Forget Me Not (44 page)

•  •  •

Boots's recovery was slow but steady. The next few days, J.D. sat in the room, allowing visitors to pay their respects. Boots gained some strength, but he slept a lot. J.D. had checked the rest of his joints, and nothing else had been broken or cracked as far as he could tell. Boots had asked for and had been given very small doses of laudanum to help with the pain in his ribs. But other than bed rest, there wasn't a whole lot that could be done. Time was the best medicine.

This morning, Boots had eaten a bowl of cornmeal mush with molasses. Afterward, J.D. had shaved him. Boots had put up a big stink about it, saying he could do it himself. But he could barely sit up when J.D. challenged him. In defeat, he'd fallen back into the pillows and had grumbled his consent.

Convinced Boots was on the mend, J.D. had been outside for a time today. He'd ridden in the close proximity of the house, to check on the irrigation trenches Hazel was working on and the lot fences that needed repairing.

Sitting in the broad chair by the bed, J.D. fought off the sleep that threatened to claim him. Normally, he could adjust to minimal shuteye, but that was when he was physically tired. The past week had drained him emotionally. He hadn't made any strong effort to put to rights the trouble between himself and Boots, as he should have done before. But the time had come when neither of them could afford to chase away the other. They were all they had.

He wasn't sure how Boots would react to his efforts, or if he should even come right out and say that it was time for them to put an end to their arguing. He had nobody to confide in . . . well, there was Jo. He would have talked to her about it, but he was unable to open himself up to her again.

Though the Thursday train had come and gone and she was still here, that train came through every Thursday. Her ticket was still good, and as soon as Boots was up, she'd eventually use it.

The sleeping cat curled up next to Boots's side stirred, causing Boots to rouse. His head turned in the direction of the chair as he opened his eyes. “Y'all're still here,” he said, spoken more as a fact than a question.

“I reckon I am.”

“Y'all've got better things to do than sit around with me.”

“Not especially.”

“That's bullshit, and y'all know it.” Boots lifted his hand slightly in a gesture of disgust. “Y'all've always been mule-headed.”

“Runs in the family.”

“I expect it does.” He gazed into space, his look one of vague amusement. “I remember when y'all
were thirteen and thought you were dead tough. Y'all never listened to me.” Struggling to lie higher on his pillows, Boots winced as he moved but glared off J.D.'s help as he resettled himself. “Y'all got your first six-shooter about then. Some idiot gave it to you.”

“Lucas Strickland.”

“He was a no-account.”

“I liked him.”

“He gave you a gun with the cylinder burnt out. Y'all told me he made you promise not to load it, to just pretend to shoot it.” He frowned in exasperation. “What kind of a bonehead did you think I was? Nobody gives a boy a gun and then expects him not to load it.”

J.D. brought his left calf to his right knee and sank deeper into the comfortable chair. “Lucas told me to just use caps with it. Caps and balls.”

“Then how come William nearly blew his hand off?”

“Because he took it from my room and loaded it for real. I told you that. You didn't listen to me.”

“I heard you. I didn't believe you.”

“Sounds like you,” J.D. said, then instantly regretted his sarcastic words. “You took an ax to that gun.”

“I remember. But y'all got yourself another one.”

“Of course I did.”

Boots gazed at him with directness. “Back when I was a boy, I waited until my father gave me a percussion rifle.”

“I didn't know they had them back then.”

“What do y'all think I used?” he scoffed. “A flintlock?”

“I don't know. You never told me.”

“I never told you a lot of things.”

A silence gathered around them, a long and wistful pause filled with memories that were as solid as the furnishings in the room.

Quietly, J.D. asked, “Do you think William and Lewis are in heaven?”

Boots's face was expressionless a moment, then softened. “Eugenia does. I guess I believe it, too.”

“Yeah . . . so do I.”

Fingering the edge of his blanket, Boots said, “I wasn't fair to y'all after they died. I was missing them so much, I neglected the son I had left.”

