“As for the rest of the trial, on top of everything else, because I hadn’t been able to get my car fixed in time to pick up Mandy the next day, that was used against me at the hearing too. I’d telephoned, of course, to explain the delay, but Edna testified that I just never showed up. ‘But what could you expect from a tramp like that one, coming from the kind of family she does!’ That’s what she said, with that righteous smirk of hers. And Judge Joyner just nodded his head like he of course agreed with every single word she said.”
“So Edna and Ervil were at the hearing?”
Jamie stared blankly across the valley—and across the two years, back to an orange-carpeted courtroom with wooden chairs, and the blue and gold state flag at one side of the judge and the American flag at the other.
“You bet Edna and Ervil were there. They were called as witnesses, too, and of course they had plenty to say about my family and my background, and how they never did approve of Ray’s marrying me and how they were prepared—right in a minute!—to look after Mandy every day while Ray went to work and that way they could save her from my wicked influence and see to it that she was set on the path of righteousness.”
The sarcasm of Jamie’s little laugh was only paint-thin over her profound humiliation and loss.
“The judge really liked what Edna said. Around here, churchgoing carries a lot of weight, and when Ray’s lawyer questioned me, I had to admit that I hadn’t had much religious upbringing.” She picked up some pebbles and tossed them at her little pile of twigs. “The judge didn’t like my kind of work, either. Hell, he didn’t like the idea of a mother doing any kind of work. He had plenty to say about how I was ‘contributing to the instability of the home environment and creating an unsuitable role model.’ He said he didn’t hold with all these ‘working mothers’—the way he said it you’d think it was an obscene expression—and as far as he was concerned, a woman’s place was at home with her children and for sure not doing work that only men should be doing, like road construction.”
She peered at Cal, trying to guess at his reaction, but his face was in the deep shadow of his Stetson and the pale illumination revealed only a few small highlights of cheekbone set above the more deeply shadowed planes of his face.
What am I doing? Why am I telling him all this?
But she plunged on.
“The truth was, if I had won custody of Mandy—well, I couldn’t have provided much for her. There was surely no way I could have let her live in the same house with my dad. You saw that house. You can probably guess how he is. I can handle my dad all right, but you don’t want to be around him when he’s had a few drinks. I couldn’t have admitted it in court, but back then, I really didn’t know how I was going to manage, what with having to work and all.”
She picked up a long stick that lay close to her feet and as she talked she slowly stripped the dry bark down its sides, leaving only a reedy wand of green to be torn apart by her nervous fingernails. Suddenly she snapped the remnants of the stick into several pieces and tossed them away from her onto the dusty soil.
“Looking back, I realize I was just so scared. Now, I know, I’d have found a way. It wouldn’t have been easy, but I’d have found a way.”
“What about your husband knocking you around? Didn’t the judge react to that?”
“My lawyer tried to get in some testimony about that. He called Tina to the stand, of course, and she just lied. Said she’d gone to the trailer just to help Ray take care of Mandy because I stayed out so late, and she said she’d seen how I threw things at him and attacked him. And would you believe, that stupid judge believed her? He said that he didn’t see where Ray had done anything wrong. That Ray had been justified in hitting me because he’d been ‘highly provoked.’ That’s what he said. ‘Highly provoked!’
“So the judge decided I had demonstrated an improper moral standard and I was unfit to be Mandy’s mother. Ray got to have custody of her, which meant, of course, that in reality, Edna and Ervil got to have custody of her, which was what they wanted from the beginning.”
Cal was pinching his lower lip.
“There’s one thing I don’t get,” he said. “Why didn’t Fletcher just let you go earlier, as soon as the desk clerk left? If he wasn’t going to force anything on you, and only needed for you to be seen coming in with him. Why did he come on to you at all?”
