by Janet Dailey
Leaving Phoenix felt like leaving a fortified base on a combat mission into hostile territory. The thought of the unknown, and all the things that could go wrong, was a fear he’d battled and conquered hundreds of times. But it never went away—not even here, in the good old USA.
Beside him, on the reclining passenger seat, Dusty was snoring like a bassoon. Jake wouldn’t have minded turning on the radio and getting some late-night music, but he didn’t want to wake the old man, who probably needed his rest. As it was, there was nothing to take his mind off what lay ahead.
Had he made the right decision, letting Dusty talk him into coming to the ranch? The longer he drove, the more doubts crept into his mind. If he’d stayed in jail and done his time, at least he could’ve walked away a free man—his own man. He could’ve left Flagstaff, found another job somewhere else, with nothing to tie him down. Now, it was as if he felt invisible walls closing around him.
It wasn’t too late, he reminded himself. He could pull off the freeway, park the Jeep in a safe place, like a busy service station, lock the keys inside and walk away. When Dusty woke up, he’d be gone. He’d pay back the money, of course—just drop the payments in the mail from different places. He was good at disappearing. By the time the old man tracked him down again, he’d be someplace else.
Someplace where nobody cared that he woke up from nightmares in a cold, shaking sweat, that he started at any sound that resembled a gunshot or explosion, or felt a welling panic every time he walked past a shadowed alley; someplace where nobody cared enough to be hurt by his outbursts of rage and terror. His demons were his own. He would deal with them in his own way. They were nobody else’s damn business.
The next off-ramp was coming up. There’d be a gas station or fast-food joint at the bottom. Could he do it? Jake’s pulse quickened as he steered into the exit lane.
He was heading down the ramp when Dusty woke with a snort, opened his eyes and sat up. “Are we there?” he asked, blinking in the glare of neon lights.
“We’re in Phoenix,” Jake said, knowing his chance for a quiet getaway was gone. “I was thinking I could use some coffee and a restroom. How about you?”
“Sounds good if you’ll let me buy this time.”
Jake thought of his almost-empty wallet. “Sure,” he said.
They pulled into a convenience store, used the men’s room and took their coffee back to the big SUV. “Want me to drive?” Dusty asked. “I’ve had a good rest.”
“I’m fine.” The last thing Jake wanted was to fall asleep and have one of his bad spells. “Tucson’s a straight shot from here, but you’ll have to give me directions to the ranch.”
“No problem. It’s easy enough. You’ve never been to the ranch, have you?”
“Nope.” Jake swung into the driver’s seat. “Wendy told me it was quite the hangout in its day. Movie stars and all.”
“It’s still pretty nice. I bulldozed the swimming pool when I retired from dude ranching. Too much upkeep. Now that Kira’s bringing those kids in, she’s wishing I’d kept the blasted thing.”
“How’s Kira doing, anyway?” Jake forced himself to ask. “Did she ever get married?”
“Nope. According to her, she’s too involved in her work to look for a man, or need one—not that I really believe her. Anyway, she’s got Paige for family. She’s done a fine job, raising that little girl of yours.”
Something clenched inside Jake at the thought of being around his daughter. And what about Kira? By now, Paige would be like her own child. She couldn’t be too happy about having the little girl’s father in the picture.
Hell, this was a bad idea. When Dusty showed up at the jail, he should’ve told the old man to mind his own business and walked right back into that cell.
“Does Kira know I was in jail?”
Dusty chuckled. “Nope. I told her you were working in a garage. Far as I’m concerned, that’ll be our secret.”
“And Paige? Does she know I’m coming?”
“Kira didn’t plan to tell her. She didn’t want Paige to be disappointed if you didn’t show up.”
“Then do this for me—and for her.” As soon as he spoke, Jake knew his idea was the only way. “Don’t tell her I’m her father. As far as Paige is concerned, I’m just a man you met who needed work.”
“You don’t think she’ll recognize you?”
