It was late afternoon—dinnertime, actually—when Bram finally woke up. He opened his eyes, realized he was in his own bedroom in his own home and breathed a silent prayer of thanks. His left arm was sore, as was that one section of his chest, but otherwise he felt good. Except for a few things like hunger, thirst and a need to use the bathroom, that is.
He pushed back the covers and swung his feet to the floor. He felt dizzy, but only for a second or two. Using the nightstand for support, he got to his feet, and after waiting another few seconds for his head to stop swimming, he walked from the bedroom and into the bathroom.
Jenna was trying to coax Gloria to eat more than two bites of dinner. Whatever good mood Gloria had awakened in that morning had gradually dissipated throughout the day, which Jenna didn’t understand. This morning Gloria’s happiness level had spiked and then fallen. Why? What had caused the spike in the first place, and why hadn’t it lasted?
Jenna jerked her head up as sounds from the other side of the house reached her ears. Bram must be up. She should go to him. But Gloria was suddenly trying to speak, something she had never really done with Jenna before. Even if Bram did need her, Jenna felt a more serious responsibility right where she was. She had to listen to Gloria’s garbled words and try to comprehend their meaning.
And then, almost as clearly as she spoke herself, Jenna heard, “Don’t fret, child. I’ve had a good life.”
Jenna’s mouth dropped open. In the next breath she cried, “No, it’s not you! Your father—George WhiteBear—was talking about Bram, and he’s fine!”
Gloria merely turned her head and closed her eyes. Breathing hard and fearfully, Jenna took her patient’s wrist and felt for a pulse. She found it to be strong and steady, and Jenna released her enormous load of tension along with a huge expulsion of air.
She gathered her wits, set Gloria’s tray on the dresser, then ran through the house to Bram’s room. It was empty.
Of course, she thought. He’s in the bathroom. She went to the door and knocked. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, and I’m starved. Think you could get me a bowl of soup or something? And some water?”
Jenna heaved a sigh of relief. He sounded great. “I’ll bring you a tray. Please go back to bed when you’re through in there.”
“I will.”
Jenna hurried to the kitchen, heated soup, made a sandwich, decided he shouldn’t have coffee, and filled a glass with orange juice instead. She added a bottle of chilled water to the tray and carried it to the bedroom. Bram was in bed, but he was sitting up, supported by pillows.
“Thanks,” he said quietly when she placed the bed tray across his lap. The first thing he reached for was the bottle of water, and he took a big drink.
Jenna went to the room’s one chair and sat on it. She watched him and he finally looked back. “I can feed myself,” he said. “You don’t have to hover over me.”
“I’ll hover if I want to hover.”
“Feeling sassy this morning?”
“This morning? It happens to be almost six in the afternoon. You slept all day. You might as well go ahead and eat. I’m not leaving.”
Bram frowned. There was something in her voice he’d not heard before. It wasn’t anger or resentment, but it reminded him of the way she sounded during arguments.
“I’m in no mood for another fight,” he said gruffly, and picked up his soupspoon.
“Neither am I.”
“Then how come you’re staring at me like that?”
“Are you telling me that you can’t tell the difference between an angry expression and one that’s all fuzzy and lovesick?”
Bram’s jaw dropped. “Jenna…” She’s in love with me…I’m in love with her. Tell her! Tell her what’s in those old books.
Jenna kept her gaze locked with his. Something wonderful was in the air. She felt it and believed he did, too. Tell him what you discovered about Elliot family history. Tell him about your Comanche blood. Her heart began pounding. Should she tell him? If he knew the truth, would he finally drop that abominable guard he had always clung to around her, as though his very life depended on his being tough and unbreakable?
“I really think you should eat that soup before it cools down. And I made you a really good sandwich. I’m happy to wait until after you eat to tell you how much I love you, and for how long.”
Bram nearly choked. “And you expect me to eat after that?”
“I expect you to eat every bite.”
“While you watch. Jenna, what you were just talking about is not going to happen.”
