Chasing the Sun

by Kaki Warner

  And she was glad she had. This was a side of Jack she had never met. She had never realized how knowledgeable he was. She had to wonder why he hid his intelligence behind a careless smile and presented such a flighty, haphazard image to the world.

  “What’s a Pietà?” she asked.

  Rather than commenting on her ignorance, he became earnest again. “A statue of the Virgin Mary holding the dead Christ. I saw a picture of it in a museum in Sydney. It’s amazing, Daisy. Snow-white marble polished smooth as glass, carved hundreds of years ago by a man barely in his twenties. It’s in Rome. There are a lot of places in Italy I want to see. And Greece. And in Africa and South America. Do you know they eat humans there, and in the jungles are tribes of people no taller than three and a half feet?” He laughed aloud, attracting Kate’s attention. “Katie-girl, you would fit right in,” he told her as he scooped her up and held her over his head. “And I’d be a giant, wouldn’t I? Big enough to eat tasty little morsels like you.”

  Daisy watched them tussle for a moment, smiling in spite of her concerns over their closeness. Jack was a high-spirited, openly affectionate man, unlike his reserved middle brother and his stern, intimidating oldest brother. And he was certainly not the empty-headed drifter he made himself out to be. She wondered why he would cultivate such a shallow image, and if his family knew the true man beneath the façade. She wondered if she knew him any better.

  Once he’d lowered Kate and she’d settled down on her back beside him to watch cloud figures drift across the sky, Daisy asked, “How did you learn about all these places you want to visit?”

  “At sea. Look, Katie, doesn’t that cloud look like a frog?”

  “See fwog,” Kate said, pointing her kitty at the sky.

  “There’s a lot of free time on a ship,” he went on, his smile giving way to a frown as he studied the sky. “And our captain had a trunk full of books. Reading occupied my mind and kept me from drinking.”

  “You quit drinking?” That was a surprise. As she recalled, drinking and gambling were two of Jack’s three favorite things.

  “Mostly. Until I got back anyway.” He shot her a crooked grin. “Between the fine Scotch whiskey that Jessica imports and needing a crutch to get me through my brothers’ interrogations, I’ve started the habit again.”

  “That’s too bad,” Daisy murmured. Jack, when he was drinking, was a funny, passionate, playful clown. But this sober Jack was much more interesting.

  “Not to worry,” he added, apparently catching her unspoken censure even though his attention remained focused on the clouds crowding the peaks to the west. “I’ll never be the drunk I was. That was a bad time. I don’t want to make mistakes like that again.”

  She wondered if he thought of her and Kate as part of those “mistakes” but hadn’t the courage to ask.

  “See those puffy clouds, Kate? The ones with the pouches along the flat bottoms? If they get bigger and darker, it’ll mean rain.”

  “Wain,” Kate said.

  Daisy watched Jack’s big hand idly stroke Kate’s stomach and felt a quiver of remembrance move beneath her own skin. Despite his size and strength, Jack was one of the gentlest men she’d ever known.

  And those hands held magic.

  Forcing herself to look away, she cleared her throat and said, “It’s very quiet and peaceful up here, isn’t it?”

  Jack snorted. “Too quiet for me. Sometimes the silence in this country carries such weight it smothers. In the jungles and rainforests it’s as raucous as a cage of birds. And aboard ship, even if no one says a word, it’s still noisy. The snap and flutter of the sails, wood groaning, the slap of water against the hull ... it’s like a whole different kind of music. Except when we’re becalmed. Then it’s like here, so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat. And when it’s that quiet, it means you’re just sitting there, doing nothing.”

  Daisy smiled. “And that’s unacceptable to you.”

  He looked over and grinned. “Damn right.”

  She felt that flutter again, and knew if she weren’t careful, this man would break through all her carefully erected barriers. “Do you know the time?” she asked, needing to pull herself back to safer ground.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a watch. As he did, something small and shiny tumbled down onto the blanket. Kate immediately reached for it.

  Instead of taking it away from her, Jack leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Keep that for luck, Katie-girl, but don’t eat it.”

