Justified (21 page)

Chapter Forty-Four

JohnScott pulled out of the hospital parking lot, steered the pickup toward Trapp, and tried to lose himself in the hypnotic drive across flat terrain. He didn't want to think. Or feel. Or hurt. He wished he could drive indefinitely, far away from Fawn Blaylock. So fragile, so easily influenced, and when she held the baby in her arms, she only became more beautiful.

He prayed. Right there in the truck, driving down the highway. He wanted the best for Fawn, but apparently her self-esteem had sent her running back to Tyler and his blasted security. He gripped the steering wheel, thinking the kid seemed more consumed with himself than with the good of the baby or Fawn. But JohnScott knew from experience that God could make something out of a mess of flesh.

He stopped the truck in front of his double-wide. As the engine died down, so did his hope. He peered thoughtfully at his home, then around the cab of his truck, and finally up the road to his parents' small house. No, he had nothing to offer Fawn, and he had been a fool to ever consider she might want him.

He fingered his key chain, hanging from the ignition. The idea of going inside his house depressed him. A three-bedroom setup he undoubtedly would never share with anyone. He would stay close to his parents and look after them as long as they lived, and then he'd be older, set in his ways, even more settled into his bachelor lifestyle. Get up in the morning. Work all day. Head home to a book or a show. Go to bed and start over the next day.

He stared at his front door, but he couldn't go inside. Couldn't take on that life just yet.

He started the truck and backed away, avoiding his folks' place, too. He wouldn't check the cattle or rework the back gate or set out a new salt lick. He could do all that later. It would still be there. Even as he headed back up the Caprock, he knew it was irrational, but one more visit to her place wouldn't hurt. After that, he'd embrace his destiny. Then he'd be good for it.

When he pulled into the front yard, he felt the stillness. The house lay deserted, of course, because Fawn was at the hospital. With Tyler. She had Neil and Susan, for what they were worth. And Ruthie. Even his own mother was there. To be so alone, Fawn had quite a matrix of people taking care of her. She didn't need him.

He slammed the truck door, startling himself with its hollow echo. The wind breezed lightly in contrast to the blustery sand fiasco of earlier in the afternoon. The temperature was cooler than average, and he knew it had gotten close to freezing in the night. Summer had come to an end, autumn had set in, and winter would blast by soon enough. Nothing stayed the same for long.

He slumped against the truck and looked around the yard, now standing empty except for the old woodpile in the side yard, not twenty yards from her back porch. He really ought to move it farther from the house because the stack would undoubtedly attract reptiles. He spit in the sand. She would need a fresh woodpile come winter. He could keep a handful of logs in the house when winter set in and leave the bulk out in the pasture. Away from Fawn and the baby.

He caught himself. He wouldn't be doing that.

Most likely Tyler wouldn't leave her here a week, much less till winter. In fact, she might not return to this house at all after she left the hospital.

He plucked his cap from his head, and dust sprinkled his cheeks. He'd showered, but after he saw Fawn with Tyler, he had changed out of the clean scrubs and back into his work clothes, and his cap was still caked from the storm. He slammed it against his thigh three times and then dusted the resulting red powder from his jeans. He imagined Fawn's giggle, and he ran a hand through his unruly curls and shoved the cap back down to his ears.

He might as well check on Rowdy.

The doorknob turned easily in his hand, and he shook his head at Fawn's irresponsibility. But then he realized the lock was broken. He made a mental note to repair it as soon as possible, but when he turned around, the boxes of baby goods assaulted him. He had forgotten about that. The stuff turned his stomach, and he gritted his teeth as the dog nuzzled his palm.

At least Rowdy wanted to see him. In his slow-moving canine way, the dog bestowed all kinds of affection on JohnScott. Sniffing his boots, sitting at his feet, looking up at him expectantly. “I know, boy. It's just me this time.” He patted the dog's head and went to the kitchen to fumble around until he found a bag of dog food. “This'll make you feel better, though.” JohnScott wished he had a good plate of chicken-fried steak to make himself feel better.

