by Sharon Sala
So they drove in silence. After a while Cat reclined her seat and slept, and he drove on through the morning.
It was a few minutes past one when he turned off the highway onto a blacktop road.
It was the change of sound and speed that woke Cat. She roused, looked out through the windshield, then struggled to sit up. Finally she remembered the lever beside the seat and shifted from reclining to upright, wincing as her injured muscles objected.
She glanced at Wilson. He was looking straight ahead.
“Are we there yet?”
It was the universal question that all traveling children asked that caught him by surprise. He looked at her, then smiled.
“Almost.”
She nodded, then began smoothing at her hair. Her stomach was a jumble of nerves, and her hands were shaking as she reached for the visor. She pulled it down so she could use the mirror on the back.
“I look like shit.”
Wilson figured that after everything else he’d gotten away with today, a lie would be asking too much.
“Yeah, you pretty much do,” he said.
She bit the side of her lip, then grinned reluctantly. “Well. Thank you. I feel so much better now.”
Wilson chuckled. “Honey…they all know you’ve been hurt.”
She eyed the bruising, then ran her fingers lightly over the healing cuts in her hairline. She turned her face slightly, eyeing the stitches on her cheek, then the ones below her ear, then felt the ones beneath her chin.
“What did you tell them about…about how I got this way?”
“Mom knows you’re a bounty hunter. She just assumed one of the perps you were after did it, which, in a way, is true.”
Cat nodded. “Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”
Wilson pulled her hand away from her face and held it. “Are you still mad at me?”
Cat sighed. “No.”
“It will be okay, I promise.”
She shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve never been dumped on strangers before. After Daddy was murdered, that’s the way I went through my childhood.”
Tears suddenly blurred Wilson’s vision. He blinked rapidly to clear it, then pulled her hand to his lips and kissed the bruised and skinned knuckles.
“I am so sorry. I never thought about it that way. I promise my parents will not treat you lightly.”
“It’s okay,” Cat said. “I’m guessing that I’ll know all your secrets before I leave.”
He frowned. “I don’t have any secrets from you.”
“Sure you do. Everyone has secrets.”
Wilson sighed. There was no use arguing. She was just going to have to live with people who trusted each other for a while before she got it.
A few minutes later they topped a rise. Wilson tapped on the brakes, then stopped. As always, the sight sent a wave of longing through him. This was his favorite place on earth. The roots that had bound him to this land as a child were still deep and thriving.
“There it is,” he said, pointing down into the valley below.
A spiral of smoke was trailing from the chimney of a white two-story farmhouse. There was an attached garage on the north side of the house and, of all things, a white picket fence around the yard. Several barns, sheds and corrals dotted the landscape around it, and Cat could see a large herd of cattle in the near pasture, gathered around a half-dozen large round bales of hay. It looked homey and welcoming, and she was surprised at how easily she could picture Wilson growing up in a place like this.
“What do you think?” Wilson asked.
“It looks good.” Then her voice wobbled with an emotion she wasn’t expecting. “It looks safe.”
Shattered by the honesty and innocence in her voice, Wilson had to swallow before he could speak.
“Jesus,” he said softly, then turned her hand over and kissed the middle of her palm. “You haven’t known safe very many times in your life, have you, baby?”
Cat pulled her hand away, then wadded her fists against her lap, trying to steady her emotions.
“I got by,” she said.
“Well, hell, Catherine. Sometimes it isn’t enough just to get by.”
At first she was puzzled by the anger in his voice, then realized it wasn’t aimed at her.
She shrugged. “I managed.”
“Well, now it’s my time to show you there’s a lot more to life than just getting by.”
She was struggling with how much to say without making an ass of herself when Wilson leaned over and kissed her on the mouth.
The touch was butterfly brief, but strong enough to go straight to her heart. Wilson loved her, and she was beginning to believe that could be a good thing. She just needed to learn how to trust enough to love him back.
He took his foot off the brake, and down the hill they went. By the time they drove into the yard, Cat’s heart was thumping wildly and her palms were sweating. This was a crossroads in her life like none she’d never come to before. Despite the way it had come about, Wilson McKay had just brought her home to meet his parents. The implications boggled her senses.
She was reaching for the door handle when the front door of the house suddenly swung inward. A woman emerged dressed in jeans and a sweater. Her hair was red with snowy-white streaks, and she was smiling as she hurried off the porch.
For a moment Cat froze, searching for Wilson in the woman’s face, but when her gaze finally centered on the woman’s mouth and she saw her smile, she shivered. That smile was wide and genuine, and aimed right at her.
“Oh, man,” Cat mumbled.
Wilson gave her hand a quick squeeze. “That’s Mom. Welcome home, honey.”
Then he got out, met the woman at the gate and gave her a big hug before the two of them headed for the truck. Wilson opened the door and reached for Cat’s hand.
“Cat, honey…this is my mom, Dorothy. Mom…this is Catherine.”
Cat smiled shakily. “Hello, ma’am. You can call me Cat.”
Dorothy McKay slid past Wilson and reached inside the truck. “And you can call me Dorothy. Lord, Lord, darlin’, look what they’ve done to you. Come in, come in. You must be tired and hungry. I’ve got soup and cornbread, and your room is all made up.”
