The Coyote's Cry (7 page)

Realizing that she had just admitted how much Bram meant to her caused tears to gather in Jenna's eyes and her heartbeat to quicken. Only minutes ago she had decided to hate him forever, and in little more than the blink of an eye she
cared
for him? What in heaven's name was wrong with her? Bram had used her—with her own damn help—and she
cared
for him?

If she had half a brain she would phone Dr. Hall and ask him to find another nurse to care for Gloria. Biting her lip to keep from crying again, Jenna continued to massage her patient's arms and legs. She felt as helpless as Gloria truly was, Jenna thought sadly. She wasn't physically disabled like Gloria, but emotionally she didn't have the strength of a gnat. Not where Bram was concerned. Was she doomed to suffer indignities of this nature ad infinitum because her father and Bram were at opposite ends of a tiresome, pointless spectrum?

Jenna could tell that her hands were trembling, though
she managed to keep them functioning and doing their job. She felt shaky internally, as well. This thing with Bram was far more serious than anything she could have imagined before the episode in his bedroom. If an acceptable replacement nurse magically materialized this very minute and she could leave this house forever, she would still shiver and quake every time she thought of Bram Colton.

Sighing hopelessly, Jenna got up from her perch on the edge of Gloria's bed and went into the bathroom to wash her hands.

It hurt terribly to recognize and admit her own weaknesses, which when added up really constituted only one catastrophic flaw: feelings for a man who would use her sexually but never even consider anything more between them. Even with that hanging over her head, though, Jenna knew she would not be phoning Dr. Hall about a replacement nurse anytime soon.

One thing was certain, however. If some course of action occurred to her that would make Bram suffer even a fraction of her torment, she would carry it out in a New York minute.

He didn't care how badly he hurt her, did he? Well, he just might find out that her once soft heart had hardened to pure granite.

In the meantime she was going to do her utmost to incite and stir Gloria's desire to live. It really was the only thing that would halt or at least slow her downhill slide.

 

Bram turned onto the familiar dirt road leading to George's place, feeling anxious to get started on his search for the old man. Bram had confidence in his tracking ability, which, in this case, was amplified by the fact that George had taken his three rowdy dogs on his own search for his guardian spirit. Those mutts would leave all sorts
of signs for a tracker, and since George had no reason for stealth in his hike, he, too, would leave signs.

So Bram's scope of confidence also included finding his great-grandfather rather quickly. His main concern was that the old guy might have taken a fall. George WhiteBear's tall, lean, straight body and barely lined face—not unusual in older Native Americans—gave strangers a false impression. He looked much younger than he was, and it was often hard for Bram to believe George had lived for almost a century.

But the truth was that George WhiteBear
was
elderly, and a hell of a lot more fragile than he'd been during Bram's adoring childhood years. A hard fall could easily break brittle bones, and he could be lying out there suffering. Bram prayed that wasn't the case, but it was a possibility he couldn't erase from his mind.

He drove as fast as he dared on the washboard road, and he was about half a mile from his great-grandfather's place when he saw a plume of dust ahead, created by an oncoming vehicle. Annie must be on her way somewhere, he thought, and then frowned, because Annie's pickup truck was red and what he was catching sight of was…white!

“My God, it's Granddad's old truck!” he exclaimed out loud. Had someone stolen it? To Bram's knowledge it hadn't been driven or even started in years. But with George gone so long, a thief could have tinkered with the engine, poured gas into the tank and just driven it away. Whoever he was, he was going to be one very surprised car thief when he was stopped by the county sheriff!

Bram turned the steering wheel of his big SUV and parked it crosswise on the road, effectively setting up a roadblock. He took the gun he always carried under the seat and got out, tucking the weapon into the back waistband of his jeans. Then he waited and watched his poor
old great-grandfather's stolen truck, a truck George still valued highly even though he couldn't drive it, coming closer.

It was moving slowly, Bram realized with an angry scowl. Unusually slowly, in fact. Of course, the thief had probably spotted the makeshift roadblock and was trying to figure out a way around it.

“There
is
no way around it, jerk,” Bram mumbled. “This is it, the only route to the highway, and you're going to the lockup. Count on it.”

The pickup kept coming at the same snail's pace, and as it got closer Bram could see the form of the driver through the windshield. Then it was closer still and Bram could see details—long hair, black hat…long
gray
hair and black hat. “My God, it's Granddad!” Bram exclaimed, too shocked to do anything but stare.

George stopped the truck and he, too, stared—straight ahead, with not even a glance at his great-grandson. Bram nervously cleared his throat and walked over to the opened window on the driver's side.