Jake recalled the image he’d glimpsed in the mirror of the convenience store restroom—the bloodshot eyes and gaunt cheeks, the shaggy hair streaked with premature gray, the scruffy growth of beard on the lower part of his face. “She won’t recognize me,” he said.
“All right.” Dusty nodded. “For now, that’s not such a bad idea.”
“What about Kira? Will you make sure she knows about it?”
“I’ll tell her right off,” Dusty said.
“I have a feeling Kira won’t be overjoyed to see me.”
Dusty didn’t answer. He was looking out the side window, already watching the freeway signs for the exit to the ranch.
* * *
Kira untangled the covers from her legs, punched her pillow and, lying back, willed herself to drift into slumber. It was no use. She’d been awake most of the night, too agitated to sleep and too tired to get up. She wanted to be in top form for her students tomorrow. But if she didn’t get some decent rest, she’d be a stumbling, coffee-swilling wreck.
She’d closed her eyes and was doing her best to relax when she heard the familiar rumble of Dusty’s Jeep coming up the drive. She sat bolt upright. A glance at the bedside clock told her it was barely two in the morning. Her grandfather was back sooner than expected. Maybe he hadn’t found Jake after all.
Spurred by hope, she sprang out of bed, flung on her flannel bathrobe and shoved her feet into her leather-soled slippers. Headlights cast moving shadows through the window blinds as the Jeep pulled into the yard.
Kira rushed down the hall, through the living room and out onto the front porch. By then, the big vehicle had come to a stop, its engine and lights switched off. Lit by the risen moon, the doors on both sides were opening. Two people. Her heart plummeted.
The lanky figure climbing out of the near side was her grandfather. He moved wearily, his back and limbs stiffened from the long ride. Kira hurried down the steps to lend a supporting arm. She had just reached him when the driver came around the front of the Jeep.
Taller, even, than she remembered, he was dressed in ragged jeans and a denim jacket over a black T-shirt. His features were gaunt; his dark hair was in need of cutting; his body was all bones and sinew. But there could be no mistaking the defiant attitude he’d never lost. She was looking at Jake O’Reilly.
“Hello, Kira.” He’d paused a few steps away, one hand balancing the backpack that was slung over his broad shoulder. A haunted look flickered in his eyes. If she’d passed him on some city street, she might have assumed him to be homeless.
“Hello, Jake.” Her voice betrayed her unease. “I suppose you’ll want to see Paige, but she’s asleep right now. Tomorrow I’ll need time to prepare her. She wasn’t told you were coming. It might be a shock, especially . . .” She looked him up and down, leaving no doubt what she meant.
“Your grandfather has something to tell you, Kira,” Jake said. “Hear him out before you say any more.”
Dusty cleared his throat. “On the way here, we decided it would be best not to tell Paige that Jake’s her father. That’ll give her some time to get used to him, maybe even figure things out for herself. For now, he’ll just be a man we hired to do some maintenance around the place. Does that set all right with you?”
“It’s fine. Good idea.” Kira turned back to Jake. “Your cabin is the one on the far end. It’s unlocked and ready. The key’s on the dresser. If you’re hungry, you can help yourself to any leftovers in the fridge. Breakfast, if you want it, is at seven, or you can fix your own in the kitchen. I’ll let the cook know you’re here tomorrow, so she won’t be startled when you wa
lk in.”
“I’m not hungry now. Anything else?” His gaze narrowed. Kira realized she’d been talking in a nervous stream of words, none of them welcoming. But why should she be anything but honest? She wasn’t happy to have him here—this stranger who had the power to shake her world.
“I said, anything else?” He shifted on his feet, his voice edgy.
Kira shook her head.
“Then I guess I’ll turn in.” He shouldered his pack, walked away a few steps, then paused to look back at her grandfather. “Thanks, Dusty. I’ll do my best not to make you sorry.”
