Wild Cat and the Marine

by Jade Taylor

  She might have liked Rebeka more, if the teen queen hadn’t claimed Jackson as her private property from elementary school all the way through high school. Until the last three months of their senior year, the two had appeared to be joined at the hip.

  Jackson looked curious. “Did he loan your dad money or something?”

  “Not exactly. He bought a very expensive colt from us. Burt sells horses, hunters mostly, in Virginia and he liked the looks of the colt well enough to pay a darn good price for it.”

  “But your father inherited that property. How could he need money that bad?” He frowned, swiping his hand across his forehead where beads of sweat had formed. “Sorry, Cat. That’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “I don’t mind. The farm had a major mortgage on it when Aunt Johanna died, so it wasn’t free and clear when Dad inherited it. Then Gary Jansen needed help and Dad cosigned a note when his wife was in the hospital with cancer. After she died, Gary gave up. The bank took over his farm and he couldn’t pay us back.”

  Jackson looked disapproving. “That’s too bad, Cat. Your dad shouldn’t have cosigned for him. Not if he had to put the farm up for security.”

  His selfishness disturbed Cat. If this was the real Jackson, then she’d wasted a lot of years wanting him. Her tone more caustic than she intended it to be, she said, “It may not have been the practical thing to do, but my father wasn’t famous for practicality, you know.”

  Jackson protested, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Just that he shouldn’t have risked the farm. I’ve helped friends before.”

  An unbidden chuckle escaped from Cat. “I can imagine what a footloose, carefree guy like you considers ‘helping a friend.’ With a ten-spot for the bar?”

  Jackson’s expression became stony. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”

  Bitterness that he’d have no way of understanding colored her answer. Bitterness and piled-up, long-buried resentment. “You’ve been gone a long time, Jackson. I don’t think of you at all.”

  It had been her choice not to tell him, but the resentment didn’t disappear. Apparently, Jackson didn’t know how to answer her hostility. He stared out the window, watching an endless field of corn stalks slide past the truck. The sharp line of his jaw stood out against the sun-splashed window. No flicker of regret showed in his face.

  Another mile to his father’s farm. Cat’s feelings, always inconsistent where this man was concerned, softened in sympathy. What had happened wasn’t his fault, or at the very least, it was as much her doing as his. Now, forced by circumstances beyond his control, he had to return to a lifestyle and a town he hated. Nine years hadn’t changed the way Jackson Gray felt about sugar beets, hogs, cows and Engerville, North Dakota.

  Cat couldn’t be a part of making him stay. She couldn’t tell him, now or ever. The pain of not telling replaced the fear of telling. A chill settled in her chest, spreading icy hurt to every part of her body.

  WHEN THE TRUCK ROLLED to a stop in his father’s front yard, Jackson hesitated before opening the door. Cat’s attitude puzzled him. He’d felt a rush of joy when he’d seen her across the street, like a missing part of him had suddenly been found.

  He’d been stunned by the changes in her. Skinny teenager had morphed into a delightfully curved woman. Gawky adolescence left so far behind it was like looking at a different person. Different, yet the same. She still had the world’s most stubborn chin. She definitely had the same gemstone eyes, but the green was deeper now. The same wide mouth, though the lower lip had a pouty fullness that hadn’t been there in high school. Or if it had been, he didn’t remember it. Jackson was sure he’d have remembered.

  Cat still wore the jade necklace her mother had given her before she left and she still clutched the necklace when emotion got the better of her. Cat had always hoped that her parent’s separation wasn’t final. It was too bad her mother’s accidental drowning years ago had destroyed any chance of reconciliation.

  The jade beads, as green as her eyes, curved around her slender throat. The pendant, an uneven circle, lay in the vee of her shirt opening, though now her skin gleamed a darker shade against the soft denim. Her breasts made his hands itch. He reacted like a pimply teenager all over again. That part was exactly the same. He shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench seat.

  The companionable catching up on hometown news and old friends hadn’t happened as he’d thought it would. Still, he and Rebeka, along with Roy Thoreson and Cat, had been closer than best friends, so whatever caused her glacial manner couldn’t be his doing.

