Sullivan's Promise

by Joan Johnston

  He’d forgotten about his own mother. She pulled the screen door open wide with another loud screech and said, “Why don’t you come inside?”

  He stood helplessly by as Lexie Grayhawk, a woman he could never trust, a woman he both despised and desired, stepped into his kitchen…and into his life.

  MEET ME AT the hospital.

  That cryptic message, stuck to Sullivan’s back door, lodged Vick’s heart in her throat and made her insides draw up tight.

  Usually, Rye or his mother or his brother dropped Cody off at her cabin at exactly 5 p.m. on Friday for his monthly visit. When Rye hadn’t shown up by 7:00, and hadn’t returned any of her calls, she’d decided to come see what was wrong.

  An enormous mutt with raggedy ears, which was sprawled on the back porch, thumped his tail when she looked in his direction but didn’t bother to get up.

  “What happened, Rusty?”

  At the sound of his name, the dog rose and stretched like an old man with rickety bones. By the time he’d taken a step in Vick’s direction, she was already back inside her pickup. She punched up the number again, and heard Sullivan’s phone go to voicemail again. She tried not to imagine the worst. She fought off the vision of her five-year-old son with a broken arm or a crushed foot or bleeding from some gaping wound.

  “That horse is too damn big!” she muttered as she started the engine and headed down the dirt road leading from the Sullivans’ Rafter S Ranch to the highway.

  Her son looked tiny atop the buckskin he rode most often, but Cody loved the sixteen-hand-tall gelding. Although Dancer had never given Cody a bit of trouble, horses had instinctual responses to sudden movement, and Dancer could easily leap five feet sideways to escape a horse-eating rabbit. Even a good rider like Cody could be thrown.

  Was he injured in a fall? Was he trampled by one of Sullivan’s Black Angus cattle? Was it something even worse?

  Cody was never far from Sullivan’s side when he went out on the range, but he also rode the trails close to home by himself. It was March 10, early for grizzlies to be out and about, but she might be wrong about that, because grizzlies didn’t actually hibernate. They merely had periods of dormancy and could awaken with little provocation. It had been a warm and dry winter, and there wasn’t as much snow as usual on the ground. A roused bear might decide winter was over and be out foraging for food.

  Could my precious son have been attacked and mauled by one of the animals I’ve spent the past six years of my life protecting?

  Vick felt nauseated. She knew more than she wanted to know about the gruesome effects of a grizzly attack on human flesh. Lots of ranchers, including Sullivan, would be just as happy if the ferocious bears were erased from the face of the earth. Vick realized her heart was racing and her breath was coming in gasps.

  Think about something else, or you’re going to pass out.

  But her thoughts were as out of control as her heart rate. Tears sprang to her eyes and her gut clenched as she raced south on busy U.S. 93, dodging cars and praying there wouldn’t be one of those wrecks that tied up traffic for hours on the main road into Kalispell.

  What if this accident had happened a year ago, when I was living at my father’s ranch in Wyoming? Thank God I’m staying in Montana year-round now. Thank God I can be at the hospital with my son when he needs me most.

  She might still have been residing in Wyoming year-round, with monthly three-day visits to Montana to see her son, if her father hadn’t finally found the missing black sheep of the family running a cattle station in Australia and brought him home.

  As an enticement to get his eldest son to return to America, King Grayhawk had offered Matt full possession of the ranch where Vick and her three sisters, Leah, Taylor, and Eve, made their home, if he lived there for 365 consecutive days. Matt accepted the deal and immediately made it clear that, by the time that year was up, the four Grayhawk girls—better known as King’s Brats—had better find another place besides Kingdom Come to live.

  That had been the kick in the butt Vick needed to move herself—lock, stock, and barrel—to Montana. It was still an agony to say goodbye to her son each time she gave him back to his father, but she’d been able to see Cody far more often over the past year when he participated in school and church events that she could attend.

