by Loree Lough
Nate shook his head and cleared his throat. Can’t let yourself get sidetracked, Marshall. Just follow the rules…
“Is that so?”
If she wanted examples, he’d give her examples, much as it pained him to repeat the boy’s distressing stories.
“He said that a couple of times, Burke left him at girlfriends’ houses for days—women he barely knew. Once, he spent hours in a closet because one of them had a big vicious dog. Hid under a pool table once, too, for fear of being trampled by the drunks in some dive. And another time—”
“It took me ages to get him to open up about all of that. I don’t know whether to pin a medal on you or smack you.”
“Smack me? For what?”
She handed him the whisk and added milk to the gravy. “Stir that, will you, while I make the pancake batter.”
They stood in silence, Nate at the stove, Eden at the counter beside it.
After a while, she said, “You barely know Thomas, so why was he so confident that if he came to you, you’d help him?”
“Wait. Whoa. If you think I did or said anything to encourage it, you’re—” A guy didn’t just call a psychologist crazy. “Look, Thomas came to me. I brought him home. End of story. Or, at least, it oughta be. I don’t know what’s going on with you, Eden, but you need to ratchet it down a notch or two. I could have called the cops. I didn’t. I could have called you, let you deal with the problem all on your own. I didn’t. A little gratitude might be nice, even if you have to fake it.”
If he sounded gruff to himself, Nate didn’t want to think about what he sounded like to Eden. She buttered the griddle. Whipped the batter until it all but foamed. Okay, so maybe he’d been a little hard on her, but to this point, TLC sure hadn’t worked.
He lowered the flame under the skillet, covered the gravy and tossed the whisk into the sink. The urge to hightail it out of there was so strong, Nate could almost smell the leather upholstery of his truck. But he had to stay, if only for Thomas’s sake. The kid had been through a lot in twenty-four hours. Last thing he needed was to return to the kitchen and find Nate gone.
So he set the table. Made a fresh pot of coffee. Filled stubby glasses with juice and milk. Set out the syrup—even though Eden looked at him cockeyed—because his family had been topping sausage gravy with the stuff for generations.
If he bent over backward any farther, his spine would snap like a twig. For some reason, Zach and Summer came to mind: married, awaiting the birth of their first kid, their relationship thriving. Nate found it hard to believe they resolved disputes—and surely they had them, because what couple didn’t?—with stony silence. But then, they’d overcome a lot, separately and together. Unity like that took time and effort. Mutual respect. And love.
Eden poured the gravy into two big bowls and placed them at opposite ends of the table. Stacked pancakes on two plates and put them beside the bowls.
“I’ll get the boys in here, before things get cold,” he said.
She nodded, and he would have sworn her lower lip trembled slightly as he left the room. A part of him wanted to go back in there, take her in his arms and tell her everything would be fine. But Nate steeled himself. Losing Miranda had nearly broken him. If he took it to the next level with Eden and things didn’t work out?
Just follow the rules, he reminded himself, rounding the corner into the hall. Just two simple rules.
*
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, you don’t have a fax machine?”
Paul Otto snickered into the phone. “How old are you, Marshall?”
Times like this, Nate wondered how he’d lasted four years in the same dorm room with the guy. “I’ll come pick up the report. It’ll be faster than jawin’ with you all morning.”
“I can email them.”
“No, you can’t. My printer’s on the fritz.”
“All right, simmer down. The copy machine has a fax feature. I think.”
Nate heard papers rustling and Otto muttering.
“There are only four pages here,” he said. “Give me a few minutes to find the instruction manual and I’ll send ’em right over.”
“Thanks, Paul. I owe you one.”
“You bet your Stetson you do.” And laughing, his former roommate hung up.
Ever since hanging his private detective shingle, Otto liked to boast that he really could find the proverbial needle in a haystack, and Nate believed it. He’d traced his mom’s long-lost brother from Chicago to Eureka, from California to Canada—by way of Houston, Miami, New York and Nashville. If Nate had any regrets about funding this search, it was that he hadn’t put Otto on the trail sooner.
