“Was she awake?” she asked.
“Yes.” Bram waited until Jenna had finished at the sink, then rinsed his own cup.
“But you didn’t get her to talk clearly enough to understand what she said, did you?”
“I heard a few words.”
Jenna looked at him. “You did? What did she say?”
“Something about finding the truth.”
“Those exact words?”
“Yes.”
“Bram, that’s wonderful! I try every day to get her to at least attempt speech, and I get nowhere. How did you get her to at least try to talk?”
He didn’t want to discuss it. It was probably all utter nonsense, anyway. “I don’t know why she would talk to me and not to you. I have to go to work now. See you later.” He was just beyond the kitchen doorway when the phone rang. Turning back, thinking the call was for him, he heard Jenna answer.
“Colton Ranch…oh, hello Dr. Hall,” she said. “All right…Richard. Apparently this isn’t a professional call.” After another pause, she stated, “Oh, I can’t. I’m sorry, but I really can’t leave her at night. I know I’ve been refusing my Thursdays off, but I’ve developed a true bond with Gloria and I hate leaving her with any other nurse.”
Bram leaned against the wall next to the doorway and listened. Dr. Hall, that jerk, was trying to talk Jenna into leaving Gran with someone else and go out with him! Bram’s hands curled into fists as jealousy nearly ate him alive. He could not stop himself from peering around the doorway to see what expression was on Jenna’s face.
“Well, yes, after I leave here I suppose we could have dinner together,” Jenna said, and accidentally turned just enough to see Bram watching her. And listening! “Richard, I have to say goodbye.” She quickly put down the phone, and just as quickly Bram walked away.
She was angry enough to not let him get away with this, and she ran after him. He was in his bedroom, securing his leather belt with all its paraphernalia—including that big holster and gun—around his waist, and he glanced at her when she appeared in the doorway.
But instead of the fury that had brought her from the kitchen, which she’d planned to unload on Bram for eavesdropping on a personal conversation, she found herself apologizing and trying to explain Richard Hall’s call. She made a mess of it, too, stumbling over her own words.
Finally Bram shrugged and said coolly, “You’re entitled. Don’t sweat it.”
Jenna was stunned and then angry again. “Are you as rude to everyone else as you are to me? I’m entitled to have friends? How generous of you to say so.”
“Well, you weren’t getting very far with your explanation and so I thought I’d help you out.”
“You thought nothing of the kind! You saw another opportunity to make me miserable and you took it!”
“Jenna, that’s not true.” Bram finished with the buckle on his belt and then stood looking at her. Why were they constantly at each other’s throats? “Damn it, I wouldn’t hurt you for anything. Don’t you know that?”
“And I would know that because…?” Doubt and disdain were clear on her face.
Bram clenched his jaw, rebelling at the ridicule he heard in her voice and saw in her expression. “It’s either something you know or you don’t. Obviously you don’t.”
“Obviously! And just remember this, you…you jerk! There are many, many things about me that you don’t know!”
“The only things I don’t know about you are things I don’t care to know.”
“Oh, really,” she drawled sarcastically. “Your ego can’t deal with reality, can it? To maintain your swelled head you have to believe you’re the only man who turns on a woman who just happens to turn you on!”
“That’s absurd. You’re talking nonsense and I don’t have time to waste. I have to go.” Bram moved toward her. “Are you going to move on your own or do I have to move you?”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, for hell’s sake,” Bram muttered, and put his hands around her waist with the intention of lifting her off the floor and setting her down anywhere but in the doorway.
But it didn’t turn out that way. Without even a glimmer of forethought, he pulled her up against him and began kissing her. “Jenna…Jenna,” he said yearningly, hoarsely, between kisses that got hungrier by the second.
And fool that she was, she kissed him back…again. She leaned into him and kissed him with as much fervor as he was kissing her.
And then, just like that, he let go of her. Jenna reeled as he strode out of his room, anger clearly visible on his face and in the set of his shoulders.
It was too much for her to take. She had kissed him back instead of saying something scathing to make him rue the day, and she’d been so sure she could deal with his next pass!
She couldn’t just stand there and despise both of them as she was doing, she realized, and she took off running, pulling open the front door just as he was driving away.
“I hate you!” she yelled.
Bram heard her, and he drove to Black Arrow and the sheriff’s station with the heartbreaking phrase I hate you repeating over and over in his head, along with enormous amounts of self-disgust. Why wouldn’t Jenna hate him? He wasn’t particularly fond of himself these days, and God knows he hadn’t been treating Jenna in the way she deserved.
But he wanted her—his beautiful golden girl—and he couldn’t have her! The pull and tug of that knowledge would make any man a little crazy.
Bram tortured himself with memories of making love with Jenna until he braked to a stop in his parking place at the station. With a pain in his stomach that felt like the start of an ulcer—he was going to have to begin his days with something other than strong black coffee, he acknowledged—he went inside.
“What’s happening?” he asked the duty officer.
“Nothing much. Last night’s reports are on your desk.”
“Thanks.” Bram went to his office, passing up the coffee machine, while longing for a cup. At his desk he read the reports, then sat back and pondered the few words Gran had managed to convey. Should he put an end to this whole Colton thing by phoning Rand and telling him “No deal”? And maybe adding, “Frankly, I’m not all that sold on your story and can’t help considering the possibility of your being up to no good.”
But perhaps he was putting the cart before the horse. Should he make that sort of decision without further investigation? Maybe Great-granddad knew something of the past that he’d never talked about.
Abruptly Bram got to his feet. On his way out of the station he announced to everyone present, “Get me on the radio if you need me. There’s something I have to do.”
The usual parade of Coltons came and went all morning. They were not a happy or boisterous group. Some of them left the house weeping quietly, and Jenna empathized so strongly with their sorrow over Gran’s condition that she shed a few tears herself.
But it was Willow who worried Jenna. Something besides her grandmother’s bad health was bothering the young woman, Jenna sensed, and she wished Willow would talk to her about it.
When she took her leave, Jenna hugged her. “If you ever need someone to lean on, Willow, you know where to find me.”
“I know, Jenna, and I’ve always valued your friendship. But some things…well, some things just can’t be discussed with even the best of friends.”
Those few words from her friend, an admission of sorts, made Jenna positive that Willow was feeling the weight of a problem she couldn’t bring herself to share.
After Willow had gone, Jenna compared their situations. Chances were that Willow’s “problem” was a man. Jenna’s certainly was, and she couldn’t talk about it to anyone, either. Willow was right. There were some secrets a woman couldn’t reveal to anyone.
Bram parked in his great-granddad’s driveway next to George WhiteBear’s old pickup truck. As usual, George’s three friendly mutts wriggled all over the place and put their wet noses against the legs of Bram’s pants.
“Hey, knock it off,” he told them, but in a fond way.
George stepped out onto his porch and Bram began walking toward him. “How are you, Granddad?” he called.
“I am well. How is my daughter?”
“Not so well, I’m afraid.”
“Come in.”
George sat in his favorite chair and Bram took another. “Soon you will be delivering bad news,” George said in that somber way he had of speaking about serious matters.
“How soon?” Bram asked quietly as a stab of deep sorrow shot through his chest.
“Soon,” George repeated.
Bram took a breath. “Granddad, there’s something I have to ask you about.”
“Go ahead.”
“Have you ever known any person with the last name of Colton besides the man Gran married?”
“I never even knew him. He died shortly after their marriage. He was a white man, you know. Maybe he had weak blood. I felt bad for Gloria.”
“Are you saying you never saw him at all?”
“I think that’s what I said. Should I say it in different words?”
“No, I understood you. It just surprised me. So you’ve never met anyone named Colton?”
“I think you do need to hear some different words.”
Bram held up his hand. “No…not necessary. I heard what you said just fine. It just seems so peculiar that Gran never brought her husband home to meet you.”
“He died. How could she bring him?”
“Well, he didn’t die two minutes after the ceremony, did he? Granddad, they were married long enough for Gran to conceive Dad and Uncle Thomas. Exactly how long were they married before he died? Do you know that?”
“You sound as though you might be thinking he did a little teepee creeping before the ceremony.”
Bram almost laughed, but managed to stifle the impulse. “That’s pretty immaterial at this late date, but I’m still amazed that Gran didn’t bring him home to meet you. So how long was she away before returning home, pregnant and widowed?”
George became thoughtful for a few moments, then said, “Two, three months is a pretty good guess.”
“I see. Then she was just barely pregnant…and newly widowed. Must have been hard on her.”
“You play, you pay,” George announced solemnly.
Bram nearly choked. “That’s definitely not a Comanche saying, Granddad.”
“I’ve learned a few things from my white brothers over the years.”
Bram got to his feet. “I’m sure you have. I have to go, Granddad. See you later.”
“Yes, you will.”
Bram drove back to town, even more perplexed over the Rand Colton problem than he’d been during the drive to George’s place. It was hard to believe that another bunch of Coltons—ostensibly residing in Washington, D.C.—suddenly gave a whit about a family of Coltons living in Oklahoma. There was something strange going on, and Rand probably knew what it was.
Bram would use that Oklahoma City phone number Rand had left him and ask a few questions. After all, he thought, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
But the second Bram walked into the station he was told, “Wagner and Hobart picked up Tobler. We put him in a holding cell until you got back.”
Bram’s outlook on life in general brightened considerably. “Did he say anything?”
“Yeah, he’s really got a mouth on him. Called us every name in the book and some I think he must have invented. He had a good-size stash on him, Bram, enough grass to make his charge a felony instead of a misdemeanor, if you decide to arrest him.”
“Bring him to the small interrogation room. We’ll let him sweat in there for about thirty minutes while I run and grab something to eat. I haven’t had a bite yet today.”
Four hours later Bram was still trying to get Tobler, the little creep, to talk. He had to wear the guy down, and if that meant repeating the same questions over and over until they gagged even him, Bram would do it.
“Tell me about the grass.” “Tell me about the gun.” “Where is it now?” “Did you pawn it, sell it, hide it or give it to someone else?”
Tobler’s repeated responses were, “I’m thirsty.” “I have to go to the john.” “You’re full of crap.” “You’re wasting your breath.” “I need a smoke.”
That last one always gladdened Bram’s heart, because to that complaint he could respond, and he did, with great pleasure, “This particular lockup happens to be a no-smoking facility. If I put you in a cell for three days or three months or three years, you still couldn’t smoke.”
Tobler always sneered. “You can’t hold me for three years. I ain’t stupid, you know.”