After spending thirty minutes getting things ready for Fawn's return, he patted Rowdy. “Sorry, buddy. You're staying.” Walking to the truck, he opened the door quickly, planning to drive away and never come back. Instead, he stood with one hand on the door handle, staring into space. He reached behind the seat and retrieved his work gloves, then marched to the rotted woodpile and started moving it to the side pasture.

The physical labor felt therapeutic in a way, and he lost himself in the work, his thoughts temporarily suspended as his brain mapped out the details of the move. The logs that were still usable could be shifted against the fence, close enough to the gate so as to be easily accessible. But some of the smaller logs were so deteriorated, they fell apart in his hands. He would need to shovel the rot into a pile and burn it later or spread it over the pasture for mulch. But he didn't mind the work. He wanted to labor away every memory of Fawn. Every image of her hesitant smile, every kick he had felt from the baby.

He fell into a mindless routine of loading the wheelbarrow, trekking across the bumpy pasture to unload it, and then trekking back. He'd made about fifteen trips when he stopped for a rest. He removed his cap and let the breeze cool his scalp. In another thirty minutes or so, he'd go in the house for a drink and let Rowdy out. He replaced his cap and reached for another log.

Past his gloved hand, gray bark slithered near the base of the woodpile, and even without a telltale rattle, he knew what he'd seen. He backed up and surveyed the pile. Apparently he had been right to want to move the wood farther from the house.

He retrieved his J-hook out of the truck, and after gently moving a few more logs, he captured the elusive reptile. Part of him wanted to kill the beast. He wanted to hurt something because of the pain he felt and to purge himself of his bitterness toward Tyler. Instead, he trapped it in a five-gallon bucket he had in the back of his truck. The lid no longer snapped on tightly, so he rested a large rock on top.

He would have a hard time getting the thing off the property. The lid wouldn't stay on past the front yard, and he could hardly leave it at the house for someone to stumble upon. No matter. He'd figure that out after he got the woodpile relocated. He busied himself with logs again but heard a faint buzzing before he even got the wheelbarrow full.

Not his day.

When he stepped away from the pile and surveyed the wood, his stomach tightened. Bark appeared to be in motion in two different places, but the skin of the snakes blended so well with the wood, he could barely make them out. One of them slithered beneath a rocky ledge that had been partially covered with wood for decades. In the past hour, JohnScott had exposed it.

From a safe distance, he squatted and peered into the musty-smelling crevice, but he was too far away and couldn't make anything out. The woodpile now lay motionless. If Clyde were right, then the snakes wanted away from him as much as he wanted away from the snakes.

He walked back to his truck, scanning the terrain as he went, laughing at himself for being so antsy. He leaned the seat of his truck forward, digging through farm supplies until he found his old six-volt flashlight. He flicked the switch but had to hit the flashlight against his palm a few times before it shone brightly.

He returned to the woodpile, eased a tiny bit closer than last time, and shined the light into the crevice. He sensed movement, but the flashlight went off again. He popped it against his thigh until it came on, and then he leaned closer to the crevice, his head almost against the ground.

What he saw sent shivers up his spine, and he fell backward and away from the woodpile, scurrying on all fours before he leaped to his feet and ran another ten yards. He breathed deeply and jerked around to check the ground around him. The flashlight lay near the wheelbarrow, still shining brightly, mocking him as he pulled out his cell phone.

He slowly walked to his truck, stunned from the fear of what might have happened to Fawn. He pushed a few buttons on his phone.

“Clyde, it's me.” He pulled his shirt away from his chest. “I'm out at Fawn's place. Pretty sure I stumbled on the diamondback den.”

“Thank the Lord,” Clyde said. “Where is it?”

“Under the wood—” A much-too-close angry rattle shook JohnScott's nerves, and he spun around. The lid of the five-gallon bucket lay toppled on the ground, but before he could locate the snake, a violent pain shot through his calf with the burning pressure of a red-hot coal.

JohnScott dropped the phone.

