by Jade Taylor
She craned her head back to look up at him. “I know what a ‘psyche’ is.”
Joey smiled a wide smile that dimpled her cheeks. So familiar, but from where? Not Cat’s secret smile, but more open. It made Jackson’s heart pound heavily. “Mmh,” he said, lifting a stack of boards to his shoulder. “Stay in front of me, Joey, so I can see you. I don’t want to bash you on the head with these big sticks I’m carrying.”
She kept turning back to watch him, “Tommy Karl’s got a psyche. Mom said.”
“She did, huh? Why’d she say that?” Jackson balanced the lumber on his shoulder, then pulled the barn door open. “Prop the door with that brick, Joey.”
Joey scurried to do his bidding, all the while watching him, instead of her objective, a broken red brick lying abandoned next to the barn wall. “Mommy said Tommy Karl had a male psyche and that’s why he didn’t want to play Barbie dolls with me. I asked him to show it to me, but he wouldn’t. Boys are dumb.” She tucked the brick in front of the barn door and stood staring up at him to see how he’d react to her provocative statement.
Jackson stood to one side so she could enter the barn. “Does that include me?”
Joey looked unsure. “Do you like to play Barbie dolls?”
Jackson felt as if he were walking through minefields. If he said the wrong thing, it might turn Joey against him. At the same time, a conversation about Barbie dolls seemed ridiculous in the extreme. He compromised. “Well, I haven’t done it much lately.”
Joey stood in the shadowed barn, caught in a wide band of light coming from the overhead window. Her eyes glistened with happiness. “We could play with my dolls after we finish unloading the truck. I have seven Barbie dolls. And one Ken doll. You can play with the Ken doll, if you want to.”
He pictured himself sitting on the floor, dressing Barbie dolls with Joey beside him. For some reason, it didn’t seem nearly as outrageous as it should. What would Juan say if he saw his pal playing with dolls? “Maybe another time, Short Stuff. I have to get home pretty soon. How’d you get so many?”
Someone had painted a series of squares on the barn floor. Each had a number inside it. Joey stood on one foot and hopped to the next square. She teetered for a moment, then put her other foot down on an adjoining square. She looked back at Jackson. “Mostly for Christmas and my birthday. Sometimes, I get clothes.”
Jackson tried to sound casual. He wasn’t at all sure he succeeded. “Oh. When’s your birthday?”
“February third,” Joey replied, then frowned. “Did you really think I was six years old? I’m lots older than that.” She lifted her chin a tad higher.
Jackson didn’t hear anything after the date she gave. A roaring filled his ears as he mentally counted backward nine months. He looked down at the upturned face staring intently at him. Now he saw what he must have been blind to miss before. She had the same pixie face as his sister. The same twinkle in her eyes that Cass had turned on him a thousand times as they were growing up.
Joey’s hair was lighter than Cat’s and her eyes a lighter green, but still her mother’s eyes, not the same light blue all his family had. No. It couldn’t be true. His heart froze. There must have been someone else after him.
The aching thought drove depression deep and straight into his heart. Cat would have told him if Joey belonged to him. He saw things that weren’t there. Blindly, he went back to the truck and gathered up the rest of the lumber, Joey running by his side, chattering away about her Barbie dolls and how they all had different color hair and different clothes.
ALL THE WAY BACK to Gray’s Way, Jackson berated himself for a fool. He might’ve been the first guy to make love to Cat Darnell, but he sure as hell wasn’t the last. Not once in nine years had she tried to get in touch with him. Wouldn’t she have done that if he were Joey’s father? Hell, all she had to do was walk across the field and she’d be at Gray’s Way. Pop would have told her how to get in touch with him. Dammit, if Pop had known, he’d have come after Jackson himself, shotgun in one hand and horsewhip in the other. Jackson gave a slight shudder at the very idea. Will Gray was a strong man and his son respected him. Even after years of independence, he still wouldn’t want to cross him.
When he walked into the kitchen, he saw his father standing close to the sink, leaning against it to rest his bad knee as he washed dishes. He looked up when Jackson came into the room.
“Back so soon?”