“Now there’s where you’re wrong. You just might be the most stupid dirtbag on the face of the earth. I could arrest you right now for the grass, but I’ve been hoping you’d wise up and help yourself by telling me about the gun. That makes you stupid, Tobler or Toby or whatever in hell your real name is.”
“It’s Toby Tobler.”
“Your mama named you Toby when your last name was Tobler? Was she stupid, too?”
“Don’t you dare call my mama stupid!”
“Tell me about the gun. Where is it now? Where’d you get the grass? Is it possible you traded the gun for the grass?” Bram sat back and stared across the small table at Toby Tobler. “Maybe you’ve been doing some dealing of your own.”
“I ain’t no dealer!”
It went on and on until Bram’s back and head ached, at which point he left the room and let Lester take over. At ten that night Tobler cracked.
“All right!” he yelled. “I’ll tell you everything. Just leave me the hell alone!”
Bram turned on a tape recorder. “So, talk.”
Later, in his office, he listened to Tobler’s recorded story. It was one for the books.
“I was at the old depot, trying to find a place to sleep. A couple of other guys were already on the floor, wrapped in blankets, so I was trying to be quiet. I heard a commotion outside and went to see what was going on. I hunkered down behind a pile of old bricks and I spied two guys. One of them was a little guy and the other was tall and stringy.”
Bram heard his own voice on the recorder. “Did you or do you now know either or both of the men?”
“Just one of ’em. The stringbean. He’s a…a dealer. Damn you, you’re making me dig my own grave here.”
“What’s his name and where does he hang?”
“I don’t know his real name. Everyone calls him Joker, ’cause he’s always saying something dumb that he thinks is funny. I don’t know where he hangs. He’s just always around when you need something. That’s what the little guy was doing with him that night, bargaining for drugs. Said he needed them powerful bad.”
John Doe had been trying to buy drugs? Bram didn’t like that picture at all.
Tobler’s narration continued. “The little guy took out a wad of bills and I got nervous for him. Joker ain’t a guy you should be flashing money in front of, if you know what I mean. Anyhow, Joker acted all sympathetic and handed the little guy something. I figured he’d sold him some coke or meth, but then, just like that, he grabbed the guy’s money and the little package he’d given him and took off running. I saw the guy go down on his knees and the next thing I knew he pulled out a gun and shot himself.
“I watched for a long time and then when it hit me that no one else had heard the pop of that little gun, I snuck out and ran over and picked it up. I checked the guy for a wallet or jewelry, but he didn’t have anything in his pockets, not one thing. Then I heard a car and I took off. About then the guys sleeping in the old depot came running out, but I’m sure none of them saw me. I was long gone by the time they found the dead guy.”
“So, where’s the gun?”
“I traded it to Joker for the grass, just like you said.”
“And when, exactly, did you do this?”
“A couple of nights ago. In the alley behind the Bucket o’ Suds Saloon.”
“Have you met Joker in that alley before?”
“A couple of times, but I don’t think he sleeps there.”
“And what makes you think that?”
“Nothing. I just don’t think he sleeps in any alley.”
“Because he makes big money dealing drugs?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
The recording went on for another thirty minutes, but Bram already knew what was on it by heart, and he was so worn out that he barely had the strength to switch it off. He actually had to force himself to stand up from his chair and walk out the door to the patrol car he’d been driving.
But exhausted or not, there was still a glow of satisfaction in his system that wouldn’t be denied. He had accomplished a few things today at least; he had a witness to John Doe’s suicide and he also had a lead on Joker, a scourge on Black Arrow and a threat to every decent citizen.
The day had turned out to be productive, after all.
Chapter Thirteen
Before dawn the next morning Bram loaded the three courthouse books into the trunk of his prowl car. He planned to make some telephone calls later on to figure out who—or what institution—should have them. Maybe the old records should be in a museum, maybe they were worthless. But someone in charge of such things should be told they had survived the fire. He would take care of it today.
Jenna heard him leaving and experienced such a rush of emotional pain that she lay huddled under her blankets in abject misery long after the sound of his car had faded to nothing in the predawn darkness. Among the convoluted jumble of her thoughts one was totally clear: she never wanted to fall in love again. It hurt too much.
It started sprinkling before Bram got to Black Arrow, not a deluge but enough rain on the windshield that he had to turn on the wipers. He hoped it wasn’t going to be a gray, gloomy day, because in spite of last night’s success with Tobler, Bram felt down and dejected this morning. He didn’t have to seek a reason for his low mood, not when even a few sprinkles of rain on the windshield seemed overwhelmingly sad.
But everything seemed sad and dreary this morning, he thought, even his job. Why in heaven’s name had he ever wanted to be Comanche County’s sheriff? He could have made a decent enough living from his horses.
Bram sighed. He’d needed something else, and for a while working hard as sheriff had done him a world of good. He’d been able to live and breathe without thinking of Jenna Elliot every minute of every hour. Now nothing, not even landing a small fish like Tobler, and the prospect of reeling in a bigger one, like Joker, could crowd the zillion images of Jenna from his brain. Right now she was in bed, all warm and silky-skinned, and if he had a million bucks he would happily throw it down a well if he could turn this car around, crawl in bed next to her and tell her that he had loved her for years.
“You’re turning into a damn whiner,” he said in disgust. “You can’t have her! Get over it!”
But he knew that he wasn’t going to get over Jenna, not ever. The rain fell harder and he turned up the wipers a notch. Like it or not, they were in for a gray, drizzly morning.
At the sheriff’s station Bram wrapped the blanket more tightly around the three heavy books, then made a run for the front door of the building. Ignoring the teasing conjectures being tossed around about what the boss might be smuggling in under that blanket, he plopped the big books down on a table in his office.
Sergeant Lester Moore, apparently the day’s duty officer, leaned against the frame of the door and watched while Bram removed the damp blanket and draped it over a chair to dry out.
“What’ve you got there?” Lester asked.
“Books from the courthouse, saved from the fire by a heavy metal cabinet. Maybe you know the person I should talk to about them. The insurance adjuster thought they might have historical value. They’re about a hundred years old.”
“Then they probably are valuable. But it’s all local stuff in them, right?”
“I suppose so.”
“Then I think we should keep them right here in Comanche County. I’d call Maddy Hempler over at the Western Oklahoma Museum, if I were you. You know Maddy, don’t you?”
“I think we’ve met.”
“Well, I can tell you that she’d have your hide if you gave those books to a state museum instead of to her. To WOM, I mean, though she definitely feels protective of the place. No one who worked there before her did as good a job as she does. Heck, today the museum is three times the size it was when Maddy took over a few years back.”
“Sounds good enough for me. I’ll call around what? Ten?”
“The museum should be open by then.”
Bram sat at his desk. “Has the APB gone out on Joker?”
“Hours ago, before I got here this morning.”
“To the state police, too?”
“Yes. It was faxed to every law enforcement agency in Oklahoma. How long are you going to hold Tobler?”
“For as long as the law allows. I’m going to talk to the prosecutor this morning.” Bram began doodling on a yellow pad. “I need advice on our John Doe, too.”
“I know.” One of the deputies called Lester’s name, and he said, “Talk to you later,” and left Bram’s doorway.
Bram dropped the pen, leaned back against his chair and stared at the ceiling. Despite a saturation campaign in the media, no one who knew John Doe had come forward. Either the poor guy had been completely alone in the world or he had lived somewhere else and no one around here knew him. Which meant he would have a lonely, solitary burial.
That struck Bram as just too sad, and he reached for the phone. He couldn’t wait for the county prosecutor to get to his office, so he called the man’s home.
Aubrey Kennecott didn’t like being called at his home, which he let Bram know, but then he settled down and listened.
“Two things, Aubrey.” Bram recited the particulars of Toby Tobler sitting in jail and possibly being an important witness when they caught up with Joker. “I could arrest him for possession,” Bram said, “but right now he’s a willing witness to Joker’s drug trade and I’d just as soon keep him that way.”
“And how long before you nail Joker?”
“Within days,” Bram said in all confidence. “There’s no reason to think that he might be aware we have Tobler, so I’m pretty certain it will be business as usual for him. We’ve got to get him off the streets, Aubrey. He’s a fairly big dealer and a nightmare.”
“You’ve known about him for a while?”
“Bits and pieces, nothing concrete. Tobler put it all together for us last night.”
“Okay. You can hold Tobler for his own safety. Write it up as witness protection for the time being. Is that it? Can I go and finish shaving now?”
“Not quite yet. We have to do something with our John Doe. I’d like to give him a decent send-off, but I need your release to do anything with him.”
“You’re completely convinced it was a suicide?”
Bram hesitated. He hated even the word suicide, but how could he argue with scientific fact?
“Everything points in that direction, Aubrey. The medical examiner is positive and wrote it in his report, and then with Tobler’s explanation of the incident…well, it all fits, and explains probably what took place.”
“Okay. I’ll phone the morgue and release the body. The county budget is very low for transient burials, you know.”
“Yes, Aubrey, I do know,” he said, figuring he’d cover any additional cost out of his own pocket. “I would appreciate your calling the coroner right away so I can move forward on this.”
“The man could still be in bed!”
“Then wake him up. Thanks, Aubrey.” Bram put down the phone and checked his watch. It was still before seven, but the director of Hanson’s Funeral Home must be used to calls at all hours of the day and night.
At least that was what Bram told himself while dialing Darren Hanson’s home phone number.
It took Bram almost thirty minutes to convince Darren to hold a funeral on such short notice, but Bram was adamant about burying John Doe today.
Bram’s final call—for the time being—was to Will. “There’s a funeral at three this afternoon. You don’t know the deceased, nor do I. It’s that poor little guy who offed himself at the old depot, Will. I pretty much know the story behind the story now, and even if he was a junkie I can’t stand thinking of him being stuck in a hole without a few kind words and at least a couple of mourners. Anyhow, I’d like you to attend the service with me. Can you do it?”
Will didn’t hesitate a second. “Of course I can. I’ll meet you at the cemetery at three.”
The minister recited the Lord’s Prayer with feeling, then talked briefly about the hard paths some people had to tread in life. He spoke nicely of a man he’d never known, and after another prayer, indicated to Bram that the service was over. Bram thanked him and the minister departed.