“Bram, my love, it is going to happen. Now eat so we can get to it. I’ll just sit here quietly. I won’t say a word, I promise.”
He gave up. She wasn’t going to leave him alone and he was still famished, regardless of the shock she’d delivered so nonchalantly. And determinedly. Yes, that was what he’d been hearing in her voice—determination.
“So,” she said. “How’s that arm feeling?”
“I thought you weren’t going to say a word.”
“That was a professional question. I’m your nurse, you know.”
“Fine! My arm is fine, too!”
“No pain?”
“It’s a little sore, but that’s all.”
“And the bruise on your chest?”
“It’s fine, too.”
She was silent for a moment, then asked softly, “How did you get it, Bram? You were shot, but that’s not a bullet wound.”
He finished the last of his soup and looked at her. “Yes, it is.” He spoke in a tone of voice that raised goose bumps on Jenna’s arms. “I had something in my shirt pocket that stopped the bullet.”
“What was it?”
Bram looked around the bed. “I had it…I’m sure I had it when the guys brought me home. It has to be here somewhere.”
“Let me take away the tray. Maybe it’s under it.” Jenna went over to the bed and moved the tray to a dresser. “Do you see it now?”
“No. Jenna, I have to find it. It’s somewhere in the bed, it has to be.”
The odd note of panic in his voice startled Jenna. Bram Colton didn’t panic. Other people panicked, but not him.
“You get up and I’ll go through the bedding,” she said.
“Yes…thanks.” He got up on his own and stood by while she shook out the bedding, every single piece of it. “It’s not there,” he said in disbelief. “I have to call Tommy and Robb. Maybe they have it.”
“But you said you were sure you had it when they brought you home last night.”
“I was pretty woozy. Maybe I only thought I had it.”
“I’ll bring you the cordless phone.”
Jenna rushed away while Bram crawled back into bed. When she returned with the phone he said, “Never mind. I don’t have to call anyone. It’s gone.”
“Are you saying it simply disappeared?”
“Probably in the same incredible way it appeared.”
“But…but that’s not possible.”
He looked at her. “Isn’t it?” He broke eye contact and sighed, then started talking. Jenna perched on the edge of his bed and took in every word. “John Doe was really a big-time drug dealer named Feeny who supplied the local dealers. I felt sorry for him because no one claimed his body, and I believed he committed suicide and called him a poor little guy, because he wasn’t very big. I paid for a decent funeral for him because I was stupid and believed that jerk Tobler, who all the while was one of Feeny’s killers, laughing at me from his cell in my own jail.
“Anyhow, the night Feeny was murdered I found the medallion. Other men had searched the same rooms of the old depot and never saw it. I found it, and after I determined it wasn’t evidence I started carrying it in my shirt pocket. You see, it had the head of a coyote on it, and I thought it odd that I was the one who spotted it.”
“It was odd, Bram.” She took his right hand and held it. “But it didn’t disappear in the night. You’ll never conv
ince me of that, even if I have started believing in messages from coyotes and golden foxes and…” She stopped, then continued in a rush. “If you would have returned my calls yesterday you might not have been shot! Your great-grandfather—”
“Willow told me all about it last night at the hospital.” Bram narrowed his eyes on Jenna. “So you’ve become a believer of Comanche omens and portents.” That’s because you’re part Comanche yourself, love of my life.
But he knew now that he was never going to tell her what he’d unearthed in those old books. Carl Elliot would wriggle away from the truth if someone hit him over the head with it, so really, nothing at all had changed.
“Bram, I heard a coyote myself. Nellie was with me and heard nothing. It was the night you called and asked me to feed her. Anyhow, it sounded close enough to touch, and I…I don’t think it was…uh, real.”
“Oh, Jenna.” Sighing, Bram put his hand on the back of her neck and drew her toward him. “It was real, Jenna. You’re not hearing things that aren’t real. You’re just spooked by being around the Coltons for so long.”
