You Belong to Me

by Jennifer Greene

  They did. Once they reached the Hip Hop, Serena hadn’t exactly meant to stay with him, but somehow she ended up squeezed into a booth between his hip and the wall. Elvis was begging someone to love him tender on the old jukebox and, being Tuesday night, naturally the special was elk hash. Scents of a fresh apple cobbler and a still hot blueberry pie wafted through the air. Ceiling fans stirred the heat.

  Janie Carson Austin managed the place, and maybe she was a penny pincher to have no air-conditioning, but she was a pro at customer-pampering in other ways. Seconds after she spotted Blake and Serena wandering in, she had Blake stashed in the front booth with the first-aid kit on the table between them. She went off to get them lunch, which she said was on the house for the town hero.

  The Hip Hop was crowded. In the back retired sheriff Judd Hensley and his wife Tracy were visiting town and holding court, regaling the regulars with tales of their newly opened fishing camp. Deputy Clint Calloway was at the front counter, soaking in a coffee, being kidded by anyone who passed as to whether he’d managed to get his wife Dakota pregnant again. Emma Stover, the new waitress with the sweet face and the shy smile, was running a hundred miles an hour between tables. Then in walked Lily Mae Wheeler, the town gossip. She cast a narrowed eye at Blake and Serena who were seated in “her” booth, then wandered over to shake Blake’s good hand. “Nice going, Doc, saving that little girl.”

  Before Blake could reply, Lily Mae sat across from him in the booth and, seemingly without breathing, regaled them with the latest gossip. “You know the Montgomerys, don’t you? I never liked it, the way Ellis never had a kind word for his daughter, and Christina such a darling—or at least she was until her mother died and she started running wild. Wild because she was lonely, I say. Only the point is now that she’s missing. Everyone’s talking about it. The whole world could see that tummy of hers growing big, no matter how much Christina denied being pregnant, but the real question is who on earth the father could be. And if she disappeared now because she ran off with the daddy of her baby. Now I hear Rachel Montgomery’s coming home—that’s Christina’s oldest sister, if you didn’t know—and for myself, I figure Rachel can get to the bottom of this if anyone can. She won’t let it rest until we all know for sure what’s happened to Christina.”

  Homer Gilmore ambled past, poking his teeth with a toothpick, looking as glaze-eyed as ever, talking to himself. He usually came into the Hip Hop for the elk hash special and a chance to tell anyone who’d listen about the latest alien sighting. No one really knew what to do about Homer. The old man eked out a hand-to-mouth living in mining and he wasn’t so goofy that he needed to be hospitalized, but his stories were definitely a walk on the wild side. Today was no different.

  He stopped at the booth, his wizened face flushed, and delivered a convoluted, grizzy tale about an alien he’d come across near the sapphire mines. “You know the place. The virgin woods, west from the reservation, where them ol’ mines be. Still some good sapphires there.”

  “Yes, Homer,” Lily Mae said impatiently. Clearly she didn’t want to be interrupted in her conversation with Blake.

  “Well, it was rainin’ two nights ago,” Homer continued. “Rainin’ so hard, I couldn’t a seen nothin’, ‘cept that alien. Had a big ol’ ray gun and no hair and crazy eyes. Didn’t look like no kind of human, I tell ya.”

  “Yes, Homer.”

  “I weren’t doin’ nothin’. Just lookin’ around fer them sapphires, y’know? Them stones can really shine right after a rain. But b’lieve me, it had no reason to attack me. That there alien were doin’ somethin’. Bent over somethin’. A body, I think. Maybe tryin’ to get it back to them there ship. When it seen me, it come at me with that ray gun. I run. Yes, sir, you cain’t b’lieve how fast I run.”

  “Yes, Homer.”

  “Alien eyes, it had. Wild. Evil. No human look nothin’ like them eyes. I figure it be the sapphires that calls to them aliens. Some kind of kinetic power in the stones that aliens can see from millions a’ light-years away. But I cain’t figure why it tried to git me. I weren’t doin’ no harm to nobody.”