Bram and Will stood alone then. Finally Will spoke. “Something like this makes a man realize his own good fortune, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.” Bram’s eyes burned with unshed tears. The simple service had moved him. John Doe moved him. Gran’s bad health tore holes in his gut, and Jenna…Jenna represented everything good that life had to offer. He felt like bawling and didn’t dare do it. Not that Will would make fun of him for crying, but if he ever actually loosened the tight reins he kept on his emotions he might never stop crying.
“I really wonder about death sometimes. Don’t you, Bram?”
“Yeah, I do. Probably everyone does.”
“Do you think you could ever do yourself in, like this poor guy?”
“No, but everyone’s different. Who knows what a person might do in another man’s shoes?”
“Right. It’s an awful thought, though.”
“The worst. Well, I’d better get back to work. You, too.”
They started walking to their cars. “Will, thanks.”
“You know you can always count on me, Bram.”
They stopped next to Bram’s vehicle and looked at each other. “And vice versa, Will.”
“You’re a good man for doing this today, Bram. That’s why you’re the best sheriff Black Arrow’s ever had. You care about everyone, even this poor fella.”
“If no one cared, the world would be a sorry place, Will.”
Bram looked off across the cemetery. It was a pretty place with its many trees and flower beds, but the aesthetic beauty of this final resting place was the furthest thing from his mind. He had the strongest urge to tell Will about Jenna, and somehow felt this was the time to do it. It would put an end to Will’s teasing remarks about him finding the right woman and getting married, but maybe that was okay, too.
“Will, I’d like to tell you something.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ve been in love with Jenna Elliot for at least ten years. She’s the reason I’m not married.”
Will looked puzzled. “You’re in love with her and she’s the reason you’re not married? Bram, that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”
“Yes, it does. She has no idea how I feel about her and she never will.”
“For crying out loud, why not? Oh, wait a minute. You’ve sensed that she doesn’t care all that much for you, right? That’s tough, man. I feel for you.”
“No, that’s not it at all. Well, I guess it could be part of it, but, Will, she’s white, and you know how her father looks down on Native Americans.”
Will stared at him. “Hold on a minute. You don’t really give a damn about anything Carl Elliot might think, do you? I can’t believe that, Bram. Good Lord, man, Jenna’s opinion is the only one that matters.” Will narrowed his eyes. “And she’s living in your house. How can you be in love with a woman who happens to be in the same house with you every time you go home to bed and still get any sleep? Wait, I’m not saying that right. Let me—”
“Don’t bother, Will. I’ve said it all to myself too many times to count.”
“You’re denying your feelings for a woman because she’s white? Bram, I honestly believe I know you better than just about anyone else, and so help me God it never would have occurred to me that you might be ashamed of your Comanche heritage.”
“I’m not, Will. But Jenna might be.”
“Because of ol’ Carl? Doesn’t she have a mind of her own? I don’t know her real well, but anytime I’ve been around her she always seemed like a real nice lady.”
“She is a lady, Will. Like your Ellie.”
“Damn it, Bram, don’t do this to yourself. To hell with her dad’s bigotry. You wouldn’t be marrying Carl Elliot, you’d be marrying Jenna.”
“And you don’t think she’d resent me for the rest of her days for being the cause of her father turning his back on her?”
“Well, if he’s that thickheaded, she’s better off without him!”
“Will, he’s her father! You’re white, how could you possibly understand how I feel about this? I never should’ve told you.”
“That’s just about the worst thing you’ve ever said to me, Bram. I have to go back to work.” Will walked to his pickup with his head down, and Bram watched him go with a heavy ache in his heart. Will didn’t understand. How could he?
Just before Will drove away Bram ran after him. “Listen, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t say that to hurt you.”
“Maybe you said it to hurt yourself,” Will said. “Maybe you’re the one who thinks a man with Comanche blood isn’t good enough for Jenna Elliot. Think about that, Bram.”
Watching his friend’s car leave the cemetery, Bram spoke under his breath. “It’s Carl Elliot who thinks that, Will, not me.”
But long after Will had gone, his words hung in the air. Bram looked up at the pale sun trying to break through the clouds and only partially succeeding. Heavyhearted, he walked over to a stone bench, made sure it wasn’t still wet from the morning’s rainfall, and sat down. He turned his back on the two men who came along to fill in John Doe’s grave, and thought about how short a lifetime really was.
And he pondered a man so in need of illegal drugs that he would use a gun on himself before going without them.
Bram wasn’t a man who normally felt hatred for anything, certainly not for members of the human race, however low they might have fallen. But hatred welled for a drug dealer named Joker, and Bram sat there and swore an oath to arrest him and make sure he was brought to justice in a court of law.
Bram stayed on that bench until it began sprinkling again. When he got in his car he was surprised by the time. He must have sat in the cemetery for a couple of hours. Did he really have so much on his mind that he could spend two hours just thinking and not realize it?
He couldn’t deny it. For one thing, in all of his life he had never felt so overrun by complex problems. Usually he had one or two things going on that required a little time, maybe some work, possibly even some worry. But then Gran got sick and Jenna moved in and the courthouse burned and Rand Colton showed up.
Now nothing went smoothly. In fact Bram had never driven a bumpier road than the one he’d been on lately.
Somber and serious during the trip back to the station, Bram stopped at a drive-through and bought some supper, which he took with him. Seated at his desk, he ate his fish fillets and coleslaw. He took a few calls while he ate, and after the second one he put down the phone and found himself looking directly at the three old books on the catch-all table against the far wall.
“Well, hell,” he mumbled. He’d forgotten to call Maddy Hempler about them. Shaking his head, he grabbed the telephone book and looked up the number for the Western Oklahoma Museum.
He got a recording. “Thank you for calling the Western Oklahoma Museum. Our visiting hours are from—” Bram slammed down the phone. He decided that he was in no mood to talk to Maddy Hempler anyhow, and he put the telephone book back in his desk drawer.
Then he sat there and wished he could go home. Some deputies were leaving for the day, others were arriving to begin their shift. If Jenna weren’t at the ranch he would go home.
Heaving a disgruntled sigh, Bram got up and walked around his office. Every deputy was on the lookout for Joker. Sooner or later that piece of slime would show his face, but until then it was a waiting game. Maybe it was the waiting that had him so on edge, Bram thought.
But he knew it was more than that. It was what Will had said today, and Bram loving a woman he couldn’t have, and Gran steadily losing ground, and on and on and on.
Lester stuck his head in. “Roy called in sick. He sounded like hell on the phone. Must have caught a bad bug. Should I work his shift, too?”
Bram considered the situation. Roy Emerson had been night duty officer for several weeks now. Bram could assign the job to another deputy, but he wanted every available man on patrol looking for Joker. And Lester couldn’t work all night and then again all day tomorrow.
“No, you go on home. I’ll take Roy’s shift.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. See you tomorrow.”
Bram wandered into the central area of the building. In one corner of the large room was the radio equipment the dispatchers used. These people had had police training every bit as strenuous as the deputies in the patrol cars. Bram felt fortunate—as should every resident of Comanche County—that the department had such efficient dispatchers. At any given moment those people knew where each and every man and woman on the force was, along with the vehicles they drove.
Bram thought of calling the ranch and telling Jenna that he wouldn’t be home all night, but he changed his mind. She wouldn’t be looking for him at any particular hour, given the irregular schedule he’d been keeping—actually, no schedule at all.
About an hour later, though, he tried to remember if he’d filled Nellie’s food and water bowls that morning and couldn’t. He’d brought those books out to the car, but had he gone down to the barns before that?
“You’re really losing it,” he muttered under his breath as he stood at the counter and dialed the ranch’s number.
“Colton Ranch.”
“Jenna, Bram. Have you seen Nellie today?”
“A couple of times. She never comes to the door without you.”
“Well, I can’t remember if I fed her this morning. I hate to ask, but I’m tied up here. Would you mind running down to the smallest barn and checking Nellie’s food and water bowls? They’re right inside the door to the right, and there’s a big sack of dry food on the shelf just above them.”
Jenna glanced to a window and saw that it was pitch-black outside. There were a few yard lights, but she wasn’t at all accustomed to running around in the dark miles from neighbors and traffic, and her heart was all of a sudden nervous and leaping around in her chest. Or at least it felt that way.
She wasn’t thrilled about this, but how could she refuse? Nellie shouldn’t have to go hungry just because she was afraid.
“Sure,” she said, faking a confidence she didn’t feel at all. “I’d be glad to do it.”
For some crazy reason Bram got all choked up. She was just so darned special, so giving, so considerate of everyone else.
“Thanks,” he said huskily. “I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“I doubt that, but it’s a good sign-off. Good night.”
Frowning, Bram slowly put down the phone.
Jenna put her phone down as well, then stood there and stared at the darkness beyond the windows.
“You goose,” she said out loud. “There’s nothing out there at night that isn’t there during the day.” She took a quick look at Gloria, then grabbed a light jacket because of the drizzling rain and went out the back door of the house.
The yard lights helped a lot more than she’d thought they would, which bolstered her courage, and she jogged down to the smallest barn. But even if everything else had been just great, she didn’t like leaving Gloria alone in the house, so she hurriedly filled Nellie’s food bowl. The little collie wriggled all around Jenna’s legs before she began eating hungrily, and Jenna was glad that she had overcome the after-dark jitters to do this simple chore.
But Nellie’s water bowl was also empty, and where did one get water down here? Jenna looked around the shadowy barn with its dark, spooky corners. There had to be a water faucet somewhere out here, but where? Bram should have told her, she thought resentfully.
When she realized that a water pipe ran along the inside of a wall, she followed it until it vanished through the wall. Obviously the spigot was outside.
“Well, for crying out loud!” she exclaimed, and forced herself to walk around the side of the barn, which included climbing between the wooden rails of a fence. But she did it, and in the feeble light that reached that particular area she managed to identify a water trough. She didn’t waste time looking for a spigot, but merely dipped Nellie’s bowl into the trough to fill it.
She was about to reverse directions when she heard the howling of a coyote. With chills traveling her spine, Jenna froze, but strangely, Nellie, who had followed her through the fence, paid the bloodcurdling howling absolutely no mind.
“Don’t you hear it? What kind of watch dog are you?” Jenna’s mobility returned with a rush and she nearly fell over her own feet getting through the fence and into the barn to set down the bowl of water. Outside again, on her way back to the house, she heard the howling split the night quiet one more time.
Jenna hit the back door running. Breathing hard, she listened acutely, but there was no more howling. Why on earth hadn’t Nellie barked? Didn’t dogs bark at everything? Hell’s bells, that coyote had sounded close enough to touch!
