Defiant (13 page)

He still saw the flames in his mind, the cries of women as men were dragged out of homes and shot. His anger had spurred a blood lust that continued through the next year as he rode alongside Anderson, the most ruthless of the border guerrillas. It lasted until a day in September 1864, when Anderson raided a town called Centralia in northern Missouri …

Wade groaned as he remembered every hour of that day. It was burned into his heart and soul, like a brand he was condemned to carry the rest of his days.

He owed Mary Jo Williams, no matter what he'd claimed. He owed it to her to get out of her life, hers and the boy's, before he did irreparable damage.

He started back toward the house, damning the fates for showing him what he'd given up years ago. But he'd traded his soul to the devil during the war, and there was no reneging on the bargain.

Mary Jo Williams was sitting on a chair on the porch, obviously waiting for him. Moonlight shadowed her face. “You've changed your mind, haven't you? About staying?”

“It won't work, Mrs. Williams,” he said bluntly. “That kiss proved it. Even if I thought I could help, and I don't think so, I'm no good for you or the boy. It's real plain to see he wants a father, and I have no interest in filling that role.”

Her color paled, and her jaw jutted out stubbornly. Anger tinged her next words.

“You arrogant jackass. Believe me, Mr. Foster, you would be my last choice for that role. I just thought our needs—mine for some hands and yours for a horse—coincided.” She paused, swallowing deeply as if trying to control her temper. “I also thought you might be a man of your word, if nothing else. I see I was mistaken there, too. If you think you can leave tomorrow, I'll pack you some food, and wish you—”

“Good riddance?”

“The sooner the better.”

He nodded. “I'll sleep in the barn tonight.”

She shrugged. “As you wish.”

Her coldness was piercing, painful. Wade was surprised at how much he suddenly cared about what she thought of him. But it was better this way. Contempt was better than pity. Disappointment better than disgust if she ever discovered his past.

She went inside but returned shortly with bed linens and started down the steps.

He reached for her arm. “I'll do it,” he said.

She stared at him for a long moment. He felt like shrinking under her steady perusal, but he only drew himself straight. “Thank you for—” He stopped, the words nearly choking him.

“Forget it, Mr. Foster.” She turned around and went inside, closing the door firmly behind her.

Wade was not very successful at putting sheets on the cot. He'd barely managed to cover the lumpy mattress before falling on it.

The poor effort made him realize how totally helpless he was at the moment. He would have to learn to make better use of his left hand. He had known men during the war who could shoot with both hands, but he'd never seen the sense in it. Not until now.

Uncomfortable in the clothes of a dead lawman, he started to unbutton his trousers, then changed his mind. He'd felt so helpless without clothes earlier, and he didn't want to be put to that disadvantage again. Though he'd made sure Mary Jo Williams wouldn't come here.

He thought about that kiss, and how it had made him strike out at her. He'd had no right using it against her. He wasn't sure why he'd taken her offer and her trust and thrown them in her face.

Wade closed his eyes, telling himself to get some rest. He needed it in order to strike out tomorrow.

But too many memories crowded his mind, keeping sleep at bay. Memories of the bright crimson of blood.

Jeff had heard the conversation outside and reached his own conclusion. Mr. Foster was leaving because of him.

He didn't know why he felt deserted again. Mr. Foster hadn't been here that long. Yet there had been something about him, something that had drawn Jeff to him.

It's real plain to see he needs a father and I have no interest in filling that role
. The words kept echoing in Jeff's head.

He felt such shame and disappointment, he was sick to his stomach. Then came resentment and defiance. He didn't need Mr. Foster. He didn't need anyone. He would show both Mr. Foster and his mother that he didn't care if their guest left or not.

Jeff got out of bed, found his small box of treasures, and took it over to the window. Light from the bright moon spilled over the contents once he opened the top. A Texas Ranger badge that had belonged to his father. A gold Mexican coin. A belt buckle. A tintype of his mother and father taken when they were married. And finally a fishing lure that Ty had given him the last time they went fishing. It was better than worms for catching trout, Ty had said. The lure was hand carved and decorated with little feathers. “Odd-looking bug,” Ty had told him, “but fish don't know any better.”