“Uh, where are you going, Granddad?” he asked.

“Did your car break down across the road?” George asked.

“My car's fine. I parked it that way to stop…well, when I saw this truck I thought someone had stolen it.”

“Why would I steal my own truck?” George still wouldn't look at Bram, and Bram was catching on that the old man was angry with him, angrier in fact than Bram had ever seen him.

“I had no idea you still drove. I thought a stranger…a thief…had taken your truck.”

“As you can see,
I
took my truck. I suppose now you're going to arrest me for driving without a license.”

“Granddad, I would never arrest you for anything.”

“You're the sheriff, aren't you? I'm breaking the law, aren't I? Go ahead and get out the handcuffs.”

“Granddad!”

“If you're not going to haul me to jail in handcuffs, please move your car so I can be on my way.”

Bram flinched internally. He owed this old man, the eldest member of the Colton family, the highest, most sincere respect he could muster. And truly Bram did respect his great-grandfather. He always had. But this whole thing was trying Bram's patience, which had already been pushed pretty much to the limit today. He drew a calming breath, or one that he hoped would steady his nerves.

“On your way where, Granddad?”

“You didn't tell me which one of my family is dying, so I'm not sure I should be telling you anything,” George said.

Bram exploded. “Dying! Where in hell did you get that idea?”

For the first time George turned his head and looked at his great-grandson. “Are you speaking to me?”

“I'm sorry, but today has just about done me in. Listen, I came by your place early this morning and you weren't there. I talked to Annie and figured out you had gone looking for coyotes, your guardian spirit. I went back to my place to get a backpack, food and water, and here I am again, all set to hike the hills and look for you. Instead, here you come down the road in this old truck, which I didn't even know still ran.”

“Why wouldn't it still run? It's a fine truck.”

“That's beside the point. Granddad, would you please turn this fine truck around and drive it back to your place? I will take you wherever it is you want to go. Besides, I have something to tell you. It's the reason I came out here this morning.”

“Oh, you were finally going to tell me who in my family is dying?”

“No one is dying!”

“Either you don't know about it or think
I
don't know about it.” George put the truck in reverse and stepped on the gas. The pickup shot backward, swerved to the left and ended up in the ditch.

Bram ran after it, suddenly scared to death. He breathed freely again only when he saw George getting out of the cab, apparently uninjured.

George called, “That old truck has more power than I remembered.” He calmly walked to Bram's SUV and got in.

Bram looked at the old truck in the ditch and then back to his great-grandfather, now sitting calmly in Bram's rig. Shaking his head, he walked over to his SUV and got in.

“I take it you want to leave your pickup in the ditch for now?” he said to George.

“It's a good place to park it.”

“Fine.” Bram started the engine, then decided to get the worst of this meeting over with. While he drove he glanced at his great-grandfather and felt a swelling of love in his chest. “Granddad, it's Gran. She had a stroke.”

George didn't respond for a long moment, then said sadly, “Gloria, my dear child. I will outlive my daughter.”

“She isn't dying, Granddad.”

“Not today, but soon,” the old man said.

Bram knew arguing was futile. Besides, he wasn't so sure himself that Gran wasn't dying. She wasn't even close to being the grandmother he had adored all of his life. She had no sparkle, no life in her eyes, no laughter just waiting to erupt, and she displayed no will at all to recover and return to even a semblance of her former self.

“Where were you going?” Bram asked quietly.

“To town. Didn't I already tell you that?”

“Maybe you did, but where in town?”

“The feed store. Since no one bothered to tell me who had fallen ill, I decided to find out for myself.”

Bram drove in silence for a while, then brought up the subject that he knew was on his great-grandfather's mind. “Apparently you located your guardian spirit.”

“I did,” George confirmed.

“And he conveyed the message of illness in the family.”

“Death in the family,” George corrected.

A chill went up Bram's spine. George's premonitions, wherever he got them from, were usually much too accurate to ignore.

“Something quite unusual occurred when I finally found coyote,” George said then, surprising Bram, for his great-grandfather seldom detailed meetings with his guardian spirit. “He wasn't alone. He brought fox with him, and she was a golden fox, so beautiful to behold that my eyes watered.”

Bram recalled stories of fox, raven, bear, coyote and other animals that represented guardian spirits, heard many times in his youth. This was the very first time Great-granddad had actually seen fox, and Bram couldn't remember ever hearing about a golden fox.

“Does fox's color have significance?” Bram asked.

“I believe it does, although I haven't yet deciphered it,” George replied. “Is Gloria in the hospital?”

“She was. I had her brought to my place when the doctor said she could receive home care. She has a full-time nurse.”

