The Coyote's Cry (6 page)

Bram returned to his vehicle, got in and drove home to his own ranch, deciding what to put in his backpack for a ten-mile hike and possibly an overnight sleep-out. Of course, he'd have George's stubbornness to contend with, that was certain, and if the old man wasn't ready to go home, Bram knew he couldn't force him. But what if he'd taken a fall during that long trek, or gotten ill and was in dire need of help? Bram
had
to find him.

He went into his house and saw the door of the master suite closed. Recalling Jenna's rule, but wondering if maybe she'd shut the door just to avoid seeing him, he sat at the kitchen table and used the telephone to call the sheriff's station.

Sergeant Lester Moore was the day's duty officer, and Bram asked if anything was going on that required his attention.

“That insurance investigator is in town, Bram. He came in and introduced himself, then went over to the courthouse. He said he wants to talk to you.”

“Hell,” Bram muttered.

“Something wrong, Bram?”

“I don't know. There could be. I was going to find out for sure, but now… I guess I can take the time to go by the courthouse. What's his name?”

“Just a sec, I've got his card here…. It's Robert Kirby. He said to call him Bob.”

“Okay, I'll go and talk to him, but then everything's in your hands, Lester. I'm going to be out of touch for the rest of the day and possibly tomorrow.”

“What the heck's going on? You on the trail of that arsonist or something?”

“Wish I were, but it's something else. Just hold down the fort, okay?” Bram could tell that he'd aroused Lester's curiosity, but except for family, this really was no one's business. “Did Bolling's report come in yet?” The state fire inspector's written report might be of some assistance to the insurance adjuster's investigation, Bram figured.

“Not yet.”

“Okay. I'll probably see you late tomorrow afternoon.” Hoping that was going to be the case, Bram hung up, and was getting to his feet when Jenna walked in with an armload of bed linen and towels.

“Good morning,” she said, and went on through the kitchen to the laundry room.

Bram swallowed hard and mumbled, “Mornin'.” Just the sight of her had always made him a little crazy, and now that he knew what kissing and holding her felt like, his former torment was small potatoes compared to what he felt now. If he had deliberately set out to inflict unbearable emotional torture upon himself he could not have done a better job. What on God's green earth had made him behave so heedlessly last night?

Jenna's hands shook as she put the bedding and towels in the washer. She'd been busy with Gloria and hadn't heard Bram come home. Walking into the kitchen and seeing him like that, without any warning whatsoever, had been a shock to her system, which wasn't functioning all that well to begin with. Where had he gone so early? Not work, for he wasn't in uniform. And why
hadn't
he gone to work? Why was he back home again? What if…what if he made another pass? What if he'd thought it over and decided that he shouldn't have been so hasty last night? Maybe he wished now that he hadn't put the brakes on during that runaway kissing session, and maybe he'd like her to know that.

With the washer running, Jenna returned to the kitchen, expecting to see Bram again. But the room was vacant, and an overwhelming disappointment instantly destroyed all of the foolish hopes she'd formed while taking care of the laundry.

Sighing heavily, and reaching for the composure that she always found so readily with anyone else—with
everyone
else—Jenna headed back to Gloria's room. But Bram was in there. The door was open and Jenna could see him sitting on the bed next to his grandmother. He was holding her hand and talking to her, and tears suddenly filled Jenna's eyes, emotional tears from seeing Bram's love of
his grandmother so clearly. If only he could love
her
like that, Jenna thought sadly.

Why had he never married? She'd heard very few stories about Bram and women. Whatever he did in his private life must be conducted very discreetly, for she'd never heard any gossip being bandied about. For the most part, Sheriff Bram Colton was liked and respected by the community, with the most prominent exception being Jenna's own father.

It was a bitter pill for her to swallow. And there was nothing she could do to change Bram's attitude toward her, either. If she knew anything at all about him, it was that his stubbornness was as deeply ingrained as her dad's. Neither man would ever admit it, but they were very much alike in that regard, and apparently the women they knew either had to take them as they were or leave them be. But as sensible as banishing Bram from her heart and mind would be, Jenna wasn't sure she could do it. More to the point, she wasn't sure of
how
to do it.