Jeff missed Ty. He tried not to, but he did. He missed the other Rangers, too. One day … one day, he would be a Ranger, too. He wished the thought made him happier, but it didn't. He just felt unwanted. Well, he wouldn't be here in the morning to see the stranger leave. Mr. Foster obviously didn't want anything to do with him. No one did. Everyone kept leaving him. Everyone.

Jeff got back in bed. He would get up early, before dawn. He would take Jake and go fishing. He and Jake would be just fine on their own. They didn't need anyone.

The bed seemed big. Bigger than ever before, Mary Jo thought, after sleeping for a week on Jeff's small bed. And lonely. So lonely. Even though she'd changed the linens, the bed still smelled of the stranger. Or was it her imagination?

She couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking of how much she would miss having a man to do for, even a man who resented every single offering.

Finally she did manage to close her eyes. Even then she didn't rest very long. Dawn had just broken when she woke.

Mary Jo quickly dressed, leaving off the corset as she usually did these days. For a while, she had kept to her upbringing. A lady always wore a corset, no matter what. But it had seemed too foolish here on the ranch.

She checked Jeff's room. He was gone, but she expected that. He was probably out with Mr. Foster.

Mary Jo started a fire in the stove, then hurried outside. No one in sight. The door to the barn was open, and she hurried over to it.

Wade Foster was awkwardly sweeping out one of the stalls. He was dressed, and his hair was wet. He straightened up when he saw her. The rising sun had followed her inside and lit his face.

“You see,” he said, looking at the mess at his feet. “I can't even rake out a stall.” He was trying to prove a point, and Mary Jo was surprised he felt he needed an excuse for leaving.

“I didn't want you to rake out a stall,” Mary Jo said. “Jeff can do that.”

“I wanted to do something to repay—”

“That's not necessary,” Mary Jo retorted sharply. “You've already made it clear you wish I'd just left you alone.”

The shadow in his eyes seemed to grow deeper. “I'm sorry for that,” he said.

She wasn't sure what “that” meant: his sullenness or her saving of his life. And she was too angry to want to know. She ignored his apology. “Have you seen Jeff?”

He shook his head. “Not this morning.”

“Or Jake?”

“No,” he said, puzzled.

“That's strange. He's always ready for breakfast. So is Jake.” She looked toward his horse's stall. King Arthur was there, munching on oats Wade Foster had apparently provided.

A rush of apprehension flooded Mary Jo. Jeff had been so eager to spend time with Wade Foster, and she had expected him to be the man's shadow, particularly since he knew Wade Foster might leave soon. Worried, she hurried back to the house, to Jeff's room, barely aware that Wade Foster was behind her.

In Jeff's room, she found an open box on the table next to the bed. She assessed the contents, taking out the badge, holding it for a moment, then riffling through the other treasures. She knew them all. She had been there when Jeff had carefully packed them for the move to Colorado, his small hands touching each reverently.

Ty's lure. It was missing!

“Mary Jo?” The fact that he was using her given name for the first time registered dimly in her fear-clouded mind.

“The creek,” she said, turning to him. “He's gone to the creek. It's been flooding. Yesterday the sheriff said a calf was swept away. Jeff can't swim. He knows he's not to go there alone when it's like this.”

“Where along the creek?” Wade Foster's words were clipped.

“There's a place he likes … a quarter of a mile from here. We've picnicked there occasionally.” She started running. It would take longer to saddle a horse than make it on foot. Fear was smothering her. Jeff was in danger. She sensed it.

She heard Wade Foster's steps behind her, but she paid them no mind. Only Jeff mattered.

Dear God, she couldn't lose her son.

Jeff realized quickly that the water was running too fast for good fishing. But the hurt and emptiness inside him had become sheer determination. A goal kept the sickness at bay, the sense of abandonment he'd felt each time he'd been left, starting with his father.

He walked down the bank, Jake following him, his tail like a flag in the wind, whipping back and forth with happiness at being outside.

