WILD BLOOD

by Naomi Horton

  She forced herself to laugh. "Jody, I think we know each other well enough by now that you can call me Kathleen without the roof caving in. Miz Patterson makes me feel kind of … old."

  He blushed and grinned sheepishly. "Okay."

  Kathleen followed him through to the kitchen, trying to form the words in her mind that would tell him he was her son. But they sounded all wrong. He would never believe her. He would think she was here trying to cause trouble because she was angry with Jett. Or that she'd simply lost her mind.

  No. It had to come from Jett. Except Jett obviously wasn't in any kind of rush.

  "How's school?" Keep it simple, she told herself. She found herself wanting just to look at him, trying to take in the miracle of who he was. It didn't seem possible that this was the same child she'd carried inside her. The child whose cries she still heard in her dreams.

  She scanned his face for some sign of herself and thought she saw it finally in the curve of his mouth, in the way he smiled. Her heart gave a thump, and she felt tears burn her eyes suddenly and had to look away, pretending to leaf through a school book lying on the kitchen table.

  "Pretty good. Chemistry's still giving me some trouble, though." He said it hopefully.

  Kathleen smiled. "Well, maybe I can give you a hand with—"

  "What the hell are you doing here?"

  Jett's voice cracked through the room, startling Kathleen so badly she nearly dropped the book. She wheeled around as Jett strode toward her, his face like a thundercloud.

  "What have you been telling him about—"

  "Nothing." She said the word quickly, giving him a look of cold warning. "I haven't been telling him a thing. We were just talking about school."

  Jett gave her a suspicious look, glancing at Jody, then back to her. His eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

  "We need to talk."

  He thought about it, then nodded. "Jody, the vet needs a hand with those calves. You feel up to it?"

  Jody looked from one to the other of them. "Yeah. Sure."

  He walked to the door, and Kathleen waited until she heard it close behind him. "You haven't told him yet."

  To her surprise, Jett flushed. "No." His voice was hoarse. "Not yet. I … will." He breathed an oath and walked across to the stove, grabbing up a cup and filling it with coffee. "I'm trying to figure out what to tell him, that's all. He's gone fifteen years thinking Pam was his mother. It's … not that easy."

  It surprised Kathleen even more to discover she wasn't as angry as she should have been. "How are you?"

  He looked at her quizzically. "I'm … okay. Hung over." A smile shadowed his mouth, gone in an instant. "You?"

  "Well, I'm not hung over." She surprised herself a third time by actually smiling. "Still in shock. Confused. Scared silly."

  "Scared?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know anything about being a mother."

  He didn't say anything, just watched her over the rim of the cup as he took a swallow of coffee. She cradled her handbag against her chest, thinking of the papers inside. And she found herself wondering if maybe Gord wasn't right after all. If maybe there wasn't some other way.

  "I'm not giving him up, Kathy."

  Kathleen looked up, realizing he'd been watching her all this time. "Jett—"

  "No." The word echoed between them, and he simply looked at her, his eyes hard. "No negotiations, no deals. You're not coming back after fifteen years and turning his life upside down. I'm not going to let you do that."

  Impatience flirted through her, but she ignored it, reminding herself that he had every right to be suspicious. After all, she'd set the battle lines yesterday. If he felt under siege, it was her fault. "It was never my intention to turn his life upside down," she said through clenched teeth. "You keep talking as though this is all my fault. Remember, I didn't know he was my son until a day ago. Remember that you were the one keeping the secrets."

  "So you keep sayin'."

  She gave him a sharp look. "What do you mean by that?"

  "Just that I'm finding it hard to swallow all this coincidence stuff—your old man dyin', your brother starting to work for Albright, then you back in town, makin' friends with Jody, all over me like a—"

  "All over you? You came on to me like a stag in rut that day up at Beaver Creek. I never had a chance."

  "You didn't put up much of a fight, Slick. You must have been laughin' behind my back the whole time at how easy I was makin' it for you. Hell, I practically handed Jody to you."

