Jane Bonander

by Warrior Heart

  “I don’t mind,” she answered. “It’s very thoughtful.”

  He finished and stood, checking his work. “I’ll fence the other flower beds later. If I take the dog with me to the jail, the flowers should be safe.”

  She flushed, knowing he’d sensed her overprotectiveness toward something as inanimate as her mums. “That … that’s fine. Thank you.” She turned to the door, then said, “Breakfast is ready, Mr. Wolfe.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I clean up.”

  She returned to the kitchen, feeling off-balance and giddy. Dawn sat at the table, flanked by Bert and Burl, who shoveled in mounds of hot cereal, smacking their lips approvingly. Dawn’s glance kept going to the door as she toyed with her food.

  “Eat your breakfast, Dawn, or you’ll be late for school.”

  Libby stood at the counter, her back to the door, when Jackson entered the kitchen.

  Dawn fairly gushed. “Good morning, Mr. Wolfe. How’s Mumser today? Did he sleep all right in a strange place? Are you taking him to the jail with you?”

  “Dawn, really,” Libby scolded. “Give the man a chance to take a breath.” She motioned to an empty chair, which he slid into, unfolding the napkin onto his lap.

  “The dog’s just fine this morning, young lady. And, yes, I’ll be taking him to the jail with me.” He studied her. “Are your sums done?”

  Dawn graced him with a wide smile. “I finished them last night. That trick you showed me made them easy to do.”

  Libby placed a plate of eggs and ham in front of him, along with a bowl of hot cereal. He glanced up, his eyes so blue and twinkly that Libby thought she might faint. He certainly did something to her insides she’d never experienced before.

  “So,” Burl began, gumming a piece of bread and jam, “yer gonna be the sheriff, huh?”

  Jackson nodded, finished chewing what was in his mouth, then answered, “Until Vern gets back on his feet, anyway.”

  Burl continued to chew and talk. “Got experience?”

  Jackson appeared to bite back a grin. “Some.”

  “Whatcha been doing afore this?” Bert wiped his cereal bowl with a piece of bread, then stuffed the bread into his mouth.

  “Gentlemen,” Libby began, using the word lightly, “let the man eat in peace. You can interrogate him later.” She glanced at Dawn, who was resting her chin on her palm, staring at the man.

  “Dawn? It’s time to get ready for school.”

  With a weary sigh, Dawn wiped her mouth and rose from the table. “I’d like to play with Mumser later today, Mr. Wolfe. May I come by the jail and get him?”

  “Dawn, I don’t think —”

  “That’s a fine idea. He’ll be bored, having to stay with me all day.” A sudden, concerned expression etched his features and he turned to Libby. “That is, if it’s all right with you, ma’am.”

  Libby suppressed a sigh. “As long as you get your schoolwork done, Dawn. But remember, that comes first.”

  Dawn gave her mother a quick hug, then raced from the kitchen.

  Bert and Burl dawdled with their coffee, quiet as church mice. But Libby knew that in no way meant their wrinkled old brains weren’t working. After over a dozen years under the same roof, they knew her about as well as anyone. If she showed the slightest bit of interest in Jackson Wolfe, they would somehow know it. Their rheumy old eyes never missed a thing.

  Jackson wiped his mouth with his napkin, then stood. “I’ll start on the rest of those fences later today, ma’am.” He crossed to the door, then turned. “Thank you for the breakfast. It was delicious.”

  She gave him a wavery smile, then followed him with her gaze until she could no longer see him.

  “Ya fancy him, don’tcha?” There was a sly note in Burl’s voice.

  She returned to the table and began clearing it. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she huffed. “He’s merely a nice man who is making sure his dog doesn’t ruin my flower beds.”

  The Bellamy brothers finally rose from the table. “Seems a right friendly gent,” Bert mused. “Why, helpin’ the little gal with her sums and buildin’ fences around yer posies—I’d say he was tryin’ to get in good with ya. Don’tcha think so, Burl?”

  Burl downed the remainder of his coffee and smacked his lips. “ ‘Tain’t normal fer a man to do somethin’ fer nothin’.”