She recalled something she'd read years ago about “a choice of difficulties,” and the term seemed to fit her present situation so well that it remained in her mind as she watched Bram and Gloria. It was when Gloria closed her eyes and turned her face away from her grandson that Bram did something that brought tears to Jenna's eyes. He looked at his grandmother for several seconds, then covered his own eyes with his left hand. The line of his slumped shoulders and back conveyed grief and defeat, and Jenna's heart reached out to him.

She didn't stop to think, merely reacted, hurrying into the bedroom and putting her hand on Bram's shoulder. It was meant to comfort him, nothing more, to let him know she understood how bad he felt. She hadn't expected a simple gesture to startle him so. He practically leaped to
his feet and, in the next instant, without a word, strode from the room. Dismayed, Jenna followed.

“I didn't mean to offend you,” she said to his retreating back, speaking rather sharply.

He stopped and turned to face her. “You didn't offend me. I've just got a lot on my mind and didn't expect what you did.”

“You looked ready to fold and I guess I was offering sympathy.”

He knew he was staring, undoubtedly an embarrassment for her, but he couldn't stop doing it. If there was a more beautiful face to be found in Oklahoma, he had missed it. Jenna's deep blue eyes, so heavily fringed with long lashes, and her full lips and flawless complexion all had a hypnotic effect on him. As many times as he'd run across this golden girl in years past, he had never had an opportunity to fill his eyes and soul with her beauty. And now, while he looked and studied and memorized, his fingers itched to release her hair from its clasp, and his blood began moving faster throughout his body.

He had things to do that shouldn't be put off. Great-granddad could be in danger, and Bram knew he should have already filled his backpack and started back to George's place to begin a search for the old man. Then there was the insurance inspector, Bob Kirby, to see before he left town. And God knew his heart was heavy with fears for his grandmother. Yes, he had a lot on his mind.

But still he stood there with Jenna, and felt things he had no business feeling, while thinking thoughts he had no right to think.

Jenna suddenly found breathing darned near impossible. Her heart was racing because of what she was seeing in Bram's black eyes. He wasn't any more immune to her than she was to him, and that pass last night hadn't been an unexpected urge coming out of nowhere for him! He'd
been feeling for her the same things she'd been feeling for him, and he had fought against any kind of relationship between them because of his Comanche blood.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and said, “Bram, darling, I do believe that I'm reading your mind.”

“Jenna,” he said in a hoarse, tortured voice. “Don't do this to me.” Whirling, he rushed away, heading for his bedroom to get his backpack from the closet.

She stayed right behind him. “Don't do what, Bram?”

“Don't come into my bedroom, for one thing,” he growled.

“I'm already in.” She shut the door and leaned against it. “You're scared of me.”

He gave a short, sharp laugh. “How'd you guess?” Bram went into the closet and came out with a good-size backpack.

“I always thought you were afraid of nothing,” Jenna said.

“Guess you were wrong, huh?” He took two pairs of socks from a bureau drawer and put them in the pack.

Jenna wondered what he was doing, but didn't want to veer from the subject at hand.

“Are you afraid of every woman you're sexually attracted to, or am I a special case?” she asked.

Bram nearly choked. “You're pressing your luck, Jenna. I think you'd better leave. Gran probably needs you.”

“She's resting and
doesn't
need me. But you do. I didn't know what to think last night, but I know now.”

Bram narrowed his eyes on her. “Do you understand what you're saying?”

“I believe I'm saying yes. What does it sound like to you?”

Bram placed the backpack on the bureau and then stood
looking at Jenna. “You're making a big mistake,” he said raggedly.

“Maybe,” she admitted in a husky voice, and began walking toward him. “But let me be the judge of that, all right? You judge your mistakes and I'll judge mine. An addendum to that remark is that I do not consider it a mistake to make love with the man I've wanted since I was old enough to want a man.” She put her hands on his chest and slowly slid them upward to lock together behind his head. “Are you going to do anything about this, or are you going to tell me again that we can't do it?”

He didn't have time to make love. That is, he shouldn't
take
the time to make love. But he couldn't stop himself, and he cradled the back of her head in his big hand, brought her closer with his other hand and then covered her mouth with his. It was a long, wet, hungry kiss for both of them. And they writhed against each other without one single sign of inhibition or objection. They had, it seemed, reached an understanding.

