Remembering Red Thunder

by Sylvie Kurtz

  “You were acting in good faith,” Taryn soothed. “No court would have convicted you of a crime.”

  “I chose the coward’s way out.” Joely looked up at him, eyes tense. “When you showed up, I thought you’d come to claim your inheritance. I couldn’t bear for you to see it like this. I thought…” Her fingers knitted themselves into a gnarl.

  “I’m not interested in the land. The only thing I want is to know who I am.”

  A soulful smile graced her lips. “You look just like your grandfather when he was your age.”

  “But is he Kyle or is he Kent?” Taryn asked. She went to the counter separating the living room from the kitchen and twisted the top off another bottle of ginger ale. Resting her backside against the counter, she rubbed a small circle over her belly.

  She’d told him who he was didn’t make a difference. Did she regret her declaration? She’d committed to him body and soul, he reminded himself. That couldn’t have been a lie. But her actions now spoke of anxiety.

  He wanted desperately to see her smile again, to hear her laugh, to make love to her. To regain the peace he’d found this afternoon in her arms, he would do anything.

  But if he was Kyle, he realized, he had a debt to pay. Carter Paxton would make sure the price was high, and Taryn would be lost to him. With regret he tore his gaze from Taryn’s anxious face and focused his attention on Joely.

  Joely stared at him, studied every feature, every line of his face. “I don’t know. I saw you boys mostly from a distance. I never came here and John Henry never took you to my place. In his own way, your grandfather was trying to protect you.”

  Reaching across the coffee table, Joely’s hand squeezed his knee. “He loved you very much.”

  Suddenly choked up, Chance could do nothing more than swallow the hard lump in his throat.

  Straightening up, Joely glanced at her watch. “I can’t stay. I’m expected at a meeting in half an hour.”

  She grabbed her purse, hitched the leather strap over her shoulder and walked to the front door. As she opened the door, the sound of the rain battering the porch catapulted inside. The gloomy remains of evening light stained a dark patch on the cabin’s wooden floor. With the knob still in her hands, Joely turned. “Do you know where Melody Road is?”

  Chance shook his head.

  “Take Gum Springs Road to the end, then turn left. I’m the only house on the right side. Come for breakfast. I’ve got the photo albums John Henry left behind. Maybe we can figure out which twin you are by looking through them.”

  “I’d like that.” Chance rose. Hands stuck in his jeans pockets, he stood next to Joely. He wanted to offer words of comfort for her loss, for the sorrow he and his brother had caused her and John Henry with their disappearance, but could think of nothing that would repair over a decade of pain. “Thank you for the truth.”

  “I just wish I’d had the courage to tell you sooner.” She gave a half shrug. “I wish it could be more.”

  Chance nodded.

  Joely turned to leave. The spew of a pistol rent the silence. With a gasp, she clutched her chest. Another report cracked. Wood splintered from the door frame above their heads. She stumbled backward, fell into his arms. Bright red speckled her white shirt, his fingers.

  Taryn screamed. A bottle shattered against the floor. Ginger ale hissed.

  “Get down!” Chance ordered.

  Taryn dropped to her knees, then flattened against the floor. Eyes rounded with fear, she stared at him.

  Like lightning, something struck. In the darkness of his mind, a flash of light. Bang. Blood blossoming red on a white blouse. “Get down!” his own voice echoed from somewhere in the past. Taryn, hair cut boy-short, dropped to her knees, flattened against the linoleum of the diner floor. Eyes round with fear, face white with shock, freckles of blood spattering her cheeks, she stared at him. Ten years unfolded before him in a wild spool of fast-forward film. The trial. The courtship. The tests.

  The love.

  Their marriage.

  Oh my God. Taryn.

  Another shot cracked, shaking him out of the past. A window splintered.

  “Stay low,” he ordered Taryn. “Get behind the counter.”

  Crouching, he slid Joely back into the house and slammed the door shut.

  “Where’s your cell phone?”

  “In my purse.”

  The purse sat on the kitchen counter. “Can you reach up and drag it down?”

  She did.

  “Call for help.”

