Keeping Katie (A Mother's Heart #1) (9 page)

“It’s okay. I like it.”

He believed her. The smile on her lips flickered gaily in her eyes, and she seemed more relaxed than he’d ever seen her.

“So,” she said, interrupting his thoughts, “where do you have to stop?”

“The Simmons ranch.” He probably should have warned her about his little side trip. Of course, then she might have used it as an excuse to turn down his offer of a ride. And he liked having her with him.

“That’s the boy Millie and Rita talked about a few weeks ago? The one you kicked out of town?”

So she remembered. “I believe the word Millie used was
ousted
.”

“Yes, ousted. Same boy?”

“Yep. His name’s Joey Simmons.” Alan stole another glance at her. “Thought I better have a word with his father.”

Maureen sat quietly for a few moments. “Is what Millie said true? Does the boy keep his family fed?”

“Maybe.”

Alan thought about the rifle in the back of Bud’s pickup. He was sure Joey had more than a passing familiarity with the weapon. After all, generations had lived off the wild game in these parts long before there was a hunting season. Someone like Bud Simmons would simply ignore the fact that times had changed. He wouldn’t think twice about sending his son out to bring home dinner—no matter the time of year.

“Boys grow up fast out here,” he said aloud. “Especially with a man like Bud Simmons for a father.”

She didn’t say anything to that, but turned away, lost in her own thoughts.

“The thing is,” Alan continued, wanting her to understand, “nothing justifies Joe breaking the law. It isn’t right, and it will get a lot worse than his driving without a license.”

“But surely if he has no choice …”

“He has a choice, and so does his old man.”

He felt her gaze on him. Glancing her way, he saw she watched him intently, frowning, as if trying to see through him. It made him uncomfortable. He couldn’t read the expression in her eyes. Did she understand about Joey? Then she looked away, back to the scenery, without a word.

He considered saying something else to try to explain how he saw things. Then he changed his mind. What did he care if she understood or not? This was his town.

About forty-five minutes later, he pulled off the highway onto a service road. After a few miles, he turned onto the route leading to the Simmons ranch. It was little more than a dirt track, twisting and turning beneath a forest of huge conifers.

Alan loved this country—the quiet, the rich smell of earth and evergreen. He glanced at Maureen and realized she, too, was absorbed in their surroundings. He wondered how she saw it. She was a city girl, but that didn’t mean she was immune to the beauty around her. For reasons he refused to dissect, he wanted her to see it as he did.

The trees parted, and they drove into a clearing that was the Simmons place. Alan pulled up and stopped the Jeep in front of the house. He sat for a moment, his thoughts drawn back to his reason for being here.

“Wait here,” he said, never taking his eyes off the house. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

He caught Maureen’s nod out of the corner of his eye. Climbing out of the Jeep, he headed for the house. At the door, he hesitated. The place looked worse than he’d anticipated. But then, what had he expected? He hadn’t been out here for years, not since the day Simmons reported his wife missing. It hadn’t exactly been a showplace then, but it had been a working ranch, well-tended and in good shape. Now it looked like a dump.

Remembering that Maureen waited for him, he pushed his thoughts aside and knocked. For a moment, it seemed no one would answer. Maybe no one was home. He knew better. Word was, Simmons hardly left his house anymore. Besides, his battered old pickup was parked out front.

Alan knocked again. Louder. He heard movement inside, nothing definite, more like a shuffling.

“Bud,” he called out. “It’s me. Alan Parks.” More movement from inside. “Open up. I need to talk with you.” Silence. “Come on, Bud. I know you’re in—”

The door flew open. “What the hell ya want, Parks?”

Bud Simmons stood before him, a shadow of the man Alan remembered. He had always been big, six-four if he was an inch. The last time Alan had seen him, he’d been a combination of hard muscle and gut. Not a trim man, but powerful. Someone you wouldn’t want to go up against. Now Simmons seemed shorter—shrunk into himself—and all stomach. His face was a white pasty mask, his eyes bloodshot, and his nose bulbous and red-veined. A wreck of a man. If his ranch had fallen into disrepair, then Bud himself had totally decayed.

Forcing a smile past his shock, Alan nodded a greeting. “Bud. Long time.”

“Yeah, not long enough.” Simmons seemed to gather himself, pulling up to his full height.

Noticing the gesture, Alan braced himself. “Need to talk to you, Bud.”

“What about?”

“About your boy, Joey.”

“He ain’t here.”

Alan took off his hat and glanced around the yard before returning his gaze to Simmons. “Can I come in?”

Simmons didn’t budge.

This was going to be harder than he’d anticipated, Alan thought. He wished he hadn’t brought Maureen along. If things got out of hand, he didn’t want her around. “It’ll only take a few minutes,” Alan insisted.

Finally Simmons shrugged and moved away from the door, back into the house.

Alan stepped inside. He took a moment to accustom his eyes to the dim light before proceeding in the direction Simmons had headed.

He found the older man sprawled in a recliner, surrounded by empty beer cans, the television blaring. A quick survey of the room showed the place to be in decent shape—better than the outside. The room was clean, or nearly so. It occurred to Alan that Bud’s closest neighbor, Widow Cellar, must have paid a recent visit. There had been a time when people thought Jean Cellar would be Bud’s salvation, but that was a while back.

Walking over to the television, Alan shut it off.

“Hey,” said Simmons, “you ain’t got no right—”

“I need to talk to you.” Alan drifted around the room, taking in its contents. Stopping before a hand-built wooden shelf, he picked up a framed photograph. The picture was of a family: a man, a woman and two kids. Replacing the picture, he turned back to Simmons. “It’s about Joey.”

Maureen watched Alan step inside the house and close the door. She was glad he hadn’t offered to let her come with him. She wasn’t the least bit interested in entering that house. Simmons obviously wasn’t particular about his living conditions—not the type of man she’d care to meet.

