Sunrise Canyon

by Janet Dailey

  “The motorcycle’s gone.” He was out of breath. “That crazy kid’s taken it.”

  “Wouldn’t we have heard it start?” Kira asked.

  “He wouldn’t have started it here. Too loud. My guess is, he would’ve wheeled it out of the gate and partway down the road, then started it there. Come on.” He grabbed Kira’s arm, pulling her toward the vehicle shed where he’d parked her wagon, leaving the key under the floor mat. “The engine’s still tricky. With any luck, he won’t be able to start it.”

  “What if he can get it started? Does he know how to ride a motorcycle?” Kira asked.

  “He thinks he does. But that’s not the problem. The damned bike doesn’t have any brakes. There’s no way he can ride it down that road without crashing.”

  “Dear God . . . ,” Kira breathed a prayer.

  They’d almost reached the shed when a sound—distant but unmistakable—froze them in their tracks.

  It was the sudden cough and bellow of a big motorcycle engine.

  * * *

  “You drive, I’ll watch.” Jake sprang into the passenger side of Kira’s wagon, reached for the keys under the floor mat and thrust them into the ignition for her. The vehicle shot backward out of the shed, spitting gravel as Kira swung around and headed for the gate.

  “Can you hear anything?” she asked.

  Jake rolled down the window. From somewhere below, he could still hear the sputtering roar of the old engine being revved. He could only hope it would lose power and quit before the kid had a chance to put it in gear. He’d inspected the brakes just yesterday. The decades-old brake pads had disintegrated over time. Planning to order new ones, he’d removed them and thrown them in the trash. The motorcycle Mack had stolen had no brake function at all.

  The road from the ranch to the highway below was a series of hairpin curves with steep-sloping drop-offs below—no problem for a careful driver going at a safe speed. But for a crazy kid in the dark, who had no idea of the danger . . .

  Jake tried to blot the images from his mind—the mangled bodies of young men under his command, broken and bleeding, the desert dust settling over them. He could feel the adrenaline rising, shooting electric currents through his body. Muscles tensed, nerves pulsed.

  Kira was driving as fast as safely possible, headlights on high beam. From below, Jake could still hear the roar of the engine. But now, the pitch had changed. The bike wasn’t just revving. Oh, Lord, it was moving.

  He could tell Kira to drive even faster, or honk the horn. But the approaching vehicle might cause the boy to speed up. Panic surged through Jake’s body. Barring some miracle, when Mack came to a curve, unable to stop or slow down, he’d go flying off the road in a crash that nobody could survive.

  Jake listened as the bike gained distance. Then, suddenly, he realized he could no longer hear it. Kira glanced at him, her face pale and questioning. He shook his head. All they could do was keep going.

  As they came around the next bend, the headlights outlined a stocky figure standing next to the road. It was Mack.

  Kira pulled off the road, jumped out of the vehicle and ran to him. Fighting to control his emotions, Jake followed more slowly. Mack was bruised and scraped, his hands bloodied, his jeans and jacket ripped. His backpack hung from one shoulder. There was no sign of the motorcycle.

  “What happened?” Kira asked in a shaky voice.

  “I . . . fell off the bike,” he said. “Scraped myself pretty bad on the road.”

  “Where’s the bike now?” Jake demanded, reeling as waves of relief and anger washed over him.

  “Down . . . there.” Mack pointed to a nearby spot where the shoulder of the road dropped off a good seventy feet into a dry wash. There was a flashlight in Kira’s wagon. Jake found it, brought it back and directed the beam down off the roadside. Steve McQueen’s priceless vintage Indian motorcycle lay scattered on the rocks below, broken into so many pieces that it wouldn’t even be worth climbing down to pick them up.

  Jake strode back to the Outback and opened the back door. “Get in,” he ordered Mack. “Don’t you say another word.”

  Kira found a place to turn around, and they drove back up the road to the ranch. Jake was seething, his temper threatening to explode. Losing the bike was bad enough. But this fool boy, with no regard for safety, honesty or common sense, could have died tonight. He’d missed death by a stroke of fate— and he was probably too clueless to even realize how close he’d come.