“Then we are going to your place now?”

“Yes, Granddad,” Bram said with a catch in his voice. As sad and difficult as seeing Gran in bed and helpless was for him and the rest of the family, it was going to be doubly so for her father. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you
sooner,” he added softly. “But when it first happened the doctors weren't certain of the severity of her condition, and I saw no sense in worrying you unnecessarily. I can see now that I should have told you right away.”

“Yes, you should have.”

They finally reached the ranch, and Bram was relieved to see Jenna's car parked in its usual spot. In the back of his mind he'd worried that she might arrange for a different nurse and leave because of this morning. He wanted her to care for Gran, true, but he also just plain wanted her, and he suffered over a dilemma that he feared he would never be able to solve.

After parking near the house, he got out and walked around the front of his vehicle to offer assistance to his aged great-grandfather. But when Bram reached that side of the SUV, he was already standing on the ground and required no assistance.

Together the two men walked to the house. Jenna knew the sound of Bram's SUV by now, and her heart actually skipped a beat when she heard it arrive. Obviously his plans had changed, she thought nervously, because she hadn't been worried about seeing him until tomorrow.

She was in Gloria's room, where she had every right to be, and so she stood her ground and prepared herself to face Bram with a stiff upper lip and a challenge in her eyes that just dared him to say something rude to her.

She was taken completely by surprise when she saw the tall, dignified older man with Bram.

“Jenna, this is George WhiteBear, my great-grandfather,” Bram said without quite meeting her eyes.

But George turned
his
dark eyes on Jenna, and she smiled at him. He was a wonderful-looking old man, and she liked him on sight. So what if his great-grandson was the jerk of the century?

“Hello,” she said. “I'm very honored to meet you.”

George stared for a long moment, then said softly, “The golden fox.”

Bram heard him distinctly, and Jenna thought she did. But when she left the two men alone with Gloria, she frowned and decided she couldn't possibly have understood what George WhiteBear had really said. After all, why would he say something to her about a golden fox?

That was just too bizarre.

B
rewing a pot of tea in the kitchen, Jenna's thoughts kept returning to her introduction to George WhiteBear. If he
had
said “the golden fox,” which was what his words had sounded like to her, what would it mean? Surely he wasn't using the word
fox
in the same context some men did when referring to an attractive woman. That dignified old gentlemen? No, she couldn't believe George WhiteBear would talk that way behind a woman's back, let alone to her face.

His remark could have had something to do with her blond hair, she mused. Maybe she had heard the word
golden
correctly and misunderstood the others. Maybe he admired light-colored hair and had complimented her.

Still pondering the incident, which seemed rather mysterious to her, Jenna poured tea from the pot into a cup and then carried the cup to the table. Sitting down, she sipped her hot tea and listened to the unintelligible rumble of male voices coming from Gloria's room.

Jenna actually prayed that a visit from her father would lift Gloria's spirits. Maybe he was the one person Gloria had longed to see all this time.

Sighing, knowing she was merely engaging in wishful thinking, Jenna found her thoughts going back to the morning and the urgency with which Bram had made love to her. It was a memorable event, however she looked at it. Even though he'd retreated into that rude shell of his practically the second it was over, being in his arms, his bed, having him naked and holding her, having him inside her and joined in the most intimate act possible between a man and a woman, was something she would cherish forever.

Emotionally she was in Bram's bed again when he walked into the kitchen and said, “Oh, there you are.”

Jenna's cheeks got warm because of where her thoughts had taken her, but she cleared her throat and did her best to look composed. “Yes, here I am,” she said.

Bram looked rather uncomfortable. “Listen,” he said, “don't pay any mind to Granddad's remark.”

“What remark?” Jenna asked, becoming strangely positive, in light of Bram's discomfort, that she had heard George WhiteBear correctly.

“He only said one thing to you when I introduced him,” Bram said, speaking more sharply than he'd intended, to cover his embarrassment over having to talk to Jenna about a Comanche ritual she couldn't possibly comprehend.

Obviously this was really bothering him, Jenna realized. Very well, she thought. She would stop pretending she didn't know what he was talking about.

“Yes, he said only one thing,” she said calmly. “What did it mean? How should I take it?”

“I could talk about it for three days and you still wouldn't grasp its meaning.”

Jenna's blood began boiling. “Why not? Did my brain
suddenly disintegrate? Or maybe you just see ‘stupid' written across my forehead.”

Bram's dark skin became even darker as embarrassment flooded his system. “I've never thought of you as stupid. If you got that impression from what I said, then I'm sorry.”