They managed to get undressed and over to the bed without letting go of each other. And then she was on her back and he was on top of her. He needed her immediately, and to appease his conscience he told himself that the next time they did this he would take all the time she needed and do all the things he should have done before the big step.

But he'd wanted her for too long to go slow this first time, and he was so driven to possess her that he rode her hard and fast. He came within minutes, and he could hardly believe Jenna's cries of release at almost exactly the same moment as his own.

Totally drained of all strength, he collapsed with his face buried in the pillow and her mass of golden hair.

B
ram raised his head and looked into Jenna's eyes. She smiled softly, touched his cheek and whispered, “That was beautiful, Bram. So very beautiful.”

He studied the emotion in her eyes and the beauty of her face, her glorious hair pooling on the pillow, and his own head swam with foolish thoughts, such as wanting to hold his golden girl to his heart throughout eternity. He wanted to agree with her perception of their intimacy, to go even further and tell her that making love with her had been the most beautiful, most meaningful experience of his life.

But the reality of what they had just done was too severe to soften with pretty words, and he couldn't act as though everything was great when it wasn't. He'd committed an unpardonable sin against Comanche pride—seduced the daughter of a man who looked down on him—and not for a second could Bram doubt that he'd pay for it in some painful way.

He pulled away from Jenna and got off the bed. Hearing her gasp of surprise and forcing himself to ignore it, he began getting dressed.

Jenna sat up, became suddenly embarrassed at her nudity, and pulled the edge of the bedspread up to her neck. Why wouldn't Bram look at her? Talk to her? She didn't know what to think or do. His stony expression chipped at her pride and made her heart ache. But then suddenly, unexpectedly, anger entered the equation. How dare Bram make passionate love to her and then act as though it hadn't happened? No man had the right to treat a woman like that.

“Obviously you were hit by some sort of ridiculous remorse,” she said in a voice that was icy enough to put frost on the furniture. “It's not as though you stole my virginity when I wasn't looking, you know. You're certainly not the first man I've slept with.” She hoped that insensitive reminder would make him wonder how many men had come before him, as she wanted desperately to hurt him as he'd hurt her. But when she saw him wince, she felt no satisfaction. In fact, she felt like toppling over on the bed, burying her face in a pillow and crying her eyes out.

But she would die before crying in front of him. He'd just destroyed any privilege he might have had to learn the secrets of her heart.

Dressed except for his boots, Bram sat on the one chair in the room to pull them on. “Just so you know,” he said, speaking without emotion or inflection, “I'll be gone until late tomorrow. At least till then, I should have said, and possibly longer, though I'm planning to be back by then. I just thought you should know because of Gran.”

His flat, unreadable voice, so guarded, so distant, added insult to injury for Jenna. “Heaven forbid that you'd tell
me something because you thought
I
should know it,” she snapped.

The bitter sarcasm in her voice shook Bram. He took a chance and looked at her, and exactly as he'd feared would happen if he made eye contact, his entire system came alive again from the memory of their lovemaking. He could easily get up from this chair, undress again, go over to the bed and make love to her a second time, only this time slowly, doing all of the things he'd omitted in his haste to have her the first time.

Jenna's breath caught in her throat. The way he was looking at her…

But then, abruptly, he yanked on his second boot and got to his feet. “I'll be out of touch all night,” he growled. “If you need anything, call Willow or any other Colton you can get hold of.” He went to the closet for some shirts and jeans, which he stuffed in his backpack. Then he walked out.

Jenna chewed on her bottom lip and fought tears for a few minutes, then, furiously aflame with resentment, she got off Bram's bed. After a peek beyond the door to make sure the house wasn't full of Coltons, she gathered her clothes and made a dash for the bathroom.

In the kitchen Bram was trying to clear his head enough to use the remaining space in the backpack for food. The pack finally contained a variety of foodstuffs that wouldn't spoil without refrigeration, and Bram began filling two canteens with tap water.