Chapter Forty-Five

“You mean JohnScott was at the hospital—the hospital we just left—and you didn't tell me?”

“Fawn … darlin' … you need to get on home.” Velma rotated the steering wheel on her Chevy, and Ruthie turned around to peer in the backseat.

She sifted her fingers through Nathan's hair. “JohnScott said the hospital's no place for a baby. All those germs.”

“But he's okay?”

“He'll be fine.” Velma's statement drifted as though it needed an anchor to weigh it down. To make it believable.

“They say the critter didn't get a good hold on him,” Ruthie said. “Only one fang made it through his boot. And the ambulance got there fast with a shot of antivenin.”

I shuddered. “Why was he even at my house yesterday?”

Velma and Ruthie looked at each other.

“What are you not telling me?”

Ruthie fiddled with her ponytail. “When we asked him why he disappeared after he showered, he wouldn't answer. He only said things weren't going to work out for the two of you.”

Velma gripped the steering wheel with one fist at twelve o'clock. “Makes me want to knock a harelip on that boy. Snake or no snake.”

I took a deep breath as we turned onto the gravel road leading to my house. “When you hear what I have to say, you may want to knock me instead.”

“Aw, girlie, don't go talking that way.”

I couldn't bear her kind words, and I blurted my confession quickly. “Tyler kissed me.”

They were paralyzed in the front seat, and I wondered if they were holding their breath.

“At the hospital. After the baby came.” I rushed the last of it.

Ruthie let her hand fall to her lap, but Velma reached back blindly and patted my knee. “I bet you have a good explanation.” She peered at me in the rearview mirror. “Don't you?”

I shrugged and looked away. “I didn't kiss him back.” It seemed like a bad idea to tell them about Tyler's strange behavior. It felt like an excuse. “He didn't ask. He just did it.”

“Sounds like Tyler,” Ruthie mumbled.

Velma scowled. “Did you set him straight?”

“I tried, but he wouldn't listen.”

Ruthie looked over her shoulder, and her lips quivered as she suppressed a smile. “And JohnScott saw him kiss you.”

“He'll probably never speak to me again. I know your cousin seems confident, but he actually has an insecure streak.”

Velma popped her hand against the steering wheel. “Girl, you're right when you say that boy is insecure, but he also has a logical mind. I suggest you grab him by the collar and lay it out for him. As long as it's the truth, he'll come around.”

We eased past the cliff and pulled into the yard, where Clyde's sedan was parked haphazardly next to Dodd's El Camino and, farther past them, two pickups I didn't recognize. I leaned forward. “What's all this?”

Silence filled the car. “Well, it sure ain't a welcoming committee,” Velma said. “Come on. Let's get inside out of the wind.”

“But what's going on?”

Ruthie squinted. “Clyde said it had something to do with the snake that bit JohnScott yesterday.”

I laid a hand across the baby's car seat. “Didn't they catch it?”

“Um … I'm not sure.”

I peered at the vehicles, and a cool sensation washed over me as I realized Clyde—
my biological father
—was here at my house.

And he didn't know I knew.

I laughed nervously, and Ruthie raised an eyebrow. “What's funny?”

“It's too much, you know? What next?”

I followed them to the steps, looking on and under the porch, wondering where JohnScott had found the snake.

“Oh, Fawn. You got a bassinet.” Ruthie squealed as she entered the house, but then she hesitated, surveying the living room with a confused frown. “And a
lot
of other stuff.”

“Tyler's doing. Oh—” I stood in the doorway and looked across the room at the bassinet, fully assembled. “Who finished putting it together?”

Velma grunted. “That would be the insecure, logical one.”

“But …” I stared at the baby bed, perplexed.

His mother patted my shoulder and reached for the car seat. “When JohnScott's upset, he works.”

“He works?”

“Yes.” Ruthie nodded.

Velma talked baby talk as she unbuckled Nathan. “And when he's frustrated, he works. And when he's irritated, he works. And when he's sad, he works hardest of all.”

I settled into the recliner. “That can't be right. He works every time he comes over here. Has ever since I moved in.”