  He shed his T-shirt, and with it, stanched the flow of blood pulsing from Joely’s chest. Her breathing was strained, gurgling. She clutched one of his wrists.

  “The truth—” she heaved a breath “—was worth the price.”

  Her eyes dulled. Her chest rose with a labored gurgle, then fell in the long hiss of an emptying balloon. No other breath followed.

  In the eerie stillness, Taryn’s voice, brittle and raw, begged for help.

  His quest had caused yet another woman harm. Was Taryn next?

  Taryn. His Taryn. His wife, his lover, his soul mate. Now that he’d found her again, he couldn’t let anything happen to her.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Kyle Makepeace, you’re under arrest.”

  The sheer pleasure twinkling in Carter Paxton’s eyes made Taryn’s stomach heave a protest. She threw herself between Chance and the deputies advancing toward him. “No!”

  Chance wrapped her in his arms and swung her away from a deputy’s grip. “Stay out of this, Taryn. I don’t want you hurt.”

  “This isn’t fair. They’re not even trying to find who shot Joely.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “Hands up in the air where we can see ’em.”

  “No!”

  “Taryn…”

  Heart breaking, she stumbled backward. “You can’t let them do this to you.”

  “I’ll get a chance to state my case.”

  As one deputy held a gun on Chance, another shoved him against the wall like a criminal. While one deputy patted him down, the other Mirandized him. The scene played straight out of a bad movie, and Taryn couldn’t believe they were truly arresting Chance.

  Officials dressed in black slickers shiny with rain bulldozed their way through the small room. Two of them enclosed Joely in a body bag. The rest seemed to walk in circles smearing muddy boot prints, puddles of water and the pool of blood into a homogeneous mess on the cabin’s floor. No one seemed to care that evidence was being destroyed, that no questions had been asked, that rights were being trampled.

  “Are you crazy?” Taryn grabbed at the sheriff’s sleeve and was swatted away.

  “Don’t touch her,” Chance warned. His voice was low and dangerous as he strained against the deputy’s hold.

  Sheriff Paxton snorted. “You’re not in a position to be making threats, son.”

  Taryn’s fear for Chance overshadowed her anxiety in the face of authority. She advanced on the sheriff once more. “Someone tried to kill him. What are you arresting him for?”

  “The murder of Joely Brahms.”

  “You’re arresting the wrong man!” She wanted to pummel the sheriff’s face with her fists, but sitting in jail for assaulting an officer, would do Chance no good.

  “Won’t take but a few minutes once he’s fingerprinted to prove he’s Kyle Makepeace.”

  “How?”

  “Birth records from the hospital in Lufkin.”

  Why hadn’t she thought of that? Chance would have known for sure who he was and they could have been on their way home.

  A deputy jerked Chance’s arms behind him and snapped cuffs around his wrists. His face was so blank, he looked like a bust in a wax museum. Taryn rubbed at the growing ache bruising her chest. This could not be happening.

  “Chance didn’t kill Joely. How could he, when he was inside and the shot came from outside?”

  “We’ve got enough evidence to take him in.” The sheriff nodded at h
is deputies and, one holding each of Chance’s arms, they led him outside.

  Taryn stepped in front of the sheriff, blocking his path. “Evidence? What evidence? He was inside and someone shot from outside.”

  “We’ve got the murder weapon.” The sheriff reached inside the folds of his slicker and held up Chance’s service pistol. Taryn’s mouth dropped open. “Recognize this?”

  Someone had broken into Lucille’s car and stolen Chance’s gun. Could this get any worse?

  “It was left by whoever really pulled the trigger.” The words tumbled out of her mouth. “It was stolen.” Why couldn’t he see the truth that was so plain in front of his eyes?

  “No report of a stolen weapon was made.”

  “Of course not. We didn’t know it was stolen. Do the test. Check his hands. You’ll see he hasn’t fired a gun.”

  The sheriff said nothing as he supervised the men from the coroner’s office.

  Her mind spun a tornado of thoughts. She had to make them stop this ridiculous charade. “What’s his motive?”