  Unfortunately, living here had also meant more interaction with Cody’s father. In the past, on days when Cody needed to be dropped off or picked up, Sullivan had either had someone else hand Cody over or, if he did it himself, maintained a stony silence. Since moving to Montana last year, she’d encountered Sullivan in situations, especially at Cody’s school and at Sunday school, where they were forced to interact cordially.

  It had been awkward, to say the least.

  Whitefish was a small town, and she often ran into Sullivan shopping at the same grocery store, or out in the evening with his latest girlfriend at the same bar where she was getting together with Pete Harrison, a Flathead County deputy sheriff who’d recently turned into something more than just a friend.

  Her accidental meetings with Sullivan always seemed to be fraught with tension. He spoke briefly and curtly to her, if he spoke at all. She figured too much had been left unsaid between them.

  Or maybe, left unresolved.

  Vick had never forgiven herself for giving away her child, so she couldn’t very well blame Sullivan for begrudging her every moment she spent with Cody. She knew he only abided by their legal agreement for his son’s sake, but that was good enough for her. She didn’t need Sullivan to be her friend or even to be friendly. She just needed him not to interfere with her efforts to be a good mother.

  Vick screeched to a stop near the emergency entrance to Kalispell Regional Medical Center and raced inside. She arrived at the reception desk, eyes wide with fright, and said, “Can you tell me the status of Cody Sullivan? I’m his mother.”

  The young woman hit some keys on the computer and said, “I’m not finding a Cody Sullivan.”

  “But he has to be here!”

  “I have a Michael Sullivan admitted early this afternoon. Is he any relation?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then I can’t give you any further information.”

  Vick shuddered with relief. Cody wasn’t hurt. It was Sullivan’s younger brother who’d been injured. She needed to hold her son in her arms, to reassure herself he was all right. “Mike Sullivan is my son’s uncle. Can you tell me where his family might be?”

  The receptionist hesitated, then said, “You can check the surgical waiting room.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Second floor.”

  Vick’s anger at Sullivan grew as she half walked, half trotted to the stairs, following the young woman’s instructions to reach the waiting room. Why couldn’t he have said in his note that it was Mike who’d been injured? Why couldn’t he have called and told her Cody was all right? Refusing to have a conversation with her was one thing. This was something else entirely. He should have known she would be frantic with worry.

  She saw Sullivan pacing as she entered the waiting room, but before she could say anything, Cody spotted her and came running.

  “Mommy!”

  Her arms opened wide to gather up her son, and she lifted him into the air—not an easy feat as large a five-year-old as he was—and hugged his warm, squirming body tightly against her own.

  He leaned back, took her cheeks between his hands, and said, “Uncle Mike got eaten by a bear!”

  She took one look at Sullivan’s agonized eyes and realized Mike’s injuries must be devastating. There had been two grizzly attacks in Montana the previous fall, against men out hunting deer and elk. Both victims had survived but with awful wounds to their arms and heads.

  She set Cody down and clutched his hand as she approached Sullivan. “How’s Mike?”

&nb
sp; Sullivan gripped Cody’s shoulder and said, “Go see if Gram needs anything.”

  Cody tore free and took off at a run toward his grandmother.

  Until Sullivan had mentioned her, Vick hadn’t noticed his mother, Darcie, sitting on the far side of the waiting room. While Vick’s relationship with Sullivan had remained distant, she’d become surprisingly good friends with Cody’s grandmother over the past five years. Darcie thought makeup was “tomfoolery” and her wardrobe could best be described as “comfortable.” She was wearing worn-out jeans, a plaid wool shirt, and scuffed cowboy boots, with her silver curls escaping a frayed knot high on the back of her head. She was bent over with her forearms on her knees, her gaze focused on the floor.

  Vick wondered if Darcie had called Sullivan’s younger sister, Amy Beth, who was in Missoula finishing her senior year at the University of Montana, or whether she was waiting for the results of the surgery before contacting her.