  “Yes, Homer,” Lily Mae said in a monotone voice. “You go home now. You can tell us some more about those aliens tomorrow.” She gave him a little nudge to rather gently but firmly send him on his way. When Homer finally ambled on, still muttering about his newest alien encounter, Lily Mae turned back to Blake’s injured hand—after sharing a commiserating smile at both of them. Homer was the town trial and most folks tried to be patient.

  But right now there was simply important gossip to share. “Serena, I swear you look more beautiful every time I see you. Is that a new haircut? I’ll bet Kim cut your hair, didn’t she? She’s twice the stylist her mama ever was. How long she visiting for this time? Blake, you stay sitting still now. You need this here first aid. Now, where was I? Was I telling you about the Montgomery girl’s disappearance or Jordan Baxter’s feud with the Kincaids?”

  “I swear, I’m fine,” Blake said for the dozenth time.

  “Nonsense. You’re a man. You never know when you’re fine, and none of you would clean a cut proper if left to your own devices. And you haven’t said a word how you’re doing in your practice with Carey. Everybody loves you, that’s all I hear, but you’ve been home how long now? And you’re still not talking. Everybody was asking earlier about the Hillerman boy’s broken arm last week, and was it an accident or did that varmint father hurt him deliberately? You can tell me the real truth. I swear, I won’t tell a soul!”

  A half hour later, Serena and Blake spilled out the front door, both their stomachs filled with dinner and a double dessert—on the house. Blake’s hand was bandaged as if it’d been broken in ten places instead of being slightly abraded, and he was shaking his head. “I’ve been eating there quite a bit, since coming back to town—anything’s better than cooking on my own. But don’t you ever feel like you’ve been through a war after spending a half hour there?”

  Serena laughed. “The Hip Hop Café is a town institution, you know that. On the other hand, you can find out anything you want to know about anyone in there. It’s cheaper than buying a newspaper.”

  “But it’s so exhausting. I may have to break down and learn to cook, just to have a peaceful meal.”

  “Not that. Not a fate worse than death like cooking. Nothing’s worth going that far.”

  Amused, Blake grabbed her arm. “You’re right. Even surviving all that gossip is easier than having to do dishes. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “A few minutes for what?”

  “You said Nate was with your brothers so I was asking if you still had some time free before you had to be home. There’s something I’d like to show you. Unless you’re busy right now. I promise I won’t take more than an hour of your time.”

  It wasn’t a good idea, she mused. Being with him, one on one, allowing herself to get closer in any way when she knew the risks. But the heart of her problem with Blake had only increased over the last seven years.

  Nothing in life was as good as being with him. At least this time, she had the excuse of wanting to work out Blake’s best possible relationship in her son’s life. It was a good excuse. A real one.

  But her heart wasn’t wildly thumping like an exuberant puppy’s tail because of Nate when she said yes.

  Six

  Serena could find her way around the Whitehorn countryside if she were blindfolded, so she recognized the general area where Blake was driving but not why he chose to stop his car at this specific hillside.

  “You know where we are?” Blake asked her.

  Serena hated to point out the obvious. “Well, sure. God’s country.”

  He chuckled. “I’m well aware that you love Montana.”

  “Who on earth wouldn’t?”

  “In this case, I was just trying to ask if you were familiar with this piece of land and who it belonged to.”

  “Familiar, no.” She shot him a wry grin. “I’ve trespassed every
inch of private road I can think of over the years, on horseback or foot, but somehow I must have missed this beauty of a stretch. But since we passed a sign for the Kincaid ranch a while ago, I assume we’re still on Kincaid property?”

  “Yes and no. Yes, it was originally part of the Kincaid ranch. But the reason I brought you to this spot was because I thought it would be of specific interest to you. And Nate.” On that enigmatic note, the blasted man turned the key to shut off the engine and apparently thought he could change the subject. “Do you have time to walk? Won’t take ten minutes to show you what I’d like you to see.”

  “What do you mean, of interest to Nate?”

  “I’ll explain. But first let me show you.”

  She climbed out of the car when he did, thinking that they both needed cowboy boots rather than summer sandals to walk this kind of rough terrain. But then Blake offered his hand for hers to take.

  She did, feeling his fingers tent with hers, feeling the pulse in the heart of his palm. She’d have walked barefoot over coals for that feeling, and before they’d crested the first knoll, he suddenly clutched hard. She glanced at him, thinking maybe he was feeling the same heart pull she was—but no, he was just trying to communicate a be-silent message to her.