“I wasn't much help in making it easier on any of us. I ran away from the problems and came out here.”

“And y'all did a fine job of turning into a man on your own.” Boots's eyes grew cloudy. “I never told you, but I'm damn proud of all you've done. Even though I've never said it.”

J.D. pulled in a slow breath, then said, “It's because we've been mad at each other for a long time.”

“Have we?” Boots's white brows arched. “I thought we just didn't like each other.”

“I like you enough, Boots.”

“Is that right?”

“Well, dammit, you sure make it hard for me to like you.”

“I don't need anybody to like me.”

J.D. sat straighter. “Now who's full of bullshit?” He combed his hair away from his forehead. “You get a kick out of the boys joshing with you. If they didn't like you some, they wouldn't do it.”

Boots grumbled. “Y'all have been inside too long. The sun can't soak through your head and warm your brain up to snuff. Y'all're not thinking.” His hooded eyes narrowed down on J.D. “If you were, y'all'd be trying to win your sweetheart back instead of wasting time with me.”

J.D. hadn't realized Boots knew anything about him and Josephine. Had she told him? When?

“I went and got my hopes up for y'all. I thought that by next spring, I could be taking my grandson into Walkingbars and opening up an account for him,” Boots said matter-of-factly.

“How'd you know about me and Jo?”

“I live here,” he muttered dryly. “I don't always
hear, but I can see. I've got two eyes that can look right through that knothole in y'all's head.”

How Boots had figured out his relationship with Josephine didn't really matter. There was nothing to be done. He'd asked. She'd said no.

“She's got plans,” J.D. remarked, lowering his leg and tenting his fingertips together over his chest.

“Her brains don't weigh an ounce of that two-ton idea. San Francisco isn't going to make her happy if y'all're not there with her.” A frown set into Boots's features but ebbed away to a secret smile as he dug his fingers into the fur on the cat's belly for a slow scratch. “She's in love with you.”

“She told you that?” J.D. shot back, damning the glimmer of hope that caught him.

“Didn't have to. I can tell.”

J.D.'s optimism fell; cynicism took over in its wake. “Since when are you an expert on love?”

“Good gawd, but y'all're going to make me lay you across my knee,” Boots retorted. “I know what love is. I love Eugenia.”

“I didn't know that.”

“I've always loved Eugenia. From the moment I first saw her. It's just that her and me, we can't live together. Doesn't mean I love her any less,” Boots simply declared. “She wasn't happy here. She likes Boston, and that's fine with me as long as I don't have to live there, too.”

J.D. stared wordlessly at him. He'd never have figured Boots to admit such a thing. All these years, he never thought his father loved his mother. But he had cared; that's why he let her go.

“Now, Josephine, she's not like Eugenia,” Boots continued. “She doesn't need any fancy city to make her happy. She likes it here all right. She just doesn't know how much.”

“I can't force her to stay.” J.D. locked his hands on the chair's arm rests.

“I don't think y'all can afford to watch her go.”

Their eyes locked. J.D. admitted to himself that Boots was right. He couldn't tell him he was right, but his gaze probably said as much.

J.D. was the first to look away. Disconcerted, he folded his arms across his chest. This was the longest, most honest conversation he and Boots had had in more years than J.D. could remember. He was at a loss over how to proceed.

Luckily, a knock sounded on the door as it opened. Josephine's head peeked around the corner.

“I just wanted to see how he's doing,” she whispered to J.D. before looking at the bed.

“He's not pushing up daisies,” Boots answered cryptically, causing Josephine's head to turn in his direction. “This room is about as placid as a duck pond. Something better liven it up, or I'm liable to expire from the boredom.” Motioning to J.D., he said, “Get a deck of cards. We'll show the cookie here how to play twenty-one.”

“I don't want to intrude,” Josephine said.

“You're not,” Boots assured her.

J.D. got up from the chair and went toward the door. Josephine stayed still, and J.D. couldn't go around her. “The cards are on the mantel,” he explained.

