The Coyote's Cry (17 page)

“Jenna, this all has to be really difficult for you. You weren't raised with our traditions, and it wouldn't surprise me if you thought we were all a bit loony.” Willow looked off across the yard. “And you know something? Maybe we are.”

“No more so than anyone else. We all have quirks that others don't quite get.”

“That's true. Listen, at some point of the day, probably early evening, Granddad will want to go home. It's the way he is—it always happens. If no one else is here at the time, call me and I'll make sure someone picks him up.”

Jenna squeezed her friend's hand. “Thank you. Willow, do you think I should try to get hold of Bram one more time?”

“Granddad really has you worried, doesn't he?”

“I…can't help worrying. Willow, I heard a coyote the other night, and Nellie was with me and didn't hear it. That means something, doesn't it?”

“Oh, Jenna.” Willow threw her arms around her. “I can't explain something like that, and I really don't recommend that you ask Granddad for answers, because you'll hear much more about Comanche lore and tradition and guardian spirits than you ever wanted to know.”

“But maybe I should know,” Jenna said huskily.
I have Comanche blood, too, Willow, only I just recently found out about it,
she thought but kept it to herself.

“Jen, we grew up with it, Bram, Ashe, Jared, Logan and me. And our cousins, too, of course, and it doesn't always make sense to us. Think how confusing it could be for you.” Willow stepped back and sighed. “Do what you want, but just remember that I warned you. See you later.”

Wishing with all her heart that Bram would call, Jenna went back inside. Willow was right about the confusion, Jenna thought as she looked down the hall to the master bedroom. She couldn't
be
more confused, could she?

And to think it all started because she had leaped at an opportunity to spend time with Bram. What an innocent she'd been not even two months ago.

 

Just as Willow had forewarned, George WhiteBear came out of Gloria's room and announced that he wanted to go home. It was dinnertime, and Jenna tried to talk him into
eating with her. Again he refused, and she said, “But you haven't eaten all day.”

“I will eat when I get home.”

Jenna gave up. “I'll find you a ride.” She picked up the phone and called Willow. “He wants to go.”

“I already talked to Logan and he said he would pick him up when you called. He'll be there in about twenty minutes.”

“Thanks, Willow.” Jenna put down the phone and turned her head to talk to Mr. WhiteBear, but he wasn't there. She wandered from the kitchen and looked into the other rooms, and finally she spotted him sitting outside near a huge old tree. She went out and called from the porch, “Logan is on his way, Mr. WhiteBear.”

George nodded, then motioned her over. Jenna hesitated, for, like Willow, she didn't want to hear any more dire predictions, especially if they were about Bram. But she couldn't just ignore the old man's summons, and she finally left the porch and walked over to him.

“Is there something you'd like?” she asked gently. “Some more water, perhaps? Or tea? I could make you some tea to drink while you're waiting.”

“I wish to say something,” George said. “I saw the golden fox, and soon after, I met you. The meaning became clear, and now it's blurred again. My great-grandson is facing a mortal enemy and you must find a way to warn him. I have tried and failed. As his soul mate, you must do what I could not.”

Stunned, Jenna sank to the grass next to George's chair. “You actually see me as Bram's soul mate?”

“Must I explain something you should know in your heart?”

Tears welled in Jenna's eyes. “No,” she whispered. “I do know it in my heart. I've known it for a very long time.”

“Bram knows it, too.”

“He does?”

“You and he don't talk about it?”

“We don't talk about much of anything.”

“You must talk to him very soon. You must warn him.”

Jenna heard something and got up. “That's the phone.” She ran for the house, praying it was Bram calling.

It wasn't. It was Annie. “Is he ready to be driven home yet?”

“Yes, Annie, but Logan should be here any minute. Thanks for the offer, though.”

Jenna didn't go back outside. Instead she sat on the sofa, turned in such a way that she could see out of the window. She had much to think about and was deep in thought when Logan arrived. He was the spitting image of his older brother and
her
soul mate, Bram. But Logan was much more easygoing.

She jumped up and called, “Logan, could I speak to you for just a moment before you leave again?”

He walked to the house and went in. “Do you have any ideas about how I might locate Bram?” Jenna asked. “Your great-grandfather told me that I'm the one who has to warn Bram about the danger he's in.”

