by Vicki Tharp
“Because of the strength Kurt has shown us, I am—we all are—better people for having known him. And whatever we find out in the end, whether his death was intentional, accidental, or…or something more sinister, our time with Kurt was a win.”
Jenna swiped at the tears rolling down her face. All around the fire, people wiped their cheeks on their sleeves or sniffed or cleared their throats. Quinn stepped back as Catherine went to Jenna and pulled her into her arms.
With her arm around Jenna, she turned to the group and said, “Thank you. Thank you all for loving my boy. I know he made that difficult at times, but the times when I spoke to him on the phone…he was different. The program was helping. And I couldn’t have asked for a better place or a better bunch of people for him to spend his last days with. Kurt’s wishes were to be cremated, and I would like to ask if we could spread them here. I think he would have liked that.”
“Of course,” Lottie said.
Dale gave Catherine a solemn nod. “It would be our honor.”
CHAPTER TEN
Jenna went to sit down, but Catherine grabbed her hand and said, “Now, what’s this you were saying about Kurt’s death and something sinister? What do you mean by that?”
Suddenly the fire grew hotter and the oxygen levels must have dropped by 50 percent, because sweat formed between Jenna’s breasts and her head felt all floaty and strange. “Ah…”
“I think we’ll need another round for this,” Quinn said. “Have a seat, Catherine, and we’ll fill you in.”
By the time Boomer and Quinn made it back with more beer and water, Alby, Santos, and her grandparents had retired for the night.
“I think Pepita and I will head in, too,” Sidney said.
“Madre.”
“It’s a school night.”
“I’m fourteen, not four.”
“Bryan?”
“It’s only eight,” Boomer said. “Unless you have homework?”
“We didn’t have any today.” Pepita turned to Sidney. “Please?”
“You think it’s a suitable topic?”
Pepita pulled out her earbuds. “I’m gonna listen to music. Tarkin made me a playlist.”
“Hey, who’s Tarkin?” Boomer mock-glowered. “No boyfriends until you’re thirty-three.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s a friend who’s a boy.” But Pepita’s smile, all teeth and dreamy eyes, gave her away. Good thing she didn’t have her sights set on joining the Vegas poker scene or the CIA.
“In by nine.” Sidney headed into the cabin.
Pepita grinned and pulled Dale’s chair next to Boomer. Sitting sideways, she threw her legs over the armrest and used the big, bad Marine as a footstool, tapping a steady rhythm on her thigh. Thud dadud dud, thud dadud dud, thud dadud dud.
Now there were enough camp chairs to go around. They settled in loose pairs on the upwind side of the fire. Boomer and Pepita, Quinn and Jenna, Hank and Mac, and then Catherine.
The fire had burned low, the coals white with ash but radiating plenty of heat for a mild night. Thousands and thousands of stars blinked on and off, in a blackness that went on and on and on.
“Shooting star!” Pepita called out, her voice extra-loud, her head bopping and her feet tapping to the music funneling into her ears.
“So, what were you saying about Kurt?” Catherine’s steady voice was a sharp contrast to the way her fingers absently shredded her tissue into smaller and smaller pieces.
“Jenna and I don’t believe Kurt’s death was accidental or a suicide,” Quinn said.
Catherine’s fingers stilled. “Then what do you think it was?”
“Murder.” Boomer cut a quick look to Pepita, but she was staring at something on her phone, her feet never missing a beat.
Jenna waited for Catherine’s eyes to widen or for her to burst into tears or deny what they were saying. But to Jenna’s surprise, the lines of worry between her brows eased, and her lips lost their frown. “You think so?”
Catherine sounded so hopeful, Jenna didn’t have the heart to tell her they had nothing to prove that yet, and with the sheriff unconvinced, he wasn’t calling in reinforcements to work on the case—if the sheriff’s department even did that kind of thing.
“Nothing they can prove yet,” Boomer said.
