Jackie Merritt - The Coyote s Cry p.03

Officially established as worthless as far as evidence went, Bram had cleaned off the dirt and closely studied the medallion with its raised configuration of the head of a coyote. It wasn’t thin and weightless, rather it felt substantial in his hand, and without its former layer of grime, it gleamed bright as polished pewter. For some deeply rooted reason Bram didn’t quite comprehend, he had put it in his pocket instead of the trash.

Now, turning it over and over in his fingers, vaguely aware of its smooth surface and weight, he questioned his ability to do anything right anymore. In retrospect, life had been pretty darn sweet not too long ago. He’d had this ranch, which couldn’t be a finer home, in his estimation. He’d had a job that he was good at, and a clear conscience. Now he had criminals running all over town, a sick grandmother, no time to give to the ranch or his livestock. And the only woman who had ever gotten under his skin was actually living in his house.

Not that he blamed Gran for anything; people didn’t become ill because they wanted to. But the hospital was full of nurses. How come Jenna had been the one chosen to take care of his grandmother?

“Aw, hell,” Bram muttered, and dropped the medallion in his front shirt pocket. He felt tired and stretched too thin. If things were normal, he would hang around the ranch for a few hours and work with the horses, which had always perked him up. But that was before Jenna, and hanging around now would just dig him into an even deeper pit.

Bram finally got in his rig and drove from his ranch to town. His jaw was granite hard and determined. He might not be able to do much of anything about Jenna right now, but he could work like crazy and clean up Black Arrow.

Seated at his desk an hour later, Bram began going through the papers and reports filling his “in” basket. He made quick work of everything until he came to a handwritten memo from one of his older deputies. It read: “Bram. Sheila at the Crossroads Café told me about a guy asking questions about the Colton family. Thought you should know. She described him as tall and well dressed, with dark hair and blue eyes. Around thirty years old. She added that he was a ‘classy guy’—her exact terminology, if that means anything. Maybe you should talk to her yourself. Fred.”

Since Bram hadn’t yet had breakfast, he decided to eat it at the Crossroads Café and told the duty officer where he would be for the next hour or so. Then he drove to the café and went inside. He waited a moment before choosing a booth to make sure he sat in Sheila’s station.

She walked up with a big smile. “Morning, Sheriff. What can I get you?”

“Coffee, scrambled eggs well done and whole-wheat toast.” Bram looked up at Sheila. “And when you have a minute, I’d like to talk to you about the ‘classy guy’ asking questions about the Coltons.”

“Sure thing. I’ll get your coffee.” Sheila whisked away and was back with a large mug of coffee in seconds. “Your breakfast will be ready in about five minutes.”

“Thanks, Sheila.” Bram sipped coffee and stared out the window on his right. The café was busy and numerous cars were parked outside. He thought of staking out the place, putting a deputy in regular clothes and having him watch for that “classy” guy. With so much traffic in and out of the café, a stakeout was feasible.

Sheila delivered his breakfast, refilled his coffee mug, then sat across from Bram in the booth, with a mug of coffee for herself. “I have a ten-minute break. This place has been crazy all morning.” She took a sip of coffee. “I told Fred all about the guy, Bram, but I don’t mind repeating the story to you. Anything in particular you’d like to ask?”

Bram had started eating and he lowered his fork. “Does he come here regularly?”

“You mean like some of these guys who are in and out of here almost every day? No, I only saw him that one time. I just thought his questions were odd, which was the reason I told Fred about him.”

“Well, I appreciate your concern. Sheila, do you remember the gist of his questions, what exactly he was trying to find out?”

“Well, let me see. He sat at the counter, which I was working that day, and only ordered coffee. He was real friendly and made a remark every time I walked past him. Finally I had a slow minute and so I talked to him. I said something about his being a stranger to Black Arrow, or at least I hadn’t seen him before, and he said yes, he was a stranger to the area, but it sure was a nice little town. We chatted about that for a bit, then he asked if I knew any of the Coltons. I said, ‘Heavens, yes, the county’s full of Coltons,’ or something like that. Just a wisecrack, you know. He’s a good-looking guy and, well, I’m not exactly tied down, if you know what I mean.”

Bram smiled. “Go on. What else did he say?”

“He asked for some names. No, wait, first he asked if I knew Gloria Jones. I said, ‘Who in the heck is Gloria Jones?’ and he said, ‘Apparently you don’t know her by that name. How about Gloria WhiteBear, or Gloria Colton?’ Well, of course I said yes, and I was about to tell him she wasn’t well and was staying at your ranch, when he asked if I knew Thomas. I couldn’t say yes. Although I certainly know who Thomas Colton is, I’ve never met him.”

“Did he say why he was grilling you?”

Sheila looked surprised. “Was that what he was doing?”

“What would you call it?”

“I…don’t know. Should I be worried? I mean, he seemed really nice, but so do some serial killers, I’ve heard.”

Bram rushed to reassure her. “I don’t think the guy was asking about Coltons just to put you off guard, Sheila. And you’re not the only person he’s talked to about my family.”

“I’m not? Well, that might not be good news for you, but I’m relieved. Gosh, you just never know who might come walking in when you’re working in a public place. Guess I shouldn’t be quite so friendly to people I don’t know.”

“Don’t be unfriendly, Sheila. Your personality is what earns you the good tips.”

“Yeah, right, like I’m rolling in big tips.” Sheila got up. “If I think of anything else he said, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Sheila. Oh, one other thing. Did you happen to see what he was driving?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes! Bram, he got into a gorgeous pale gray Lincoln. I remember thinking that not only was he good-looking and charming, he must have money.” She grinned rather feebly. “A girl alone thinks that way a lot of the time.”

“Don’t apologize for being yourself, Sheila, and thanks for the information.”

Sheila went back to work, and Bram finished his breakfast. He had a solid lead on one of the strangers nosing around town about the Colton family, and he felt considerably better when he left the café than when he’d gone into it.

Before returning to the sheriff’s station, he drove past several of the motels. The driver of that Lincoln had to be staying somewhere, and his car would be easy to spot in any parking lot in Black Arrow.

But Bram had other things to do, and after an hour or so he put his search on hold for the time being and went back to his desk and the much more serious crime of homicide awaiting his attention.



Jenna smiled a lot that morning while caring for her patient, even though she wasn’t altogether floating on air from overwhelming happiness. But even with a noticeable helping of fear tainting the joy that seemed to have taken up residence in the vicinity of her heart, Jenna couldn’t help smiling. Yes, she was torn. One second she was positive Bram loved her, and the next she was wracked with confusion and indecisiveness. But weren’t actions stronger than words? And hadn’t he proved his feelings for her with his passion last night?

Right after lunch, Willow arrived. As always, she brought something good to eat with her, and today it was a homemade chocolate cake with fudge frosting for Jenna and Bram, and tapioca pudding for Gran.

“She always loved tapioca pudding, Jenna. Do you think she can eat it without too much trouble?”

“I’m sure she can…if she wants it,” Jenna replied quietly.

“She—she’s still not showing signs of improvement then?” Willow looked downcast.

“I’m so sorry, Willow.” Jenna wondered if Jared or Bram or someone else in the family had told Willow about her great-grandfather’s prediction, but decided not to mention it unless she did. Jenna’s heart went out to her childhood friend, and she said in as cheerful a voice as she could manage, “I’d love to try that cake. How about some tea? I’ll make it while you see your grandma.”

“Yes, thanks.”

“But don’t hurry, Willow. We can drink tea together anytime. Spend as much time with Gloria as you’d like.”

“I will.”

In the kitchen Jenna wiped away a tear and put the teakettle on the stove. She had always liked Willow so much, and she knew how her friend had to be suffering over this terrible blow to the Colton family. It was much too reminiscent of those awful months prior to Jenna’s mother’s death, unquestionably the worst period of Jenna’s life.

And yet something good had come from that heartbreaking tragedy—her decision to become a nurse. She loved her profession and was extremely relieved that she hadn’t pursued the art history career that had once seemed perfect for her. Jenna sighed. If only her dad would realize how much caring for people who so desperately needed professional nursing meant to her.

But he never would, she thought sadly. Nor would he ever give an inch on his biased attitude toward Native Americans. Why he believed he was so much better than people who weren’t a hundred percent white truly eluded Jenna. It was so unreasonable, especially when she thought of the fortune he had made—and was still making—from the very people to whom he felt so superior.

The teakettle whistled and Jenna prepared a pot of tea. She wouldn’t cut the cake now, but a cup of tea wouldn’t hurt. She sat at the table and sipped hot tea, and immediately became dreamily immersed in memories of last night with Bram. Gazing into space, she wondered exactly when she had fallen in love with him. She had been profoundly attracted to him since her teen years—she knew that—but physical attraction wasn’t necessarily love.

“Oh, well,” she said under her breath.

Willow walked in and Jenna jumped to her feet. “I’ll get you a cup of tea,” she said. “Go ahead and sit down.”

“Thanks,” Willow said wearily, and gladly took a chair at the table. “She doesn’t even seem to care anymore that I come to see her. Why has she given up? And what’s maybe more frightening, why did she give up so quickly? Jenna, Gran was always a fighter, stronger than all the rest of us put together.”

“It’s possible that’s the very reason she can’t accept being an invalid,” Jenna said gently. “I’ve explained to her at least a dozen times that she could regain strength and mobility and even her ability to speak legibly if she would just cooperate and try. She doesn’t want to hear it.” Jenna set a cup of tea on the table in front of Willow. “Be careful. It’s very hot.”

“Thank you.” Listlessly, Willow picked up the cup and took a sip.

Jenna resumed her chair and picked up her own cup. “You’re looking a little peaked yourself, Willow. Haven’t you been feeling well?”

Willow heaved a sigh. “I…I’m not sure how to answer that. I’m not physically ill, but I’ve really been down in the dumps, Jenna. Gran’s part of it, of course, but I…” She hesitated, then blurted, “I’m tired of my brothers watching every move I make! They’re not my keepers and I’m hardly a kid. Why can’t they live their own lives and leave mine to me?”

Jenna was stunned. “I had no idea you felt that way. Actually, I had no idea your brothers made such demands on you. Bram does it, too?”

“Lately he’s been too busy to harangue me, but he used to all the time.”

“What does he expect from you?” Jenna hated hearing anything negative about Bram, even something as normal as big-brother overprotectiveness for his baby sister, and she felt a strong urge to tell Willow just how wonderful Bram really was. In fact, she would like nothing better than to tell Willow everything going on between her and Bram. She took a big swallow of tea instead.

“That’s a darned good question,” Willow said. “What do any of them expect from me?”

So filled with her own wild and wonderful emotions for a man, Jenna couldn’t help thinking that Willow needed the same thing—a man that gave her goose bumps and more physical pleasure than she’d even known existed.

“I think you should get out of town for a few days and let your hair down,” Jenna said.

