The Coyote's Cry (11 page)

She completely erased all signs of Southern-belle coyness from her expression and got up. “I'll talk to Sheriff Colton about hospitalization for his grandmother when he comes home. There's something else I have to say before you leave. I embarrassed myself by flirting with you, and I apologize for being so shallow and silly when I'm in love with someone else.”

Dr. Hall slowly rose. “Doesn't he know you're in love with him? I mean, if you
are
in love, why would you flirt with another man?”

“Because I know it and he doesn't. At least he won't let on if he does.”

“Jenna, he doesn't deserve you. Tell him I said so.
Goodbye. Call me if the Colton family decides to hospitalize Gloria.”

Jenna followed him to the door. “You're a nice man.”

Dr. Hall smiled wryly. “I just take rejection well.” He started to leave, then stopped and looked back at her. “Maybe I'll give you a call one of these days. Dinner and a movie is an innocent enough date, don't you agree?”

“I can't leave Gloria, Doctor.”

“Richard. And I'm sure we could arrange for a substitute nurse for a few hours.”

Jenna couldn't help smiling. “You might
think
you take rejection well, but from where I stand it appears it merely makes you more determined.”

“Could be…could be.” Chuckling, Dr. Hall continued on to his car.

 

Neither Bram nor his deputies learned anything helpful from any of the people they talked to for the rest of the day and far into the night.

Discouraged, Bram threw in the towel and drove home around two in the morning. He wasn't getting enough sleep and he was beat. It was an effort to walk from his car to the house, and he merely glanced to his left, into the dimly lit bedroom occupied by Gran and Jenna, before heading for his own room and bed. The house was as silent as usual, and he'd been able to see Gran in bed during that one brief look he'd taken, which pacified his worry for her enough to let him sleep. He wouldn't let himself think of Jenna, whose much smaller bed wasn't visible from the front entrance.

Yawning, he approached his bedroom and realized that he must have forgotten to turn off the lamp on the bedstand that morning, because it was still on and casting light on the hallway carpet. He stepped into the room and stopped dead in his tracks. Jenna was asleep on his bed.

He blinked and prayed he was hallucinating, for he didn't have the strength to deal with Jenna at this unholy hour and at a time when exhaustion threatened to knock him off his feet.

But he knew he could stand there for the remainder of the night and she would
still
be sleeping on his bed, and damn, she was beautiful. He actually felt like bawling. She was the woman he should have. Because he couldn't have her he would remain a bachelor for the rest of his life. It wasn't fair.

But had anyone ever said that life was fair? Leaning against the frame of the door, Bram drank in the sight of Jenna. She was covered to the waist with a blanket, breathing evenly and shallowly, obviously in a deep sleep. Her glorious mane of golden hair was spread over the pillow, and she was wearing something pink and pretty.

Then bitterness twisted Bram's mouth. He loved this woman and couldn't make her his wife. He'd crossed way too far over the line with her and shamed both her and himself. And still he loved her—in such a powerful, all-consuming way that he knew nothing else in his life would ever compare.

Heaving a self-pitying sigh, he pushed away from the door frame and walked over to the bed. “Jenna?”

She didn't budge. He leaned over and spoke a little louder. “Jenna?”

“Umm,” was all she said, but she opened her eyes to tiny slits and saw him. Her arms went up. “Come to bed, darling.”

She was still sleeping! He
knew
she wasn't awake, and yet her words delivered such a potent thrill to his system he reeled from it. He also knew that he should shake her shoulder and fully waken her, then tell her to get the heck out of his bed and go to her own.

But she looked soft as a kitten and so womanly and
beautiful that he merely stood there, clenched his jaw spasmodically and suffered the torment of the damned. What had he done, he wondered, to deserve this kind of torture? If he lay down with her he knew exactly what would happen, and it wouldn't be the sleep he needed so much. It would be hours of kissing her, undressing her, touching every inch of her incredibly lush body and making love to her for as long as his strength held out or dawn broke, whichever came first. No, he couldn't let it happen again. How much misery could a man cause himself, anyway?