“Oh, Jenna, Bram's in danger every time he gets in that patrol car or tries to arrest some spaced-out druggie.”

Jenna nearly gasped at Logan's response. She was just too emotional where Bram was concerned.

“So I should disregard George's prediction, or premonition, or whatever it is?”

“I'm disregarding it, Jenna. The whole family is. If we got all worked up every time Granddad gave us his interpretation of signs and omens, we'd be chasing our tails half the time.”

Jenna dropped her gaze. Was the coyote cry she'd heard
a sign? An omen? Why would a spirit coyote visit her and not Logan? Or Willow? Or Jared?

“All right,” she said quietly. “That's all I had to say. Take him home. He wouldn't eat anything I offered. He said he would eat when he got home.”

“Jenna, he ate with us on the Fourth, and enjoyed it, too. He's just in one of his moods today.”

“He…he's worried.”

“Maybe, but don't let it get you down, okay? Talk to you later.” Logan left the porch and hurried over to the old man. “Ready to go, Granddad?”

“I've
been
ready for an hour.”

Logan sent Jenna a grin and a shrug, as if to say, “See? He's just in a bad mood.”

Jenna wasn't completely convinced, but had no idea what to do about it. She kept getting mixed messages from the Coltons. It was as if they sorted and sifted through George's warnings and only dealt with those they
could
deal with. And yet Jenna had heard several members of the family profess belief in the elderly man's supposed words of wisdom.

It was far, far beyond her ken, she thought sadly, and waved off Logan and George, then went inside the house and shut the door.

 

At midnight, Bram was lurking in some dense bushes watching one entrance into the high-toned condo project, while Tommy Hayes was watching a second entrance and Robb Lowell was parked down the street just waiting for something to happen. The three men stayed in contact with high-powered two-way radios, but only used them when something had to be said.

“There's a black SUV coming out,” Bram said quietly into his handheld radio. He peered through the dense leaves of the mulberry bush he was crouched behind as
the vehicle stopped for the gate to open and then shot forward. It happened fast, but Bram saw enough to alert his men. “It's him! Robb, pick up Tommy fast and get on his tail. I won't be far behind.” He ran for his own SUV, which he had backed into the driveway of a vacant house with a For Sale sign on its front lawn.

He jumped into the driver's seat and started the engine, then put a heavy foot on the gas pedal. The SUV jumped forward and Bram searched the street ahead for Robb's taillights. They had marked the left taillight of Robb's rig with a piece of black electrician's tape, making it easy to identify. But first Bram had to catch up with his deputies.

He drove like a bat out of hell and thanked heaven that it was late and the roads, at least in this part of town, were mostly devoid of traffic. And then, up ahead, he spotted the crippled taillight. Relaxing a bit, he slowed his speed and drove less like a maniac.

But his heart was beating wildly. They had a damn good chance of nabbing Joker tonight. But they had to do this right and make no mistakes. He couldn't see the black SUV that Joker was driving, but he didn't doubt that Robb and Tommy had it in their sights. And he had them in
his
sights.

So, where was that piece of slime heading? It wasn't long before Bram
knew
where they were all going—to the alley behind the Bucket o' Suds Saloon. Tobler had steered them right.

But that alley could be their undoing. Bram pushed the talk button on his radio. “Don't follow him in. Approach on foot from Abbott Street. I'll take the Green Street entrance. Be careful.”

He made a left turn, a right and then sped up Green Street. He parked a safe distance from the alley entrance, turned off the motor and listened. Music drifted on the night air, and an occasional voice and burst of raucous
laughter. When he felt it was time, Bram got out and walked toward the alleyway. He took his gun with him.

Suddenly there was shouting and gunshots. Bram ran to the building next to the alley and peered around it. There wasn't a soul to be seen.

Sweating, sick-to-his-stomach concerned about Tommy's and Robb's safety, he took another look. Still nothing moved.

But someone had fired a gun, maybe more than one person. He couldn't risk one or both of his deputies bleeding to death in that dirty alley while he remained safely concealed behind a brick building.

He stepped into the alley and began making his way down it, cautiously moving from garbage can to doorway to anything else that offered protection. He stepped from a doorway and someone yelled, “No, Bram, stay there!”