Willow’s cheeks got pink. “I…I already did that, Jenna. Now I’m worried about…”

“About what?”

“Oh, forget it. It’s probably nothing. Let’s have some of that cake now.”

It was after Willow had gone that Jenna realized no one had told her about George WhiteBear’s dire prediction of an impending death in the Colton family. Then something occurred to Jenna that gave her a chill. Why was everyone so positive the prediction was about Gloria? There were a lot of other Coltons, and accidents happened all the time.

However, worse than everyday accidents was what Bram did for a living. “My God,” Jenna whispered, shaken to her soul. Law enforcement officers worked every day in the line of fire. What if Gloria wasn’t the endangered Colton, and Bram was?



It was almost four that afternoon when the medical examiner, John Burnam, surprised everyone working in the sheriff’s station by delivering his autopsy report in person.

John laid the report on Bram’s desk, then sat down. “That’s a surprise package,” John said. “I’ll wait while you read it.”

Bram read quickly, then sat back, stunned. “Powder burns on his right hand?”

“Bram, all things considered, it looks like that man shot himself.”

Bram got up for a cup of stale coffee. “Want some?” he asked Burnam.

“No, thanks. I’ve got some battery acid in the car.”

John’s droll sense of humor usually brightened Bram’s day, but at the moment he was in a state of shock over the autopsy results and barely heard the man.

Resuming his chair, coffee cup in hand, Bram went over the report again. Then he sat back and regarded John somberly. “Your conclusion isn’t the only possibility, John. He could have had a gun of his own and shot at the person who killed him.”

“That would make a fine plot for a movie, but it’s a bit far out for Black Arrow. Suicide makes the most sense.”

“Since when has a homicide made sense?”

John shrugged. “I’ve given you my opinion—based on scientific fact, of course, and my many years of experience with violent death. But you interpret that report any way you wish.”

“You know damned well I respect your opinions.”

John grinned. “Of course you do. We all do.”

Bram shook his head. “Burnam, you’re a case all by yourself.” Then his face took on a faraway, thoughtful expression and he murmured, “Suicide. If that’s what happened, then the gun and his valuables were stolen after his death. And I’ve run the department ragged looking for an unclaimed car parked anywhere near the old depot. How in heck did he get down there?”

“You have nothing conclusive on his identity?”

“Not yet. His fingerprint data—hopefully there is some—should be coming in at any time. I’ve been waiting for it most of the day.”

“You need direct access to that kind of information.”

“Tell that to the county bigwigs at their next meeting,” Bram said dryly. “More powerful computers just don’t hit that group’s hot button. They immediately start talking about raising property taxes or something else that the voters would nix.”

“And yet everyone expects fast action from county and city employees.” Burnam got to his feet. “Oh, well, such is life in the trenches.”

Bram rose. “Thanks for the personal delivery of your report.”

“Kind of you to say that, but I’m afraid it was strictly for my own benefit. I wanted to witness your reaction to it with my own eyes.” John grinned. “But I did make your life much easier, didn’t I? Instead of a homicide to solve, you now only have to ferret out and arrest a morbid thief. Good luck.”

“Thanks a lot,” Bram drawled as John walked away. The medical examiner waved his hand in farewell without turning around, and Bram slowly sank back into his chair.

He sat there thinking for a long time. What in the devil was happening to Black Arrow and Comanche County? Until a few months ago there’d been few crimes to solve, very few thieves to ferret out and arrest, few mysteries to puzzle over. Now they seemed to be popping up everywhere he looked.

After muttering a curse under his breath, Bram shouted, “Lester, check on those fingerprint requests again! And don’t be nice about it!”



Jenna dealt with one Colton after another all day. The family was in chaos, each member seeking confirmation that their beloved Gran was still alive. Obviously George WhiteBear’s prediction had been making the rounds.

Jenna felt for each one of them, she truly did, but she also wanted to say, “Why are you all so certain the prediction is about Gloria? Haven’t you considered that it could be about one of you…or about Bram? My Lord, think of what he does day after day, night after night.”

In truth she was worried sick, and though she did everything for her patient that she did each day, same as always, and spoke nicely to the arriving and departing Coltons, her thoughts were with Bram, wherever he was, whatever he was doing. Jenna looked out a window at every opportunity, praying to see his SUV or prowl car, whichever he was driving today.

The dinner hour arrived and she made a tempting tray for Gloria, which, as usual, was returned to the kitchen virtually untouched. Jenna warmed some soup and made a sandwich for herself, and then realized that her own appetite wasn’t much better than her patient’s.

By eight o’clock Jenna’s thoughts were almost too painful to bear. She was living and breathing for someone else, for a man who didn’t care enough about her to pick up the telephone and call her. She would have been overjoyed to receive a thirty-second phone call just to hear Bram’s voice saying, “Hi, how are you today?”

If this awful heartache was love, did she want it?



The fingerprint reports finally were faxed in late in the day, and Bram and several of the deputies read with great disappointment that the dead man’s fingerprints were not on file with any law enforcement agency.

“He wasn’t a criminal,” Bram said. “So who is he?” If they didn’t find out his identity in a reasonable length of time he would be buried as a “John Doe,” which Bram always felt bad about. A person should be buried with his or her loved ones, or at least among friends.

And there were so many other unanswered questions. Given the good quality of his clothing the man hadn’t been poverty stricken, so had he worked somewhere in the county right under Bram’s nose? Or owned a business? Inherited from his family?

But if he’d been a county resident, wouldn’t someone have filed a missing person’s report by now?

Bram sat down and placed a call to the local radio station. “This is Sheriff Colton. Would you do me a big favor and broadcast the description of an unidentified man who died in Black Arrow last night?”

The station manager said that he would be happy to cooperate in any way. After thanking the man, Bram phoned the newspaper and made a similar request. “We have a John Doe in the morgue. Would you please publish his description?”

“I’ll send a reporter by in the morning.”

Bram stayed at his desk long after the shift change. He took the medallion from his shirt pocket and absently toyed with it while he thought about the many convolutions his life had taken in recent days. Would things ever get back to normal? Was there any connection, even a tiny one, between John Doe and the other events rocking Bram’s world of late?

And then there was Jenna. Bram heaved a mighty sigh. What in God’s name was he going to do about Jenna? Fire her? Call Dr. Hall and request another nurse?

Keep your hands off her and everything will even out, you moron!

It was a simple solution to a complex problem, and maybe he could go one better by having a heart-to-heart with Jenna. “I’m sorry, but nothing is ever going to come of you and me sleeping together. It has to stop. You have to stay in your bed and I have to stay in mine. Alone. That’s it. The end. Finito, finished.”

Feeling an abnormal burning sensation on his palm, Bram dropped the medallion onto his desk and looked at his hand. “What in hell?” he muttered, and touched the medallion with one fingertip. It wasn’t at all hot. In fact it was downright cool.

So what had burned his palm? he wondered, and then realized it wasn’t burned at all. His imagination must have gone wild.

Still, he sat and looked at that medallion without touching it for a long spell, marveling again at the odd coincidence of him, George WhiteBear’s great-grandson, stumbling across a medallion with a coyote’s head embossed on it.

Bram shook his head. This sort of thing was his great-grandfather’s specialty, not his. He had no psychic powers, nor did he have a guardian spirit. Doggedly he turned his attention back to his work, only to worry about John Doe’s suicide gun. Someone had it, and did that make Black Arrow a more dangerous town in which to reside?

And dare he forget that two men had been asking questions about the Coltons? The second one had been described as a fairly forgettable character, except he seemed out of place in Oklahoma. He had medium brown hair and eyes, and seemed like a sneaky sort of fellow. It was, in Bram’s estimation, a pretty poor description, but it was all he had. At least after talking to Sheila, he knew with certainty that he was dealing with two different men.

Feeling as though he was spinning his wheels whichever way he turned, Bram checked out with the duty officer and left the station. Driving his own vehicle, he made the rounds of Black Arrow’s motels, this time missing none of them.

Completely worn out, Bram finally headed home. He tiptoed into the house and went directly to his bedroom. He moved so quietly that he was sure Jenna couldn’t possibly have heard him come in.

But he was wrong. She heard his SUV drive in, then heard Bram enter the house with barely a sound. And she knew why he was being so silent. He wanted to avoid seeing her, just as he had early that morning, when he’d gotten up and left the ranch.

Jenna stared at the shadowy ceiling for a very long time. She could hear Gloria’s labored, raspy breathing, but she was able to listen to every tiny sound her patient made and still think about Bram.

And she finally had to admit, heartbreaking though it was, that Bram Colton was carrying around too much baggage to let himself love Carl Elliot’s daughter.

Chapter Nine

Bram sat on the edge of a table to talk to his deputies, some of whom were seated at desks, while others leaned against file cabinets or walls, coffee in hand. They were a fine group of dedicated officers, and Bram was proud of his staff. He didn’t usually speak to them en masse like this, but today he felt that he had to convey the importance of their mission.

“We’re all familiar with the medical examiner’s autopsy report. John Doe wasn’t murdered, as we first thought—he committed suicide. Why he chose that particular place to end his life we might never know, but I suppose he could have chosen it because of its isolation from family and friends. If he had family and friends, that is. The man’s description is being aired and published as we speak—I’m sure you’ve heard it on the radio and read it in the Chronicle—but no one’s come forward.

“Does that mean Mr. Doe wasn’t from around here, or does it mean he lived quietly, maybe off in the country somewhere, and had no family? So we have that problem to deal with. The county will bury him, we know that, but his only crime was illness or whatever drove him to suicide, and he deserves a proper ceremony with folks who cared about him in attendance…if we can find them.

“A more serious problem is the gun he used. It’s a .22 caliber handgun, and someone took it that night. It’s debatable whether John Doe was carrying valuables, although I’ve been considering a wallet and a watch—the watch because of the slight indentation on his left wrist indicating longtime usage of one. But maybe he carried nothing, because he didn’t want his identity known, in which case the gun would be the only stolen article.

“That gun worries me. Who took it? Who has it now? I want that gun found. The people hanging out at the old depot are transients, and it’s entirely possible that whoever grabbed that weapon is long gone by now. But maybe not, and I want all of you to talk to every stranger on every street, in back alleys, in the homeless shelters and anywhere else you run across them. We’re not rousting out the homeless, not by any means, and every officer should keep that in mind. But if anyone has something to say about that night, I want to hear it.”

One of the men spoke up. “We’ve been keeping an eye on the old depot and haven’t seen anyone hanging there since the incident.”

Bram nodded grimly. “Doesn’t surprise me. Word travels like quicksilver among the homeless, and no one would want to be connected to the theft of that gun. Remember, though, that any number of people might have seen who walked away with it. There’s information out there—we just have to find it.”

The meeting broke up and Bram returned to his office. As was becoming a habit when he was thinking, he took the medallion from his shirt pocket and toyed with it, agilely moving it from finger to finger on one hand as some people did with a coin.

