Nate (The Rock Creek Six)

by Handeland, Lori

  But why? That was what she needed to find out. So she let him ramble.

  "Do you know how many times I've pulled this bottle out, caressed it, stared at it, wanted it? I've even poured myself a bit." He did so. "Picked it up, inhaled the fragrance." He took a deep breath. "Then I'd let the light reflect in the liquid." He tilted the glass this way and that in front of the lamp. "Do you know how many shades there are to whiskey?"

  Instead of waiting for an answer, he upended the shot into his mouth. "Maybe you shouldn't expect my help when the baby comes, Jo. I'm not a dependable fellow. I've failed at most everything I've done. Not drinking is only the beginning."

  Though she was disappointed, Jo wasn't going to let Nate give up this easily. She'd been foolish to believe that after years of drinking he would stop just because she wished him to.

  "Every day is new. Every morning we start over. Everyone fails, Nate. God forgives."

  "Ask and ye shall be given, seek and ye shall find, knock and it shall be opened." He scowled at his empty glass. "Why not empty shall be full? That would be useful."

  "Why do you bother to quote the Bible if you believe none of it?"

  "There are some mighty good quotes there. The apostles could write; I'll give them that. But lies usually come easier than truth for all of us. Why should they be special?" He glanced at Jo. "God forgives, you say? Too bad I don't."

  "Maybe that's your problem."

  "Huh?"

  Perhaps now was not the best time for this conversation. But she had to try while Nate seemed willing to talk. He had not been very willing of late. "Forgive yourself for whatever it is that's haunting you."

  "You have no idea what I've done." He reached for the bottle again.

  Jo crossed the room and put her hand atop his. "So tell me. Share more than your body. Tell me why you gave up on all you believed and started to take life rather than rejoice in it. What is so horrible that you think it can't be forgiven?"

  His shoulders slumped and his fingers slid off the bottle. Jo raised her hand, preparing to embrace him.

  "I killed her." The words were low and harsh, torn from the depths of his being and flung into the silence.

  Jo let her hand fall back to her side, then took a seat at the table since her legs no longer seemed capable of support. "Who?"

  "Angela." He raised his head. The anguish was a fever in his eyes. "You asked once how she died, and I couldn't tell you. I've never told a soul. You asked why I drink. Now you know. Because I killed the woman I loved more than my life. Does God forgive that? Do you? I can't."

  Mind whirling, Jo searched for something to say. "How did she die?"

  Lips together like a mutinous child, he poured another drink then downed it. Jo put her hand on his. "Tell me."

  "You don't want to know."

  "Tell me," she repeated. "Take your time. I know it's hard. But I'll be right here."

  "You're always right here, aren't you, Just Jo? For me, for everyone. What about you?"

  "I'm always right here for me too."

  "No, it's everyone else first. I used to be like that, except with her. With her it was all about me."

  "I doubt that."

  As if his head were too heavy to hold up, he lowered it to the table, then remained that way for a long time. As Jo had promised, she waited until he was ready to talk.

  At last he looked at her, although his eyes gazed into the past. The whiskey had loosened his tongue, but his words were clear and hard. "I couldn't stop touching her. Child after child after child died."

  Jo closed her eyes for an instant. Oh, no. So many little things made sense now.

  "She was never more than a few months along when she lost them, but every time, she died a bit inside, and so did I. Even when the doctors told me another one would kill her, I touched her anyway. I couldn't stop myself."

  "Nate—" Jo reached for him, but he flinched away.

  "Let me finish." He took a deep, wavering breath. "The night before I left for the war, she came to my room. I knew I shouldn't, but... but... I loved her. It had been so long, and who knew when I'd come back or even if? One time. What could it hurt?"

  His glance grazed Jo's belly then flitted away. "One time." He snorted. "That seems to be all it takes for a man like me." He fell silent.

  "And then?" Jo prompted.

  He wouldn't meet her eyes. "Never mind."

  "I do mind. Tell me how you killed Angela, because so far I've heard nothing to make you hate yourself so much."