  Jake remembered his third deployment and the nineteen-year-old corporal who’d snuck outside the wire one night to see a girl. Jake’s patrol had found his body the next morning, hacked to pieces in the most obscene way imaginable. It appeared that the young man had been alive through much of it. Such a hellish, senseless, stupid way to die—and for nothing.

  That image boiled to the surface, flooding Jake’s senses with bloodred heat as the wagon pulled into the yard and stopped short of the house. Clinging to his last thread of self-control, he opened the back door for Mack. The boy looked up at him and grinned.

  Something snapped. Jake was suddenly back in the combat zone, and he was screaming—screaming obscenities at the young corporal who’d died and at all the others who’d died on his watch—the brave ones, the stupid ones, he was seeing them all, the blood, the shattered bodies and missing limbs of the ones who would never be whole again. He cursed heaven. He cursed the foolish boy who’d almost died tonight—and would have died for nothing. Nothing.

  Now, at last, he could feel himself winding down, getting tired. He became aware of Kira, holding him from behind, wrapping him in her arms, and a white-faced Mack, cowering in terror against the side of the vehicle.

  Then, as he turned, he became aware of something else—a small figure in pink pajamas, standing speechless on the porch.

  * * *

  Holding him, Kira felt him break. He groaned, his body crumpling against her, and she knew it was because he’d seen Paige.

  “Get me out of here,” he muttered, his voice hoarse from screaming. With her arms still around him, she walked him to his cabin. By the time they reached the door, she could tell from his breathing that the worst of the episode had passed.

  “Don’t turn on the light,” he said. “Just go. I’ll be all right.”

  “You’re sure?” Her arms released him as he sank onto the edge of the bed.

  “You’re needed out there,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m just going to lie down.”

  “I’ll be back.” She moved to the door, half-afraid to leave him. But he was right. Paige was out there, as well as Mack, Brandon and any other students who might have awakened. She could only hope that Dusty and Consuelo, whose rooms were on the far side of the house, had slept through the racket.

  “Kira.” She heard his voice behind her and turned.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “God, I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. Rest, now.”

  She closed the door and hurried outside. Mack was still standing by the vehicle. The students, roused by the noise, were standing outside their doors as if uncertain what to do next.

  She took charge. “You, Mack, go in the house and wait. The rest of you, back to bed. Everything’s under control. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

  Kira gave the students a moment to disperse. Then she hurried onto the porch, lifted Paige in her arms and sat down with her in a chair. The little girl was calm, but her cheeks were wet with tears. Kira held her close, rocking her gently. “I’m sorry you had to see that, sweetheart. Remember what we talked about, how Mister Jake might get upset and imagine he was back in the war? That’s what happened to him tonight.”

  “I know,” Paige said. “Poor Mister Jake. He must have been so scared.”

  “Scared”: Kira had never thought of Jake’s affliction that way, but his daughter was right. At some level, he must have been terrified.

  “Will he be all right?” Paige asked.

  “I think so. Bu
t it could happen again.”

  “Can we help him?”

  Kira thought of Jake’s plan to tell Paige the truth tomorrow. Now that wasn’t likely to happen. “We can try to help him. But mostly he’ll have to help himself.” She stood, lowering Paige’s feet to the porch. “Come on. Let’s tuck you back in bed.”

  Mack was waiting in the darkened living room, slumped in a chair. Kira put Paige to bed, then returned to him. Jake’s wild tirade had taken all the fight out of the boy. He submitted meekly when Kira washed his skinned hands and applied antibiotic ointment to the abrasions. “Mack, I’m too tired and too angry to lecture you,” she said. “Since I can’t lock you up like a prisoner, I’m taking you back to your cabin to get some sleep. Leave again, and I’ll call the police and press charges for stealing the bike. Understand?”