Mentally he ran down his list of problems. Gran was number one, Jenna number two and the gun number three. Then there was his great-grandfather, who somehow seemed to overwhelm everything else on the list, and the two different strangers asking questions about the Colton family. And last but certainly not least was the courthouse fire. Oh, yes, there was also the break-in at the newspaper office.

It shook Bram that he wasn’t making much headway with anything on his list, although he had been pretty successful in avoiding Jenna lately. He left the house before she and Gran awoke in the morning and didn’t get home again until midnight or later. He was working sixteen-hour days and using the other eight to catch a little shut-eye, spend time with Gran and worry about the next day’s agenda. He had not eaten a meal at his own table for…well, since Jenna showed up as Gran’s nurse. He didn’t much care for his avoidance routine, but it was the only way to keep them apart. He loved her, and…

Bram winced. He had been trying so hard to keep from saying or thinking that, and now the words seemed to be printed on his forehead for all the world to see.

“Damnation,” he muttered, and got to his feet. There was always paperwork to be done, but he would rather drive around and interview people about John Doe and that damned gun. He glanced down at the medallion in his hand and sank back into his chair. Could this shiny little object, which he’d assessed as immaterial to the tragedy at the old depot, in reality have a story to tell, if only he had the wits to decode it? Should it be locked in the evidence room instead of residing in his pocket?

Bram decided to take another look at the items picked up by the two officers the night of John Doe’s suicide, and headed for the evidence room. Everything gathered had been gone through, examined and labeled “Junk,” but they still kept it and would until they could stamp the word “Closed” on John Doe’s file.

Bram checked each item again—empty cigarette packs, candy wrappers, torn bits of old newspapers—and finally shook his head. There was nothing there. The most valuable piece of junk picked up that night was the medallion he carried in the pocket of his shirt. He took it out and looked at it again. Was it evidence? It had no fingerprints—other than his own now—and nothing on it to identify its origin. But how in heaven’s name had it found its way into the old depot? And why had whoever transported it there left it behind?

A final—and recurring—question had actually been haunting Bram. Why had he been the officer to find the medallion? The other guys had searched the old building. Why hadn’t they spotted it gleaming in the beam of a flashlight?

Frowning in serious thought—had the medallion been destined for his eyes alone?—Bram returned to his office, dropped the medallion in his shirt pocket and tried to forget it. Immediately he thought of something else that needed doing.

He dialed Annie McCrary’s phone number and waited through six rings before she answered.

“Annie…Bram Colton here. Sorry to bother you, but have you seen anything of Granddad lately?”

“I saw him only yesterday, matter of fact, and you’re not bothering me, Bram. Call anytime. I know you’re concerned about the old fellow.”

“You must have gone by his place, then?”

“He came by here. Surprised the heck out of me, I don’t mind admitting. Actually, Bram, I think he was going to walk on by, but I spotted him and his dogs and called out to him.”

“He was on the road? Annie, that road comes to a dead end less than a quarter mile past your place. Did he say where he was going?”

“Bram, I’ve been hearing coyotes howling every night this week, and George said he was going to talk to them. I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but are you sure he’s all right? I remember what you said about coyotes being some kind of spiritual thing to him, but…”

“Annie, talking to coyotes, or believing he talks to coyotes, is perfectly normal for Granddad. I’m more concerned with his physical health. How did he look to you? I mean, did he appear to be his usual hale and hardy self?”

“Well, yes, but… Bram, he’s so old. Should he be living all alone? I realize this is your business and none of mine, but I can’t help worrying about him.”

“I worry about him, too, Annie. So does the rest of the family. But no one could get Granddad to live anywhere else no matter what they did. I honestly believe you couldn’t pry him from the place with a crowbar. I’ve told him many times that he’s welcome to move in with me and he won’t even consider it. So all I can do is keep an eye on him. I wish he would let me have a telephone put in his house so I wouldn’t have to bother you, though. I would have driven out there and seen him for myself but things are kind of crazy in town right now.”

“So I’ve gathered. What about that dead guy? Has anyone contacted your department with information about him yet?”

“No, we haven’t had one single call about him. Annie, I would appreciate your calling me if you happen to see Granddad wandering off again. He…he’s in mourning, and apt to do some things that you would find strange. But the one thing I’m afraid of is his taking a fall and no one knowing about it until it’s too late.”

“He’s in mourning? Oh, my goodness! Who passed away, Bram?”

Bram cleared his throat. “No one yet. It’s a Comanche thing, Annie. Thanks for talking to me.”

“Call anytime,” Annie murmured, and Bram could hear the puzzlement in her voice because an old man was mourning the death of someone who hadn’t yet died.

Bram set down the phone, thanked his lucky stars for Annie’s kindness and wished he knew how to explain George WhiteBear’s beliefs in a way that she would understand. It simply wasn’t feasible.



Jenna awoke angry and stayed that way all morning. How dare Bram treat her in such a callous, cavalier way? He was deliberately leaving at an impossibly early hour every day and not coming home until late. She was usually asleep, but even if she sometimes did hear him come in she knew he didn’t want to see her, so she stayed in bed and felt bad about being in love with a heartless oaf. She suffered over him and he didn’t give a damn about her. It wasn’t fair! She resented the very air he breathed…and still loved him. Was she mad?

Gloria ate a few bites of breakfast and another two or three around noon. In the interim Jenna did all of the things she was supposed to—bathing her patient, seeing to Gloria’s medications and finally attempting to convince her to work on facial exercises. Gloria’s response to that request was always the same: she simply turned her head and shut her eyes.

It was around two that Jenna heard an approaching vehicle, and her heart leaped crazily because just for a moment she thought that maybe Bram had come home.

But it wasn’t Bram, nor was it any Colton. It was, Jenna saw from the kitchen window, Dr. Hall.

She went to the front door and let him in. “Hello, Doctor.”

“Hello, Jenna. How’s Mrs. Colton today?”

“She’s slipping away before my eyes,” Jenna said quietly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Dr. Hall surprised her by laying his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll take a look at her and then we’ll talk.”

“Uh, yes…fine,” Jenna stammered, and then watched the doctor walk to the master bedroom and go in. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that Dr. Hall was young—no more than forty—and quite nice looking. He was also a divorced man, she recalled from rumors that had titillated several of the single nurses about six months ago.

The gossip hadn’t thrilled Jenna, for the only man on her mind had been Bram. Now, hurting from Bram’s ambivalent treatment—he slept with her when the mood struck, apparently, and then deliberately ignored her very existence—she wondered about Dr. Hall’s gesture. Was he just being kind because of her downcast expression over her patient’s failing health, or had he meant something personal by laying his hand on her shoulder?

Should she find out? Wishing for a way to repay Bram for the hurt he kept inflicting upon her was rather dangerous business, Jenna knew. But Bram Colton deserved to be taken down a notch. And if dating another man while sleeping under Bram’s roof would cause him the slightest bit of anguish, she’d be a spineless wimp not to do it.

And she was tired of being spineless. Tired of being dressed down by her father for having become a nurse and for liking people of all colors, races and creeds. She hated bigotry so much that she could make herself nauseous just thinking about it, and it hurt terribly that her own father was the worst bigot she’d ever run into.

It was all so senseless—her dad’s rigid attitude and Bram’s pigheaded pride. Se was caught in the middle, and neither man cared that his silly self-righteousness hurt her.

She should never speak to either one of them again, she thought bitterly while preparing a pot of tea in the kitchen.

The tea was beginning to cool a bit before Dr. Hall walked in. Jenna rose and gestured at the table. “Join me for tea and cookies?”

Dr. Hall smiled and looked pleased. “Why, thank you. This is a most pleasant surprise.” He pulled out a chair and Jenna served the tea.

“How did you find her?” she asked.

The doctor’s forehead creased with a concerned frown. “She’s listless and losing ground. Jenna, I know you’re doing everything you can, but I’m beginning to think she should be back in the hospital.”

Jenna frowned as well. “I’m not sure her family would permit it. Would it benefit her to be hospitalized? I mean, would she have a greater chance of recovery?”

“Maybe. It’s possible. But it could also be detrimental. Jenna, to be honest, I can’t give you a positive answer to that question with any real confidence. She seemed glad to see me, but it was only a moment before her eyes became dull again.”

“She’s been doing the same with her family.”

“She’s giving up, Jenna. She’s tired of living.”

“But she had a good life! And she was very active and full of fun. I’ve heard about her from members of her own family, and they’re truly devastated by what’s happening to her. They love her, and she always loved them.”

“But still she’s tired of living. Jenna, I’ve seen it before and so have you. I know it makes no sense to a beautiful young woman like yourself, but serious illness changes people.”

He’d said she was beautiful, and she couldn’t help responding to the compliment. Then and there she decided to give Bram a run for his money, the jerk, and she did it in a flirtatious way, blushing a little and saying, “Goodness, I’m not beautiful, Doctor. Wherever did you get such an idea?”

“I’d rather you called me Richard,” he replied with an admiring gleam in his eyes and a sexy half smile. “And you are beautiful. I’ve never seen another woman with hair like yours.”

“I guess I’ll just have to accept your compliment and say thank-you,” Jenna murmured, assessing his nicely cut dark hair and gray eyes. But could she really go out with him? Let him kiss her? Lead him on while wishing every second they were together that she was with Bram instead? Misery suddenly shaped itself into a ball in her midsection and extended clawlike tentacles throughout her being. She couldn’t deceive this nice man just to get back at Bram. How could she even have thought of something so disgusting?

She completely erased all signs of Southern-belle coyness from her expression and got up. “I’ll talk to Sheriff Colton about hospitalization for his grandmother when he comes home. There’s something else I have to say before you leave. I embarrassed myself by flirting with you, and I apologize for being so shallow and silly when I’m in love with someone else.”

Dr. Hall slowly rose. “Doesn’t he know you’re in love with him? I mean, if you are in love, why would you flirt with another man?”

“Because I know it and he doesn’t. At least he won’t let on if he does.”

“Jenna, he doesn’t deserve you. Tell him I said so. Goodbye. Call me if the Colton family decides to hospitalize Gloria.”

Jenna followed him to the door. “You’re a nice man.”

Dr. Hall smiled wryly. “I just take rejection well.” He started to leave, then stopped and looked back at her. “Maybe I’ll give you a call one of these days. Dinner and a movie is an innocent enough date, don’t you agree?”

“I can’t leave Gloria, Doctor.”

“Richard. And I’m sure we could arrange for a substitute nurse for a few hours.”

Jenna couldn’t help smiling. “You might think you take rejection well, but from where I stand it appears it merely makes you more determined.”

“Could be…could be.” Chuckling, Dr. Hall continued on to his car.



Neither Bram nor his deputies learned anything helpful from any of the people they talked to for the rest of the day and far into the night.