His father’s acerbic tone might not have been intended to offend, Jackson thought. He decided to ignore it. “We cleaned up most of the mess, then went to town to get some lumber.” Jackson wasn’t sure exactly why he didn’t tell Pop about having lunch with Cat and Joey.
His father turned back to the sink. “Buddy took the tractor out to the west field. He’s going to till the new corn plants and knock down some of the weeds. Looks like that new weed-killer Charles recommended isn’t worth much.”
“I’ll go down and help him.”
His father laid the plate he’d just washed in the empty sink and turned to rake his son with a keen gaze before turning back to the dishes. “He’ll be pretty near done with that, by now. You look worn out, anyway. Why don’t you take it easy this afternoon?”
“I’m not tired,” Jackson answered, even as the tight muscles in his neck reminded him of how many hours he’d spent washing soot and smoke off the walls at Cat’s place.
“I never used to get tired when I called on my sweetie, either,” Pop said, glancing over his shoulder at his son.
A sudden heat filled Jackson, a raw anger that his father could accuse him of what he’d so carefully avoided. “Aw, crap, Pop! Cat’s just a friend. I’ve told you that.”
Will nodded. “I think maybe you did.”
“We are friends. Only friends.” Even to his own ears, his words sounded more defensive than they should be. And louder.
“I think maybe I heard you the first time.”
Jackson nodded in silent apology. He stuttered, though the question came out before he could stop it. “Pop, do you know…uh, who Cat’s boyfriend is? Was?”
His father put the dish he was holding back in the sink. He wiped his hands on a towel he’d looped through his belt, then turned to face his son with a surprised look. “Now?”
Jackson’s cheeks warmed under his father’s pointed glare. “No, before. I mean…the kid, her daughter, Joey.”
“Are you asking me who Joey’s father is?”
Jackson shrugged. “Well, not like that. I just thought you might have heard.”
Will Gray snorted and turned back to the sink. He addressed his answer to the soap suds in the dish pan. “You know how I feel about gossip.”
“This isn’t gossip, exactly,” Jackson blurted.
“Oh?”
The single, sarcastic word hung like a wall between them. Jackson jammed his hands into his back pockets and widened his stance. He shouldn’t feel so defensive about wanting to know. He stared hard at his father’s back, willing him to supply the answer to the question that taunted him. “Pop, I have my reasons for asking.”
His father didn’t turn around. “Seems to me if you have any questions along that line, you ought to ask Cat.”
Jackson straightened, the old resentment rising full force in him. “Can’t you for once listen to me? I need to know!”
His father turned and looked him up and down in a measuring way. “Then be a man and ask Catherine Darnell who fathered that little girl. Don’t come home whining to me about what you ‘need to know.’ If you had a brain in your head, you’d realize how I’d feel about the whole mess.”
Jackson walked over to the kitchen table and sat down. He swiped at the dots of moisture on his forehead. “I didn’t say I was involved.”
His father snorted. “You didn’t say you weren’t, either.”
The sound of a car pulling into the yard made them both stop and look up. His father broke the tense silence. “I’d say Bertie’s found time to stop by after her
trip to the library. You keep your mouth shut around her, hear?”
“You mean you don’t want her thinking about whether or not I’m messing around with Cat, don’t you?”
Will’s voice rose to the same level as Jackson’s. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
Jackson’s anger faded, though his frustration remained. His father was right. Somehow, it seemed he always was. His reply was almost a whisper. “Okay, Pop.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
WILL GRAY BOWED HIS HEAD for a moment, disturbed by his son’s bitter words. “Wish he’d listen once in a while, instead of talking so much. What more can I do? I told him to ask Cat, if he wanted to know.”
“Ask Cat what?” Bertie peeked into the kitchen. “Something happen that I didn’t hear about?”
Will hastily composed himself and turned away from the sink. “Now how likely is that?”
Bertie Gillis eyed him curiously. “I heard you mumbling. I don’t want to be put in the position of defending you.”
“As if you would,” he retorted. Bertie’s dry chuckle fell pleasantly on his ears.
“I’ve been known to, a time or two, anyway.”
