Mitch, Chad and Liam were already seated at the table. They were scrubbed clean, but their clothes spoke of hard work on the ranch. All three stood, and, with cheeks burning, she avoided Mitch’s eyes and slid into a seat next to him.
“Let’s pray,” Ginny said and everyone joined hands around the table while Ginny prayed. Jane found her palm swallowed up in Mitch’s wide grasp. His touch was warm and strong, though she knew he was probably recoiling at the forced intimacy with her. For an unaccountable reason, her body reacted to the contact, and she realized she had not held a man’s hand for a very long while. Wade had never enjoyed touching unless he initiated it, so she’d learned to keep her affectionate gestures to herself. She probably should have taken it as another warning sign, but she’d missed it, along with everything else. She found herself adding to the prayer, asking the Lord to soften Mitch’s heart toward Him.
Aunt Ginny finished and everyone began to dig in to the platters of grilled green beans and peppers, brisket, and creamy mashed potatoes. As Ginny described, Gus, Mitch and Liam ate heartily while Chad’s portion was smaller. Jane’s mouth watered at the food, and she tried not to wolf it down, doing her best to be an invisible fly on the wall in this place she did not belong.
The conversation moved to Chad.
“Got three guys coming next month,” he said quietly. “Thinking of adding Rio into the program for them to work with.” He raised a questioning eyebrow at Mitch.
Mitch nodded. “Challenging horse. Great potential if he can be broke. These guys have any experience?”
“None that I know of,” Chad said.
“Do they have their life insurance paid up?” Liam said around a mouthful of potatoes, earning a peeved look from Chad.
Ginny explained, “Chad’s starting up a therapy program for wounded veterans, in honor of his father.” Something flickered in Chad’s eyes but he did not speak, so she continued. “The soldiers will come and stay at the ranch and work with some of our difficult horses, help out with the cattle, as a way to ease them back into civilian life.”
“That’s wonderful,” Jane said.
Chad nodded. “The adjustment is brutal, for some. They’re different because of their combat experience, but the world expects them to be the same people as they were before deployment.”
His demeanor was of one who knew exactly how hard the transition could be. She wondered what his father had been through and where he was now.
“Mitch said you are a florist. Where is your shop, honey?” Ginny asked.
“It’s... I mean, it was in Texas. I had to close up after the trial.” It hurt to say it almost as much as it had pained her to walk away from her darling little shop, where she’d sweated over the tiniest detail. She missed the fragrance most of all, the spicy floral perfume that hit her senses every time she’d unlocked the door, an oasis during the last few months of her marriage, when her fears about Wade had begun to escalate. She’d found comfort among the petals, until it was all stripped away.
The awkward silence lasted until Gus put his fork down. “Excellent meal, Ginny, as usual. I can’t wait for next week when you start in on pies. I’m putting in my order for cherry.”
“The cooking class is starting with apple, so you’ll have to hold your horses, so to speak.”
He gave her a solemn nod. “I’m good at waiting, especially when there’s pie in the offing.”
Jane was not. As the sun sank below the sea cliffs visible through the enormous front windows, she chafed. When darkness came, she would take her leave of this sanctuary and somehow make her way to Mitch’s. Then she’d get to town for a new cell phone and cash and go for her son. There was no firm destination fixed in her mind, only the deep-seated craving to hold her boy, to wrap him up tight to her chest and breathe in the scent of him, more pleasing than the perfect flower. They had to run, disappear and find somewhere else to hold on until Wade was captured.
After the dishes were washed and put away, Jane thanked Ginny again.
“We can talk in the morning about your plans,” Ginny said.
Jane nodded and turned away, unwilling to lie to such a lovely woman. As she was about to let herself into the guest room, she realized Mitch was leaning against the wall in the hallway outside, arms crossed.
She jumped.
“Sorry. Didn’t meant to startle you. Here.” He handed her a cell phone. “Just a cheapie disposable I had Chad pick up in town. I programmed my cell in there.”
She laughed. “I didn’t think you knew how to use one.”