  Knowing whatever her daughter had in her hand would eventually end up in her mouth, Daisy asked what it was.

  “Just a trinket.” He studied his watch. “It’s a quarter past four. We’ll have to start back soon.” With a sigh, he sat up and stretched.

  Freeing the object from Kate’s resisting grip, Daisy saw it was a silver cross intricately engraved with twining roses. “This is beautiful. Did you pick it up in your travels?” As she spoke, she turned it over and saw letters engraved on the back: “EMR to AJW.” Anger clutched at her throat. Elena.

  Quelling the urge to fling it at Jack’s head, she handed the cross back to Kate, then looked up to see Jack studying her, his expression guarded and somber.

  “It’s just a trinket, Daisy. One I no longer need.”

  Somewhat mollified, as well as embarrassed that he had seen her angry reaction, she asked what the “A” in his initials stood for.

  “Andrew. Andrew Jackson Wilkins.”

  “You’re named after ‘Old Hickory,’ the president?”

  He shrugged. “My father thought if he named his sons after heroes, they might act like heroes. Hank is named after Patrick Henry, and our little brother Sam, after Sam Adams. Brady, being eldest, carries our mother’s maiden name.”

  Sam? “There’s another brother?” She had only heard of three.

  A shadow came into his eyes. “Was. Sam died when he was twelve. Tortured by Elena’s brother, Sancho. Brady ... found him.”

  Daisy was shocked at the tangled web that bound these people together. It was too fantastical to be true, yet the sadness in Jack’s face told her it was.

  He must have sensed her curiosity and hurriedly answered her questions before she could voice them, as if wanting to get the subject behind him as quickly as he could. “We were feuding with the Ramirez family over the ranch. We won. Sancho went crazy, killed his folks, and set everything on fire before Jessica set him on fire.” He smiled grimly. “Rough justice, don’t you think?”

  Daisy was astonished. Prim and proper Jessica had killed a man too? A sudden image of Bill Johnson exploded in her mind, and for a moment her whole body seemed to clench in reaction. Then she remembered that Johnson had come to steal Kate so he could sell her to some pervert, and fury swept regret and guilt aside. Justice deserved and served. She wasn’t sorry she’d rid the world of vermin like that.

  “And yet Elena stayed,” she observed, going back to what Jack had said. “Why?” What kind of woman would align herself with the family that had taken her home and killed her brother?

  Jack shrugged. “She had nowhere else to go. Besides, she’s been like part of the family since she was six. Like a sister, almost.”

  Except a man didn’t fall in love with his sister. Pushing that disturbing thought away, she said, “But Jessica killed her brother. Didn’t that cause strife?” Daisy had no siblings, but she was sure if she did, and he or she had been killed, she wouldn’t have become “almost a sister” to the killer.

  “There was no love lost between Elena and Sancho.” His voice had turned cold, his tone clipped. “He was the one who crippled her. Nearly kicked her to death. But that’s all in the past.” Abruptly he stood, ending the conversation as well as the easy companionship of their hilltop picnic. “It’s late. We better get going. I don’t like the look of those clouds.”

  “You think it’ll rain?”

  “I’m more worried about lightning. We’re too exposed up here.”

  Left with more que
stions than answers, Daisy had no choice but to let the subject drop. But she was beginning to realize that simple, lighthearted Jack Wilkins was a much more complicated man than she had thought. And this new Jack would be far harder to walk away from.

  As she tossed the remains of the picnic lunch into the brush, a sudden gust swept over the hilltop, whipping her skirts around her legs and peppering their faces with grit. The sun disappeared behind dark billowing clouds, and the air felt suddenly chilly and damp.

  Kate began to cry, Kitty hugged close in her arms.

  “Damn,” Jack muttered. “Forget the food. Where’s the pouch with our jackets?”

  Daisy tossed it to him, alarmed by the urgency in his voice. As she tried to stuff the blanket back into the picnic basket, another gust almost wrenched it from her grip.

  Jack pushed her hands aside. “I’ll do that. Put a jacket on Kate. We need to be across the bridge before the water rises.”