“Jenna!” he growled loudly.

“Wha-what?” Eyes wide-open, she sat up with a start. “Did you just yell at me?”

“What're you doing in my bed?”

She was getting her wits about her. “I have to tell you something, and since you never come home at a respectable hour anymore, I figured sleeping in here until you showed up was the only way to see you.” Feeling vulnerable on his bed, she slid from it, making sure she didn't come close to him, and padded barefoot to the door in case she needed to make a quick getaway. That man was not going to have his unscrupulous way with her again, however much her body yearned for his touch.

He didn't miss her cautionary tactics and felt rather wounded by her obvious determination to avoid contact. He wasn't a threat, for hell's sake. All she would have had to do was to say no and nothing would have
ever
happened between them. So which of them bore the most blame? He was willing to accept his own, but she had been just as eager to make love. Both times!

“So say what you have to say and get it over with. I'm dead on my feet,” he growled.

“Oh, you're just the sweetest thing, aren't you?” she said with heavy sarcasm.

Her queen-of-the-prom tone really fried him. He was too
damn tired to play games. “Jenna, I'm going to bed. If you have something to tell me, do it.” He started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Don't you dare undress in front of me.”

“Like you haven't seen it all before?” He removed his shirt and dropped it on the floor.

“That doesn't mean I want to see it again!”

“Well, if you stand there and watch, you're going to.”

Jenna rushed into her little speech. “Dr. Hall was here today—I should probably say yesterday, seeing as how it's already tomorrow—and he thinks Gloria should be hospitalized.”

Bram had been unbuttoning the fly on his jeans, and he stopped to glare at her. “Why? Did he just now stumble across a miracle cure for stroke victims?”

“Of course not. Don't be absurd.”

“Did he guarantee her recovery if we put her in the hospital?”

“No one could do that.”

“Then why in hell should we take her there so she can die in a strange place that she already hates?”

“
I
didn't say you should take her anywhere! Dr. Hall said it.”

“Oh, I get it, your precious Dr. Hall merely makes the bullets. You shoot 'em.”

“You perfectly odious person! Don't you know I love Gloria? Don't you know I only want to see her live and be active and happy again? And while I'm walking around sad and weepy and praying for a miracle, you Coltons are already planning her funeral! Well, you can go straight to hell, all of you!” Jenna whirled around to leave.

“Jenna!” Bram made a dive for her and caught her by the arm. “What you just said is how you snow-whites see Comanche ways, and the precise reason you and I could never make a go of it!”

“So who
wants
to make a go of it, you conceited…egotistical…” Her voice trailed off as tears flooded her eyes. “Damn you,” she whispered hoarsely.

Bram gathered her into his arms and brought her head to his chest. “We're forever making each other miserable. I'm sorry…I'm sorry.”

Jenna sobbed against the smooth skin of his bare chest. “You exaggerate our differences because of my dad.”

“I know.”

Jenna leaned her head back and looked up at his face. “You
do
know it, don't you? And still you let bigotry run your life. Bram, you were elected to office by the people of Comanche County.
All
the people, not just the Native Americans. Doesn't that mean something to you? Don't you realize that you're as prejudiced as Dad is? You just called me a snow-white, and I just might be the least prejudiced person you know.”

She stood in the circle of his arms and waited for him to answer, and when he didn't she knew he didn't
have
an answer. Escaping his embrace, she said wearily, “I'm going to bed. Good night.”

Bram was too tuckered out to lie awake and worry about anything, but he drifted off thinking about Jenna and the things she'd said to him, her point of view on their impasse.

There was no question about her getting the last word in that particular argument, and his only defense on that score was a question: did it matter who had won the argument? All it had accomplished, after all, was more pain for both of them.

He awoke three hours later remembering Dr. Hall's recommendation that Gran be hospitalized.

“No way,” he muttered while dragging himself out of bed. “No damned way is she going to die alone in a hospital!”

But this wasn't a decision he could make all on his own. He would contact his brothers, his sister, his uncle and his cousins later on today and get everyone's input. It was the only fair thing to do about a family problem this serious.