“I’ve thought about that lots ever since. If he just needed to delay me, there were plenty of ways he could have done it. So at first I figured he just wanted to have a little fun being mean to me, scaring me. But then I realized, the plan was slicker than that. They wanted to be sure I didn’t mention anything about being with him, like to the guys on the crew, for example. They knew that if he really scared me, roughed me up even a little, then I’d shut up about him—it can be hard for women to talk about things like that. And especially me, what with the hearing coming up soon. So when it came out in court, they’d made it look like I’d been sleeping around secretly.” She put a hand over her eyes and turned her head away, fighting to shut it all out, fighting not to cry again. “And every bit of it worked!”
Then suddenly, Jamie was sorry.
Sorry and angry.
Furious with herself—for having opened it all up to be seen by a man who had just appeared out of nowhere and was completely unknown to her. Like a kid, as if she’d learned nothing at all, she’d been pouring out all her secrets. She had trusted a stranger with the whole ugly mess of her life. And now, she had no way to take it all back.
He’s not talking. Of course he’s not talking. What can he say? ‘Gee, you must be a jerk, getting into a mess like that.’ Or maybe ‘What a slut—like mother, like daughter.’
Look how I just rode with him right up here into the canyon—a guy I just met tonight, a complete stranger. Jamie, don’t you ever learn anything?
A sudden wind sliced through the canyon, a cold draft that blew through the trees and bent the top branches so they waved like silhouetted warning signals, black against the moonlit sky. She stiffened up, making her back as straight as a fence post, crossing her arms over her chest, clutching herself tightly.
“I’m getting cold,” she said. “I want to go home now.”
Chapter Five
Jamie was wrong about Cal’s thoughts. He understood easily enough the hell she’d been living with. He understood she’d been handled too roughly and that her feelings were on a hair trigger. He understood why she had learned to protect herself by drawing high fortress walls around herself.
But Lord, she looks so picture-pretty in the moonlight. It’s hard to be close and not touch that wonderful hair. Just a touch—not more. Just an arm around her to pull her close, hold her safe.
But he had seen how she stiffened when he’d put the shirt around her shoulders. And from the beginning he had seen the angry, inward expression of her eyes. He remembered a lesson he’d learned, back when he was a kid. His dad had made a mistake that time by hiring Jack Lyman to break the new string of young horses. There had been this one pretty palomino filly, and Lyman, who had a harsh way with animals, had done everything wrong with that palomino. Used the wrong bit, the wrong spurs, and finally the fool had taken a club to her. She’d been a strong, high-spirited animal to start with, full of spunk, but not a thing mean about her. When Jack Lyman finished with her, she was tough and unwilling, always looking for a fight. They never were able to gentle her down after that.
And this girl’s the same. She’s already been handled too rough. Isn’t going to take much more to ruin her for good. One thing is certain, she sure as hell doesn’t need another sonofabitch in her life.
He’d seen how tense she was, her tight little form almost quivering there next to him, her breathing coming shallow and quick as she told her story. He lifted his hand and, meaning to reassure her, let it rest as lightly as possible on her hair. He felt the silkiness against his fingertips and, unable to resist the pleasure of that touch, he stroked gently dow
n her sleek, flaxen hair, starting a shiver in the palm of his hand that spread through his body.
Instantly, Jamie stood up from the rock, getting away from him. “Don’t do that! Please! Don’t do that!”
He stood up, too, with his hand lifted away from her, where she could see it, not touching her. “I just thought-I mean”—he fumbled for the right words—“I mean it’s been so rough for you, and I just wanted—”
“I don’t want to hear about it. I just want to go home. Take me home. Right now.”
He heard the panic in her voice. He heard how scared she was.
“Sure thing, Jamie.” Cal kept his voice as soothing as he could. “I’ll drive you back right now. No problem.”
She was already heading for the truck.
Jesus, Cal. Take it easy. Don’t move so fast. Let her calm down.
He waited a moment where he was, giving her a chance to put some distance between them, and then followed her to the truck.
You knew she’d spook. Couldn’t keep your hand to yourself, could you?