But it was too late. Two shots rang out. One bullet grazed his left arm. The other one hit him full in the chest. He went down like a sack of potatoes.

In her little bed at the Colton Ranch, Jenna, engulfed in fear, awoke with a start and grabbed at her chest. She tried to remember the dream that had caused such a shocked sensation, and couldn't.

But she knew it had been about Bram and it hadn't been just a dream; it had been a nightmare.

 

“Well, you're one lucky SOB, Sheriff,” the ER doctor said for perhaps the fourth time since Bram had regained consciousness. “That strange little metal thing in your shirt pocket saved your life tonight. Oh, sure, you've your arm to heal and a bruise on your chest that'll probably hurt like hell for a couple of days, but what's that compared to certain death, right?”

“Right,” Bram murmured. He was groggy from pain medication. Robb and Tommy were pale but beaming be
cause they'd gotten Joker. They had shot him when he shot Bram. They'd had no choice.

“Where's the…medallion?” Bram asked.

“Right here.” Someone put it in his right hand. “It was probably flat as a silver dollar before tonight, but it's not flat now.”

Bram moved it between his thumb and fingers and felt the curved shape. “No, it's not flat now,” he said. “Tommy, did you call Willow? Be sure not to call Jenna. Call Willow.”

“It's all taken care of, Bram. Just relax, man.”

“Who's driving me home?”

“They think you should stay here tonight…or what's left of tonight.”

“No way. Someone's gotta drive me home.”

“Okay, okay. I'll do it. You know, Bram, if Joker had used a bigger gun than that .22 when he shot you, that medallion might not have stopped the bullet.”

“It would have, Tommy. It was in the cards.”

“Bram, are you ready to hear what Joker said before he died?” Tommy asked.

“I didn't know he said anything.”

“How could you? You were out cold. Anyhow, the John Doe you buried was Joker's supplier. Joker knew him only as Feeny, and he showed up about once a month to deliver his wares. Joker said that the gun was Feeny's and that he tried to haggle on a price that had already been agreed upon, and when Joker wouldn't pay more for the goods, Feeny pulled the gun. Enter our pal Tobler. He grabbed Feeny from behind, and Joker took the gun from his hand. They both killed Feeny, Bram. He was a little guy and they easily shoved the gun back in his hand and put it to his head, which explains the powder burns. Then they emptied Feeny's pockets, took his bag of drugs, snatched his car keys and the gun and took off. They got rid of
Feeny's car, apparently, but Joker took his final breath before he could tell us where.”

Bram felt numb. In mind, in spirit, in body he felt numb and stupid and bitter. He'd paid for the burial of a criminal because he'd believed him to be a better person than he was.

“Charge Tobler with murder one,” he said dully. “And get me the hell out of here.”

J
enna couldn't go back to sleep. After a while she quit trying and got up. Moving quietly so she wouldn't disturb Gloria, she put on a robe and slippers, then left the bedroom and went to the kitchen, where she made tea.

It was late. The nightmare had awakened her at exactly 12:48 a.m.; she should have slept for at least another four hours. Five would have been better.

But she knew that she could lie in that bed for three days and not fall asleep again. Something had happened at 12:48 a.m., and until she was told what it was she would not be able to shut her eyes.

She sat at the kitchen table and sipped hot tea, experiencing a strange calmness that kept her hands steady and her eyes dry. When the phone rang an hour later, she wasn't at all surprised. She'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak, and apparently this was it.

Jenna picked up the phone, clutched it tightly in her hand and said, “Yes?”

“Jenna, it's Willow.”

“Is he alive?”

“Bram? Jenna, he's fine. He was shot but he's fine. How did you know I was calling about Bram?”

“I just knew, that's all. Is he in the hospital?”

“He's on his way home. Two deputies are driving him. I'm sorry I woke you, but I thought you should know before they got there.”

“I was awake before the phone rang. He wasn't badly hurt, then?”

“It could have been bad, but… Jenna, I'll let him tell you what happened. I've been at this hospital long enough. I'm beat and I'm going home. Talk to you soon.”

“Thanks for calling, Willow. Goodbye.”

