by Dahlia West
The sheriff’s car parked just in front of the house and the driver’s side door opened. Shiny patent leather boots hit the gravel as the man levered himself out of the car. “Hello, there!” Powell called out.
Erin gave him a wave. “Hi, Sheriff.” She took a few steps toward him, stopping at the porch railing. “Everything all right?” she called out.
Jack was proud of her. There wasn’t a hint of nervousness in her voice at all. He guessed that after all his woman had been through, it would take a lot more than a sheriff’s visit to faze her anymore.
“Oh, sure. Sure,” he told Erin, giving Jack a nod. “Just came to see how you were getting along.” The old man’s eyes narrowed and he shielded his eyes with his hand. “That DelRay’s horse out there?”
“It is,” Erin replied.
“Injured again?”
“No. No, sir,” Erin told him, chin jutting out indignantly. “We bought him.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up. “That right?”
Erin shrugged, putting on a good show. “Well, he can’t rope. Not professionally anymore. Lost a little off his time. But Jack likes him. And so does Bee.”
Powell chuckled, his whole body shaking. “Well, I guess that’s apparent.”
Erin smiled.
The sheriff turned away from Erin and looked at Jack now. “Got a minute?” he asked. “If I’m not keeping you from your chores.”
Jack shook his head and moved toward the driveway, away from the house. “I got a minute,” he said, careful not to offer more.
As they walked toward the tree in the center of the drive, to stand in the shade, Powell said, “You know, I never did get your name.”
“Jack.”
The sheriff nodded. “Ayuh. Got that one from Bailey down at the Rural King.”
Jack hesitated, but just for a second. It was obvious this man wasn’t leaving with a name. “Sullivan,” he told the man confidently. “My name’s Sullivan.” He reached for his wallet to hand over his freshly-minted fake I.D., but the sheriff waved it way.
“My eyesight ain’t what it used to be,” he said, then he grinned sheepishly. “Jack Sullivan, huh? Like the fighter?”
Jack frowned. “Sorry?”
“Jack Sullivan was a boxer, wasn’t he? Back in the old days. Took a hell of a beating in the ring once, looked like he was dead on his feet. But he came back strong. He was the last, true heavyweight.”
Jack considered this for a moment. He’d never heard of Jack Sullivan, but it sounded like there were worse possible comparisons. “True heavyweight?”
The sheriff grinned again. “Bare-knuckle boxing.” He glanced pointedly to Jack’s own bruised hands. The purplish markings had started to fade but were still visible even from a distance, even by a sheriff with self-confessed bad vision. “Guess you take after him more than in name,” the man observed.
He didn’t actually ask Jack how he’d come by those bruises and Jack didn’t offer any explanation other than a shrug.
The sheriff tugged on his gun belt, hitching up his pants again. “Your old man into bare-knuckle boxing?”
“I don’t know,” Jack replied, but that was a lie. He did know. When it came to knuckles, Scratch Prior Senior had preferred brass.
“Guess you pretty much keep to yourself, huh?” Powell asked.
“Guess so,” Jack replied. “I go where I want. Do what I want. Some people don’t like that, I suppose.”
“I reckon they don’t. I sure didn’t. Had a feeling about you. Drifter, no name, no family. Thought maybe you’d gotten out prison. Maybe had trouble with the law.”
The man was eyeing Jack for a reaction, any at all. Jack schooled his features carefully so as not to give him one. He’d played games like this with sharper men than a small-town sheriff. It was nothing he wasn’t used to…and brilliant at.
“Nah,” Jack told him. “Just like I said. Go where I want. Do what I want. And I don’t want trouble.”
The sheriff made a grunt. “Well, anyway. Guess I’m glad I didn’t tell anyone about my…unwarranted…suspicions. Just made a phone call to Rapid City.” He smiled ruefully. “And I don’t guess I’ll be telling anyone about it any time soon. Don’t want anyone thinking I’m a senile old coot.”
Jack smiled at him.
Powell cleared his throat. “Margie—that’s my wife—saw Erin at the Piggly Wiggly the other day. Said Erin was feeling a bit poorly.”