Even as he whipped himself, Cal knew the answer. No, he hadn’t kept his hand to himself. Like it had a mind of its own. But if ever a woman needed comfort and support, some plain old tender loving care, he could see that Jamie Sundstrom was that woman.
She had already climbed onto the front seat of the truck and was waiting tensely, her legs drawn tightly together, her hands clutched fiercely in her lap, the white hard hat set on the seat next to her, a barrier between them. He was silent as he drove down the canyon, letting her be alone with her own thoughts and her own feelings. It wasn’t until he’d driven into the ragged driveway in front of her house, overgrown with scruffy weeds, and she had opened the door, apparently eager to leave him quickly, that he turned to her.
“Wait a minute, Jamie.”
She paused, her right hand on the door handle, her left holding her hard hat. Cal got out on his side and quickly came around the front of the truck. He held the door open and put out his hand to help her as she stepped down.
She hesitated, the confusion of her feelings showing clearly in her eyes, and when she accepted the gesture, it plainly made her nervous. But she let him help her out of the truck and when her feet were on firm ground, her hand remained in his, and she let it stay there. The moon was high above them now, making Jamie’s face glow pale and silver in the dark, and her glistening eyes, full of the moon’s reflection, at first tried to avoid his, looking once to her right, back up the canyon road, and then left, over his shoulder, to the cedar trees down by the highway. But then she let herself look into Cal’s face—and she knew he wanted to kiss her. In her head, warning sirens were screaming at her and she was too tense to let herself ignore its message. She made no move, her eyes remained wide open, fixed on him, and Cal felt the tension of her hand in his. He held it for only a moment more as he spoke to her, as gently as he could. “Jamie. I’m not going to hurt you.” He took his hand from hers and stepped back. Instantly, like a freed animal, she went past him. Without a word, she went directly into the house, letting the frayed screen door slam shut behind her.
Cal watched her until she disappeared into the house.
He resettled his hat forward on his head,
If ever there was a woman needed some tender, loving care . . .
He got back into the truck, and headed south across the valley, back to Harvey’s ranch.
* * *
The door slammed behind her and, out of an old habit, she made her usual quick check of the front room, first thing always as she entered the old house. To her left, in the front room, the television was on, the sound turned low. Her father was on the sofa, his shoes off, his bare feet up on one arm of the couch. His head was turned toward the TV but he was sound asleep and snoring loosely.
At least he hasn’t burned the place down . . .
But this time she only half paid attention; her thoughts were elsewhere.
She went into the front room but didn’t even consider waking him. He preferred sleeping downstairs; he needed the companionship of the background sound and the flickering light. A half dozen or so empty beer cans were scattered on the wooden floor and she gathered them up, not bothering to wipe the spilled drops. Long ago, there’d been a flowered rug there, but it had become so stained and frayed she’d finally got rid of it and he had never noticed. Another can lay wedged between his hip and the back of the couch and there were wet splotches on his pants and on the dirty cushion. She reached over him, pulled out the can, and tucked it into the crook of her arm, along with the others. She carried them outside, at the back of the kitchen, put them down on the dirt, stamped hard on each one to flatten it, and then tossed them all onto the pile that was already there. At the end of the month, she would throw them all onto the bed of the old pickup and cart them away.
Back in the kitchen, she poured a glass of milk and slowly drank it all, standing in front of the open refrigerator, illuminated only by its interior light. Then she washed out the glass, dried it and put it back into the glass-fronted cabinet, and went upstairs to take that shower.
The hot water was a blessing. It stripped away the accumulated grime of the day and worked its magic, letting her tensions ease, her anxieties settle down. As she relaxed, her mind went back over this strange evening, so full of surprises. Beginning with O.D. Fletcher appearing out of nowhere, like a recurring nightmare. And the cowboy who had come to her rescue, also out of nowhere.
Cal Cameron.
