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Authors: Lois Greiman

Finding Home (28 page)

BOOK: Finding Home
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“It seems like you're the only one who doesn't realize he's guilty. Even she knows he can't be trusted.”
“What are you talking about?” She faced him over a pair of milky glasses. “What did you say to her?”
“What are you talking about?”
“She's obviously upset. What happened?”
He snorted, head jerking back a little. “You're blaming me? The boy does God knows what to your only paying client and you're blaming me?”
“Ty didn't do anything wrong.”
“Sure, so he's blameless and I'm the guilty party.”
“I didn't . . .” She shook her head. “Guilty of what? I didn't say you were guilty.”
“Well, you're sure acting like it.”
“I'm not. I just—” she began, but in that second he took the glasses from her. Setting them aside, he took her hands in his.
“Cass, honey . . .” His eyes bored into hers. “Let's not fight.”
“I'm not fighting. I just—”
“You don't even recognize it, do you?”
“Recognize what?”
“It's this place,” he said and glanced around the kitchen with its aging counters and scarred floors.
“What about this place?”
“Remember how you told me that your parents always fought? How they were always at each other's throats?”
“Well, they . . .” Growing up it had seemed that way, but now she wondered if that was better than simply accepting. Better than simply giving in, giving up. “They were both strong personalities. And they both cared about—”
“They fought,” he said, “because living here is so stressful.”
“No. It's—”
He laughed. “Baby,” he said, tightening his hands on hers. “You're the poster child for hypertension.”
She blew out a breath. “I'm just worried about Ty.”
“Let's go to bed,” he said.
“I can't sleep with you. Not with Emily in the house.”
“You're right.” He threw up his hands, immediately irritated. “What was I thinking? God forbid
you
should ever give me what I need.”
“I—” she began, but he gritted his teeth and shook his head.
“I didn't mean it like that. We don't have to have sex.” He stepped toward her, capturing her hands again and exhaling heavily. “Come upstairs, honey. I'll give you a backrub.” He massaged her knuckles. “Relieve you of some of that tension.”
She was shaking her head before he had finished speaking. “I still have to check the—”
But he stopped her in her tracks, expression cold. “Is this about that guy? Is that it?”
“What?”
“Jesus Christ, Cass,” he chuckled, lips twisted. “He's a
cowboy!
”
“What are you talking about?”
“A cowboy! One step down the social ladder and he'd be a cartoon character.”
“Are you talking about Colt?”
“Colt.” He laughed. “Of course that's his name,” he said and, dropping her hands, stormed up the stairs.
C
HAPTER
30
C
asie slept on the couch that night. Maybe because she was trying to set a good example for Emily or maybe because she was too upset to sleep anyway. But she rather suspected it was just because she was madder than hell. At one point she considered marching up the stairs to kick Bradley out of her bed. What right did he have to come here and dispossess her? The Lazy wasn't his. It wasn't a part of his soul, of his very being. Not that she was in love with the ranch, either. She'd have to be crazy to have any illusions about it after all these years; the work was exhausting, the winters endless, but the mornings . . .
She gazed through the kitchen window Emily had cleaned only a few days earlier. Dawn was just breaking in the east, spilling rippling waves of mauves and lavenders over the quiet, rolling hills.
A white-faced cow stretched out her neck and bellowed. A calf rose from a cluster of its identical companions and ran pell-mell across the pasture. They met nose to nose before the mother swiped a sandpaper tongue over her baby's glistening hide, then turned to meander away, calf trotting by her side, white-tipped tail swinging.
In the adjoining pasture, a dozen lambs were racing together, each leaping at a preordained spot, as their mothers, still muffled in their warm woolen coats, lay ruminating with their sisters.
Casie gazed past the gnarled scrub oak where a frayed tire swing hung. A hundred age-softened memories washed over her, and though she tried not to be dragged into sentimentality, there was a quiet loveliness there that couldn't be denied. An almost breathless nostalgia. But a noise from the yard made her rush toward the front entry. Ol' Puke was just pulling up to the barn.
“Ty!” His name escaped her lips on a sharp breath. She was outside in a heartbeat. The screen door slammed behind her.
The boy looked narrow and furtive as he stepped out of the truck, but at least he was safe. At least he was alive. He glanced in her direction for a moment, then strode toward the barn, face hidden beneath the brim of his tattered cap.
“Ty.” She ran toward him. “Tyler, wait.”