  Vick looked around the waiting room, expecting to see Sullivan’s latest girlfriend—she couldn’t remember her name—a long-legged redhead who wore enormous false eyelashes and very high heels, but she wasn’t there. The pretty young woman, who was a very successful realtor, was probably out showing ranch property to prospective buyers.

  “How bad is it?” she asked Sullivan.

  “Bad.” He shoved an agitated hand through sun-streaked chestnut hair that always needed a trim.

  “Will he live?” She searched Sullivan’s face and saw tears well in his moss-green eyes. He turned away and swiped at his eyes with his sleeve before turning back to her. Fury had replaced fear on his face.

  “Are you happy now?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “One of your bears attacked Mike.”

  “My bears?”

  “The ones you protect,” he snarled. “Mike hiked into the forest hunting some cows that strayed across the Stillwater, where we don’t have fence.”

  “Alone?”

  “He had a shotgun.”

  Against a grizzly? Vick thought it, but she didn’t say it. Sullivan was already crazy with grief.

  “Mike was so badly mauled, he must have surprised the grizzly with one of our calves it had killed.” Sullivan’s voice broke as he finished, “He never had a chance.”

  “What happened to the bear?” Vick realized as soon as the words were spoken how insensitive they must sound. “What I meant—”

  “I know what you meant,” Sullivan interrupted. “You’re worried about your precious grizzly. I saw a blood trail, but the bear was long gone. As far as I know, it’s alive and well and out there waiting for some other poor, unsuspecting cowboy to come along, so it can take a swipe at him.”

  Vick didn’t argue. She and Sullivan would never agree about the treatment of grizzlies. What had happened to Mike was a tragedy, and she understood Sullivan’s rage and frustration. Because of the work she did, she also sympathized with the grizzly’s plight. Because of the attack, it might very well be hunted down and killed, even if it had been surprised by Mike and was only defending itself and its kill. The fact that the bear had slaughtered a calf only complicated the situation.

  Vick crossed to Darcie, sat down beside her, and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay,” Darcie replied in a tremulous voice as she gripped Vick’s hand.

  “How can I help?” Vick asked.

  “The surgeon said Mike will need a lot of blood. I’ve already donated.”

  “I’ll be glad to do that.”

  “Me, too,” Sullivan said. “Why didn’t you say something sooner, Mom?”

  Vick caught the flash of panic in Darcie’s eyes and wondered what had caused it.

  Darcie opened her mouth and closed it again without speaking. “You two go ahead. I’ll keep an eye on Cody.”

  “I want to give Uncle Mike my blood, too,” Cody said.

  “Next time, sport,” Sullivan said, ruffling Cody’s shaggy blond hair. “Your mom and I have this covered. You keep an eye on Gram and make sure she’s okay.”

  As they headed for the nurses’ station, Vick asked, “Do our blood types have to match for us to donate?”

  “Mike’s type O, so he needs the same type donor. My blood will work. Do you know your blood type?”

  Vick shook her head.

  “Even if you’re not type O, the hospital will likely be grateful for the donation.”

  The nurse sent them to a lab on another floor, where blood could be drawn. Before doing so, the technician did a quick stick test to type their blood. “You’re A negative,” the technician told Vick. “You’re also A negative,” the technician announced a few moments later to Sullivan.

  “I think you made a mistake,” Sullivan said.

  “The test is—”

  “Check again,” Sullivan interrupted. “Please.”

  “Why are you so sure he’s wrong?” Vick asked.

  “Mom is—and Dad was—type O. I know because I was required to ask for a tenth grade biology assignment. Two type O parents can only have kids with type O blood.”

  It took Vick a moment to process what it meant if Sullivan’s blood type was not O. Sullivan’s mom, or his dad, was not his biological parent. Or maybe neither was. She thought back to the momentary panic she’d seen in Darcie’s eyes.

