
****
Callie pushed the door open, putting her head into Carlos’s room. He watched her, unsmiling, from where he lay.
“I brought you some food.” She came inside and set the tray on the night table.
“Thank you, Miss Callie, but—I am not hungry.”
As Callie looked down at Carlos, he glanced away from her.
“Not hungry?” She sat down beside him on the bed. “I thought boys your age ate all the time.”
Carlos shook his head in silent repudiation.
“I…made some chicken soup and cornbread.”
Carlos didn’t answer for a moment. He lay still, looking out the window beside the bed. “Do you think Señor Jax could be my father?” His voice was very quiet.
Callie felt her heart jump to her throat. She steadied herself and took a deep breath. Then, “What do you think, Carlos? Would you—would you like that?”
“He has always been so good to me,” Carlos said thoughtfully without answering her question directly. “When he comes here.” He looked up at her, then back out the window.
Callie could hear the wistful note in the boy’s voice, along with the husky edge of tears.
“But, I think some things are too much to ask for,” he went on. “Too much to hope for.” He looked at her, and there was brightness in his eyes.
And some things are not mine to tell, Callie thought. She smiled at him, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. “We may never know, Carlos.”
“Oh yes, Miss Callie. I will know,” he answered matter-of-factly. “But I must wait.”
“Wait? Wait for what?”
“Until I am eighteen. Then Padre Dominguez will tell me.”
“Padre Dominguez?” Callie repeated woodenly.
“Sí. He…keeps a letter my mama wrote for me. Before she died. I must wait until I am eighteen to read it.”
Callie patted his hand and smiled, her heart hammering at what the boy had unwittingly revealed. Perhaps Jaxson could persuade the priest to open the letter when he returned.
****
Bess Naylor McCall cocked her head and gave her son a steady glare. “Your pa is dyin’, Jem! Don’t you boys care nothin’ ’bout seein’ he’s buried proper?”
Brendan’s lips quirked as he met Jax’s dark look from where they stood by the front door.
Jeremy’s voice was quiet. “I have patients to tend to back in Texas.”
“Your pa’s sick. He’s a patient, too!”
“As I’ve already told him, I can’t do anything for him.”
Bess’s hazel eyes narrowed, her lips tightening into a thin, unattractive line. “Not even see him to his grave?”
“No,” he replied evenly. “Not even that.”
She gave a sharp puff of air, clearly disgusted. “Jack McCall might not have been the easiest man to live with, but he did always provide a good living. You always had food on the table and clothes to wear.”
Jeremy gave a snort of impatient anger. “I could’ve had those things in an orphanage, Ma! Without his constant beatings!”
“He’ll give you this ranch, boy, if you’ll just play your cards right.” She nodded sagely. “No orphanage would give you that!”
Jeremy looked at his mother incredulously.
“Why do you think I stayed with him all these years?” she cried. “He wouldn’t even give you his name, Jem. I wanted to be sure you got what you deserve. This ranch should go to you. You’re the oldest.”
“I don’t want it, Ma! Give it to Mike or Denny—”
“Why, they won’t want it, Jem.” Her expression was disbelieving. “They live too far away!” She turned from him, her hand at her chest. “I—I stayed with him all these years—so you’d have something! Now, you tell me you don’t want it?”
“I wish to God you’d have left him and given us both something we could use! Peace of mind!”
“Jeremy!” she gasped.
From down the hallway came the sound of a piece of furniture hitting the floor followed by a groan. Brendan and Jax looked at one another, then both of them ran for their father’s bedroom, Jeremy close behind them.
Jax tried to push the door open, but it was stopped halfway by something heavy. Jax shouldered through the opening, then stepped over his father’s body to move the massive overturned chair.
When he turned around, Brendan and Jeremy were lifting Jack McCall back into the bed. Jaxson couldn’t help but notice how thin, how frail, his father’s body was. Bess hurried in, fussing with the covers and pillows until finally Jack reached out and pushed her hands away.
“Go on, woman! Let me die in peace.”
“Oh, Jack!” Tears filled her eyes. “Can
you not be civil to me or the boys even now?”
Jack McCall’s eyes narrowed, trying to focus on his three sons. Instead of answering his wife, he said, “Where are the…rest of them? I was coming to find them—wanted to tell them…”
“They’ll be here,” Bess soothed. “What did you want to tell them?”
“They were always nothing but—trouble.”
“Jack!”
“Mistakes, every one. Seven regrets…” McCall shook his head, his eyes blearily finding each of his sons, to be sure they understood. “Mistakes.”
Jaxson’s fists clenched tightly, and he forced himself to remember where he was, and that this man calling him a regret, a mistake, was still his father, after all.
The surge of anger came over him in waves, and one glance toward his brothers was all he needed to see that they were feeling it all just as keenly as he was, their faces tight, their bodies rigid.
Yet, he knew they couldn’t experience what he was going through. They weren’t in the same position he presently found himself facing. They didn’t have a ten-year-old son—a mistake, he’d called him earlier—waiting for them to return. He remembered how angry Callie had been at his casual reference to Amalia having “made a mistake.” Now, he was as angry at his own ignorant indifference as Callie had been. And he would make certain to never, never let Carlos think he’d been that mistake.
Jax turned, blindly, and headed for the door. He was wasting time here. He wanted to be with Callie, and he needed to be with…his son. He had something important to say to him. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to tell Carlos. The mistake had been on his part, not realizing Carlos was his before now, not seeing after him properly, not being with the boy, as he should’ve been. As he would’ve been, had he known.
But now, he would correct all that. He couldn’t leave this place fast enough, as always. He headed to the barn. It would be well into nightfall before he made it back to Conway, but he knew Callie wouldn’t mind if he woke her. He thought of their parting conversation, and a wry smile touched his mouth. She’d just be surprised at how fast he actually could ride.
Chapter 29
So this was where they’d wound up, Dunstan Treadwell thought. Disgust whirled inside him as he eyed his new surroundings. He’d just come off the stagecoach…once again. Now, here he was, stuck in a little one-horse town ten miles from Amarillo, his intended destination.
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