“A mongrel dog feels more responsibility to its off- spring than my father did. Though money was never an issue for him, he didn’t contribute so much as a dime to our welfare,” he stated contemptuously.
All the years of locking the past up in his heart hadn’t lessened Judson’s pain any. It glittered in his eyes.
“Still, Mother never gave up hope that her shining white knight would someday return to claim me as his son, to restore me to my rightful ‘throne.’ Her people interpreted that obstinacy as a denial of her own kind. Nobody protested her decision to keep my name off the Indian rolls; there were plenty of full-bloods who needed financial help more than any whelp breed. Cursed by my Indian brothers for my blue eyes and whites for the color of my skin, I was accepted by nei- ther.”
The words themselves evoked memories of cruel, childish taunts, of blackened eyes and bloody noses, of threats more often than not carried out with the security of numbers on their side. Hearing the raspy sound of his own voice cracking, Judson struggled to master his emotions.
“We went it alone for years, living in a hovel that caused the authorities to periodically inquire about health conditions.”
Tears glistening in her eyes, Carrie longed to give Judson permission to wrap the past back up in its fragile cocoon. But she couldn’t. Not when she knew a ca- tharsis was necessary before deep healing could begin. She doubted whether he noted the gentle pressure of her hand squeezing his. Lost in the mist of the past, Judson was far, far away.
“Lord knows, she tried hard to be a good parent, but the day she found relief in a bottle, my mother crawled inside and never found her way back out.”
With a dry, self-deprecating cough, Judson spared himself no measure of mercy.
“I was the world’s youngest enabler. I did whatever it took to cover up. Stole, lied, denied. Missed lots of school trying to keep things together. Terrified that So- cial Services would declare my mother unfit and take me away from her, I did everything I could to hide our problems from the world. Little did I know that by not making my mother face her problems I was only con- tributing to them.”
“You were only a little boy! You’re being too hard on yourself,” Carrie protested.
“A little boy who came home from school one day to find his mother dead.”
Judson’s voice was like the wind whistling over the desolate stretch of his weathered heart. “To a certain degree, I’ll always blame myself for her death.”
The little cry of pain Carrie heard was her own. Her heart swelled with empathy for the child who had borne such an unfathomable load upon his narrow shoulders. If only there was some way to get the man to forgive himself.
Having seen the same look reflected in numerous so- cial workers’ faces, Judson loathed the pity glistening in Carrie’s eyes. It was almost too much to bear.
“The next several years a string of well-intentioned psychologists and social workers tried to ‘absorb me into the system.’ But ultimately the system rejected me. Nobody wanted to adopt a mixed-breed teenager with an attitude.
“Most of the foster families I lived with just wanted the extra money the government gave them for housing me. It was even worse in the families where I did form an emotional attachment to my foster brothers and sis- ters. I never stayed long in one place, and I learned fast that caring led straight to heartache.”
That certainly explained a lot to Carrie. No wonder he had flinched at her recommendation to get Brandy some counseling. Tenderly tracing the scars on his back, she massaged the corded muscles. Her trembling fingers fluttered like butterflies against his flesh.
Bitterly self-conscious about the scars that curled around his back like so many writhing snakes, Judson was surprised that he did not recoil from her touch. Heightened by the eroticism of her gentle caresses, his body reacted as if she were playing a worn, well-loved guitar.
When he resumed speaking, his voice was little more than a husky whisper. “I was well on the road to reform school when Cheryl Sue McLeashe started making goo- goo eyes at me in high school.”
A self-effacing smirk underscored his quick synopsis. “It was the typical story—a perky socialite falling for the bad boy renegade. Convinced by the system that I was unlovable, I’d made up my mind not to have any- thing to do with her. But Cheryl Sue was determined to prove that status and race really didn’t matter to her. Like a fool, I hoped to break out of the destructive pattern that marked not only my own family history but the history of a nation.”
