by Naomi Horton
She was going to miss him, she thought suddenly. Maybe as much as Jett himself, she was going to miss this lanky kid with the loopy grin and his father's eyes.
Smiling, she got the box of his favorite cereal out of the cupboard and took it and a bowl over to him. "So? How long are you going to keep me in suspense? You told me your teacher promised to grade your civics paper yesterday."
"I passed." He said it with an offhand shrug, dumping cereal into the bowl. Then he dug a wad of folded paper out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her. "I done okay, I guess."
Kathleen unfolded the paper, then gave a whoop of delight. "Ninety-four? Now that is more like it."
"Passed that snap algebra quiz on Monday, too," he said with a grin. "I guess all that homework you made me—" He stopped, spoon poised halfway to his mouth.
Kathleen glanced around just as Jett stepped into the kitchen. He paused, looking at the two of them; then his face went all shuttered and grim, and he strode by them to take the truck keys down from the hook by the door. "I'll drive you home."
She nearly told him to forget it, not relishing having to sit in the truck with him for the half hour it would take to get to The Oaks. Then she realized she was being silly and nodded, dredging up a smile for Jody. "You take care of yourself."
She stepped by Jett as he pushed the door open for her. He followed her to the truck without saying a word, their feet crunching through the light frost on the grass. He opened the truck door for her, and she got in, ignoring his helping hand, and he slammed the door shut on her heels, mouth tight, hat brim pulled low as he went around to the driver's side and got in beside her.
The truck was ice-cold, and Kathleen turned her jacket collar up and shoved her hands into her pockets, trying to get warm until the heater kicked in. "I could have called Gord."
"We have to talk."
"I think we've said all there is to say."
He slammed the truck into gear and accelerated out of the yard too fast, fishtailing on wet grass and gravel. "We haven't even scratched the surface."
"Which is just the way you like it, isn't it." He didn't reply or even look at her, and she gave a snort of laughter. "This is exactly what happened sixteen years ago! We had a great time together back then, too, as long as it was just sex. But the minute I got pregnant and it looked serious, you were out of the chute and down the road."
His profile was like jagged steel, and she could see a muscle ripple along his jaw.
"I'd love to know how Pam ever got a saddle on you. She must have come up on your blind side."
"That's not the way it was." His voice was low. Almost quiet. "Nothing back then was what it seemed."
"You've sure got that right. Believe it or not, I had figured that out by myself."
"You haven't figured out a damned thing," he said gratingly, eyes narrowed on the road. "Maybe that's what I was hoping for. Maybe that's why I kept throwing you and Jody together, hoping you'd finally sort it out yourself and I wouldn't have to tell you. I'd sit there and watch the two of you and tell myself it would all work out. That one day you'd look at him and all the pieces would fall into place and you'd just … know. Instinct or something."
"Jody?" Kathleen looked at him, thoroughly confused. "What's this got to do with Jody?"
"Everything." The one word fell between them, crisp and quiet, like the first flakes of snow. "He—" Jett clenched his jaw. "I should have told you right off, I know that. But the longer I waited, the harder it got, and—"
"Just say it! What's Jody got to do with us? With me?"
He shook his head disbelievingly. "You really don't have a clue, do you? Your sister-in-law figured it out in about thirty seconds flat, though I'm damn sure that bullheaded brother of yours hasn't, or I'd be history."
"Figured what out!"
"Don't you ever look in a mirror?"
It was making no sense, Kathleen thought dizzily. Now he was talking about mirrors, and it made no sense at all.
"He's your son, Kathy," Jett said in a soft voice. "Jody is your son."
She heard the words, but they could have been in some alien language for all the sense they made. She stared at Jett, then made a rough attempt at laughter. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"Your baby didn't die, Kathy. Our baby. He didn't die like they told you."
It was impossible, of course. Some bizarre joke, although she'd never known him to be deliberately cruel before. "Why … why are you saying that?" Her voice was almost childlike in its hurt bewilderment. "Why would you say a thing like that, Jett?"