  "Let it go, Jo."

  "No."

  Now that she'd gotten him to talk, she had to convince him to spill everything. Holding in pain only made it fester. Nate needed a purge more than anyone she'd ever known.

  "I deserve to know what happened to your first wife. I deserve to know why you can't bear to touch our child or to look at me any more. Finish your story, Nate. You owe me the truth."

  "I owe you a lot more than that, but if it's the truth you want, you'll get it." He faced her. "She died giving birth to my son. I named him Alexander." Jo winced. "You wonder why I can't bear to see Sullivan's child, why I can't bear to touch that baby beneath your skin? There you have it."

  The pain filled his eyes again, and Jo almost told him to stop, that she'd heard enough. But if he could find the courage to speak of it, she would find the courage to listen.

  "Angela was small like you and my child was too big. It was most likely better that all those other children died before they could grow, or I wouldn't have had her as long as I did."

  Jo laced her fingers with his, and when he would have pulled away, she held on. He let his head fall between his shoulders as he stared at his feet. "The more things change, the more they stay the same, though. She was scared of the birth."

  Jo jerked, and this time he held on to her instead of the other way around.

  "I didn't even know she was pregnant when I got the letter. I raced home. Got there just in time to have her die in my arms. There wasn't a thing I could do to stop it. My son lived an hour. I buried them together on a hill where the sun shone warm every afternoon, and into the grave with them I put my faith."

  "Why?"

  The look he gave her was incredulous. "Why? What kind of God does that? I prayed all the way to Kentucky, and then I prayed as her life ebbed away while I watched. Then I continued to pray as my son struggled to breathe. "His voice broke. Jo squeezed his hand. "I promised anything; I begged for one thing. And when she was gone and my son, too, I knew there was no God, no heaven, only hell on this earth."

  "You'd rather there was nothing? That they were gone as if they had never been?"

  "I'd rather they were here, and I was gone."

  Jo lifted her free hand to his cheek. Confusion flickered over his face. "But, Nate," she whispered, "it isn't up to you."

  * * *

  It isn't up to you.

  The words pounded in Nate's head as he left the rectory and meandered toward Three Queens. Almost morning, but he could get a drink there. If he was quiet, he could be alone, which was what he wanted more than anything right now.

  He couldn't bear to look at Jo any longer. He was so damn scared she was going to die, scared the child was going to die, scared he'd killed her, too, with his inability to keep his pecker in his pants.

  He shouldn't have told her the truth about Angela. Now she'd be more frightened than ever before. But he'd been unable to hold on to the secret any longer, especially with enough whiskey to loosen his tongue.

  Her fears, her need of him, the evidence of the child that he could not ignore no matter how hard he tried, all those things had combined to bring him back to the whiskey. He hadn't the strength to watch his life unfold the same way twice.

  Nate walked into Three Queens, picked up a bottle, a glass and sat down in the darkest corner. Yvonne, the bartender Cash had hired years ago when he'd thought this saloon belonged to him, used to sleep in a room off the back. A widow of the war, she'd become Lily's partner.
When Three Queens became profitable enough, she'd taken her earnings and disappeared. No one knew where or why. Rico had assumed the duties behind the bar, which made it easier for him to keep an eye on the place.

  Jo's comment before he'd walked out on her was making Nate think. It wasn't up to him. In other words, Angela's and Alexander's death had not been his fault or his curse, merely the will of God.

  Nate poured a shot. He couldn't accept that.

  "Amigo, what has brought you out so early?"

  Nate glanced up to find Rico on the steps. As usual, Nate hadn't heard his approach. "I needed a drink." Nate drank.

  Rico's sigh was heavy with disappointment.

  "And I don't need any advice from you, kid."

  "Of course not. You've always known all the answers." Rico grabbed a glass and joined him, pouring himself a shot.

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Nate demanded.

  "Nothing."

