Canyon Shadows

by Vonna Harper

  She screamed. Climaxed. Screamed again.

  Heard a growl that went on and on.

  “What’s with the secrecy about your past?” Maco asked.

  No. Not now! “I can’t believe that’s what you want to talk about.”

  “Can’t you? You leave holes in your life story and expect me to let it go.” He’d just come out of the bathroom and, still naked, was standing over her. She hadn’t bothered covering herself or reaching for her clothes because those things took too much effort.

  “It wasn’t deliberate,” she lied.

  “Wasn’t it? I’ve given you my complete family tree.”

  “Not close. I’m sure there’s more to you than that.”

  “Which is exactly what I could say about you.”

  They’d come to that place in their relationship, hadn’t they? After what they’d been through in the short time they’d known each other, she couldn’t expect either of them to buy that they were little more than strangers.

  “Are you going to come back to bed?” she asked, stalling.

  “No.” He walked backwards to the overstuffed chair that took up too much space in the room and sat. Loving his acceptance of his body, she sat up and dangled her legs over the side of the bed. No way was she going to think about bolting for the door.

  “Why not?” she pressed.

  “Because this way I won’t risk falling asleep, unless ...”

  “Unless what?” The room had two windows, both of them open. The cross-ventilation was already drying her sweat.

  “You change your mind about spending the night.”

  She looked at the floor because it was safer than meeting the challenge/question in his eyes. “I want to, but I can’t leave Rachele alone. I won’t.”

  “That’s what I thought you’d say. All right. Talk.”

  An order? Maybe, but then that was what she needed to get started. “I love hearing about your family. They remind me of what’s considered normal.”

  “Which you didn’t have because you lost both of your parents.”

  “That’s right. My father was murdered when I was pretty young. It defined my childhood.” Weary of wallowing in self-pity, she lifted her head, but his look of sympathy—or was it compassion?—had her staring at the carpet again. Her aunt, uncle, and her dad’s killer knew all the details. The police and lawyers thought they did, but they couldn’t possibly.

  “You said you were there,” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I believe you already said that.”

  “What do you want from me then?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Hell, maybe a kick in the ass and a loud ‘get over it.’ ”

  “You think that would help?”

  “Maybe.”

  Without her knowing how it had happened, he was on his knees before her and her hands were in his. Beads of water from the shower clung to his chest hair and the dark mat over his cock. “Can you talk about it?” he asked.

  “Some.” The admission centered her.

  “Why only some?”

  Stop ducking and hiding. He’s worth it. “It happened so long ago. I’ve had most of a lifetime since then. Besides, I don’t like digging around in that particular chapter.”

  “But you’re going to today because I asked. Don’t forget, I’m the hero who helped save Ona.”

  “Good point.” He’d been absolutely right to strike a lighthearted tone. Of course, talking to a naked man while being naked herself took this beyond ordinary conversation. It was a lifetime away from being interviewed by law enforcement and lawyers. “My father—people called him Black Jack.”

  “He sounds like a pirate.”

  “I guess it does. I just thought it was a neat thing.” She added that she believed his nickname had come about because of his ink-black hair. Also, from what she’d learned since his death, he had made money any way he could, usually not legally.

  “You didn’t know that while he was alive?”

  “No. All that mattered to me was that he was around much of the time. He called me his buddy, sometimes his partner in crime, not that I knew what he meant. Most times he’d leave at night but not before tucking me in. I had a stuffed rabbit I’d named Bunny but he insisted on calling Ralph. I’d make him kiss Bunny good night and pet its ears. He, ah, he’d act like it hurt his fingers to touch those floppy ears.” Needing to gather herself, she stopped for a moment. “I laughed every time he blew on his fingers. Then he’d kiss my chin and say he should have named me Gertrude.”

  “It sounds as if he loved you.”

  Her throat tightened. “He did. He wasn’t a law-abiding man, and he was a lousy provider, but I never doubted his love for me. My world revolved around him, and I knew I was the most important person in his.”

  Wincing, Maco shifted his weight from one knee to the other. “That’s a wonderful memory for a child to have.”

  “It is. I remember—not long before he was killed, my parents were arguing. My mother wanted to pack up and move because she was afraid for our safety, but he didn’t want to take me out of school.”

  Maco shifted again. “Your safety?”

  Ignoring his question, she plowed on. “My dad told her he’d been bounced around all the time he was growing up and wouldn’t let that happen to me.” Turned out he was wrong.

  Concerned for Maco’s knees, she pulled free and patted the mattress beside her. He joined her with his hand on her thigh and their legs touching. His tempting cock rested between his legs, yet she knew better than to touch it until she’d finished. Every time she breathed, her breasts rose and fell, but if he noticed, he gave no indication.

  “What Black Jack did for a living didn’t matter to me, of course. He bought me stuffed animals and ice cream.”

  “Where were you living?”

  “Here. In the city, actually, on the west side, the old part of town.”

  Maco’s nod let her know he understood they’d been living, renting to be specific, in a rundown neighborhood. “And you were an only child.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “And you were a teenager when she died.”

