BEYOND ALL REASON

by Judith Duncan

  "So," Kate said, her voice breaking a little, "things haven't changed that much as far as the community is concerned."

  Rita looked up at her, her gaze somber and steady. She considered Kate's question for a minute, then gave a small, dismissive shrug. "There's still some of that old attitude around, no doubt about it. Bruce and Ellie still like to swing their weight around, and there are still a few people in town who play their game. But there's a lot of decent folk around here. They see Tanner for what he is, and Tom Benson can't say enough good things about him. But Tanner isn't going to make an effort to build any bridges, that's for damned sure. You don't ever forget what it was like to be a half-starved, half-breed kid who was stripped of everything, who wasn't allowed one ounce of dignity or human kindness. He didn't have anybody – not one person who cared a damn about him. I just think what it must have been like for him when I first knew him – just a little guy, and so quiet and solemn. It was just after Christmas, and everyone else was rattling on about what they got, and he just sat there looking at the floor and not saying anything. You never forget things like that – the humiliation, knowing that you're not worth anything and feeling ashamed about it. He's never going to forget what it felt like to be that kid who got nothing. And you can be sure he's going to make damned sure he never leaves himself open for it to happen again."

  Unable to see for the fresh blur of team, Kate rubbed an imperfection on the side of the mug, the cramp in her throat so painful she couldn't even swallow. She had wanted answers, and she had gotten them. But they hadn't eased the pain around her heart. Knowing only made it worse.

  But it wasn't until she was on the road leading out of town that her concentration fractured and she found herself remembering the look in Tanner's eyes that first morning, when he had stood looking out at the valley. The memory of that terrible bleakness set off another rush of emotion, one that finally swamped her. Lord, it had hurt then, but it hurt even more now, knowing just how isolated his life had been. No one should have to live like that.

  But he had. And knowing that changed everything.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  «^»

  Unable to sleep, Kate turned onto her side and stared into the darkness of her bedroom, listening to the light tattoo of rain on the roof. She couldn't stop thinking about what Rita had told her. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Tanner. So little, so helpless, and almost overnight his whole world torn apart. After his mother had died, he had been abandoned by his father, and then taken from the only home he'd ever known and sent to live with strangers who treated him like an animal. She wondered how many times he had cried himself to sleep. Knowing she didn't dare continue that line of thought or she would end up in pieces again, she shoved back the covers and got up, the awful pressure in her chest weighing heavily on her heart.

  Raking her hair back, she went to the window and pushed back the curtain, staring out at the yard. The yard light created a faint luminescence, backlighting the steadily falling rain with a silver aura. The rain beat on the ground and drizzled down the window, the chill seeping into the room with an insidious dampness. Kate stared out, watching the rain perforate the mirrored surface of the puddle beneath the light pole, her thoughts straying and somehow fractured. She didn't know why, but the rain comforted her, as if it enclosed her in some sort of safe isolation.

  Sighing heavily, she was about to drop the curtain and turn when she caught a glimmer of lights through the trees along the main road. Drawing the curtain completely back, she watched, her insides giving a funny little lift when the lights turned into the Circle S lane. God, she hoped it was Tanner. He hadn't shown up for supper, and Burt had fretted so much about his absence that she had finally called down to the cook house. But Cyrus hadn't known where he was.

  She knew that his absence had contributed to her own sleeplessness – that she'd been lying there wondering where he was, worrying that something had happened, waiting for him to come home. Tightening her grip on the curtain, she watched and waited as the vehicle turned toward the house, afraid that it might be one of the hands bringing Tanner's truck home. The vehicle parked on the gravel pad, the lights went off and a moment later Tanner climbed out.

  Experiencing a weakening rush, Kate rested her forehead against the window and closed her eyes, her relief unexpectedly intense. She was so damned glad to have him home.

  Hearing the back door open, she drew an uneven breath and straightened, letting the curtain fall. Rubbing the sudden chill from her arms, she turned, nerves unfolding in her midriff. She had made a decision on her drive home from Rita's. She had evaded the truth about why she hadn't put Mark in school, and she didn't want Tanner thinking she was hiding something from him. She owed him that much. At least.

  She reached for the sweat suit lying on the end of the bed, her anxiety setting off a flurry inside her. It was going to be hard to face him. Not only would she be dredging up her own past, she would be coming face-to-face with his for the very first time since she'd found out the truth.

  Slipping from her room, she headed toward the stairs, the nervous flutter getting more frantic with every step. She didn't dare analyze why she felt compelled to do this; she just knew she had to, or she would never be able to look him in the eye again. Reaching the living room, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath; then, clenching her hands to still their trembling, she turned toward the kitchen. He was at the sink washing his hands. Or at least she thought he was washing his hands, until she saw the first-aid kit sitting on the counter. It was then that she noticed the drops of blood on the kitchen floor. Alarm shot through her. "Tanner? What happened?"