“But some things don’t add up.” A nervous energy buzzed in Jenna’s chest. If they could prove Kurt hadn’t taken his own life, it would not only go a long way in relieving everyone’s guilt, it might mean there was still hope for Healing Horses and the list of waiting veterans.
Quinn gave Catherine a brief rundown, from the wrong sleeve being rolled up on Kurt’s shirt, to the texts to Crystal, to Kurt skipping out on his meetings, to Quinn’s run-in with Moose.
“This El Verdugo guy,” Catherine said, “what makes you think he’s involved?”
Pepita’s foot stopped tapping, but when Jenna glanced over at her, the teen still seemed engrossed in her phone, her thumb moving up and down as if she was scrolling through a site.
“We don’t know whether he is,” Boomer said. “But it’s very concerning that El Verdugo is back—”
Pepita popped out of her chair, knocking Boomer’s water out of his hands.
“El Verdugo is back?” The words flew out of her mouth, part-disbelief, part–sheer horror, part–utter and complete panic.
“Whoa, now.” Boomer came out of his seat. “You were supposed to be listening to music.”
Sidney ran out the cabin door. “What’s going on? Pepita?”
“They said El Verdugo is back!”
With Sidney’s blazing red pixie-cut hair and her fairy body size, it was obvious why Boomer called her Irish. If Tinker Bell had a badass sister with a fiery temper, Sidney would be her. Racing down the stairs, Sidney threw Boomer a smooth-move glare and pulled Pepita into a reassuring hug.
“We don’t know that for sure, honey.” Sidney rubbed her daughter’s back.
“Don’t make me go back.” Pepita’s voice cracked. “You can’t make me. I love it here. I finally have friends, I have—”
“Pepita. Sweetheart.” Boomer peeled Pepita from Sidney, taking hold of her shoulders and holding her at arm’s length to talk to her face-to-face. “Why would you think we would ever send you back there?”
Pepita stared at the ground, tears streaking her face, unable to meet his gaze. Boomer gave her shoulders a gentle shake. “Sweetheart?”
She swiped at her cheeks, took a shallow breath, and said, “No reason.” But the way she said it said otherwise.
Jenna glanced at Quinn, who hadn’t seemed to notice Pepita evading the question. Then eyed Mac and Hank. Mac had her hand over her mouth, not in surprise, but as if she was trying to hold something down. Hank gave Jenna a tight nod.
He’d noticed Pepita’s evasion, too. What was that all about? Most people might pass it off as normal teenage behavior, but Pepita wasn’t like that. Or, at least, she hadn’t been. If something was on her mind, she usually wasn’t shy about letting everyone know.
“Sidney and I are doing everything we can to make you ours,” Boomer reassured her. “You’re not going anywhere if we can help it. Got that?”
Pepita nodded, and Boomer tucked her against his chest and planted a kiss at her temple. “Alright. I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”
She caved, taking Sidney’s outstretched hand.
“And, sweetheart?” Pepita glanced back at Boomer. “Next time keep your music on and your earbuds in.”
She rolled her eyes, but he got a hint of a smile out of her.
When Sidney and Pepita were back inside, Boomer collapsed in his chair. “Jesus. What the hell was that all about?”
By habit, he reached into his pocket and pulled out two one-dollar bills and stuffed them into the cup holder of the chair for the cuss jar
.
“Something we don’t know?” Hank asked before Jenna could.
“I’ll talk to her tomorrow. See what I can find out.” Boomer turned to Catherine and filled her in on Pepita’s story.
“Poor girl,” Catherine said. “Probably dredged up a lot of bad memories for her.”
“That’s just it.” Jenna reached down, grabbed her beer, and popped the top. “Pepita talks about the cartel all the time. About how she would do this or that with the animals. Or she’ll cook us something she’d learned to make at their camp. It’s not this deep, dark secret that no one acknowledges. She even did a report on it for her social studies class last year.”
Jenna’s beer must have looked good, because Quinn opened his own and took a sip. “So, why the freak-out?”