He huffed out a breath. “Used plenty of technology as a marshal. I just chose not to after I got out. Figured Aunt Ginny was right considering the situation, so I took it out of the box.”
She laughed. “Thank you.”
He paused. “I put Foley’s number in there, too, in case you change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
“What are you going to do, then?”
She shrugged.
“Run?”
She felt a stab of irritation at his prodding. “Why do you care, Mitch? You made it clear you don’t trust me, and you won’t work with me to catch Wade. So what does it matter to you where I go?”
His gaze raked the floor, and he winced as if pained. “I just think it’d be hard to be on the run with a kid. He doesn’t deserve that kind of life.”
“Did any of us deserve what Wade did to us?” Her voice was low, but the bitterness carried clearly.
Mitch remained silent.
“Ben doesn’t deserve any of the things he’s had to endure, but I’m going to give him something better.”
He angled a look at her then, not harsh, but inquisitive. “What if you can’t?”
“God gave Ben to me for a reason.” She fought through the constriction in her throat. “He is my purpose and my passion, and I will succeed with God’s help. I have no future, but Ben does.”
Mitch was stone still, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “That’s a hard way to look at your own life...futureless.”
“It’s the same way you feel,” she guessed. “You’re going through the motions here, in your solitary cabin, but you’re not living like a man who has a future, either.”
Something told her she’d hit the mark.
“I’m just fine with the today part. You gotta go out on a limb to believe in tomorrow.”
To believe in God, he meant. She was about to speak when he cleared his throat. “You’ll be safe here until morning.”
“Good night, Mitch,” she said, closing the door. I’ll be gone by morning. I’ll save you the trouble of going out on a limb for me.
Mitch headed away into the darkness.
Since it was faster to get down to the rickety dock where his father lived by horse than by car, Mitch saddled Rosie, and fifty minutes later he left her to nose around the swatch of rocky sand and made his way along the weathered dock. There were only a few slips available, one taken by a boat belonging to Chad, one empty, and the farthest was home to his father’s ugly thirty-four-foot trawler. The exterior was old and scabby, but somehow Pops managed to keep a wooden planter strapped to the dock as a sort of makeshift window box, full to bursting with some sort of plants Mitch couldn’t identify. He called out and received an answering shout from inside the cabin. He could have made do with a phone call, but he had a strong urge to see his father in the flesh.
As he stepped into the cramped cabin, his father got up from the wooden table where he was meticulously sorting and labeling a selection of seed envelopes. His father was a few inches shorter than Mitch, but his long silver hair was still threaded with dark strands, pulled into the neat braid he’d worn his whole life. He still stood straight, black eyes as sharp as ever.
“Son,” he said, hugging Mitch tightly. “Glad to see you.”
A blanket on the sofa indicated his father had been napping, though the man would never admit to needing a rest. Mitch eyed the newly cut cupboard doors propped against the walls, part of the ongoing maintenance necessary for a life at sea. “Quality work.”
“I don’t do any other kind.” Then he lapsed into silence and waited for Mitch to speak, the same way he’d always done.
“You know Wade’s out.”
A tightening of the mouth, a nod, his fingers toying with the seed envelopes.
“He wants me dead and to abduct his ex-wife, Jane.”
Pops dropped his head then, elbows propped on his knees. “I thought it was finally over when he went to prison.”
“It will be when I put him back there.”
“Not the cops?”
“No. Me. Like last time. There’s a marshal assigned, Al Foley, but I don’t trust him. We have some history.”
His father weighed that, brow creased in thought. “Liam told me that you were protecting Jane.”
Mitch nodded. “She isn’t a part of Wade’s evil, never was.”
Pops slanted a look at him and held it.
“Are you going to ask me how I know?”
Pops shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s enough that you know it. To make that reversal, after so much hatred, well, that’s a God thing, and I’m not going to second-guess it.”
Mitch felt suddenly weary. “How is any of this a God thing, Pops? You and Jane both. Mom’s dead, your son’s a serial killer and he’s ready to kill again. What kind of God allows that and why would you follow Him, exactly?”
