Hidden: Part 1

by Linda Berry

  Hank’s expression relaxed. “Good. Sensible kid. You have fear. You can’t perform well without it.”

  “Is that what was missing from my attitude?”

  “Bingo. I’ve seen your dedication Justin, and your willingness to work at peak capacity, but I’ve also seen cockiness. No trace of fear.”

  All of which seemed ironic to Justin. He was no stranger to fear but he’d become an ace at hiding it. He looked at Hank. “That cockiness is a cover, Hank. It helped me survive abusive situations. I get cocky when I’m getting close to shitting my pants.”

  Hank’s gray eyes softened. “I’ve been there myself, son, many times. Who hasn’t in this business?” He swallowed. “I know all about rough treatment in foster homes. Trust me on that.”

  They shared a look that said each fully understood the other.

  Hank pressed the remote and the screen went black. “Enough for today. Time for dinner.”

  “So, tomorrow in the arena? What time?”

  “After breakfast. Keep your impatience in check. To start with, it’s gonna be all about technique. You seen Daisy, my milk cow? Tomorrow it’s just you and her, up close and personal.”

  They both shared a laugh.

  “You’ll be riding rank bulls before you know it, Justin. At which point you won’t have time to think about technique. It’ll be ingrained.” Hank casually placed an arm around Justin’s shoulder as they walked out of the room. A lump formed in Justin’s throat and he fought back the sudden pressure of tears. This is what it feels like to have a father. A man willing to devote his attention to my needs, not just his own. A man who wouldn’t hurt me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Exhausted after putting in a hard day’s work, Sully pulled off his boots on the porch, went into the bathroom and showered, then lay down on his bed waiting for Travis and Joe to finish dinner in the kitchen. He passed out almost immediately. When he woke, the house was quiet. Joe’s TV was turned off. The house was dark except for the dim light above the stove in the kitchen. He wolfed down two ham and cheese sandwiches, a large piece of peach pie, and half a quart of milk and then padded softly down the hall to his bedroom. Butch started barking.

  “Sully?” Joe called out, sounding half asleep. The light came on in his bedroom.

  Damn. He had managed to avoid Joe the last few days except at breakfast, which Sully ate quickly, his eyes glued to the paper. He walked to Joe’s door and pushed it open. His father was pulling himself into a sitting position on the bed, his pajamas twisted around his torso, hair sticking out like a thatch of hay. Butch took one look at Sully and burrowed under the covers, a moving lump until he reached the middle of the bed.

  “Need a bathroom break?”

  “I get myself to the bathroom just fine. Don’t need your help.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I wanna talk.”

  “I’m tired, Dad.”

  “You been ignoring me. That don’t make a problem go away.”

  “It’s two in the morning.”

  “I brung you up right, to respect your father,” Joe said sharply, eyes flashing. “Sit down.”

  Sully considered walking out on him but instead he sank wearily into the wheelchair. He studied the handful of medications on the nightstand, the walls, anything but Joe. After the room was painted, Sully had carefully replaced the pictures that had hung on the walls for decades—photos of his parents as young sweethearts and rodeo posters featuring Joe in his prime as a bare back rider. In Sully’s favorite picture, his father stood lean and handsome in his rodeo gear. At age five, Sully sat on Whistler’s back dressed just like Joe; white hat, leather chaps, tiny boots and spurs. He remembered the exact moment a newspaper photographer shot that picture. It appeared on the front page the next morning. Brimming with pride, Sully had taken the paper to school for show and tell. He finally met his father’s gaze and noticed his haggard expression, the blue shadows beneath his eyes. “Did you take your pills?”

  “Yeah, ’cept my sleeping pill.”

  “Here, take it now.” Sully opened the container, shook out a blue pill, handed it to him with his glass of water.

  Joe obediently swallowed. “I got something else to tell you. You ain’t gonna like it. But it needs to be said. I can’t live with these secrets no more.”