  They sat in companionable silence, which was amazing in itself. Rico never had known when to shut up, which was why he and Cash were usually two steps from an argument. Cash didn't know when to shut up, either.

  It wasn't long before footsteps approached and Reese, then Sullivan joined them. Each took a glass, poured a shot, sat down and looked at him.

  "What?" Nate asked.

  "Nothing," Reese and Sullivan said together. After several more moments of companionable silence, Nate couldn't take it any more. "Do you two make a habit of drinking at dawn?"

  "Only when you do." Sullivan shrugged. "Saw you come in here and decided Reese and I ought to join you."

  Nate scowled. "I don't need an audience. Shouldn't you be at home with your wives and children?"

  "Shouldn't you?" Reese asked.

  "I don't have any children."

  "From the looks of Jo, that could be remedied at any given moment."

  Nate tossed back a shot. "Don't remind me."

  The three men exchanged glances and drank.

  "What is the matter, amigo? You should be happy now. The wait is almost over. The child will soon be in your arms. You have been given a gift. You must be ready for it."

  "A gift?" Nate laughed, and the others frowned. "I've had these gifts before and I'd rather pass."

  "You have other children?" Reese asked.

  "No." Nate poured another drink.

  Sullivan took the bottle from him, pouring the rest of them another too. "You're not making any sense."

  "What else is new?"

  "It would be new lately," Sullivan observed. "What happened to send you back to the bottle?"

  "A wife I didn't ask for. A child I don't want. A job I grew to hate once already shoved back in my face. Why shouldn't I drink?"

  "But you've been doing so well at the job," Reese said. "You seemed to like it. And everyone likes you in it. Jo is the sweetest woman you could hope for. Maybe the child was an accident, but it can become the greatest gift you've ever known."

  "This child isn't a gift," Nate muttered. "It's my curse."

  A gasp drew their gazes to the doorway, where Jo stood white faced and trembling.

  The three men glanced at Nate.

  "Aw, hell," he muttered and reached one more time for the bottle.

  Chapter 19

  Rage swept over Jo. She crossed the room, picked up the bottle of whiskey, and smashed it against the bar.

  "A curse?" she shouted. "Our child is your curse?"

  They all stared at her, shocked. Jo Clancy never lost her temper, raised her voice, or broke things. Of course, Jo Clancy had never had her heart torn out and stomped on with a single sentence.

  She reached over the table and picked up Nate's glass, then held it up high and opened her fingers. The crash was immensely satisfying. "How could you say such a thing?"

  "It's true."

  "Really?" Jo snatched Reese's glass and tossed it over her shoulder. "I've had enough of your truths. Now it's time for you to listen to a few of mine."

  Nate glanced uneasily at his friends. "Maybe we should go home."

  "No. You left me to come here. You chose to sit with them instead of share with me. Now I'll share with them too." Jo drew in a shaky breath and blurted, "Deep down you still believe in God."

  Nate shook his head and slid Sullivan's drink over to his side of the table. "Nope."

  She refused to be intimidated by his lack of interest. "When I found you in Soledad, you thought I was your dead wife."

  The three men goggled. So they hadn't known about his wife, either. Good.

  "We've been over this." Nate swirled the whiskey, catching the rays of early morning light that shone through the door.

  "Not from my end." She snatched away Sullivan's drink and dropped it on the floor too. "Shut up and listen."

  Nate merely narrowed his eyes and pulled Rico's glass closer.

  "When I arrived you thought I was Angela come to take you home. You said you'd been waiting for her. But if Angela is dead, yet she came for you, what does that make her?"

  "A ghost?" Rico asked.

  Jo shook her head. "Ghosts are ghosts because they have nowhere to go."

  "An angel," Reese murmured.

  Nate scowled at him.

  "Exactly. Only if Angela was an angel could she take you home to heaven."

  Now Nate turned his scowl on her. "That's bullshit, Jo."

  "Your bullshit. Your faith isn't dead, Nate. Only buried beneath heartache and tragedy."

  "No, it's buried in the grave with my wife and my son. As dead as they are."