“Fine. Since we both agree I'm not stupid, tell me what your great-grandfather meant when he said ‘the golden fox.' Those were his exact words, I believe.”

“Jenna, it's a Comanche…uh, thing. You really wouldn't understand, and that doesn't make you stupid.”

Jenna held her cup to her lips and glared at him while she took a swallow of tea. “It makes me white, doesn't it?”

“We are what we are. Neither of us can change that.”

“I wonder if you would if you could. Don't you enjoy being part Comanche so that you can strut around in your sheriff's uniform and rub it in to people like my dad?”

“I don't strut and you're deliberately twisting the situation to taunt me. Remember one thing, Jenna. Your dad could have me fired if he took the notion.”

Jenna scoffed. “My dad's not your boss.”

“He has powerful friends in high places, and if he pulled the right strings, believe me, I wouldn't be sheriff for long.”

Jenna frowned. Was that true or just another of Bram's ruses to keep the two of them apart? He'd had her this morning, and if that was enough for him…? Jenna had to swallow hard to keep from breaking down before Bram's eyes, which would destroy every speck of pride she possessed. She picked up her cup and realized it was empty. Rising, she walked over to the counter where she'd left the pot, and brought it to the table.

Bram watched her every move. Her grace had a hyp
notic effect on him, and he knew he was staring, but couldn't seem to break the spell.

Jenna sat again, refilled her cup, then looked at him. “What?”

Bram fought his way back to reality and mumbled, “I have to go out and see to the horses. If Granddad wants anything, I would appreciate your telling him that I won't be long.” Before Jenna could do more than nod, he hurried from the room.

Again Jenna heaved a sigh. Bram was the most discombobulating man she'd ever known. It wouldn't have killed him to explain what George had meant with that golden-fox remark. And if she hadn't completely understood its Comanche meaning, so what?

And yet, despite Bram Colton's many faults, she was crazy about him.

“Oh, no,” she moaned, for that was the first time she'd admitted her feelings in such a down-to-earth way.

A tear seeped from the corner of her eye. How could she be crazy about a guy who believed heart and soul that they lived on opposite sides of a fence?

After a few minutes of silent suffering, Jenna got up and went to a window to catch a glimpse of Bram down at the pasture with his horses and Nellie. But neither Nellie nor Bram was anywhere in sight and, wondering what else Bram might be doing outside, Jenna went to another window, this one overlooking the driveway. Sure enough, there he was, fiddling with something through the opened back door of his SUV. Nellie was there, too, sitting as close to Bram's boots as she could get.

Jenna sipped her tea and speculated on what he might have in his SUV that required so much attention. His backpack, which he obviously hadn't used, was a possibility, but why on earth didn't he just bring it in the house and unload it?

Bram was wondering what to do with the three old books he'd taken from the courthouse for safekeeping. Actually, he'd forgotten about them until he'd left the house a few minutes ago to tend the horses. Now, looking at them, he frowned and pondered their worth. Maybe they had no value at all, beyond their age, which didn't necessarily make them of any use to anyone.

Turning around, Bram sat on the downed tailgate of his SUV to think about the books. Bob Kirby thought the three heavy old things might be valuable to historians, so Bram figured he should take that into account. After all, the man was an appraiser of all sorts of goods, wasn't he?

From the window, Jenna watched Bram sitting there motionless. Was he thinking? she wondered. Maybe about them? Remembering the morning? Reliving their kisses and their passionate lovemaking, as she'd done again and again throughout the day? Had this morning meant something to him, after all, and he'd merely been pretending it didn't?

Her body began tingling when she thought of him naked. She wanted him again with a surprising desperation. If only they were alone, she thought. She would knock on the window and motion for him to come in, and when he did, she would meet him at the door, kiss every inch of his incredible body and—and…

Her fantasy evaporated and her eyes widened when she saw him get off the tailgate, turn around, reach inside the SUV and come out with a blanket-wrapped bundle. From the way he was holding it, she guessed the blanket concealed something heavy.

With Nellie on his heels, Bram began walking to the house. After only a few steps he heard a car and looked to see who was coming. His brother Jared drove up and got out with a grin.

“Hey,” Jared called.

“Hey,” Bram said. “I've got to get this inside.”

“Need some help?”

“No, I've got it. Just open the door for me.”

“What're you carrying in that blanket?”

“Three old books from the courthouse records room that miraculously escaped the fire. The insurance appraiser recommended they be put someplace safe for the time being. Today's been nuts, Jared. Granddad's inside with Gran, and I forgot about the books until just a few minutes ago. Anyhow, I'm going to store them in my bedroom for now and figure out what to do with them when I have more time. Where's Kerry and Peggy?”