  Sully sighed. Joe wanted to confess more sins. What was it going to be now? Sully fixed his gaze back on the photo. Back then, Joe was a big star, especially popular with female fans. Was that how he met the other woman? Did she fall for him while watching him perform his slick moves on his golden palomino? Did she wait in line to get his autograph, then bat her lashes and flirt up a storm? Sully knew a lot about that. He could have slept with dozens of women but he remained loyal to Lilah.

  Joe cleared his throat, shifted his position against the pillows. “There’s no easy way to tell you … so I’m just gonna say it. The woman I was with … her name was Hannah …” Joe started coughing. He reached for his water, took a sip.

  Sully felt the muscles tighten in his face. “Just tell me, Dad.”

  “Hannah got pregnant … she had a son … I’m the father.”

  Sully responded with a cold, steady stare.

  “You have a brother. He was three years old when Hannah died.”

  “You had a son with her?”

  Joe nodded. “He was a beautiful boy. Looked just like you when you was a baby.” His voice choked, and tears welled in his eyes.

  “Did you live with Hannah?”

  “Yeah. An apartment in Beaverhead. I paid for it.”

  “How often were you there?”

  Joe squinted, thinking back. “Guess ’bout a week every month.”

  “Did she know about us?”

  “Yeah, she knew everything. She even seen you once. Came to the kiddie rodeo when you was riding. She wanted to get your autograph, just so she could meet you. I wouldn’t let her.” Joe looked at Sully with a desperate urgency, as though waiting for some kind of understanding, or forgiveness.

  He wasn’t getting it tonight. Sully sat glaring, said nothing.

  “Go ahead,” Joe said. “Be hard on me. I got it coming.”

  “What kind of woman sets up house with a married man? Has his child?” Sully said ruthlessly. The anger rose like a launched missile, uncontrollable. “Hannah was a liar and a cheat, just like you. She betrayed Mom and me, too.”

  Joe flinched, mouth slack.

  “Mom and I weren’t enough for you, were we Dad? You had to have another goddamned family on the side. I don’t even know who you are. Who Mom and I lived with all those years. Maybe everything you ever told us was a lie.” Unable to sit still any longer, Sully got up and stormed out of the room.

  “Sully!”

  Feeling disconnected from his life, Sully paced the dark hallway, listening to the rustling of Joe getting out of bed and into his wheelchair. Sully circled the island in the kitchen twice, then left the house in his pickup, peeling out of the driveway. Where the hell was he going? Anywhere. Just away from Joe. He needed time to think, to cool the white-hot anger consuming him. He drove randomly down narrow country roads, some unpaved and mined with potholes, his headlights bouncing. His thoughts were sprinting back and forth through time, trapped in an endless maze of memories. What kept resurfacing was the keen sense of loneliness he felt in his childhood during his father’s absences. When Joe returned home, Sully eagerly raced to the door to meet him, clinging to his leg, ecstatic, but his father typically brushed him off after a mandatory hug. Joe, he remembered, seemed always to be in a hurry. He had hayfields to plant, fences to mend, horses to train, a rodeo to get to. Or Hannah.

  It riled Sully to no end to think that Joe bestowed affection on some other woman, some other son, while leaving him and Ronnie behind. His stomach churned with the acid of resentment. He drove aimlessly until the pink colors of dawn filtered into the sky and his gas tank was nearing empty. He realized he had driven to his mother’s neighborh
ood. He pulled into her driveway, got out, and strode to her door.

  Looking dazed from sleep, Ronnie opened the door in her bathrobe, a crease from her pillow scarring one cheek. She took one look at his face and said simply, “He told you.”

  “Yeah, he told me.” Seeing sadness darken her eyes, he pulled her into his arms, now understanding fully how lonely she must have been these last six months, harboring Joe’s secrets alone. She pulled away, eyes moist. “Let me make you breakfast.”

  “Sounds good, Mom.”

  They both got busy in the kitchen. He made coffee, she cooked French toast and apple sausage. They sat at the table eating and making small talk. After two mugs of coffee, he felt renewed energy. Morning sun slanted through the blinds, striping his mother’s face in golden light and shadow. “Good coffee, Mom.”

