by Cora Seton
“Game’s over, I guess. One of your buddies up at the bunkhouse told me you were down here with a female friend. Where’d she go?”
Savannah froze.
“She’s long gone back up to the manor,” Jericho said. “Couldn’t convince her to go for a swim.”
“Really? That must be a first. I know how you like the ladies. One in every port—isn’t that how you sailors roll?”
“Not me.”
“Right. Jericho the steadfast. Excuse me if I don’t buy it. You aren’t exactly known for being responsible.”
“Why the hell are you here, Kara?”
Savannah didn’t blame him for snapping at his sister. That teasing must be growing old fast.
“Anniversary dinner? Seven o’clock? Ring a bell, Mr. Steadfast?”
“Shit! What time is it?”
“We’re not late—yet. But getting mighty close. You got a gift for them?”
Jericho swore again. “You’d better go right now so one of us is on time. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops.”
“I’ll tell them you’re coming—probably,” Kara said.
A minute later Jericho crashed through the trees to come to get Savannah. “We’ve got to go.”
“Go ahead. I’ve almost got myself dressed—”
Jericho spun her around, yanked her dress the rest of the way down and rapidly began to do up her fastenings. “You’re coming, too.”
“Where?”
“My folks’ place. Anniversary dinner.”
“But—”
“Savannah—could you do this for me?” He spun her around to face him again, and his need was stark in his eyes.
“I—” When he looked at her like that she didn’t know how to refuse him. “I guess so, but I look like hell.”
“You look beautiful. We have to hurry. I don’t have a gift to bring them.”
“How about a nice bottle of wine?”
Jericho laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “No—no wine. I need something else.”
Chapter Five
‡
He couldn’t believe he’d completely forgotten about his parents’ anniversary—especially after his sister had made such a big deal about it. By the time he found a gift, they’d be late.
“Harris would have something good if he were here,” Savannah said, rushing to keep up with him. “Some bit of metalwork you could give your parents.”
“You’re a genius.” Jericho would have kissed her if he had time. Only a week ago, he’d bought a metal wall hanging the man had hand-forged. Savannah was right; it would make the perfect gift.
After a quick detour to his tent—and Savannah’s—they stopped by the bunkhouse to drop off the barely touched picnic, clean up and give a hurried explanation for their absence to Boone. They hopped into one of the Base Camp trucks to drive to town.
Jericho’s parents lived in the same small, square house he’d grown up in. The front of the home looked the same as it ever had and Jericho knew from his previous visits its interior hadn’t changed much, either. The only real difference was the absence of the old cottonwood tree that once had held the treehouse out back. It had been cut down and chopped up, the stump pulled and the ground reseeded with grass, leaving no trace of where Donovan’s accident occurred.
Still, somewhere in North Dakota a man’s life was shaped by it, Jericho knew. He often wondered how extensive his cousin’s injuries had been. He’d never brought himself to ask his parents directly, and they’d never volunteered the information, either.
“He was hurt bad. Real bad,” his mother had told him the day after the accident. She’d said more to his father when they thought they were out of his hearing. Words like surgery—paralysis—wheelchair—
Never walk again.
Jericho had known that day his life would never be the same. Never before had silence ruled their home like it did then.
That silence never truly went away again, either. Despite the years that had passed.
It didn’t matter that it had been an accident—that Jericho, Donovan and Kara were young, all three of them.
He had been in charge.
He was supposed to be watching his cousin and sister.
He’d let it happen.
“Jericho?”
Savannah’s soft voice pulled him from his reverie. He got out of the truck and opened her door. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“Of course. How many years have your parents been married?”
He did the math. “Thirty-five.”
“That’s a long time.” She looked pensive. “They must really love each other.”
Jericho stumbled, but caught himself. Did they love each other?
He wasn’t sure.
Maybe they stayed together out of habit at this point.
They’d grown far more insular after the accident and subsequent split with Donovan’s parents. The two couples had always been inseparable, but Donovan’s parents held Jericho to blame, and his parents were guilty by association.
They’d never had another card party.
As the familiar guilt wound through his gut, Jericho wondered for the first time what was with those parties, anyway? Why hadn’t they done other things—like going to movies, or out to dinner, or on hikes and vacations?
Didn’t they have other friends?
They must have had.
Thinking back he could picture larger get-togethers—holiday gatherings, things like that. But only once in a while.
And all of them had come to a halt after the accident. His parents had stayed home. Grown quiet.
Bitter.
His fault, Jericho thought again as the front door opened and Kara peered out. She held a wineglass in her hand. “It’s about time,” she said loudly as she let them in.
“Don’t start,” he said in a low voice, noticing that wineglass in a way he wouldn’t have previously. “I thought you said Mom and Dad were on the wagon,” he added.
“They are. I’m not.”
He opened his mouth to let her know what he thought of that, then changed his mind. That was an argument for another time. “This is Savannah,” he said instead.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Savannah put out a hand.
But Kara was far too busy staring at Savannah’s Regency gown to shake it, and Jericho realized he’d forgotten to warn his family.