  She explained that she’d been nearly fifteen when smoking and drinking and not taking care of herself had caught up with her mother. Then he wrapped his arm around her, and she said, “Mom and I lived under the same roof, but for the most part we lived separate lives. I volunteered at a child-care center after school and at the Humane Society every weekend.”

  “Because you didn’t want to be home?”

  “That was part of it. I also loved what I was doing.”

  “And one of those gigs led to your career. How did your mother feel about all the time you spent away?”

  Leaning against his warm side, she sighed. If he didn’t have his company, she’d tell him to become a detective or a psychiatrist. “She never said, and I didn’t ask. I felt more like the mother than the daughter.”

  “Why?”

  Shrink. Yes, that was the perfect career for him. “She wasn’t the most emotionally stable woman. If I’d been older, maybe I would have been better at dealing with it, but all I wanted was distance between us. Some of that changed when she got sick, and I started taking care of her.”

  “About her instability. Was she always like that?”

  “She was my mom. I didn’t compare her to other women. Looking back, I think seeing her husband murdered ripped her apart in some way, although I suspect her underpinnings were never strong.”

  “What about her parents?”

  “There’s a question without an answer.” She pulled back only to let Maco support her again. “She’d grown up in foster homes and never said anything about parents. Maybe she didn’t know.”

  Maco began lightly rubbing her arm. If her still being post-sex sweaty bothered him, he gave no indication. “I feel sorry for her,” he said.

  “So did I. Young and confused as I was, I want
ed things to be better for her. There wasn’t any insurance when she got sick. Because it overwhelmed her, I spent countless hours trying to get her the care she needed. If you want a child to grow up fast, give them that task.”

  “I imagine.”

  “By the end, the bills were in the tens of thousands of dollars, but at least she wasn’t in pain.”

  “And because you were a minor, the hospital and doctors couldn’t come after you.”

  “No, but it bothers me that they were left footing the bill.”

  “It can’t be helped. Were you living here when your mom died?”

  “No.” The single word said nothing about why her mother and she had fled the area following her father’s murder. “We were in Texas.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “Bouncing around.” Running away.

  “Hmm.” He stared at her until she had no choice but to meet his gaze once more. “What happened to you then? The state stepped in and placed you in a foster home?”

  “They tried, but it didn’t take. As I said, I was used to being on my own. My aunt and uncle wanted me to come live with them, but I wasn’t ready to return here. I looked at a map and picked a state at random.”

  In response to his questioning look she explained that she’d driven her mother’s car to Georgia where she’d lied about her age and gotten a job at a dog-boarding kennel. She’d forged her mother’s signature so she could attend the high school there and worked hard to stay under the radar. Despite sometimes living in her car, she’d managed to graduate from high school.

  “Your taking off must have driven your aunt and uncle crazy.”

  “They didn’t like it, but we were living too far apart for them to do anything about it.”

  “Talk about stubborn. You liked living on the edge?”

  She sighed. “After watching Mom die, I needed to simply be responsible for me. Besides, it wasn’t as chaotic as it sounds. I saw being a self-emancipated minor as an adventure, a way to get away from the memories.”

  “Were you able to?”

  She waited for anger to strike, but his compassion—to say nothing of his sexy naked body—wouldn’t allow it through. “Eventually. I was able to keep the same job the whole time. The owners were pleased with my work, and I loved working with dogs.”

  “So that’s why you wound up doing what you are now.”

  “Not completely.” How quickly things had looped back to her dad’s murder. “Black Jack had this big mutt he called Blackie. I’d been afraid of her because of her size and teeth.”

  “Your dad allowed a dangerous dog around his daughter?”

  “Blackie wasn’t dangerous. It just took me a while to get used to her size. She was my dad’s dog and barely gave Mom and me the time of the day. Until that night.”

  “Tell me.”

  For maybe five seconds she felt as if she’d been backed into a corner. Then, jump-started by his body and probing gaze, she took both of them into the past. She’d been sleeping on a mattress on the floor in the back porch that served as her bedroom when angry voices woke her. Afraid to open the door, she’d pressed her ear to it.

  “I could hear two men yelling at my dad. He didn’t say much, either that or he was whispering.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “I’ve thought about that, wouldn’t be surprised. The little I did hear, he sounded different from anything I’ve ever heard, as if he was afraid.”

  “What about your mother?” Maco asked.

  “Several times she begged the men to leave, but mostly she cried. I was used to her crying so that didn’t upset me as much as my dad’s fear.”

  “Do you know what the men were doing there?”

  Maco’s unemotional question allowed her to proceed in a normal tone. “I didn’t for a long time. In my mind they were bogeymen. The way my mother acted only reinforced my impression.” Unwilling to talk about her mother’s reaction, she changed the subject a little. “What came out at the trial was that the men were after money they insisted my dad owed them. The only time I was in the courtroom was when I testified.”

  “Good. What was the business with the money about? Did you ever figure that out?”