  “French roast.”

  They’d avoided the topic of Joe. He wanted to soften her hurt, console her, but he didn’t know how. “I’m sorry about Dad.”

  “Me too.”

  “You should’ve told me. I never would’ve pushed him on you.”

  She sipped her coffee and looked at him over the brim of her cup. “Seeing him was good for me. It snapped me out of my coma. Made me realize I’ve been hibernating, thinking only of myself. I saw that he was going to be okay. He didn’t need me to take care of him. I could let him go. He needs to be home now. That’s his best medicine.”

  There was no bitterness in her words and he sensed her quiet courage. Sully placed his hand over hers. His mother was recovering from the shock of leaving Joe, and her reasonable nature seemed to be returning. He’d always loved her deliberation and decisiveness, her kindness and gentleness with animals. He sorely missed her presence at home; the fresh cut flowers spilling over mason jars, homemade pies cooling on the windowsill, the faint scent of lavender lingering in a room after she’d passed through. Ronnie had always been his ally, a refined counter balance to the sharp, ragged edges of his father.

  “We both need to forgive him, Michael.” Her gentle, steady gaze met his.

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “You will in time.” Smiling faintly, she carried their dirty dishes to the sink, brought back the coffee pot, refilled their cups. Both stirred in cream and sugar. “He told you about Hannah? The boy?”

  “Yeah,” he said bitterly. “The tramp and her bastard son.”

  Ronnie’s face blanched and her freckles stood out like dark splashes. “Michael, don’t. That isn’t fair. He’s your half-brother. None of this was his fault. If I had known about this poor, motherless boy, I would have insisted Joe bring him home. I would have raised him as my own.” She pushed shaggy bangs from her eyes. “Your father told me all about Hannah when he was here. They met in a bar where she worked as a waitress. I found pictures with the letters. She was beautiful. I think she was the true love of his life. Not me.”

  He felt for her as he watched the grief wash back into her face. Sully remembered when he discovered Lilah’s unfaithfulness, how the hurt gushed up like a geyser, washed over him and through him, never completely seeping away. “You were Dad’s true love, Mom. That was obvious when I picked him up from the nursing home. He couldn’t wait to see you.”

  She seemed not to hear. “Hannah was so beautiful. She was going to college, studying to be a nurse. Your dad paid for her education.”

  “While we were struggling.”

  Her face shadowed. “We did okay, Michael. We didn’t have a lot of luxuries but we had a good life.”

  “That’s what Dad said. Like that makes it okay.”

  “Would you have traded anything? Living on the land, our animals?”

  “No. The only thing I would have exchanged was Dad.” He stopped, hearing anger leech into his words.

  “I knew he was pushing you too hard to be a rodeo star. That was so important to him.” She looked at him with a sad expression. “I should have left him years ago. Taken you with me.”

  “Mom, none of this was your fault.”

  She squared her shoulders and gave him an adoring look. He never had to be exceptional to win her favor. Being himself had been enough.

  “You’re every bit as tough as your father. But you also have heart, and a gentle spirit.”

  He saw the strong line of her jaw, the pride in her green eyes. “I got that from you,” he said.

  “I often wondered why you went off to join the Marines.” She raised a brow, a question in her words. “Just when your career was taking off. I blamed your father.”

  Sully sat quietly for a moment. They’d never talked about this. He remembered the stress he’d been under trying to realize his father’s dream. He’d felt like a pressure cooker ready to explode. “I needed to be my own man. I couldn’t do that under Dad’s thumb. When 9/11 happened, I wanted to do my part. It gave me a greater sense of purpose than being a rodeo champion.”

  “I’m proud you went, son. You came back different. Stronger.” The lines around her mouth softened. “The ranch is your heritage. We always meant for it to be passed on to you. I thought when you and Lilah married, we’d build another house on the property so you could have your privacy.”

  Sully looked out the window, then back at Ronnie. “Mom, Lilah and I aren’t getting back together. I’ve moved on.”