“Who knows.” Boomer bobbed his chin toward Mac. “You spend a lot of time with her. What do you think?”
Everyone turned toward Mac. She’d been quiet all evening, which wasn’t like her. At all. Especially when it came to the cartel that everyone loved to hate. “I think—” Mac slapped a hand over her mouth and from under her hand said, “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Mac sprinted to the nearest tree.
“Oh dear,” Catherine said.
Hank ran after her. “What the hell, Army? I’m taking you to a doctor.” He held her hair back while she heaved and retched and puked.
“I don’t need a doctor,” Mac said when she came up for air.
“This has been going on for days, and you aren’t getting better.”
She straightened. Boomer tossed Hank a bottle of water. He unscrewed the lid and handed it to Mac. She rinsed her mouth and spat it out.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Hank waved his hand at the mess on the ground. “Clearly.”
“Hank.” Jenna recognized Mac’s don’t-mess-with-the-Marine tone, though her father was too stubborn to hear it.
Jenna jumped up and went over to them. “Dad, why don’t you have a seat and I’ll take Mac home.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Mac growled.
Hanging around Mac and Boomer all these years, she’d learned a little bit about how to handle them. Coddling wouldn’t cut it. Especially with Mac. That flat-out pissed her stepmother off. Jenna cut Mac a look. “Zip it.”
Mac obeyed, and the corners of her lips twitched more up than down.
“Go.” Jenna shooed her father with both hands. “Relax. Drink your beer. We’ve got this.”
Hank leaned in and kissed the side of Mac’s head. To Jenna, he said, “Let me know if anything changes.”
* * * *
Jenna stared at the plus sign on the pregnancy test, inanely wondering if the positive test constituted anything changing, as her dad had put it.
“Don’t—” Mac heaved into the toilet, but by now, nothing much was coming up. The bathroom in the old foreman’s house was tiny enough that Jenna could sit on the wood floor against one wall and reach her leg out and flush the toilet with her toes. Which she did. She tossed Mac a hand towel.
“Don’t tell your father.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You have to tell him.”
Mac settled back against the tub, hugging the cold porcelain to the side of her face. “I will, but not yet.”
“Why? I thought you two wanted a kid.”
“Well, yeah. But that was years ago.” She took a sip of water from a glass, rinsed her mouth, and spit it back out into the toilet. She slouched with her back against the tub. “Your dad’s forty-two now.”
“So.”
“So…” Mac shook her head when no words came.
“But if you were trying to get pregnant, he’ll be thrilled. I mean, who wouldn’t want another me?” Jenna gifted Mac with her cheesiest smile.
“Well, we weren’t trying anymore. I hadn’t gotten pregnant, so we figured it wasn’t going to happen for us. But we weren’t preventing it, either.”
Something about Mac’s concern about her dad’s age didn’t ring true—a dull, sour, tuneless tone. “It’s not my dad’s age, is it?”
Mac laughed, but it was rueful. “It seems like yesterday I was taking the seventeen-year-old you to the clinic for birth control.”
“After all that, I never did use them. You think they’re still good?” Jenna was mostly kidding.
“Quinn?” Mac asked.
Jenna thumped the back of her head against the wall a couple of times. Not enough to hurt, but enough to knock a little sense into her head. She wasn’t stupid enough to think she and Quinn had any kind of future.
When Quinn’s leave was up, he’d get his wings back, and he’d forget her again. “Yeah,” she eventually admitted. The word came out thin. A hard truth that had to be yanked out of her.
Crawling partway over Jenna’s outstretched legs, Mac rummaged around in the cabinet under the sink and handed her a box of condoms.
“Ohmygod. Mac, I’m old enough to buy my own condoms.”
Mac settled back against the tub, the effort turning her a light shade of green. “Do you have any?”
“No, but—”
“Take them. Go on. I’m too wrung out to argue with you.”
Tucking the box into the back pocket of her jeans, Jenna said, “Fine.”