The hours ticked by and Bram restlessly paced the rooms of the sheriff’s station. By midnight there were barely any radio communications to listen to on this quiet, mostly uneventful night in Black Arrow, and Bram went into his office and sat at his desk. He doodled, he looked at old reports, he twisted paper clips and finally, beginning to feel sleepy, he got up and toted one of the courthouse books over to his desk, figuring it was something different to look at and just might prove interesting enough to keep him awake.
He turned back the cover and then slowly, one by one, the book’s pages.
Three hours later he was more awake than he’d been at midnight and so torn up emotionally that he didn’t know where to put himself. He made himself check the pertinent entries again and again because he couldn’t believe his own conclusions.
Finally he sat back, feeling dazed. Carl Elliot had Comanche blood? Jenna had Comanche blood? Carl couldn’t be aware of these records or he would have found a way to destroy them.
My God, was he the arsonist? He wouldn’t have had to actually light the fire; he had more than enough money to buy anything he wanted, even the destruction of his own past.
Bram was badly shaken, and he left his office and got himself a cup of coffee, which he’d been avoiding because of the discomfort in his stomach. But he sipped that hot, strong brew and wondered unhappily what to do with the information he’d stumbled upon tonight. Did Jenna know about it? Should he tell Jenna? If everyone learned the truth of the Elliot family’s ancestry, there would no longer be a reason for Bram to deny his love for Jenna.
But what if she didn’t know, and what if learning about it hurt her in some way? Bram didn’t give a damn if Carl got hurt in twenty different ways, but he would die before knowingly causing Jenna any grief. And yet wasn’t he hurting her in some manner every day that she lived in his house?
Bram glared at the three old books that once again lay on the table in his office. “Damned things,” he mumbled. Yes, it did his heart good to know that Carl Elliot wasn’t snow-white, but then neither was Jenna.
Groaning, Bram put his head down on his arms on the desk. Why did these things keep happening to him? Damn it, life used to be good! Had he committed some unpardonable sin that required constant and possibly endless punishment?
Independence Day, the Fourth of July, dawned sunny and bright. The Coltons began arriving around ten that morning, and by noon the yard was ready for a picnic. The family had set up tables bearing red, white and blue cloths, the American Flag flew proudly from its high pole, and red, white and blue balloons had been attached to trees and bushes to float on a gentle breeze.
Jenna had been told a few days prior about the holiday celebration planned by the family, but someone had called it “simple,” and to Jenna, this wasn’t at all simple; it was lovely and appropriate, and stirred feelings of patriotism and love of family. It also stirred old memories, and Jenna thought of her mother often that morning. She also thought of her dad, but she couldn’t recall that he had ever liked picnics or even Black Arrow’s Fourth of July celebration. Jenna’s mother, on the other hand, had loved the Fourth and called it her favorite holiday of the year.
The amount and variety of food brought by the Coltons was almost unbelievable. This picnic was going to be a feast. While the family members joked and laughed outside, each and every one of them became sober and serious when they came in to spend time with Gran. Jenna prayed the generosity of her family would lift Gloria’s spirits, but only time would tell on that score.
In truth, Jenna was so unnerved by another matter that it was difficult to smile at these wonderful people and act as though nothing was wrong. Bram had gone to work early that morning as though it were any other day, and his cold disregard for the time and money spent by his family to make today a special holiday seemed unforgivable to Jenna. She thought it rather strange that no one commented on Bram’s absence, but she didn’t feel it was her place to bring it up, and so it was never discussed, not in her hearing, at any rate.
The men were setting up chairs and the women of the family were placing the food on the tables when Jenna saw Bram’s SUV coming down the road. Her breath caught as she suffered a jolt of genuine anguish. She’d been upset because Bram wasn’t there, and then when he showed up she was even more upset? Good Lord, she thought disgustedly. Get a grip, for Pete’s sake. Do you want all these nice people knowing how weak-minded you get around their Bram?
The men gravitated toward the driveway, and when Bram had parked and gotten out, Jenna watched out of the corner of her eye—not wanting to appear all giddy and lovestruck, which she was no matter how hard she fought it—and saw several of them helping George WhiteBear from the vehicle. She should have known they wouldn’t leave the patriarch of the family out of the day’s festivities. In fact, she realized suddenly, the big chair they had carried from the house and placed at the head of one of the tables had been expressly planned for George WhiteBear.
Jenna’s first meeting with the very old man had provided her very little information about the true nature of his relationship with his family. That day, in fact, she had thought Mr. WhiteBear to be a bit light in the upper story, calling her a golden fox the way he had, and then slipping into a state of mourning over the impending death of his daughter, which he had apparently been made aware of by a coyote. What’s more, his great-grandsons—two of them anyway, Jared and Bram—had tried to convince her that the old man’s ways were perfectly normal.
Well, maybe they were. What was normal for one person wasn’t necessarily normal for another. At any rate, Jenna felt that she was seeing George WhiteBear for the first time today. He wore boots that had been shined, clean jeans and shirt, and his long gray hair had been tied back with a buckskin string. He looked Comanche and he looked dignified and proud, and it was obvious to Jenna that his family respected and loved him.
“Jenna, sit over here, next to me,” Willow called.
“Thanks, Willow, but I’m going in. You all enjoy yourselves.”
Objections came from every direction.
“You have to eat!”
“My goodness, we’ll all take turns sitting with Gran.”
“Come on, Jenna, sit down and eat with us.”
Jenna smiled. “You’re all very kind, but I’m going to go inside. Please don’t worry about me.” She hurried to the front door and went in.
Perplexed as to how he should handle this without giving anything away to his quick-to-catch-on family, Bram ran his hand over his hair.
“Maybe I should fix a plate and bring it in to her,” he said to the group in general. “What do you think?”
Aunt Alice spoke up. “Why, that’s a very sweet suggestion, Bram, dear. Yes, I think it would be very thoughtful of you to do that. Here, let me help you.” She began filling a large plate. “Get a cup of that fruit punch for her.”
Bram heard a snicker and turned around to glare at his sister. “Don’t get any foolish ideas. In fact, if you want to deliver that plate, instead of my doing it, be my guest.”
Willow’s eyes fairly danced with excitement. “Big brother, I wouldn’t deliver that plate for you if you paid me.”
“Well, I’m sure as hell not going to pay you.”
“I know.” Willow smiled sweetly.
Bram grabbed the plate of food and the cup of fruit punch and headed for the house. It was a balancing act to open the screen door, but he managed without anyone else’s assistance and then strode into the house.
Jenna was in the bedroom with Gloria, and quickly went out to meet him when she heard him tromping around. The food in his hands surprised her. Pleased her, too, for he had actually done something nice for her in front of his family.
“Bram, you didn’t have to do this.”
“You’re welcome.” Without so much as a hint of a smile on his granitelike features, Bram set the plate and cup on a table and all but ran for the door.
“And you’re never going to be anything but rude, even while doing something nice for a person, are you?” She hadn’t yelled, but she’d spoken loudly enough that he could have heard her.
This time she hoped he had, the jerk!
Chapter Fourteen
A week later Bram received a letter from Rand Colton.
Sheriff,
Since you haven’t used the number I left for you, I can only assume that you do not wish to join my investigation of possible ties between your family and mine. It is your right, of course, as it is mine to proceed with all manner of research on my own. I feel it’s only fair to inform you that I will be visiting Black Arrow and Comanche County again, possibly quite often.
Perhaps it’s not my place to advise you on any subject, but I cannot ignore something you said the day we met. You said you were told of two men asking questions about your family. Bram, this is alarming to me and perhaps should also alarm you. Or at least alert you to the fact that I know nothing about this other man except that he could have been hired by a rather unscrupulous member of my family, in which case he is not to be trusted.
At the bottom of this letter is a list of addresses and telephone numbers where I can be reached, should you change your mind and wish to speak to me.
Rand Colton
Bram read the letter twice, then folded it, returned it to its envelope and put it in the bottom-right drawer of his desk. Maybe he would use one of those phone numbers one of these days, but researching the past simply wasn’t as urgent as everything else going on right now. As far as that warning about the second man snooping into Colton family business went, Bram hadn’t heard him mentioned by anyone for some time. Maybe he’d given up, or discovered the Coltons had nothing to hide, and left town. Bram hoped so. Actually, any time he had to spend on personal matters would be used to figure out the meaning behind Gran’s plea for him to “find the truth.” Right now, though, his calendar was full.
For instance, Joker had been spotted two different times during a dark night, but he had managed to elude the deputies each time. Regardless, those incidents proved the drug-dealing snake was still in Black Arrow, which kept Bram hopeful of eventually nailing his butt to a prison wall.
He was thinking about that very thing when his phone rang. “Bram, Aubrey Kennecott’s on line two for you.”
“Thanks.” Bram punched the right button. “Aubrey?”
“Let me get straight to the point. You either charge Tobler today or you let him go. Understand?”
“If I let him go and he leaves town, you won’t have a witness when we arrest Joker.”
“Then charge him!”
“So he can get out on bail?”
“I don’t write the laws, Bram. Just do what you have to. Goodbye.”
Seething, Bram put down the phone. He didn’t have Joker, and Tobler was probably going to walk, too. What in hell else could go wrong?
In a lousy mood, Bram got up and walked out of the building to his SUV. Maybe a drive would clear his head.
Jenna answered the phone at the Colton Ranch and heard a woman’s voice asking, “Is Bram there?”
“No, he isn’t. I could take a message, if you’d like.”
“I don’t have time for messages. He’s not at the sheriff’s station, either. Would you have any idea where I might find him?”
“None at all. Who is this?”
“Annie McCrary. I’m George’s neighbor. George WhiteBear, Bram’s great-grandfather. Who are you?”
“Jenna Elliot, Gloria Colton’s nurse. Is this an emergency, Annie? Should you be calling 9-1-1? Is George ill or injured?”
“No, he’s not sick and he isn’t bleeding anywhere I can see. That’s not the problem. I just came from his place—one of my usual weekly drop-in visits—and he’s getting ready to drive to town.”
“I don’t think I see the problem.”
“He hasn’t driven in…in ten or twenty years! He doesn’t have a license and he’ll probably cause fifteen wrecks between his place and Black Arrow! Believe me, Ms. Elliot, there is a problem.”
“Oh, my goodness! Why is he coming to town?”
“To see Bram. He said that he has to talk to Bram, that it’s a matter of life and death.”
“Maybe…maybe you could drive him. Would that be too much of an imposition?”