  "Handed him to me? You slept with me for three weeks before you even told me he was my son!" Anger shot through her. "Damn you, Jett Kendrick, you're not going to get away with this!"

  "You're not getting my son away from me, lady. Get that straight right now. Patterson or no Patterson, this is one fight you are not going to win."

  "I spent fifteen years believing my baby was dead, and suddenly I find out that not only is he still alive, but he's been living right here in Burnt River with you!" She gestured angrily. "God knows how many times I saw him over the years without knowing who he was. I may have even spoken to him. And you … you just kept him all to yourself!"

  Even as she was saying the words, she knew they didn't make a lot of sense. Knew that Gord was right and that Jett had been as much a victim of her father's manipulations as she had. But she didn't give a damn about that. Didn't give a damn about any of it, in fact, except the vastness of the betrayal. The immensity of the lie. "I could kill you for what you've put me through," she said in a harsh whisper.

  "What I've put you through?" Jett's face darkened with anger. "Lady, while you were playin' debutante in the big city, I was back here fightin' for my life! Your old man battled me every inch of the way, and I paid with blood, you got that? I swallowed my pride, and I took his money and his job, and I kept my mouth shut, just like he wanted. And I did it because of the son you didn't want!"

  "Don't you dare say that! Don't you dare make it sound as though—"

  "I raised him! Me! Where were you when he cried for three nights straight with colic, or when he came down with measles and mumps and every other damn thing goin' around? Where were you when he fell out of that tree and knocked himself cold, or the day he went through the ice on Big Spring Lake and I was sure I'd lost him for good?"

  "Crying my heart out in Baltimore because I thought my baby was dead!" she shouted at him. "Don't you tell me how hard it's been! You've had him for fifteen years! You were there when he took his first step and said his first word. You put him on his first horse, and took him to school on his first day, and held the back of the seat the first time he rode a bicycle. You were there for all his birthdays and all his Christmases and all his school plays and Easter egg hunts. You had all those firsts, damn you, and I had nothing at all."

  "And if it had been up to you and that old man of yours," Jett said, his voice so low and tight it sounded cut from steel, "I wouldn't even have known I had a son. So don't you come in here playing the betrayed mother, lady."

  Kathleen sucked in an outraged breath. "That is a lie! I had no idea he was even alive!"

  Jett gave a snort. "Yeah, or maybe you just figured you need a better story. Something to make you sound a little more sympathetic. Like a victim instead of just a woman who gave her baby away and then changed her mind." He leveled a hard look at her. "I figure the truth is that you gave him away, just like your old man said. And then you forgot all about him until you went through your old man's papers after the funeral and discovered I had him."

  Something moved near the door, just a shadow on shadow, but it distracted Kathleen, and she glanced at it. She caught a glimpse of Jody's face, chalk-white. She sucked in her breath. "Jett!"

  But Jett either didn't hear or simply didn't care about her gasp of warning. "Admit it, Kathy. The truth wouldn't look good in court, would it? That you gave Jody away like a stray pup no one wanted, handing him over to those people from Virginia five minutes after he was born. About the
only thing in your story I do believe is that maybe you didn't know that they dropped him back on your uncle's doorstep like he had distemper when they figured out he had Indian blood in him. If your uncle hadn't called me, God knows what your old man would have done with him."

  There was a strangled sob behind him, and Jett wheeled around. Jody was standing there, looking sick and disbelieving, and Jett felt his heart thud to a stop. "Damn," he breathed, taking a step toward his son. "Jody!"

  "Jody, please…" Kathy stepped by him, her face the color of ice. "Jody, that's not what happened!"

  Too late. Jody just stared at her for a stunned moment, then spun on one heel and was gone, the door slamming emptily behind him. Jett swore ferociously and took a couple of strides after him; then he stopped, swearing again, realizing it was no use.

  "My God," Kathy whispered. She turned to look at him, still white, her eyes filled with accusation. She stared up at him for a long while, her gaze searching his. "I don't even know you anymore, Jett. You were never this cruel. Never this hard. What happened to make you this way?"

  "You happened," he said brutally.

  "Is hurting me this important?"

