by Naomi Horton
"Forget it," Jett said quietly. "Angel and Billy can take care of the fence. You're in bad enough shape as it is without getting mixed up with a bale of barbed wire."
"I said I'd do it," Jody muttered again, casting Jett a defiant look. "I'll be fine in a coupla days."
Jett bit back an impatient reply, taking a deep breath instead; then he released it, pretending to examine the shelf where Jody kept his rodeo trophies. There were more than he remembered.
"That arm needs some rest if you want it to heal right," he said mildly. He glanced around. "Besides, you can use the time to hit the books. Your civics teacher called me on Friday."
Jody winced. He turned away, trying to look unconcerned. "What's she on my case about now?"
"That essay project you haven't handed in yet, for one thing. She says it's worth half the year's mark, and she's willing to give you another couple of weeks to get it done. Asked me if you were having trouble with it." Jett kept his voice neutral. "I told her you hadn't said anything to me about it."
Another careless shrug. "It's just about government and law and stuff. I don't need to know about that stuff to ride broncs."
"Maybe not, but you need it to get into college." Jett heard the anger creeping into his voice in spite of his best efforts.
Jody gave him a defiant look. "I want to ride broncs for a living, not spend my life with my face in a book."
"No reason you can't do both. You can ride the college circuit and get an education, and maybe even pick up a scholarship or two." It was an old argument, and Jett could hear himself start into the same litany he'd been through a dozen times before. For a change, he decided to let it go. "You need a hand with that sling?"
Jody shook his head, dropping the strap of the sling around his neck and fumbling ineffectually with it with his one good hand. The skin around his lips whitened with pain.
Swallowing a smile—having been there himself more times than he liked to remember—Jett stepped across and expertly slipped the cradle of the sling around the cast. Then he tugged Jody's shirt closed and did up a couple of the buttons.
Jody mumbled something that sounded like thanks, looking suddenly awkward and very young, and Jett found himself wondering as he often did these days how the hell this tall, wary-eyed young stranger could possibly be his son. Another couple of inches and he would top out at six feet, although Jett could swear it had only been a handful of months ago that he'd been a scrawny kid scarcely belt-buckle high.
"They give you some painkillers when they set this arm?"
"Yeah. I took a couple in the car. Kathleen said I should," he added quickly, as though afraid Jett might think it had been his own idea.
Jett wondered what else she'd been saying. "The two of you seemed to hit it off pretty well. How did you happen to meet her?"
"I caught a ride with a trucker as far as Doomey's gas station down by Big Elk turnoff, and I was trying to hitch a ride home when she came in."
Jett frowned. It sounded plausible enough, at least on the surface. Until you remembered that Kathleen was a Patterson. And what was at stake.
She could have followed Jody all the way down to Silver Meadows. Could have stayed there all weekend, watching him. Waiting for a chance to make her move. Hell, maybe the whole thing had been planned. She might have hired that truck driver to take Jody as far as Doomey's and then come in a few minutes later to pick him up. They'd been in the car together for a good hour or more. More than enough time to tell him anything she wanted him to know.
"So, what did you talk about?"
"Nothin' much. You, mostly. Then I fell asleep."
Jett's gut tightened. "Me?" He struggled to keep his voice disinterested. "What did she say about me?"
"She just said she knew you from way back." Jody's mouth curved in a speculative smile. "You used to get it on with her back then, or something?" He said it jauntily, but Jett could read the uncertainty under it, as though he wasn't any too sure of his father's reaction.
And suddenly Jett felt weary and old. How long had it been since they'd joked around like this, relaxed and comfortable together? So long they were both out of practice, both rusty, both afraid of giving offense at every word.
"That's a hell of a question to ask your old man." He reached out to rumple Jody's tangled hair, ignoring a sudden rush of all-too-vivid memories of silken flesh and breath-caught whispers and that certain little shivery way she'd moaned his name at just the right moment. "I just wanted to know if she said … anything, that's all."