He deliberately omitted George WhiteBear from that list because he knew the old man would be appalled at the mere thought of his daughter being shuffled off to a hospital during her final days. Death was part of life, just as birth was, and George could deal with that. But he strongly believed in a family's responsibility to care for its sick and dying.

He would not only vote no, Bram knew, he would recite Comanche rituals and customs to every one of his descendants until the day of his own death, possibly fearing that if they would put his daughter in a hospital to die they would do the same to him.

Bram left the house feeling like the dregs at the bottom of a barrel. It was a feeling that was becoming much too commonplace lately.

A
round eleven in the morning, with Gloria resting, Jenna had a little time on her hands. Using it to curl up on the sofa in the living room and worry wasn't all that bright, but she couldn't help herself.
Would
Gloria be better off in the hospital? Dr. Hall couldn't guarantee it, but a doctor was only a person with a medical education, not the Almighty.

And neither was Bram omnipotent and all-knowing, Jenna thought resentfully. As for Mr. WhiteBear, wasn't it rather callous of him to predict his own daughter's demise and scare the living daylights out of the rest of his family?

Jenna couldn't shake the doldrums this morning. If Bram had come home at a respectable hour last night she would not have been in his room, sleeping on his bed. But she had felt duty-bound by her profession to relay Dr. Hall's recommendation, and after trying to keep her eyes open for hours, she'd finally lost the battle and decided
that the only way she was going to see Bram was by waiting for him in his room. And, of course, she'd gotten chilly lying down, had pulled up a blanket and eventually fallen asleep.

The phone rang, and Jenna got up with a frustrated sigh to answer it. “Colton Ranch.”

“This is Bram.”

She could hardly believe he'd called, and couldn't begin to guess at the reason. “I'm surprised you know your own phone number.”

“I didn't call because I was longing for another argument with you. How's Gran this morning?”

“The same.”

“Well, ‘the same' is a lot better than ‘she's much worse,' wouldn't you agree?”

“You'll get no argument from me on that point. However—”

“No, don't say it. Let
me
say something. I've made at least a dozen calls this morning and talked to almost every Colton. They all agreed that Gran should not be put in the hospital. We'd lose her within the week if she thought no one wanted her.”

“Even if everyone took turns staying in her room with her?”

“Do you really find her fear and dislike of hospitals that unusual? I can't believe Gran is the only person who doesn't like being surrounded by strangers.”

Jenna heaved another sigh. “No, she's not the only person who doesn't like hospitals. It would be moronic to argue that issue, but most people have to spend time in a hospital at some point in their life.”

“So you think that's where she belongs?”

“I didn't say that.”

“Would she get better care than you're giving her?”

“I…can't say that, either.”

“Well, I can say that she wouldn't. You're constantly there for her, and I know how clean you keep her and how hard you try to make her meals palatable. She wouldn't receive one-on-one care in the hospital. She couldn't. The hospital has just so many nurses on staff, and I've heard they're overworked as it is. One elderly lady is not going to be given preferential treatment—you know it, I know it.”

“You're never here and yet you know all that.”

“I've been home enough to know what's going on, Jenna. There's something else, too. I've been thinking about what you said about Granddad last night, and—”

“Don't you mean this morning?”

“Yes, I mean this morning. Sorry I can't keep my working schedule in line with yours.”

Jenna bit down on her lip for a moment. Haranguing Bram wasn't going to accomplish anything, except maybe to cause him to stay away from his own home even more than he already did.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I'm not anxious for another argument, either, despite evidence to the contrary. What did you want to say about your great-grandfather?”

Her change of attitude and gentle apology warmed Bram through and through. They shouldn't be on opposite sides of any issue, real or imagined, not when there were so many good feelings between them. His feelings for her were not only a very big part of him, but he was beginning to believe that Jenna was falling in love with him. Yes, he'd been fighting against that very thing, but it was damn tough for a man to keep shoving happiness out of his life.