“I know you will, Jake. Now get some rest.” Dusty let Kira support his arm as they mounted the porch. A glance across the yard told her that Jake was already striding toward the cabin.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” she said. “I wish you’d left well enough alone.”
The old man crossed the threshold and waited for Kira to close the door behind them. “I know you do. But Jake gave up a happy life with his wife and child to fight for his country. Now he’s not only broken, he’s fallen through the cracks. A hero deserves better than what he’s gone through.”
“And Paige?”
“I know you want to protect her. So do I. But she doesn’t deserve to grow up wondering why her father didn’t care enough to be there for her. Bringing Jake here might turn out to be a mistake. But leaving well enough alone, as you say, could be an even bigger mistake.” He gave Kira’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Give it a chance. That’s all I’m asking. Now go back to sleep. Things won’t look so bad in the morning, you’ll see.”
Kira returned her grandfather’s hug, trudged back to her room and crawled into bed. The old man believed he was doing the right thing, she told herself. But it was as if he’d brought home a wounded wolf he’d rescued from a trap and asked her to take it in.
She wasn’t entirely heartless. She would do her best to help Jake feel at ease here. But she wouldn’t lower her guard with him—especially where Paige was concerned. And she would keep her students at a distance from him. She’d seen her share of PTSD in her training. She knew the symptoms—depression, sleeplessness, bursts of anger, sudden flashbacks—and she knew they didn’t just go away. Until he proved otherwise, she’d have to assume that, whatever his intentions, Jake O’Reilly was a troubled man. She couldn’t afford to trust him.
* * *
The cabin was more luxurious than Jake had expected, with floors of red Mexican tile, arched doorways and a bathroom with a shower spacious enough for a Hollywood-style orgy. The massive bed, with its cushiony mattress and hand-carved headboard, beckoned to his weary bones. But he wanted to get clean before he slid between those pricey-looking sheets.
The walls were decorated with signed photos of the old-time movie stars who’d stayed there—John Wayne, Audie Murphy, Ann Sheridan, Maureen O’Hara—probably filming their Western movies in Old Tucson and the surrounding desert.
One thing for sure—this place was a far cry from the jail where he’d spent the past two weeks, and he wasn’t about to complain. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped into the shower and lathered up with the scented soap he found. Rinsed, toweled and smelling like a damned Victorian flower garden, he turned down the covers and rolled into bed.
Bone-weary after the long drive, he’d expected to fall asleep as soon as his head settled onto the downy pillow. Instead he lay there with his eyes open, staring up at the shadowed beams that crossed the ceiling.
Kira.
Some people didn’t change. She was much as he remembered her—tall and boyishly slim, light brown hair raked carelessly back from her face, and those cool, penetrating gray eyes that seemed to see right through him.
Tonight the look she gave him had felt like being stabbed with an icicle. And the way she’d machine-gunned those words at him, as if already laying down the law. . . . The woman wasn’t thrilled to have him here, and she’d made no effort to hide it.
“Kira needs you to forgive her for what happened. Maybe if you can do that, she’ll finally be able to forgive herself.”
The old man’s words came back to him, raising painful questions. Did he really blame Kira for the accident that had killed Wendy? A deeper question—did she have reason to blame herself?
True, it was a drunk driver who’d plowed into Kira’s car that night—a bastard who’d backed away and driven off with nothing more than a dented grill on the front of his big SUV. But what had Kira been doing out at one in the morning, in an unsavory part of town, with his wife and daughter in her car?
Maybe it was time he asked her.
But no, he hadn’t come here to confront anybody or open up old wounds. All he wanted was to keep his head down, earn enough to pay back what he owed Dusty and leave. The last thing he wanted was to get in Kira’s face.
Or in his daughter’s. Paige would be better off with a memory than with the reality of what her father had become.
His eyelids were growing heavy. He was drifting now. His awareness was clouding over, as if blurred by windswept sand....
The young girl was standing in the middle of the rutted road, right in the path of the armored Humvee. She appeared to be about fifteen, wearing a dark jacket, a long, loose cotton dress and a tangerine-colored scarf that wrapped her head, hiding her face except for her dark, expressive eyes.