  Daisy looked up at the sky, which seemed to have grown darker within the last few moments. “Why would it rise? It’s not even raining.”

  “It is up there.” Jack nodded toward the slope rising behind them. “And it’ll be running downhill fast. Hurry.”

  Daisy had just finished fastening Kate’s coat when cold, heavy drops slapped the ground around them, driven almost horizontal by the gusting wind.

  Jack picked up Kate and Kitty, tucking them tight against his chest. “Leave the pouch,” he called, the wind snatching his words away. “Come on. Now.”

  Fully alarmed, Daisy slipped and slid after him down the rain-slicked trail. Already the footing was treacherous, and Daisy’s wet skirts clung to her legs, making it hard to balance in the howling wind. Before they’d gone a hundred yards, water was running down the path between their feet, cutting deep grooves in the sandy soil.

  The suddenness and ferocity of the storm appalled Daisy. Had it been only five minutes ago that the sun was shining? Lightning flashed, almost blinding her. Then a deafening boom of thunder. Out of reflex she ducked, half expecting one of the trees whipping back and forth overhead to explode in flames, or a limb to come crashing down on her head.

  “Maybe we should stop until it blows over,” she yelled at Jack’s retreating back.

  “Can’t,” Jack shouted back. “If we don’t cross now, we could be stranded on this side without food or shelter for days.”

  Daisy stumbled doggedly on, trying to ignore the cold rain stinging her face and seeping under her collar. It was coming down so hard and fast now she could scarcely see Jack’s hunched form only a few yards ahead. Water rushed over the laces of her walking boots, and all around them limbs snapped and trees groaned against the onslaught of wind. Above the thunderous deluge she heard Kate crying.

  Then the icy rain turned to hard pellets of hail.

  Sixteen

  IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON AND HANK WAS WORKING ON HIS calculations of how many square feet of sail it would take to move a five-hundred-pound railcar along a track at ten miles per hour when Brady threw open the door to his office.

  “Where are Jack and Daisy?”

  Hank continued to scribble. “Haven’t seen them. Why?”

  When there was no response, he looked up to find his brother still standing in the doorway of his office, his gaze fixed on the window.

  Curious, Hank turned. His jaw dropped in astonishment.

  Dark thunderheads boiled out of the west, racing down the valley ahead of a hard, driving rain. Lightning bounced between the clouds. Thunder rumbled. A sudden gust drove grit pinging against the windows and sent the branches of the mesquite tree on the hilltop behind the house into a thrashing frenzy. As Hank watched, a limb snapped off and crashed against a grave marker so hard the stone toppled over. Another flash, then a blast of thunder so loud it made him flinch. An instant later the skies opened, dumping hailstones the size of elk droppings that clattered across the porch floor to bounce against the panes of the French door like crazed white bees.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Hank muttered, rising to his feet. “Where’d that come from?” And why hadn’t he been aware of it?

  “Did they go for a hike?” Brady demanded. “Are they still out there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Christ.” His brother ducked into the hall.

  Hank went after him.

  “Check the barn,” Brady ordered as he took the stairs three treads at a time. “I’ll see if Jessica knows where they are.”

  A few minutes later, soaking wet, his black hair plastered to his head, Brady rushed into the barn. “Did you find them?” he asked, dumping an armful of slickers and dusters into the straw.

  Hank shook his head and turned back to the horse he’d been readying, just in case. In other stalls, other men were doing the same.

  “Damnit to hell!” Freeing a duster from the heap, Brady struggled to pull the oiled canvas over his wet jacket. “They’re out there somewhere. I know it.”

  Lightning bolted from the sky. Thin bars of light flashed through the gaps between the planks of the exterior walls, then thunder boomed, making the horse lunge and snort, white showing in its eyes. The air crackled and buzzed.

  Murmuring softly, Hank calmed the frightened sorrel then tossed the saddle onto its back. With brisk movements, he slipped the girth strap through the D-ring, pulled it tight, and secured the dangling end. After tugging on his own duster, he rolled the remaining jackets in a slicker and tied it across the back of the saddle.