  Libby rolled her eyes. “Go on, get out of here. If Mahalia catches you loitering in the kitchen, she’ll have you washing dishes.”

  The threat worked. They cackled as they left the room, leaving Libby to wonder if there was any truth to their words. She was a pragmatic woman, although she normally didn’t read ulterior motives into other people’s acts. But in spite of all that, their parting words niggled at her brain. Again, as the day before, she got a funny feeling in her stomach when she thought about Jackson Wolfe’s good deeds.

  The minute Jackson stepped into the sheriff’s office, Mumser squirmed from his arms and raced around the room, sniffing the corners, as he’d done every morning for the past week.

  With both hands, Sheriff Roberts lifted his leg onto a chair, on which sat a flat, dirty cushion. He winced, cursed, and shook his head.

  “Damned game leg,” he muttered as he watched Mumser scurry about. “That dog’d better not be looking for another place to take a leak.”

  Giving him a half smile, Jackson tossed his hat onto the desk, then crossed to the coffee pot, poured himself a cup,and took a sip. He grimaced, disappointed that it wasn’t as good as the coffee he’d had at breakfast.

  “If he does, it’ll most likely be because the place has an encouraging smell.”

  Vern Roberts grunted. “No doubt his own. So some Chinese high mucky-muck gave you that piss-poor excuse for a dog, huh?”

  Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Don’t start with me. I’ve been ridiculed from here to China about that dog not being fit lunch for coyotes.”

  Vern chuckled, his graying mustache twitching. “Did you find a room at the boardinghouse?”

  Nodding, Jackson hid his rush of pleasure at having found Dawn Twilight. He would tell Vern about her eventually, but not yet. He savored the knowledge, holding it close to his heart. “Yes. Thanks for recommending it.”

  “Ah,” Vern mused. “The widow O’Malley is a mighty fine-looking woman, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Jackson felt Vern’s scrutiny but ignored it. Vividly remembering the surprising effect she had on him, he gave the older man a noncommittal shrug and studied the wanted posters on the far wall. “I suppose. Although white women never interested me much.”

  “With them dark eyes and hair, she’s a real looker.”

  Jackson tossed him a sardonic look. “I’m not looking for a woman, Vern, white, green, or otherwise.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Vern commented. “You’ve been courting foreign women of all different shapes and colors,” He chuckled. “Just as well, I guess. Ethan Frost’s been sniffing around her for nigh onto a year now.” His laughter deepened. “Don’t seem to get too far with her, though.”

  “Ethan Frost? Any relation to John?”

  “His son, of course. Ethan took over the bank when old John died.”

  Jackson felt his stomach clench with an unrecognizable dread. His next stop was to have been the bank to discover why he hadn’t heard from John for so many years. “When did John die?”

  Vern brushed at his mustache with his index finger. “Let me see. Has to be nearly four or five years now.”

  Jackson turned away so Vern wouldn’t see his concern. Perhaps he was worrying for nothing. Maybe, in the confusion following John’s death, the records had simply been misplaced. Or maybe his mail just hadn’t caught up with him before he left China. Surely there was a reasonable explanation.

  He felt Vern’s curious gaze.

  “You’ve been gone a mighty long time, Jackson. How did it feel to live among them foreigners?”

  Jackson got weary simply thinking about it. He was home; he wanted to put his t
ravels behind him. “They’re people, just like the rest of us, Vern.”

  Vern chuckled. “You’ve always been that way, you know it?”

  “What way is that?”

  “Never seeing the differences in people, like you never even noticed they was a different color. I guess it probably all started when you first lived with them Injuns. What tribe was that, again?”

  Memories, swift and strong, nudged him. “The Yuroks.”

  “Yeah, I remember now. You’d been living with that tribe of Indians for, what, five years? Lord, you was only eight or nine when you was rescued.” His voice became introspective. “First time I ever saw a grown man cry was the day your pa told me the news. He was so damned relieved … like the Almighty had given him a brand-new chance. You know, he came back from that war a hard, angry man, considering as how he thought he’d lost the both of you. You and your real ma, I mean.”