Jody ducked away, grin widening. "Nothin' incriminating, if that's what you mean."
"So she didn't say anything about me or your mother or anything?" He was pushing too hard, asking too many questions, Jett knew, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. The fear in his belly had turned hard and cold, and he tried to ignore it. Tried to pretend there was nothing behind his words but idle curiosity about a woman he'd once known.
Something shadowed Jody's face, and his smile faded. He dropped his gaze, shaking his head, apparently distracted by a loose button on his shirt. "I already said we didn't talk about nothin'. Why should she ask me about Mom?" He glanced up, eyes sullen again. "Did she know Mom?"
Jett paused just a heartbeat. "Yeah. She knew your mom." Which wasn't even a lie, he reminded himself, when you cut through all the complications and untruths and heartbreak.
He opened his mouth to say something to tease Jody back into laughter, then caught himself. The mood was broken. Jody had retreated into himself again, putting distance between them.
"Look, I, uh…" Frowning, Jett found himself wanting to say something, though he had no idea what. "I, uh, I'm glad you're all right," he finally said lamely.
Jody gave him a long, wary look. "I'm okay."
Jett stood there for an awkward moment, then nodded and headed for the door. Then he paused and looked back. "I never did ask how you made out. Before…" He nodded toward Jody's arm.
"I didn't do too bad." Jody said it carelessly, as though it didn't matter one way or another. But then he grinned. "Pretty good, actually. Got a seventy-six-point ride on Crop Duster."
Jett gave a quiet whistle, not having to pretend to be impressed. "That's one rank little horse. She's busted a lot of dreams in her day."
Jody beamed at the praise. "Then I drew Shameless Lady, a new horse brought in by some outfit down by Billings. She's only been rode once so far this year."
He paused expectantly, and Jett had to grin, feeling a jolt of the old excitement. It had been fifteen years since he'd tested his mettle against a wild bronc, but he could still feel the sweet rush of adrenaline at just the thought of sitting in the chute in those moments before the gate opened and all hell broke loose. "And?" he urged.
"I rode her." Jody's face lit up like a kid looking at a Christmas tree. "Seventy-nine points, and the announcer told everyone to keep an eye on me 'cause I was already ridin' like my grandpa, Wild Bill Kendrick. He mentioned you, too." Jody's face grew more serious, and he looked across the room at Jett, gaze steady. "He said you were one of the best anyone had ever seen. That you had the world by the tail when you just up and quit and never competed again."
Jody's voice and eyes were filled with questions Jett couldn't answer. He just shrugged, not wanting to think about it too much. "Guess I just had better things to do."
"Ain't nothin' better than rodeo," his son replied firmly.
"You look worn-out," Jett said quietly. "Why don't you catch some shut-eye before supper?"
Jody looked startled. "But I got chores to—"
"You can skip chores tonight." Jett gave him a faint smile, then turned and walked through the door. "Anyone who can get a seventy-six-point ride on a cyclone like Crop Duster deserves one night off."
"Hey … Dad?"
The hesitant voice caught Jett at the top of the stairs, and he paused and looked around.
Jody was sitting on the end of his bed, shoulders slumped, tugging at one of the buttons on his
shirt. "I…" He frowned, then looked up to meet Jett's gaze, gnawing the inside of his cheek. "I'm sorry for taking off like that. With no warning or nothin'. But I knew if I asked first, you'd say no, and we'd wind up arguin' and—"
He let his gaze slide away from Jett's, shrugging. "I figured it would just be easier, that's all. That if I did good and came back with some winnings, you'd…" Another shrug. "I just want you to be proud of me, that's all," he said in what was almost a whisper.
* * *
Chapter 3
« ^ »
Something caught in the back of Jett's throat so fiercely he had to fight for breath. His mind flung itself backward twenty years, and he was standing in front of Wild Bill Kendrick again, wanting nothing more in this world than to have him say how proud he was and how much he loved him…
"There's never been a day I haven't been proud of you."