Each of them looked at me with an eyebrow raised.

“He works?” I asked feebly.

“He works when he's trying to solve a problem, and you've been his biggest problem so far.” Ruthie looked at the bassinet. “But I think he's getting things figured out.”

“That boy of mine hit a little snag, what with that kiss—and the snakebite—but he'll get back on track.” Velma laid the baby in my arms. “Time for a feeding. I'm heading out back to see what's going on.”

I shivered as I pulled Nathan close. They could be wrong about JohnScott. He might not work things out logically.

Ruthie brought me a glass of ice water from the kitchen. “Georgia said drink.”

“And what Georgia says do, I must do.” I didn't miss the straight-talking nurse, and thinking of her reaction to Tyler's kiss reminded me of the fragility of my relationship. “She called me a reality-TV star.”

“Did she?” Ruthie snickered, but when she looked at me, her smile faded. “JohnScott'll come around, Fawn.”

“You think?”

“Momma says she's never seen him like this. Not that he's dated much, but he's never treated another girl like he treats you.”

My bottom lip pulled between my teeth. “How is your mom? You don't talk about her much.”

Ruthie frowned. “Are you changing the subject?”

“Maybe.” The recliner creaked beneath me as I rocked. “People are saying she's with Clyde.”

“Not a chance.” She dug through a shopping bag, perusing the baby items. “She's still waiting for Daddy to come back.”

“After twenty years?”

“Fourteen.”

Emptiness swept through me as I considered Lynda Turner. Neil had dumped her, and then later, her husband abandoned her.

“So how does he treat me?”

“Who … JohnScott?” Ruthie held up a footed sleeper. “Like he would do anything to make you happy. Anything in the world.”

Anything except talk to me.

“Why did they hold him overnight if the snakebite wasn't bad?”

She sighed. “They wanted to give him more antivenin injections.”

I leaned back, visualizing JohnScott sitting next to me sipping coffee.

The back door opened behind me, and Ruthie smiled. “Hey, Clyde. Come on in.”

I shifted the baby to my lap as my pulse pounded. In the past Clyde had made me uncomfortable, but now that I knew the truth about him, I felt nothing but anticipation. Like Christmas morning and the first day of school and homecoming all rolled into one.

He ducked his head in greeting, and his eyes bounced from Ruthie to me and then to the baby, where they stayed. “Heard everything went dandy for you and the little one.”

I tilted him toward Clyde. “Other than coming in the middle of a dust storm.”

“In less than two hours.” Ruthie squatted to pet Rowdy.

“Two hours.” Clyde hummed. “Well, I guess that's to be expected.”

“Yeah, my mother delivered me real quick.”

“I never knew that,” Ruthie said.

I wiped a drop of milk from Nathan's mouth. “Yep.” I looked at Clyde, wondering how many details he knew about my mother's pregnancy and delivery. A chill crept down my arms. It all seemed so absurd. Humiliating. Unforgivable. “Clyde, have a seat.”

“Oh no, ma'am.” He hadn't taken his eyes off the baby. “I couldn't do that. You must be tuckered out.”

“I'm tired, but I can't settle down.” And I had too many questions. About the snakes, about JohnScott, about the trucks in my yard. About my mother. “You can hold him.”

His eyebrows lifted with the hungry anticipation of a child in a toy store, but he shook his head. “Naw, I'd probably get him dirty.” He leaned closer, and his blond hair fell to either side of his face. “Look at his little fists. He's all pink and everything. What's his name?”

“Nathan.”

“That's good. Does he have a middle name?”

Ruthie huffed. “She won't tell any of us.”

“His name is Clyde,” I blurted before my courage waned. “Nathan Clyde Blaylock.”

Ruthie stared between the two of us, but Clyde's gaze never wavered from the baby. His eyes filled with tears, and he stood motionless as though the slightest movement might shatter his strength. Then he looked at me hesitantly, fearfully, a blend of doubt and hope falling across his eyes.

“Mom told me,” I said softly.

