A Hero's Homecoming

by Laurie Paige

“Here.” Carey held a plate out to him.

  “I have a sandwich.”

  “You said we’d share,” she reminded him.

  She smiled in a sweet, natural way, as if they were friends, or could be if things went right. He wanted to do something—like kiss her hand in gratitude or something equally stupid. He took the plate.

  She prepared one for herself. He offered her half of his roast beef sandwich. She accepted and took a seat on the opposite end of the tailgate. Sophie was sitting half in the truck to be close to Freeway.

  Hearing a distinctive crunch and smacking noises behind him, he turned in time to see Sophie’s chicken disappear down Freeway’s gullet.

  “Dammit—” He caught himself. “Dang blast it, Freeway. The ladies save your ornery life and you eat their lunch.”

  Sophie interceded. “I shared.”

  “She did,” her mother agreed. “Sophie took a bite, then Freeway took a bite. Then Sophie took a bite and Freeway took a bite. He was very gentlemanly. Sophie gave him the rest when she didn’t want any more.”

  Freeway sighed and laid his head on Sophie’s leg below the plate. He gave her the most soulful stare Wayne had ever seen coming from a dog. Sophie was returning it.

  “Love at first sight,” Carey said, amusement flashing in her hazel eyes. The sun picked out specks of blue and brown and gold in them.

  “Yeah, I know how he feels.” He looked directly at her, reminding her of the instant attraction between them.

  “Huh,” she scoffed, but with a smile.

  He bit into the chicken. “I must have died and gone to heaven. I haven’t had anything this good since my mom—” He stopped, but it was too late to recall the words. Memories flooded his mind of times that had been good, when he and his family had been happy—or at least he had. He’d assumed the others were, too.

  “Your mom?” Carey prompted.

  “She used to like to try new dishes. Before she got sick and couldn’t do much.”

  “Is she still alive?”

  “No. She’s been gone about twenty years.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The simple sincerity almost unmanned him. He swallowed hard and waited for the tightening in his chest to dissolve. Damn but he was turning into a basket case today.

  A new crunching had him looking back to the truck to see what Freeway was up to now. He and the kid were sharing the celery stick. Wayne shook his head. “Dogs don’t eat celery, you dumb mutt.”

  “Freeway likes it,” Sophie declared, springing to the defense of the big mongrel, who looked as if he had died and gone to doggie heaven.

  Carey laughed aloud.

  Wayne nearly fell off the tailgate. “A woman’s laughter,” he said softly. “It’s a thing to warm a man’s blood and go right to the heart.”

  “It doesn’t take much to warm a man’s blood.” She gave him a sardonic grin when he frowned at her.

  “Can Freeway and I go for a walk? We won’t go far,” Sophie promised, looking at her mom.

  “If he feels like it,” Carey agreed.

  Sophie scooted to the end of the tailgate and hopped down. She didn’t even have to call him. The dog jumped down right behind her and followed at her side, taking it easy on his sore paw. They walked down the dirt track.

  “No farther than the big oak tree by that rock,” Carey told her daughter. The girl nodded in understanding.

  “She’s a bright kid,” he commented.

  “Yes.” A thoughtful frown settled on her face. “She’s very loving and trusting.”

  “That worries you.”

  She sighed and leaned against the truck frame. “To the point of distraction. No matter how many times her father disappoints her, she still believes him the next time he says he’s coming by or promises her an outing or a toy, all of which he promptly forgets.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Nothing. Sophie explains to me and herself that he’s busy…the way I am. Lorrie has been very good about including Sophie in her family life, so Sophie doesn’t seem to mind that Jack and I aren’t as dependable.”

  “You’re a doctor.”

  “So I can be excused, but Jack isn’t in medicine, so he can’t?” She munched on a piece of chicken, then swallowed.

  He frowned, not sure how she’d turned the tables on him, but she had. “You don’t feel it entitles you to a bit more leeway than the rest of mankind?”