He realigned his thoughts. “I think you have a wrong impression of Granddad. I know it's not your fault,” he hastened to add. “You formed it from the little you've seen of him and from things I've said about him.”

“You and others in your family. Bram, he's a very old
man and often advanced age causes, uh…” She couldn't say it, couldn't suggest that George WhiteBear no longer possessed all of his faculties.

But she didn't have to say it. Bram knew exactly what she was thinking. “Granddad's mind is as clear as mine, Jenna, but he lives by some very ancient ways that you've probably never even heard of. I'm sure you've wondered why he didn't stay with me so he could be with his daughter. But the family didn't wonder because everyone knows that twenty years ago—maybe even ten—he would have demanded that his daughter be brought to
his
house so
he
could care for her. He didn't desert her, Jenna, and I know he's performing all sorts of rituals that will take her from this life to the next in peace and serenity.”

“How can I put stock in ancient rituals? I was trained to believe in science and the dependability of modern medicine and technology.”

“And I believe in your training, even while understanding and accepting Granddad's methods and beliefs. Jenna, there's always more than one way to do something, and you said last night…or early this morning, if you prefer…that you're the least prejudiced person I know. Isn't your opinion of Granddad just a bit biased?”

“Bram, it's not easy to reconcile science and messages from coyotes and golden foxes.
You
don't live that way, and from what I can deduce from talking to your cousins and siblings, neither does anyone else in your family.”

“We've all been homogenized,” Bram said dryly. “Jenna, it wasn't too many years ago that almost all Native Americans in the area leaned a lot further toward Granddad's style of living than yours and mine.”

She took in a big breath and released it slowly. “I suppose you know a lot more about it than I do, but coyotes, Bram? Golden foxes?”

“One golden fox, Jenna. In all of his life, he's seen only one golden fox. Until he met you, that is.”

“He did say what I thought he said, didn't he?”

“Yes, but don't take it to mean that he thought you were a very foxy lady—which you are, of course. Only Granddad hasn't noticed foxy females for quite a few years now.”

“Then what
did
he mean?”

“Uh…” Bram didn't want to tell her about his great-grandfather's interpretation of meeting a human golden fox, and what Bram should do about not letting her get away. “When I drove him home he said you have a good heart.”

“Meaning a heart attack is still a ways off?”

“Possibly, but I think he was referring more to your generous spirit and kindness.”

“He sensed those things about me from one brief meeting?”

Bram grinned. “Probably made fast work of determining your personality because of your being a golden fox.”

“It concerns me that you actually might be serious about that.”

“Well, I think you're a golden fox, too, only the term means something much different to me than it does to Granddad.”

Jenna's pulse quickened. Was he actually flirting with her? Did she
want
him flirting with her? Considering his erratic treatment of her, she shouldn't even be talking nicely to him. And yet there was no way she could deny the anticipatory thrills building within her.

“If I'm a fox, does that make you a coyote?” she asked. She'd never been overly fond of coyotes, so her question was more of a dig than a compliment.

He caught on and played along. “I'm not a coyote, I'm
a bear. A grizzly.” Almost lazily he swiveled his desk chair so he could see out the window of his office.

“Liar. You've never even seen a grizzly. They're all up north.”

“Neither have I seen a golden fox before, but that doesn't mean they don't exist.”

“Foxes are red, not golden.”

Bram was enjoying the banter. He didn't ordinarily hang on the phone and flirt with women; in fact, this could be classified as a first. But this was Jenna, the love of his life, and he knew now that he was capable of behaving as giddily as any other guy in love.

“Yes, but…” Bram suddenly got to his feet and stared out the window. Driving into the visitors' lot and parking was a pale gray Lincoln. “Jenna, I have to go. See you later.”

Putting down the phone before she could even say a quick “Bye,” he stepped outside his office door and waited for the tall, dark-haired driver of the luxury car to enter the station.

The man walked in and stopped at the counter. “Is Sheriff Colton in?”

“Yes, sir, he is,” the duty officer replied. “Do you want to see him?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Give me your name and I'll let him know.”

“My name is Rand Colton.”