The driver blasted his horn. The girl didn’t move.
“Should I stop, sir?” the driver asked.
“No, it could be a trap,” Jake heard himself answer. “Go slow. Honk again. Maybe she’ll move.”
Horn blasting, the massive vehicle lumbered closer. The girl stood fast, as if bolted to the spot. Ten feet. Five feet. There was a blur of movement, then a hellish burst of flame and sound. The driver slumped over the wheel. Blood splattered the broken windshield, inside and out. In the dead hush that followed, a tangerine scarf fluttered upward, riding a dust devil into the sky.
Jake woke, his jerking body drenched in sweat, his throat constricting in silent screams.
CHAPTER THREE
Raw-eyed and edgy after a sleepless night, Kira was up before dawn. On most mornings, she looked forward to a day with her students and the horses. But right now, she wasn’t ready to deal with seven impulsive teens, let alone Jake’s presence on the ranch. She needed to get outside, to move, to stretch her cramped muscles and calm her frayed nerves before facing the day.
Deciding on a walk instead of a ride, she pulled on a clean shirt, jeans and tennis shoes, splashed her face and brushed her teeth. After checking on Paige and her grandfather, and finding them both asleep, she stole out of the house.
The cabins were dark, the ranch yard quiet. The call of a passing crow and the subtle stirring of horses in the barn deepened the morning peace as she crossed the yard and passed under the high arch of the gate.
The moon was a fading crescent in the western sky, the sun barely streaking the east with the colors of dawn. The air was cool on Kira’s damp face. She closed her eyes a moment, filling her lungs with its freshness.
Cactus blossoms, still in bud yesterday morning, had unfolded into full bloom. The saguaros were crowned in white. Crimson clusters fluttered from the tips of ocotillo spears. A low hedgehog cactus bore flowers of blazing pink.
As she strode down the trail, Kira could feel her mind and body coming awake. She could always count on these desert mornings to freshen her spirit and prepare her for the day—and today, of all days, she would need to stay calm and positive. Whatever happened, she mustn’t let Jake’s presence distract her from her work.
Her path wound among stands of mesquite and paloverde and outcroppings of chunky rust-hued rock. Just ahead lay an open spot with a view. Kira was nearly there when she came around a bend in the trail and discovered she had company.
Seated on a flat boulder, gazing out over the valley, was the last man she wanted to be alone with today.
Tension shot through her body. She wheeled in her tracks,
hoping to slip back the way she’d come. But she was too late. Jake had already turned to look at her.
His startled expression froze, then hardened into something unreadable. “Good morning, Kira,” he said.
“Goodness, you’re up early!” she said, feeling awkward. “I was thinking you might want to sleep in, this morning.”
“I wasn’t that tired.” His gaze scanned the cactus-studded foothills as if searching for some hidden enemy before he glanced back at her. He looked as if he’d been awake all night, just as she had. “Feel free to sit if you want,” he said. “There’s room.”
“Thanks.” She lowered herself to the space on the boulder beside him. Maybe a little polite conversation would help to ease the tension. Her mind raced through a list of off-limits topics—Wendy, the accident, his war experiences, his PTSD, maybe even Paige. She would have to weigh every word.
“You’re up pretty early yourself.” He was wearing a faded brown tee, with what appeared to be a traditional Army Ranger tattoo just visible below the short sleeve.
“I like to start my morning with a little quiet time. It helps get me centered for the rest of the day, which can become pretty hectic.”
“Dusty told me you were working with kids.”
“We’ve got seven of them here, getting four weeks of therapy with the horses. Three girls and four boys. They’re not bad kids, or violent, just troubled.”
“Troubled?”
“Self-destructive behaviors, mostly. Or problems getting along with others. A lot of the kids who come here are depressed, some of them traumatized.”
“And I’m guessing they’re rich and spoiled.”