Jack nodded, because there was no point in denying it. “Yes, sir. She was.”
The sheriff nodded in return. “Margie had that,” he confided. “Morning sickness. Goes away soon enough, though.” He kicked the dirt with his boot and took a long look around the property. “Woman out here, all alone, ain’t right. Needs a man around.”
On that score, Jack and the sheriff could agree. Erin did need a man. And for some crazy reason, she’d chosen Jack. And for that, Jack was grateful every damn day. “Yes,” he told the sheriff. “She does.”
“And you seem to be catching on,” the sheriff added, nodding at the ground. “Keeping your boots clean. And your nose.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was true enough, going forward, at least. Jack had no plans to stir up trouble of any kind, anywhere.
Powell looked around the place and gave a thoughtful nod. “You’ve done a lot of work here.”
Jack nodded, chest swelling with pride at the man’s words. The place looked good and got better every day that he was here.
“Still a ways to go, though,” said the sheriff. He might have been speaking of the ranch but Jack saw him glance meaningfully at Jack’s left hand.
The message couldn’t have been clearer. If Jack wanted the sheriff off his back, he had to commit to Erin and Thunder Ridge completely. Normally, Jack despised ultimatums, unspoken or otherwise. But this was one he didn’t mind accepting.
“Winter’s coming,” he said to the older man. “I’ve got to get the fireplace fixed up and I’d like to get the hay barn finished before the first snow hits. Roof’s fixed on the house, though, in the room that’ll be the nursery. Anything else, I can get to after the baby’s born in the spring.”
Jack’s message was equally clear. He was sticking around.
The sheriff beamed at him. “Well, sounds like you’ve got plans, son.” He offered his hand and Jack took it firmly. Making nice with law and order would be part of his life now. He’d have to start getting used to it.
“Gordon,” Sheriff Powell said suddenly.
Jack’s brow knitted. “How’s that?”
A sly smile played over the older man’s lips. “Little pit stop of a town in Nebraska. Just over the state line. It’s not George. It’s Gordon.”
Jack pressed his lips together and continued to shake the man’s hand.
“See you in church, Jack.”
Jack hesitated, gaping at the man.
The sheriff raised an eyebrow. “Christmas, surely. At least.”
Jack blew out a hard breath, nodded, and pumped the damned man’s hand one last time. “Christmas,” he agreed. He was relieved to wave at the sheriff as he got into his car and finally drove away.
Jack turned with a sigh and headed back to the fence. As he leaned against it, King ambled over and nuzzled him in the shoulder. Jack rubbed him behind his ear. “We’re both daddies now. Tell me the truth,” he said, eyeing King. “Are you as nervous as I am?”
The large horse snorted and shoved Jack with his nose.
“I’m going to take that as a yes.” He and King watched Bee and her foal, and Jack could swear he saw a look of pride in the stallion’s eyes. “You made a good choice. She’s a good one. The best, really.”
King called out to her then, and Bee answered back. The little foal tried to imitate his parents, couldn’t yet, and kicked up his hooves in frustration.
Jack laughed. “Got your hands full,” he observed.
King nickered.
“Pretty sure I will, too. My kid’ll be a helli
on, too, if there ever was one.”
“Maybe not,” Erin replied, coming up behind him. “It’s my kid, too, you know.” She grinned and slid her arms around his waist, nestling her head against his shoulder.
“Trust me,” Jack said, kissing her head. “I’m not likely to forget that part.”
Erin sighed happily and watched King and Bee get as close to each other as possible through the shared fence. “Have you thought of a name?”
Jack grunted. “For the baby or the colt?”
“Both.”
He shrugged. “Prince seems…”
“Too obvious,” she finished.
“Yeah. How about Shooter?” he asked. The idea of Chris sharing a name with an animal that smelled like a barnyard and dropped ginormous turds made him smile.
Erin considered it and nodded. “I like it.”
Without thinking, Jack slid his hand over Erin’s belly, imagining he could feel something there.
“And the baby?” Erin asked. “What about Astrid? If it’s a girl.”