  “I’ll stop by in a few days,” he offered, just to be polite. “I’d like to talk to you and catch up on everything. I’ve missed all the people I knew.” He paused, then continued. “I never hated anybody here, just slopping the hogs, plowing the fields, planting ten million potatoes and picking corn worms.”

  She nodded, her gaze focused on something he couldn’t see.

  “Is that okay?” he prompted.

  Jackson studied her as she took too long to reply. Her eyes flashed green fire. Her tawny complexion reflected hours in the sun. Her blue denim shirt, though faded and obviously old, set off her straight black hair as well as the finest silk might. The color of her hair had changed, too, he realized. It used to be inky black, falling down her back. Now it seemed a shade lighter, with more texture and fullness. She wore it in a single plait, with dusky strands falling loose around her face. Her lower lip, full and sexy, disappeared for a second beneath strong white teeth. Desire shook him.

  “Of course it’s okay.” Cat glanced at him, her face reflecting nothing.

  He struggled to remember what he’d asked. She’d taken so long over her answer that he’d lost his concentration. Why had she hesitated? “It’s been a while. I’m not butting in, am I?”

  The provocative lips widened in a delicious, pensive smile, though her answer still sounded reluctant. “Not at all. I’ll show you RugRat.”

  “RugRat?” He tried to shift his gaze and couldn’t. Had she always been this incredibly desirable? Was that why she haunted his dreams?

  Enthusiasm brightened her mood. “He’s our three-year-old thoroughbred-quarterhorse cross. One of six we’re working with now, but Dad thought Ruggie could pay for the ranch all by himself. He’s a rogue, and I’m not having much luck reforming him. Even so, I think I can get a decent price for him from Burt. He’ll be worth more, if I can get him calmed a bit.”

  “I’ll look forward to seeing your devil horse.” Hoping to see that grin again, he smiled to show he was kidding. She stared straight ahead. “Okay, then. I’ll be seeing you.”

  Jackson watched her pull the truck out of the driveway and onto the gravel road. Why did Cat seem glad to see him one minute and angry the next? He waved, but she didn’t look back.

  Behind him the house waited like a dark cloud ready to descend on him. He could put it off no longer. He swung around to face old memories.

  The shabby farmhouse, two stories high, surrounded by weathered barns and outbuildings, hid behind a huge maple tree. The wild roses his mother had planted covered the back side of the barn.

  The acrid smell of manure and wheatstraw rode the cool breeze. Off to the right, new corn plants broke through dark soil. The sugar beets would be in the far field this year. He pictured his father atop the green and yellow tractor, the muffled roar of its engine shattering the quiet. Though he dreaded seeing him, the remembered picture brought him a sense of security he hadn’t felt since he’d left Engerville. A cot in the barracks wasn’t much of a home, certainly not one that could replace this familiar farmhouse.

  A broken rope dangled from the barn’s loft door. He and Cassidy had swung from it and then jumped to land in a pile of hay below. It could have been the same rope or another just like the one they’d used. Wooden rocking chairs and a porch swing with peeling white paint still sat on the front veranda where they’d gathered in the late evenings to listen to Pop playing his
guitar and singing country songs.

  It was still the place he’d escaped from. No matter how nostalgic he felt on seeing it again, the wide fields still marched in furrowed rows to the horizon, interrupted only by tall pine windbreaks. Faintly, he heard the high-pitched squeal of a hog coming from the distant barn. If he closed his eyes, he’d be able to smell the stink from here. He shuddered. There was nothing he hated more than pigs.

  Jackson swung his gaze back to the house. Would he be welcome? Or would Pop stare at him coldly, wishing he’d stayed away as Jackson had vowed he would when he left his home that June morning. A moment of cowardice pierced him to the backbone. He thought about slinking away. Just heading to the road and loping back toward town. He might get a ride, after all, and it wasn’t so far, if he didn’t. Within a few hours he could be back on a Greyhound bus heading to Seattle, where the rest of his life awaited him with a new, exciting career.

