Clint was silent, apparently satisfied that Jubal seemed to appreciate the sunset at least.
“What else is there in Covenant Falls?” Jubal asked after several swallows of beer.
“We have a couple of great bars, including one that’s veteran-owned. We all get discounts and never get kicked out for being rowdy. There’s Monday night poker games. Horseback riding.” He glanced at Jubal. “You ride, don’t you? Didn’t you tell me you did some riding in Afghanistan?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t exactly pleasure riding. Those horses were ornery as hell.” He didn’t want to explain more, though the memory wasn’t all bad. Those horses had been ornery, all right, but he’d relished the challenge of riding over narrow mountain paths in the dark with some of the most ferocious warriors in the Middle East.
Clint stood. “I’ll go and let you get some rest. How about we hit that bar tomorrow night?”
He nodded. “I’ll probably head out the next day.”
Clint looked disappointed but nodded. “In the meantime, the fridge is loaded with food and beer. Help yourself. If you need anything, there’s a general store, grocery store and pharmacy in town. My phone numbers are next to the phone. The middle room is kind of a library. Feel free to take or add any books. Lastly, we do have internet. It’s slow but it usually works.”
Jubal stood, as well. He’d been damned unappreciative. He thrust his hand out and Clint took it in a tight grip. “Good to see you.”
“Likewise. I’d better warn you,” Clint said. “Neighbors might leave tins of cinnamon rolls or brownies on your doorstep.”
“And I have to be polite?”
Clint shrugged. “I was. Josh wasn’t. He scared the hell out of the first person who tried.”
“I think I would like Josh.”
“I know you would,” Clint said. “Get some rest, buddy. Call me if you need anything.”
Jubal watched Clint walk toward the side of the cabin before turning around the corner. He had changed. Become civilized.
Still, he was glad he came. He had done more talking this afternoon than he had since his return. But Clint was an old friend, a warrior, and the fact that he, too, was separated from the service he loved made talking easier. He was one of the few people who understood having a foundation ripped away.
He sank back down in the chair and mulled over the conversation. Three vets had occupied this cabin. All three were married or engaged or close to it. Covenant Falls was beginning to sound like a Venus fly trap. If that was what the town did to a warrior like Clint, then he—Jubal Pierce—didn’t belong there.
CHAPTER THREE
LISA REDDING WAS thinking along the same lines as she listened to Gordon and Kerry complain on the drive through Covenant Falls to their new home.
It had been a whirlwind four weeks. First came the professional problems. She couldn’t practice in Colorado or write prescriptions on her own without a Colorado medical license. She did qualify—she’d passed a nationally recognized exam, had thirty-six months of postgraduate training and numerous reference letters—but it would take the medical board sixty days or more to verify the information and check for malpractice problems.
She’d started the process immediately after returning to Chicago, and Dr. Bradley had assured her he had friends on the board and would do what he could to expedite the licensure. But there would be at least a month when he would have to be available to “supervise” and write prescriptions.
He assured her he could do that from his home, which was close to the clinic.
After that problem was managed, she told Kerry and Gordon they were moving.
“I’m not going,” Gordon announced. “I’ll bunk with someone here.”
“Think again,” she said. “In the first place, we’re moving to keep you out of juvenile detention. If you don’t go, you’ll violate your probation and go back to detention.” It had taken several weeks of heavy-duty bargaining with the juvenile court judge, caseworker and probation officer in cooperation with the Covenant Falls Police Department before Lisa received permission to take Gordon to Colorado.
Still, he would have to adhere to certain restrictions, including a curfew, no alcohol or drugs and regular school attendance. She had the impression that Chicago—and Illinois—was only too happy to shove a problem kid to another state.
“I don’t have to do what you say,” he retorted. “You aren’t even my real sister.” It was the same old comeback he always used.
“Regardless, I am your guardian and we are going,” she said, shutting him down while trying to hide the hurt she felt.
Kerry wasn’t any better. Upon hearing the news, she wailed, “You’re ruining my life. What about my friends? Just because Gordon did something dumb, I’m being punished.”
Kerry’s complaints grew even louder after she checked out Covenant Falls’s website. “It doesn’t even have a movie theater,” she whined, then went in her room and slammed the door. Woe of all woes.
Aunt Kay, though, was relieved. She’d been hoping to move in with her sister, who recently lost her husband. Now that Lisa would have the time to take care of her siblings, she could do so.
With Dr. Rainey’s help, Lisa leased the family home to the doctor who was replacing her at the hospital. He had a wife who also worked at the hospital. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. She would have someone responsible taking care of the house, and the couple had a partially furnished home near the hospital.
The drive to Covenant Falls had been a nightmare. She’d rented a U-Haul trailer for what little furniture they were taking. Several of her friends helped load it while Gordon stood by, glaring.