The morning was golden and glorious, but Jeff barely noticed that fact. The hollowness inside was too overwhelming.

Jeff remembered Ty telling him to look for a quiet place. Trout loved the seduction of a shaded rock where insects buzzed and the water was still. But the water wasn't still anyplace. It was roaring down the sides of the bank, sometimes climbing over them. Branches, even a tree, were being swept down, tumbling over each other.

He looked around. There were no still, quiet holes, not today. But he found a branch anyway and used his knife to fashion a fishing pole, then tied his lure and hook on the string he'd brought. He set it down on the bank, then walked closer to the rushing water, regarding it with disgust.

Shuffling his feet, he tried to figure out what to do next. One of his boots tipped the pole, and it started to slide into the water. Jeff reached out to grab it. He couldn't lose the lure.

His foot slipped in the mud. He threw out his hands to grab something, but there was nothing but mud, and he felt himself sliding, sliding. And then he hit the cold water, swirling with it, going under it. Something hit his shoulder, and pain jolted through him.

A rock. He managed to grab hold of the rock that had stopped his progress downriver. He lifted his head up and drew deep breaths of air.

The currents kept pushing at him, and he held on for dear life. He looked around. He was in the middle of the rushing, overflowing creek. Jake was running back and forth along the bank, barking excitedly.

Jeff wasn't sure how long he could hold on. He tried to stand, but he couldn't get a sure footing. A branch stabbed him in the back, then was pulled into the main current.

“Jake,” he yelled. The dog stopped moving, looking at him curiously. He put a paw in the water, then another, but then drew back as if aware he too would be swept away. He whined plaintively, then tried again. This time, the current caught him and threw him into the middle of the stream. Jake battled frantically to get to his master, but the current was too strong. The dog went past Jeff, far out of reach.

“Jake,” Jeff screamed. And screamed again.

It was Wade Foster who heard him.

“This way,” he told Mary Jo, his legs moving faster than he'd thought possible. He sped ahead of her through the sparse trees that lined the stream.

The voice came again, hoarse and desperate, and Wade felt the boy's despair reach into his gut. And then he saw Jeff, one hand barely holding onto a large jagged rock that divided the creek.

He stopped, grabbing hold of Mary Jo as she started for the water. She swung around, anger and fear pinching her face. “Let me go.”

“Can you swim?” he asked, knowing that even if she could, she had little chance in that water.

She shook her head.

“Go back, get some rope. Fast,” he said. “I'll try to reach him.” She hesitated. “If you want to save him, do it. Neither of us can get him out alone.”

She turned around and started running. Wade calculated in his head. Mary Jo should be back in fifteen minutes at the latest. Could the boy hold on that long?

He walked to the water's edge, picking his way carefully. “Jeff,” he said. “Can you hold on?”

The boy nodded, but Wade saw the fear in his eyes. “Jake … Jake's gone,” Jeff yelled, his voice trembling.

“I'll find him,” Wade said. “You just hold on real tight. I know you can do it. Tell me if you feel yourself slipping.” Wade forced confidence into his voice. That was the secret, Jeff believing in himself. Fear could panic him.

Wade moved closer to the edge of the stream, talking to Jeff, trying to keep him calm. “Can you touch the bottom?” he asked.

The boy shook his head. His face was white with strain. How long before the floodwater swept him away?

Then Wade heard Mary Jo's running footsteps. She was holding a circle of rope. “Tie one end to a tree,” he said. “Make sure the knot is strong. Then give me the other end.”

He walked to the bank, pulled off his boots, and stepped into the water.

“Mr. Foster.” He turned around. Mary Jo was clambering down the bank, her dress already muddy. “I should go. You're still too weak.”

“You don't stand a chance,” he said bluntly. “I do, even with this arm.” She hesitated, and he knew he had to give her something to do. “Tear some cloth from your dress or petticoat and wrap it around your hands. You'll have to do some pulling on that rope.”

She nodded. After she handed him the rope, he plunged into the water. The water tugged at him, and he fought with everything inside him to stay upright. He hadn't been able to save his son, but he could help Jeff.