  The moment of indecision faded as he realized he couldn’t leave. His father needed him, whether the stubborn old man wanted to acknowledge that fact or not. Too late, anyway. The front door opened and Cassidy stuck her head out and shouted in delight.

  “Jackson! You came! I knew you would. Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” Then she launched herself off the porch straight into his arms.

  Cassidy held on to him as if it had been centuries since they’d seen each other. It had only been a bit over a year. She’d invited him to Minneapolis to meet her new husband and to see his very new nephew. It had been a lot longer since he’d seen Pop. In nine years, he’d only come back once and that occasion had been his mother’s funeral. He’d arrived in town one day and left the next, hardly exchanging more than a cool hello with his grief-stricken father.

  “So how’s the old man?” he asked, finally setting Cass down. Her short height had given him an unfair advantage with her from the start. Now she looked up at him, a happy smile lighting her whole face.

  “He’s so much better, Jackson. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to come home, but, darn it, it’s way past time for you two to make up.”

  He gave her a freezing stare, which didn’t seem to bother her at all. “I’m certainly glad he’s recovered, but if this is your idea of a joke, getting me to come home on false pretenses… I can damn well tell you I don’t find it a bit funny.”

  Cass snorted. “Oh, cool it! I told you the exact truth. Pop is doing better, but he’s far from well. Very far. He’s out of danger and the doctor is happy with his progress, but the truth is, he’s still a long way from being back on his feet.”

  “Then what the hell are you trying to tell me? Is he hurt bad or not? Dammit, I’d like a straight answer.”

  “Don’t cuss at me, Jackson! I’m a mother, you know. Show a little respect!”

  He laughed. Her bright red hair and defiant stance couldn’t enhance her five feet, four inches much. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pointed her toward the door. “Inside, Cass. And while you’re leading the way, spit out a few answers about how Pop is going to treat me when we get there.”

  Twisting around, she glared back at him. “He’ll chew you up and spit out the pieces, Marine! For heaven’s sake, Jackson, what can he do to you? He’s practically chained to his bed.” She softened a tad. “He’ll be glad to see you. Don’t worry.”

  Easy for her to say. He and Pop had almost come to blows the morning he’d left, the day after the senior prom. He tried not to think about the cruel, callow things he’d said to Pop. Tried not to remember Pop’s reasoned, soft-spoken advice and the way he hadn’t lost his temper at all until Jackson had yelled at him. Jackson tried not to think about anything as he followed Cass inside his boyhood home.

  The rooms were cool and shadowed, a welcome change from the heat outside. Through the doorway into the kitchen, he saw an older woman, her back to him. Bertha Jean Gillis stood stiff and straight in a blue housedress and a large white apron, her Swedish blond hair plaited and wrapped in a coronet. She turned at their approach. An unusual sight to see the woman the whole town had nicknamed “Crabby” smiling at him, even if it was a brief wintry token of a smile not intended as a personal welcome.

  “I’m glad to see you, young man, and not one second too soon, either.” Her faded gray eyes snapped with concern.

  Before he could reply, she spoke again. “Will woke up a few minutes ago. Go on in and say hello.”

  For a single moment, time stood still. The faded kitchen linoleum butted against the worn cranberry carpet he stood on. The hardwood floor in the hall needed waxing. Then, time restarted. Two doors down the short hallway, the stern, older man waited.

  Jackson strode toward Pop’s room, trying to walk like a Marine, proud and confident, but feeling more like a little boy about to get his hiney tanned. He tapped on the open door. Tentatively, he spoke. “Hi, Pop.”

  “Is that you, boy?” the reply came back. “You’ve grown a foot, seems like. Cass said you’d come, but I guess I didn’t believe it.”

  Jackson’s heart jerked to his mouth. The worn-out old man lying in the bed his mother had died in looked as if he, too, were ready to cross over. Jackson tried to say something, but no words came out.

  The old man spoke again, his voice stronger. “I’m not dead yet, so quit looking at me that way. That damn black bull Bertie sold me just beat up on me some, out of pure hell, I guess.”