Discouraged, Bram threw in the towel and drove home around two in the morning. He wasn’t getting enough sleep and he was beat. It was an effort to walk from his car to the house, and he merely glanced to his left, into the dimly lit bedroom occupied by Gran and Jenna, before heading for his own room and bed. The house was as silent as usual, and he’d been able to see Gran in bed during that one brief look he’d taken, which pacified his worry for her enough to let him sleep. He wouldn’t let himself think of Jenna, whose much smaller bed wasn’t visible from the front entrance.

Yawning, he approached his bedroom and realized that he must have forgotten to turn off the lamp on the bedstand that morning, because it was still on and casting light on the hallway carpet. He stepped into the room and stopped dead in his tracks. Jenna was asleep on his bed.

He blinked and prayed he was hallucinating, for he didn’t have the strength to deal with Jenna at this unholy hour and at a time when exhaustion threatened to knock him off his feet.

But he knew he could stand there for the remainder of the night and she would still be sleeping on his bed, and damn, she was beautiful. He actually felt like bawling. She was the woman he should have. Because he couldn’t have her he would remain a bachelor for the rest of his life. It wasn’t fair.

But had anyone ever said that life was fair? Leaning against the frame of the door, Bram drank in the sight of Jenna. She was covered to the waist with a blanket, breathing evenly and shallowly, obviously in a deep sleep. Her glorious mane of golden hair was spread over the pillow, and she was wearing something pink and pretty.

Then bitterness twisted Bram’s mouth. He loved this woman and couldn’t make her his wife. He’d crossed way too far over the line with her and shamed both her and himself. And still he loved her—in such a powerful, all-consuming way that he knew nothing else in his life would ever compare.

Heaving a self-pitying sigh, he pushed away from the door frame and walked over to the bed. “Jenna?”

She didn’t budge. He leaned over and spoke a little louder. “Jenna?”

“Umm,” was all she said, but she opened her eyes to tiny slits and saw him. Her arms went up. “Come to bed, darling.”

She was still sleeping! He knew she wasn’t awake, and yet her words delivered such a potent thrill to his system he reeled from it. He also knew that he should shake her shoulder and fully waken her, then tell her to get the heck out of his bed and go to her own.

But she looked soft as a kitten and so womanly and beautiful that he merely stood there, clenched his jaw spasmodically and suffered the torment of the damned. What had he done, he wondered, to deserve this kind of torture? If he lay down with her he knew exactly what would happen, and it wouldn’t be the sleep he needed so much. It would be hours of kissing her, undressing her, touching every inch of her incredibly lush body and making love to her for as long as his strength held out or dawn broke, whichever came first. No, he couldn’t let it happen again. How much misery could a man cause himself, anyway?

“Jenna!” he growled loudly.

“Wha-what?” Eyes wide-open, she sat up with a start. “Did you just yell at me?”

“What’re you doing in my bed?”

She was getting her wits about her. “I have to tell you something, and since you never come home at a respectable hour anymore, I figured sleeping in here until you showed up was the only way to see you.” Feeling vulnerable on his bed, she slid from it, making sure she didn’t come close to him, and padded barefoot to the door in case she needed to make a quick getaway. That man was not going to have his unscrupulous way with her again, however much her body yearned for his touch.

He didn’t miss her cautionary tactics and felt rather wounded by her obvious determination to avoid contact. He wasn’t a threat, for hell’s sake. All she would have had to do was to say no and nothing would have ever happened between them. So which of them bore the most blame? He was willing to accept his own, but she had been just as eager to make love. Both times!

“So say what you have to say and get it over with. I’m dead on my feet,” he growled.

“Oh, you’re just the sweetest thing, aren’t you?” she said with heavy sarcasm.

Her queen-of-the-prom tone really fried him. He was too damn tired to play games. “Jenna, I’m going to bed. If you have something to tell me, do it.” He started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Don’t you dare undress in front of me.”

“Like you haven’t seen it all before?” He removed his shirt and dropped it on the floor.

“That doesn’t mean I want to see it again!”

“Well, if you stand there and watch, you’re going to.”

Jenna rushed into her little speech. “Dr. Hall was here today—I should probably say yesterday, seeing as how it’s already tomorrow—and he thinks Gloria should be hospitalized.”

Bram had been unbuttoning the fly on his jeans, and he stopped to glare at her. “Why? Did he just now stumble across a miracle cure for stroke victims?”

“Of course not. Don’t be absurd.”

“Did he guarantee her recovery if we put her in the hospital?”

“No one could do that.”

“Then why in hell should we take her there so she can die in a strange place that she already hates?”

“I didn’t say you should take her anywhere! Dr. Hall said it.”

“Oh, I get it, your precious Dr. Hall merely makes the bullets. You shoot ’em.”

“You perfectly odious person! Don’t you know I love Gloria? Don’t you know I only want to see her live and be active and happy again? And while I’m walking around sad and weepy and praying for a miracle, you Coltons are already planning her funeral! Well, you can go straight to hell, all of you!” Jenna whirled around to leave.

“Jenna!” Bram made a dive for her and caught her by the arm. “What you just said is how you snow-whites see Comanche ways, and the precise reason you and I could never make a go of it!”

“So who wants to make a go of it, you conceited…egotistical…” Her voice trailed off as tears flooded her eyes. “Damn you,” she whispered hoarsely.

Bram gathered her into his arms and brought her head to his chest. “We’re forever making each other miserable. I’m sorry…I’m sorry.”

Jenna sobbed against the smooth skin of his bare chest. “You exaggerate our differences because of my dad.”

“I know.”

Jenna leaned her head back and looked up at his face. “You do know it, don’t you? And still you let bigotry run your life. Bram, you were elected to office by the people of Comanche County. All the people, not just the Native Americans. Doesn’t that mean something to you? Don’t you realize that you’re as prejudiced as Dad is? You just called me a snow-white, and I just might be the least prejudiced person you know.”

She stood in the circle of his arms and waited for him to answer, and when he didn’t she knew he didn’t have an answer. Escaping his embrace, she said wearily, “I’m going to bed. Good night.”

Bram was too tuckered out to lie awake and worry about anything, but he drifted off thinking about Jenna and the things she’d said to him, her point of view on their impasse.

There was no question about her getting the last word in that particular argument, and his only defense on that score was a question: did it matter who had won the argument? All it had accomplished, after all, was more pain for both of them.

He awoke three hours later remembering Dr. Hall’s recommendation that Gran be hospitalized.

“No way,” he muttered while dragging himself out of bed. “No damned way is she going to die alone in a hospital!”

But this wasn’t a decision he could make all on his own. He would contact his brothers, his sister, his uncle and his cousins later on today and get everyone’s input. It was the only fair thing to do about a family problem this serious.

He deliberately omitted George WhiteBear from that list because he knew the old man would be appalled at the mere thought of his daughter being shuffled off to a hospital during her final days. Death was part of life, just as birth was, and George could deal with that. But he strongly believed in a family’s responsibility to care for its sick and dying.

He would not only vote no, Bram knew, he would recite Comanche rituals and customs to every one of his descendants until the day of his own death, possibly fearing that if they would put his daughter in a hospital to die they would do the same to him.

Bram left the house feeling like the dregs at the bottom of a barrel. It was a feeling that was becoming much too commonplace lately.

Chapter Ten

Around eleven in the morning, with Gloria resting, Jenna had a little time on her hands. Using it to curl up on the sofa in the living room and worry wasn’t all that bright, but she couldn’t help herself. Would Gloria be better off in the hospital? Dr. Hall couldn’t guarantee it, but a doctor was only a person with a medical education, not the Almighty.

And neither was Bram omnipotent and all-knowing, Jenna thought resentfully. As for Mr. WhiteBear, wasn’t it rather callous of him to predict his own daughter’s demise and scare the living daylights out of the rest of his family?

Jenna couldn’t shake the doldrums this morning. If Bram had come home at a respectable hour last night she would not have been in his room, sleeping on his bed. But she had felt duty-bound by her profession to relay Dr. Hall’s recommendation, and after trying to keep her eyes open for hours, she’d finally lost the battle and decided that the only way she was going to see Bram was by waiting for him in his room. And, of course, she’d gotten chilly lying down, had pulled up a blanket and eventually fallen asleep.

The phone rang, and Jenna got up with a frustrated sigh to answer it. “Colton Ranch.”

“This is Bram.”

She could hardly believe he’d called, and couldn’t begin to guess at the reason. “I’m surprised you know your own phone number.”

“I didn’t call because I was longing for another argument with you. How’s Gran this morning?”

“The same.”

“Well, ‘the same’ is a lot better than ‘she’s much worse,’ wouldn’t you agree?”

“You’ll get no argument from me on that point. However—”

“No, don’t say it. Let me say something. I’ve made at least a dozen calls this morning and talked to almost every Colton. They all agreed that Gran should not be put in the hospital. We’d lose her within the week if she thought no one wanted her.”

“Even if everyone took turns staying in her room with her?”

“Do you really find her fear and dislike of hospitals that unusual? I can’t believe Gran is the only person who doesn’t like being surrounded by strangers.”

Jenna heaved another sigh. “No, she’s not the only person who doesn’t like hospitals. It would be moronic to argue that issue, but most people have to spend time in a hospital at some point in their life.”

“So you think that’s where she belongs?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Would she get better care than you’re giving her?”

“I…can’t say that, either.”

“Well, I can say that she wouldn’t. You’re constantly there for her, and I know how clean you keep her and how hard you try to make her meals palatable. She wouldn’t receive one-on-one care in the hospital. She couldn’t. The hospital has just so many nurses on staff, and I’ve heard they’re overworked as it is. One elderly lady is not going to be given preferential treatment—you know it, I know it.”

“You’re never here and yet you know all that.”

“I’ve been home enough to know what’s going on, Jenna. There’s something else, too. I’ve been thinking about what you said about Granddad last night, and—”

“Don’t you mean this morning?”

“Yes, I mean this morning. Sorry I can’t keep my working schedule in line with yours.”

Jenna bit down on her lip for a moment. Haranguing Bram wasn’t going to accomplish anything, except maybe to cause him to stay away from his own home even more than he already did.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m not anxious for another argument, either, despite evidence to the contrary. What did you want to say about your great-grandfather?”

Her change of attitude and gentle apology warmed Bram through and through. They shouldn’t be on opposite sides of any issue, real or imagined, not when there were so many good feelings between them. His feelings for her were not only a very big part of him, but he was beginning to believe that Jenna was falling in love with him. Yes, he’d been fighting against that very thing, but it was damn tough for a man to keep shoving happiness out of his life.

He realigned his thoughts. “I think you have a wrong impression of Granddad. I know it’s not your fault,” he hastened to add. “You formed it from the little you’ve seen of him and from things I’ve said about him.”

“You and others in your family. Bram, he’s a very old man and often advanced age causes, uh…” She couldn’t say it, couldn’t suggest that George WhiteBear no longer possessed all of his faculties.