He slammed his hands against the steering wheel. "Damn it, I didn't want to tell you like this. I wanted—"
"He … didn't die?"
She turned in the seat to face him, the words still making no sense. He was talking about something else, obviously. About someone else. Not about her. Not about her baby…
"No." She wet her lips and took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. "No, that's not true. My baby died. You—you're wrong. Mistaken." She wanted him to stop frightening her. She didn't want to be hurt again. Not like this.
"Damn it, Kathy," he said roughly. "He didn't die. It was all a lie your old man concocted. They adopted him out—your dad and your uncle. Except the adoption fell through and—"
But Kathleen wasn't listening. Had stopped listening deliberately, not knowing why he was doing this to her, but knowing for certain that she wasn't going to put up with it.
Memories flew through her mind. The sound of a baby's high-pitched cry, then her own voice, an echoing cry of pain and grief. Waking in the night, drunk on tranquilizers, her breasts full of milk and aching. Crying out for the child no one ever brought.
"Kathy, we have to talk about—"
"No." She reached for the door handle, feeling suddenly smothered and frantic to get out, knowing if she stayed even another minute she was going to start screaming or crying or hammering at the windows like a frenzied moth. "I don't know why you're doing this to me, but I want out." The tears caught her so unexpectedly that she nearly choked on them, and she pulled blindly on the handle. "Stop the truck!"
"What the hell are you doing!" Jett caught her by the upper arm and pulled her back against him roughly. She started to fight him, but he managed to hang on to her somehow, swearing as he swerved the truck onto the shoulder of the road, dust flying, and managed to bring it to a gear-grinding stop. "Are you crazy?"
"Let go of me!" Kathy wrenched free of his grasp and was out the door in the next instant.
Swearing ferociously, Jett threw his door open and went after her, catching her in a few long strides. He caught her by the arm and swung her around to face him. "Kathy, this isn't—"
"Don't touch me!"
Her fist hit his cheekbone, and he gave a grunt of pain and grabbed both her arms. Then he more or less force-marched her back to the truck, ignoring her enraged threats of what was going to happen to him if he didn't let go of her, plus some profane suggestions of what he could do after he did let go of her.
And that was when he saw the police car. It had eased in behind the pickup like a cruising shark, and he swore almost as colorfully as Kathy was doing as the driver's door opened and Sheriff Carmody got out, looking like he meant business.
Then he recognized Jett and broke into a lazy grin. "Got yourself a little woman trouble, Jett?" Kathy was still swearing a blue streak and trying to pry her arm out of Jett's grip, and Carmody watched her, looking amused. "Didn't your daddy ever tell you never to promise 'em anything you might not want to deliver on, son?"
"I want him arrested!" Kathy wrenched free finally, eyes flashing. "I want you to lock him up and—"
Carmody scratched the back of his neck. "Well, ma'am, it ain't as easy as that. I need something to arrest him for."
"I'll give you something to arrest him for," she all but shouted. "Kidnapping and lying and fraud and—"
Jett took his hat off and wiped his forehead with his arm. "Do me a fa
vor, Buck, and take Miss Patterson home, would you?"
"Patterson?" Carmody looked at her with renewed interest.
"That's right," Jett said. "Old man Patterson's daughter."
Carmody gave a low whistle. "She drunk?"
"Just mad as hell. She … she's had some unsettling news."
"I want you to arrest this man," Kathy said heatedly. "Now!"
Carmody didn't look amused, and Jett dredged up a grim smile. "Get her home, Buck. Give her a couple of hours to cool off, and if she still wants you to arrest me—well, you know where I live. I'm not goin' anywhere."
Carmody nodded thoughtfully. "No, I don't suppose you are. You go on home and don't worry about it. I'll take care of her. Miz Patterson?" He turned to Kathy. "Why don't I take you home, and you can tell me what's on your mind?"
* * *
She was still crying hours later. It didn't seem possible that she could hold so many tears. But maybe no more impossible than any of it.
Jody. Jody was her son.