He stopped, back bowed in a pseudo-slump of relaxation, but she felt his tension from across the yard. She slowed her steps, feeling breathless and grateful beyond words.
“I was so worried,” she said. “Where were you? I was afraid something . . .”
But at that moment the morning sun crept beneath the brim of the boy's cap, highlighting the lower third of his face. His bottom lip was split, bisected by a gash that swelled dark and angry into his chin.
Casie pulled in a sharp breath. “What happened?”
He shuffled his feet, eyes narrow and solemn before he shifted them sideways.
“Ty,” she whispered and reached up to touch his face, but he jerked away. She dropped her hand. “Tell me what happened.”
“I didn't do nothin' to her.” His voice was scratchy and coarse, harsh with shame and anger, reminiscent of earlier days, but Casie shook her head, not understanding.
“What . . .” She stopped herself and drew a cautious breath. “To Sophie, you mean.”
He didn't respond.
“I know,” she said. “I know you didn't. I just meant . . .” She motioned toward him, wanting to touch, but not daring. He was like a forest creature today. Haunted and flighty. “What happened to your face?”
He backed up a step. “I just come to say good-bye to . . .” He jerked his head toward the barn. “To the horse.”
“Oh?” She slowed her breathing, exhaled softly, treading carefully. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Yeah.” He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and glanced toward the east. The sun seemed too bright on his frightening wounds, casting them nearly black in the morning light. “I'm gonna be taking off.”
“Taking off?” Her throat felt tight. She tried to smile, to stay back, to resist crowding him. “Where to?”
He turned back toward her, face pale around the angry coloration. His eyes were bright.
“Tell me what happened,” she urged.
He shook his head. “Nothin'. Wasn't nothin'.”
She clenched her fists but did her best to keep her voice soft, to let him talk. “Your dad hit you, didn't he?”
“What?” He turned startled eyes toward her. “No! He didn't hit me. Nobody hit me,” he said, but in that second his lips trembled, a boy trying to be a man. He glanced away again, flinching as another vehicle pulled into the drive. Casie was barely aware of the truck that came to a stop behind her. Tyler tipped his head down, hiding his face.
“Ty!” Colt's voice echoed in the early morning silence. “Geez, man, it's about time you showed up. We been worried sick about you.” His voice was growing closer, but Casie didn't turn toward him, couldn't manage to pull her attention from the boy's shamed expression. “Hey.” Colt's footsteps slowed as he drew nearer. “What's going on?”
“That,” Casie said softly.
“What?”
“That!” She turned on him, suddenly furious, her temper breaking like an unexpected storm. “That's going on,” she snarled and threw a trembling hand in Ty's direction.
“I—” Colt began, but then he saw the injury. The air left his lungs in a hiss. “Dammit.”
“Keep him here,” she ordered and turned toward Puke.
Colt snapped his gaze to her face. “What?”
“Keep him here,” she snarled, and stabbing a finger in Ty's direction, she yanked Puke's door open.
“Where are you—” Colt began but she was already inside the cab. “Case!” he said. She slammed the door and rolled down the window as she fired up the ancient engine.
“Don't let him leave.”
“What the hell do you think you're doing?” he asked and grabbed the edge of the window, but she was already grinding into first gear and pulling away from the barn. “Casie, talk to me. Don't do anything—”
She stepped on the gas. He trotted a few steps, trying to keep up.
“Case,” he yelled. “Dammit, woman! Casie!” he called again, but he had to let go or be dragged along behind.
“Where's she going?” Behind him, Ty's tone sounded strained, but she wasn't the one to reassure him. Not now. Not after seeing his face. Instead, she wheeled onto the gravel road, slammed into second gear, and gunned it toward the Robertses' farm.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware that Colt followed in his pickup truck, but she failed to care. The rage was all consuming. She roared into the Robertses' yard and exited Puke just as Gil stepped onto his broken concrete walkway.
“What the hell's wrong with you?” Her voice crackled with anger. Her fists were clenched beside her thighs.
“This here's my property,” Gil said. “I don't like no swearing on my property.”
“You don't like swearing? You don't like . . .” She laughed out loud. Manically, even to her own ears. “You don't have any qualms about hitting a kid, though, do you?”
He stared at her for a second, eyes blank, then he tossed his chin at Colt, who must have followed her into the yard. “You care for her, Dickenson, you'll get her out of here.”
“Case,” he said, approaching from behind. “Come on. This isn't the place for this.”
“Then where is?” she snarled.