But she didn’t have to say it. Bram knew exactly what she was thinking. “Granddad’s mind is as clear as mine, Jenna, but he lives by some very ancient ways that you’ve probably never even heard of. I’m sure you’ve wondered why he didn’t stay with me so he could be with his daughter. But the family didn’t wonder because everyone knows that twenty years ago—maybe even ten—he would have demanded that his daughter be brought to his house so he could care for her. He didn’t desert her, Jenna, and I know he’s performing all sorts of rituals that will take her from this life to the next in peace and serenity.”

“How can I put stock in ancient rituals? I was trained to believe in science and the dependability of modern medicine and technology.”

“And I believe in your training, even while understanding and accepting Granddad’s methods and beliefs. Jenna, there’s always more than one way to do something, and you said last night…or early this morning, if you prefer…that you’re the least prejudiced person I know. Isn’t your opinion of Granddad just a bit biased?”

“Bram, it’s not easy to reconcile science and messages from coyotes and golden foxes. You don’t live that way, and from what I can deduce from talking to your cousins and siblings, neither does anyone else in your family.”

“We’ve all been homogenized,” Bram said dryly. “Jenna, it wasn’t too many years ago that almost all Native Americans in the area leaned a lot further toward Granddad’s style of living than yours and mine.”

She took in a big breath and released it slowly. “I suppose you know a lot more about it than I do, but coyotes, Bram? Golden foxes?”

“One golden fox, Jenna. In all of his life, he’s seen only one golden fox. Until he met you, that is.”

“He did say what I thought he said, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but don’t take it to mean that he thought you were a very foxy lady—which you are, of course. Only Granddad hasn’t noticed foxy females for quite a few years now.”

“Then what did he mean?”

“Uh…” Bram didn’t want to tell her about his great-grandfather’s interpretation of meeting a human golden fox, and what Bram should do about not letting her get away. “When I drove him home he said you have a good heart.”

“Meaning a heart attack is still a ways off?”

“Possibly, but I think he was referring more to your generous spirit and kindness.”

“He sensed those things about me from one brief meeting?”

Bram grinned. “Probably made fast work of determining your personality because of your being a golden fox.”

“It concerns me that you actually might be serious about that.”

“Well, I think you’re a golden fox, too, only the term means something much different to me than it does to Granddad.”

Jenna’s pulse quickened. Was he actually flirting with her? Did she want him flirting with her? Considering his erratic treatment of her, she shouldn’t even be talking nicely to him. And yet there was no way she could deny the anticipatory thrills building within her.

“If I’m a fox, does that make you a coyote?” she asked. She’d never been overly fond of coyotes, so her question was more of a dig than a compliment.

He caught on and played along. “I’m not a coyote, I’m a bear. A grizzly.” Almost lazily he swiveled his desk chair so he could see out the window of his office.

“Liar. You’ve never even seen a grizzly. They’re all up north.”

“Neither have I seen a golden fox before, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

“Foxes are red, not golden.”

Bram was enjoying the banter. He didn’t ordinarily hang on the phone and flirt with women; in fact, this could be classified as a first. But this was Jenna, the love of his life, and he knew now that he was capable of behaving as giddily as any other guy in love.

“Yes, but…” Bram suddenly got to his feet and stared out the window. Driving into the visitors’ lot and parking was a pale gray Lincoln. “Jenna, I have to go. See you later.”

Putting down the phone before she could even say a quick “Bye,” he stepped outside his office door and waited for the tall, dark-haired driver of the luxury car to enter the station.

The man walked in and stopped at the counter. “Is Sheriff Colton in?”

“Yes, sir, he is,” the duty officer replied. “Do you want to see him?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Give me your name and I’ll let him know.”

“My name is Rand Colton.”

Bram was thunderstruck. The nosy but classy guy driving a Lincoln—as described by Sheila at the Crossroads Café—and asking questions about the Colton family, was a Colton himself?

Bram walked over to the counter. “I’m Sheriff Colton. Did I hear your name correctly?”

“I’m sure you did. Rand Colton.” He extended his hand.

Bram shook it. “Come on back to my office.” He led the mystery man into the room and gestured at the chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” Rand sat down.

The two men looked each other over. Bram spoke first. “Are we related?”

“That’s one of the things I’m trying to figure out. Let me explain.”

“Believe me, I would appreciate an explanation. I’ve been told by at least a dozen good citizens that two strangers have been in town asking questions about the Coltons.”

“Two strangers?”

“The other guy isn’t with you?”

“No, and I can’t imagine who he might be.”

Bram studied the frown on Rand Colton’s face. “No idea at all?”

“Do you have a clue to his identity?”

“I didn’t have any clues about either one of you. Your being a Colton and walking in like this is one very big surprise. Someone said you were driving a pale gray Lincoln, and I’ve been looking for it ever since.”

“I’ve been staying in Oklahoma City and driving over here.”

“To stay out of sight?”

“Sheriff, I don’t have any reason to stay out sight. No, I’ve been staying in Oklahoma City for various reasons, one of which is simple enough. I like the place. Maybe I should start at the beginning. I live in Washington, D.C. My father’s name is Joe and I have an Uncle Graham. Other than siblings and kids, Dad and Graham are my only living blood relatives. About four, five months back, Dad was going through some old boxes stored in his attic that had once belonged to his father, and he ran across some old letters from a Gloria Colton. No, that’s not right. What he found were envelopes with Gloria’s name in the return address corner. Her name and the name of this town, without, I might point out, a street address. Whatever had been mailed in the envelopes—letters, I’m assuming—were missing, either accidentally misplaced or deliberately destroyed by my grandfather.

“I’m a lawyer, and Dad asked me to look into it, for, uh, reasons of his own. I agreed, of course, and went to Oklahoma City and began searching records. To my surprise I kept bumping into the Colton name—obviously a prolific family. Births, deaths, marriages…everything’s recorded in the capital. But I still don’t know exactly who Gloria Colton is and what connection she has to the Oklahoma Coltons, or if your family and mine are related. I would have come here to see you the minute I hit town if I’d known the sheriff was a Colton, but I only recently stumbled upon that fact. That’s about it. I checked records at this courthouse as well, but…”

“Did you burn it down, too? Or try to burn it down?”

Rand looked stunned. “Good Lord, no! I heard it was arson, but I’m not a criminal, Sheriff.”

“Bram. My first name is Bram.”

“Well, Bram, who’s on your family tree that might be related to some ancestor on mine? Can we discuss it?”

Bram eyed him speculatively. Sheila was right. Rand Colton looked well-groomed and well-off. He was dressed casually, but he hadn’t bought those slacks and shirt at a discount store. Still, what in hell was this all about? Gran hadn’t told any of them about her past. Was there any way she could in her present condition? If this guy calling himself Rand Colton wasn’t some kind of con artist, and there was something to tell, that is?

“Before I discuss anything with you about Colton family business, I’d like to do a little checking of my own. Any objections?”

“None whatsoever.” Rand got up. “Do you want to call me or should I call you?”

Bram shoved a pad and pen across the desk. “Write down where you’re staying in O.C., and the phone number, if you have it. I’ll phone when I have something to say.”

“Fair enough.” Rand bent forward and wrote on the pad. “Thanks for seeing me, and I wish I’d known the law around here was headed up by a Colton. This would have been my first stop. I think it would have gotten us off on a better footing.”

Bram rose, they shook hands again and Rand left.

Bram fell back into his chair, feeling all but stupefied. One more shock like that one and he’d be a gibbering idiot.

“Hell’s bells,” he mumbled.



Thomas and Alice dropped in, each carrying a gift of food. Jenna had come to genuinely like this uncle and aunt of Bram’s, and she greeted them warmly.

After discussing Gloria for a few moments, Alice said softly, “You’re here six days a week, Jenna, dear. Why don’t you regard our visit as an opportunity to get away for a few hours? We’ll stay with Mom while you’re gone.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Jenna murmured. “There is something I’d like to do, and it wouldn’t take more than two hours, probably less.”

“Wonderful. Just tell us if there’s anything we should do for Mom while you’re gone.”

“Thank you, but there’s nothing right now. She’s had lunch and her scheduled medication, and I believe she’s napping. Just sit with her quietly until she wakes up. I’m sure she will be pleased to see you.”

“I wish I were sure of that,” Thomas said.

Jenna sympathized with the man wholeheartedly. His mother was daily losing ground, his grandfather was already mourning her demise, and the whole tragic scenario had to be one very bitter pill for Thomas to swallow.

But Jenna suspected he was swallowing it, however painful. George WhiteBear, after all, had practically raised Thomas and Trevor. He had to have been a strong influence in the twins’ development, and Jenna could hardly fault Thomas for respecting his grandfather’s ways and beliefs when he’d grown up with them.

Still, a tale about a message from a coyote wasn’t something Jenna could just accept and go on from there. Her logical mind worked on proved facts. Most of the time, anyway. She wasn’t very logical about Bram, she knew, which could very well be the reason she suffered such bone-jarring ambivalence whenever she thought of him.

Anyhow, she accepted Alice and Thomas’s kind offer and drove away from the Colton Ranch enjoying the warm and sunny end-of-June day. The Fourth of July was just around the corner, and Black Arrow always put on a parade, a carnival and after-dark fireworks. This year she probably wouldn’t be attending any of the events because of her patient.

Tears suddenly stung Jenna’s eyes as she wondered if she would still have Gloria for a patient on the Fourth.

“Damn,” she whispered, and wished all the way into Black Arrow that she hadn’t volunteered her services that day in the hospital when she’d overheard Dr. Hall talking about needing a full-time nurse for Gloria. Jenna had wanted to force something to happen between her and Bram, of course, and it had.

But it wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind, and now she was all confused about Comanche lore and worrying constantly about Gloria.

Bram might have dropped his guard for a few teasing remarks on the phone this morning, but he had reverted to his usual brusque self mighty fast, practically hanging up in her ear.

Jenna sighed. She must lie in the bed she’d made. The situation was nobody’s fault but her own, and despising Bram for being himself wasn’t an option. He was, after all, no different today than he’d ever been.

In Black Arrow she drove directly to her father’s huge home, parked her car and entered the house with her key. “Martha?” she called.

The cook and housekeeper appeared. “Why, Jenna. How nice to see you. You’ve been busy with Mrs. Colton for how long now?”

“Maybe a little too long, Martha,” Jenna said with a smile, then realized how her reply might have sounded. “I don’t mean to imply that I have a problem with caring for Gloria Colton. It’s something else. Anyhow, I had a couple of hours off and came here to pick up a few things.”

“Well, it’s your home.”

Jenna wanted to say that it wouldn’t be her home for long. She’d been watching the Chronicle’s classified section for apartments to rent, and eventually realized that there were always units available in and around Black Arrow. When she was ready to rent a place and move out of her father’s house, she would have very little trouble finding something to her liking.