With her eyes closed, she remembered the look of him there in the canyon, while she’d waited for him to join her in the truck. He’d stood quietly in the cool light, silhouetted against the great boulders and the jagged firs. Like some mountain animal himself, like the sleek elk that foraged in the hills. Or like the lion that preyed on the gentle deer. His lean body had that same primitive, natural strength and patience, a kind of supple, easy, elemental grace. She opened her eyes, embarrassed, frightened by the confused direction of her feelings.
Cal’s touch, as gentle as it was when he held her hand, had frightened her. But now, away from him, she dared to know that her response was more complicated than fear alone, and she was stunned to realize she’d also, at the same time, felt safe with him.
A lifetime of shielding herself against the aching need to be loved had made her unwilling—perhaps unable—to accept this new sensation. His hand on her hair, she could still feel it, warm, comforting. No, more than comforting.
She scrubbed impatiently at her neck and around the back of her shoulders.
Nothing but trouble. It always turns out to be nothing but trouble.
She lathered up the cloth again and rubbed it over her breasts and down her stomach, the smooth skin of her torso a pale contrast against the deep tan of her shoulders. As the rough cloth passed over her exposed body, the image of Cal, standing on the rock, his sleek form lit by the moonlight, was there again in her imagination.
No!
She closed her eyes.
Why would this one be any different?
She tried so hard to force her thoughts away from him, but she remembered how he’d looked, earlier tonight, when he’d walked away from her across the dance floor, those long legs in the tight jeans and the plain boots . . .
Plain old shitkicker boots, nothing special about that, just what everyone else wears.
She turned off the water and stood motionless for a long time, aware of the hunger that cried through all her body. She tried to tell herself it was only the hot water, the strong soap, the rough cloth. Or maybe fatigue.
And I’d been afraid of the cougar! As though that big cat would have hurt me. It’s not mountain lions you have to worry about.
She stepped out onto the mat and wrapped a towel around herself. In the dry desert air, cool in the evenings, it was hardly necessary to rub herself dry, the moisture on her skin would evaporate quickly. She walked down the hall to her bedroom, leaving a faint trail of wet footprints behind her on the ro
ugh wood floor.
A glimpse into her bedroom would have uncovered Jamie’s best-kept secret. Though her manner had been made hard and tough—rough around the edges and increasingly sharp-tongued, a protective shell to keep her safe—in this room could be seen the truer side of her personality. A peek over her bare, damp shoulder would reveal much more of the real girl.
There was little furniture in the room, but Jamie had done what she could with it. It was as clean as frequent dusting and sweeping could make it. There were two windows, one looking south, toward the town, the other facing the mountains to the east, where each morning the coming day announced itself. Ruffled curtains hung at the windows and spread on the twin bed, a matching bedspread. Jamie had bought the curtains and the bedspread when she was fifteen years old, after saving up what she could out of paychecks from her first job down at the Gas’n’ Goodies, down by the Chevron station. It had seemed to her then to be a big deal and very grown-up, picking out the first linens to decorate her room. She had driven up to the Kmart in Spicer’s Wells and had spent a couple of hours in maddening, sweet indecision, going through all the stacks of linens in the housewares section. Carefully, she matched this one with that, mixing colors, holding up one colorful package after another, walking away down the aisle and coming back again. Finally she had decided on the set with the soft blue flowers on a peach background, all trimmed with a peach-colored eyelet ruffle.
There was also a small dressing table in the room, set in front of the southern window, and on it she had put a mirror she’d found in the attic, in an old trunk. The mirror had a wooden frame, carved into a wreath of flowers and ribbons, a treasure brought from Sweden long ago by one of her great-great-grandmothers. There were other items on the table, pretty things she’d acquired from time to time. A glass candlestick held a peach-colored candle and next to it was a round bottle of perfume she’d bought in Janssen’s drug store in Butcher’s Fork. She liked to touch the perfume behind her ears before she went to bed, and sometimes, after dark, her only light would be from the candle, and she’d sit at that table and try to see beyond the mountains that rimmed the valley all around.
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