  “My parents always said we’re all people. All kinds of jobs are necessary to keep civilization going.” She grinned. “Of course, I do feel a little above myself when a case turns around that others have given up on.”

  He rubbed his chin, remembering running into Sterling McCallum when he was talking to Reed Austin about some more beefs he’d found slaughtered in one of the back pastures four days ago. They figured Dale Carson was at it again, but who was behind the young man? That was the question.

  “How’s Jennifer McCallum?” he asked.

  Carey’s smile vanished, and he was sorry he’d brought the name up. Worry replaced the light in her eyes.

  “She’s ready for the marrow transplant.”

  “That’s great. Calloway checked out okay, did he?” Wayne felt an immense relief. He could leave with a free conscience.

  She shook her head. The sunlight glinted off the tousled curls in a carefree manner that belied the pity on her face. “The blood profile has to match on six basic points. His only hit four of them.”

  Wayne stopped with the last bite of chicken on the way to his mouth. “What do you mean?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “He can’t be a donor. Jessica insists on being checked. So does Sterling. And the entire hospital staff. But it’s a long shot, without any family ties.”

  “But not impossible?”

  “Nothing’s impossible.”

  She sounded so grimly determined he knew if a miracle was needed, she’d find one.

  “How long have you got?”

  “As long as it takes.” She sighed. “A few weeks, maybe months. We can give her blood transfusions for quite a while, but someday she’ll get an infection or something…” Her voice trailed off.

  She put her partly eaten lunch aside and sipped from the soda can, her gaze on the mountain peaks in the distance as if she were willing the miracle to happen right that moment. There was worry in the depths of her eyes.

  “You can test me,” he volunteered.

  If he matched, he’d tell the truth. He could do like Clint, refuse to take any part of the Kincaid estate. Legally, he supposed it was all his, since he was the only legitimate heir, or would be if he made a court case of it. Which he wouldn’t.

  She gave him a thoughtful and slightly puzzled perusal. “That’s kind of you.”

  She obviously didn’t think he would have a snowball’s chance of matching the six whatevers that had to fit. “I mean it,” he assured her.

  She met his eyes and held his gaze. The worry in her expression softened. “Why do you care?”

  He looked away. “I’ve met the kid.”

  “To know her is to love her,” Carey said softly, hearing the words he didn’t say.

  Wayne felt a hand touch his where it was clenched on the end of the tailgate. He turned his hand and linked his fingers with hers, enjoying the feel of her palm against his.

  Like all doctors who had ever touched him—and there had been a hell of a lot of them when they’d gotten him back from ‘Nam and worked on his wounds—her hands were very soft from all the scrubbing she did.

  Slowly, giving her a chance to pull back, he brought his head closer to hers. Very gently, he kissed her, first her eyes until she closed them, then her lips until she opened them. He reached inside and stroked her tongue with his. She tasted of the soda.

  He lifted his head. “I had a beer earlier. Sorry about that.”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  Her frankness always surprised him. He grinned. “Then it was as good for you as it was fo
r me?”

  She gave him an exasperated grimace and shoved him away, then hopped off the tailgate. “I’m not going to tell you. Your ego is colossal already.”

  He chuckled and finished the chicken. Sophie had been right. It was the best he’d ever eaten.

  “Sophie,” Carey called. “Time to go.”

  “We haven’t had the cake,” he protested.

  “You can have it. We have more at home.”

  “How about supper?” He knew he was pushing his luck, but she seemed to be feeling amiable toward him.

  “Are you inviting me out to eat, or are you inviting yourself to eat at my house?” She was amused.

  “Either. You and Sophie can come with me. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  She shook her head. “You can eat with us. Same time.”

  “Seven? I’ll be there. At the Baxter cabin?”

  “Yes.”

  He watched while she walked down the road to join her daughter. When they started back up the trail, he whistled. Freeway stopped and looked at him, then back at his new love. After a bit of heavy thinking, the animal finally turned and trotted back to the truck.