She’d hoped that on the long drive to Covenant Falls, Kerry and Gordon might become interested in the scenery and local history. They weren’t. They ignored her every effort to point out interesting landmarks. Both her siblings were stone-faced in the backseat. Gordon played with his phone, and Kerry’s nose was stuck in a book even though it made her carsick.
At least it was an improvement over Gordon’s bitter threats to run away and stay in Chicago. Only the knowledge that he might be sent to juvenile detention had kept him with her. But his resentment was like a poisonous haze in the car.
They reached Covenant Falls at noon on the second day, after an uncomfortable night at what she considered a “Bates” motel. Lisa drove directly to their house, parking in the driveway. She stepped out of the car and onto the porch. The key was under a flowerpot as promised.
Kerry left the car and joined her, looking around with a curiosity she obviously tried to downplay.
“We have a fenced yard,” Lisa said. “Maybe we can get that dog you’ve been wanting.”
Kerry’s face lit up. “Really?”
Lisa had planned to wait until they were settled to make the peace offering, but Kerry was too far under her brother’s angry influence. “I already asked if it would be okay. I think you’re old enough now to take care of one.”
A smile touched her sister’s blue eyes. “When?”
“In the next few days. I understand there’s a dog rescue group here, and they have adoptable pets.”
“Traitor.” Gordon had left the car and approached from behind. “Bought off by a dumb dog,” he said derisively to his sister.
Lisa spun around. “I’ve had enough, Gordon. We’re here because of you. You either shape up and stop making our lives miserable, or go back to jail in Chicago. Your choice!”
He looked startled, and Kerry looked scared. Lisa immediately regretted the words. She loved Kerry. Loved both of them. They were good kids, but they’d had one blow after another with the death of their parents.
“Come inside,” she told Gordon in a softer tone. “I’m not your enemy. I know I haven’t been around much, but I’m here now and I’m going t
o do everything I can to help you.”
It was a plea that didn’t change Gordon’s face. He shrugged. “As if I have a choice.”
“After getting your things put away inside, why don’t you take your bike and look around?” she suggested. “There’s a lakeside park, community center and ball fields less than a mile away. There’s also a drive-in in the same area.”
“I don’t have any money,” he complained.
She gave him ten dollars when he finished bringing in his stuff. “Be back at five p.m. for dinner, okay?”
He grunted something that she took as agreement.
It was better than nothing.
She only hoped it was a start. A new beginning in a house where memories and grief weren’t in every corner.
* * *
JUBAL JERKED AWAKE a little after midnight. Plagued by smothering nightmares, he preferred sleeping outside in the comfortable lounge chair to being confined by four walls.
He was stiff, but walked down to the lake. Moonlight painted the surface silver. The water was probably ice cold, but he doubted it was any colder than the frigid Pacific where he had done his SEAL training and where he had continued to swim whenever he returned to base.
He went back to the cabin and changed into his swimming trunks. He grabbed a towel and jogged out to the lake. There was no sign of life anywhere around him, and the lake water was clear and still.
He judged the water to be five feet deep at the end of the dock. He made a shallow dive and started swimming.
The contact was like an electric shock to his body that woke all his senses. His strokes grew stronger, and the chill subsided. He swam to the other side of the lake, relishing every stroke as he skimmed through the water. The exercise stimulated him and chased the ghosts from his head as he concentrated on each stroke.
When he returned to the dock, he easily lifted himself onto the planks. He shivered now he was out of the water, and jogged back to the cabin. After a hot shower, he still felt energized from the swim.
It was time to explore his new location. He planned to stay two or three days at the most, but exploring a new territory was second nature to him. He slipped on running shorts and a T-shirt.
Jubal stepped outside and started running. His vision was not as good as it once was, but there was enough moonlight that he could see as well as most civilians could during daylight.
He ignored the pain that persisted in his joints from months of beatings and near-starvation. He tried not to think about that time. It already haunted his dreams; he wouldn’t allow it to haunt his waking hours.
He started at a slow pace, then increased his speed. He’d studied the town from the mountain and memorized the street patterns. He intended to start making an outside circle of the town, then ever smaller circles until he ended up at the park.
There were several streetlights in that area. He noticed an obvious memorial but decided to check it out later. He ran north of Main Street, past what appeared to be the prestigious area of town. Most of the homes were brick two-story structures with either wraparound or broad front porches.
Then he turned east, ran through another residential neighborhood. Smaller homes, smaller lots, but all neat and well maintained. He continued eastward past larger lots and ranch houses, most with small stables or barns. He remembered Clint telling him the mayor owned horses.
He turned back toward the south. Then saw a police car following him. He stopped. Waited. A man running in the wee hours of the morning would, most likely, raise suspicions.
The car slowed. A young man poked his head out. “Mr. Pierce?”
Jubal nodded.
“Thought so. Just wanted to say welcome. I’m Cody Terrell if you need anything. Have a good run.” Then he sped ahead.
No questions about running half-naked in the middle of the night. News did get around fast. Of course, Clint was chief and probably spread the word. Jubal didn’t know whether he should be irritated or amused. He continued to run and hit the business district—if it could be called that.