Never very good at sitting still, she got out of the Jeep to stretch her legs. The rest of the yard and outbuildings were in even worse shape than the house. The yard was littered with all sorts of debris, from old broken-down vehicles and spare tires to rusted farm equipment she couldn’t name.

It seemed a shame. So much waste in such a beautiful setting. The clearing was a good size, yet the forest surrounded them. She felt as if she were in the middle of a vast wilderness, though she knew the highway was only a few miles away. And the mountains. They sat behind the house, silent and majestic, the perfect backdrop for a not-so-perfect homestead.

Then she saw him. A boy, maybe nine or ten, watching her from the barn door. She smiled, feeling guilty for her unkind thoughts about this place, which must be his home.

“Hi,” she said, tentatively taking a few steps toward him.

Instead of answering, the boy turned and disappeared into the dark interior of the barn.

Maureen stopped. Reason told her to let him go, but instinct urged her to follow. Shrugging off her disquiet, she crossed the yard to the barn.

As she stepped inside, a rancid odor hit her. She didn’t have much experience with animals or farms, but she knew they shouldn’t smell like this. Where was the aroma of fresh hay you always read about? Or the scent of leather tack?

“Hello,” she called out, hoping the boy would show himself. She moved a little farther inside, fighting the urge to cover her nose and mouth with her hand.

“I’m Maureen,” she said. “I’m new in town. What’s your name?” She knew she should turn around and walk out, back to the light and fresh air. But something drew her on, deeper into the barn toward the child she’d seen a few minutes ago. She passed rows of empty stalls. It seemed odd that the place should smell like this when it housed no animals.

“Do you live here?” she called again, knowing he heard her, even if he didn’t respond. She walked toward a dim light at the rear of the building. When she got closer, she saw that the light came from a small open window. If nothing else, she’d get a breath of fresh air.

Moving toward the sunshine, she found him in the last stall. But he wasn’t alone. He knelt next to a small deer lying on what was probably the only clean straw in the entire place. The animal was hurt and someone had bandaged its leg.

“Oh my,” Maureen said, dropping down next to the boy. “Is it yours?”

For a moment, she thought he would run again. Then he visibly braced himself. “No, ma’am.”

Maureen bent to get a closer look at the animal, and the boy stiffened next to her. Not wanting to scare him, she pulled away, leaning back on her heels. “Have you had a vet look at him?”

The boy shook his head.

“I won’t hurt him,” she said. “I don’t know much about animals, but I know a little about people medicine.” She stopped, giving the boy time. “I could look at him if you like.”

She saw the turmoil in his eyes. He was afraid. She thought of the conversation at Rita’s dinner table, and a knot of outrage tightened her stomach. This boy and his brother had been deserted by their mother. With an effort, she suppressed her anger.

“Would you like me to take a look?” she asked again, willing him to trust her.

He hesitated for a moment longer before nodding.

She reached down and gently removed the makeshift bandage. As she did, the boy steadied the animal. “What’s your name?” she asked, surveying the damage done to the animal’s leg.

“Tommy.”

“Nice name.” She laid the bandage aside, wondering if she knew enough to help this creature. Her nursing career hadn’t done much to prepare her for doctoring a deer. “It looks like he got his leg caught in something.”

“A trap.”

She raised her gaze to the boy’s. “A trap?”

“Wasn’t meant for the deer.”

“I see.” But she didn’t. She didn’t know anything about traps, or deer for that matter. Looking back at the animal, she said, “It looks like his leg is broken.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She looked at the boy again. He probably knew more about doctoring animals than she did. “You can call me Maureen.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Smiling, she turned back to the animal. The boy certainly wasn’t short on manners. “You did a good job cleaning it, Tommy, but I think we better set that leg.” She glanced around the stall for something she could use. Before she could ask, the boy took off. When he returned, he brought several flat pieces of wood for her to choose from.

“Great,” she said. “These will do fine. Now, I believe we should go ahead and clean his leg again while it’s uncovered. What do you think?”

Tommy scurried away again and returned in a few minutes carrying a stack of clean rags, hot water, and an over-the-counter antibiotic.

“Thanks,” she said.

Tommy knelt down beside her and once again steadied the animal. She did what she could, trying to think of the deer as a person, cleaning the wound and applying the antiseptic. Then, using the wood and strips of rags, she set the leg. The boy had good instincts—holding the animal steady and soothing it as needed.

“You like animals, Tommy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re very good with them.”

She finished tying the last rag to secure the makeshift splint and leaned back on her heels to survey her work. “There, that’s about all I can do.” She glanced at Tommy, who still held the animal’s head, stroking it with gentle fingers. “I think he’s going to be all right. Just keep the wound clean and covered.”

Tommy nodded his response.

The sound of Alan’s voice surprised her, and she threw a quick glance toward the barn entrance. “I’ve got to go,” she said.

She started to stand, but the boy stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Don’t tell no one, please.”

Maureen looked down into his pleading eyes, and something melted inside her. She hated to think what could make this boy so afraid. And why would it matter if she told someone he sheltered an injured animal? Whatever the reason, she knew she wouldn’t betray him. “Of course not,” she said. “It’s our secret.”

Rising, she turned and hurried out of the barn, nearly colliding with Alan as she reached the door. “Where have you been?” he asked, obviously irritated.

Shrugging, she turned toward the Jeep. “Oh, I was just exploring.”

“Exploring?” Alan reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her retreat.

“Yes,” she answered. She met his gaze, then turned her eyes purposely toward the hand that held her. “Exploring.”

He released her suddenly, and she met his gaze again, unconsciously rubbing at the spot where his hand had been. Then she turned away and headed across the yard.