Branding A Legacy (A Silver Star Ranch Novel)

by Bellus, HJ

  “There’s…”

  “Just shut it, pretty girl. Go climb back in your fancy little car from California.” She leans toward me, assaulting me with her decayed breath. “You couldn’t even begin to understand my problems.”

  My knuckles go white around the brown paper bag I’m clutching on to and just wait for her to demean me with one more spoiled brat term. And she does, but I don’t pay her any attention as I turn my back and walk away from her. It’s something I’ve grown accustomed to. I mean, if you live in the hills of LA and your mom is a high-profile attorney, and you attended private school your whole life, then you must be a spoiled-ass brat.

  I was never like my peers or my mother’s friends’ children. We were all forced to smile and pretend to like each other at social gatherings and business functions, but that was the extent of it. My nose was always stuck deep in a book learning about something new and fascinating; even from a young age the human body intrigued me.

  Now if I just had enough courage and could fight off my awkward shyness to live life as a functioning adult everything would be fine. I think that’s what bothered my mom most—my awkwardness. She’s a lioness, always on the prowl with finesse and determination. And no matter how hard she forced her ways on me, my knobby knees, freckles, and stutter never fit in.

  I flip on my high beams as the night air is now completely dark and rehearse the turns in my head. My favorite Miranda Lambert song begins to play, and without thinking I crank the song, roll down the windows, and let the air rush over my face and through my hair.

  I slip the hair tie from my messy bun, letting down my long board-straight auburn hair. It whips me in the face as I pick up speed and I can’t help but giggle at the moment. It’s like I can feel my shell being chipped away softly as I discover the real Clover. The fresh air tastes of freedom and courage mixed together. I just may make a good ol’ country girl one day.

  I take the last turn and slow a bit as the road is peppered with ruts and potholes rattling the shit out of my tiny car. I don’t have much experience driving on these damn dirt roads. Actually, I have probably only driven on them a handful of times since being here. Reaching out, I turn down the music and realize the surroundings are way off. Where there should be a gleaming white fence there’s a shamble of a barn with a large wrecking yard behind it. Looking further down the road, I try to make out the large ranch sign at the entrance of what I believe is my uncle’s driveway but the darkness is relentless.

  “Shit.” I slick my hair back from my face. “Dammit, will I ever get anything right?”

  Sounds of the night become clear with crickets chirping, grass swaying, and crunching gravel. Just when I let go a tiny bit I’m immediately reminded of the dangers the darkness holds. Gravel grinds together in a rhythmic sound until a loud crash rings out. My mind runs rampant with horrible thoughts, and even worse, nasty memories. Quickly I press and hold down the button to roll up the windows and then crank the wheel to turn around and head back to town. I can remember the turns—I can do this.

  Since the road is narrow, I’m forced to back up and go forward three different times. I try counting and singing like my therapist had taught me, but nothing works as I fight to get my little car turned all the way around. My ringtone startles the shit out of me causing me to scream and jump in my seat. I see my aunt’s name but ignore the call when I feel the panic begin to invade my breathing as my chest tightens.

  Slamming down on the accelerator, gravel flies up into the air peppering my car. Crunching my foot down even harder, it all happens too fast. I scream, slam on the brakes, and feel my car spin sideways down the dirt road. I’m left staring out the passenger side of my window. My brain has to be playing tricks on me because I swear there’s a man in the road. I chalk it up to too many late nights working and a wild fucking imagination working overtime.

  Wiping exhaustion and confusion from my eyes I look a bit closer and the figure is definitely moving in its broken down state. A set of eyes peer up at me, causing me to gasp in horror.

  “Marvel?” I whisper.

  A filthy hand stretches out, clutching and clawing to the gravel, fighting to pull himself up. I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn a bright white, trying to steady my shaking hands as I process the scene ahead of me. He looks up at me one more time and those hazel eyes stop my heart. Without thinking, I fly out of the car.