Something Thomas had mumbled during the ride back to Pinewood had set off warning bells in Nate’s head. “I won’t live with him. I don’t care what I have to do.” After getting home from delivering him into Eden’s welcoming arms, Nate searched the internet for every scenario the boy had described, and found examples of each in news stories from all over the United States. He’d substituted his name in place of the other kids’, and artfully passed himself off as the victim.
In his immature, fearful mind, his father’s past deeds—desertion, neglect, landing in federal prison, then disappearing for years after that—predicted the man’s future behavior. By inserting himself into those stories, Thomas hoped to damage his father’s newly established credibility and ensure himself a permanent home at Pinewood. If his accusations were even partially true, Nate couldn’t turn his back on the kid. Any minute now, he’d have black-and-white proof that would validate father…or son. Either way, Thomas stood to benefit, and that eased Nate’s conscience.
While he waited for the fax to appear, Nate stretched out in his big office chair, boot heels on the windowsill and fingers laced behind his head, watching the Double M cows graze contentedly along the tree line. A perfect example of why setting cougar traps out there was a dumb and dangerous idea. It had been weeks since anyone reported a kill, but that didn’t mean the threat had passed.
The sudden bzzt-bzzt-bzzt of the fax startled him and nearly sent him toppling. Feet on the floor, he rolled his chair closer to the machine, watching as the pages surged from the printer. When the machine quieted, Nate settled in to study the report.
Thomas William Burke Sr., it said, graduated from Colorado State with a major in education and a minor in psychology. Every infraction on his criminal record had a direct link to drug or alcohol abuse, and when sentenced for a third DUI, his name appeared on the state’s Most Wanted list. To his credit, Burke had come back, served his time and hadn’t stepped out of line since. And Nate believed he knew who had inspired his turnaround.
It gave him an idea, but for it to work, he’d have to talk with Burke, directly. He’d seen the man’s contact information tacked to the bulletin board in the Pinewood kitchen, along with recipes, coupons and an oil change discount card. Nate called Otto back.
“What’s the problem, old man? Did I forget to dot an i or cross a t?”
“The report was so perfect, it gave me another idea. What’s your schedule look like for the next few days?”
“Got dates with some long, slender ladies. Other than that, I’m wide-open.”
“Are you still telling that tired old joke?” Nate grinned, remembering how Otto had assigned girls’ names to his fishing rods and golf clubs. “You need some new material, pal.”
“What I need to get is some new friends.”
He heard Otto’s desk chair squeal and pictured him literally sitting on the edge of his seat.
“Now, why don’t you tell me about this idea of yours, and I’ll tell you whether or not I’m willing to bail on my ladies this weekend.”
*
WHEN KIRK HEARD what Nate planned to do with the information he’d gathered about Burke, the young teacher had volunteered to snag the man’s phone number from the bulletin board.
Dealing with Burke had been anything but easy. Fortunately, Thomas’s dad had agreed to meet him,
but Nate wasn’t at all sure he’d show. Not that he blamed the guy. If a total stranger had started a telephone conversation with, “You don’t know me, but I have a proposition for you,” he might not show up, either. Especially if he had a rap sheet like Burke’s.
Now, with The Alley’s menu open in front of him, Nate scanned the parking lot and hoped for the best. He’d just ordered his second cup of coffee when the Harley wheeled into a space not far from Nate’s truck. Curiosity, it seemed, didn’t always kill the cat. Sometimes it merely lured him.
“Can’t stay long,” Burke said, sitting across from Nate. “Trying to keep my nose clean and don’t want to be late for work.”
Nate extended a hand. “Thanks for coming.”
He’d seen the guy’s birth date in Otto’s report. Without it, Nate would have guessed he was much older. Clearly, his lifestyle had taken its toll.
“I’ll be honest,” Burke said. “If you hadn’t said this meeting could benefit Thomas, I wouldn’t be here.”