Pops massaged a shoulder with one palm. “I have two sons, and I love them both.”
“Love?” He gaped outright. “You love Wade?”
“I hate what he’s done, I want him punished and put away so he can’t hurt anyone again, and I detest the evil in his soul, but, yes, deep down a part of me will always love my son.”
“How can you? He’s evil personified. How is it humanly possible that you still love him?”
Pops smiled. “It isn’t. That’s how I know God’s in it, in my life.”
The simplicity of that stopped him. His own heart was filled with such bitterness, murky hopelessness, caged by his own hatred. In that instant, he caught a glimpse of the freedom that God offered both his father and Jane. He could not love Wade, he never would, but his father’s and Jane’s ability to believe in God’s love for everyone churned his emotions like a propeller powering a boat through stormy seas.
Pops neatly stacked a half-dozen seed packets and rubber banded them. “The human heart is wired to love, because God made it that way. That’s His plan, but sometimes things go askew because of the choices we make.” He rattled the envelopes. “The seeds don’t take root properly—the plant gets messed up.”
Messed up did not even begin to describe it. “Pops...” He broke off and stood, pacing the confines of the cabin. “I think you should come back to the ranch, in case Wade figures out where you are.”
“He won’t come to me, Mitch, and if he does, he won’t find any aid.”
“Still...the ranch is more secure.”
“I’ve got to finish this work. I’ll come back for a visit in a few days. I’ve got my cell phone if I need anything. Most of the time I can get a signal. Not leaving my boat.”
Mitch recognized the stubborn set to his father’s features, the same one he was sure shone on his own face on a regular basis. Sighing, he checked the screen on his dad’s cell phone. “A satellite phone would...”
His father laughed heartily. “You know if you start preaching the benefits of carrying a fancy phone around you might be struck down by lightning for your own hypocrisy.”
Mitch allowed a smile. “Yeah, I know, but I’m carrying one at the moment.” He used paper and pencil from the countertop to write his number. On his way out, he pulled his father close.
Pops, I love you, he wanted to say, but he let his arms communicate what his tongue could not.
“Be safe, Pops,” he breathed.
“You, too, son.”
The bracing ocean air chilled him as he exited the boat. He hadn’t made it off the vessel when Foley came into view, strolling along the dock. He stopped, taking in both men.
“Mr. Whitehorse,” he called to Pops, ignoring Mitch, “I’m US Marshal Al Foley. I’m tasked with capturing Wade.”
Pops answered with a nod.
“Has Wade contacted you?”
“No.”
“Do you have phone service here?”
“Yes, most time it works.”
Foley chewed his upper lip. “Fugitives need three things...”
“Money, a means of communication and a place to stay,” Mitch finished. “We know. Pops knows.”
Foley shot him a look. “What I want to hear from Mr. Whitehorse is, if Wade comes looking for those things, is he going to get aid from you?”
Fury clawed up Mitch’s throat like a wildcat. “You...”
Pops held up a hand; the only thing that would stop Mitch from speaking out was his father’s silent command. “I will not provide any help to Wade, Marshal Foley. He’s my son, yes, but I know what he is. I’ve known it a lot longer than you have.”
Foley’s gaze narrowed, shifting to Mitch, who could hardly breathe for anger. What his father had endured, the years of trying to do battle with Wade’s evil, the recluse Pops had become until he found sanctuary here with his brother-in-law Gus...
“If you hear from him,” Foley said, “call the local PD and they’ll get hold of me immediately.”
Pops didn’t answer as Foley strode back down the dock, got into his car and drove away.
Mitch saw the glimmer of tears in his father’s eyes as he watched. “When will it end?” he heard his father mumble as he turned back to the comfort of his boat.
As soon as I can find him, Mitch thought. And this time he’ll never hurt anyone again.
Mitch wasn’t surprised when he heard the floorboards in the entryway squeak at a tad after midnight.