She looked directly into his eyes. “I said I’m in love with you and I am, Bram. Can’t you say the same to me?”
He put his chin on the top of her head and shut his eyes. “I wish I could,” he said softly. “I can say I want you, but please don’t make me talk about love. Is wanting you enough?”
Tears welled, but she blinked them back. “Maybe it’s enough for tonight. May I sleep with you?”
“I’m a fool, sweetheart, but not stupid enough to say no to that question.”
“You’re neither stupid nor a fool.” Jenna eluded his chin, leaned closer and pressed her lips to his. “I’ll check on Gloria and get into a nightgown. Be back in a minute.”
Gloria was sleeping, and Jenna quickly shed her clothes and donned a lightweight robe rather than the nightgown she’d mentioned to Bram. All the while her heart pounded with anticipation. Bram might not have yet reached the point of being able to talk about loving her, but she was sure he would, and she was deliriously happy that she had found the gumption to confess her feelings.
She returned to his room, his bed and his arms. Rather, to his one arm. She was careful not to bump his bandaged left arm, and tried to avoid that purple bruise on his chest, as well.
But once they were both naked and kissing wildly, nothing else seemed to matter, and it wasn’t long before their lovemaking reached a fevered pitch that blocked out the rest of the world.
“Jenna…Jenna,” Bram kept saying in that hoarse way he had of speaking during lovemaking.
“At least you know my name, darling,” she replied seductively.
“I know who I’m making love to, don’t ever doubt it,” he growled.
“I couldn’t possibly,” she whispered, and raised her legs to encircle his hips, drawing him deeper inside her. “Not when we’re locked together like this.”
“It’s heaven, pure heaven.” He began moving faster, taking her with him on that final joyous ride.
They cried out together and held each other while their breathing slowed to normal. And then, suddenly, frighteningly, they heard it, a sound in the night that each had heard before—the cry of a coyote.
Bram froze and mumbled, “My God.” In the next second he rolled from the bed. Pulling a blanket around himself, he got to his feet and left the room as fast as he could go. No longer was he pain-free, and he’d obviously been a little too careless during lovemaking. His arm hurt like hell and so did his chest.
But he wasn’t thinking of himself, and the second he saw Gran he knew that she had passed away. Dropping to his knees near to the bed, he hid his face in the blankets next to her and wept.
Jenna rushed in. She had grabbed her robe and pulled it on while following Bram. Tears began flowing down her cheeks, and she went to Bram and laid her hand on his shoulder.
He shocked the breath out of her by pulling away from her touch and saying bitterly, “I never even saw her today, and I could have. Instead of spending time with her this evening I welcomed you into my bed.”
Wounded heart and soul, Jenna backed away from him. He never noticed, nor did he notice her leaving a short time later, fully dressed and carrying a suitcase.
She cried all the way to Black Arrow. She had never had a chance of winning him over. Why had she been so positive about that all day?
“Fool…fool!” she said, and sobbed even harder.
Jenna didn’t call anyone at the hospital or anywhere else, nor did she take any calls. She stayed in her room in her father’s house and barely talked to him when he attempted conversation through the locked door. She had never been this unhappy before, and she knew she was dangerously close to an emotional breakdown. But she didn’t have the will or the desire to pull herself out of the bottomless pit of despair in which she floundered.
But then Martha rapped softly and said, “Jenna, darlin’, Mrs. Colton’s funeral is going to be held tomorrow at two. I just thought you might want to know.”
Jenna turned over on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “To hell with what anyone thinks,” she said out loud. She was going to that funeral, and if Bram dared to even glance at her crossways she would send him a look he would never forget. He’d get the message, the wretch; he’d get it loud and clear.
And the next day she put on her nicest black dress, dark hosiery and black high-heeled pumps. She started to put her hair up, then decided to wear it down. After all, wasn’t she the golden fox? she asked herself cynically. A golden fox should flaunt her mane, shouldn’t she?
