by Lisa Jackson
“Jon?” Her gaze traveled to O’Rourke before landing with full, worried impact on her son. “What happened? Jon, oh, honey, are you all right?” The pup came over to greet her, but she barely noticed and turned frosty eyes on O’Rourke. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll be fine,” Jon growled back. “And it wasn’t his fault.” He motioned to Daegan. “He saved me.”
“But—”
“I said I’ll be fine.” She tried to reach for him but he stood back and blinked fiercely, as if just the sight of her caused his eyes to fill.
“We’ve got to get you to a doctor.”
Jon grimaced.
“I would’ve taken him, but thought we should round you up first,” O’Rourke said. His expression was dark and grim.
“What happened?” She couldn’t hide the censure in her voice.
“The town bully seemed to want to use Jon as a punching bag. I caught up with them down the road a piece.”
“Yeah and he gave ’em hell!” Jon said proudly.
“That Todd Neider again?” Kate asked and her blood began to boil.
That kid had been giving Jon fits for months and now the arguments and shoves had escalated to a full-fledged beating.
“A foul-mouthed sucker if there ever was one,” Daegan observed.
“Yeah, it was Neider,” Jon admitted, leaning heavily against the side of O’Rourke’s truck. “And his friends. I’ll…I’ll be okay.”
“This isn’t going to end, is it? We have to stop it.”
“Can’t argue with that,” O’Rourke agreed.
She tried to reach for her son again. “Where does it hurt?”
“Where doesn’t it?” Jon asked through cracked, swollen lips. His face was bruised and he held his already-injured arm around his middle.
“He’s been lucid, never fell asleep, so I doubt if he’s concussed. But he might have a cracked rib or two.”
“Nothin’s broke,” Jon insisted.
“I think we should let Dr. Wenzler determine that. I’ll get a wet towel and some bandages so you can clean up, then we’ll go.” She was halfway up the steps to the front porch.
“Where?” Jon asked.
“To the clinic, of course.”
“I don’t need to go—”
“I don’t know where you get this aversion to medical treatment, but it’s not working with me. I’m taking you to see the doctor.” She sighed loudly. “I’ve been worried sick about you and now look…Please, Jon, don’t give me any grief about this. We’re going to the doctor and that’s that.”
“She’s right,” Daegan said, staring at Jon with eyes that seemed to see past the teenage barriers her son had so recently and painstakingly erected, the barriers that forced her to keep her distance. “See what the doctor says.”
Jon hesitated, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth, seeming to weigh things in his mind. Sullenly, he asked, “You comin’?”
“Not my place.”
“It wasn’t your place to bust up the fight, either. But you did.” Jon was laying down a challenge—testing O’Rourke. Why?
“Your mom and you can handle this.”
Jon’s lips rolled in on themselves, the way they always did when he fought tears. With a proud lift of his chin, he said, “I’d like you to be there.”
Thunderstruck, Kate was at a loss for words. In all her born days, she would never have expected Jon, who only a few days ago had insisted this man was dangerous, that he’d killed someone, to invite him to join them on a trip to the clinic. “You guys decide.” Her eyes met O’Rourke’s for an instant and she caught a glimpse of something more than just neighborly concern—a deeper unspoken emotion—a glimmer he hid all too quickly. “Your call,” she told him, knowing instinctively that getting closer to him was a mistake of immense proportions. But what could she say? He’d saved Jon, hadn’t he? “I’ll be right back.” She unlocked the door, headed for the bathroom on the first floor, and found a clean towel in the linen cupboard. What were they getting into with O’Rourke? she wondered as she twisted on the faucet and dampened the rag.
Grabbing a second dry towel, disinfectant, and some bandages, she tried to shake the worry that had been with her the past hour. Though Jon was hurt, none of his injuries appeared life-threatening. Finding Jon with Daegan was upsetting, but it seemed as if the guy had actually saved her son from getting the living tar beat out of him.
“Let’s go.”