  Their human scent had startled a mule buck deer. A mere fifty feet away, the beauty stood frozen, his sleek supple hide catching the pale sunlight, so young its antlers were still covered in velvet. As soon as the buck worked up his courage, he scampered off. Blake grinned at her. She grinned back and, swinging hands, they clambered up a rock-studded knoll.

  This time in August, this part of Montana inevitably looked a little parched and crinkled around the edges, but not everywhere. From the top of the knoll she could see the granite gray of the Crazy Mountains in the west, the sages and khaki greens of the valley stretching south and east. But scattered in the rolls and tucks of the land were surprises—a fat, gnarled cottonwood shading an emerald patch of grass. There had to be water, even if she couldn’t see it, because beyond that bosomy roll was another verdant field kicking up color everywhere—pink bitterroot, purple pasqueflowers, and the shine of some yellow blossom, all swaying like flirting girls in the evening breeze. Above it all was a nonstop blue sky that was as big as a soul—and always had owned a corner of hers.

  “I hoped you’d like this. But the sun’s glaring right on the eyes, too hard to see. Let’s climb down a bit.” Heat still sizzled in the air as he led her down to the shady side of the hill. The road disappeared from sight. Somewhere in the somnolent early evening was the dripping scent of some sweet wild-flower. Most of the terrain was still drenched with sunlight, but now she could see, in the cleavage of two shaggy hillsides, the sparkle of silver water. The stream wound around a stand of western larch that would turn solid gold in a few more months.

  “It’s a gorgeous piece of land, Blake,” she murmured, yet she couldn’t help looking at him curiously. She’d always been the nature lover, not him. His whole world had always been inside, his drive to become a doctor overshadowing anything else in life. She was the one who tended to half live outside, drink the sunlight, breathe in the scent of grass, and feel a spiritual pull stronger than in any church.

  Yet just then, he seemed tuned to one of nature’s spiritual channels, too. Although his left hand was still grasping hers, his gaze swept from east to west, inhaling the landscape, savoring the countryside. And then his eyes suddenly dropped to hers. She saw the warmth in his gaze, felt it catch like kindling on a stark winter’s night.

  “Do you know the story of my father?” he asked her.

  “I know the gossip that’s been spread in town. But how much of that is true, I have no idea.”

  “Well, I hate to bore you with family history, but I don’t know any other way to give you the whole picture. Back in the l920s, the Kincaids came to Blue River County and picked this site for their ranch. The patriarch of the clan was Caleb Kincaid. He had two sons, Zeke and Bart, and they read like the Cain and Abel story, one good brother, one bad. Zeke was the bad one, screwed Bart out of his share of the ranch, after which Bart moved away and settled west of here. Bart had a son, Garrett. My blood grandfather.”

  “Most of that I’d heard,” she admitted. “Kincaids have been too important to this area for folks not to talk about your kin.”

  “Well, your kin was here first—in the obvious sense that Native Americans roamed this area before any hooligan upstart whites settled here. And to me, that makes it even more right that Nate know something about this particular stretch of property.”

  “That’s the second time you implied that Nate has some connection to this land. But I still don’t understand what you mean.”

  Blake sighed, as if exasperated with himself for taking so long to express himself clearly. “I’m sorry, but I’m stuck explaining more family history to get to the point. Once Zeke—the-bad-brother Kincaid—took over the ranch, the other side of the family lost touch, quit communicating for years. Then Garrett, my grandfather, read some newspaper article about Wayne Kincaid. That was the first Garrett knew any blood kin from Blue River County was still alive. The two men set up a meeting, got together—for which Garrett brought along his grown son, Larry.”

  “Larry. Your dad,” Serena echoed carefully, not sure how much he wanted to get into or talk about.

  “Yeah. A lot of this history would never have happened if Larry Kincaid hadn’t settled here, gotten married and raised so much hell. Garrett didn’t know about his son’s shenanigans until after Larry died. That was when Garrett found papers in Larry’s safe-deposit box referring to a number of illegitimate children, including my brother and me. But in the meantime, over the years, Garrett and Wayne Kincaid became close, established a warm family relationship. So when Wayne realized that he needed to put the ranch up for sale, my grandfather was the first one he told. And Garrett leaped to buy it. Not because he wanted to ranch himself—and certainly not at his age—but because he saw acquiring the land as a chance to right some serious old wrongs.”