“It’ll benefit you, too.” Along with Eden and the rest of the Pinewood boys, and in a roundabout way, Nate, as well. “How far between here and your job?”
“Not far. I’m on the new hotel complex near the airport. My AA sponsor recommended me, and when the foreman heard I can run heavy equipment and weld, he hired me on the spot.”
His biggest challenge after returning from Alaska, Burke told Nate, had been finding an affordable apartment and transportation. “Rode the light-rail system for a while, thinking to save up for a car, a nicer place, but man.” He shook his head. “Let’s just say I’m not cut out for mass transit.”
He’d spent two years in The Last Frontier, so Nate wasn’t surprised.
Burke glanced at his watch. “So about this idea of yours…”
“I’ve always believed in laying my cards on the table, so I’ll say right up front that I hired somebody to look into your past.”
“I figured. That boy of mine doesn’t talk to me much, but when he does, you’re usually part of the conversation.” Burke chuckled. “I was prepared not to like you. All that hero-worship talk poked the green-eyed monster, big-time. And reminded me why Tommy isn’t exactly fond of me.” He cleared his throat. “Thomas, I mean. Sheesh. There’s another habit I need to break.”
Nate had a feeling he’d succeed, based on habits he’d already broken.
“My guy is one of the best private investigators in the business, and he’s looking into the how-to of getting your teacher’s certificate reinstated. His dad is a politician. Lots of contacts.” He held up a hand in response to Burke’s scowl. “Hear me out. These are ideas, nothing more, and if you decide you don’t like them, we’ll pretend this conversation never happened.”
“I loved teaching, but I’m guessing the state will frown on putting a former addict at the front of a classroom.”
“You were never convicted of any crimes against children, so I’m guessing the opposite. You could keep your day job, at least for the time being, and maybe volunteer at Pinewood. Eden and Kirk could use some help.”
Nate saw sparks of optimism in Burke’s dark eyes. “Don’t get your hopes too high just yet, though.”
“Don’t worry. I’m used to disappointment. Something tells me dealing with the state will be a walk in a park compared to getting Eden’s approval.”
That surprised Nate because Eden made it seem as though she approved of the father-son meetings.
“I met a guy in Alaska who liked to brag that he shot his wife and her boyfriend. Some folks said it was all talk, called him Santa ’cause of his belly laugh.” Burke paused. “Eden has a big robust laugh, and she’s mighty protective of those boys…”
Nate frowned slightly. “She can be downright fierce where they’re concerned, but no way she’d kill to defend the kids.”
Burke shrugged. “Mind if I ask you a question?”
“You can ask…”
“What’s with you two?”
Nate answered with a ragged sigh. The contradictions were more confusing than a Rubik’s Cube. Thoughtful gestures and angry outbursts. Warm hugs and cold glares. Sweet kisses and “I don’t need you.”
Nate licked his lips. “To tell the truth, I don’t have a clue.”
“Maybe you ought to put your guy on it.”
That inspired a chuckle. “Touché.”
He hadn’t expected to like the guy, but it was hard not to. Burke seemed intelligent and rational. He’d overcome a lot through patience and persistence. “We need to keep this between us,” Nate said.
“I agree.”
The men shook on it, and after Nate paid the bill, they walked out together.
“Soon as I hear anything, I’ll call you,” Nate said as Burke snapped his helmet’s chin strap.
“Extra time with Thomas and a way to earn back his respect? Yeah, I’m looking forward to hearing from you.”
Nate stopped at Café Brazil on his way home and picked up a gift card to thank Kirk for risking Eden’s wrath by supplying Burke’s number. The guy had earned a free meal with his Janie, and then some.
Driving back to the Double M, a sense of unease overshadowed his relief that Burke seemed enthused by his idea. Nate told himself that only a fool wouldn’t feel edgy, given the guy’s record. That, and the fact that he’d bypassed Eden to ensure the meetings with Thomas Burke. He hoped history wouldn’t repeat itself; if Burke went off-beam again, everyone would pay a price…
…but none more than Thomas.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WHEN HE SAW the Pinewood number on the caller ID screen, Nate almost didn’t answer. But on the off chance that Eden had finally put the whole Thomas the Runaway business behind her, he picked up.