His voice was devoid of any emotion as he relayed the milestone that had changed the course of his life. “We eloped right after graduation.”
A lump the size of a fist formed in Carrie’s throat. It was foolish, she knew, to be intimidated by ghosts from the past, but what woman can compete with a man’s first love? Anger against the girl who had first laid claim upon Judson welled up in her heart. However genuine her motives, Cheryl Sue had stolen Judson’s inno- cence—and his faith in love. Had she rendered him in- capable of ever trusting his heart again?
“You can tell by my back just how well her family took the news. Didn’t matter to her brothers that Cheryl Sue claimed she was in love with me. All that mattered was that I was a breed—and as such a totally unac- ceptable marriage partner for their sister.
“They whipped me until I passed out. Like Brandy said, they would have probably killed me if Cheryl Sue hadn’t thrown herself at them, begging for my life… threatening to take her own if they didn’t stop.”
The barriers were down in those haunted blue eyes that had marked Judson an outcast from birth. In their cerulean depths, Carrie spied a glimpse of hell.
“Unfortunately,” he continued with the honest re- flection born of hindsight, “it turned out Cheryl Sue was more in love with the romantic notion of sampling forbidden fruit than she ever was with me. A young idealist, she was completely unprepared for the social ostracism that comes with mixed marriages. Her daddy had our marriage annulled almost before it was official. And I’m told he tried to make her get rid of the babies she was carrying, too. But to her credit, Cheryl stood up to that old devil, carrying the twins to term without his blessing.
“They were barely a week old when I found them on my front step, two tiny angels bundled up in match- ing pink and blue blankets.”
Judson’s eyes softened with the memory before turn- ing the color of armor-piercing bullets. “Left on my front porch like somebody’s garbage.”
Though his rage was under control, it was clear to Carrie that it had not dissipated with the passage of years.
“I was young and in pretty bad shape at the time, and I couldn’t imagine having anything so little and innocent and needy totally dependent on me. To be hon- est, there were times I didn’t think we’d make it. Times when all we had was each other.”
It was easy to see how Judson’s children had bonded so completely to him. How Brandy could come to see any romantic interest shown her father as an infringe- ment upon her sole, proprietary turf. Though Carrie wished there was some way to simply make Judson’s anguish disappear, the truth was, the past could not be undone. Considering what he’d just revealed, it was in- conceivable that he would simply throw his heart wide open to her raw, reckless admission of love.
Still Carrie wouldn’t have retracted it if she could. Even if he spurned her, demanding she get out of his life for good, she knew that silencing the fact that she was a woman in love wouldn’t lessen that earth- shattering reality one iota.
Outside a coyote howled a baleful tune to the rising moon as Carrie considered a lifetime of loving a man so deeply scarred. There were her wounds to consider, as well. Though not as visible as Judson’s, she, too, was marred by the past, haunted by her own demons. Could love really triumph over so much mutual pain?
As if reading her thoughts, Judson stepped into the deep grass of those gentle eyes. “Sweetheart, I don’t think you’ve fully considered the repercussions of lov- ing a breed.”
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p; “Shh…”
Putting a finger to his lips, Carrie shushed him in an act so sweet and sensual that it turned his protests to a feral growl. He took her hands into his own and kissed their open palms.
“Don’t you realize that just being here with me jeop- ardizes your standing in this community? You deserve a better life than a crazy blue-eyed breed with two mixed-up kids.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” Carrie countered with a stubborn lift of her chin.
Undoubtedly there were obstacles to overcome: his past and her own. But, after all, history was only his- tory. The shadows of the past were behind them; the sunlit fields of the future lay ahead. Judson was no longer the boy he once was. He was a man with the courage to put family first, and she, a woman strong enough to fight for what she wanted.
Opening her hands to encompass their tasteful sur- roundings, she gently reminded him, “You’re not such a bad catch after all. I wouldn’t exactly describe this as the ‘hovel’ of your childhood. And don’t forget, it was the people of this community who elected you to a seat on the school board.”