  She looked surprised for a moment, but she gave him a tender smile and didn’t question him. He was thankful for that. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs under the table. “Where’s my half-brother now? What’s his name?”

  “Joe wouldn’t tell me,” she sighed. “It’s a painful subject. He put him in some kind of boy’s home after Hannah died. He sent a monthly check for his care for several years, until he got adopted.”

  “He gave away his own son?” Sully’s face flushed hot with renewed anger. “Heartless son of a bitch.”

  Ronnie didn’t defend Joe’s actions. They sat in silence. Sully tried to imagine what life would have been like if Joe had been honest and they had taken in his half-brother. He’d always yearned for a sibling. Ronnie got up and started cleaning the kitchen. He looked at his watch. “I’ve gotta run, Mom. Chores.” He stood and pecked the top of her head.

  She leaned into him for a moment. “I love you, son.”

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  “Wait, I have something for you.” She pulled a white envelope out of a kitchen drawer, handed it to him as though it were fragile. “Take this.”

  “Okay.” He left the house, got into his truck and opened the envelope. He pulled out a colored photo of a small boy wearing a white cowboy hat, boots, and spurs. It looked like a twin to the picture of Sully sitting on Whistler in his father’s bedroom. Blue eyes staring at the camera, little smile lighting up his face, almost the spitting image of Sully. Sully turned it over. No name. Just a date scrawled in the upper right corner. June 1990.

  “I hope you got a good home.” Tears welled in his eyes, hot and swift. Ashamed to cry, he covered his face with one hand, felt his shoulders shudder as he tried to suppress a sob. He felt deeply the loss of the brother he never got to know, a little boy who had been given away like a piece of garbage, never knowing he had family just forty miles away. Sully wiped his tears with the back of his sleeve, put the truck into gear, and pulled away from the curb.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Settling into a comfortable routine at Sterling O, Justin kept to himself, didn’t say much, worked hard, and retired to his room immediately following dinner. He spent his evenings reading Ranch Management magazine, writing letters to Avery, and finger-picking his guitar. Each night before dinner, he took twenty minutes to groom Porter in the barn. After shedding his winter hair, muscles rippled beneath the mustang’s shimmering coat, his mane and tail shone like silk, and his polished hooves gleamed like tap shoes. Sarah and the hands teased Justin relentlessly at the dinner table.

  “What’d you do with Porter, and who’s that Dapper Dan in his pasture?” Roth asked.

&nbs
p; “He’s ready for his GQ close up,” Nelson said.

  “We’re gonna have to lay down red carpet to get him out of the barn,” Sarah said.

  “You ever gonna ride him?” Billy asked, “or just dress him up for the prom?”

  Cody said nothing, just looked at him with her unreadable expression.

  The sun was low in the sky. Late afternoon shadows stretched lazily across the ranch. Justin had worked an hour of free time into his schedule before dinner so he could at last ride Porter. He saddled the mustang and led him into the arena. Before he got his boot planted firmly in the stirrup, Porter jerked away and bucked vigorously. Justin figured the ill-mannered mustang had been out to pasture too long, and could benefit from some ground exercise. He put the horse on a lunge rope, stood in the center of the arena, and directed the animal with a crop, trotting him in circles, then reverse circles. He saw that Porter was steady, had impulsion, and stayed in his gait. After siphoning off some restless energy, the mustang revealed a calm willingness to please, and he plodded over to Justin when instructed, affectionately blowing into his hand. Feeling a presence behind him, Justin turned to find Cody at the gate, hands on her hips, squinting, evening sun on her face. She was dressed in men’s Wranglers and a work shirt buttoned up to her neck, both a couple sizes too big. He tipped his hat, wondering what critical comment she was preparing to make.

  She posted herself on the top railing, blocking the sun with her hand. “It’s about time you took that mustang for a ride. I was wondering if you had it in you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Dad said you’ve never owned a horse. Maybe this one’s too much for you.”

  “You have to be patient with a horse. The payoff is, it’ll be patient with you.”

  “How do you know when it’s ready?”