“Not at all, except I threw my back out a few days ago and just driving the short distance between George’s place and mine nearly finished me off. If I drove all the way to Black Arrow I’d probably end up in the hospital. Oh, Lord, what’ll I do? Do you have a car? Maybe you could come out here and get him. When he makes up his mind to something, there’s no changing it.”
“I would do it in a heartbeat, but I really can’t leave Gloria alone.”
“No, of course you can’t. Oh, hell, I’ll do it. But where will I take him once we’re in town?”
“I’ll try to find Bram for you. Call me again when you get to town. I wish I could do more.”
“Well, I guess I’ve survived worse. Okay, you hunt down Bram and I’ll get the old guy to Black Arrow.”
Jenna suddenly had a better idea, or so it seemed. “Annie, bring him here, if he’ll let you. You can always use the argument that Bram will be home eventually.”
“Good plan. I’ll try it. But you keep trying to find Bram, okay?”
“Yes, all right. Do you know how to get here?”
“Oh, yes. See you later.”
After saying goodbye, Jenna sat with the phone book and began dialing Colton numbers. No one had seen Bram that morning; no one had any idea of where he might be. “His job takes him all over the county, Jenna. He could be anywhere. But why are you looking for him? Is Gran worse?”
Jenna quickly reassured whomever she was speaking with and then cut the call short so she could make the next one.
An hour later she had talked to every Colton she’d been able to reach. She’d called the police station, but Bram hadn’t called in today. Feeling defeated and frustrated, she checked on Gloria, then sat near a living room window to watch for Annie McCrary and George WhiteBear.
They finally arrived, and Jenna went outside and helped Annie assist George from the cab of her truck.
“I haven’t found him,” she said in an undertone to Annie. “No one knows where he might be.”
“Where’s Bram?” George WhiteBear asked.
“He’ll be here,” Jenna said with a smile for the old gentleman. “Please come inside.”
George went in, but he wasn’t happy about Bram’s absence. “I need to talk to him now. I have to warn him. My daughter’s ill, but it’s not her we should all be worried about. It’s Bram. He’s in grave danger and I have to tell him to watch out for the laughing man in black.”
Bram’s meandering drive took him into a neighborhood that seldom required police protection. There were numerous upscale homes and gated condominium communities, some that Bram had heard had sold for up to five million dollars. In fact, Carl Elliot lived in this area, about two streets over from the one he was on. Thinking of Carl brought Jenna to Bram’s mind, which made his gut ache. Fumbling some antacids from a package, he chewed and swallowed them with a drink of water from the bottle he had with him.
What was he going to do about Jenna? Tell her the truth of her heritage and let her handle it with her dad, or tell her nothing and just stay the hell away from her and something that was really none of his business? What a lousy damned dilemma.
Driving past an elegantly landscaped area around one of the entrance gates leading into a very posh condominium project, Bram happened to glance at the complex. Everything was lushly beautiful—the architecture, the trees, the shrubbery.
And just like that, within the blink of an eye, Bram spotted a tall, unusually thin man in a black jogging suit running past the entranceway, inside the high fence. Bram pulled his SUV over to the curb and looked back at the gate. That man fit to a tee the description that Tobler had given on Joker, minus the fancy jogging suit, of course. Bram’s heart pounded in his chest as instinctive questions and answers bombarded him.
Was the reason they hadn’t made any real headway in finding Joker because they had been looking in the wrong parts of town? That theory made sense. Joker could be dealing drugs in the dark of night, dressed in old clothes to blend in with the street folk, and after finishing his dirty work he hightailed it back to his million-dollar condo, where he played proper citizen to the neighbors.
“What incredible luck,” Bram said under his breath. He was convinced he’d just seen Joker, but he couldn’t go barging through that gate without some proof.
This called for a stakeout. Feeling higher than a kite, Bram returned to the station to set the wheels of justice in motion.
Jenna didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or simply collapse and hope for recovery somewhere down the road. This was insane, wasn’t it? An old man’s prediction of doom based on communication with coyotes?
And yet some part of her believed, and something else within her wept without tears. In all of her life she had never felt this kind of ripping pain.
In the kitchen she served tea and offered food to Annie McCrary, who looked as pale as Jenna felt. George WhiteBear had parked himself next to his daughter’s bed and there he sat.
“Do you believe him?” Annie whispered.
Jenna was afraid to say yes, afraid to say no. The Coltons were intelligent people and they believed George WhiteBear’s predictions.
“I…I’m not sure. There is one thing that’s very confusing, though. He first thought it was Gloria who was going to die soon, and now it’s Bram. How could that happen?”
“Jenna, I don’t talk to coyotes and I doubt if you do, so how on earth would either of us even dare to hazard a guess about that?”
A chill suddenly traveled Jenna’s spine. “I…heard a coyote the other night. He sounded close enough to touch, but I never saw him. I was outside…it was dark, very dark…and I was feeding Nellie. It was a bloodcurdling sound, but the really crazy thing about it was that Nellie didn’t react at all. It was as though she couldn’t hear it.”
“Goodness, that gave me goose bumps.” Annie rubbed her arms. “Listen, I have to run. Thanks for the tea. I’m in the phone book. Call if you ever need anything, okay?”
“Yes, thanks, I will.”
After Annie had gone, Jenna peered down the hall into the master bedroom. George WhiteBear hadn’t moved an inch. Jenna realized then that he was chanting or singing something in a rhythm that was unfamiliar to her ears.
He was singing softly in the Comanche language. With tears all but drowning her, Jenna ran to the bedroom no one used, the one with the second twin bed, and threw herself upon it. She loved Bram and she even loved his family, but would she ever truly understand them?
Bram walked into the station and immediately checked the duty roster. Locating the two names he had hoped to see on the chart, he put it down and strode over to the radio dispatcher.
“Marilu, get Hayes and Lowell on the horn and tell them I need ’em here. As soon as they can get here.”
“Will do. Did you check your message box?” Marilu asked before sending out a call over the radio.
“Not yet. Why? Did something important come in?”
“Sounded important to me.” She spoke into her headphone. “Sergeant Hayes, Sheriff Colton wants to see you and your partner on the double.”
“We’re ten minutes away.” Tommy Hayes responded.
“Thanks, Marilu.” Bram walked over to the message and mailbox on the wall and emptied the one with his name on it. He had four messages, one from Willow, one from Jared and two from Jenna.
Two from Jenna! My God, something happened to Gran! Rushing back to Marilu, he asked, “Did Jenna Elliot say anything about my grandmother?”
“No, but she did mention your great-grandfather. That was during her second call.”
Relief that Gran was all right mingled with Bram’s sudden worry about his great-grandfather. “What, exactly, did she say about him?”
“Something about a warning. And I think she used the word urgent. That’s about all I remember. I was pretty busy when she called that second time.”
“But he’s not sick or injured.”
“She didn’t say anything about that.”
“Then he’s fine and scaring the hell out of her with another prediction,” Bram said under his breath.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing, Marilu.” Bram went to his office and shut the door. He didn’t have time to call Willow, Jared or Jenna, nor did he really want to, even though it would be interesting to hear how his great-grandfather managed to frighten Jenna via long distance when he didn’t have a phone.
There was a logical answer to that little riddle, Bram believed, but he couldn’t let himself be drawn into family problems today.
Tense enough to shatter, Jenna fidgeted all morning. She worked around George WhiteBear when Gloria needed something, and at noon she offered the elderly man some lunch, which he refused. The moment she left the bedroom she heard that soft singsong chanting again.
She was so glad to see Willow’s car arriving that afternoon that she nearly wept.
“Have you talked to Bram?” Jenna asked the second Willow entered the house.
“No, have you?”
“No, and I called twice.”
“He must not have received our messages,” Willow said. “He’s probably not at the station.” She started toward Gloria’s room, then stopped and looked at Jenna. “Granddad is still here?”
Jenna nodded weakly. “Annie only stayed a short while. He wouldn’t go with her.”
Willow said quietly, “I should have called before coming. Jenna, I’m not going to stay. I left the feed store shorthanded to drive out here to see Gran. I really don’t want to hear any more gloom and doom predictions from Granddad, so I’m going to take the coward’s way out and just leave.”
Jenna walked Willow to the door and stepped out onto the porch with her.
“Jenna, this all has to be really difficult for you. You weren’t raised with our traditions, and it wouldn’t surprise me if you thought we were all a bit loony.” Willow looked off across the yard. “And you know something? Maybe we are.”
“No more so than anyone else. We all have quirks that others don’t quite get.”
“That’s true. Listen, at some point of the day, probably early evening, Granddad will want to go home. It’s the way he is—it always happens. If no one else is here at the time, call me and I’ll make sure someone picks him up.”
Jenna squeezed her friend’s hand. “Thank you. Willow, do you think I should try to get hold of Bram one more time?”
“Granddad really has you worried, doesn’t he?”
“I…can’t help worrying. Willow, I heard a coyote the other night, and Nellie was with me and didn’t hear it. That means something, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, Jenna.” Willow threw her arms around her. “I can’t explain something like that, and I really don’t recommend that you ask Granddad for answers, because you’ll hear much more about Comanche lore and tradition and guardian spirits than you ever wanted to know.”
“But maybe I should know,” Jenna said huskily. I have Comanche blood, too, Willow, only I just recently found out about it, she thought but kept it to herself.
“Jen, we grew up with it, Bram, Ashe, Jared, Logan and me. And our cousins, too, of course, and it doesn’t always make sense to us. Think how confusing it could be for you.” Willow stepped back and sighed. “Do what you want, but just remember that I warned you. See you later.”
Wishing with all her heart that Bram would call, Jenna went back inside. Willow was right about the confusion, Jenna thought as she looked down the hall to the master bedroom. She couldn’t be more confused, could she?
And to think it all started because she had leaped at an opportunity to spend time with Bram. What an innocent she’d been not even two months ago.
Just as Willow had forewarned, George WhiteBear came out of Gloria’s room and announced that he wanted to go home. It was dinnertime, and Jenna tried to talk him into eating with her. Again he refused, and she said, “But you haven’t eaten all day.”
“I will eat when I get home.”
Jenna gave up. “I’ll find you a ride.” She picked up the phone and called Willow. “He wants to go.”
“I already talked to Logan and he said he would pick him up when you called. He’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
“Thanks, Willow.” Jenna put down the phone and turned her head to talk to Mr. WhiteBear, but he wasn’t there. She wandered from the kitchen and looked into the other rooms, and finally she spotted him sitting outside near a huge old tree. She went out and called from the porch, “Logan is on his way, Mr. WhiteBear.”