“Savannah and her friends run a Jane Austen Bed and Breakfast at Westfield,” he explained.
Kara considered this. “That big, old stone house of yours would make a great B&B. But why are you dressed up now? Trying to drum up business?”
“No.” Savannah blushed and Jericho kicked himself for his mistake as his folks joined them near the door, both of them trying and failing to hide their surprise at Savannah’s outfit.
“Savannah runs a Jane Austen B&B,” Kara told them.
“My friends and I made a vow to each other…” Savannah trailed off, looking down at her gown. “It’s supposed to remind us of the goals we each set when we came to Westfield. It’s a little hard to explain.”
“They got rid of all the modern things that interfere with having time to pursue their goals,” Jericho stepped in. “Instead of filling their days with social media and surfing the web, they’re devoting their time to things like playing the piano. Savannah here is a concert pianist.”
“Not yet,” she rushed to qualify, but she sent him a thankful look. “I’m working toward it. I studied music in school, but took some years off. Now I’m getting back to it.”
“Savannah, meet my parents, Mary and Dan Cook,” Jericho said.
“And that’s Andy, my better half, watching the game,” Kara said, pointing in the direction of Jericho’s brother-in-law, who sat on a couch in the living room.
“Hey,” Andy said. He raised his hand in greeting, but didn’t get up.
“That’s Molly and Cam.” She gestured at two elementary-school-aged children, sitting next to him, engross
ed in their cell phones.
“Come in, please,” his mother said. “Jericho, I wish you’d told me you were bringing a guest. Savannah, excuse me a minute while I set another place at the table.”
“Let me help.” Savannah followed his still protesting mother into the kitchen, leaving Jericho flanked by his father and Kara.
“Well, come sit down,” Jericho’s father said.
“Full house,” Jericho commented as he took a seat on one of the easy chairs. “Cam, Molly—good to see you guys.”
“Hi, Uncle Jericho.”
“Hi, Uncle Jericho.”
Neither child looked up, busy as they were with their phones. Jericho’s mother bustled back into the room to set another place at the dining room table, then hurried back into the kitchen again.
“Always well behaved,” Jericho’s dad commented, jutting his chin at Cam and Molly. “No need to watch those two like a hawk.”
Stung by what could be a reference to the accident, Jericho bit back a sharp retort. Kara was the one who’d pushed him into Donovan. Why did everyone always act like it was his fault?
Because they’d never believed him in the first place when he’d told them it wasn’t, Jericho thought grimly. He still remembered the thrashing his father had doled out for blaming his little sister for his own mistakes.
As a grown-up, he’d realized his father’s pain and worry for Donovan had pushed him to the edge. His dad had lashed out, and Jericho had long since forgiven him.
Mostly.
“You’re right; Molly’s nothing like her mother,” Jericho agreed. There. That would get his sister’s goat.
Kara’s eyes flashed with fury. “Watch it—”
Only Savannah’s reappearance broke the spell of the tension between them. “I’m supposed to find out what everyone wants to drink,” she said. “Milk? Water? Pop?”
“I need another glass of wine,” Kara said thickly.
“Babe, you’ve had enough,” Andy said absently.
“Don’t you start!”
Andy raised his hands, still keeping his eyes on the game. “Fine. Have another glass.”
Kara got up and stalked toward the kitchen, muttering under her breath. Jericho’s father stood up, too. “Come on, kids. Go wash your hands and get to the table. I’ll pour you some milk.”
When he and the kids were safely gone, Andy sighed, used the remote to turn off the television and got up. “Always good times at the Cook place,” he said resignedly.
“Why do you keep coming?” Jericho asked him as they followed the others to the kitchen to fetch drinks.
“Family is family.”
He’d said a mouthful, Jericho thought.
She’d thought meals with her family could be awkward, Savannah mused ten minutes later. She’d had no idea. The Cooks were a study in simmering resentments and long, uncomfortable pauses.
They discussed the weather—and agreed the summer had been dry. They discussed local politics—and agreed the town councilmen and women were idiots.
They discussed Cam and Molly—and agreed both of them were well above average. But the gaps lasted longer than the conversations did.
They didn’t discuss Base Camp, or Jericho’s energy projects, his military career—or Kara’s grim determination to finish the entire bottle of wine herself. Savannah had worried she’d be pressed to drink, but when Jericho abstained, no one even asked her if she wanted wine. She sipped her pop and watched the family drama unfold before her.
“Remember the time Jericho took the car and went joy-riding with Alexa Briggs?” Kara said suddenly midway through the meal.
Jericho’s mother tsked. “He always was reckless,” she said. “I’m surprised he made it home in one piece, all those years in the Navy.”
Jericho rolled his eyes. Savannah thought his mother didn’t sound completely pleased he had made it home at all.
“Then there was the time he and his friends climbed the water tower,” Kara continued.
“That was our senior prank. All we did was spray paint our grad year on it,” Jericho explained to Savannah.