Dorothy looked back at Wilson.
“Wilson Lee…don’t just stand there, bring her in.”
Wilson arched an eyebrow, then grinned. “I was just waiting for you to get out of the way.”
Dorothy thumped him on the arm.
“Don’t be a smart-ass, mister. Just do as you’re told.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and leaned inside the cab to help Cat get out as his mother ran ahead to hold the gate open.
Cat was smiling. He glared.
“Don’t say anything,” he muttered. “Just help me out here, before I get into more trouble than I’m already in.”
“She’s a superwoman, isn’t she?”
“She thinks so,” Wilson said. “None of us have ever had the guts to argue with her…including Dad. Now come on. Let’s get in out of the cold and have some of that soup. What do you say?”
“I say yes,” Cat said, and slid her arm around Wilson’s neck.
He put one arm around her shoulders and the other under her knees, and helped turn her so she could slide out of the truck. When her feet were firmly on the ground, he let her go.
“Are you steady on your feet? If you’re not, I can carry you.”
“I can move on my own, but since you’re here, I’ll just lean on you a little, okay?”
“You can lean on me all you want, Catherine. Never forget it.”
Cat took a step, then stifled a groan.
“Honey…?”
“I can do this,” Cat said. “It’s just going to take me a couple of minutes.”
“Take your time,” Dorothy called.
So they did. By the time they reached the front steps, Cat was trembling and out of breath, but she’d made it. Still leaning on Wilson’s ar
m, she walked up the steps and into the house. The warmth of the house was second only to the wonderful smells filling it.
“Man, Mom, that soup smells great,” Wilson said.
“Vegetable beef, your favorite,” she said, and then pointed down the hall. “Wilson, take Cat to the extra downstairs bedroom.” Then she smiled at Cat. “There are loads of empty bedrooms upstairs, as well, but I didn’t want you to have to negotiate stairs all day.” She patted Cat on the arm. “Honey, take your time. You have your own bathroom in there. If you don’t feel like sitting at the kitchen table, I can bring a tray of food to your room.”
“No, ma’am. I’ll eat at the table, thank you. Just give me a couple of minutes to wash up and I’ll be right there.”
“Call me Dorothy, remember?”
“Yes, and thank you again.”
Wilson offered his arm again. She grasped it firmly, leaning on him as they went.
“Come on, honey. Just a few feet more. I’ll bring your bags to the room while you’re washing up.”
She nodded, but her focus was on the hallway and the array of photos lining the walls. Baby pictures, then school pictures, of six children, three boys and three girls. Pictures of them at their proms. Pictures that she guessed were their senior photos taken for the school yearbook. And loads of pictures that had to do with sports and holidays.
She searched for Wilson’s face among them and then settled on the tallest one in a family grouping. His hair was short, dark and badly in need of a comb, and he was grinning widely as he held up a trophy while his brothers and sisters looked on.
“That’s you, isn’t it?” she said, pointing to the boy in the photo.
“Yeah. I had just won a punt, pass and kick contest. I think I was about ten or twelve at the time.”
“What’s a punt, pass and kick contest?”
Wilson looked at her and tried not to let his surprise show.
“Football, honey.”
“Oh. Never did get into it myself,” she said.
“You would have made a real pretty cheerleader,” he said.
Cat arched an eyebrow. “How sexist of you, Wilson.”
“Thank you. I try.”
Cat actually laughed, then winced and grabbed her ribs. “Oh, crap. It hurts too much to laugh.”
“So let’s get you to your room,” he said. “You can look at all of my great pictures later.”
Cat was still smiling when Wilson opened the door, but as soon as she stepped into the room, she froze.
The walls were covered in a wallpaper dotted with tiny bouquets of lilac. The curtains at the windows were creamy sheers that would make it appear sunshine was streaming in even when the day was gloomy. The bedspread fabric was a pale butter-yellow with thin lilac stripes, and there was a crocheted afghan folded across the bottom of the bed in a lilac shade the same color as the walls. The dark hardwood floors gleamed as if they’d just been polished, and the lamp beside her bed had little pompons on the shade that jiggled as she walked across the room.
“Oh, Wilson,” Cat said, and then sat down on the side of the bed and closed her eyes.
He sat down beside her, then put his arms around her shoulders.
“What’s wrong? Are you ill? I can—”
She clutched at his wrist. “No…no…it’s not that.”
She drew a slow, shuddering breath. “It’s just…when Daddy was still alive…my room was this color. It’s the last thing I had that was mine before I was swallowed up by the system.”
Wilson laid a hand on the back of her head, then pulled her close against his chest. She was trembling.
“So consider this karma, honey. Call this your full-circle moment for the day.”
Cat leaned within the shelter of his arms, letting herself feel his strength, accepting everything he was offering as a blessing and not an attempt at control.
“I guess we better not keep your mother waiting too long,” she said, and reluctantly stood.
“I’ll go get your bags,” Wilson said, and left her to get to the bathroom on her own.
By the time he came back carrying her things, she was sitting on the side of the bed again, this time staring out the windows. She looked up as he came in.