George nodded, then motioned her over. Jenna hesitated, for, like Willow, she didn’t want to hear any more dire predictions, especially if they were about Bram. But she couldn’t just ignore the old man’s summons, and she finally left the porch and walked over to him.
“Is there something you’d like?” she asked gently. “Some more water, perhaps? Or tea? I could make you some tea to drink while you’re waiting.”
“I wish to say something,” George said. “I saw the golden fox, and soon after, I met you. The meaning became clear, and now it’s blurred again. My great-grandson is facing a mortal enemy and you must find a way to warn him. I have tried and failed. As his soul mate, you must do what I could not.”
Stunned, Jenna sank to the grass next to George’s chair. “You actually see me as Bram’s soul mate?”
“Must I explain something you should know in your heart?”
Tears welled in Jenna’s eyes. “No,” she whispered. “I do know it in my heart. I’ve known it for a very long time.”
“Bram knows it, too.”
“He does?”
“You and he don’t talk about it?”
“We don’t talk about much of anything.”
“You must talk to him very soon. You must warn him.”
Jenna heard something and got up. “That’s the phone.” She ran for the house, praying it was Bram calling.
It wasn’t. It was Annie. “Is he ready to be driven home yet?”
“Yes, Annie, but Logan should be here any minute. Thanks for the offer, though.”
Jenna didn’t go back outside. Instead she sat on the sofa, turned in such a way that she could see out of the window. She had much to think about and was deep in thought when Logan arrived. He was the spitting image of his older brother and her soul mate, Bram. But Logan was much more easygoing.
She jumped up and called, “Logan, could I speak to you for just a moment before you leave again?”
He walked to the house and went in. “Do you have any ideas about how I might locate Bram?” Jenna asked. “Your great-grandfather told me that I’m the one who has to warn Bram about the danger he’s in.”
“Oh, Jenna, Bram’s in danger every time he gets in that patrol car or tries to arrest some spaced-out druggie.”
Jenna nearly gasped at Logan’s response. She was just too emotional where Bram was concerned.
“So I should disregard George’s prediction, or premonition, or whatever it is?”
“I’m disregarding it, Jenna. The whole family is. If we got all worked up every time Granddad gave us his interpretation of signs and omens, we’d be chasing our tails half the time.”
Jenna dropped her gaze. Was the coyote cry she’d heard a sign? An omen? Why would a spirit coyote visit her and not Logan? Or Willow? Or Jared?
“All right,” she said quietly. “That’s all I had to say. Take him home. He wouldn’t eat anything I offered. He said he would eat when he got home.”
“Jenna, he ate with us on the Fourth, and enjoyed it, too. He’s just in one of his moods today.”
“He…he’s worried.”
“Maybe, but don’t let it get you down, okay? Talk to you later.” Logan left the porch and hurried over to the old man. “Ready to go, Granddad?”
“I’ve been ready for an hour.”
Logan sent Jenna a grin and a shrug, as if to say, “See? He’s just in a bad mood.”
Jenna wasn’t completely convinced, but had no idea what to do about it. She kept getting mixed messages from the Coltons. It was as if they sorted and sifted through George’s warnings and only dealt with those they could deal with. And yet Jenna had heard several members of the family profess belief in the elderly man’s supposed words of wisdom.
It was far, far beyond her ken, she thought sadly, and waved off Logan and George, then went inside the house and shut the door.
At midnight, Bram was lurking in some dense bushes watching one entrance into the high-toned condo project, while Tommy Hayes was watching a second entrance and Robb Lowell was parked down the street just waiting for something to happen. The three men stayed in contact with high-powered two-way radios, but only used them when something had to be said.
“There’s a black SUV coming out,” Bram said quietly into his handheld radio. He peered through the dense leaves of the mulberry bush he was crouched behind as the vehicle stopped for the gate to open and then shot forward. It happened fast, but Bram saw enough to alert his men. “It’s him! Robb, pick up Tommy fast and get on his tail. I won’t be far behind.” He ran for his own SUV, which he had backed into the driveway of a vacant house with a For Sale sign on its front lawn.
He jumped into the driver’s seat and started the engine, then put a heavy foot on the gas pedal. The SUV jumped forward and Bram searched the street ahead for Robb’s taillights. They had marked the left taillight of Robb’s rig with a piece of black electrician’s tape, making it easy to identify. But first Bram had to catch up with his deputies.
He drove like a bat out of hell and thanked heaven that it was late and the roads, at least in this part of town, were mostly devoid of traffic. And then, up ahead, he spotted the crippled taillight. Relaxing a bit, he slowed his speed and drove less like a maniac.
But his heart was beating wildly. They had a damn good chance of nabbing Joker tonight. But they had to do this right and make no mistakes. He couldn’t see the black SUV that Joker was driving, but he didn’t doubt that Robb and Tommy had it in their sights. And he had them in his sights.
So, where was that piece of slime heading? It wasn’t long before Bram knew where they were all going—to the alley behind the Bucket o’ Suds Saloon. Tobler had steered them right.
But that alley could be their undoing. Bram pushed the talk button on his radio. “Don’t follow him in. Approach on foot from Abbott Street. I’ll take the Green Street entrance. Be careful.”
He made a left turn, a right and then sped up Green Street. He parked a safe distance from the alley entrance, turned off the motor and listened. Music drifted on the night air, and an occasional voice and burst of raucous laughter. When he felt it was time, Bram got out and walked toward the alleyway. He took his gun with him.
Suddenly there was shouting and gunshots. Bram ran to the building next to the alley and peered around it. There wasn’t a soul to be seen.
Sweating, sick-to-his-stomach concerned about Tommy’s and Robb’s safety, he took another look. Still nothing moved.
But someone had fired a gun, maybe more than one person. He couldn’t risk one or both of his deputies bleeding to death in that dirty alley while he remained safely concealed behind a brick building.
He stepped into the alley and began making his way down it, cautiously moving from garbage can to doorway to anything else that offered protection. He stepped from a doorway and someone yelled, “No, Bram, stay there!”
But it was too late. Two shots rang out. One bullet grazed his left arm. The other one hit him full in the chest. He went down like a sack of potatoes.
In her little bed at the Colton Ranch, Jenna, engulfed in fear, awoke with a start and grabbed at her chest. She tried to remember the dream that had caused such a shocked sensation, and couldn’t.
But she knew it had been about Bram and it hadn’t been just a dream; it had been a nightmare.
“Well, you’re one lucky SOB, Sheriff,” the ER doctor said for perhaps the fourth time since Bram had regained consciousness. “That strange little metal thing in your shirt pocket saved your life tonight. Oh, sure, you’ve your arm to heal and a bruise on your chest that’ll probably hurt like hell for a couple of days, but what’s that compared to certain death, right?”
“Right,” Bram murmured. He was groggy from pain medication. Robb and Tommy were pale but beaming because they’d gotten Joker. They had shot him when he shot Bram. They’d had no choice.
“Where’s the…medallion?” Bram asked.
“Right here.” Someone put it in his right hand. “It was probably flat as a silver dollar before tonight, but it’s not flat now.”
Bram moved it between his thumb and fingers and felt the curved shape. “No, it’s not flat now,” he said. “Tommy, did you call Willow? Be sure not to call Jenna. Call Willow.”
“It’s all taken care of, Bram. Just relax, man.”
“Who’s driving me home?”
“They think you should stay here tonight…or what’s left of tonight.”
“No way. Someone’s gotta drive me home.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll do it. You know, Bram, if Joker had used a bigger gun than that .22 when he shot you, that medallion might not have stopped the bullet.”
“It would have, Tommy. It was in the cards.”
“Bram, are you ready to hear what Joker said before he died?” Tommy asked.
“I didn’t know he said anything.”
“How could you? You were out cold. Anyhow, the John Doe you buried was Joker’s supplier. Joker knew him only as Feeny, and he showed up about once a month to deliver his wares. Joker said that the gun was Feeny’s and that he tried to haggle on a price that had already been agreed upon, and when Joker wouldn’t pay more for the goods, Feeny pulled the gun. Enter our pal Tobler. He grabbed Feeny from behind, and Joker took the gun from his hand. They both killed Feeny, Bram. He was a little guy and they easily shoved the gun back in his hand and put it to his head, which explains the powder burns. Then they emptied Feeny’s pockets, took his bag of drugs, snatched his car keys and the gun and took off. They got rid of Feeny’s car, apparently, but Joker took his final breath before he could tell us where.”
Bram felt numb. In mind, in spirit, in body he felt numb and stupid and bitter. He’d paid for the burial of a criminal because he’d believed him to be a better person than he was.
“Charge Tobler with murder one,” he said dully. “And get me the hell out of here.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jenna couldn’t go back to sleep. After a while she quit trying and got up. Moving quietly so she wouldn’t disturb Gloria, she put on a robe and slippers, then left the bedroom and went to the kitchen, where she made tea.
It was late. The nightmare had awakened her at exactly 12:48 a.m.; she should have slept for at least another four hours. Five would have been better.
But she knew that she could lie in that bed for three days and not fall asleep again. Something had happened at 12:48 a.m., and until she was told what it was she would not be able to shut her eyes.
She sat at the kitchen table and sipped hot tea, experiencing a strange calmness that kept her hands steady and her eyes dry. When the phone rang an hour later, she wasn’t at all surprised. She’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak, and apparently this was it.
Jenna picked up the phone, clutched it tightly in her hand and said, “Yes?”
“Jenna, it’s Willow.”
“Is he alive?”
“Bram? Jenna, he’s fine. He was shot but he’s fine. How did you know I was calling about Bram?”
“I just knew, that’s all. Is he in the hospital?”
“He’s on his way home. Two deputies are driving him. I’m sorry I woke you, but I thought you should know before they got there.”
“I was awake before the phone rang. He wasn’t badly hurt, then?”
“It could have been bad, but… Jenna, I’ll let him tell you what happened. I’ve been at this hospital long enough. I’m beat and I’m going home. Talk to you soon.”
“Thanks for calling, Willow. Goodbye.”
Jenna resumed her chair at the table. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and she wiped it away. She didn’t know where it had come from, because she didn’t feel at all like crying. There was an unusual resolve keeping her strong, and while she didn’t completely comprehend its source or cause, she knew that she had changed drastically.