  “You’re fickle, fellow,” Wayne said, rubbing the dog’s ears. “What would Daisy think of this crush of yours?”

  Daisy, their best cattle dog, had given birth to four puppies last month, thanks to Freeway’s amorous attentions.

  Wayne smiled. He knew one little girl who’d love to have one. And one mom who wouldn’t. He chuckled.

  Four

  Wayne put the pickup in gear and headed back to ranch headquarters, but his mind strayed to the old Baxter cabin and the two females who’d spent a long weekend there. Today was Monday and not a holiday, so the doc had taken a day off to be with her daughter. In spite of the mother’s guilt, the daughter seemed a well-balanced kid.

  Carey was a warm, loving armful of woman. Any child would be lucky to have her for a parent. A man would be lucky to have her for a wife. The husband who’d let her go had been a fool.

  The memory of her passionate response to him nearly had him running off the road. He sternly brought his attention back to the real world. A quarter mile down the dirt track, he noticed a mineral block in the pasture.

  “What the hell?” he muttered.

  They hadn’t put out any new blocks, not in winter, and none out this way since last spring. By now, deer and other forest creatures should have finished it off.

  He stopped the truck, the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention. There were no tracks in the road in front of him. He got out and checked behind the pickup, walking on the dried grass and weeds along the verge.

  His tires had obliterated the other vehicle’s tracks, but he did find the imprint of a tire edge, then a few yards back, the place where a truck, its tires worn almost bald, had turned around.

  Returning to the pickup, he grabbed a burlap bag and slipped through the barbed-wire strands. After retrieving the mineral block, he tossed it in the back and drove on to the ranch.

  Rand Harding, the foreman, was in the ranch office when Wayne arrived. “Bad news,” the foreman said as soon as he stepped inside the door.

  “Yeah? Tell me about it,” Wayne invited with a cynical smile.

  “I just talked to Hargrove—”

  “Was he out here?” Wayne interrupted.

  Rand gave him a quizzical glance. “On the telephone. They’ve decided to shut down the ranch completely. As soon as it warms up and the cows have dropped their calves, the livestock will be sold at auction. Same goes for the equipment. I guess the ranch will go next.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “No, but you don’t even need to read between the lines to see it coming. I mean, what else are they going to do? The ranch needs an income to pay the taxes. Nobody wants to work here because of the so-called Kincaid curse.” He sighed despondently. “Hargrove says they’ve had an offer.”

  For a second, Wayne felt something hot and heavy clench at his insides. He forced himself to relax. Hell, this was what he wanted. Let the ranch go. In a few years it would be known as the old Kincaid place the same as the Baxter ranch.

  End of an era.

  “Who from?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

  Rand tapped the end of a pencil on the scarred ranch desk. The younger man’s eyes were dark. His shoulders slumped. Wayne realized the foreman would be out of a job with the shutdown of the ranch. So would he.

  Maybe he’d head for Denver. A friend from the military had urged him to join his private-detective agency for years. The two had been paired up in the hospital for a brief spell while recovering from their wounds. They’d remained in contact over the years. Yeah, maybe it was time to be moving on.

  As soon as he knew Jennifer was going to be okay. Things weren’t looking good on that front.

  He swallowed hard to clear his throat before he spoke again. “Did you take a block of mineral salt out to section eight over near the Baxter ridge?”

  “No. It’s too early. Besides, we probably won’t be moving any cattle out this year if what Hargrove says is true about closing down completely, so we won’t be doing anything in the back pastures.”

  “That’s what I thought. Odd, though. I found a brand-new block out there. I brought it in with me. Thought I might have the sheriff check it out.”

  Rand stared at him, then set his jaw angrily. “I’d like to find the bastard who’s doing this.”

  “So would I. If I could find Dale and have five minutes alone with him, I think we’d have the answer.”

  “Yeah. You think it would do any good to talk to McCallum and see if we can’t make it another year before we throw in the towel? The deputy has the final say.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

  “That’s what I thought. I, mmm, wondered if you’d do it.” At Wayne’s sharp glance, he hurried on. “You seem to be on pretty easy terms with him. And you’re closer in age.”