Jon’s intense gaze landed on their new neighbor. “Well?”
“Don’t force Mr. O’Rourke, Jon. He just moved in and has a ranch to run and—”
“I’ll tag along. If it’s okay with your ma.”
“Sure. Fine, whatever,” she said, lying. She didn’t want this man anywhere near her or her son, but now was not the time to wage that particular battle. “Here, Jon, let me clean you up—”
“I can do it.” He snatched the towel out of her hand and refused to let her touch him.
Hot embarrassment climbed up her neck. “All right, you handle it, but let’s get a move on.” She was already on her way to the still-open door of her car. “As soon as we get back from the clinic, I’m going to call Carl Neider and—”
“No!” Jon was vehement.
“What? You want to take a chance on this happening again?” She looked across the roof of her Buick and stared flabbergasted at her son, who was still bleeding, his eyes swollen. No telling what else was wrong with him and he was arguing with her about ratting out the beast who had done the damage! “You bet I’m going to call him.”
“You can’t do it, Mom,” Jon insisted.
“But look at you—”
“It’ll only make it worse. Mr. O’Rourke already shook him up, flung his keys into Henson’s field, and told him to lay off, so just leave it at that.” He hobbled to the car, yanked open the back door, and rolled into the seat. “Let me take care of it.”
“I’m not sure I can do that.”
Daegan stretched into the front seat next to her and she wished he would disappear. The last thing she needed was this tall, raw-boned cowboy seated close to her, destroying her concentration and, whether intentionally or not, wedging himself between Jon and her.
Doors slammed and she backed the Buick around O’Rourke’s pickup, wondering if her life—hers and Jon’s—would ever be the same.
“For the love of Mike, what happened to you?” Dr. Wenzler, a petite woman with graying hair and kind eyes, asked Jon. She wore a lab coat two sizes too big with a stethoscope stuffed into a front pocket. “Get into a fight with a grizzly?”
“No,” Jon said, squirming a little.
“Another boy—another bigger boy,” Kate said, grateful that Jon hadn’t insisted Daegan accompany them into the examining room. It was bad enough that he was waiting for them in the reception area, though, surprisingly, the thought wasn’t all that unpleasant. He was probably thumbing through an old copy of Parenting and wondering how he’d ended up in the pediatric wing of the clinic.
“I ’spose you gave as good as you got,” Dr. Wenzler said as she gently touched the swelling on his face.
Jon was seated on the examination table, dressed only in his boxer shorts, and he was obviously embarrassed that Kate was in the room. “I did okay,” he replied, avoiding the doctor’s probing gaze.
“So I should be expecting another patient?” she teased, flashing the beam of a penlight into Jon’s eyes. “Here—look over my shoulder to that dot on the wall. That’s it.” Once finished with his face, she ran experienced hands over his shoulder and ribs. “Lucky for you nothing appears to be broken, but we should take some X-rays over in the lab building just to be sure.” She glanced up at Kate. “Linda will walk you over and then bring back the films. I don’t think we’ll find anything, he looks fine, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“Me, too.”
“I’ll meet you back in this room in a few minutes,” she said, then was gone, her voluminous lab coat
billowing out behind her like a sail catching the wind.
“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal of this,” Jon grumbled, wincing as he struggled with his sweatshirt.
“Because it is, Jon. When someone starts causing you bodily harm, believe me, it’s a big deal.”
He pulled on his jeans. “Just promise me that you won’t call Neider’s dad.”
“Can’t do that.”
“Sure you can. If you loved me, you would.”
“I’m not going to get into this;” she said, her nerves strung tight as bow strings. She wasn’t going to allow a fifteen-year-old kid to manipulate her. “You know I love you.”
There was a knock on the door and Linda escorted them through a labyrinthine maze of corridors, out a back door, and past a lab to the X-ray room. “It’ll be just a little while,” Linda assured them and Kate picked up a battered magazine while Jon fidgeted in the chair beside her. She couldn’t help wondering how O’Rourke was enjoying himself.