“There’s a man coming toward the house. Is that your dad?”
Wilson set down the suitcases and then glanced out.
“Yep, that’s him, Carter McKay.”
Cat watched the older man for a few moments, then looked up.
“You walk like him,” she offered.
“I act like him, too, which is why I’m in Dallas and he’s here.”
“You two don’t get along?”
Wilson smiled. “No, nothing like that. We’re just both hardheaded and, as long as Dad can take care of the place on his own, he’ll be doing it his way. Someday I’ll come back here. I promised him.”
Cat’s eyes widened. She kept staring at Wilson’s face, past the scar on his cheek, the hair always in need of a cut and that tiny gold loop in his ear, and tried to picture him on a ranch.
A pirate cowboy? Stranger things happened. Why not?
“Are you ready to eat a little?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He held out his hand. She reached for it. The action had been instinctive on his part, but it was a giant step toward trust for Catherine. Wilson led the way to the kitchen, where his mother had set out steaming bowls of vegetable beef soup and hot squares of yellow cornbread. She was at the counter slicing a fresh-baked pie.
“Umm, it smells good, Mom,” Wilson said.
“No, it smells fabulous,” Cat said.
Dorothy beamed. “Have a seat and dig in before it all gets cold.”
Wilson was helping Cat to her seat when the back door opened. The man who came in was tall and vibrant, bringing in the scent of cold air and alfalfa hay with him.
“Hey, boy! ’Bout time you got yourself down here.”
The older man hung his Stetson on a peg by the door, then crossed the floor in two steps and engulfed Wilson in a big hearty hug. Then he looked past Wilson to Cat. His smile stilled as his dark eyes swept her face, then took note of the way she held her body. His eyes narrowed sharply as he fixed Cat with a steely glare.
“I hope the bastard who did this to you didn’t get away.”
Cat flashed on the fire curling across Solomon Tutuola’s body.
“He didn’t go far,” Cat said, knowing by now he was probably six feet under.
“Good job, missy,” Carter said, then eyed Wilson carefully. “Good eyes, son,” he said softly, before turning to Cat and holding out his hand.
Cat didn’t hesitate as she slid her hand into his.
“Call me Carter. Welcome to our home, Catherine.”
Cat heard the truth in his voice, and another layer of nervousness disappeared.
“Don’t let me stop you,” Carter said. “Dorothy’s soup will stick to your ribs and get you fit in no time. Ya’ll get after that food while it’s good and hot, now.”
“Thank you,” Cat said.
“Don’t say thank you until you’ve tasted it,” Dorothy said, then giggled.
Cat sat quietly after that, eating her soup and listening to the banter between Wilson and his parents. She had vague memories of her parents being like this—before her mother’s death. After that, her father had changed. He was more serious, less likely to kid around, although she knew she was loved. But she’d forgotten it. She’d forgotten all of it—until now.
As she took a slow drink of iced tea, Wilson reached across the table, snagged a square of cornbread and buttered it lavishly before laying it on her plate. Then, without a word, he kept on talking to his dad about one neighbor who’d filed for bankruptcy and another who’d been arrested for growing marijuana on his place.
Cat stared at the cornbread, then up at Wilson, trying to remember the last time someone had prepared food for her, doing it for no other reason than to make sure she was comforted and comfortable.<
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She picked it up and took a bite, savoring the crunch of warm cornbread and the salty taste of melting butter. As she chewed, her gaze moved to Wilson again—and another piece of the armor around her heart fell away. All the while she was eating and listening, she was wondering if this was what love tasted like—warm, comforting, delicious on the tongue.
* * *
Cat was asleep in her bed. Wilson had changed clothes and was in the truck with his dad, checking on the cows.
Carter liked having his first son with him, but it had been a while since they’d been alone. Usually, when his children and grandchildren showed up, it was a riot of noise and food. And while he loved the noise that his big family brought with them, he also liked the one-on-one times he could occasionally catch with his sons.
“The place looks good, Dad,” Wilson said.
“Yeah. We’re doing all right,” Carter said, then turned down a narrow lane that led to the far pasture. “Tell me about your woman,” he said.
Wilson hesitated. He wouldn’t lie to his father, but at the same time, he didn’t intend to give away secrets.
“She’s a bounty hunter.”
“Hell, boy, I already knew that. Is she special?”
Wilson sighed. “Yeah.”
“Does she love you back?”
“I don’t know…. Sometimes I think so…sometimes I’m not so sure.”
“She’s been hurt before, hasn’t she?” Carter asked. “I saw that scar on her throat. That’s older than what she’s got now.”
“Her mother died in a car accident when she was six. Cat was with her. She survived. Then when she was…I think thirteen…a man broke into their home, cut her throat and stabbed her father to death in front of her, then left her to die. She spent the rest of her years in the welfare system.”
Carter shook his head. “Damn shame. That explains the shadows I saw in her eyes.”
“Yeah, that and then some,” Wilson said, and let it slide.
“So what are you going to do about her?” Carter asked.
“Get her well, then marry her.”
Carter grinned. “Congratulations, son. I think she’s a winner.”