  "Hurting you is about all I have left."

  Too far. Jett knew it the instant the words were out of his mouth.

  She made some sound, a tiny release of breath, and he saw something in her eyes crumble, saw the glaze of tears, and knew he'd struck right to the quick this time.

  "I see." Her voice was just a breath of sound, so fragile he barely heard it at all. "If it's any consolation, you have."

  Jett swore under his breath, wanting … hell, he didn't know what he wanted. But it wasn't this. "Kath…"

  "No more." She turned away, her back ramrod straight, every inch of her held taut and tall. "I can't do this anymore, Jett. Go and find your son. He needs you."

  Your son. Jett stared at her, feeling a prickle along his arms. Suddenly Jody was your son.

  He drew a deep, careful breath, wondering why he felt so empty. It was what he wanted. He'd come at her with everything he had, going for the jugular, wanting her to back off, to get out of Jody's life, to stop pretending she was somehow still involved with the child she'd given away.

  If she'd given him away. He'd tried to convince himself that she had. That she'd been lying through her teeth when she'd said she didn't know. It was easier that way, for damn sure. Easier to hate her. To fight her. To drive her off.

  Well, he'd done that. Except now it didn't feel like anything he wanted at all. "For the record," he growled suddenly, "I believe you."

  She made no indication she'd even heard him, and he realized it didn't make any difference now. It was way too late for that.

  He knew he should be saying something to her, but he didn't know what. Or even how. So he just gave her a long, thoughtful look, then turned and went to look for his son.

  Jody was in the corral behind the barn, trying to throw a saddle on the brown and white colt they'd bought at a stock show the previous week. Even with two good arms, he would have had his hands full. But hampered by the cast on his left arm, he wasn't managing to do much but spook the paint even more. It was rearing and fighting the bridle, ears flattened, and then it slammed into the fence, making the entire corral shudder.

  Jody shouted an oath at it and threw the reins down, then wheeled away, his face distorted with anger and tears. He saw Jett and stopped dead, then wiped his eyes with his good arm and stalked by without a word.

  "I'll give you a hand with him," Jett said quietly.

  Jody stopped, chest heaving, not looking at Jett or anywhere near him. "I don't need your damn help."

  "We've got to talk, Jody."

  "Go to hell."

  Jett didn't say anything. He watched the paint bang itself against the fence like a moth in a jar, thinking he should open the gate and let it out before it hurt itself.

  Jody hadn't moved. Sighing noisily, Jett took the few steps separating them and put his hand gently on the boy's shoulder. "Look, Jody, I know I've—"

  Jody knocked his hand away and spun away from him, his face twisted with grief and rage and a hundred other things. He stood there, fists clenching and unclenching, his chest heaving. "You lied to me! You're nothin' but a damn liar!"

  There was a split second of time when Jett actually thought the boy was going to take a swing at him. He wanted to. Jett could see it written all over his face.

  "Do it," he said softly. "If it'll make you feel better, if it'll make up for some of the things I've done, then go ahead and take a shot at me."

  Jody lifted his fist, struggling not to cry, and Jett could see him fighting to do it, wanting it so badly he could taste it. But he wheeled away with a sob, slamming the corral gate open so violently it flew back against the fence with a crash.

  Then he was gone, through the gate and into the barn, and Jett could only stand there and watch him go, feeling something break apart inside him. Swearing in a dull monotone, he picked up Jody's discarded saddle and tossed it onto the top rail of the fence, then just stood there, outstretched arms braced on the fence, and stared at the ground.

  He was losing it all. Kathy. Jody. Only a handful of days ago, his life had been darn near perfect. He would lie in bed in the first light of morning with Kathy in his arms and find himself smiling for no reason at all, filled up inside with a feeling of such completeness, such rightness, that it took his breath away.

  And now … now it was all slipping away. He'd been ready to fight Kathy to keep Jody, but in the fighting he had lost the very thing he'd wanted to protect.

  It had come full circle, somehow. All the lies and deceptions. He found himself wondering coldly if he'd ever intended to tell Kathy about Jody. Maybe he'd just been kidding himself about that, telling himself what he wanted to hear so he wouldn't feel so damned guilty when he took her to bed.