  He nodded. Kira escorted him back across the yard to the cabin and saw him safely inside. She’d left the Outback parked, with the keys in the ignition. Now she took a few moments to put the vehicle in the shed and lock it. Then she went to check on Jake.

  When she opened the door, the room was quiet. Jake lay on the bed, sprawled in exhausted sleep. Kira covered him with a spare blanket, bent close and brushed a kiss on his forehead. Tomorrow, when he was rested, they would deal with what had happened and try to move on.

  She stepped outside again, closing the door behind her. In the sky, dark clouds hid the stars. Far to the west, sheet lightning flickered across the horizon.

  Inhaling the cool, fresh air, Kira walked back to the house. She was bone weary and emotionally drained. But with dawn so near, sleep would only make her groggy when she was facing what was sure to be a difficult day. She would make some coffee, maybe catch up on reading the professional journals she subscribed to or update the files on her computer. The quiet time would be welcome while it lasted. Morning would be here soon enough.

  * * *

  By seven that morning, the rain was pouring down in a steady drizzle. The soot-black clouds and rumbling thunder in the west gave warning that the weather would only get worse. Kira woke her students for chores and breakfast, then gave them free time to sleep, do schoolwork, read or play video games in the den.

  At seven forty-five, Paige wandered into Kira’s office, her shirt buttoned crooked and her shoelaces dragging. A chocolate milk mustache on her upper lip confirmed that she’d had her breakfast.

  “Where’s Mister Jake?” she asked. “Is he okay?”

  “He was tired last night. I didn’t want to wake him this morning. He’s probably still asleep.” But it wouldn’t hurt to go and look in on him, Kira thought. She needed to make sure he was all right.

  She rebuttoned Paige’s shirt and tied her shoes, then took her into the bathroom to wash her face and run a brush through her curls. She was about to go and check on Jake, when she heard the loud honking of a horn as a big red Cadillac pulled up to the porch. Mack’s father had arrived early to pick up his son.

  Heedless of the rain, Kira rushed outside. The beefy man at the wheel was in no mood for pleasantries. “Get my boy!” he growled through the open window. “You were supposed to fix the kid! Damned waste of time and money!”

  Mack was nowhere in sight. Kira found him playing games in the den. He had his rain jacket, but his pack was still in the cabin. “Go get it—hurry,” Kira ordered him. “Your father’s waiting.”

  Mack went to the cabin, but didn’t hurry. He returned, dragging his feet through the rain puddles and carrying his pack as if it weighed a hundred pounds. Kira had hoped for a final interview, to make sure the father understood why his son was being dismissed and how the boy might be helped. But given the man’s impatience, that wasn’t going to happen.

  Kira watched the Cadillac pull away through the rain with Mack inside. Fighting tears, she remembered each day of his time here, the struggles, the accomplishments, the rare moments of sweetness. He wasn’t a bad boy, just desperately unhappy; and in the end, she had failed to give him what he needed. She could only hope Mack would find the hidden spark inside him—that given time, he would outgrow his roots and become the man he was meant to be. But that was out of her hands now. She had done what she could for him, and it hadn’t been enough.

  By now, it was after eight—time she checked on Jake.

  Already wet, she sprinted across the yard to his cabin. The door was unlocked, as she’d left it. As she stepped inside, her heart dropped. The bed was neatly made, Jake’s pack and clothes missing from the room.

  Jake was gone.

  A folded sheet of guest stationery was tucked between the pillows. Her legs failing her, Kira sank onto the edge of the bed. Her hands shook as she unfolded the paper and began to read.

  Kira,

  I’m sorry, but after a long night of thinking, I know this is for the best. I will always love you and Paige. But it wouldn’t be fair to inflict my illness on people I care so deeply about. For your sake and mine, I’m moving on. Please tell Dusty that I haven’t forgotten what I owe him. As soon as I find a job somewhere, I’ll send monthly checks until he’s paid off.

  Thank you for making me part of your lives these past weeks. I will never forget you.