Jack winced. “What? Ass-turd?”
She pushed back from him, eyes flashing. “That’s not what I said!”
He held up his hands. “Kids are kids,” he told her. “And kids are assholes. If you name a girl Astrid, she’ll be Ass-turd her whole life.”
She opened her mouth to argue, apparently thought better of it, and gave an annoyed sigh. “Okay. You’re right.”
Jack pulled her close again, not liking it when she was this close and he wasn’t touching her. He held her while the wind kicked up and made waves in the thick grass. “Dakota,” he said quietly. “For a boy or a girl.”
Erin hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “I like it.”
“Dakota Sullivan,” he murmured into her ear.
Erin’s fingers squeezed his arms. “Is that…a marriage proposal?”
Jack grinned. “Well, you have all my money. So, you’ll have to buy yourself a ring. But yeah. If you think I’m going to let our kid be born a bastard, then you don’t know me very well, Erin.” He spread his large hands over her belly. “That’s my baby in there. And you’re my woman. And both of you are going to have my name.” He shrugged. “Such as it is now.”
He liked Sullivan, he had to admit. It was a good name. A strong name. And it reminded him of a man he’d come to admire over the last twenty years. If Jack could live up to the name, or hell, be half the husband and father Chris Sullivan was, that’d be good enough for him.
Jack slapped Erin on the ass and she yelped. “Go inside,” he ordered. “Strip naked, lie down on the bed, and wait for me. I think I need to ask you properly.”
Her glare faded into a wicked grin. “On your knees?”
“On my knees,” he agreed. He watched her shiver even though it was July.
Jack tossed a few hay bales into both pastures and then wiped off his hands. He patted Duke on the head as they headed back up to the house. Both man and dog gave the chicken yard a wide berth. He took a deep breath, taking in the sweet scent of earth mingled with the impending rain.
“Heaven,” he said quietly, to no one in particular, as he mounted the porch steps.
Not bad for a Preacher.
Epilogue
‡
The afternoon sun had kicked the thermometer up a few degrees, but it was still chilly outside. The trees weren’t quite showing signs of budding since it was early yet in the spring. Jack lifted a saddle onto King and tightened the girth.
The large gray stallion stomped his foot impatiently, spraying dirt all over Jack’s boots. King had come to expect almost daily rides and got antsy when Jack seemed to take too long getting around to it.
Bee and the colt were already out in the adjoining pasture. King was less agitated at not being able to see them, knowing that he and Jack were about to go for a ride. King, it seemed, had settled into his new life as easily as Jack had.
Jack slipped the bit into King’s mouth, drew the reins over the saddle horn, and lifted a heavy boot to the stirrup. The pair, gifted to him by Erin, were completely broken in now and felt better to Jack than any pair of boots he’d ever owned.
He swung up into the saddle and toed his feet into the stirrups.
King snorted, having already started moving toward the barn door, anxious to get out there and kick up his heels.
As they exited the barn and rounded the corner, a squeal erupted several feet away. Both Jack and King turned their heads to see a small boy, with dark hair and dark eyes, scrambling toward them.
“Ride!” the boy proclaimed as he climbed up a nearby stack of hay bales. “Ride, ride, ride!”
Jack nudged King in that direction with his leg. When he got close enough, the boy launched himself off the tallest bale. Jack caught him easily and pulled him into the saddle, circling one arm around him while holding the reins with the other hand.
They pivoted toward the driveway and the boy waved to Erin who was standing on the porch. “Ride!” he shouted again.
Erin laughed and waved back.
Jack took them through the woods near the house. The sunlight was dappled as it shone through the leaves above them and covered the well-worn path. The boy giggled and squealed and kicked his tiny cowboy boots, which only hit the saddle leathers and didn’t bother King at all.
It seemed to Jack that every word the boy knew came across his lips as he chattered happily on the trail. Jack recognized most of them.
Mommy. Duke. Bee. King. Shooter. Tree. Ride. Fast, fast, fast.
Daddy.