  "You still believe."

  "I know what's real and what isn't." He rolled a fingertip around the rim of his glass. "Most of the time, anyway. God isn't real."

  Was Nate's faith truly dead? And if that were so, what would she do? Could she spend her life with a man who believed in nothing? Did she want their child raised in a home where God was not revered but reviled? So many questions, so few answers.

  She tried again to reach him. "Why must you see all the bad things? Why can't you look for the miracle?" She placed her hands on her belly. "See it, touch it. Take the gift you've been given. A second chance with me."

  "That child is my punishment, Jo."

  "If there's no God then who's punishing you?"

  Silence settled over Three Queens.

  "She's got you there, amigo."

  "Shut up, kid." Nate stared at Jo with a contemplative expression on his face. "I'm startin' to see whas been goin' on here, and I can't believe I fell for it."

  Jo frowned. He'd begun to slur. Sarcasm and anger weren't far behind. She should talk to him later, but she couldn't. She'd waited too long already. "Fell for what?"

  "Josephine Clancy, missionary extraordinaire, saving the town drunk from himself. You didn't have to sacrifice your life for me, Jo."

  "That's not the way it was."

  "I never could figure out why you let me touch you. I knew it wasn't because you didn't wanna die a virgin."

  Jo slid a glance toward the men, but they all studied the floor. It had been her idea to talk in front of them. She guessed she deserved this.

  "What would you have done if I hadn't come back with you? What would you have done if the first time wasn't a charm? Seduced me over and over again, until you got what you wanted? You expected the child to save me, didn't you?"

  Jo could only stare at him, mouth agape. He thought she'd gotten pregnant on purpose? That she'd deceived him, lied to him to get what she wanted? Little did he know that what she wanted was something he seemed incapable of giving her.

  His love.

  "Nate, you'd better think on what you're saying," Reese warned.

  "I don't think I've been thinkin' enough. You were in on this too." He pointed at Reese. "You convinced me to take the job. For her, you said. You figured the baby would give me hope, and when it came I'd be too trapped to do anything but keep on doin' what I'd been doin'. But y'all didn't realize that when love and faith and hope die, nothing can
bring them back again."

  No one spoke. The only sound in the room was the click of Jo's footsteps as she walked around the table to stand at Nate's side.

  His stare challenged her. "It's true, isn't it? You thought the child would save me."

  "You want to know why I let you touch me in Soledad?" she murmured. "You want to know why I let you keep touching me night after night, day after day? You want to know why I gave myself to a man like you? Why I risked everything? Why I took your name? Why I'm having your child?"

  Jo picked up the final glass of whiskey and smashed it against the wall above his head. Shards of glass and alcohol sprayed over his hair. He didn't so much as blink.

  "I love you, you son of a bitch. I always have."

  "Jo—"

  "I'll talk; you listen. The baby was an accident, but I saw it as a miracle. I did hope it would save you. Is that such a crime? I wanted to give you love, life, a family. So convict me and string me up to die." She looked for something else to throw, but she'd broken everything within reach.

  "You should have told me, Jo."

  "Told you that I loved you?" She gave a derisive snort. "In Soledad you said you loved me, and I thought all my dreams had come true. By the time I discovered you'd been talking to her, it was too late."

  "Well, that explains a few things," he drawled. "You still should have told me."

  "That would have been the quickest way to see your backside as you left town. You only have room in your heart for a dead woman." She slammed her fist down on the table. "I spent a lifetime saying 'I love you' to a man who wouldn't, or maybe couldn't, say it back. I wasn't going to go through that again with you."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. I could live without your loving me. But I can't live with the knowledge that I sentenced my child to the same life I had. I thought I was doing the right thing by giving the baby its father, but I was wrong. No father is better than one who can't love you."

  Jo straightened and put a protective hand over her belly. She took a deep breath and spoke the hardest words she'd ever known. "We don't need you, Nate. Run away and leave us alone."

  * * *

  "You did not handle that well, amigo."