“I don’t have much time. It was nice seeing you, Martha.” Jenna hurried up the stairs and went to the bed and bath suite that had been hers since childhood. Everything was in place, just as she’d left it, and she gathered a few items of clothing and then some things from the bathroom. She was putting them in a small overnight case when her father walked in.

Startled, she merely said, “Oh! I…didn’t expect you to be home.”

“I didn’t expect to see you, either. Martha told me you were here when I came in.”

“I’m only going to be here for a minute, Dad. I came to pick up some things I need at the ranch.” She saw her father’s expression change from elated to furious.

“I had hoped you were through with that band of Indians!” Carl said with a sneer.

Jenna winced at his crudity, but held her head high. “Well, I’m not, and if you must talk about some very nice people in that arrogant, holier-than-thou manner, please do it somewhere else.”

Carl looked as though she had physically struck him. “I can’t believe you would say something like that to me, your own father.”

“I’m not a child anymore. Dad, I haven’t been a child for fifteen years! I have a mind of my own and everyone has a right to like whom they please.”

“Well, that includes me, missy, and don’t you forget it.”

“I’m sure I won’t,” Jenna said, and lowered her eyes to the things in the little suitcase. “That about does it.” She zipped the case shut.

“Is that big sheriff chasing you around his house yet? Maybe you’ve let him catch you, huh? Is that what all this rebellion is about? I knew a long time ago that your being friends with that Willow Colton would cause me trouble.”

Jenna stared at her father with unconcealed pity. “I feel sorry for you, Dad.” Gripping her suitcase, she walked from the room.

Carl followed her down the stairs. “You feel sorry for me? I feel sorry for you! What in hell’s come over you? You’re sure not the same girl you were before your mother died.”

Jenna whirled around at the foot of the stairs. “I don’t claim to be. And you don’t feel sorry for me, you’re concerned strictly with yourself and how other people perceive you. Do you actually believe that people would think less of you if you mingled with Native Americans? Called some of them friends? Dad, what makes you think you have a spotless reputation around town? Throughout the entire county, for that matter, or maybe the whole darned state?”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Carl snarled.

“I’m sure you know, or you would if you’d let yourself face the truth.” Jenna walked away and exited by the front door, the same way she’d come in only minutes before. She got in her car, drove away and then had to pull over to dry her eyes. She had never talked so harshly to her father before; especially painful to her was the cruel way in which she had referred to his unscrupulous business methods. Even if people did talk behind his back, she shouldn’t have hurt him like that.



Troubled all afternoon about Rand Colton’s sketchy tale of a possible blood tie between the Washington Coltons—wasn’t that what he’d said, that he was from Washington, D.C.?—and the Oklahoma Coltons, Bram drove around aimlessly after eating dinner at a downtown diner. He knew he should still be on the job, looking for the missing gun, working on finding Black Arrow’s infamous arsonist and also the person who had burgled the newspaper office—maybe the same guy, maybe not—but he couldn’t force himself to concentrate on anything but personal problems, which just seemed to keep stacking up.

The jolt delivered by Rand that morning was one for the books, though. How could there be a whole other branch of Coltons that no one in Oklahoma had ever mentioned? Did Uncle Thomas know anything about it? If there were any truth to it Gran would know, but even when she tried her hardest to speak—which wasn’t often—Bram found it nearly impossible to understand her. And if Gran did know about the Washington Coltons, why had she never talked about them?

Bram found himself slowly cruising the street that Will and Ellie lived on. He hadn’t seen or talked to Will since right after Gran’s stroke, and he suddenly felt a strong desire to communicate with the best friend he’d ever had. Bram pulled into the Mitchells’ driveway and got out of his patrol car. Will’s pickup was there and so was Ellie’s compact. Everyone was home.

Bram rapped on the front door and Will opened it. “Hey, look who’s here! Come on in. Ellie’s putting the boys to bed. How about a beer?”

“I’m driving a patrol car, so thanks, but no. I’ll have a cup of coffee, though, if there’s some made.”

“There’s always coffee in this house. You know that.” They went to the kitchen and Will filled two mugs with coffee and brought them to the table. They sat and sipped hot coffee and eyed each other. “What’s wrong?” Will finally asked.

“So many things I wouldn’t know where to start,” Bram admitted.

“Well, I’m listening if you want to talk.”

“I know.” Will was the only person Bram knew that he could sit and drink coffee with and not feel pressured into talking even if he had nothing to say. At the same time Will was the one person to whom Bram could tell something and not worry that it would get around town with the speed of light.

He took the medallion from his shirt pocket and laid it on the table. “I found this on the floor of the old depot. Take a look at it.”

Will reached for it, held it up and peered at it. “Is this engraving or whatever it is the head of a coyote?”

“Looks like it to me.”

“And you found it?”

“At the old depot.”

Will’s eyes met Bram’s. “Kind of spooky, if you ask me. I mean, considering your great-granddad’s relationship with coyotes, it strikes me as pretty darned odd that you’d walk into the old depot and find something like this.”

“It strikes me that way, too.” Bram picked up the medallion again and frowned at it. Then he dropped it back in his shirt pocket and heaved a sigh. “I talked to a man today who thinks he and his kin might be related to me and mine. He’s from Washington, D.C., and I’m assuming that’s where his whole family lives, although they could be scattered to hell and gone for all I really know about them. To tell you the truth, Will, I was so rattled by this guy introducing himself as Rand Colton that I didn’t ask him a lot of the questions I should have asked. But he said he has some old letters—no, envelopes—with Gran’s name on them that once belonged to his grandfather, which was what got him digging up the past.”

Will slowly shook his head. “Your life is never dull, I’ll give you that, Bram. But a guy you never heard of claiming to be a relative seems darned strange to me. What does he want? I mean, in the end, what is he really after?”

“Good question.” Bram became thoughtful for a long moment, then said, “It can’t be money, Will. The Coltons around here have jobs, but no one’s wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. Just from his car and clothes I’d have to say that Rand—if that’s really his name—has more money than any one of us. Maybe more than all of us put together.”

Ellie walked in. “Well, hi, Bram. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I was about to leave, Ellie. I’m still on duty. Just stopped by to say hello.”

“How’s your grandmother doing?”

“Not very well, I’m afraid.” Bram got to his feet and drank the last of his coffee. “Will, thanks for the coffee. Ellie, tell the boys I’ll come by and see them when I get the chance.”

“Try to bring Nellie with you,” Ellie said with a laugh.

“I’ll try. Bye, Ellie.” When Will walked with him out to the patrol car, Bram asked, “Is she pregnant, Will?”

His friend’s proud grin lit up his whole face. “Yes sir, she is.”

Bram got into the vehicle. “I’ll pray for a girl this time.”

“Do that. Nothing would make Ellie happier. Of course, if it’s another boy she’ll welcome him, too.”

“She’s a wonderful mother and you’re a lucky guy.”

“Hey, you could be just as lucky if you’d give the poor lonesome gals of Comanche County half a chance.”

Bram started the ignition and began backing out of the driveway. “Blow it out your ear, Mitchell,” he called through the open window.

Chapter Eleven

It was going to be another long, lonely evening, Jenna thought while wandering Bram’s big empty house. She had completed her nighttime ritual with Gloria, and the elderly woman was already sleeping. Jenna knew it would be hours before she herself felt sleepy, and she had her choice of watching TV or reading, neither of which seemed at all appealing. She was on edge and had been since exchanging those cross words with her father. Thomas and Alice had stayed only a short time after her return to the ranch, but there had been Gloria’s needs to keep Jenna occupied. Now there was nothing to occupy either her hands or her mind, and while she restlessly roamed, resentments old and new gnawed at her.

Volunteering to come out here had been a huge mistake, she thought unhappily. Sleeping with Bram had been an even bigger mistake, even though her lack of good sense in that department had been caused by her deeply rooted feelings for him. Obviously he didn’t suffer from the same weakness of mind and spirit that she did. When he thought of her at all—if he did—what went through his mind? Did he consider her cheap? Easy? Just another notch on the old bedpost?

At moments like this she could easily hate him. No one would ever convince her that he had lived the way he was living now before she moved in. He stayed away from his own home as much as he could because she was in it.

And yet she knew he didn’t want her to leave. He had praised her on her care of Gloria more than once, and Jenna believed wholeheartedly that Bram Colton didn’t hand out undeserved compliments to anyone.

“Oh, shoot,” she said out loud, heaving a sigh. Why couldn’t Bram come home and just be nice? Share a meal with her? Talk and laugh with her? She would never make demands he didn’t want to fulfill…would she?

Jenna plopped down into a living room chair and cursed herself for falling in love with the wrong man. She had let him take advantage of her weakness for him, and even worse, would probably do it again if he were ever around long enough to make another pass.

Tears threatened, which only made her angrier than she already was. There were more fish in the sea than Bram Colton, and she was not going to spend the best years of her life crying over him.

Rising, she went to the kitchen and put on the teakettle. While waiting for the water to boil, she remembered the old books in Bram’s closet. Were they still there, hidden under that blanket? She didn’t feel comfortable accusing Bram of anything that even hinted at dishonesty—despite resenting him on a personal level—but why on earth would he have obviously valuable old record books from the courthouse concealed in his closet?

He must have a reason, she told herself, a perfectly rational reason, and she should never think otherwise. And if that were the case then he wouldn’t mind if she looked through them. It might be a pleasant way to pass the evening.

With that seemingly logical decision in mind, Jenna strode boldly to Bram’s bedroom and went to his closet. The blanketed bundle was still there, and she hesitated a moment, wondering why. But then she told herself to stop trying to analyze a man she would never understand. Bending down, she pulled the top book from under the blanket and carried it to the kitchen. It was much heavier than she’d expected.

Jenna placed it on the kitchen table, then hurried to the stove to turn off the burner under the whistling teakettle. After preparing a pot of tea, she sat at the table with a cup and turned back the cover of the old book.

She loved the precise, formal penmanship. In places the ink had faded badly, but most of the entries were legible. Jenna turned page after page, reading some of the notations that recorded important data about Black Arrow’s early inhabitants. Occasionally she ran across a name she recognized, which she found fascinating. She’d always known that some of the families in the area had ancestors who had pioneered in Oklahoma long before statehood.

She had almost finished drinking the pot of tea and had reached the last section of the book when some script on the yellowed pages suddenly leaped out at her. Excited by her discovery, she read the dozens of entries recording the transfer of federal land to people of Comanche blood. And much to her delight, she found an entry for “WhiteBear, Juab.”

Juab must have been George WhiteBear’s father, she thought, and quickly scanned the final few pages for more information on that rather famous land transfer. When she reached the end, she pushed the book aside and hastened to Bram’s closet for another one. She toted it to the kitchen as well and eagerly opened it.

The land transfer recordings took up several pages of the second book, and Jenna looked them over in a perfectly innocent search for other familiar names. But nothing could have prepared her for one entry. The name was Elliot GrayEagle, and “Elliot” was spelled exactly the same way as her own last name.