  She had because her aunt and uncle had kept the newspaper accounts, rightly figuring that the time would come when she’d need to fill in the blanks. According to the police, Black Jack and the two men had stolen thousands of dollars’ worth of valuables from an exclusive home while the owners were on vacation. According to the accused, Black Jack had found buyers for the property but had kept the money for himself.

  “So they were there for their share?” Maco asked. He’d turned toward her while she was talking and somehow it had made sense for her to do the same. Now their knees pressed against each other while their intertwined hands rested on his thigh.

  “Apparently. Blackie must have picked up on the tension because she started growling. After that, I heard even less. One man said he was going to shoot her. I started praying for God to save Blackie. I was still praying when I heard a shot.”

  What she needed to say next should no longer have the power to knot her in turmoil, but knowing Maco would hear stirred unexpected emotions.

  “Mom really started screaming then. Dad kept saying, ‘No, Buzz, no!’ There was another shot, and Dad made this horrible sound.”

  Maco slipped off the bed but returned in seconds with one of his shirts, which he draped over her shoulders. That done, he sat beside her again. “Go on.”

  “I screamed. I knew I should stay quiet, but I couldn’t help myself. They heard. The door to my room flew open and knocked me back toward the mattress. The man who came in grabbed my ankle and dragged me into the living room. He let me go, but I didn’t try to get up.”

  Taking her hand, he lifted it to his face and exhaled a warm, moist breath over it. “What did you see?”

  Belatedly realizing she’d again fallen silent, she went back into the past. “Dad was sitting in a chair slumped over with blood pouring out of his stomach and on to his thighs. He looked as if he’d fallen asleep. Mom was crouched in a corner. Her fist was in her mouth. She’d wet herself.”

  Maco clamped his hands over her shoulders. “Damn. Damn them for making you part of that.”

  His hold was cutting off her circulation, but she was grateful because otherwise she might slump over.

  “The two men were arguing. The one who’d grabbed me was furious at Buzz—that’s what he called him—for shooting my dad. He kept saying my dad couldn’t tell them anything if he was dead. Buzz—he was still holding the pistol—cursed a lot and slapped my mom trying to make her be quiet.” She closed her eyes, then opened them to keep the images at bay.

  “Buzz pulled me in front of Dad. He said he’d put a bullet in my head if Dad didn’t tell him where the money was. Dad couldn’t talk.”

  “What a monster!”

  “He smelled awful. I’ll never forget that smell. He had long, dirty blond hair that hung into his eyes. He was young. Later I learned he’d just turned nineteen.”

  “Did he go to prison?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank God for that. Shari, did they hurt you?”

  Even with her attention back on the carpet, the images swept over her. “When Dad didn’t say anything, Buzz put the gun barrel against my throat so I couldn’t swallow. I tried to kick him, but ...”

  “You were a little girl.”

  “Yes. Buzz was counting down. He’d gotten to two when Blackie charged.”

  “God!”

  “She bit Buzz’s arm, the one with the gun. Buzz tried to shoot her but he couldn’t get it aimed. Blackie kept shaking his arm. I remember blood pooling up around where her teeth had broken the skin. Buzz let go of me, maybe he thought that was what Blackie wanted, but that didn’t make any difference to her. She kept snarling and holding on. Then the other man ran out the door and Blackie took off after him. Buzz grabbed me again.”<
br />
  “What about your neighbors?”

  “They called nine one one, but of course I didn’t know that. As soon as Blackie went out the door, Buzz forced me outside with him. His car was on the street with the door open. I knew Buzz was going to put me in it so I kicked and bit his arm near where Blackie had. Some of his blood got on me.”

  “Shit. Where was the weapon?”

  Answer questions. Think later. “Buzz had dropped it. He nearly had me in the car when I spotted Blackie and screamed for her. Buzz let me go, but she charged anyway. Buzz jumped into the car and sped away while Blackie stood over me growling and barking.”

  “What about the other man?”

  Reliving the scene had increased her heart rate, but the worst was over. Nearly the worst. “The police didn’t have a good description of him. He was never arrested.”

  “What? I understand you not being able to help them, but I’d think your mother would have—”

  “She was no help.”

  Confusion and perhaps a bit of suspicion settled on Maco’s features. “Did your father die that night?”

  “Either that or the next morning. I’m not sure.” She explained that an ambulance had taken him to the hospital while she and Blackie, who she’d refused to be separated from, had been driven to an emergency foster home because her mother was too hysterical to care for her. When the police came to interview her the next morning, they’d made sure Blackie was with her when they told her that her father hadn’t survived.

  “I don’t remember crying. I squeezed Blackie so hard she whimpered, but she didn’t try to get away. She became my security blanket. The policemen said I did a great job helping them arrest Buzz because of my description of him, his wound, and his car. Also I remembered what he was called.”

  “I’m proud of you. What about your mother? She’d seen the whole thing.”

  Her legs and feet were getting cold, but when she tried to rub them, Maco’s shirt started to slip off so she stopped. “Mom wound up in a psychiatric ward for more than a week. She eventually testified, but years later when I read the newspaper reports, I learned she’d barely been able to talk. My testimony had more of an impact.”