Pretending interest in a year-old edition of Field and Stream, Daegan watched the hallway through which Jon and Kate had disappeared. It had taken forever for the tiny woman he assumed to be the doctor to take the chart from the basket on the door of Jon’s room and enter. A little while later she’d returned, without the chart, and issued instructions to a pudgy blond nurse who immediately thereafter shepherded Jon and Kate down the hallway and out the back. Probably for tests or X-rays.
He glanced at his watch. He hated clinics, emergency rooms, and anything that had to do with medicine. Sitting around waiting, smelling antiseptic, watching people in white scurry around behind glass partitions, bothered him.
When the hallway was clear, he stretched, saw that no one behind the window separating the secretarial staff from those waiting to be admitted was paying him any mind, and on the pretense of searching for a bathroom, he ambled down the hall. But he paused at the door from which Kate and Jon had emerged then slipped inside.
The chart was on a counter. Without a moment’s hesitation or sting of guilt, he picked the file up and started scanning it.
Date and place of birth? His heart stopped. The date in February was close enough and the kid had been born in Boston, Massachusetts. His stomach clenched. That information fit into Bibi’s story.
Blood type? B negative. The same as Daegan’s. Only about 15 percent of the population had Type B, throw in the negative, and that made it even more rare. Yep, it looked as if Jon was his son.
He scanned the file and ignored the rage of emotion that blasted through him. The chances were downright slim that, given all his information, the boy was fathered by someone else. There was no more denying it. Bibi’s blood type was O positive; he’d already checked.
He read the entire file quickly, thinking it was his right as a father. A father. Oh, God. He dropped the file back where he’d found it, sneaked out of the room, found the restroom, and still reeling with the knowledge that there were no more doubts, he finally returned to the waiting area.
Impatiently, Daegan checked his watch, drummed his fingers on the arm of the plastic couch, and wondered what would be his next move.
Now that he was certain of the truth, the game had just changed.
Chapter 14
“I swear to God, Mom, if you call the police, I’ll leave,” Jon said, his voice deep with conviction. He swept his algebra book off the dining room table and it flew, pages fluttering, old assignments littering the floor as the book skidded across the floor.
“Pick it up.” Kate couldn’t stand the out-and-out rebellion from her son. It seemed that as each day passed, he became more vocal.
“Not until you promise that you won’t call the police or Neider’s dad.”
“Pick it up, Jon. The book belongs to the school and even if it didn’t—”
“Geez, Mom, you can’t be getting the police involved in this,” he said, but reached down and scooped up the mess. Houndog cowered under a chair in the living room and whined pitifully.
Kate gritted her teeth and slowly counted to ten. Deliberately she removed her reading glasses and placed them on the table next to her stack of unread essays. They’d found an uncomfortable peace since returning from the clinic, but Kate had sensed that the calm was temporary, that beneath her boy’s battered body a storm of emotions was raging, ready to explode.
The battlefield was the dining room table, she seated on one side, he on the other. While he attempted homework, she read a stack of essays that needed to be graded. For years they’d been able to work this way, together but independently, at the old table, sharing a bowl of popcorn or a joke, but no longer; it seemed they fought more than they agreed. And the tension was only getting worse.
Kicking back his chair, Jon struggled to his feet. His face was discolored, nose broken, two black eyes making him appear to be wearing a mask. His shoulder was strained, but no ribs had cracked, so Jon was bruised and battered but not yet broken. He’d miss at least a couple of days of school. “Neider’s old man beats him.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” she said, anger surging through her blood. Carl Neider was a foul-mouthed blowhard who spent more than his share of hours on a stool in the local watering hole. “Maybe children’s services should be called.”
“Oh, Mom, no! Don’t you get it? Just leave him alone.”
“Like he left you alone?” With as much patience as she could muster, she leveled her eyes at her boy and said, “You were beat up, Jon, but you lucked out. You could have been seriously hurt, even maimed and crippled for life—”
“But I wasn’t! I hit him once too, y’know.”