  The sheriff snorted. “The oldest one in the book. Greed.”

  “Greed? What are you talking about?”

  He nodded toward the body bag being hefted off the floor. “He asked Ms. Brahms to transfer the Makepeace trust to him.”

  Taryn frowned and shook her head at the utter absurdity of his accusation. “That’s not what happened at all.”

  “When she refused, he shot her.”

  Her heart pounded a marathon. “That’s crazy. If she’s dead, then the trust reverts to the town. What does that gain him?”

  “He didn’t know.”

  She was fighting a losing battle. The sheriff wasn’t listening to a word she was saying. “I just told you. If I know, then he knows.”

  “He hasn’t read the trust papers yet.”

  Taryn growled her frustration. “This is pure manure!”

  The sheriff slanted her a glance reminiscent of a bull who’d just spotted a red cape. “No, ma’am, it’s the facts, and you can’t argue with the facts.”

  “It’s just your word against Chance’s.”

  The sheriff’s eyes narrowed as he invaded her space. The years of pain had crystallized his hatred to a steely cave of icy stalagmites. Chance didn’t stand a ghost of a possibility of getting due process.

  “Who is a jury going to believe?” the sheriff said between gritted teeth. His nostrils flared with the heat of his anger. “A servant of the law or a man caught bending over the woman he just killed.”

  “I’ll back him.”

  “The evidence will back me.”

  “You can’t manipulate evidence like this.”

  “We’ve got a witness to corroborate the facts.”

  A witness who’d more than likely been bought and paid for. The situation was worsening by the second. “Who?”

  Ignoring her, the sheriff crammed his hat on his head.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Justice.” He tapped the brim of his hat and turned to leave.

  Taryn grabbed his shoulder and pulled him around. “If your interest truly were justice, you’d be out there looking for whoever really killed Joely Brahms.”

  “I got him.” He snagged his shoulder free from her grip and strode out into the night.

  She followed the sheriff outside. The blue-and-white lights from three patrol cars swirled the yard into confusion. Radios belched static into the air. Rain splattered against her bare legs. “Where are you taking him?”

  “He’ll be at the county lockup.” The sheriff heaved his body into the patrol car.

  “Where’s that?”

  “Right here in Ashbrook.” The sheriff slammed the door of his patrol car, then rolled down the window. “If I were you, I’d head on home.”

  “You’re not me,” she whispered, arms rigid, hands fisted at her sides. “What about bail?”

  “He’ll be arraigned in Angelina County in the morning. But I wouldn’t count on bail. He’s a flight risk. I’ll recommend he be denied.”

  Flight risk. Bail denied. This could not be happening.

  She feared for Chance as she’d never feared for him. Not one of these men saw him as a human being. To them, he was simply a mode of revenge—Carter Paxton’s revenge. Would he even reach the holding cell or would they just stop somewhere along the way and shoot him like a rabid fox?

  Shoving the rental into gear, Taryn followed the caravan of patrol cars into town, wishing all the way she hadn’t listened to Grandy and taken the damn pistol with her, wishing that she hadn’t left the thing in Lucille’s car, wishing that she had it now to protect the man she loved.

  She didn’t bother parking the rental behind the courthouse, just stopped it right behind the three sheriffs’ cars.

  Chance was standing outside a cruiser, a gun trained on him, rain pouring over him while the deputy took his sweet time opening the courthouse’s back door.

  Taryn ran to him. “Wait!”

  “Go home, Taryn.”

  “No, I’m going to be here for you. I’m not going to let them railroad you into a conviction that doesn’t belong to you.”

  “If you stay, I’ll worry about your safety.”

  “I’ll be okay. You’re the one in danger. They don’t care about the law.”

  His eyes grew stone-hard. When he spoke, his voice was cadaver-cold. “I don’t want you here.”

  “Chance—”

  He turned his back to her and glared at the sheriff. “Escort her out of town. I don’t want to see her again.”

  The sheriff grinned. “Glad to oblige.”

  THE IRON DOOR clanged behind Chance.