“They're at Kerry's mom's. We've got company, some of Kerry's family. I stole away before dinner to check on Gran. How's she doing?”

“Not good, Jared.” They were on the front porch, and even though burdened with the old books, Bram stopped to talk a minute before they went in. “I'm really worried about her now. Granddad's guardian spirit told him about a death in the family. It's a long story, but that's the gist of it. Plus, you gotta hear this before we go in. When I was getting close to his place this afternoon with the express purpose of telling him about Gran, I saw his pickup coming down that dirt road. I thought someone had stolen it, and prepared myself to arrest the thief. But it was Granddad driving again, heading for town and madder than hell that no one had told him who in the family was dying.”

“Has he ever been wrong in his predictions?” Jared asked somberly.

“Not that I can remember. Sometimes they're hard to figure out, but what he said today was clear as glass.”

“Well, let's not panic,” Jared said. “Wasn't his last prediction before this one about you? Something about
your not hiding behind your heritage, and listening for the coyote's cry that would change your life?”

“Now that one
is
tough to figure.”

“I haven't given it a lot of thought, but you have to wonder if it isn't something simple and we just don't see it,” Jared said. “Oh, well, have any of us kids ever
really
understood our great-grandfather?”

“I thought so. Are you saying you never did?”

“Hell, I don't know what I'm saying. Ready to go inside? That looks really heavy.”

“It is.” Jared opened the door and Bram went in first. “Thanks.”

Jared saw Jenna and said, “Hello, Jenna.”

“Hi, Jared. Isn't Kerry with you?”

“No, I came alone this time.”

“Did you know your great-grandfather was here?”

“No,” Jared replied, and Jenna saw the strangest look come over his face. “But something told me I should come here.” Jared tried to grin, but it came off pretty feeble, Jenna noticed. “A psychic message, maybe?” he said in an attempt to joke about his unexpected visit.

Jenna noted that Bram had gone immediately to his bedroom, and when he came back he no longer carried the bulky bundle.

“Well, I'm going to go say hello to Granddad and Gran,” Jared said, and walked away.

Jenna ignored Bram and went into the living room and sat down. Much to her surprise, he followed her.

“What is it?” she asked, thinking that he must need something from her. Certainly he hadn't followed just to be in the same room with her.

“I wanted to, uh, say something.”

He looked embarrassed again, Jenna saw, which made her wonder what his next words of advice would be, since telling her to ignore what George had said upon their in
troduction still made no sense to her. “Go ahead and say it,” she said with some caution.

“I just wanted to, uh, thank you for sticking around. I mean, after, uh, this morning, I wondered if you would still be here when I got back.”

“After this morning,” Jenna repeated quietly. “So you actually remember this morning?”

Bram's spine stiffened. His thanks had been genuine and heartfelt, and she should have known that and not started to pick a fight about this morning.

“I remember it,” he said flatly.

“Astonishing,” she retorted. “I never would have guessed.”

“Jenna, damn it, you know how things stand for each of us. Why can't you accept the facts of our lives?”

“Because your interpretation of the facts of our lives is totally ridiculous,” she snapped much too loudly. Instantly she calmed herself. “I'm sorry. I don't yell at people and I certainly wouldn't want your family hearing me screeching like a fishwife. But I'm so opposed to your biased point of view no matter
who
spouts it that it's difficult to maintain my equilibrium. My hold on sanity,” she mumbled as a frustrated afterthought.

“My interpretation of the facts of our lives is realistic,” Bram said through gritted teeth. “You live in a damn fairy tale, where all the little princes and princesses are white and given everything money can buy. Lady, that ain't life in Black Arrow! Grow up and smell the coffee.”

Jenna jumped to her feet. “My mother's death was a fairy tale? My father's intolerance is a fairy tale? You insensitive clod, my life was no easier than yours was. At least you had a large loving family to kiss your bruises every time you fell down!”

“I don't intend to fight with you.”

“Well, you're doing a damned good imitation of it.”

“You have one quick trigger finger, lady, which I don't mind telling you I never would have believed about you before this.” Bram turned and began heading for the door.

“What did you think I was, a doormat for men to wipe their feet on? I stand up for myself because there's no one else to do it for me. Unlike you, you jerk, who has more protective relatives than he can count!”

Jenna stared at the empty doorway that Bram had just gone through. Then she slumped down on the sofa and wished the earth would just open up and swallow her whole.

After a while she told herself to try to remember that he had expressed thanks for her staying to care for Gloria, considering the way he'd treated her this morning.