Judson flinched at the conclusion to which she had jumped. His wry smile was tinged with derision. “You can chalk all that up to my old man. The only good thing he ever did for me was to up and die.”
Carrie tried to understand Judson’s callousness as he tried to disenchant her with the unpleasant facts of his life.
“Believe me, nobody was more surprised than me to find out that Arthur Christianson left me his entire es- tate. Funny how his death bought me what he refused me during his life—a modicum of respectability.”
This startling disclosure didn’t stop Carrie from rush- ing to his support. “But you’ve got to remember that you’re the one who’s held on to it. Surely you don’t think you were elected by your peers to be chairman of the board out of pity!”
The bold spark dancing in those emerald eyes com- municated complete belief in him. Had Cheryl Sue but been able to have trusted him even a fraction such as this, Judson was sure his life would not have been so riddled with self-doubt, recriminations and regrets.
Vowing not to let pride smother the wisdom of his heart, he wrapped his arms tightly around Carrie and pulled her close.
“You’re a remarkable woman,” he murmured into the soft cascade of her hair.
In that instant Judson realized the only thing standing between him and happiness was his own fear. Like a cat, he had bared his claws for so long that he had forgotten how to purr, how to trust in innate goodness when it was staring him right in the face. Truly as beau- tiful on the inside as the outside, Carrie Raben was woman enough to take whatever the world had to throw at her. Judson couldn’t believe that he had been willing to allow a past marred by other people’s bigotry to come between him and the best thing that was ever going to happen in his life.
His lips claimed hers in a kiss borne of desperation and fate. Soft. The parting of those exquisitely soft lips to accept all that he had to offer aroused him fully, invoking an insatiable longing Judson had never before felt. The reciprocal thrust of her tongue against his own almost sent him over the edge.
Growling deep in his throat, Judson reveled in the seductive curves that molded so perfectly to his hard, angular body. Unable to get enough, his hands moved hungrily over her, his savage virility threatening to con- quer the virgin innocence that had captivated him from the very first day he had been entrusted with her well- being. Knowing that Carrie was not the kind of woman to accept intimacy on a merely physical plane, Judson knew where this was going.
Straight from the bedroom to the altar.
And suddenly to his great surprise that didn’t seem like such a bad idea. He hadn’t seen very many mar- riages that were made in heaven. His own wasn’t much of a yardstick; his own father had disavowed the insti- tution completely. Not so long ago Judson had thought that it would be enough to have a relationship without any permanency or bonds. Now he wasn’t so sure. Hav- ing finally found the only woman he wanted in his life, he wasn’t willing to accept her on a part-time-only ba- sis. He peeked twenty years into the future and saw them holding hands together on the front porch with grandchildren clustered at their feet.
Judson smiled at the thought. Whatever it took to convince Carrie to marry him, how ever long it took to break down her fears, he was going to win her over to his way of thinking.
Feeling the impact of his hard body pressed against her, Carrie did not resist as Judson’s mouth closed upon hers. She responded with her entire being to the power of his kiss. Never before had she felt anything so wild, so strong. Quivering, she twined her fingers in the silky, thick darkness of his hair. The muscles on the arms that held her were ropes of sinew, his chest a broad, smooth wall of strength. Running her hands across that bare chest, she felt the quickening thud of his heart against her open palm. It matched hers beat for beat.
It felt so very right, and their shared need was so very urgent. Passion leapt between them like a flame threatening to blaze out of control. Enveloped in the loving embrace of Judson’s arms, Carrie allowed herself to envision her life with a man who was strong enough to lean on and gentle enough to trust.
The echo of the front door slamming shut reverber- ated throughout the house. Reason slowly returned to eyes that were dazed and heavy-lidded.
“Brandy!” they mouthed simultaneously.
Given the girl’s volatile nature, both worried that, in a desperate ploy for attention, she just might do some- thing dramatic. Something dangerous.