Jenna resumed her chair at the table. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and she wiped it away. She didn't know where it had come from, because she didn't feel at all like crying. There was an unusual resolve keeping her strong, and while she didn't completely comprehend its source or cause, she knew that she had changed drastically.

Twenty minutes later she heard a car. Rising, she went to the front door and opened it. She watched while two men helped Bram from a vehicle and then walked him to the house. His shirt was partially unbuttoned and one sleeve was missing. His left arm was bandaged and his hair was sticking out every which way.

Jenna stepped back when the trio came in. Bram gave her a glassy-eyed look. “It's not as bad as it looks,” he mumbled.

“I know,” she said. “His bedroom is to the right,” she told the two men. “Just follow me.” She led them to the bedroom Bram was using, switched on lights and turned down the bed. “Undress him,” she said. “You men know I'm a nurse, so don't expect me to blush and giggle at the sight of a man's underwear.”

Tommy and Robb chuckled. “Bram said you were a pistol.”

“He did, did he? Well, he should know.”

Both deputies grinned. “Sounds serious, Bram,” Tommy said. “You been keeping something from us?”

“I'm sure he has,” Jenna said. “Sit him on the bed and pull off his boots.”

Even in his partially drugged state Bram sensed something different about Jenna. “What's…going on?” he asked.

Robb thought he was talking to him and Tommy and answered. “We're putting you to bed, man.”

Bram's eyes rose to Jenna's face and she flashed him a quick smile. It was there and gone so fast that Bram squinted and wondered if he might have been seeing things.

His shirt went and then his pants and socks, and when he was down to his shorts Tommy and Robb gently laid him back. Jenna pulled the covers up to his waist and stopped to study the bruise on his chest for several seconds. That was an injury with a story, she was positive.

“Jenna, I've got two bottles of pills here. One is an antibiotic and the other one's for pain. I've also got a bunch of papers and written instructions. You're supposed to watch his arm for excessive bleeding and change the bandage after about twenty-four hours.” Tommy rambled on for several more minutes, reciting the ER doctor's instructions, and Jenna listened politely.

But she knew how to care for a flesh wound and a bruised chest. She walked the men to the door and asked them to wait a minute before they left.

“I need to know something. Who shot Bram?”

“A jerk named Joker,” Tommy replied.

The laughing man.
“And how was he dressed? What was he wearing?”

“I don't know. Something black—an old jogging suit, I think it was.”

“Thank you. Those were my only questions.”
Watch out for a laughing man in black.
George WhiteBear had been right again.

After Tommy and Robb said good-night, Jenna hurried back to Bram. As she'd figured would be the case, his eyes were closed. Along with normal weariness, whatever opiates the ER staff had administered to him would probably keep him knocked out for hours.

She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward to just look at him. He'd been shot but he was alive. That was all that mattered. She studied his face and fell even more deeply in love, and then she dropped her gaze to the purpling bruise on his chest and knew what had jettisoned her out of a sound sleep. It had been a nightmare, all right, but not in the normal sense. She'd felt the impact of whatever had made that bruise, as surely as though the projectile had struck her. Some very strange forces were at work tonight; rather, strange forces had been all around her since the day she walked into this house.

Jenna sat with Bram for another hour, then, finally feeling heavy-eyed, she returned to her own bed and instantly fell asleep.

She awoke again at seven and hurriedly got up to check on Gloria. To Jenna's everlasting surprise, the elderly woman reached for Jenna's hand. She had never shown any sign of affection for her nurse before and the gesture touched Jenna deeply.

“You're feeling better, aren't you?” Jenna asked gently, with a warm smile. “I'm so glad. I'll get dressed and give you your morning bath. I won't be long.” She rushed through her own ablutions, and when she was dressed and ready for the day, she slipped away and went to Bram's room. He was still sleeping. She checked the bandage on
his arm for blood and saw that it was only slightly tinged. He was fine. She left to tend to Gloria's needs.

Every time Gloria napped that day Jenna sat in Bram's room and watched him sleep. She felt not a dram of confusion anymore and knew exactly what she was going to do when he awoke and could talk. Her girlish reluctance to speak her mind with Bram had vanished completely. That, too, gladdened her, and she decided it was a very good day all around.

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 af
ternoon. 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.