He noted the doctor’s and veterinarian’s offices. There was a light on the second floor of the vet’s office. He passed a grocery and hardware store, then headed back toward the cabin. When he was four houses away, he noted movement on his dock. Not his dock, but the dock where he was currently staying. He glanced around. No parked cars. No lights in any of the nearby dwellings.
His training and instinct kept Jubal close to the trees as he approached the dock. He saw a flicker of light. A match. The figure was kneeling, and now he saw whoever it was kneeling over a pile of what looked like broken branches. The intruder was so involved in what he was doing he obviously didn’t see Jubal.
Jubal looked around. He sensed more than saw the slightest movement among the trees behind him. It was a skill that had saved his life more than once. He turned and spotted a second figure who wouldn’t make first grade in surveillance school.
Jubal heard a warning whistle from the lookout behind him before the figure took off down Lake Road.
Jubal didn’t wait any longer. The wood on the dock was dry. And as long as he was staying here, he was responsible. He ran toward the dock as the figure stood up. Tall. Slender. Young.
The figure on the dock was silhouetted against the lake like a deer in headlights. There was no place for him to go except the water, and Jubal knew how cold it was.
“Don’t even think about jumping in,” he shouted as he started down the dock. “I can swim better than you. And put out that damn fire. Kick the wood in the water.”
The boy—Jubal was sure he was a boy now—froze.
Jubal moved down the dock until he faced the culprit. “Do it,” he said.
“Do it yourself,” the boy replied heatedly. “No one lives here. None of your damn business.”
“I live here,” Jubal corrected him. “Now put out the fire.”
Defiance and bravado oozed from the boy as he stood his ground. “You gonna make me?”
Jubal noted the boy was probably sixteen or seventeen. And he was really pissing Jubal off now. He knew he probably didn’t look that threatening. He hadn’t regained the weight he once carried.
“You need to cool off, kid.” He flipped him into the water, then kicked the kindling off the other side of the dock, stomping out the few remaining sparks. The flames had never really caught. The kid knew nothing about starting fires. Nor, obviously, when to take a threat seriously.
The water came up to the kid’s nose even as his feet found the bottom. He struggled to breathe, lost his footing and went under. Jubal jumped in, lifted the kid onto his shoulders and carried him out of the water. The kid was shivering when he regained his footing.
“What’s your name?” Jubal demanded.
The kid hesitated and Jubal gave him a look that usually silenced arguments.
“Gordon,” the boy finally said.
“Well, Gordon, we are going to have a little discussion, unless you want me to call the cops right now.”
“No...no.”
Jubal marched the boy to the cabin and forced him inside. Both of them were dripping.
“Let go of me,” Gordon demanded.
“Will you run?”
There was no answer.
“At least you don’t lie,” Jubal said. He steered the kid into the bathroom. “There’s towels in the cabinet. Take a hot shower.”
“Then what?” Gordon asked.
“I’m not sure yet. Depends on whether you do as I tell you.”
“Who the hell are you, anyway? They said nobody lived here.”
“So that makes it okay to burn someone’s property?”
“It’s only a stupid dock.”
“Which cost money to build and maintain. What right do you have to destroy it?”
The kid looked down at the floor. “Whatever,” he mumbled.
“Take a hot shower,” Jubal said.
“You some kind of pervert?”
Jubal gave him a look that had cowed a hell of a lot meaner adversaries. “I’ll lend you some dry clothes. I’ll expect them back. Clean.”
“You aren’t going to call the cops?”
“Did I say I wasn’t?” Jubal closed the door and went to hunt for something the boy could wear. He finally picked a pair of sweatpants with a stretch waist and an old T-shirt. The kid would probably drown in them, but there wasn’t any help for that. Jubal changed into a pair of jeans and a sleeveless sweatshirt.
He would sit the kid down and read him the riot act. Scare the hell out of him. Like someone had scared the hell out of him years ago.
Why would he start a fire on a dock? What in the hell did the dock ever do to him? It might be interesting to find out. Then he would take the kid to his parents.
He planted himself outside the bathroom. He wasn’t going to give the kid a chance to escape. There were consequences to actions.
The sound of running water stopped.
Jubal opened the door and threw in the clothes. “Dress and then we’ll have a little chat about arson.”
He closed the door and took up his post. The door didn’t open. He would give the kid five minutes. No longer.
The door opened after four and a half minutes. Gordon was indeed swallowed in Jubal’s clothes. He was maybe five foot nine to Jubal’s six-three. He was lean, had an athlete’s supple frame but not the muscles. He was holding his wet clothes at arm’s length.
“Into the living room,” Jubal said.
“Why?” Gordon said with attitude. The shower apparently gave him courage.
“Okay,” Jubal said. “If you’re going to play it that way, I’ll call the cops now. Let them sort things out. Your parents know you’re out this late?”
The SEAL's Return Page 4