She stared at that entry as though it should mean something, but of course, it couldn’t possibly. There were no GrayEagles on her family tree. And besides, the name was reversed. If it had been GrayEagle Elliot, she might have cause to wonder, but…

With her heart pounding, Jenna sat back. She knew perfectly well that Elliot wasn’t a common Comanche name. And yet…?

She began turning pages again, looking, reading, searching for another notation for Mr. GrayEagle. She was so accustomed to listening for any sound Gloria might make that she was able to do that and still concentrate on the book in front of her. Jenna was almost to the end of the second book when the GrayEagle named jumped off the page at her.

Only this time it was an entry that read: “Son, born to GrayEagle and Moselle Elliot.”

“My God,” Jenna whispered in shock. She had heard the name “Moselle” before—from her own father, in fact, a long time ago when he’d been boasting proudly of the Elliot family’s contributions to Oklahoma’s development.

Was it actually possible for him to be ignorant of the true nature of his own history? He had Indian blood, Comanche blood! So did she!

Well, that wasn’t a given. A white man could have sired Moselle’s children, but Jenna didn’t think so. In fact, she was convinced that her dad, Carl Elliot, was a direct descendant of GrayEagle and Moselle Elliot.

And so was she.

Jenna felt weak and shaky. This was incendiary information and just might destroy her father if it became common gossip. Dare she even tell him about it? Dare she tell anyone what she’d unearthed in these old books?

Through the density of fog and confusion clouding her brain Jenna heard the front door open and close. Bram had come home! Startled out of her fearful preoccupation, she jumped up and tried to pick up both books at once. One fell to the floor with a horrendously loud bang, and Jenna scrambled to scoop it up again.

Bram walked in. He stopped and frowned at her. “What are you doing?”

Jenna turned three shades of red. “I…I—”

“Damn!” he said. “I forgot all about those books. But suppose you tell me how they got from my closet to the kitchen table? And where’s the third one?”

“Don’t you dare yell at me!”

“Then start talking!” He was tired and so saturated with problems of every description that there wasn’t a drop of patience in his entire system. Not even for Jenna, who truly looked like the proverbial kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She also looked mad as hell, probably because she had been caught.

“I’m not one of the criminals in your jail, so don’t treat me like one!”

“I never said you were a criminal. Hell’s bells, don’t put words in my mouth. The ones I come up with on my own are bad enough.”

“I could come up with a few choice ones myself right about now,” Jenna retorted, although she was so internally shaken at being caught like this that her only wish was for invisibility. But would she back down from this man’s righteous fury? Never! “What I’d like to know is why you’ve been hiding in your closet important and probably valuable books that had to have come from the courthouse!”

“I brought them home for safekeeping!”

“Likely story!”

“Don’t believe me. Right now I personally don’t give a damn what you think.” Bram stormed out.

Jenna sank back in her chair, totally drained by anger she had no right to feel. She’d snooped and gotten caught; it was as simple as that.

Bram was at the front door before he remembered the reason he’d come home this early. Veering to the right, he went to see if Gran was still awake. All things considered, the only person who could prove or disprove Rand Colton’s theory of relativity, so to speak, was Gran. If it had happened—whatever it was—then she had lived it. There had to be a way to communicate with her, and he’d come home to the ranch with several ideas on how to go about it.

The master bedroom was shadowed, but Bram could see well enough because of the night-lights dimly illuminating the room and the adjoining bathroom. Gloria was clearly sleeping. He would have to put his theories to the test tomorrow.

Bram turned on his heel and again headed for the front door. He went outside, breathed in the pleasantly cool night air and felt something give within himself. He’d been wound too tightly lately and the bomb inside him had gone off with the wrong person. He felt like a dog for talking that way to Jenna. She didn’t deserve his wrath for any reason, and her looking at those old books should not have lit his fuse the way it had.

Cursing his temper, which rarely surfaced, Bram walked down to the barns. Nellie was with him, as she always was when he was at the ranch, and her presence helped to calm his frazzled nerves. But even feeling less explosive didn’t alleviate the severe remorse eating holes in his gut. Jenna would probably never forgive his rudeness tonight, and why should she?

He filled Nellie’s food and water bowls, then checked the horses’ water trough. A couple of them approached the fence and Bram petted the nose of one.

“Everything’s gone to hell in a handbasket,” he said to the pretty mare. “And tonight I just might have proved that I deserve every damn thing that’s happened.”

He turned and walked away, stood near the barns and looked up at the night sky. Instead of stars he saw clouds. It looked to him like the area was in for some rain.

Dropping his gaze to the house, he wondered if Jenna was packing to leave. It wouldn’t surprise him. In fact, why in heaven’s name would she stay?

But what would he do if she left? There were other nurses, there must be, but Jenna was so perfect with Gran.

She was also perfect for him, even if he couldn’t admit his feelings to her. If only he could. If only he could go back in the house, take her in his arms, tell her how much he loved her and hold her throughout the night.

It was an impossible dream and totally unrealistic, but he could do one thing. He could apologize and hope to high heaven that she would believe in his sincerity and stay on.

Bram walked to the house, not hurrying, because he was honestly afraid of what he might find when he went in. All too soon and yet not soon enough, he had covered the ground from the barns to the house. He chose to enter by the back door, and he went in quietly.

The kitchen was dark, and he stepped beyond it and looked around. From where he stood the master bedroom looked the same, still dimly lit, but the living room lights were on. It appeared that was where he would find Jenna.

Inhaling an anxious breath, Bram went to the entrance to the living room and looked in. Jenna was sitting in a chair with a handful of soggy tissues and reddened eyes. When she saw him, a fresh flow of tears dribbled down her cheeks and she mopped them up with the tissues.

He’d made her cry. Feeling lower than pond scum, he slowly and hesitatingly walked toward her. Encouraged because she didn’t say something like “Back off, jerk!” he knelt on the floor in front of her knees.

“I’m so sorry,” he said huskily. “You can look at those old books anytime you want. The only reason I have them is because the insurance adjuster found them still intact in a metal cabinet in one of the burned rooms and suggested I give them to a local museum. He thought they might have some historical value. I brought them home that day and forgot all about them.”

Jenna’s heart skipped a beat. Historical value? A museum? Anyone examining the old books just might figure out the same thing she had tonight.

But that would take the onus off her. She wouldn’t have to wonder and worry if she should tell her dad or anyone else about her discovery. If anyone did study the books and eventually put it all together, it would get around, make no mistake. Carl Elliot might know people in high places within the governing and business sectors of Oklahoma, as Bram had pointed out, but in Black Arrow he had very few friends. Actually, the yes-men who dogged his footsteps weren’t friends, in Jenna’s estimation. They were leeches, only hanging around for the occasional crumb her father threw them.

Biting her lower lip, she raised her teary eyes and gazed directly at Bram, who looked so downcast and sick at heart that her own heart reached out to him.

But he had hurt her terribly, and not just tonight. Knowing the reason behind his almost constant determination to stay away from her didn’t lessen the pain it caused. And she kept letting it happen because she loved him. She was a pretty sad case, but so was he.

“Can you forgive me?” he asked in a shaky voice completely alien to the way he normally spoke.

She dabbed at her eyes again, not giving a whit if he saw her crying tonight. “I…don’t know. You yelled at me for no reason at all.”

“I yelled because I’m so on edge that I feel like I’m just barely hanging on with my fingertips. You don’t know all that’s been going on.”

“I might, if you ever really talked to me.”

Bram had long dedicated himself to avoiding a conversation like this one with Jenna. It was heading in a dangerous direction, and he knew that if he ever started spilling the truth of his feelings for her, he might never stop. He couldn’t let it happen.

“Jenna,” he said pleadingly, and laid his hands on her thighs. “Tell me you can forgive me.”

Even knowing that he had completely ignored her last remark, she found that his big hands touching her totally turned the tables. It wasn’t fair that she melted at the contact, but she didn’t know how to combat that sort of power.

In the back of her mind were Moselle and GrayEagle Elliot and the fact of the Comanche blood that she was so certain flowed in her own veins. She would give almost anything to tell Bram all about it, but if he ever fell in love with her, she wanted him to love her for herself, not because she had suddenly discovered that a pint or so of Comanche blood mingled in her body with that of so many white ancestors.

No, she couldn’t tell Bram about it any more than she could tell her father. They were both so ridiculously prejudiced that it was a wonder she loved either one of them.

And yet she did, and if Bram would just once say something real and meaningful to her, and she could love him openly, her life would be truly complete.

“Why would you care if I forgave you or not?” she whispered, praying he would stop measuring their worth as human beings through the screen of racial prejudice.

“Why would I care?” he repeated with a frown. “Why wouldn’t I care? I need you here, Jenna.” He leaned forward and slid his hands up to her waist. “I need you,” he whispered.

Her pulse rate quickened. She needed him, too. Without dissecting his simple message for hidden meanings, she shut her eyes and savored his nearness, his scent. In the next instant she felt his lips brush hers, linger on one corner of her mouth and then the other. It was a sensual kiss, and all of her vows to keep Bram at arm’s length completely disintegrated.

She put her arms around his neck and parted her lips for his next kiss. He didn’t disappoint her, and when their lips met this time the kiss turned hungry almost at once. They quickly became frenzied with desire and tried to undress each other.

But she was wearing slacks, he was still in uniform with all that leather stuff—including his gun—around his waist, and everything was a hindrance to lovemaking, even the badge on his shirt.

He got up, pulled her to her feet and said two words. “My bedroom.”

She almost went. She was so close to going that she started to take a step. But then the reality of their relationship—or rather, their nonrelationship—struck full force, and she dug in her heels.

He looked at her questioningly. “No,” she said. “We can’t keep doing this.”

If he said right now, “But I love you, Jenna,” she knew that she would follow him anywhere, be it his bedroom or the moon. But he didn’t say it, and her heart broke into a dozen pieces one more time.

“You’re right,” Bram said, and though he felt a lot more like punching himself than acting all noble about this rebuff, he told himself to be glad that one of them had a little sense. He obviously had none where Jenna was concerned, but did he have to keep proving it over and over again?

Disgusted with himself, he said, “I’m not through working yet today. I’ll see you later.” He walked from the room, and a second later Jenna heard the front door open and close.

“Sure you will,” she said with a sob she absolutely could not hold back.

Bram had only one good thought during his drive back to town. At least Jenna hadn’t packed her clothes after his rude and completely unreasonable outburst in the kitchen.



Bram hadn’t had to go back to work at all, but he didn’t have to rack his brain to find something to do to kill a few hours. He visited the homeless shelters and talked to anyone who didn’t try to slink out of sight when they saw him walk in.

Even the ones who weren’t afraid of the law claimed to know nothing about John Doe’s death at the old depot, so Bram was making very little headway with the case.

He was about to give up and leave the second shelter when one of the volunteers who kept the place running motioned him over. The volunteer was a woman, around sixty, Bram figured, with a round, friendly face and short gray hair.