“Might want to check the expiration date.”
“Mac.”
Mac shut up. Jenna checked the date. Not expired. Jenna swallowed her smile. They sat there a moment, then Jenna gave Mac a do-you-really-think-I’m-that-stupid smile.
“What?” Mac asked.
“I’d forgotten how good you were at misdirection.”
Mac’s eyelids got droopy, now that the dry heaves had settled. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Why haven’t you told Dad you’re pregnant? And don’t give me some bullshit story about his age.”
“I need a little time to get used to the idea.”
“How long have you known?”
“A week.”
“A week!”
Mac cringed as the words echoed around the tiny bathroom.
“You know, when that baby pops out, you’re gonna have a lot of explaining to do.”
Mac bumped Jenna with her foot. “I’m gonna tell him. I promise. I just need a few more days.”
“Why? You’ve had years to get used to the idea of being a parent.”
“Years of an idea. It wasn’t real. And now, this…” Mac waved a hand in the general direction of her stomach. “This kid is so real.”
“Yeah.” Deep down, jealousy stirred. An ugly, hairy beast that reveled in the great pleasure of telling Jenna how lucky the kid was going to be to have two parents to love it, nurture it, and help it grow up strong.
Not a kid whose mother couldn’t be bothered to stick around.
Not a kid whose father had spent more years on the rodeo circuit than not.
Not a kid who would always hold back, wondering who would abandon her next.
Jenna took a mental club and beat the monster upside the head. This wasn’t just any kid. This was going to be her kid brother. Or kid sister. She swallowed and cleared the bitter taste of jealousy from her mouth. Mostly. “The kid’s lucky to have you two for parents.”
* * * *
The barn’s porch lights threw light into the round pen, but not so much it was harsh and glaring. Quinn didn’t need that.
Vader certainly didn’t.
Quinn climbed over the top rail with a halter and lead rope and softly dropped down on the other side. Vader’s head popped up, and he stopped munching the mouthful of hay, but he didn’t turn away. Didn’t run.
“Easy, boy.” Quinn kept his voice low and smooth like a midnight DJ on an all-love-song radio station.
He eased toward the wild horse,
avoiding any sudden movements or anything that made him look too much like a predator. Vader tugged several quick, sharp bites out of the hay net, the nervousness building, the whites of his eyes showing as he followed Quinn’s progress through the pen.
Halfway across, Quinn stopped and turned partially away. Not enough that the horse could surprise him and put Quinn in danger, but enough to make him appear less of a threat. Stretching his head from side to side, Quinn shook off his own stress and agitation. It never helped to bring those emotions into the pen with you.
Using a technique his father had shown him when he was a kid, he zigzagged across the pen, keeping Vader in his peripheral vision, backing off a step when the horse would look at him, rewarding the look by releasing the pressure. Then he worked his way back in. Eventually he got close enough to stick his hand out, and Vader stretched his neck and sniffed it. As soon as the horse did, Quinn turned away, using Vader’s curiosity to his advantage.
Several passes later, Vader took a couple of steps toward him when Quinn offered his hand. “There you go, boy. I’m not so bad after all.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a peppermint he’d gotten from the barn. The cellophane wrapper crinkled, and Vader’s ears went up. Quinn stuck out his hand. Vader took a creeping step forward. Then another. The moonlight shone off the jet-black coat, gifting Quinn with the highlights—sleek neck, high withers, well-sprung ribs, and powerful hip.
A mild breeze kicked up, and the smell of smoke wafted toward them. Vader sniffed the treat in Quinn’s hand. In, in, in, until all the horse could do was blow his breath back out again. The moist heat dampened Quinn’s skin.
Vader lipped and slobbered on the peppermint, dropping it back into Quinn’s palm, a sticky, mangled mess. Vader lifted his nose into the air, his upper lip twitching. Then he slurped up the treat and worked it between his molars, bobbing his head up and down as he chewed and swallowed. He licked Quinn’s hand, checking for more.