“Nate!”
He recognized Devon’s voice instantly.
“Hey, what’s up, buddy?”
“Chili. Like, buckets of the stuff.”
Normally, he didn’t appreciate any aspect of speakerphone, but hearing the other boys in the background, laughing and cracking jokes, made it tolerable.
“I used your recipe and it tastes great, but…” More laughter, and then, “Can we bring some over to your place? Maybe you could get your family together to help us eat it.”
He’d doubled, even tripled the recipe a time or two. But Nate couldn’t figure out how they’d ended up with buckets. It was Sunday, when the Marshalls gathered for a traditional, weekly home-cooked meal. The family would probably get a kick out of a spur-of-the-moment meal prepared by a horde of hardscrabble teenage boys.
“I’ll see if I can round ’em up. But how will you get that much chili over here?”
“I found these giant jars down in the basement,” Devon said. “Eden told me her grandmother inherited them from her mother, and that back in the old days, women used them for soup and stew when their men went hunting.”
His own grandmother had used similar jars for rib-sticking meals to feed the hands when they moved cattle closer to home to sit out the winter.
“How many jars?”
“Seven.”
“Seven? Where did you get enough meat?”
“Eden said she needed to use up the ground beef before it got freezer-burned.”
“We had lotsa tomatoes and beans and spices,” Nick said, “because she’s a food hoarder. You need us to bring pots and pans, too?”
“I think we’re okay with what’s here.”
“Guess what, Nate?”
“What, Carlos?”
“We got a new kid. To replace Travis. His name is Luke. Say hi to Nate, Luke.”
“Hello, Nate. I’ve heard a lot about your ranch. I’ve never been particularly fond of horses, but that’s probably because I’ve never met one before. So I’m looking forward to meeting one. And you, too, of course.”
He hated to admit it, but while the boy rambled, his mind had wandered. Had the boys talked with Eden about this little plan of theirs?
“What time was Eden thinking of heading out?”
“Well, we’re working on that.”
Nate groaned quietly. “Gee, Ben. You mean you haven’t run this past her yet?”
“Not exactly. We were thinking of telling her it’s a surprise birthday party, so she can’t say no.”
“Whose birthday?”
Silence, and then, “ Eden’s birthday is the day after Thanksgiving.”
Three weeks away. “Where is she now?”
“In the office, grading papers, I guess.”
“Okay, here’s the plan. You guys clean up the kitchen—”
“Already done,” Devon said.
“Eden-style?”
“Well, no, but almost.”
“When you’re sure it’ll pass her inspection, put the portable phone someplace where she’ll be sure to hear it, and I’ll call in about fifteen minutes.” He’d need at least that long to figure out what to tell her. And plan his getaway in case the invitation didn’t go over well.
After screwing up his courage, he dialed Pinewood, and she answered with a breathy “Hello?”
“If I’m interrupting something, I can call back.”
“No, I’m just a bit winded from running up and down the stairs with the laundry.”
He came close to suggesting she let the boys do it, but fear of sounding tactless or intrusive stopped him. “Are you sitting down?” he said instead.
A moment of silence was followed by a short huff in his ear. Oh, good gravy, he thought, don’t let that be a sign she’s still holding a grudge.
“Where are the boys?”
“Out back, tossing the football around.”
“If you go into the kitchen, you’ll see that they’ve made chili…”
“I know. The whole house smells heavenly.”
“…lots of chili.”
He heard her boot heels clicking across the hardwood.
“Oh, my gosh! How many times did they double your recipe?”
“From the sound of things, enough times to feed all of you, and all of us. Twice.” He considered the consequence of every word before saying, “They’re planning a birthday surprise for you. They found two old canning kettles and jars in the basement. And did you a favor by using the canned goods and burger meat before it all expired. I’m supposed to take care of the cake and getting my family to show.”