His face turned dark and his cheeks trembled and he nodded firmly. “He's a fine boy, Fawn.”

Ruthie slipped from the room, the back door opening and closing quietly, and she left me alone with him. Alone with my father. My dad. I couldn't imagine ever calling him either.

The purr of the air conditioner shifted to a low hum as the compressor cycled, its predictable regularity quieting my blaring thoughts. Thoughts of the two men who called me their daughter. They couldn't have been more different.

Nathan squirmed in his sleep, gave a disgusted half sigh, then settled back into his dream.

The corner of Clyde's mouth lifted as he ran a callused finger across the swaddled blanket, but then he straightened suddenly. “I'm so sorry. About everything.”

The pain chiseled on his face made me want to hug him, but I didn't. He may have been my father, but I still barely knew him. “It's all right.”

“I want to make it up to you. Or if you don't want the truth out, I'll take it to my grave.” He waved toward the back door. “Ruthie and them won't talk.”

After the emotional tornado I had endured the past two days, Clyde's simple compassion soothed my frayed emotions like a warm bath. “I don't want any more secrets.”

“All right, then, but if there's anything I can do, just let me know.” His eyes searched the room. “Do you need another air conditioner? Or maybe a space heater now that the nights are cool? This place could use a lot more work.”

I stared at him as one more piece of my life fell into place. “You own this house.”

I wouldn't have thought a man that large could shrink so dramatically, as though humiliated by his own good deeds. “It belonged to my grandpappy. Guess that would make him your great-grand.” He scratched the side of his neck. “Wish I had something nicer for you.”

“You've seen the view. It doesn't get much better than that.”

He gazed out the window. “No, I don't suppose it does.”

“There is one thing you can do for me.”

“Anything.”

I smiled. “I just want to know what's going on in my yard.”

“Nobody told you?”

“They act like it's the apocalypse.”

“Don't want to scare you, I reckon.” He took three steps across the room and then paced back. “JohnScott came across the rattlesnake den out near your woodpile.”

If he had said those words to me a month ago, I would've reacted in horror, but now the news only perturbed me. My emotional energy level couldn't take another hit. “The den you searched for years ago?”

“That's the one. Been there thirty years or more.”

My scalp tingled as I recalled what he had told me about snakes returning to their den every year. “Were there very many?”

Clyde blew air through his teeth. “I called a couple hunter friends to come out and help. Between the three of us, I think we've done all we can. Dodd and Grady are out there taking pictures with their cell phones.”

“But you got all the snakes?”

“Probably not. The gas we use drove most of 'em out, and we snared 'em. Others will fall asleep and come out later. But don't worry, when those wake up, they'll leave and stay far away till the den airs out. That could take a year or more.”

I nibbled a fingernail, trying to get my mind around all he said. “So what did you do with the snakes?”

“Loaded them in the vehicles. We'll take 'em out when we go.”

Other than Velma's Chevy and my Mustang, four cars were parked in my yard. My voice broke. “
Four
vehicles?”

“Aw, Fawn.” Clyde ran a hand over his whiskers. “We've corralled about sixty so far.”

“Sixty?”
My skin jittered as though spiders crawled all over me.

He lowered himself to one knee so he would be on my level. “You could stay with Ansel and Velma for a few days.”

I glanced out the window. “But this is my home.”

“JohnScott said you would say that.”

My heart tugged. “Is he really all right? Velma and Ruthie act like he got a bee sting.”

Clyde chuckled. “Probably it's worse than they let on … but not as bad as you imagine. He ought to be home in a few days.”

“Do you think I could call him? Get his advice?”

“JohnScott?” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Better not just yet. His head's in a bit of a scramble still.”

I nodded but didn't say anything. If I spoke, I might cry, and if I cried, I might never stop. And if I never stopped, I might die.

Clyde sighed long and full, but his sigh didn't echo the despair I felt. Instead he sounded content. And maybe slightly humored. “Wait and call in a few days.”

I fussed with Nathan, trying to stifle my tears so Clyde wouldn't see.