  As he worked, the part of his mind not churning with worry stayed alert to his surroundings—the distant sounds of men saddling up, the clink of bits and stomp of restless horses, the frightened mewl of a barn cat. He checked the air for smoke in case the lightning had set something ablaze, but smelled none.

  Overhead, the loft door crashed open, then banged on its hinges until finally it slammed shut so hard the timbers shuddered. In the near darkness, the air grew still and thick with the smell of alfalfa and manure and wet horses. But outside, the storm raged and hail hammered the roof and the wind howled like a wounded cougar.

  It’s just a spring storm, Hank told himself. It’ll pass soon. They’ll be fine.

  “Jessica said they went on a picnic,” Brady shouted as he fumbled with a strip of rawhide he’d looped over the crown of his Stetson and under his chin to keep his hat from blowing off. “Why would they go on a picnic? Didn’t he see there was a storm coming?”

  Hank didn’t argue with him, knowing his brother’s bluster was a cover for his fear. Anyone familiar with this country knew these mountains could spawn thunderstorms in a moment’s notice. Jack wasn’t a fool. He might not see a storm coming, but he wouldn’t go into the mountains unprepared in case one arose. Especially with his daughter.

  He handed the reins of the sorrel to Brady then untied the bay gelding he’d saddled first and left hitched to a stall door. “Kate with them?” he asked as he stepped into the stirrup and threw a leg over.

  “Hell, yes. How could he go wandering off like that?”

  “He’s not stupid, Brady. He’ll know what to do.”

  Brady spun toward him. “No, he’ll try to outrun it, goddamnit. He’ll take chances like he always does.” His face grim with worry, Brady swung into the saddle. Turning to the other men leading saddled horses from the stalls, he shouted orders above the rattle and roar of the storm buffeting the walls.

  “Go in twos. Check along the creek first. If there’s lightning, dismount and find low ground. Fire two rounds if you find him, three if you’re in trouble or need us to come. Be back by dark.”

  At his signal, two boys ran forward to wrestle open the barn doors. Wind roared into their faces as they rode out into a lashing torrent of rain and hail under a sky that had turned twilight dark.

  DAISY WAS GROWING FRANTIC. THEN AS QUICKLY AS IT had begun, the deluge ended. An eerie stillness descended, magnified by the sudden absence of howling wind and clattering hail. Lightning still flashed and thunder rumbled, but growing mo
re distant as the storm moved down the valley toward the eastern peaks. Above the wind-battered trees, the clouds thinned then broke apart here and there, showing patches of blue sky tinted pink by the setting sun.

  She sagged in relief, not realizing how frightened she had been until the crisis was over. “Is it past then?” she called ahead to Jack, who hadn’t slowed his pace down the trail.

  “The first squall is. But more’s coming.”

  She looked up and quailed to see another dark band of thunderheads racing toward them out of the west, bursts of light streaking between the clouds.

  “Hurry, Daisy. We’re still a long way from the bridge.”

  Skirting fallen twigs and branches, she worked her way down the slippery trail and over deepening ruts as water continued to pour down the steep slopes. She started to shiver, her wet jacket and skirts cold against her skin, her waterlogged boots rubbing raw spots on her chilled feet. Thankfully, Kate had stopped crying, so Jack must have been able to keep her dry.

  It began to rain again, but with less wind this time and the lightning stayed far down the valley. But the runoff continued to cut into the ground beneath their feet.

  It seemed an eternity before they reached the bridge. Daisy almost wept in gratitude to see it still standing, even though the creek had risen to the cross struts and was now a swirling, foamy cauldron of debris and broken tree limbs. She had no doubt that within minutes it would be lapping at their feet.

  “Hurry,” Jack called, waving her on. “It’s coming up fast.”

  Eyeing the water churning around the rocks at the base of the abutment that supported the huge spanner logs, Daisy skidded down the last few feet and onto the bridge. It shuddered under her, buffeted by rushing water, the planks slick with wet pine needles. A broken limb slammed into a support, almost knocking her off balance, but she managed to stay upright and keep moving after Jack.