Clearly before things went any further between the two of them, matters had to be settled with that live grenade presently masquerading as a twelve-year-old girl.
Considering that Carrie didn’t have the faintest notion of what to do next, she was surprised at how calm and resolute her voice sounded as she announced to Judson, “You get some rest. I’ll go after her.”
Stepping from the security of Judson’s bedroom into a battleground, Carrie noticed that the door to Cowboy’s room was wide open. He was sitting on the edge of his bed wearing a very worried expression.
Not wanting to invade his personal space, she queried from the door, “Are you okay?”
He met her question with one of his own. “Is Dad going to be all right?”
How patiently he had been waiting for word on his father. Carrie could no more refuse those pleading blue eyes than she could stop her heart from beating. Bran- dy’s tantrum could wait just a minute more. This was equally important.
Realizing how scared he must be, Carrie assured him as she crossed the room, “He’s going to be just fine, sweetheart.”
From the rapt expression that lit up his face when she came to sit beside him on the bed, it was apparent that at least one of Judson’s children did not perceive her as the enemy. His crush on her was as obvious as the sun that warmed the mountain hollows, and just as sustain- ing.
Grateful for the warm reception, Carrie ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately. With a smile so like his fa- ther’s, he tugged firmly on her heart.
The walls of Cowboy’s private domain were covered with posters of horses and his own original artwork, the floor littered with video games, sports cards and West- ern Horseman magazines. A worn guitar was propped against the windowsill, and a live spider imprisoned in a jelly jar resided beside an artfully displayed arrange- ment of native arrowheads.
Never had Carrie felt so immediately at home as amid the eclectic clutter of this room. She felt like visiting royalty as a boy with shining eyes the same astounding shade of blue as his father’s shyly mumbled, “I’m glad you’re here.”
Wrapping his arms around his teacher’s waist, he em- phasized his sincerity by squeezing as hard as he could.
“Me, too,” Carrie replied, fighting back the tears that came unbidden to her eyes.
“Do you know where Brandy went?” she asked, forcing herself to focus on the crisis at hand.
“Out to the barn to saddle up Dolly. I told her
it was too late to go riding, but she never listens to me.”
It was getting dark outside. If Brandy got it into her head to take off, it would be almost impossible to track her down. There had to be a million places on a ranch this size for a cagey twelve-year-old to hide.
“I’ve got to catch her,” she told Cowboy, hurrying from the room.
“You’ll be back?” he asked. “Won’t you?”
Carrie stopped in midstride. “I promise.”
Her heart swelled with affection for the child whose wide eyes reflected the fear that she might vanish with- out a trace—just like the mother he never knew. For a long time Carrie had known that what she felt for Jud- son’s children was more than just teacherly concern. Since that fateful first day of school, she had felt con- nected to the twins on some deeper level. Brandy, with her hot temper, and Cowboy, with his spontaneous friendliness, had somehow instantly gotten under her skin—just like their father.
Other than complete abandonment to loving the whole darn family, Carrie could think of no other cure for this extraordinary malady.
Brandy was putting her foot in the stirrup when Car- rie walked into the barn. It was apparent from her red- rimmed eyes and puffy face that she had been crying.
“Whadda you want?” Brandy muttered, pulling her- self into the saddle.
“Just to talk to you.”
“Why don’t you save it for my dad? Maybe that conk on the head made him forget about what happened the last time he trusted one of your kind. It’s already made him forget about his family.”
Her angry tone was underscored by the quivering of her lower lip. Carrie felt her heart constrict in empathy. To any twelve-year-old the possibility of losing her fa- ther to an accident—or another woman—would be overwhelming. To one already abandoned by her mother, it would be tantamount to the end of the world. After a lifetime of having her father to herself, it was inevitable that Brandy would feel betrayed about him becoming romantically involved.
The Cowboy Who Broke the Mold Page 14