  Jake

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The rain was a steady downpour, but Jake was used to bad weather. Water sheeted off his hooded poncho as he trudged down the winding, graveled road toward the highway. Just ahead was the spot where the motorcycle had gone off the road. He passed it without looking down. It didn’t matter anymore. Whatever had happened last night was behind him. He’d learned not to look back.

  The red Cadillac had swerved around him, going downhill a few minutes ago, splashing him with muddy water as one wheel swished through a puddle. He’d recognized Mack in the passenger seat. At least the fool kid was alive. But Jake had known better than to try and thumb a ride. He’d be better off in the rain.

  He thought about Kira. By now, she would have discovered he was gone. He could almost picture her beautiful face as she read the letter he’d written.

  He forced back a rush of emotion. Leaving Kira and Paige had been like cutting off his arm. But it had to be for the best. Now that they’d seen the monster lurking inside him and heard the obscenities that poured out of his mouth, they wouldn’t want him on the ranch.

  Kira wouldn’t come after him, he knew. She had her pride, and she was smart enough to know that he mustn’t stay. Being around him wouldn’t be good for Paige. And what would happen to Kira’s practice if word got out that she had a crazed army vet working with her students?

  Lightning flashed across the sky. An earsplitting boom triggered more rain, pelting hard enough to sting. Jake had planned to walk down the three-mile road to the construction site and maybe get a ride into town with one of the workers when they finished their shift. But they wouldn’t be working in this weather. He’d have to hitchhike, or shelter in one of the open equipment sheds until the storm passed—nothing he hadn’t done before.

  Pausing, he turned and gazed uphill toward the ranch, now veiled by a gray curtain of rain. He was moving on, as he always did. But this time would be different. He would be leaving his heart behind.

  * * *

  Kira was soaked by the time she reached the front porch. The dog got up and greeted her, wagging his shaggy tail. She gave him a pat and hurried inside. Ignoring the students lounging by the fire in the living room, she rushed down the hall. Coming out of the dining room, Dusty gave her a startled look as she passed him.

  In her room, she toweled her hair, stripped off her wet cotton shirt and replaced it with a warm sweatshirt. Her damp jeans, she decided, would have to do for now. She would change them later.

  Jake’s letter was folded inside one hip pocket. She had taken it out, unfolded it and flattened it on the bed to dry. She soon heard a light tap on the door, followed by her grandfather’s voice. “Kira, are you all right?”

  She sighed. Sooner or later, Dusty would need to know everything. “Not really,” s
he said. “Come in and I’ll tell you about it.”

  Dusty walked in and closed the door behind him, leaving it ajar. “What’s the matter?” he asked, seeing her stricken face.

  “Jake’s left.” Kira forced herself to speak calmly.

  “On foot? In this rain?”

  “You know that wouldn’t stop him.”

  The old man sank down on the foot of the bed. “I was afraid something like that might happen,” he said.

  “Did you know he had an episode in the night?”

  “I heard it, all the commotion. I stayed in bed because I figured he didn’t need me for an audience. But it sounded pretty bad.”

  “It was. When he didn’t show up this morning, I went to check on him. His things were gone, and I found this on his bed.”

  She handed Dusty the letter. He read it, sadness creeping over his features. “Does Paige know yet?”

  “I haven’t told her. But she was there when he lost control. She saw and heard everything. I think that’s what really got to Jake. And I think that’s the reason he left.”

  “She still doesn’t know he’s her father?”

  “He was going to tell her today. Before all this happened, he’d told me he was planning to stay.”

  Dusty glanced at the letter again, then laid it on the bed. “Are you in love with him?”

  The question almost shattered her. She glanced away to hide a rush of painful emotion. “It doesn’t make any difference now, does it?”

  “It could still make a difference. Go after him. Bring him back so we can talk some sense into the man. He couldn’t have gotten far in this storm.”

  Could her grandfather be right? For an instant, hope flickered. But no, she knew better. Kira shook her head.

  “Jake’s a proud man. After what happened last night, he won’t come back. He wouldn’t—not even if I asked him to. Not even if I begged him. He’s gone—and all I can do is respect his decision.”