A lifted brow refuted her statement. “Like when?”
“Like the time you ran that boy off and him just graduated. From the sound of things when I came up to the door, you two don’t get along any better now than you used to. Are you fixing to send him on his way again?”
Her answer surprised him and aroused an anger buried so deep he’d forgotten it was there. “I think that’d be my business, Bertie.”
A scoffing noise issued from her as she went to the refrigerator. She helped herself to a can of Coke. “I’ve been coming over here for near three months now, cooking your supper, and listening to you complain about Jackson. Don’t you think we’re a bit past the argument about whose business it is?”
Will gave up. “Probably. Well, I think Jackson’s starting to count on his fingers about when Cat’s little kitten first opened her eyes.”
Bertie came over to the sink and stood very close to him, her face compassionate. “About time, wouldn’t you say?”
Will didn’t answer, but he sneaked another glance at Bertie.
“Engerville’s small. There weren’t many young men around, if you recall.”
Will tried not to stare at her, but he wasn’t used to being this close. She was one pretty woman. He wondered why she’d never married. The village couldn’t be that full of idiots. She’d be a real catch for some lucky man. He forced his thoughts back to his troublesome son. “If there’s two, there’s always a doubt.”
She lifted one corner of a mouth still soft and warm-looking. “So who else were you thinking it might be?’
Will had trouble focusing on her words. Who might it be? He exhaled sharply and a disturbing thought about what it might be like to kiss this sometimes aggravating woman shocked him back to his senses. “Nobody in particular. But I sure wish I knew why Cat never told whoever it was.”
Bertie patted his cheek, almost as if he were a child himself. “Do you know she never told him?”
Will moved a half step back, uncomfortable with the gesture. “He wouldn’t be wondering if she had,” he pointed out.
“Well, you were bound to say something sensible if you kept talking.” As if she knew his discomfort, she went over to the kitchen table and sat down in the same chair Jackson had sat in. She looked up at him accusingly.
Will hurried to fill the empty air. “Remind me to find out why you keep coming around, if all you intend to do is insult me.”
“Remind me to tell you when I want you to know,” Bertie replied with a small, secretive smile.
JOEY AND TOMMY KARL PUT the filly out to pasture and stood watching Freedom’s first few tentative steps. She looked back at the children, then suddenly bolted toward the other horses. Joey held Freedom’s halter and lead rope in her hand. Her mom had been pleased with the half-hour workout and maybe next time she’d let Joey hold the longe line. Maybe not. The young horses weren’t that easy to control, except for Moonshot. RugRat was the worst of the lot. Joey liked all the horses, but she didn’t much care for Ruggie. He was a little too quick to whirl and kick. Though Mom said it was just high spirits, she’d cautioned Joey to keep her distance.
Tasting the dust on her lips, Joey knew the windy morning had left her “smelling like a horse” as her mother always said. Tommy Karl looked much the same, streaks of dust cutting across his forehead and clinging to tufts of corn-blond hair which stuck out below his baseball cap. Mom would make both of them take a shower before she drove them into town for a hamburger. She’d promised McDonald’s for lunch and Mom always kept her promises.
All morning Tommy Karl had acted as if he wanted to say something. As they watched Freedom greet her friends, he shot a sideways glance her way, then blurted out, “I think my dad wants your mom to marry him so I can have a mother.”
A surge of possessive anger made Joey’s chest feel tight. “She’s my mom, not yours. You can’t get a mom by taking mine!”
Tommy Karl nodded, ducking his head and grinning shyly. “Yeah, I know, but if she marries my dad, then he’d be your dad, too. Wouldn’t you like that?”
He had a waiting, hopeful look on his face that made Joey feel sorry for him. “Jackson didn’t come over to our house today. Mom said he had to work on his father’s farm. I wouldn’t mind having Jackson for a daddy. He’s fun.” Reluctantly, she added, “I guess your daddy would be all right, too.”
“I think you’d like my dad best. Jackson won’t stay, my dad says. Where’s your real dad, anyway?”