She stepped out of his way, and he left.

•  •  •

Josephine knit her fingers together and waited. She had been in the kitchen most of the morning making peach pies. Alone with Boots, she was at a loss over how to say what had to be said, even though she'd had plenty of time to gather her thoughts properly.

She'd visited Boots in tiny intervals this past week, never staying overly long when J.D. was in the room; and never when he wasn't. She didn't know how to broach the subject, but she had to, so she came out and said, “I'm sorry you got hurt. It was my fault.”

Boots shot her a withering glare. “Good gawd, but y'all can be greener than manure. You think because
you left the gate open and that cow got out, that I just up and went loco?”

The tabby cat stood up, arched its back in a stretch, then recurled itself by Boots's side.

“I was going to get around to riding a horse sooner or later to see if I still knew how. And by gawd, I did. It's just that the horse caught his foot in a go-down. How is that paint, by the way?”

“He's okay. He had a little scrape. Hazel saw to him.”

Boots's face displayed an uncanny awareness that said he saw clear through her. “A person ought to say they've made a mistake rather than go through with what they were intending just for pride's sake. I ought to know.”

Before she could reply, J.D. returned with the cards. He brought the extra chair to the bed, then sat down himself.

Josephine hesitantly took a seat. She wavered, trying to decide whether or not she wanted to play cards. It wasn't the game itself that made her indecisive, rather her own emotions that reeled inside her. Her mind was unsettled with confusion. She had fought against believing what her heart had been telling her. And that was: stay and be J.D.'s wife.

But it was like Boots said, she'd made her decision and she felt she had to live with it because she was convinced leaving was the right thing to do. But whenever she thought ahead, her future looked vague and shadowy when she tried to imagine what life would be like in San Francisco.

“I must be worse off than I thought,” Boots said with a lift of his nose, “because I smell peach pie.”

“You do,” Josephine replied. “I took four out of the oven a little while ago.”

J.D. shuffled the cards. “I'll deal,” he said stiffly, then tossed out three cards facedown in a circle on the blue coverlet.

Josephine had seen the cowboys play this game
before, but she hadn't ever sat close enough to determine its object.

Once the red-backed card was in front of her, she reached out for it but stopped short with a jump when Boots exploded, “Good gawd, y'all don't touch your card before the deal is done.”

She mumbled her apologies, not particularly in the mood to be the brunt of Boots's sour temperament at the moment. There were times when she thought him the dearest man, and others when she just wanted to scream at him. She didn't think he'd ever change, but she'd hoped that the accident would have humbled him a little.

J.D. went around again, this time leaving cards faceup. She remained still, not moving a muscle.

“Well, go ahead and look at your bottom card now,” Boots advised. “Just don't show anybody.”

She did, feeling J.D.'s gaze on her. It was hard to be in the same room with him, feeling as if they were closed off and yet so far apart.

“Now, what you have to do is get twenty-one. That means your cards need to add up to that amount. Jacks, queens, and kings are ten. An ace is either eleven or one.”

Josephine didn't utter a word. She was somewhat confused, her concentration just not targeted on the two of clubs that was exposed or the eight of hearts that wasn't. “I'm supposed to add these two numbers together?” she asked in a general question.

J.D. replied with a soft drawl that skimmed across her skin and made her tingle. “You take the two that's faceup, and you add it with the number of the card beneath it. You want the total to be twenty-one.”

“All right.”

Boots took his faceup card in his hand and flicked it abruptly across the spread. “Hit me.”

J.D. tossed him another card, then looked at Josephine. “Do you want another card?”

She nodded.

He dealt her the ace of diamonds.

“Ho!” Boots declared. “Could be she's got twenty-one.”

Josephine couldn't remember what the exact rule was about the ace card. Had Boots said it was worth one point or eleven points?

Boots flopped his cards to the center. “I'm busted.”

J.D. took another card. “I'm out, too.”

Wordlessly, she exposed her eight card. “I think I have twenty-one.”