"But you don't want me riding rodeo." Jody looked up, expression miserable. "You get mad when I—"
"I get mad when you sneak off without telling me where you're going," Jett said more roughly than he intended. Jody's face went sullen and closed off, and Jett swore at himself, at his impatience. "Let's talk about this later. Now isn't a good time."
"It never is," Jody muttered, kicking at the rug.
Jett eased his breath out noisily. Damn it, they should give you a manual when your first kid is born! You couldn't even buy a television set these days without getting fifty pages of instructions along with it, so how come kids came with nothing but a lot of high hopes?
He'd thought it would be easy, once. He'd figured all he would have to do was the opposite of what his father had done and everything would be great. And for a few years that had worked fine. Then, suddenly, he couldn't do anything right. Couldn't say a word that didn't have the opposite effect of what he'd intended.
"It's just that riding professional rodeo is a hell of a hard life, Jody. Maybe one out of a thousand cowboys actually makes enough to live on, and the rest—" Jett caught himself abruptly, having to laugh in spite of himself. "Damned if I don't sound just like Grandpop Kendrick! Now that's something I never thought I'd live to hear."
Jody didn't say anything, and after a moment Jett walked back to the bedroom door, hands shoved into the back pockets of his jeans. "When I was your age, Grandpop used to tan my hide for not gettin' my chores done. I'd sneak off to wherever the circuit was that weekend and get all busted up, then come creeping home, hoping to get past him. But I never did."
Jody still didn't say anything, but he was listening curiously.
"He'd start whalin' on me, yellin' that he wasn't going to stand by and let me turn into a rodeo bum like my old man." He grinned suddenly. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised you want to ride broncs. You're a Kendrick. Wild blood, Grandma called it. Swore we never got it from her side of the family."
Jody nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. "So he didn't want you riding at all?"
"Nope. He wanted me to settle down and help him with the ranch, the way his son—your grandfather—was supposed to. But Dad took off to ride the rodeo circuit when he was seventeen and never came back to the Kicking Horse except to visit now and again. When he was broke, mainly." Jett leaned one shoulder against the door frame, knowing Jody had a right to know all this but not liking the remembering it required.
"Even after you were born, he never came back?"
Jett's eyes narrowed, and he stared at the trophies lined up on the shelf across the room. "No."
"Not even to marry your ma?"
It would be easy to just say no and turn and walk away, leaving it at that, Jett thought. Jody wouldn't bring it up again. But there was no reason not to talk about it. And there wasn't a lot to tell.
"He never even knew her name," he said quietly. "She was just a pretty girl he'd met at a rodeo one weekend. I reckon he'd pretty much forgotten all about her until he came home one day and discovered she'd come around a couple of months earlier to drop off a little surprise package for him."
Jody smiled. "You."
"No one ever saw her or heard from her again," Jett said evenly. "All I know about her is what Dad could remember, and that wasn't much. Just that she was full-blooded Sioux, from somewhere in North Dakota."
Jody nodded slowly. "And she never came back to see how you were doing or nothin'? She never even wrote, just to make sure you was all right?"
Jett felt the muscles along his shoulders tense up and forced himself to relax. "No."
Jody met Jett's gaze, rock steady. "You'd think a mother would want to know what happened to her baby, wouldn't you?"
Jett stopped breathing for an instant, wondering what lay hidden behind the question. It was almost too casual. Too careless. He shrugged offhandedly. "You'd think so."
It seemed to satisfy the boy. He nodded again and got to his feet painfully, wincing as he put his weight down wrong and some bruised muscle he didn't even know he had complained bitterly.
"I'll bring the bottle of liniment up later and you can slap some on those sore muscles or you won't be able to get out of bed in the morning."
"Can't reach half of 'em," Jody muttered. "I've been throwed before, and I've even been stomped on before, but I don't ever remember nothin' hurtin' this bad before."
Jett found himself laughing without even meaning to. "Hell, this is just a taste of what it's like. If you're serious about riding rodeo, you'd better get used to hurtin' most of the time."