  “I take it that Garrett has the same strong sense of justice as his grandson? It sounds like we’re talking an inherited trait,” Serena gently teased.

  Blake motioned her to sit, as he eased down to the ground himself and stretched out his long legs. “Garrett may be a saint, but you know better than anyone that I’m not. I do admire my grandfather, though. Liked him from the first day we met.”

  “Yeah, me, too. And I don’t know anyone in the community who doesn’t think a lot of your gramps.” Once she sat down, the sun was no longer in her eyes, and she studied Blake—the bandage on his left hand, the rip in his khakis. He hadn’t complained about anything hurting after his crashing encounter with cement, but she knew his left palm had been badly skinned. The grass was calf-tall, ticklish on her bare legs, and when Blake leaned back, so did she. The earth smelled verdant and sun-warmed, the evening turning drowsy and still, the wildflowers started to blur in the predusk light.

  “Well, the thing is, the reason Garrett wanted to buy the ranch was to be able to give it away. His plan was to give a slice to each of his illegitimate grandchildren. He brought all of us together at the ranch in May for a reunion. That was the first most of us knew that we were related. Garrett talked about wanting the land to be a touchstone for all the brothers. He already know most of us wouldn’t want to ranch it. That wasn’t the point. He wanted us to have a piece of the home base, a place of belonging, a concrete part of our Kincaid family heritage.”

  “So this section of your land is your share?” Serena asked.

  “Technically, yes, although it’ll be a while before I have the deed. When I had dinner with Garrett a few nights ago, he mentioned that there’s been a legal problem suddenly kicked in. You may have already heard the gossip about it in town. A guy named Jordan Baxter has a long grudge against the Kincaid family, and he’s managed to hold up the sale by claiming rights to a small parcel that the Baxter family once owned. I don
’t know how that’s going to turn out, but it doesn’t affect this particular parcel of land anyway. Baxter isn’t contending anything about this piece. It’s just that all the paperwork’s on hold until his claim goes through the court system.”

  “Okay….” She’d listened intently, yet was still unsure why Blake felt it so important to tell her this whole story. As the sun drooped like a leaden ball, the air seemed to get smoky with dusk, heavier, softer. She loved seeing him against the backdrop of her sky, her country. He didn’t look like a city doctor now. “So this is what you brought me here to see? Your land?”

  He only made a minor correction in her comment. “What I brought you here to see was Nate’s land.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t put Nate’s name on the deed until the legal problem with Baxter and my grandfather is resolved. But the minute that legal business is finished, this will all belong to Nate.”

  Her breath caught. She couldn’t remember feeling more overwhelmed. “Blake, you don’t need to do that! For heaven’s sake, you just found out that you were a Kincaid instead of a Remmington, that this land is part of your own history. You’d be giving it up before you even had a chance to feel part of it.”

  He shook his head. “It never was and never will be mine in any way that matters, Serena. Garrett passed on the land to try and make up for what his son did—for being irresponsible, for carelessly bringing children in the world.” His eyes met hers squarely. “And now I find out that I’ve done the same thing.”

  “You’re nothing like your father!” she said, fast, fiercely.

  “As far as Nate, the similarity’s inescapable. I contributed some sperm, but that’s it. No different than my father hurt the women in his life. You got stuck with all the parenting, all the work, all the financial and emotional responsibility.”

  “It’s not the same! You didn’t know!” She could feel a stab in her heart like real pain. The more she was with him, the more she realized how badly she’d hurt Blake by not telling him about the pregnancy. She wanted to ask his forgiveness a million times over, but it wasn’t that simple. She deeply regretted hurting him, yet she couldn’t regret her silence. The two things weren’t the same. Right or wrong, Serena knew in her heart that she’d made the best decision she was capable of making seven years ago. That she was wiser now wasn’t worth a Las Vegas dollar and didn’t help her know what to do for Blake or their son now. “There’s nothing you should be feeling guilty about. Nothing, Blake.”