Bram was thunderstruck. The nosy but classy guy driving a Lincoln—as described by Sheila at the Crossroads Café—and asking questions about the Colton family, was a Colton himself?

Bram walked over to the counter. “I'm Sheriff Colton. Did I hear your name correctly?”

“I'm sure you did. Rand Colton.” He extended his hand.

Bram shook it. “Come on back to my office.” He led the mystery man into the room and gestured at the chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” Rand sat down.

The two men looked each other over. Bram spoke first. “Are we related?”

“That's one of the things I'm trying to figure out. Let me explain.”

“Believe me, I would appreciate an explanation. I've been told by at least a dozen good citizens that two strangers have been in town asking questions about the Coltons.”

“
Two
strangers?”

“The other guy isn't with you?”

“No, and I can't imagine who he might be.”

Bram studied the frown on Rand Colton's face. “No idea at all?”

“Do you have a clue to his identity?”

“I didn't have any clues about either one of you. Your being a Colton and walking in like this is one very big surprise. Someone said you were driving a pale gray Lincoln, and I've been looking for it ever since.”

“I've been staying in Oklahoma City and driving over here.”

“To stay out of sight?”

“Sheriff, I don't have any reason to stay out sight. No, I've been staying in Oklahoma City for various reasons, one of which is simple enough. I like the place. Maybe I should start at the beginning. I live in Washington, D.C. My father's name is Joe and I have an Uncle Graham. Other than siblings and kids, Dad and Graham are my only living blood relatives. About four, five months back, Dad was going through some old boxes stored in his attic that had once belonged to
his
father, and he ran across some old letters from a Gloria Colton. No, that's not right. What
he found were envelopes with Gloria's name in the return address corner. Her name and the name of this town, without, I might point out, a street address. Whatever had been mailed in the envelopes—letters, I'm assuming—were missing, either accidentally misplaced or deliberately destroyed by my grandfather.

“I'm a lawyer, and Dad asked me to look into it, for, uh, reasons of his own. I agreed, of course, and went to Oklahoma City and began searching records. To my surprise I kept bumping into the Colton name—obviously a prolific family. Births, deaths, marriages…everything's recorded in the capital. But I still don't know exactly who Gloria Colton is and what connection she has to the Oklahoma Coltons, or if your family and mine are related. I would have come here to see you the minute I hit town if I'd known the sheriff was a Colton, but I only recently stumbled upon that fact. That's about it. I checked records at this courthouse as well, but…”

“Did you burn it down, too? Or
try
to burn it down?”

Rand looked stunned. “Good Lord, no! I heard it was arson, but I'm not a criminal, Sheriff.”

“Bram. My first name is Bram.”

“Well, Bram, who's on your family tree that might be related to some ancestor on mine? Can we discuss it?”

Bram eyed him speculatively. Sheila was right. Rand Colton looked well-groomed and well-off. He was dressed casually, but he hadn't bought those slacks and shirt at a discount store. Still, what in hell was this all about? Gran hadn't told any of them about her past. Was there any way she could in her present condition? If this guy calling himself Rand Colton wasn't some kind of con artist, and there was something
to
tell, that is?

“Before I discuss anything with you about Colton family business, I'd like to do a little checking of my own. Any objections?”

“None whatsoever.” Rand got up. “Do you want to call me or should I call you?”

Bram shoved a pad and pen across the desk. “Write down where you're staying in O.C., and the phone number, if you have it. I'll phone when I have something to say.”

“Fair enough.” Rand bent forward and wrote on the pad. “Thanks for seeing me, and I wish I'd known the law around here was headed up by a Colton. This would have been my first stop. I think it would have gotten us off on a better footing.”

Bram rose, they shook hands again and Rand left.

Bram fell back into his chair, feeling all but stupefied. One more shock like that one and he'd be a gibbering idiot.

“Hell's bells,” he mumbled.

 

Thomas and Alice dropped in, each carrying a gift of food. Jenna had come to genuinely like this uncle and aunt of Bram's, and she greeted them warmly.