  The foreman grinned as he added the last. The other ranch hands, what few there were, called Wayne “Gramps.” He was ten to twenty years older than the rest of them.

  And felt every damn one of those years. He pushed a grin on his face and nodded. “Reckon I can do that.”

  He needed to see Sterling and his wife anyway. Confession time was drawing closer unless Carey had found a donor for Jennifer.

  He wondered what the doc’s reaction would be. Shock. Disbelief. Anger. About half the county would probably feel the same. Including Ethan, assuming Kate hadn’t already said something to him. Then there was Carey and McCallum and his wife. They would have to be told, too.

  Then, when he’d done all he could for the kid, he’d be out of Whitehorn. For good.

  Carey waved a piece of newspaper toward the door. She muttered several nasty phrases. “Go outside, Sophie, until I get the smoke cleared out.”

  Her daughter skipped out of the cabin and settled on the steps. Carey wondered where the wind was when she needed it. She heard a truck stop outside and went to join her daughter on the porch. She glanced at her watch.

  “You’re early,” she called to J.D. “It’s only six.”

  “Freeway here couldn’t wait,” he explained.

  The dog jumped out of the truck and made a beeline for Sophie, who was already giggling and holding her arms open. They rushed at each other like long-lost lovers. The dog licked the girl all over her face.

  Carey felt a hitch in the vicinity of her heart. Ah, to be that young and find happiness so easily. She looked at J.D., standing at the bottom of the steps, a strangely gentle smile on his lips as he watched the child and his dog.

  “Looks like we need the fire department,” he remarked.

  He was dressed in jeans and boots as usual, but he’d put on a white shirt, sleeves rolled back on his forearms, in place of the work shirt he’d worn earlier. His hair appeared damp.

  “That blasted stove delights in driving me crazy. It won’t light
. And yes, I have the flue open,” she said before he could make one of those superior-male remarks.

  He grinned and ambled inside with her. He put a hand on the old-fashioned potbellied stove as if taking its temperature. “Cold,” he said.

  “I noticed,” she informed him sarcastically. “That’s why I was trying to light the blasted thing. We need some heat. I don’t know why I let Sophie talk me into spending the night out here. It’s much too early for camping in this drafty place.”

  “It’s peaceful,” he said, as if that explained it all.

  He picked up the newspaper she’d used as a fan to dispel the smoke and tore off a section, then made a twist out of it. He lit the twist and stuck it inside the stove and toward the opening to the stovepipe.

  The wisp of smoke from the burning paper swirled for a couple of seconds while the flame fluttered, then both flame and smoke straightened and went up the pipe. He then laid the twist on her little pile of smoldering paper and kindling. The fire caught and the smoke in the room whisked into the stove on the draft.

  She glared at him.

  He chuckled while he wiped smudges of soot off his hand with a handkerchief. “The air in the stovepipe was cold. That’s why it couldn’t draw. It needed a little direct flame to heat things up and get the air to moving.”

  “Oh.”

  “There are some things you don’t know, Doc.”

  He gave her a sexy, oblique glance that had her heart diving to her toes and making her want to tap-dance. She frowned, irritated at herself and her reaction to this audacious cowboy. “I’m sure you’ve picked up lots of tidbits while drifting around the world.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed in a harder tone. “It teaches a man a thing or two—like to watch out for smart-mouthed women.”

  A giggle interrupted them before the quarrel, if that’s what it was, picked up steam. Sophie came in with Freeway and closed the door, shutting out the cold night air.

  “Mom doesn’t like it when you talk back,” she advised J.D. “When are we going to eat?”

  “Soon. Now that I can see through the smoke.” Her smile was a peace offering. “Thanks for clearing the air.”

  Sophie started a game of tug-of-war with Freeway, using one of Carey’s socks. The dog growled playfully, while the girl laughed in delight as they romped around the table.