As she had a thousand times, Kathleen tried to grasp the words in her mind, to force them to make sense. But they kept refusing to take shape, slipping away from her even as she tried to comprehend them. It wasn't possible, she kept thinking over and over, wanting to believe, not daring to.
And yet…
And yet. Nothing was impossible when it came to her father. Not even a lie this monstrous.
And in the end, it was that—knowing her father, knowing what he was capable of—that made it all seem possible after all.
Jody. What was it Jett had said? Don't you ever look in a mirror? Yet Jody didn't look anything like her. He was his father's son, that wild Kendrick blood unmistakable.
She thought of that first time she'd seen him, handsome and tall, and had felt her heart break a little. Thought of how endearing he was, how shy and awkward.
She drew a sob, trying to absorb the immensity of what was happening. Of the incredible gift she'd just been handed, wrapped in lies and deception. She had a child. A tall, good-looking boy of fifteen with a loopy grin and his father's eyes. A half-grown son who loved horses and rodeos and hated algebra and blushed when you teased him and even had a girlfriend worth learning to dance for.
Tears welled up, and she sobbed again, scrubbing at her cheeks with a wadded-up tissue. Until a few hours ago her life had been just ordinary. Yesterday she'd told Gord she was going to stay in Burnt River and had made an appointment with a Realtor to look at houses, then helped Sherry plan a birthday party for Chelsea. She'd bought shampoo at the drugstore and stopped by Vic's Café for lunch, and had made love with Jett half the night.
And now, in the span of a mere handful of hours, she'd become the mother of a fifteen-year-old boy.
She drew a shaky breath and wiped her eyes with the tissue again, then sat on the floor beside her bed. She had to stop crying. She couldn't think when she was crying like this. It was just shock, she knew that. Her mind's way of handling something too big to comprehend. But she felt drunk on tears, and now she just wanted them to stop.
There was a soft tap at the door, and she lifted her head, too exhausted to even tell whoever was out there to go away. The door opened, and she turned her face away from the shaft of light that speared the comforting darkness.
"Kathy?" It was Sherry's voice, soft with caution. "Honey, I brought you some hot tea and a bran muffin. You've got to eat something. You've been up here all day, and you've got to—oh, hell, what am I talking about?" Despair ran through her words, and she set a tray on the bed, then squatted beside Kathleen, looking forlorn. "Mother instinct—got a crisis, reach for the muffins."
Kathleen surprised herself by smiling. "Thanks." Her voice caught on just that one word, and she gave another sob.
"Oh, Kathy." Sherry slipped her arm around her shoulders and hugged her. "I should have told you. I should have made Gord believe me. I should have—"
"W-when did you find out?"
"I think I knew that first time you brought Jody out to the house. I'd seen him around town and had noticed how much he looks like Jett, but when I saw the two of you standing there side by side, I knew." She sat on the floor beside Kathleen, then grabbed a tissue from the box on the bed and blew her nose. "Gord thought I was imagining things. But it drove me crazy, and finally I just went out to the Kicking Horse and asked Jett straight out. He denied it, but I knew he was lying. But without proof, there was nothing I could do. I couldn't tell you my suspicions in case I was wrong, and—oh, brother! What a mess!"
Kathleen wiped tears from her cheeks. "How's Gord taking it?"
"He's pretty shaken up. He's talked to Jett. And—" Sherry paused. "And he called your uncle. Mac wants to come out here. To talk with you."
"MacKenzie Patterson is the last person I ever want to talk to." Kathleen felt a surge of anger at just the mention of her uncle's name, and she hung on to it, preferring it to the other things she was feeling. "He's the one who arranged the adoption in the first place. He helped my father give my baby away."
"You have to hear his side of it, Kathy," Sherry said softly. "You know what your dad was like—when he wanted something, he got it. And in the end, it was Mac who called Jett and told him about the baby. Without him, Jett would never have known."
"And me?" A sob ran through her angry words. "Why didn't he tell me?"
"You were fifteen, Kathy," Sherry said gently.
"Sixteen. By the time the baby was born, I was sixteen."