He kept cursing himself for stupidity, for having so little control over his libido. Of course, Jenna wasn't just any woman, but there was an enormous wall between them, and trying to hurdle it with sex was just plain ludicrous. Not that he was doing any laughing. What he'd done wasn't even remotely funny or amusing, it was
crazy!

Muttering curses under his breath, Bram gathered up his
things and left the kitchen. He could see down the hall into the master bedroom, and Jenna was there with his grandmother. Saying goodbye to either one of them was senseless. Jenna would probably give him a dirty look for his effort and Gran probably wouldn't even grasp that he was going somewhere.

Heaving a massive sigh, he left the house. From there he drove directly to the courthouse. He would try to keep the meeting with Bob Kirby short so he could be on his way back to George's place. How much time had he wasted with Jenna?

Bram angrily slapped the steering wheel. How could he even think that those remarkable few minutes with her were wasted time? In fact, she should be steaming mad that he'd gone so fast. He'd been much too hot and anxious to go slowly, and he sure as hell hadn't expected her to keep up with him.

Unless she'd faked her orgasm…?

But no, he would bet his life that her response had been genuine. Which just might mean that she
did
sleep around and he hadn't heard about it. After all, she'd made sure he knew that he wasn't the first guy to hit the target. Maybe she was a woman who needed sex on a regular basis, and with her living with him, so to speak, he was the handiest man around.

Grimacing, Bram mumbled another curse as he turned onto the main avenue and wondered despondently if those few minutes on his bed were going to tweak his conscience for the rest of his life. Considering that Jenna had resided in the back of his mind for years now, and that he had finally gotten his hands—and much more—on her, he suspected that he was doomed to suffer at least until he was too old to give a damn about the opposite sex.

Bram parked the car and walked into the courthouse. The burned areas were cordoned off with yellow tape and
Keep Out signs, while it was business as usual in the undamaged sections of the building. Bram ducked under a long strand of the yellow crime-scene tape and called, “Mr. Kirby?”

“In here.” A young man with sandy hair and wire-rimmed glasses came from another scorched room. He was carrying an impressive-looking camera and wearing coveralls—smudged and soiled—over his clothing. “What can I do for you?” he asked in a friendly way.

“I'm Sheriff Colton.”

“Oh, guess I thought you'd be in uniform, like the deputies I talked to at the station.” Kirby offered his hand. “Nice meeting you.”

“Same here. Lester said you wanted to see me about something.”

Kirby looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “This fire is particularly disturbing. Ever since Inspector Bolling proved it was arson, the question of why anyone would want to destroy a fine old building like this one has nagged at me. Do you have any leads on the case?”

“That question is nagging everyone in the county, other than the arsonist, whoever he or she is,” Bram replied grimly. “We have a few leads, but I'm sorry to say they're not very solid. I'll tell you right now, Mr. Kirby, that there have been some peculiar things going on around Black Arrow for the past few months, and this fire was one of them.”

“Call me Bob.”

Bram took a second look at Kirby and realized how young he was. He could be thirty, but certainly no older. The insurance adjuster was closer to Jenna's age than his own, Bram realized, and for some reason the seven-year difference in his and Jenna's ages suddenly seemed like one more reason to stay away from her.

That conclusion caused a weakening sensation to wash
over Bram, as though the last of the air in his own personal balloon had just been squeezed out. This was one of those days when the weight of too many burdens was almost more than he could carry on his broad shoulders and still stay on his feet. He'd been spreading himself too thin, and it was catching up with him. Knowing what was happening didn't alter the situation. He had Gran to care for, his great-grandfather wandering in the hills only God knew where, and a weirdo—possibly a couple of weirdos—running loose in
his
jurisdiction, setting fires, breaking into the newspaper office and asking questions about the Colton family that made no sense at all. And they were clever weirdos, because Bram kept hearing about them nosing around town, here and there, but had never once seen them himself. And neither had any of his deputies. What in hell were they—ghosts or specters that could appear and disappear at will?

On top of that mystery, which might be comical if no physical damage had been done, he'd been neglecting the training of his horses. Hell, he'd barely taken the time lately to make sure the trickle of water constantly running into their drinking trough from an outdoor spigot hadn't clogged, and to scatter good alfalfa hay in their pasture so their diet didn't consist entirely of green grass.