"I'm serious about ridin', I'm just having some second thoughts about the fallin' off part." Jody managed a painful, lopsided smile. "You got any tips about how to stay on more than you get throwed?"
Jett let his breath out, mouth half open to tell him that the best way not to get thrown was not to get on in the first place. But Jody didn't want to hear that. No more than he'd wanted to hear it when his father had told him the same thing.
"I don't know how much my advice is worth. It's been a long time since I threw my leg over a bronc for money and time." Jett intended to leave it at that, but Jody was watching him so hopefully that he felt his resolve crumbling even as he stood there. "Yeah, maybe I've got a tip or two I can pass on. But later. Right now you need rest more than advice. Mrs. Wells left fried chicken for supper. I'll give you a shout when it's ready."
* * *
It was twenty-six winding country miles from the Kicking Horse to the big house up on Deer Jump Road where she'd grown up, and Kathleen drove most of those miles lost in troubled thought. It was only when she swung the car around the last curve and the house loomed into view that she was finally able to shake off her confrontation with Jett, but even then, it was with an effort.
Here, too, the past was strong.
The Oaks. The pretentiousness of the name, of the house itself, didn't fit here in Montana ranch country. Her mother had seen a picture in a magazine and handed it to the architect, and The Oaks had been born. The massive, redbrick plantation manor sprawled across the hillside, looking as though an errant tornado had picked it up just outside Charleston and deposited it here, complete with six white pillars marching across the front.
Even now, it stank of money and privilege and power.
And memories.
Driving the last few hundred feet under the familiar archway of luxuriant oak and maple trees, Kathleen took a deep breath. She hadn't been back since her father's funeral nearly eighteen months ago, and she was surprised now at how little emotion she felt. Anticipation at seeing Gord and Sherry and the kids again, true, but under that there was nothing. No grief, no sadness, no fear. None of the turmoil she'd half expected.
He was gone, she found herself thinking calmly as she looked up at the house. The father she had warred with for most of her life was dead. There would be no more cold looks of disapproval. No more reproving silences. No more razor-edged critiques of her choices in colleges, clothes, careers, men. There was nothing here anymore except memories and maybe a few regrets here and there. Nothing she couldn't handle.
/> Maybe moving back to Burnt River wouldn't be that hard after all. When she'd called Gord a couple of months ago to tell him she'd quit her job with one of the top law firms in Baltimore, he'd promptly offered her a partnership. He'd spent the past two months trying to coax her into moving back here and finally, unemployed and at loose ends, not knowing what she wanted, she'd given in and agreed to come out for a couple of weeks to look things over. No promises, no commitments.
And here she was. Already up to her neck in a past she'd sworn to put behind her!
Smiling to herself—at herself—she pulled the car around to the side of the house and parked it under one of the huge oaks. Jett used to park under this same tree when he brought her home, usually well after her curfew. And here, out of sight, they would spend a fevered last few minutes trying to satiate themselves, drunk on sex and each other.
Once they'd even made love out here in silent, desperate urgency. She'd been wearing a full denim skirt, although by that time it was up around her waist somewhere, and finally, too far gone to even care if someone saw them, Jett had peeled her out of her panties and she'd been astride him in no time flat.
She could still remember his gratified groan as she'd settled over him and around him, how he'd let his head fall against the back of the truck seat, the sweet, salty taste of his hot skin as she'd kissed his throat.
Terrified of being discovered, already out of her mind from his all-too-skillful caresses, she'd let herself go that night, moving on him with utter abandon, desperate for the release she still only half understood and that eluded her most times.
But not this time. This time it had burst up and through her like a molten explosion, and Jett had reached up and pulled her mouth down over his and kissed her hard and deep to smother her outcry of pleasure. Then, laughing and breathless, he'd gripped her hips with his hands and moved like a stallion under her, wild, strong, whispering things that took her breath away. In only moments he arched his back and thrust hard and deep against her with an explosive groan, and then they'd collapsed in each other's arms, spent and dazed.