"Look, I'm not saying Mac made the right decision, not telling you, but I can see why he thought it was for the best."
Kathleen gave a short, angry laugh. "If there's one thing we've never had a shortage of in this family, it's people doing what's best. Best for my father. Best for the almighty Patterson name." She gave her cheeks an angry wipe with her hand. "Well, I'm through with it. I'm getting on a plane tomorrow, and I'm not getting off until I find a place where they've never even heard of Nelson Patterson. Then I'm changing my name to Smith, and I never want to hear of or from anyone in this family as long as I live!"
Sherry started laughing. "I wanted to do that right after I married Gord and your father took me aside to advise me what was expected of me, now that I was a Patterson. Gord thinks there might be a village somewhere in Mongolia where no one's heard of your father, but he won't guarantee it."
In spite of herself, Kathleen had to laugh. She pulled her knees up and braced her elbows on them, holding her aching head in her hands. "God, I hate him. How could he do that, Sherry? How could he give his own grandson away?"
"I don't know," Sherry said quietly. "I asked Gord the same thing, and he didn't know, either. I doubt we'll ever know."
"And Mom. I can't believe my own mother would—"
"I doubt she knew. According to Mac, the only people outside the hospital who knew the truth were him and your father."
"And Jett," Kathleen said coldly. "You forgot that Jett knew."
"And Jett." Sherry sighed. "Kathy—" She bit off whatever she'd been about to say, then got to her feet. "Try to get some of that tea and muffin down, okay? And Gord's really upset, Kathy. He needs to talk to you when you're up to it."
Kathleen nodded, a sudden wave of exhaustion washing through her. "I said some pretty awful things to him a while ago. Tell him I'm sorry, will you? I know he didn't have anything to do with it." She smiled wearily. "And thanks, Sherry. You must get awfully tired of holding this family together when we go into meltdown."
"You're all worth it." Sherry started to turn away, then saw something on the tray that made her smile. "Oh, Shaun asked me to give this to you." She squatted beside Kathleen again and tucked something into her lap. "He says he'd like it back sometime, but figures you need it more than he does right now. It's really good for crying on, he says."
Kathleen stared at the ragged little stuffed rabbit and felt her eyes fill. She sobbed and clutched the small soft thing against her chest, then started crying again, not even bothering to st
op the tears this time.
It was almost an hour later that someone rapped lightly on the door. Kathleen lifted her head from her arms and combed her tangled hair back with her fingers. "It's open, Gord."
The door opened, and someone came into the room. Then the door closed again, and the darkness dropped back around her like a blanket. It was his scent she recognized first, that familiar blend of hay and leather and horses, and she lifted her head slowly to look disbelievingly across the room.
She couldn't see him clearly in the shadows, but she knew it was him, though she could see only the outline of wide shoulders and a Stetson hat. He stood there like something carved, then reached up and pulled his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair, shifting his weight uneasily, like a stag scenting danger.
* * *
She knew he was looking at her, could sense his wariness, his caution. Then he swore in a soft, tired voice and squatted on his heels, hat dangling from his fingers, not looking at her.
Oddly, she discovered she wasn't half as angry as she would have expected. She didn't feel much of anything, in fact. "It's true, isn't it," she finally said, her voice as ragged as old cloth.
"Yeah." He took a deep breath and lifted his head. "Yeah, it's true." Wearily, he sat on the floor and leaned back against the closed door. "What have they told you?"
"Everything I need to know."
"Not everything." His voice was low and rough. "They gave him away, Kathy. Your old man and your uncle. Problem was, when the people who adopted him got a good look at him, they knew right off he had some buckskin in him somewhere. They'd paid for a white baby and sure as hell weren't going to settle for some half-breed, so they sent him back."
Kathleen didn't say anything. Couldn't imagine what she had left to say.
"When your uncle phoned to tell me he had a baby boy there with my name on the birth certificate, and did I want him, I thought it was some kind of joke."
"Your name wouldn't have been on the birth certificate," Kathleen said, wondering how many other lies she would catch him in. "I know my father. He would never have left a trail like that."