“It’s raining. You’re gonna need a jacket,” he murmured from his spot in the shadows.
Jane jumped, a low cry erupting from her mouth when she picked out his silhouette as he sat there in the darkness. Both hands went to her throat, and he felt a pang of regret for having frightened her. Jane had already experienced enough fear to last a lifetime.
He was sprawled out on an easy chair, legs crossed in front of him, singing in his head. Mitch never sang aloud, but for some reason the sappy country songs his mother used to croon had become embedded at the cellular level.
Like the river to the sea,
I never dreamed how good it could be.
Silly, maudlin, self-delusion, but nonetheless the words hummed through his soul just as strong now as they had when he was six years old. Strange for a guy who didn’t have a future, only a train wreck of a past. Shoving away the thoughts, he got up and faced her.
“You scared me. What are you doing up?” she managed after a moment.
“Liam’s moving a herd today. One of the horses his crew is taking has been off. I wanted to check on him. Figured I was up anyway. I don’t sleep much.”
She sighed. “Me neither.”
“Cutting out?”
Her chin was up, but she didn’t answer. He saw she had a canvas bag that Ginny had given her, the clothes she’d struggled out of the ocean in and her tattered jacket folded over her arm. He had the sudden intense urge to wrap her in a new coat, maybe green, to bring out the tiny flecks of emerald he’d spotted in her silver gaze. He blinked back to the now. “I’m thinking you’re headed to wherever you got your boy hidden.”
Still no answer.
“It’s a long walk to anywhere, a good ten miles to town. No one about at this hour. How you gonna get there? Thinking of swiping a truck or borrowing a horse?” He supposed he’d meant some kind of joke by it, but she didn’t take it that way.
“No. I don’t steal things. I was going to walk to town, but I realized I forgot something at your place.”
“What?”
“My pouch. It has my driver’s license and ATM card. I left it in your bathroom when I took a shower.”
“Okay. I’ll go up and get it. You can stay, get some more sleep.”
She shook her head. “I’m not coming back here. You can drop me in town after I get my pouch, or just let me out wherever it’s convenient.”
He frowned. “I do have some level of manners. I’ll take you to town after, if that’s what you want.”
“Thank you.”
Her gaze raked his face, but she didn’t say anything further, and he had no idea what to add. Without commenting, he went to the closet and took his barn jacket from the hanger, handing it to her. “Here. You won’t be warm enough in that.”
Before she could protest, he escorted her out to the truck, opening the passenger door for her, which seemed to surprise her.
She tossed him a wry smile. “Do you feel like you should be putting me in the back seat in handcuffs?”
His cheeks warmed. Two days ago that was exactly what he would have thought to do with Jane Reyes, but now he was adrift. “You were not charged with any crimes,” he said lamely.
She laughed. “I should put that on a résumé. I’m sure people would flock to hire me.”
He climbed behind the wheel and took the road up to his cabin.
“I was afraid I’d have to ride a horse all the way up again.”
He chuckled. “There’s a fire road. Bumpy in some places, but serviceable. I use it sometimes if I’m not riding up and back.”
“When did you come to work at the ranch?”
“After I sent Wade to jail.” His brother’s name seemed to taint the air. He cracked the window to allow in the cool scent of the sea. “My uncle needed a hired hand, so I bought the cabin, such as it is.”
“You didn’t want to live on the ranch?”
“I like my solitude.”
“So I gathered. And you have no need for the modern conveniences, either.”
He pretended to take offense, pointing to his belt. “Hey, I’m carrying a cell phone, aren’t I?”
She laughed again. The ride grew steep and bumpy, bits of rock pinging against the chassis.
It was cold, but he welcomed the mixture of scents, the tang of the sea, the spicy aroma of eucalyptus, all fresh and bracing as if all the air in the world was birthed right here on this land. They didn’t talk, except when she exclaimed over a bird that swooped silently through the night, thick bodied and tufted.
“Great horned owl,” he said. “I could...” He’d almost said I could show you where they nest before he caught himself. Nutty idea, but it bothered him that he’d never really wanted to show anyone else before until just now. Why now and why her, of all people?