She drove to the cemetery, parked behind a long line of cars and approached the crowd around the flower-bedecked grave site on foot. She met no one’s eyes, not even Willow’s, and she stood away from the family. The service was almost over before she saw her father. He was standing inconspicuously behind a huddle of mourners, and when Jenna spotted him she could hardly believe her eyes. What on earth was he doing here? He hated the Coltons, although he’d probably thought them to be no worse than the area’s other Comanche families before she’d moved into Bram’s house to care for Gloria.
But now that she no longer lived there, perhaps her father had forgiven the Coltons for breathing and her for trying to keep one of them alive. It was a bitter thought, and Jenna felt ashamed of herself for thinking something so awful. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a dainty white handkerchief just as the minister completed his final prayer.
People began going over to the Coltons to offer condolences, and Jenna turned to leave. She would contact Willow some other day, and perhaps Thomas and Alice and Jared and…
She loved them all, and she wasn’t going to slink away like some thief when her only crime had been to fall in love with Bram! She didn’t have to talk to him, didn’t even have to look at him, but the rest of the Coltons deserved her sympathy. She turned around and had started walking toward them when she saw her father suddenly push ahead of some people and stop in front of Bram.
“What’d you do my daughter?” he snarled. “She won’t eat, she won’t talk, she’s barely alive and I know you did something to her. Be a man, if you can, and tell me what it was.”
Jenna nearly fainted. Every eye was on her dad, every ear tuned to hear his unjust accusations.
Bram hadn’t seen Jenna arrive nor did he look for her now. He had gone through hell during the last few days. Considering the mess he’d made of the John Doe case and his sorrow over that, over Gran’s death and over Jenna, plus a dozen or so other problems, such as what had happened to the coyote medallion, and how come both he and Jenna had heard the coyote’s cry the night Gran died, he was in no mood to put up with Carl Elliot’s insults.
“Get out of my face,” Bram said menacingly.
“Or you’ll what? Have me arrested?” Carl taunted. “Like you arrested that Feeny fellow for bringing drugs into Black Arrow by the truckload? Be a man,” he repeated snidely, “and tell me what you did to make my little g
irl cry all the time.”
Bram had heard enough. Something snapped in him. He didn’t care if Carl Elliot was white, Comanche or Chinese, and he didn’t care if the whole damn town heard what he had to say.
“Nothing would make me happier,” Bram said with an icy glare at Jenna’s dad. “I fell in love with your little girl, only she isn’t a little girl, is she? She’s a woman through and through. I will love her till the day I die, and I would marry her tomorrow, if she’d have me.”
A tornado could not have moved faster or with more force than Jenna did. She got through that crowd like a hot knife cuts through butter, and she nearly knocked her dad down when she threw herself at Bram.
“She’ll have you! She’ll have you!” she cried.
Bram held her close to his heart and whispered, “I love you, Jenna.”
“I love you, Bram. You know I love you.”
He tipped her chin, gazed deeply into her eyes and said it again, clearly and loud enough for everyone to hear. “I love you, Jenna. I’ve loved you for years.”
The Coltons, weeping and sad only moments ago, were suddenly laughing in spite of their wet and teary faces.
Bram saw Carl Elliot turn and walk away with his head down. That man is no Comanche, Bram thought, but he is Jenna’s dad.
“Go after him, sweetheart. No matter what he did in the past or does in the future, he’s still your dad.”
Jenna took a look behind her and saw the forlorn slant of her father’s shoulders. Giving her beloved a soft smile of utter adoration, she left his embrace and ran after her father.
“Dad! Wait a minute!”
Carl stopped walking and waited for her. “You’re going to marry an Indian,” he said sadly.
“And I couldn’t be more proud of it. Dad, please listen to me. You’ll always be welcome in my life and my home, but it’s going to be Bram’s home, as well, and you’re always going to have to remember that.” She saw tears in his eyes. “Why are you crying, Daddy?”
The Coyote's Cry Page 22