He followed her into a storage room, where she switched on a ceiling light and closed the door. “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with those fellows out there,” she said. “Have you ever run across a guy named Tobler? I think that’s his last name, but I’ve heard him called Toby, too. He’s short—around five-four, I’d guess, and sort of pudgy. A nasty sort with a big mouth. He comes here every so often and I doubt that anyone’s glad to see him, ’cause most everyone avoids him, or tries to.

“Anyhow, he was here a few nights ago. I was on my knees behind that long buffet cleaning out some drawers when I heard Tobler’s voice just on the other side of the counter. He was telling someone about a gun that he’d found and pawned. Would that have anything to do, do you think, with that poor fellow who died near the old depot?”

“It might. What’s your name?”

“Lily. I’m here almost every day. Got nothing better to do, and most of the people who come in here are in genuine need of a helping hand.”

“Well, it’s folks like you that keep these shelters open, Lily. Would you happen to have any idea where I might find this Tobler or Toby or whatever his name is?”

“Not a clue. They come and go, Sheriff, and it’s a rare day when I recognize any of them on the street.”

“I understand. Toby said he pawned the gun? We’ve checked the pawnshops several times.”

“Well, he probably lied about that. That’s the kind he is.”

“Do you know the name of the guy he was talking to?”

“No, and that was the one and only time I’ve ever seen him. We have lots of those, Sheriff. They’re passing through on their way to only heaven-knows-where and stop in for a hot meal and sometimes a shower and a cot for the night. Then they’re gone.”

“But Tobler sticks around.”

“Oh, he’s hung around Black Arrow for at least a year. Between you and me, I think he’s involved in the drug trade. I have no proof of that, you understand, but it’s still my belief. I’m surprised you don’t know him.”

“Maybe he’s smarter than he looks, Lily. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Not at the moment, but if I see or hear anything else about a gun…or if Tobler should happen to drop in…I’ll give you a call.”

“Thanks, I appreciate the information.”

Bram left the shelter, at long last harboring a ray of hope about the old depot case. He drove directly to the station and processed an APB—all-points bulletin—with Tobler’s name and description, and an order to bring him in for questioning so every deputy would be on the lookout for him.

Bram cruised the town’s darker streets before going home again, checking alleyways and the places where some of Black Arrow’s more disreputable residents hung out. Water sought its own level and so did criminals. Bram had no pity for lawbreakers, especially ones who trafficked in drugs or abused children. Those were the two deadliest sins as far as he was concerned and, sadly, they were the crimes that were the most common, even in a nice little town like Black Arrow.

Finally, of course, Bram had to go home. He was so tired that his eyes were threatening to close on him.

Driving between town and the ranch, Bram saw on the windshield the first raindrops of the storm he’d known was on its way. They slid down the glass and looked like tears to him. Like Jenna’s tears.

A sorrow of such mammoth proportions struck him that he nearly drove off the road. He turned the wheel just in time and finally had to face what he’d been doing to himself. To avoid Jenna, the only woman he would ever love, he’d been working himself into an early grave—which would result in permanent avoidance, all right.

He clenched his jaw so tightly that his back teeth ached. He would never have Jenna, and he could count what blessings he did have from now till the day he died and still be miserable. Oh, he could make do. He’d still work, still raise horses, still attend family functions and still act as though he was glad to be alive and breathing Oklahoma air. And Jenna would eventually meet the right man, get married and have kids. If they ran into each other they would say hello and how are you and goodbye.

How would he bear it?

Grim-faced, he drove into his driveway, parked and went into the silent house. With barely a glance toward the master bedroom, where Jenna lay warm and silky and sleeping, he went to his own room, undressed and crawled between the sheets.

He had thought he would go out like a light. But he lay there listening to the rain on the roof and thinking of Jenna for a long, long time.

Chapter Twelve

It was early, the house was quiet, and Jenna woke up with one thought clear and vivid in her mind. I’ve had enough!

It was all about Bram, of course. She would do her job and give Gloria the best possible care and encouragement, but from this moment on Bram Colton was a big zero to her. If he dared to touch her again he was going to rue the impulse. Never mind that she always kissed him back; he had no right to kiss her in the first place. What did he think she was, a toy to play with when he was in the mood and then ignore until the next time his blood heated up?

Last night he had backed off the second she had told him no. At least he knew what the word meant, which was a point in his favor.

But in her estimation, any of his other good points had nothing at all to do with her. He didn’t need her in his life, it was that simple, and it was time she relegated any and all romantic nonsense about Bram to the trash can, where it belonged.

Of course, if she told him what she’d discovered in the old courthouse books…

But then her dad would be hurt, and despite his many flaws, he was still her dad.

No matter how hard she tried to reconcile her hopes and affections with the realities of her life, she always ended up on the same old merry-go-round, Jenna thought disgustedly, and threw back the covers to get up.

It was close to ten before she finished with her patient’s morning schedule. Gloria had been gently bathed, fed and medicated, and she was awake but resting. It was time for Jenna to tend to her own bodily needs; a little breakfast was in order.

She went to the kitchen, ran water into the teakettle and placed it on the stove. Then she heard a sound and froze. Someone was in the house!

After a long moment of spine-tingling fear, Jenna regained her wits. She was hearing the shower in the second bathroom, the one Bram used. Hadn’t he gone to work before dawn this morning? He was never home at this time of day. Was he ill? Had something happened to keep him in bed this late?

Jenna’s heart began pounding, and that infuriated her. Envisioning Bram naked in the shower was lunacy. Hadn’t she just vowed to forget the man, to put him out of her thoughts forever?

“You fool, you fool,” she whispered, and went over to the table, weakly sinking onto a chair. Fat lot of good any common sense she might actually possess did her, when all Bram had to do to remind her of his strong, hard body and exquisite lovemaking was to take a shower. She loved him and she might as well face facts: nothing was ever going to destroy that love, not her vows, not his emotional cruelty.

The teakettle whistled and she got up and made a pot of tea. She eyed the coffeemaker and then sighed and made coffee for Bram. She was too darned softhearted, she knew. She should have let him make his own coffee.

But she’d never been anything but softhearted, and she wasn’t apt to suddenly turn cold and hard at thirty, even if she would be a heck of a lot more capable of dealing with Bram if she did.

She was eating toast with her tea when Bram walked in. Jenna thought she might die on the spot; he was just too gorgeous in his crisp, fresh uniform, with his face all shiny and his hair still damp from his shower.

“Morning,” he said without really looking at her.

“Morning,” she replied. “That’s fresh coffee. I just made it.”

Bram turned and looked directly at her, realizing that she was drinking tea, yet had made him coffee.

“Thanks,” he said, feeling guilty because of her kindness. This was how their mornings would be if they were married, he thought while pouring himself a cup of coffee. She would have her tea, but she would go out of her way to make his coffee. And then they would sit across the table from each other and talk about yesterday and the day ahead, eat breakfast together and…and—

Cut it out, you damn fool! Bram drank his coffee standing up, leaning against a counter.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Jenna asked.

“I never eat when I first get up.”

“I…I’ve never known you to sleep so late. You’re not ill, are you?”

“I’m not ill. I was just so knocked out when I went to bed that I didn’t wake up at my usual time.” He took another swallow, then added, “But sleeping in was all right this morning. I have to talk to Gran. Is she awake?”

“She was about ten, maybe fifteen minutes ago.”

“I’ll go and check on her.” He topped off his cup and took it with him.

Jenna mourned her defenselessness after he’d gone. He didn’t even know the power he had over her. Oh, he was probably relatively confident of his sexual appeal to women in general, which was all she was to him—a woman in general. It hurt like hell to acknowledge, let alone dwell on.

But how could she not know where she stood with Bram? Sure, he would make love to her. He’d probably go to bed with her every darned night she was here, if she let it happen. But sex—even incredibly good sex—wasn’t love, and love was what she really wanted from him.

Jenna refilled her teacup, lifted it to her lips and wondered why Bram was going to attempt conversation with his grandmother. If Gloria had taken any steps to better her condition, she might be speaking with some clarity today. Instead, the few times she actually tried to say something, it came out so garbled that Jenna rarely comprehended even a syllable.

Bram had moved a chair close to the bed. He held his coffee cup and smiled at his grandmother. “Are you feeling any better, Gran?” She merely looked at him. “Gran, something funny is going on and I have to talk to you about it.” Her expression never changed, and Bram took a breath, got rid of his cup and then closed his big hand around one of hers.

“Gran, did you ever know any Colton other than the one you married?” To his astonishment, Gloria’s eyes widened and she moved her head on the pillow to signify “no.” Bram got that message clearly and was elated that he had succeeded in gaining her full attention. Possibly arousing her curiosity, as well.

“Let me explain, Gran. A guy named Rand Colton came to my office and introduced himself. He and another man I haven’t yet located have both been asking questions all over town about the family. About you, Gran, in particular. According to Rand, there’s a mystery in his family regarding some old envelopes, supposedly sent by you to Rand’s grandfather. Gran, I know you never liked talking about the past. I recall getting curious at times and asking questions that you never quite answered. I respect your right to privacy, but this thing with a stranger named Colton has me spinning. Gran,” Bram said gently, “I have to know if there’s any truth to his story.”

Gloria’s mouth moved spasmodically. She was trying to talk! Bram leaned down and put his ear close to her lips. The sounds Gran made weren’t words, he realized, but she was trying so hard to get something out that he didn’t move away from her.

And finally, after numerous attempts, she said something he did understand. “Truth…find the truth.” And then another few words came through. “For…you kids.” She heaved an exhausted sigh and shut her eyes.

Bram slowly sat up and pondered what Gran had said. And she had spoken, she really had. But what “truth” was he supposed to unearth, and what was for “you kids”?

Another mystery, Bram thought with a deep frown. Well, he’d accomplished one thing, anyway. Gran didn’t know Rand Colton, if that was really his name, and Bram wasn’t going to waste any time “searching family trees” with the guy, as he’d suggested. Bram had too many other, much more serious things to concentrate on than that.

Although when he did have some time he would try to figure out what Gran had meant with the few words she’d struggled so hard to impart.

None of it made a drop of sense to Bram, and he doubted that he’d ever get to the bottom of it. Although if Rand Colton kept pestering him, and that other guy kept nosing into Colton family business, they were both apt to end up cooling their heels in the county jail. Besides, Rand’s projection of complete shock when Bram had asked him if he’d tried to burn down the courthouse might only mean that the guy was a good actor.

Bram sat back and, with heartfelt sorrow, watched his grandmother sleep. Seemingly overnight she had changed from a strong, independent, active woman to a frail, helpless little thing. It hurt terribly to see her like this, and when he felt the powerful suction of unbridled grief pulling him down, he got up from the chair, took his cup and quietly left the room.

He returned to the kitchen, where Jenna was rinsing the few dishes she’d used and putting them in the dishwasher.