And then there was Jenna. God, what was he going to do about Jenna? Bram ran his hand down his own face, a weary gesture that would have told Bob Kirby, if he knew him better, that the sheriff was reaching a dangerously explosive stage.

But ignorance was sometimes more appropriate to a situation than knowledge, and Kirby explained, “I've been taking photos of everything in the burned rooms.”

“For appraisal purposes?” Bram asked, calming his nearly shattered nerves through sheer willpower.

“Precisely. But it's really sad. Furniture, woodwork,
paneling and flooring can all be replaced, but the contents of the burned rooms are gone forever. I can tell that some of the books on those wall shelves over there were really old. Things like that are priceless.”

Bram didn't enjoy standing there and lamenting lost causes. Yes, some of those books had been very old records of births, deaths, marriages and land ownership, and yes, historians would probably have deemed them priceless. But they were charred and curled and gone now, and he would do his utmost to bring the arsonist to justice. He was about to tell Kirby goodbye and good luck when the insurance adjuster spoke again.

“In that lower cabinet in the far corner are some things that weren't destroyed. I think you should take a look at them,” Bob Kirby said.

Keeping a lid on the impatience badgering him, Bram followed Kirby to the cabinet. It was constructed of heavy metal and its dark green paint had bubbled and burned, but the cabinet wasn't destroyed as the wood fixtures had been. Kirby bent down and pulled open the door.

“The books in here are still intact,” he said.

“And what are they?”

“Older than both of us combined and undoubtedly valuable. This is only a suggestion, but if I were you I would either appoint someone to get them out of here or take them myself. Put them someplace safe until the repairs are made in here, or maybe they should be in a museum.”

“They're that old?” Bram hunkered down in front of the metal cabinet and carefully took out one of the large books with smoke-seared hardboard covers. He handled it gently and opened it to read notations dated in the early 1900s. “This
is
old.”

“There are two others,” Kirby said. “I suspect that no one working in these rooms had reason to unlock this cabinet for a good many years. It's possible there wasn't even
a key anymore. Yes, Sheriff, it definitely was locked. I had to photograph the contents, if there were any, so I pried it open.”

Bram didn't waste any time on a making a decision. “I'll take them out to my rig. You're right, they should be put in a safe place.”

“I'll give you a hand.”

Together the two men carried the heavy old books out to Bram's vehicle. Bram said, “I really appreciate this, Bob, and so will the other residents of Comanche County. Thanks for your help. I have to be going now, but I'm sure we'll run into each other again.”

“Possibly. I should finish up here by tonight, but if not, then I'll still be snapping photos in the morning. Drop by if you have a few minutes. We could have coffee together.”

Bram didn't want to explain what he would be doing for the rest of today and probably all day tomorrow, so he merely said, “Thanks, I'll do that if I can.”

He covered the books with one of the blankets he kept in the back of his SUV, then got into the driver's seat and drove away. Almost at once he forgot his cargo and began concentrating on finding his great-grandfather.

And praying to God that some mishap hadn't befallen the old man.

 

Jenna could call Bram “rat” and “snake” in her own mind, and she did, but she was still consumed with curiosity over his backpack. He was going to be gone all night and most of tomorrow, according to what he'd grudgingly told her. But what in heaven's name was he going to be doing that would require him taking food, water and a sleeping bag with him? Was this law enforcement or personal business?

Trying with all her might to eradicate everything she'd
ever known, thought or dreamed about Bram Colton from her brain, she brought a bottle of lotion to Gloria's bed and began massaging the weakened muscles of the elderly woman's legs.

“We really must get you up and walking more often, Gloria,” Jenna said gently. “Your family loves you so much, and wouldn't you enjoy feeling strong and able again? Please don't give up. Help me to help you.”

Gloria merely watched her with dull eyes, and Jenna's heart sank. But she couldn't accept Gloria's lethargic lack of interest in her own recovery as though it didn't matter. It
did
matter, not just because Jenna was a nurse and dedicated to doing the very best she could for any patient, but because Gloria was so very important to the Coltons. Important to Bram. How could she, Jenna, care so much for Bram and permit his grandmother to waste away before their very eyes?