  He was good at that. He'd once convinced himself it was justifiable to marry a girl he didn't love because he needed a wife for legal reasons and his baby boy needed a mother. He'd told himself back then that it was all right because Pam loved him. That they were both getting what they wanted.

  And he'd convinced himself for all these years that Jody didn't have to know the truth about his real mother, that knowing would do more harm than good.

  Or maybe, Jett taunted himself grimly, he'd never told Jody because it was just easier that way. Easier than having to explain why he'd married Pam when he hadn't loved her, why she'd started drinking, why she'd died that day.

  Was that why he'd put off telling Kathy the truth? Maybe he'd managed to convince himself that lie was justified, too. After all, he had believed she was going back to Baltimore. That she had a life back there, filled with cocktail parties and high-powered lawyers and men named Brice.

  He'd told himself he'd been protecting Jody. But maybe he'd just been protecting himself.

  * * *

  "Are you an' Daddy mad at each other?" Chelsea gazed up at Kathleen with cherubic innocence, her small face dusted with cookie crumbs. She leaned against the table and waited for an answer with the patience of a small bureaucrat.

  "Not really, honey." Kathleen smiled and stroked Chelsea's hair. "Sometimes grown-ups get into arguments and it sounds as though they're mad at each other, but really they're just … voicing opinions."

  Sherry looked up from the sugar cookies she was icing. "How about a movie tonight? We can leave Gord and the kids at home and have girls' night out."

  Kathleen tried to smile again, then just gave up. "I don't think so. It would be a waste of money. My head just keeps spinning in circles."

  "In circles?" Shaun peered up at her curiously, a half-eaten cookie in one hand and his stuffed rabbit in the other.

  "On the inside, sweetie," Kathleen assured him with a laugh. "Just on the inside."

  "Oh." He lost interest and wandered off.

  The front doorbell rang just then, resonating with impressive solemnity, and Sherry swore under he
r breath. "That'll be the guy who phoned about your dad's gun collection. Are you and Gord really sure you want to sell those things? They're all antiques."

  "It's about the only thing we do agree on these days," Kathleen muttered. She started to get up to answer the door, but Sherry beat her to it, already through the kitchen door and heading toward the front of the house.

  Kathleen walked over to where Shaun and Chelsea were playing with the puppy. It was a yellow Labrador, as fat as butter, and it came dashing over to her, all tongue and wriggling excitement and shining eyes. Laughing, Kathleen squatted and rubbed its ears, and it whimpered in delight, trying to jump up to lick her face.

  "Kathleen? It's … for you." Sherry stood in the kitchen door with an uncertain look on her face.

  Kathleen's stomach dropped. "If it's Jett, tell him I don't want to talk to him. And if it's his lawyer, I don't want to talk to him, either. In fact, I don't want to talk to anyone."

  "It's not Jett. It's … it's your son."

  Just the very word made Kathleen's heart tumble to a stop. "Oh…" She held her breath. "Where?"

  Sherry came into the room, and Kathleen saw that Jody was behind her, his face the picture of indecision, as though he was already starting to regret being here.

  "Hey, it's Jody!" Shaun went hurtling over to him.

  Chelsea's face lit up. "Is your arm okay now? Your face sure looks better! I'm gettin' a pony for my birthday, and I'll let you ride him, if you like. At least he won't buck you off!"

  Jody glanced at Sherry desperately, and Sherry laughed. "Okay, you guys—into the living room." She started to hustle both kids through the door. "Let's go. Your aunt has company."

  The door swung closed behind them, and a sudden silence tumbled through the room like falling snow, so thick it seemed to drift into the corners. Kathleen didn't have a clue what to say. Her mind had gone as blank as a freshly cleaned chalkboard and she just stood there stupidly, looking at him, her chest so tight with emotion she could barely breathe.

  "Is it true?" He stared at her from across the room, his expression carefully guarded to give nothing away, eyes wary. "Are you my mother?"