  Jackson knew what he meant. He barely remembered his own mother, who had been killed by a mine explosion. They had been picking wildflowers in a field nearby. She was struck by flying debris. His father had been away, fighting for the Union. Jackson didn’t have much memory of his first year with the Yurok tribe that had saved him, but four years was an eternity to be away. When it was time to go home to a father he didn’t remember, he hadn’t wanted to leave the tribe. But a few weeks with the woman who would become his stepmother had changed all that. She’d loved him as she loved Corey, her own child. And the boys had become close. Five years his junior, Corey had adored him.

  A smile threatened. It wasn’t hard to like someone who considered you his hero.

  His father and his stepmother had always had an intense relationship, although Jackson had never felt that they had ever excluded their children. When he met Flicker Feather, he’d known in his heart that theirs would be that sort of love, too. Unfortunately, they hadn’t had a chance to find out.

  “The tribe treated me like one of their own. It took me a while to adjust to Pa again. And the ranch.”

  “You and your pa became closer than ticks on a hound.” Vern continued to study Jackson. “How long has it been since you’ve seen the family?”

  Beneath his dark stubble, Jackson felt the hot rush of old hurts and anger flood his face. “A long time.”

  “What’d you and your pa fight about, anyway? Christ. It’s been over twelve years. Don’t you think it’s time to mend that fence? Your pa might be strong as an ox and stubborn as a mule, but despite it all, he ain’t gonna live forever, you know.”

  A painful band twisted around Jackson’s heart. The very idea that his father might die before he had a chance to see him again made him anxious for a reunion. He wanted to apologize for his youthful pride and self-centered behavior. And for running away like a coward.

  “Do your folks even know you’re home?”

  “No. And I know you’re itching to tell them, but let me do it, Vern. I’ll get around to it as soon as I’m settled.” As soon as he had his daughter and they were a family again.

  The sheriff offered a heavy sigh, rummaged through a desk drawer, and lifted out a bottle of whiskey.

  Jackson raised an eyebrow. “A little early in the day, don’t you think?”

  Vern shook his head and took a swig, baring his teeth and clenching his jaw as he swallowed. He found Jackson studying him. “It’s medicinal. Goddamn knee never stops throbbing.”

  Jackson hid a smile. He rather envied a man who could take a drink any time of the day and not come off acting like an ass. Lord knows he himself had tried it often enough, without success. Every so often he attempted to drink again, hoping that maybe his body had changed with age, and he could handle the stuff. It hadn’t happened. Yet. He hadn’t given up on the possibility, although he thought he probably should.

  He took his coffee cup to the window and studied the street. Two scrawny mutts fought over garbage tossed from the hotel. A gust of wind flapped the sign over the mercantile against the eaves, the sound clattering through the street. Two women, busy in conversation, entered the store, disappearing inside. A wagon stopped out front, ready to be filled with supplies. Horses clip-clopped through the street, their hooves sending spirals of dust into the air.

  Home. So different from everything he’d discovered elsewhere in the world. He’d missed the little nuances that made up the West.

  Admittedly, Jackson missed his family. He’d been tempted to wire them when he landed in San Francisco, but he wanted to wait, hoping he’d find Dawn Twilight. He remembered the last time he’d seen any of them, remembered it well…

  With a heart broken and shattered, Jackson had left his mount in the yard and trudged toward the barn. Pa was there; he could hear him. It wasn’t easy to swallow his pride and ask for help, but he had nowhere else to turn. He knew he had a lot of gall coming to his family now, after he’d left and hadn’t even told them of his marriage or his daughter. But Flicker Feather’s death had been so sudden. So brutal. So final. And the baby …

  His throat was thick, and he swallowed, unable to dislodge the lump of grief that had settled there. He longed to burrow into the warmth and safety of his family, but he needed to know that his father understood his reasons for having left home in the first place: his aversion to working the land. Corey was there; he’d be all the help Pa needed. There had been no choice for Jackson. His desire to return to the tribe that had rescued him after his mother was killed all those years before had been stronger than his need to follow in his father’s footsteps and till his land, raise his stock.