It wasn’t the first time Tommy Karl had asked that question and it wasn’t the first time she didn’t know the answer. In the summer heat, Joey’s dark hair stuck to the nape of her neck. She lifted it away from her damp skin. The breeze brought welcome cooling. Joey hated thinking about the father who had abandoned her and her mother. She hated Tommy Karl’s question, but finally she said, “I told you before, I’m not sure where, exactly, but I know it’s far away. He probably won’t ever come back.”
Tommy Karl’s frown gave way to sympathy. “That sucks.”
Joey didn’t want T.K. to see how badly she wanted her own father, not his father and not even somebody really, really nice like Jackson. Her own father. Scuffing a boot through the pasture grass, she finally replied, “I don’t care. I probably wouldn’t like him anyway. I hate him for leaving me and Mom.”
“That sucks,” Tommy Karl said, again.
Like his father, Tommy Karl never said much. “Yep,” Joey agreed. She huffed out a big breath.
“Maybe he’ll come back,” Tommy ventured.
His words increased her bitterness. “I’d hit him,” she said, savagely.
Tommy Karl, bending to pick a small stone from the ground, stopped and stared at her. “How come?”
“’Cause he left.”
Tommy Karl studied the stone carefully, examining its various planes, and decided its worth by casually tossing it aside. “What if he’s really big?”
“I don’t know.” Joey swung the halter at a gaggle of golden daisies growing beside the path. Several bright flower heads snapped off, the petals scattering away from the chocolate hubs. The violence released her tension, but Joey knew Mom wouldn’t like the thoughtless act. She looked over her shoulder, as if her mother might see her, even at this distance from the house, then glanced sideways at Tommy. A few flowers, more or less, didn’t bother Tommy, but her temper did sometimes.
“What if he says he’s sorry?” Tommy asked, probing her anger.
“I don’t know.” His questions were unanswerable. She didn’t know, any more than Tommy Karl did. The halter’s buckles jingled as she increased her pace.
Tommy’s legs were considerably longer than hers. He didn’t have to stretch them much to keep up. He made a point that must have been made to him fairly often. “Dad says you have to forgive somebody if they say they’re sor
ry.”
Joey answered without any consideration for a daddy who might say he was sorry. “I won’t! Never. He left me and Mommy. I hate him!”
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Jackson called Cat and told her he couldn’t make it over because he had to help till the north field. Not a lie, because he did intend to help, but Buddy could have done it alone. Still, a backbreaking day in the sun, sitting atop a dusty tractor, would give him time to think. His father seemed surprised at his decision to stay home, but refrained from asking his son why, for which Jackson was grateful. Especially since he wasn’t exactly sure why.
The next day, Jackson spent only a few hours at Cat’s home, cutting, sawing and hammering a half-dozen boards to fill the hole in the wall where he’d knocked out burned wood. To all of Cat’s overtures, he turned a deaf ear, pretending complete absorption in his task. He could hardly bear to look at Joey, yet found his gaze constantly drawn to her. Was the shy sprite his own child? The question haunted him each time he looked at her. When he could take it no more, he put away his tools, announced that he was needed at Gray’s Way and would return the next day.
That night, Jackson lay in bed, unable to sleep. The humid night air blew gently past the bedroom curtains, but added little to his comfort. A sticky sheen of perspiration coated his bare chest and he’d long ago kicked off the tangled sheet. Finally, he got up, groped in the dark for his jeans and T-shirt and pulled them on. He felt around on the floor for his boots and found them shoved under the edge of the bed. He put them on, raised the window screen and crawled out. In the light of a bright, high moon, he started walking through the night to Cat’s ranch.
He intended to confront her despite it being past midnight, no matter how angry his late arrival made her and regardless of how much he feared her answer.
After he crossed the empty field, he stood in the shadow of a tree for long moments, staring at the drab old ranch house. Moonlight splashed the raw, unpainted new wood, underscoring how it clashed with the old dark siding. His future with his past, he thought. If Joey was his child, it would chain him to Engerville for the rest of his life. If she wasn’t, it would be as devastating, because the little girl had taken no more than a few weeks to find his heart. She drew him just as Cat did. Despite the fear trembling inside him, he couldn’t stand not knowing.