She peered in between the gaps in the trees until they finally reached a flat graveled surface. “Gotta park here. Cabin’s just over that rise.”
Mitch felt the skin crawling on the back of his neck, memories of their frantic journey to the cabin after Wade nearly killed him. He’d grown comfortable with Wade in prison, more confident than a person with a serial killer for a brother had a right to. He’d begun to sink himself into life on the ranch, to accept the quiet existence tucked between the pasture and the sea.
Are you too slow-witted after your years of retirement not to see the obvious? Foley had said. Or too complacent?
Mitch felt again the flush of unease. Should he have insisted that Jane stay behind? Were his instincts chattering, or was it paranoia?
The cabin sat quiet and undisturbed, no fresh tire tracks or hoofprints to indicate activity. Wade would not have chosen to sit around and wait to see if Mitch returned. So why was his gut still cinched tight?
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
Jane didn’t question him, watching silently from the truck as he walked to the top of the rise. He listened a moment, scanning for signs of intrusion. When nothing presented itself, he strode quickly to the cabin, let himself inside and listened again. Quiet, save for water dripping off the eaves. There was sufficient moonlight for him to navigate, but he grabbed the Maglite from the clip on the wall anyway. No sense activating the generator. The old cop habit made him avoid the squeakier floorboards as he poked his head into the bedroom and kitchen. Nothing amiss, nothing moved.
Paranoia, then, he chided himself, grabbing her pouch from the bathroom and shoving it into his back pocket. He headed for the door, hesitating at the train table.
Ben loves trains.
Mitch didn’t know the smallest thing about kids, but he did remember vividly his seventh birthday present, a model train his father had put together in the evenings in the garage to surprise Mitch. He’d been so excited about that train, he slept with it under his pillow. First thing every morning his fingers searched out the sleek metal lines until one time he’d woken up to find it gone. He’d surmised exactly what had happened, confronting his brother, near hysterical, but Wade only gave a wide-eyed innocent stare.
“Wade wouldn’t take your train,” his mother soothed.
He would do that and more. At only five years of age, Wade was already the consummate liar.
Ben would like the train, he thought. It was a startling idea, since he’d never clapped eyes on the kid, but he felt a compelling urge. He’d give it to Jane to pass on to Ben someday when he was old enough.
He went to the train table, shone the flashlight on it and stopped short. The locomotive was gone.
“Poor Mitch,” came the voice, low and raspy behind him. “Did someone steal your train again?”
He did not make it completely around before Wade pressed the stun gun to his lower back. The crackle mingled with Mitch’s cry of pain as the electric shock sizzled through his body. The flashlight spiraled out of his grasp as he collapsed. Shock overwhelmed his nervous system, the current carving a path of paralysis that locked his spasming muscles.
Get up, get up, his mind screamed at him, but he could not do anything but lie there in a fetal position, limbs quivering, nerves firing agony through his frame.
Enough of his senses remained intact to register the smell of gasoline, acrid and stinking, glugging from a can. He watched through blurry eyes as Wade doused the small sitting room, tossing the empty container on the rocking chair.
“Mitch,” Wade said, backtracking to the kitchen. “I expected more from you. You hardly put up more of a fight than the women. I fantasized every single day in prison how I would kill you, but this is hardly even satisfying.” He sounded as if he was a man discussing a mediocre play he’d just attended.
“Y-you...” Mitch stammered.
“What’s that?” Wade arched a palm around his ear. “Are you begging or apologizing? I can’t tell.”
“You belong in a cage,” Mitch spit, forcing the words through the wall of pain.
Wade smiled and flicked a small cigarette lighter to life. The orange flame danced double in Mitch’s compromised vision.
“I’ll never be put in a cage again, Mitch.” He laughed. “It’s dark in here, big brother. Let me add some light, shall I?”
Almost in slow motion, Wade dropped the lighter, the gasoline vapors igniting before it hit the floor.