  “I’ve missed you, Pop,” Jackson said, and wondered why it had taken so long to get over his anger.

  The appallingly weak voice pleaded, “Son, I’ve waited a long time. Are you going to come over here and hug your old man or not?”

  Jackson stumbled toward the bed on weak legs, his heart beating so loud it sounded like the bass drum in a parade.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THAT NIGHT, Jackson donned a pair of pajama shorts and stretched out on the same bed he’d slept in as a boy. It must have shrunk, because his feet touched the tailboard. He turned off the bedside lamp and lay still for a few minutes, then restlessly sprang from the bed. At the window, he pushed aside the blue linen curtains. A few miles away, he could see the distant glow of lights from Catherine Darnell’s home.

  In the wintertime, those lights cast a yellow cone against rolling drifts of snow. Now the night swallowed them, so they were just small reminders that this wasn’t the only farm in Traill County, that he wasn’t really alone, that if he climbed out the window and started walking toward the lights, at the end of his journey he’d see a well-remembered face.

  He wouldn’t do that, of course. He couldn’t. Stopping by to see Cat, as he’d told her he would, simply wasn’t in the cards. Logic dictated that he stay away from her.

  Cat Darnell hadn’t been very friendly, anyway. She must be married, though he’d noticed she didn’t wear a ring. Not to Roy Thoreson, or she would have said so when they talked about him. He’d have to find a way to ask Pop. Casually, of course.

  He turned away from the window. No, hell, he couldn’t do that. He didn’t need the complications she would bring and as he remembered the pink fullness of her lower lip, he knew there’d be complications. He’d do what he came to do and then get the hell out of Engerville. Christmas and maybe a week in the summer, he could come back and see Pop. Jackson thought he wouldn’t mind coming back on visits that much, now that he and Pop had come to terms.

  He lay on the bed again, thinking. Inevitably, his mind returned to that long-ago prom night. The memory came back to him as if it had happened yesterday. Cat in his arms, her face lit by a bright spring moon, the rose corsage she wore crushed beneath the lapels of his formal sport coat.

  He groaned, his body stiff and hurting, not from the protracted bus trip, but because, on that long-ago night, Cat’s shy smile had soothed the hurt Rebeka caused. And Cat was the first girl he’d ever made love to.

  CAT LOOKED IN ON Joey. Her daughter had fallen asleep almost immediately. She lay on her side, knees tucked up against her tummy like a small baby. Her hair all tangled and curled, swirled o
ver the pillow and half covered her face. Cat wanted to go in and touch her, tuck the covers more securely around her, but Joey slept light. Cat blew a kiss toward her and pulled the door shut, taking care that its closing made no sound.

  She turned on the TV, but tonight Jackson filled her mind. She ignored the flickering light and thought about prom night and Jackson leaving town the next day, how her father reacted when she told him she was pregnant, and being in the hospital all alone. Her father had refused to come with her. Shame, she knew, though an unmarried mother was no great novelty, even in Engerville.

  She remembered her first drug-hazy look at the infant she’d brought into the world, her relief that the baby’s hair was as black as her own and her disappointment that it wasn’t the same beautiful red as Jackson’s. She remembered wondering if he would know, by some kind of mental empathy, that he had a child.

  Restless, she went to the door, looked back at Joey’s room for a second, then stepped outside. A clear moon shone down. Aunt Johanna’s lilacs scented the night. Cat missed her aunt. She missed her father, too, but he’d been a strict parent, often reminding her that her wild mother had run away from husband and child. Only Aunt Johanna had bothered to show Cat that love motivated her discipline.

  From the barn, a questioning whicker came from one of the horses. Probably Ruggie, she thought. The troublesome colt was always alert.

  The bank wasn’t happy about waiting until September for their money. They might even foreclose, though Greg Lundstrom had said he’d see what he could do. Where would she go then? Maybe if the yearling colt her father bought a year ago hadn’t had the bad luck to step in a gopher hole and break his leg, they’d have a horse ready to sell now. One whose price would make the mortgage payment for a year and take this load of worry off her shoulders.