“And—”
“And then there was the time you drank too much while your kids were watching,” Jericho said pointedly.
An awkward silence descended over the table.
“More ham?” Jericho’s mother asked Savannah.
“Please.” She helped herself to another slice, not because she was hungry but because she wanted to cut through the thick layer of resentment so obvious between the members of this family. “You should see what Jericho’s up to at Westfield,” she said brightly, hoping to turn the conversation. “He’s got two wind turbines up already, and—”
“Old Ned Eaton would turn in his grave to see you do that,” Jericho’s father pronounced. “Those turbines won’t do you any good. They’ll spook the cattle and—”
“Extensive testing has been done on the turbines, Dad,” Jericho interrupted. “We made sure these are compatible with all the other uses we’ll make of the ranch.”
“Wind will let you down just when you need energy the most,” his father argued. “Why do you think our ancestors jumped to make the switch to coal and oil?”
“Technology has improved a lot since—”
“Besides, what about the birds?”
“Impact on migrating birds concerns me a lot,” Jericho said reasonably, “which is why I chose the kind of turbine I—”
“You never think things through,” his father pronounced and turned to Cam. “How did that project of yours come out? The one about the first settlers of Chance Creek?”
Savannah couldn’t believe the way he’d changed the subject, or the way Jericho sat and took the slight with barely a shake of his head. How could his father be so callous about a topic Jericho held so dear? And how dare he assert that Jericho didn’t think things through?
Jericho was one of the most responsible people she knew.
“Excuse me.” She placed her napkin on the table, rose to her feet and hurried off to find a bathroom before her temper got the better of her and she spoke her mind. Jericho’s family was as annoying as…
Hers.
She dallied in the modest bathroom for as long as she could before she washed her hands and came out again. Back at the table, the other members of the party looked no happier than when she’d left. Cam had finished telling everyone about his project, and too late Savannah realized that Jericho’s father might have asked about it to show off his grandson’s brilliance to their guest.
“What do you two like to do for fun?” she asked the children as she sat down.
“There’s nothing to do here,” Molly complained. “Gran and Grandpa don’t have any games.”
“Now, that’s not true,” Mary said. “We have plenty of board games in the living room on the shelf.”
“I don’t want board games—they’re boring.” Molly straightened, as if hoping for a compliment on her pun. No one offered one and she sighed.
“You can always go outdoors. It was good enough for your mother and uncle,” Dan said.
“There’s nothing to do out there, either.”
“Not anymore,” Kara said grimly.
A look went around the table Savannah didn’t understand.
She wished she’d stayed home.
Jericho stared at his sister. She wouldn’t say it. She didn’t dare say it.
“Not since the accident,” Kara continued.
“Accident?” Savannah asked.
What the fuck? Had his sister really just lobbed that grenade in the middle of his parents’ anniversary dinner? What kind of selfish sociopath did that kind of thing?
Was it the wine talking? She’d nearly killed a bottle on her own, and the nearly empty bottle on the table brought back too many memories. How many similar bottles had he gathered up on mornings after those card games his parents played with his aunt and uncle? How many boxes of empties had he lugged to the return depot for nickels each week
?
At the time it had been part of life. What one did.
Those fistfuls of nickels had been his first allowance—and his first paycheck for caring for his sister and Donovan. Again, as normal as apple pie after a big dinner. As normal as the baseball game on the TV, his father pushing the lawnmower.
As normal as daydreaming in the treehouse about how his life would turn out.
“Why did you two stop drinking?” he asked before he could stop himself. Kara’s words had haunted him since they’d spoken on the phone.
“You watch your mouth,” his father said.
“Drinking was never a problem in this house.” His mother stood abruptly.
“Really? Not even the day that Donovan broke his back?” Kara asked and tok a healthy swig from her glass.
Savannah looked even more confused, as well she might. He’d never mentioned his cousin—or the accident.
“He didn’t break his back,” Jericho’s mother said.
“Jericho pushed him,” Kara said to Savannah. “Our cousin. Pushed him right out of the treehouse. Fell ten feet. That’s why there’s nothing to do at your grandmother’s house,” she said to Molly.
“Kara, you’re drunk.” Jericho stood.
“Like hell I am. I remember—”
“You remember?” He’d had enough. “You remember the way you pushed me into him? You’re the reason Donovan fell—not me!”
Kara gaped at him, fury quickly crowding out her shock at his words. “That’s a lie!”
“No, it’s not—”
His father stood, too. “Enough! I thought maybe joining the Navy would finally make a man of you—would stop you from shoving your faults and mistakes onto other people. Get you to use your brain for once. But look at you! Still hiding behind your little sister. Playing like a child with your toys and blocks. Still refusing to grow up. I’ll have you know your sister is our greatest comfort—”
Savannah surged to her feet, grabbed Jericho’s arm and practically propelled him toward the front door. “Go,” she urged him.
Jericho let her have her way, although if he’d dug in his heels she wouldn’t have been able to budge him. She flung the door open, pulled him right outside and slammed the door behind them.