  “Don’t get too comfy now,” the guard said, tossing the ring of keys up and down in his hand. “If things go right, you’ll be sitting pretty in Huntsville in no time.”

  Comfy wasn’t going to be a problem. A solid-steel cot was welded to the wall. A thin, stained mattress covered the metal slab. The gray decor continued in the form of a stainless commode and a sink no bigger than his hand. There were no windows, no carpet, no blankets, just the cold welcome of a solid cage. A spotlight shone into the space and bounced off every shiny surface. Sleep would be impossible. Even the first grade’s guinea pig back in Gabenburg had more comfortable accommodations.

  He slumped onto the mattress. Elbows on knees, he rested his head on his upturned palms. This afternoon, he’d let himself believe that things could work out right. Taryn’s trust had let him think that their love was strong enough to overcome any obstacle.

  He’d been a fool to put stock in the illusion. The facts pointed to a different reality. He was Kyle Makepeace. He had harmed Ellen Paxton beyond repair. He would have to pay for his mistake.

  The anger that had poisoned him blew out of him. In its place stood resignation.

  Sending Taryn home was the right decision. She’d be safe there. Angus and Nola would take care of her. He’d wanted to know his identity. He’d found it. And his past had caught up with him—the good and the bad. She didn’t need to witness his final disgrace.

  The hurt look in her eyes had cut him down to his soul. Her helpless cry as the sheriff had led her away tore the heart right out of his chest. Refusing to glance back at her had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. But she deserved happiness and she would never find it with him to drag her down.

  As he closed his eyes, images of her smile across the years, of her sexy eyes always bright with love for him, of the thousands of nights satisfied with their lovemaking filled his mind. In his blank slate of a mind, the returning memories of Taryn fed him. He hung on to the pictures, savored them, imprinted them deeper. They would have to last him a lifetime.

  He loved her. Heart, mind and soul. He loved her. The ten years they’d spent together were a lifetime for him. She’d made a decade feel like a moment, like forever. Even amnesia had not managed to completely sever their deep bond.

  Taryn. His soul bayed with loneliness.
<
br />   Now that he knew her again, she was lost to him.

  But she was safe.

  That was all that could matter now.

  ONCE THE SHERIFF’S LIGHTS faded from her rearview mirror, Taryn stopped the car on the shoulder of the road somewhere south of Ashbrook. Hands tight around the steering wheel, she stared into the black of the night. Rain still poured and her high beams didn’t reach far into the gloom.

  She didn’t want to leave her husband at the mercy of such hatred. If she left, there would be no witness to whatever punishment the sheriff sought to mete out. But what could she do? Who would listen to her? How could she make her voice heard and guarantee Chance a fair shake?

  He was her husband. They were bound by more than promises. She couldn’t leave him here to face his fate alone. She loved him. She had to stand by him.

  Nausea rolled in her stomach. She hadn’t eaten any dinner. Good nutrition was important, especially in this early stage of a fetus’s development. If she stayed, she risked putting her unborn baby under stress.

  If she left, she couldn’t live with abandoning her husband in a time of need. If she stayed and her baby was harmed, she couldn’t live with the loss. This baby was part of her, part of Chance, part of their future together.

  She’d waited too long to give up on either.

  There was only one thing to do.

  She turned the car around, stopped at a convenience store in a town too small for a welcome sign, and stocked up on food, paper and a couple of disposable cameras. Once again at the cabin, she ignored the crime-scene tape. The sheriff’s men had already done their best to muddle the evidence. Back turned to the living room, she forced herself to eat a turkey sandwich and a handful of baby carrots.

  With pad of paper and pen in hand, she wrote down everything that had happened since the beginning of their search for Chance’s identity. Then she put herself in Chance’s skin and walked the crime scene as he might have—as the sheriff and his men should have. Ignoring her disgust at the congealing blood on the floor, she snapped pictures with the disposable cameras. Then she sketched and measured. When she’d noted everything she could think of, she scrubbed the floor using cold water from the mechanical pump outside and a bucket she’d found in the barn. Crying for Joely, for Chance, for herself, she kept going until no stain remained.