  “Marvel. Marvel,” I scream as I race over to him.

  Disgusting growls and grunts come from him as he continues to fight to get up. He sounds like a rabid beast on the hunt instead of a human.

  “Stop, Marvel, stop.” Dropping to my knees, I cradle his head with my arm, bringing him closer to me. All rules of the medical field fly out the fucking window as adrenaline takes over, diminishing all common sense and book smarts. Looking down into his face, I don’t recognize any of his features. His cheek is split wide open, dried blood covers his whole face while bruising and swelling is intense and masking his strong jawline.

  The closer I look, I notice both of his eyes are swollen and shut.

  “Marvel, open your eyes.”

  He tries to speak, the skin on his shredded lips tears as he opens his mouth. The sound expelled from him is bone chilling.

  “Marvel, I’m getting you help.”

  “Leave.”

  One word finally comes out audible from him.

  “What?”

  “He’ll kill you. Leave.”

  “Who, Marvel?”

  “They’re hunting me.”

  “Who?”

  Marvel tenses in my arm as he pries open both eyes, grabs my hand, squeezing it so tight pain shoots up my arm.

  “Leave.”

  Thoughts of his brothers pacing the waiting room, community members scouring town for him, and Granddad’s lost tears over losing Marvel finally cause all my medical training to kick in. I gently lay him back down in the middle of the road and then race back to my car to snag my cell phone. Several rings go by before the 911 operator picks up.

  “911. What’s your emergency?

  “I need medical attention. I found Marvel Slatter.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Near a junkyard on a dirt road. This is Clover Lee. I’m a RN and from the assessment we need medical attention now.”

  “I need some more information on your location.”

  “There’s an old barn near the road.” I squint and turn, looking for more landmarks. The full moon provides just enough light to make out a large pond. “There’s a large pond across from the junkyard. Looks like a wrecking yard with tons and tons of old cars.”

  “Help is on the way.”

  I look up to Marvel, who has inched himself all the way across the road and slowly creeping toward the ditch running parallel to the road.

  “Marvel.” I drop my phone, racing over to him. “What in the hell are you doing?”

  He’s easily a foot taller than me, but in his condition I can move him with ease as I tug him back up into the flood of lights streaming from the front of my car.

  “Leave,” he growls. “They’ll kill you.”

  “Marvel, help is on the way.”

  He slowly rotates his head in my lap, looking up to me. “They killed Weston and Jose. They’re going to kill me. Leave.” Blood trickles out of his cracked lips.

  “No, help will be here.”

  Marvel tries to talk again, but before he can get a word out his body goes into a seizure, convulsing violently. I keep hold of him, positioning him in a safe cradle.

  “Marvel, hang in there. I know your granddad and brothers. They’ve all been looking for you.”

  I clutch him tighter and keep talking all the while praying to God for the broken man in my arms.

  I decide to tell him all about his family, hoping like hell he’ll grab onto something that will help him hold on to hope. “Marvel, you should see Ella. Her belly is huge. Your brother Maverik is quite the proud poppa but sure misses you.
”

  I finally hear the sirens in the far off distance, easing all my worries.

  “Hear that, Marvel?” I cover his cheek with the palm of my hand, holding him tight to me. “Help is almost here. No one can hurt you anymore.”

  His condition is unexplainably tearing at my soul, and right now I just want to protect him from everything in this evil world.

  His body finally stills and the dust begins to settle around us. Marvel opens his eyes looking up at me one more time. Tears stream down his face.

  “You should’ve never saved me.” He pauses a moment and then growls each of his next words. “I need to die.”

  “Your family needs you, Marvel.”

  As the sirens grow louder, I turn to look down the dirt road to see how close help is. When I turn back to him that’s when I notice the rest of his body. One of his legs is snapped in half while blood coats his stomach area. A gaping hole in his abdomen is exposed—caked and coated in dirt and grime.

  “How in the hell did you survive?” I shake my head as soon as the question escapes my lips because it’s something I didn’t mean to ask out loud.