Jack awoke at the last word. It was still dark in the bedroom and he could hear Erin breathing steadily beside him. He rolled and stretched out his hand, searching for the bump that always reassured him. She barely stirred as he splayed his fingers across her lower belly. She was probably used to it by now, even in her sleep.
One hour passed, then two. Jack couldn’t fall back to sleep, but he wasn’t worried about it. He could stay in this bed forever. Or, he’d like to, but it wasn’t in the plan. Not today.
Outside, Julio proudly heralded the sunrise. Jack couldn’t see him but could imagine the little bastard smirking and strutting around the yard as he called out to Jack, specifically. Cock-a-doodle-doo, motherfucker.
Erin finally stirred, opened her eyes, and smiled at him. She stretched and yawned. “Today’s the day,” she reminded him. But she didn’t need to. He’d been thinking about it all week.
“Yep,” he simply said, kissed her, and finally slid out from between the sheets.
* * *
The drive to Rapid City seemed to take forever by Jack’s estimation. He and Erin agreed that, despite everything, this place had the best facilities. It looked the same, he thought, as he rolled down Main Street. No evidence of his months-ago rampage could be seen, at least not where they were headed.
He parked and held the door for her as they stepped inside the well-maintained building. Brightly colored leaves were kicked up by the ever-present Rapid City wind. They tumbled down the sidewalk, but Jack shut the door behind them before any could enter the lobby. Inside, the air was off because fall was now in full sway. The receptionist greeted them warmly and showed them into a small room with a large monitor, and a short, plump woman shook their hands.
Erin was a tiny bit nervous, even if she hadn’t admitted it. Jack could tell. She stepped behind a curtain indicated by the technician and reappeared wearing a paper hospital gown.
Jack helped her up onto the padded table while the tech shut off the lights in the room.
They’d heard the heartbeat before, at every appointment. One of the nurses would settle a Doppler over Erin’s ever-rounding belly and Jack would listen with rapt attention at the sound of their baby. It was unlike anything he could have imagined himself, quick and steady, like a bird. Like a baby bird.
He always smiled to himself when he heard it.
But today was different and he knew why. Erin squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, to reassure h
er. But he wasn’t quite as calm and collected as he seemed. Inside, his own heart was beating fast. It skipped a beat when the first grainy image appeared on the monitor above their heads.
The tech relocated the wand several times, checking each quadrant, pausing only to type into the computer. When she finally slung the wand back into its holster and cleared her throat, Jack felt his nerves suddenly give way.
“I don’t want to know,” he blurted out.
Erin and the tech both stared at him.
It was crazy. Jack understood that even as the words fell out of his mouth, but he just couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to know. He couldn’t know. He just couldn’t handle the disappointment.
It wasn’t that he had to have a boy, necessarily, but that dream… That dream! It had hit him so hard that it scared him. What if it wasn’t a boy? What if, instead, he and Erin were having a baby girl? If they were, then that part of his dream was wrong. And if that part was wrong, other parts might be wrong.
He and Erin might not be happy. They might not make it. And Jack might fuck up fatherhood the way he’d fucked up everything else in his life.
Jack needed Thunder Ridge, like he needed air to breathe. Sweet, earthy, clean air that seemed to heal him from the inside with every breath. He needed King and Duke, and the work, the accomplishment of building something good and decent. And above all, he needed Erin.
His soul needed her. Even though Jack had not seen much of the world, he knew, beyond all doubt, that there was no other woman like her anywhere to be found. There was only one Erin. And she was his. And their baby? It wasn’t a gift from God. Or not just that, anyway. Jack knew that now.
It was a test. He was being tested. Like Job’s mirror image, instead of having everything taken from him, Jack was being given everything. His life, his ranch, his woman, his child. He’d worked for them. He’d killed for them. And it was up to him to continue to prove that he deserved them.
Faith, like land, Jack decided, took time to develop, to become lush and fruitful.
Jack had faith in the dream. Just a little, but it was there. He couldn’t risk having it shaken, though. His hands were still too dirty. He hadn’t had enough time away yet, like Chris had suggested. “Don’t tell me,” he ordered the tech.