Twenty minutes later she heard a car. Rising, she went to the front door and opened it. She watched while two men helped Bram from a vehicle and then walked him to the house. His shirt was partially unbuttoned and one sleeve was missing. His left arm was bandaged and his hair was sticking out every which way.
Jenna stepped back when the trio came in. Bram gave her a glassy-eyed look. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he mumbled.
“I know,” she said. “His bedroom is to the right,” she told the two men. “Just follow me.” She led them to the bedroom Bram was using, switched on lights and turned down the bed. “Undress him,” she said. “You men know I’m a nurse, so don’t expect me to blush and giggle at the sight of a man’s underwear.”
Tommy and Robb chuckled. “Bram said you were a pistol.”
“He did, did he? Well, he should know.”
Both deputies grinned. “Sounds serious, Bram,” Tommy said. “You been keeping something from us?”
“I’m sure he has,” Jenna said. “Sit him on the bed and pull off his boots.”
Even in his partially drugged state Bram sensed something different about Jenna. “What’s…going on?” he asked.
Robb thought he was talking to him and Tommy and answered. “We’re putting you to bed, man.”
Bram’s eyes rose to Jenna’s face and she flashed him a quick smile. It was there and gone so fast that Bram squinted and wondered if he might have been seeing things.
His shirt went and then his pants and socks, and when he was down to his shorts Tommy and Robb gently laid him back. Jenna pulled the covers up to his waist and stopped to study the bruise on his chest for several seconds. That was an injury with a story, she was positive.
“Jenna, I’ve got two bottles of pills here. One is an antibiotic and the other one’s for pain. I’ve also got a bunch of papers and written instructions. You’re supposed to watch his arm for excessive bleeding and change the bandage after about twenty-four hours.” Tommy rambled on for several more minutes, reciting the ER doctor’s instructions, and Jenna listened politely.
But she knew how to care for a flesh wound and a bruised chest. She walked the men to the door and asked them to wait a minute before they left.
“I need to know something. Who shot Bram?”
“A jerk named Joker,” Tommy replied.
The laughing man. “And how was he dressed? What was he wearing?”
“I don’t know. Something black—an old jogging suit, I think it was.”
“Thank you. Those were my only questions.” Watch out for a laughing man in black. George WhiteBear had been right again.
After Tommy and Robb said good-night, Jenna hurried back to Bram. As she’d figured would be the case, his eyes were closed. Along with normal weariness, whatever opiates the ER staff had administered to him would probably keep him knocked out for hours.
She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward to just look at him. He’d been shot but he was alive. That was all that mattered. She studied his face and fell even more deeply in love, and then she dropped her gaze to the purpling bruise on his chest and knew what had jettisoned her out of a sound sleep. It had been a nightmare, all right, but not in the normal sense. She’d felt the impact of whatever had made that bruise, as surely as though the projectile had struck her. Some very strange forces were at work tonight; rather, strange forces had been all around her since the day she walked into this house.
Jenna sat with Bram for another hour, then, finally feeling heavy-eyed, she returned to her own bed and instantly fell asleep.
She awoke again at seven and hurriedly got up to check on Gloria. To Jenna’s everlasting surprise, the elderly woman reached for Jenna’s hand. She had never shown any sign of affection for her nurse before and the gesture touched Jenna deeply.
“You’re feeling better, aren’t you?” Jenna asked gently, with a warm smile. “I’m so glad. I’ll get dressed and give you your morning bath. I won’t be long.” She rushed through her own ablutions, and when she was dressed and ready for the day, she slipped away and went to Bram’s room. He was still sleeping. She checked the bandage on his arm for blood and saw that it was only slightly tinged. He was fine. She left to tend to Gloria’s needs.
Every time Gloria napped that day Jenna sat in Bram’s room and watched him sleep. She felt not a dram of confusion anymore and knew exactly what she was going to do when he awoke and could talk. Her girlish reluctance to speak her mind with Bram had vanished completely. That, too, gladdened her, and she decided it was a very good day all around.
It was late afternoon—dinnertime, actually—when Bram finally woke up. He opened his eyes, realized he was in his own bedroom in his own home and breathed a silent prayer of thanks. His left arm was sore, as was that one section of his chest, but otherwise he felt good. Except for a few things like hunger, thirst and a need to use the bathroom, that is.
He pushed back the covers and swung his feet to the floor. He felt dizzy, but only for a second or two. Using the nightstand for support, he got to his feet, and after waiting another few seconds for his head to stop swimming, he walked from the bedroom and into the bathroom.
Jenna was trying to coax Gloria to eat more than two bites of dinner. Whatever good mood Gloria had awakened in that morning had gradually dissipated throughout the day, which Jenna didn’t understand. This morning Gloria’s happiness level had spiked and then fallen. Why? What had caused the spike in the first place, and why hadn’t it lasted?
Jenna jerked her head up as sounds from the other side of the house reached her ears. Bram must be up. She should go to him. But Gloria was suddenly trying to speak, something she had never really done with Jenna before. Even if Bram did need her, Jenna felt a more serious responsibility right where she was. She had to listen to Gloria’s garbled words and try to comprehend their meaning.
And then, almost as clearly as she spoke herself, Jenna heard, “Don’t fret, child. I’ve had a good life.”
Jenna’s mouth dropped open. In the next breath she cried, “No, it’s not you! Your father—George WhiteBear—was talking about Bram, and he’s fine!”
Gloria merely turned her head and closed her eyes. Breathing hard and fearfully, Jenna took her patient’s wrist and felt for a pulse. She found it to be strong and steady, and Jenna released her enormous load of tension along with a huge expulsion of air.
She gathered her wits, set Gloria’s tray on the dresser, then ran through the house to Bram’s room. It was empty.
Of course, she thought. He’s in the bathroom. She went to the door and knocked. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, and I’m starved. Think you could get me a bowl of soup or something? And some water?”
Jenna heaved a sigh of relief. He sounded great. “I’ll bring you a tray. Please go back to bed when you’re through in there.”
“I will.”
Jenna hurried to the kitchen, heated soup, made a sandwich, decided he shouldn’t have coffee, and filled a glass with orange juice instead. She added a bottle of chilled water to the tray and carried it to the bedroom. Bram was in bed, but he was sitting up, supported by pillows.
“Thanks,” he said quietly when she placed the bed tray across his lap. The first thing he reached for was the bottle of water, and he took a big drink.
Jenna went to the room’s one chair and sat on it. She watched him and he finally looked back. “I can feed myself,” he said. “You don’t have to hover over me.”
“I’ll hover if I want to hover.”
“Feeling sassy this morning?”
“This morning? It happens to be almost six in the afternoon. You slept all day. You might as well go ahead and eat. I’m not leaving.”
Bram frowned. There was something in her voice he’d not heard before. It wasn’t anger or resentment, but it reminded him of the way she sounded during arguments.
“I’m in no mood for another fight,” he said gruffly, and picked up his soupspoon.
“Neither am I.”
“Then how come you’re staring at me like that?”
“Are you telling me that you can’t tell the difference between an angry expression and one that’s all fuzzy and lovesick?”
Bram’s jaw dropped. “Jenna…” She’s in love with me…I’m in love with her. Tell her! Tell her what’s in those old books.
Jenna kept her gaze locked with his. Something wonderful was in the air. She felt it and believed he did, too. Tell him what you discovered about Elliot family history. Tell him about your Comanche blood. Her heart began pounding. Should she tell him? If he knew the truth, would he finally drop that abominable guard he had always clung to around her, as though his very life depended on his being tough and unbreakable?
“I really think you should eat that soup before it cools down. And I made you a really good sandwich. I’m happy to wait until after you eat to tell you how much I love you, and for how long.”
Bram nearly choked. “And you expect me to eat after that?”
“I expect you to eat every bite.”
“While you watch. Jenna, what you were just talking about is not going to happen.”
“Bram, my love, it is going to happen. Now eat so we can get to it. I’ll just sit here quietly. I won’t say a word, I promise.”
He gave up. She wasn’t going to leave him alone and he was still famished, regardless of the shock she’d delivered so nonchalantly. And determinedly. Yes, that was what he’d been hearing in her voice—determination.
“So,” she said. “How’s that arm feeling?”
“I thought you weren’t going to say a word.”
“That was a professional question. I’m your nurse, you know.”
“Fine! My arm is fine, too!”
“No pain?”
“It’s a little sore, but that’s all.”
“And the bruise on your chest?”
“It’s fine, too.”
She was silent for a moment, then asked softly, “How did you get it, Bram? You were shot, but that’s not a bullet wound.”
He finished the last of his soup and looked at her. “Yes, it is.” He spoke in a tone of voice that raised goose bumps on Jenna’s arms. “I had something in my shirt pocket that stopped the bullet.”
“What was it?”
Bram looked around the bed. “I had it…I’m sure I had it when the guys brought me home. It has to be here somewhere.”
“Let me take away the tray. Maybe it’s under it.” Jenna went over to the bed and moved the tray to a dresser. “Do you see it now?”
“No. Jenna, I have to find it. It’s somewhere in the bed, it has to be.”
The odd note of panic in his voice startled Jenna. Bram Colton didn’t panic. Other people panicked, but not him.
“You get up and I’ll go through the bedding,” she said.
“Yes…thanks.” He got up on his own and stood by while she shook out the bedding, every single piece of it. “It’s not there,” he said in disbelief. “I have to call Tommy and Robb. Maybe they have it.”
“But you said you were sure you had it when they brought you home last night.”
“I was pretty woozy. Maybe I only thought I had it.”
“I’ll bring you the cordless phone.”
Jenna rushed away while Bram crawled back into bed. When she returned with the phone he said, “Never mind. I don’t have to call anyone. It’s gone.”
“Are you saying it simply disappeared?”
“Probably in the same incredible way it appeared.”
“But…but that’s not possible.”
He looked at her. “Isn’t it?” He broke eye contact and sighed, then started talking. Jenna perched on the edge of his bed and took in every word. “John Doe was really a big-time drug dealer named Feeny who supplied the local dealers. I felt sorry for him because no one claimed his body, and I believed he committed suicide and called him a poor little guy, because he wasn’t very big. I paid for a decent funeral for him because I was stupid and believed that jerk Tobler, who all the while was one of Feeny’s killers, laughing at me from his cell in my own jail.
“Anyhow, the night Feeny was murdered I found the medallion. Other men had searched the same rooms of the old depot and never saw it. I found it, and after I determined it wasn’t evidence I started carrying it in my shirt pocket. You see, it had the head of a coyote on it, and I thought it odd that I was the one who spotted it.”