  “They’re following me. Feeding me just enough to get me by, making me suffer all the way until the end.”

  “Why?” This time I feel the tears rolling down my cheeks, unable to stop them. Not even in the worst of nightmares have I ever witnessed such pain and horror.

  “I don’t deserve to live.”

  “Yes, yes you do.” I pull him in even closer, ignoring the rotting flesh smell and his gasps for air. “Marvel, it’s like I know you. Your granddad is in the hospital. He suffered another massive heart attack.”

  I continue talking to him, trying to give him the will to fight for his life.

  “He’s told me everything about you, from times where you pissed him off to your brightest achievements. He loves you, Marvel, and needs you now more than ever.”

  “He doesn’t know how badly I fucked up.”

  I brush his long hair from his forehead, trailing my finger down the other side of his face. “He does know and told me one night that the love of his ranch runs deeper in your blood than any of your brothers. Said it was a blinding-type of love, and he couldn’t be prouder to know his roots will always stay planted because of you.”

  I bend over to whisper the last part to him. “He said if you die then the ranch dies.”

  I touch my lips to his forehead, taking time to soak in the moment. Squeezing my eyes shut, I kiss him and let my lips soak in his hurt and agony. Crusted blood, torn skin, and dirt lay between him and my lips, but I kiss him anyway until the paramedics pull me away. The smell of him is haunting and forbidden all in the same moment. The magnetizing pull to him cannot be mistaken, and as I step backward, I chalk it up to being around his family the last few days.

  My cell phone rings in my hand, and it’s my uncle this time.

  “Hello.”

  “Clover, where are you? We’ve been waiting at least thirty minutes.”

  I hear his newborn son screaming at the top of his lungs in the background.

  “I-uh-I got lost, Uncle Saint.”

  “Well, we have a young boy over here who’s anxious to see you.”

  “I’m not going to make it.” My fingers tremble so badly I’m barely able to clutch onto the phone. “I came across an accident and I have to go back in.”

  “Clover, get your ass here now. Your mom sent you here so I could watch you.”

  The tone of his voice startles me as he becomes overbearing and extremely vicious. I’ve always heard about that side of Saint from my dad, my mom, and other family members, but never experienced it.

  “I chose to move here. She didn’t make me.” I cringe when the words come out, but they’re every bit truthful.

  “Bullshit, she was tired of you around the house with no social life and just simply in her way.”

  “Excuse me?” I know my mom laid out several options for me but never forced anything on me. I only chose Texas because a family member would be near, not that I was exactly close with the man.

  “Don’t pull your spoiled rich ass routine on me, Clover, and if you don’t get your ass back here tonight you will be finding a new house.”

  The sounds of the ambulance screaming in the background suck me back to the reality of my life. The officer’s words replay in my mind. “Ma’am, we’ll need a formal statement.”

  I flashed him my badge and reassured him I’d be following them directly to the hospital. I didn’t miss the tiny little detail of him jotting down my name on his notepad. The simple fact actually comforted me.

  “I have bigger issues right now, Uncle Saint. I won’t be coming home.”

  I cringe as I spew each word, deep down this isn’t me or the way I act. All the circumstances have landed me in this very odd place.

  “Your shit will be in the driveway.”

  How or what in the hell does someone even reply? Thanks for the stay? Nice knowing you? Make sure to throw my tampons into the mix of things?

  “Good hell,” I huff out as I speed up to the flashing lights nearly a half mile ahead of me. My only hope is to follow them straight back to the hospital. Part of me is beyond giddy to let Maverik and the family know that Marvel has been found, but the other part and the most realistic part knows better.

  Perpetual death was the only scent lingering on his decaying body. It was more promising than any hopes of survival. I try to remain focused on the lights ahead of me and not my cell phone buzzing from the passenger seat. I shake my head remembering Saint’s evil tone.