She bit back the urge to yell at her son with his bruised face and black eyes. “He stalked you in his car. If it’s not you, it’ll be someone else. He has a history of violence and he has to be held accountable, or helped if that’s possible.”
“Daegan’ll make him stop.”
Kate nearly laughed. If the situation weren’t so dire, the consequences so great, she might have allowed herself a smile. As it was, she couldn’t. Stretching out of her chair, she crossed through the living room to the dark fireplace. “I thought you were so sure that O’Rourke murdered someone,” she said, sorting through the few dry logs in the basket on the hearth. “Weren’t you convinced a couple of weeks ago that there was trouble and danger coming our way, that a man, a good man or an evil man, was coming?”
“Daegan’s good.” Jon crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes, deep in bruised sockets, sparking defiance.
“Since when? Because he saved you from getting pulverized?”
“Yeah! What would have happened if he hadn’t been there?” Jon demanded and Kate felt cold as death inside. Jon was right. Ever since Daegan had stepped foot in Hopewell, he’d done nothing suspicious, been nothing but neighborly and well intentioned. So what if he seemed charged with a restless energy, like a man who was constantly on the run and looking over his shoulder? What did it matter that he was sexy as all get-out and realized it? Even if he had some skeletons buried deep in his closets, who knew and who cared? Jon was right. So far O’Rourke had proved a trustworthy and concerned neighbor. Nothing more.
She tossed a chunk of mossy oak onto the blackened andirons and searched the mantel for a match.
Jon edged into the living room. “Why do you hate him so much?”
“I don’t hate him. He just worries me, that’s all.”
“Well, I like him.”
“Do you?” Her heart sank. Until recently, Jon had never attached himself to anyone but her. He’d had his share of teachers who had been fond of him and a coach or two—usually fathers of other boys—who had been kind to him when a lot of people in town treated him as a pariah, but she’d never heard that ring of conviction and awe in his voice when he’d spoken of another adult.
Daegan O’Rourke, whether he intended to be or not, was now a rival for her child’s affections.
“It’s because of me, isn’t it?” Jon said. “B
ecause of what I said about him. About him killing someone.”
She found a match, struck it against a brick in the fire box, and held the sizzling flame to kindling she’d stacked earlier. “I just don’t know him, Jon,” she said.
“Well, maybe you should.”
Her head snapped up and she met her son’s pained, hostile gaze. The same thought had been nagging her, though she’d been loath to admit it. She just hadn’t faced the truth because it scared her and not just a little. Daegan and her reaction to him were all wrong. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—get involved with him and yet she’d felt it more than once, a simmering attraction that was downright dangerous with the wrong man. And Daegan was definitely the wrong man.
But Jon’s point was well taken and there was no reason she couldn’t be more neighborly than she had been, less suspicious. “All right.” She stood and dusted her hands. “If you handle all the ghosts and goblins that knock on our door tonight, I’ll visit Mr. O’Rourke.”
Jon snorted in disgust and eyed the platter of cupcakes, decorated with orange frosting and candy corn that sat, at the ready, on the table near the door. Houndog had moved, plopping himself directly underneath the table, hoping that a scrap would fall. “We don’t ever have any trick or treaters, Mom. I don’t know why you bother.”
“Because the year I wasn’t ready, we’d have legions of kids ringing the bell.”
“In your dreams,” he muttered under his breath.
It’s not my dreams that worry me, she thought as the fire sputtered and hissed. It’s yours.
As he walked down the icy streets of Boston, Neils VanHorn was a man on a mission. He believed firmly that opportunity knocked only once on a man’s door and right now opportunity was trying to beat his damned door down. This was it. The big time. His hands itched at the thought of how much money he was going to make in the next month or so. Bending his head against a blast of raw wind, he ground his teeth together. Soon he’d give up this frigid climate, buy himself a thirty-foot sailboat, and spend his time in the Caribbean.