  “A negative,” the technician said smugly. “Told you so.”

  “Just take my damned blood,” Sullivan said.

  Vick tried to put herself in Sullivan’s shoes. How awful to discover that one—or both—of your parents wasn’t related to you. To make matters worse, someone he didn’t much like—that would be her—was in on the secret. Should she reassure him that she wouldn’t say anything to anyone? Or just keep her mouth shut?

  She opted to stay silent.

  Sullivan did the same, waiting without another word while Vick’s blood was drawn, before he walked with her back toward the surgical waiting room.

  “That’s a kick in the head,” he muttered.

  “Are you going to tell your mom what you’ve found out?”

  “No.”

  Vick couldn’t believe Sullivan wasn’t going to confront his mother and realized she was going to have to be careful not to let the truth slip out when she was talking with Darcie. “Don’t you want to know…” Her voice trailed off.

  He huffed out a breath. “What difference would it make now?”

  Vick couldn’t believe Sullivan was as indifferent to his astonishing discovery as he seemed, especially when he’d been so adamant about not giving away a child of his own blood. For the second time, she thought of that panicked look in Darcie’s eyes when Sullivan had decided to give blood. Maybe he was adopted. Or maybe Darcie had been pregnant when she’d married Sullivan’s father.

  Vick had been a baby when her mother ran off with one of her father’s cowhands, and her father had been absent most of her childhood, living in the governor’s mansion in Cheyenne, while she and her three sisters remained behind at his ranch in Jackson Hole. At least Sullivan knew he’d been loved. She opened her mouth to point that out to him and shut it again. They’d stayed out of each other’s lives for the past five years. This was none of her business.

  She was two steps past Sullivan before she realized he’d stopped in his tracks. She turned to face him and saw his brow was deeply furrowed.

  He met her gaze and said, “I was seven when Mike was born and nine when Amy Beth was born, so I saw my mother pregnant with both of them. What happened? Why didn’t they just tell me if I’m adopted?”

  Vick couldn’t believe Sullivan was sharing his thoughts—his very private and personal thoughts—with her, but she realized there was no one else. She was the only one who knew his secret. “I can’t answer that,” she said. “You’ll hav
e to ask your mother.”

  “Not happening,” he muttered, striding off down the hall.

  Vick hop-skipped to catch up to him. “What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing. Not a damned thing.”

  “You’re not going to ask your mother—”

  “Ask her what?” he said, stopping again to confront her. “Why she and my father lied to me my entire life? Thanks but no thanks. I’d rather let sleeping dogs lie.”

  From what Vick could see, the hounds of hell were wide awake and howling. And the pitiless, unfeeling, unyielding man who’d kept her at arm’s length for five years had suddenly revealed a very vulnerable underbelly.

  Then she realized what else Sullivan’s discovery meant. Maybe there was another reason to urge him to find out the truth from his mother.

  Cody might have another set of grandparents out there somewhere…who didn’t know he existed.

  “I’M NOT A babysitter, Rye.”

  “What were you planning to do if you moved in?” Rye asked his girlfriend, Sherry Franklin, who’d shown up at the hospital nearly seven hours after he’d called to tell her his brother was in surgery, fighting for his life.

  “I never wanted kids of my own, much less yours.”

  “You didn’t think it was important to mention that sometime during the past six months?”

  “No. I did not.”

  Rye sighed. He’d given Lexie Grayhawk a cold shoulder over the past five years, but he had to hand it to her. The mere thought that Cody might be injured, and she’d broken land-speed records to get to the hospital. She hadn’t hesitated to donate blood for Mike, and she’d sat beside his mother for hours offering comfort. At the moment, Lexie was distracting Cody, who was tired and cranky, with word games. That left Rye free to pace the floor with worry over his brother…and that other little matter that made him want to curl up in a ball and hide. Every so often he glanced at his mother, glad that he had an excuse not to ask her the questions that scrambled around untethered in his head.