  My dad always warned me about my mom’s side of the family when I was little. Dad was nothing like my mom, actually the exact opposite. Kind, caring, and loving, always wanting to spend time with me and attending school functions. It all ended when I was in first grade. I still remember the tone of his voice and concern in his eyes. He never made me feel guilty, and he tried loving my mom, but he never had a good thing to say about her family, and this rings true tonight as Saint’s threat flows through my mind.

  I wipe the beads of sweat racing down my face and feel the loose dirt on my fingers cling to my face. Marvel. His foul stench still clings to all of my senses mingled with the despair in his eyes and voice. He truly wanted me to leave him for dead. I’ve never in my life seen someone so determined and damn right hell bent on not being saved.

  Yet, when my lips touched his marred skin, I’ve never felt higher.

  5

  Clover

  “Just a few more questions, Clover, and then we’ll let you go.”

  I peer out the small window into the waiting room to see all of the Slatters anxiously pacing the floor.

  “Yeah.”

  I haven’t been able to talk to them. Once I pulled in I was escorted into a private waiting room for questioning.

  “Tell us again where you were heading.” The taller detective asks as he bounces his pen from his notepad. I’ve been around the legal system enough to know these aren’t local deputies. The one who ushered me in was, but the two in front of me are not. Dressed in pressed white button up shirts and black slacks, they’re definitely from a higher branch.

  “I was heading home.” I stop for a moment, running my hands through my hair. “I was going to my uncle’s home where I used to live. Like I said, I moved here a couple of months ago. I worked at a local doctor’s office and now here at the hospital.

  “Who is your uncle?” The taller agent leaning against the wall asks me.

  “Saint Johnson.”

  Eyebrow after eyebrow raises from each agent, and it’s as if I live out childhood memories of my mother fiddling her pointer finger on the table. They’re intrigued but don’t dare give off too much information. It’s like a hidden treasure buried deep and it surfaced as the victor is about to strike.

  “Saint is your uncle?” The agent, or what I’d guess to be an agent, asks. He seems to be the lead, since he’s the one seated across from me with h
is trusty pencil and notepad.

  “Yes.”

  Now I’m livid, as I feel my whole body begin to tense and then lightly shake. Angry tears prick at my eyes, but I fight those bitches down.

  “I’ve done nothing wrong. I found a missing person and reported it.” I have to stall a bit to regain my composure. I’d never let these asses this low destroy me. “So, why in the hell does it matter if I’m related to Saint or not?”

  My inner pussy/sissy girl cringes at my badass words, but again I fight to remain a statue like no other. The agent who’s been leaning on the wall the whole time finally springs to action.

  “It doesn’t. Thank you, Clover, for your time.”

  I take his manly head nod as my gesture to leave. My good senses and manners all but internally scream at me to leave the fellow servicemen a thank you or polite gesture, but internally the Clover I know just wants to send them the bird high and proud.

  Bottling everything up, I tuck my hands into the pockets of my scrubs and head for the door, watching as my clog nursing shoes slap the cold tile of the floor.

  “Clover, I’d suggest you find that new home.”

  I turn to the agent who was seated across from me and is clearly vested in the case. The expression blanketing his face leaves little to the imagination and nothing to doubt. As tension fills the air and I’m nearly ready to burst, the door swings open with another agent joining us, this time a female with a short red bob haircut and skintight pencil skirt.

  “She’s clear. We checked her.” I watch the two other detectives nod to each other and then remember the numb state I was in when they entered this tiny room. Both men immediately introduced themselves and flashed their badges before sitting me down. The tension filled the room and it was all stemming from their determined expressions, and now with the redhead in the room it’s only become worse.

  She takes a seat next to the detective who’s sitting down, nudging his notepad with his scribbles all over it to the side. I watch as she lays both of her palms down on the tabletop.

  “I can’t express enough the need for you to distance yourself from your uncle Saint. You have different last names, so that’s good, but I’d really suggest going back to California. It would be much safer for you in the long run.