  He also had a wanderlust that wouldn’t be quenched. Flicker Feather had understood his hunger for travel and his desire to fight for the underdog. He’d been doing the latter ever since he was old enough to understand what the white man was doing to the Indian.

  And most of all, no one would understand the peace he’d found living with the tribe. And the love.

  Jackson could still hear his father’s voice, raised in anger, when he’d told him he had no intention of spending the rest of his life on the ranch. But now, under these circumstances, he was certain that his father would take pity on him and forgive him for not wanting to be a rancher. After all, now he was a widower with a baby to care for. Surely his father could identify with that.

  Nathan Wolfe emerged from the barn and strode toward the shed, the front of his shirt and his jeans smeared with muck. His acknowledgment was less than Jackson had hoped for.

  “Unless you’ve come to help, stand clear, son. I’m up to my elbows in cow innards. Damned calf is breech.”

  Jackson’s stomach dipped. “Can I talk to you?”

  His father marched toward the shed. “Sure, if you’re willing to lend a hand.”

  Jackson shot a glance toward the barn, knowing his father hadn’t been in there alone. “Can’t you spare me even a minute?”

  Nathan rummaged around in the shed, picked up the supplies he needed, then returned to the barn, stopping briefly at the door. Jackson trailed after him like a child.

  “Jackson, I’m sure what you have to say is important, but right now nothing is more important than getting that calf out alive. If I lose it, the mother could die, too. And we can’t afford to lose another one.” He glanced away, unwilling, to Jackson’s mind, to look him in the eye. “You’d understand if you gave a damn about the ranch.”

  His father’s remark stung, and Jackson’s stomach pitched downward. Obviously, to his father, a damned calf was more important than his son’s pain. Clenching his jaw in hurt and anger, Jackson turned and marched toward his mount just as his mother stepped onto the porch.

  She looked surprised, hurt. “You’re leaving already? You just got here.”

  The lump in Jackson’s throat expanded. “He’s too busy to talk to me.”

  She hurried down the steps and touched his arm. “You know how he feels about foals and calves, Jackson.”

  Yeah, Jackson thought, self-pity burning in his gut, he values them above human life.

/>   “Come for supper tonight,” she pleaded. “You can talk to him then. We’ve all missed you, dear. Corey’s been dying to show you his bug-and-butterfly collection, and Mandy asks about you every day. Katie, too. She wanders from room to room, calling your name.”

  There was a hopeful note in her voice, but he ignored it as he swung into the saddle. “Ma, I’m leaving.”

  She gave him an indulgent smile. “I can see that, dear. But come for supper tonight, all right?”

  She didn’t understand, and Jackson was too cowardly to explain. He wasn’t simply leaving the ranch, he was leaving the country. If he’d had the guts, he’d have left the world. He was grieving over Flicker Feather’s death, and nothing would appease him. His mother would only be hurt by his decision…

  Twelve years. Almost thirteen. After so much time, Jackson knew that although his youthful dignity had been injured by a father who had merely been trying to keep his ranch together, his main reason for leaving was his need to escape his pain and guilt over Flicker Feather’s death. Now Jackson firmly believed that if he’d returned that night and explained what had happened, things would have been different. His mother would have taken Dawn Twilight in a heartbeat and raised her. His father would have loved her as he loved Corey, who was not of his blood. But so much time had passed. And they had both been so damned prideful. Jackson couldn’t change things. Now he simply wanted to pick up where he’d left off, before he and his father were estranged.

  Jackson examined the ache in his chest. It was homesickness. He hadn’t seen any of his family for years, but that hadn’t meant he didn’t know how they were. Physically, at least. He knew he’d hurt his stepmother. That still bothered him. She was the only mother he remembered, and she’d been a good one. Hell, she’d been great.

  Every year he was gone, he’d dropped his family a note at Christmas. His stepmother had answered him, but it was often six months to a year before he’d get to an American embassy to retrieve his mail. The letters he did receive were filled with news of his brother and sisters, their friends and neighbors. News that contained a forced cheerfulness and careful editing, always skimming over any news about his father, probably because she was afraid that once she started, she wouldn’t know when or how to stop.