  He ripped off some paper towels from the dispenser by the sink, then turned, pressing the wadded-up toweling to the heel of his hand. Leaning back against the cupboard, he gave her a wry look. "Not much. We had one old cow rush a fence, and one of the top rails came loose. There was a spike in it, and it scraped my hand. That's all."

  She could tell by the drawn look around his mouth that it wasn't all. She crossed the kitchen. "Let me see it."

  "It's just a—"

  "Let me see it," she demanded, gripping his wrist. Pushing his other hand out of the way, she lifted the toweling to reveal his palm. There was a nasty gash across the base of his thumb that clearly needed stitches. But it wasn't the ragged cut that made her stomach roll; it was the purple puncture wound in the middle of his palm. Bracing herself, she carefully turned his hand over, her stomach dropping again when she saw the identical wound on the back of his hand. The spike had gone clean through, then had cut through the fleshy pad beneath his thumb when it had been torn out. It was a mess.

  Knowing how much it must hurt, she carefully turned his hand back over, a wide track of blood running down his wrist. Picking up one of the packs that held a sterile dressing, she ripped it open with her teeth. Gently supporting his hand, she pressed the gauze dressing firmly against the wound. Her voice wasn't quite steady when she spoke. "This needs stitches, Tanner."

  There was a brief pause, then he finally answered, his voice gruff. "I know. I've got some veterinary supplies here with sutures – I'll do it myself."

  Startled, she looked up at him, horrified by his matter-of-fact tone. "You can't do it yourself. You need to get it checked, to make sure there isn't any muscle damage."

  He held her gaze for a minute, then looked away, the muscles in his face suddenly taut. "It's not as bad as it looks, and the cut isn't that deep. I'm not driving all the way to Pincher Creek to get half a dozen stitches."

  It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest going to the small hospital in Bolton, but she caught herself. He would drive all the way to Calgary before he would ever go to the hospital in Bolton. Distressed by the thought of him doing it himself, and more distressed by the idea of him having done it by himself In the past, Kate studied his profile for a moment longer, then looked back down, carefully peeling back the compression pad. The gash was a mess, and i
t was deep, but not deep enough to warrant more than surface suturing. It was the puncture wound in his palm that made her shudder. She had a mental picture of him throwing up his hand to protect his face as the wood snapped against the force of the charging cow. Drawing a steadying breath, she pressed the pad back down. "Are your tetanus shots up-to-date?"

  "Yes."

  He tried to withdraw his hand, but she maintained a grasp on his wrist. "I want to clean this with some antiseptic first," she said, digging through the well-stocked first-aid kit. "And I'd feel a whole lot happier about this if you were on antibiotics."

  "There's penicillin in the fridge. We had a horse with an abscess."

  Alarmed by his comment, she looked up at him. He met her gaze, the corner of his mouth lifting a little. "I've done this before, Kate. I can manage by myself. You may as well go back to bed."

  Kate looked down, feeling just a little too vulnerable. He wasn't going to manage on his own, and she certainly wasn't going back to bed. Not with his blood smeared across her hand. "Just keep some pressure on the cut," she said, her voice uneven.

  She found the antiseptic swabs and the throwaway plastic forceps that went with them, her hands not quite steady as she broke open the seal. She knew why her hands weren't quite steady; the thought of poking around in that wound to clean it made her stomach shrink into a hard little knot.

  "You don't have to do this," he said gruffly, taking the forceps out of her hand.

  Experiencing a growing pressure in her throat, she shook her head.

  "Look at me," he commanded, his voice quiet.

  Blinking rapidly to will away the burning in her eyes, she waited for the moment to pass; then she looked up at him. There was a solemn intensity in his expression, something that made her heart accelerate, and she saw the muscles along his jaw tense. He stared at her, his gaze darkening, and the muscles in his throat contracted as he reached up. For one heart-stopping instant she thought he was going to touch her, but then he clenched his hand and let it drop.

  He glanced down; then, after a brief pause, he looked back at her. The corner of his mouth lifted in a semblance of a smile, but his voice was uneven when he spoke. "I don't expect you to clean this up, and I don't expect you to play Florence Nightingale. And I'd rather you didn't go poking around in there with those swabs." A hint of amusement appeared is his eyes, and his expression relaxed a little. "In fact, you'd make me real happy if you just threw them in the garbage and got the bottle of antiseptic out of the cupboard by the fridge."

  Feeling as if she'd had a close brush with something sweet and dangerous, Kate held his gaze for a moment, then managed a small smile as she tossed the swabs in the garbage. She found the bottle of antiseptic – a plastic squeeze bottle with a nozzle – and returned to the sink. Setting the bottle down, she rolled up his cuff, then very carefully peeled the blooded pad off the gash. Before she had a chance to act, Tanner reached in front of her and grasped the dispenser, thoroughly irrigating the wound and the puncture, the sudsy liquid turning red as it sluiced through the cut.