“It was odd, Bram.” She took his right hand and held it. “But it didn’t disappear in the night. You’ll never convince me of that, even if I have started believing in messages from coyotes and golden foxes and…” She stopped, then continued in a rush. “If you would have returned my calls yesterday you might not have been shot! Your great-grandfather—”
“Willow told me all about it last night at the hospital.” Bram narrowed his eyes on Jenna. “So you’ve become a believer of Comanche omens and portents.” That’s because you’re part Comanche yourself, love of my life.
But he knew now that he was never going to tell her what he’d unearthed in those old books. Carl Elliot would wriggle away from the truth if someone hit him over the head with it, so really, nothing at all had changed.
“Bram, I heard a coyote myself. Nellie was with me and heard nothing. It was the night you called and asked me to feed her. Anyhow, it sounded close enough to touch, and I…I don’t think it was…uh, real.”
“Oh, Jenna.” Sighing, Bram put his hand on the back of her neck and drew her toward him. “It was real, Jenna. You’re not hearing things that aren’t real. You’re just spooked by being around the Coltons for so long.”
She looked directly into his eyes. “I said I’m in love with you and I am, Bram. Can’t you say the same to me?”
He put his chin on the top of her head and shut his eyes. “I wish I could,” he said softly. “I can say I want you, but please don’t make me talk about love. Is wanting you enough?”
Tears welled, but she blinked them back. “Maybe it’s enough for tonight. May I sleep with you?”
“I’m a fool, sweetheart, but not stupid enough to say no to that question.”
“You’re neither stupid nor a fool.” Jenna eluded his chin, leaned closer and pressed her lips to his. “I’ll check on Gloria and get into a nightgown. Be back in a minute.”
Gloria was sleeping, and Jenna quickly shed her clothes and donned a lightweight robe rather than the nightgown she’d mentioned to Bram. All the while her heart pounded with anticipation. Bram might not have yet reached the point of being able to talk about loving her, but she was sure he would, and she was deliriously happy that she had found the gumption to confess her feelings.
She returned to his room, his bed and his arms. Rather, to his one arm. She was careful not to bump his bandaged left arm, and tried to avoid that purple bruise on his chest, as well.
But once they were both naked and kissing wildly, nothing else seemed to matter, and it wasn’t long before their lovemaking reached a fevered pitch that blocked out the rest of the world.
“Jenna…Jenna,” Bram kept saying in that hoarse way he had of speaking during lovemaking.
“At least you know my name, darling,” she replied seductively.
“I know who I’m making love to, don’t ever doubt it,” he growled.
“I couldn’t possibly,” she whispered, and raised her legs to encircle his hips, drawing him deeper inside her. “Not when we’re locked together like this.”
“It’s heaven, pure heaven.” He began moving faster, taking her with him on that final joyous ride.
They cried out together and held each other while their breathing slowed to normal. And then, suddenly, frighteningly, they heard it, a sound in the night that each had heard before—the cry of a coyote.
Bram froze and mumbled, “My God.” In the next second he rolled from the bed. Pulling a blanket around himself, he got to his feet and left the room as fast as he could go. No longer was he pain-free, and he’d obviously been a little too careless during lovemaking. His arm hurt like hell and so did his chest.
But he wasn’t thinking of himself, and the second he saw Gran he knew that she had passed away. Dropping to his knees near to the bed, he hid his face in the blankets next to her and wept.
Jenna rushed in. She had grabbed her robe and pulled it on while following Bram. Tears began flowing down her cheeks, and she went to Bram and laid her hand on his shoulder.
He shocked the breath out of her by pulling away from her touch and saying bitterly, “I never even saw her today, and I could have. Instead of spending time with her this evening I welcomed you into my bed.”
Wounded heart and soul, Jenna backed away from him. He never noticed, nor did he notice her leaving a short time later, fully dressed and carrying a suitcase.
She cried all the way to Black Arrow. She had never had a chance of winning him over. Why had she been so positive about that all day?
“Fool…fool!” she said, and sobbed even harder.
Jenna didn’t call anyone at the hospital or anywhere else, nor did she take any calls. She stayed in her room in her father’s house and barely talked to him when he attempted conversation through the locked door. She had never been this unhappy before, and she knew she was dangerously close to an emotional breakdown. But she didn’t have the will or the desire to pull herself out of the bottomless pit of despair in which she floundered.
But then Martha rapped softly and said, “Jenna, darlin’, Mrs. Colton’s funeral is going to be held tomorrow at two. I just thought you might want to know.”
Jenna turned over on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “To hell with what anyone thinks,” she said out loud. She was going to that funeral, and if Bram dared to even glance at her crossways she would send him a look he would never forget. He’d get the message, the wretch; he’d get it loud and clear.
And the next day she put on her nicest black dress, dark hosiery and black high-heeled pumps. She started to put her hair up, then decided to wear it down. After all, wasn’t she the golden fox? she asked herself cynically. A golden fox should flaunt her mane, shouldn’t she?
She drove to the cemetery, parked behind a long line of cars and approached the crowd around the flower-bedecked grave site on foot. She met no one’s eyes, not even Willow’s, and she stood away from the family. The service was almost over before she saw her father. He was standing inconspicuously behind a huddle of mourners, and when Jenna spotted him she could hardly believe her eyes. What on earth was he doing here? He hated the Coltons, although he’d probably thought them to be no worse than the area’s other Comanche families before she’d moved into Bram’s house to care for Gloria.
But now that she no longer lived there, perhaps her father had forgiven the Coltons for breathing and her for trying to keep one of them alive. It was a bitter thought, and Jenna felt ashamed of herself for thinking something so awful. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a dainty white handkerchief just as the minister completed his final prayer.
People began going over to the Coltons to offer condolences, and Jenna turned to leave. She would contact Willow some other day, and perhaps Thomas and Alice and Jared and…
She loved them all, and she wasn’t going to slink away like some thief when her only crime had been to fall in love with Bram! She didn’t have to talk to him, didn’t even have to look at him, but the rest of the Coltons deserved her sympathy. She turned around and had started walking toward them when she saw her father suddenly push ahead of some people and stop in front of Bram.
“What’d you do my daughter?” he snarled. “She won’t eat, she won’t talk, she’s barely alive and I know you did something to her. Be a man, if you can, and tell me what it was.”
Jenna nearly fainted. Every eye was on her dad, every ear tuned to hear his unjust accusations.
Bram hadn’t seen Jenna arrive nor did he look for her now. He had gone through hell during the last few days. Considering the mess he’d made of the John Doe case and his sorrow over that, over Gran’s death and over Jenna, plus a dozen or so other problems, such as what had happened to the coyote medallion, and how come both he and Jenna had heard the coyote’s cry the night Gran died, he was in no mood to put up with Carl Elliot’s insults.
“Get out of my face,” Bram said menacingly.
“Or you’ll what? Have me arrested?” Carl taunted. “Like you arrested that Feeny fellow for bringing drugs into Black Arrow by the truckload? Be a man,” he repeated snidely, “and tell me what you did to make my little girl cry all the time.”
Bram had heard enough. Something snapped in him. He didn’t care if Carl Elliot was white, Comanche or Chinese, and he didn’t care if the whole damn town heard what he had to say.
“Nothing would make me happier,” Bram said with an icy glare at Jenna’s dad. “I fell in love with your little girl, only she isn’t a little girl, is she? She’s a woman through and through. I will love her till the day I die, and I would marry her tomorrow, if she’d have me.”
A tornado could not have moved faster or with more force than Jenna did. She got through that crowd like a hot knife cuts through butter, and she nearly knocked her dad down when she threw herself at Bram.
“She’ll have you! She’ll have you!” she cried.
Bram held her close to his heart and whispered, “I love you, Jenna.”
“I love you, Bram. You know I love you.”
He tipped her chin, gazed deeply into her eyes and said it again, clearly and loud enough for everyone to hear. “I love you, Jenna. I’ve loved you for years.”
The Coltons, weeping and sad only moments ago, were suddenly laughing in spite of their wet and teary faces.
Bram saw Carl Elliot turn and walk away with his head down. That man is no Comanche, Bram thought, but he is Jenna’s dad.
“Go after him, sweetheart. No matter what he did in the past or does in the future, he’s still your dad.”
Jenna took a look behind her and saw the forlorn slant of her father’s shoulders. Giving her beloved a soft smile of utter adoration, she left his embrace and ran after her father.
“Dad! Wait a minute!”
Carl stopped walking and waited for her. “You’re going to marry an Indian,” he said sadly.
“And I couldn’t be more proud of it. Dad, please listen to me. You’ll always be welcome in my life and my home, but it’s going to be Bram’s home, as well, and you’re always going to have to remember that.” She saw tears in his eyes. “Why are you crying, Daddy?”
“Because I love you.” He turned and walked away, and Jenna watched for a moment, then turned and looked at Bram. His family was taking turns hugging and congratulating him, and Jenna had never seen a more moving sight. She walked toward the Coltons, her own family soon, and heard Bram saying, “I’ve loved her for so long and foolishly almost lost her. It won’t happen again.”
She smiled and Bram smiled back at her—a beautiful smile, such as she had never seen before—and just then George WhiteBear approached his great-grandson. “You won the golden fox. She will give you many sons.”
Jenna started laughing and tried to conceal it with her hand. After all, this was still a funeral, hardly an event for uncontrollable mirth. But “many sons”? And then her laughter stopped as quickly as it began, for with all the proof of his psychic powers that she’d encountered first-hand, how could she possibly laugh at anything George WhiteBear said?
She was mulling over the high probability of becoming a mother to “many sons” when George looked around at his family and said quite clearly, “Willows are meant to blossom and will bloom during the brightest midnight.”
Jenna’s eyes darted around, searching the crowd and finally finding Willow. From the look on Willow’s pretty face, the poor girl must have realized George’s message had been aimed at her, but didn’t know if it was good or bad news.
Bram came over to Jenna and put his good arm around her. “I think it’s Willow’s turn,” he said in her ear with a small chuckle. Jenna turned up her face and Bram kissed her. “Let’s go home, sweetheart,” he said softly. “We have an awful lot of talking to do.”
“Among other things,” Jenna murmured, bringing a twinkle to her lover’s romantic dark eyes.
They walked away, arm in arm.
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Jackie Merritt for her contribution to THE COLTONS: COMANCHE BLOOD series.
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