He took her arm in his right hand. “There are better—”
She jerked out of his grasp, ignoring him completely. “But this is an okay place to hit your son, isn't it, Gilbert? This is an okay place to beat the soul out of him, to wear him down and degrade him and make him feel like crap. This is just a hunky-dory place for that, isn't it?”
He continued to stare at her. There was something in his eyes that should have scared the stuffing out of her. Any other day, it would have.
“Case . . .” Colt said again, but she jerked her arm away even before he had curled his fingers around it.
“He saved Sophie's life. Saved her! I told you that. But that didn't mean anything to a monster like you, did it?” she rasped, but he just turned away.
“Come back here!” she ordered and followed him, but in that second the front door opened and Gil's wife sauntered out.
“You don't have no kids, do you?” she asked. Her words were slurred, her gait unsteady.
“Get back in the house, Jess,” Gil ordered.
Jessica smiled. The expression was tilted. “Or what?” she asked.
Gil glanced at Casie, shifted his gaze to Colt. Heat was diffusing his cheeks, creeping up from under his collar.
“Get her off my property,” he warned.
“Or what, Gil?” Jessica asked again and laughed. “Hell, if you were half a man, she wouldn't have come here in the first place.”
“Be quiet, Jess.”
She smiled at Colt, then shifted her gaze back to her husband, expression oddly off-kilter. “But then, if you were half a man, I wouldn't have to be the one had to discipline the kid, would I?”
“She don't know what she's talking about,” Gil said.
Casie drew in a sharp breath as reality struck her. “No.” She shook her head, gaze caught on the woman. She scowled, trying to deal with her own roiling thoughts. “You . . .” For reasons entirely unclear, the thought wouldn't compute in her muddled brain. “You hit him? You hit your own son?”
Jessica sneered, wandering closer. “What do you think I should do? Shake my finger at him? I told him what was going to happen if he—”
“Jess!” Gil warned. “I told you to get yourself back in the house.”
“And I told you not to let that kid wander around the country like some stray dog!” she shrieked.
Casie blinked at her, then at Gil. But he remained silent.
“Around the country,” Casie said. “He just . . .” She shook her head, unable to believe her ears. “He saved a girl's life.”
“So, is that his little girlfriend now? You got them shacking up together over there?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Or is it you that's interested in him?” she asked and sauntered closer, eyes skimming Casie from head to foot. “I heard you was hard up, but ain't you a little long in the tooth for my boy?”
“Gil,” Colton said, voice soft.
“Jess!” Gil warned, but Casie barely heard either of them.
“What the hell's wrong with you?” she hissed.
“Me?” Jessica laughed. “Nothing's wrong with me.” She jerked her chin toward her husband. “He ain't much, but at least I ain't the one chasing after little boys.”
“I never . . .” Casie began, then ground her teeth and narrowed her eyes. “I don't care what you say,” she said. “In general, I don't even care what you do. You want to drink yourself to death, that's fine. You want to act like a raving lunatic, that's okay by me. But I swear to God, if you hit Ty again I'll—”
“What?” Jessica Roberts took the two paces between them in a fraction of a second. “I'm his mother. It's my right . . . No! It's my
duty
to teach him right from wrong. So tell me . . .” She took another step closer. “What are you gonna do about it?”
Something shrank inside Casie. Fear reared up. She took a step back. What
could
she do?
Jessica laughed. “That's what I thought,” she said, and there was something dark in her eyes, something ugly in her tone that made Casie draw herself upright, made her pull back her shoulders and brace her feet.
“Hit him again and I'll beat the crap out of you,” she warned.
“Case!” Colt rasped.
“Dickenson—” Gil warned, but he never had time to complete the sentence because in that second Jessica struck Casie in the face with her fist.
Pain burst inside Casie's skull. With it came a wild rush of rage.
In the future, Casie would never quite remember what happened, but suddenly Jessica was flat on her back and Casie was atop her. Jessica's nose was bleeding. Blood dripped from some unknown source onto the other woman's shirt.
“Go to hell!” Jessica shrieked. That's when Casie hit her again.
Blood sprayed into the air like confetti.
“Casie!” She could feel Colt trying to pull her off, but she had Jessica's shirt gripped in both fists.
“Touch him again. Touch a single hair on his head and you'll wish you'd never been born.”
Jessica spat into her face.
After that all bets were off. There were curses and blows and twisting and striking. In the end, Casie was pulled from the other woman's body like a leech, but she managed to land one final kick to her ribs before she was dragged away.
BOOK: Finding Home
8.96Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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