  "That should do it," he said, setting the bottle down. Her shoulder brushing against his arm, Kate tore open another sterile pack and blotted the wound, then pressed a fresh dry pad against it to staunch the renewed bleeding. She was keenly aware of how close he was, of the warmth of his arm against hers, and she closed her eyes, the heat from his body making her go weak. Swallowing against the sudden frenzy in her chest, she supported his hand as she tore off some paper towels, carefully skirting the sterile pad as she wiped the rest of his hand. He went very still, and she heard his breathing stop when she dried between his fingers, and Kate closed her eyes again, the wild flutter in her chest robbing her of common sense. It was all she could do to keep from cradling that damaged hand against her breast.

  His closeness overwhelmed her senses, and she swallowed hard, trying to struggle against the longing that surged through her, making her heart race even faster. She wondered what it would be like to be held by him, to feel the weight of his arms around her. And she wondered what it would be like to lie with him, to feel the full, hard length of his body against hers. God, it would be heaven to feel his warmth, to experience the comfort of his embrace. To be touched by him.

  His hand jerked when she touched his palm, and he spoke, his voice roughened by strain. "The sutures are in that green container in the cupboard, if you want to get them. We may as well get this over with."

  Kate drew a deep stabilizing breath, reaching down deep for control.

  She wasn't sure how she got through the next half hour, so aware of him as a man, and so aware of the growing heaviness low in her body, she could barely function. But somehow she did. Between the two of them, they closed the torn flesh with seven stitches, then she covered them and the puncture with an antiseptic cream and dressed his hand, knowing he would never keep it clean if she didn't. After tucking the final wrap into place, she put the gauze and scissors back in the kit, feeling so shaky and emotionally exposed that she was afraid to look at him.

  "Thanks."

  Her voice was unsteady when she answered. "You're welcome." Her insides in a turmoil, Kate rose and began tidying up. Reaching across the table, she picked up the cap for the antiseptic cream and screwed it back on the tube, so sensitized to him that she was conscious of every movement, every breath. Tanner rolled down his sleeve, traces of dried blood on the back of his knuckles, and Kate had to clench her hand to keep from wiping them away. She wanted to touch him so badly, to cradle his head against her belly and stroke his hair. It was a big aching emptiness inside her, this need to hold him. She wanted to fill up her arms with him; it was as if holding him would fill up the emptiness inside her and replenish her soul.

  Tanner rose, closing the lid on the first-aid kit, then put it away in the cupboard by the fridge. Kate leaned back against the counter and tightly folded her arms, the emptiness inside compounding as she watched him, far too aware of the tight lines of pain around his mouth. He turned and found her watching him, his expression suddenly unreadable as he braced his good hand against the side of the cupboard. "Something on your mind?"

  Her chest clogged with a host of feelings, she gazed across the room at him, loneliness rising up in her with a desolating force. She could love him. So easily, she could love him. Wrenched by that thought, she hugged herself, the ache in her throat so tight that she could barely speak. "I wanted to tell you why I didn't put Mark in school," she said unevenly. "I didn't want you to think I was lying to you."

  He bent his head and stared down at the floor, his profile rigid, the muscles along his jaw tense. Finally he lifted his head and looked at her. "Why didn't you put him in school?"

  A chill slithered down Kate's spine, and she swallowed, her voice uneven when she spoke. "I left my husband a little over a year ago. We agreed on a divorce, but right after he signed the preliminary papers, things started to get nasty. Roger took the kids once, but he brought them back when I said I'd reconsider. It got so bad that I finally moved, but he tracked us down and started pressuring me, threatening to take the kids again if I went through with it. I moved again, only this time I didn't tell anyone where I was going. He showed up at Mark's school about two months later and tried to take him. The school called the police, and I found out he'd tracked us down through a combination of airline tickets, school records and medical records."

  Having blurted out the worst of it, Kate looked up at the ceiling and took a shaky breath, the knot in her stomach unwinding just a little. She waited to regain her composure, then she looked at Tanner, certain she didn't have a speck of color left in her face. "Your ad in the paper was heaven-sent. A decent job, a place to live for me and the boys and nearly total isolation. He's never going to find me here, as long as I don't give him a paper trail to follow." Her knees feeling suddenly unsteady, she redistributed her weight and rested her hands on the counter, bracing herself against it. Her voice was nearly as shaky as her legs when she continued. "That
's why I didn't put Mark in school. I didn't want to leave a paper trail."

  His hand still braced on the side of the cupboard, Tanner stared at her, a muscle in his jaw flexing. He didn't say anything for a moment, then he spoke, his voice flat. "Was there abuse involved?"

  Drained of all warmth and unable to hold his gaze, Kate looked away and shook her head. "Not physically. Manipulation and emotional battering, and a whole campaign to terrorize me, but nothing physical. What he did was ten times worse."

  There was a long, strained pause, then Tanner straightened, his voice cold and quiet when he spoke. "He won't get to you here. You can be damned sure of that." He gave her one final, chilling glance, then yanked his jacket off the back of the chair.

  He turned toward the archway, and Kate stared after him, feeling more alone than she could ever remember. Curling her fingers around the edge of the counter, she braced herself for the worst. "Do you want us to leave?"