Love, Like Water (4 page)

“Yes, boss,” Eli said. She flapped her apron at him and he went out of the kitchen, chuckling.

“Eli’s a good boy,” Sarafina said as she set a plate in front of him, then dished out some enchiladas from the ceramic dish she’d been keeping warm in the oven. “Eat those, and I’ll have a salad for you. And bread.”

He stared down at the food, feeling faintly nauseated, but he picked up the fork and took a bite. It had a different flavor from the stuff he’d eaten in Chicago, but he couldn’t say how, not anymore. His sensitivity to tastes was as dead as the rest of him. “It’s good,” he said, and choked down another bite. “You don’t have to go to any effort,” he said. “This is good. I’m too tired to eat much, anyway.”

He could feel her eyes burning into the back of his head as he ate a couple more bites, making sure they were from the same enchilada so that she could salvage the rest. When he finished one, he set the fork down. “Thank you,” he said, and bent to pick up the backpack.

“Joshua….”

“Thank you, Sarafina. Really, I’m just tired.” He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then got up and went in search of his bedroom.

It was right where Eli Kelly had said it would be; he recognized the duffel on the foot of the bed on top of the pieced quilt. Joshua closed the door, then went to the bed and took it off to set it on the flagstone floor next to the rug. The backpack was set next to it, and Joshua sat on the edge of the bed.

The room was an improvement over the one he’d had at the rehab center. The walls were white, but the quilt and rug and Navaho-inspired drapes were brightly colored, and the warm sandstone floor was a deep honey that glowed in the fading light. And the mattress was firm. That was good. Joshua wrapped his arms around himself and lay down on his side, still in his coat. As he drifted to sleep, he heard the thump of doors and the sound of voices, but they didn’t impact him, and he paid them no attention.

S
ARAFINA
had waited until after the rest of the men had left the kitchen to talk to Eli. He knew she wanted to give him an earful, so he took his time over his coffee. Once they were alone, the men off for evening chores or the bunkhouse, and Jesse up in his room doing homework, Sarafina poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the big table across from him. “So,” she said, “did Tucker tell you what is wrong with Joshua?”

“Said he was hurt on assignment with the FBI. Hurt bad enough to quit.”

“That is not ‘hurt’.” She pointed indignantly in the direction of the spare bedroom. “
That
is
sick
. He’s a sick man, Eli. Traveling all day and all he eats is one little enchilada?”

“Maybe he ate on the plane,” Eli said, but even he knew that was hedging, and deserved the scornful look she gave him.

“He did not, nor on the bus, nor in your car. He looks as though he hasn’t eaten for
days
. Tucker will not be happy when he gets home tomorrow morning.”

“Well, I ain’t terribly happy right now,” Eli said. “I agree with you, sweetheart. There’s something seriously wrong with that boy.”

Chapter 3

T
HE
meeting had been a good five-hour drive from home, and normally Tucker would have stayed over at the hotel afterward. But when the group of his friends had finished dinner and drinks at the local cattlemen’s club, it was two in the morning, he was wide awake, and the text message from Elian Kelly—
Josh here. Sarafina worried @ him
—had made him anxious enough that he bade his friends good-bye, got into his truck, and headed back down the road toward home.

He knew some of what his nephew had gone through—at least as much as Hannah knew, which wasn’t a terrible lot. He’d listened to her cry with worry during the last couple of years of Josh’s assignment, when she couldn’t get in touch with her son, and again a few months ago when he’d come back, and Hannah had found him so terribly changed. Drugs were involved, which worried Tucker, but Hannah had insisted that it wasn’t Josh’s fault, that he’d been forced into it by circumstances, and that he was doing his best to break away from it. That had been part of the reason Hannah had wanted him to take Josh, to get him away from the drugs. The other part was that apparently Josh was still in danger from some of the people he’d put away—or their compatriots—though Hannah had assured him she and Cathy and the kids were perfectly safe. They and the ranch weren’t even on the bad guys’ radar, which was some comfort.

But Hannah had said that Josh had gone through some kind of chemical detox and that he was on the mend. It was just the psychological effects of the addiction that he needed to deal with, and the ranch would be just the place to do that. He could learn a new job and build a new life, far away from the stresses of the city, and hopefully put everything else firmly in the past.

So Tuck had been expecting someone who was ready to make a change in his life, but Eli’s text—
Sarafina worried @ him
—made him think twice. Sarafina was a wise woman.

The sun was just coming up as he drove into the ranch yard and parked the Silverado beside the house. Inside, Sarafina was already at work, kneading dough for the hands’ breakfast. She looked up at him as he entered, her face surprised. “Home already?”

“Didn’t stay over,” he said. “I’ll catch a nap this afternoon. How is everything?”

“Normal. Elian is in charge, so of course everything is normal.”

“I mean about Josh.”

She didn’t answer right away, but kept kneading the dough. Finally, she stopped, set the ball in a bowl and covered it with a dishcloth, then said, “He has very bad dreams.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. They wake him. They wake
me
, and I’m upstairs. When I come down, he is awake and tells me he’s fine. But he is not fine, Tucker. He is very not fine.”

“Is he still asleep?”

She shrugged. “He’s still in his room. He ate one enchilada last night, Tucker.
One
.”

He said seriously, “Then he is sick, Sarafina.” It was true. Sarafina’s enchiladas were nectar of the gods. Anyone who could turn them down—or worse yet, eat only
one
—was sickening for something.

“I told you that.” She put the bowl in the oven, then went to the big refrigerator. “You go see him, Tuck.”

Calling him “Tuck” meant she was dead serious. He nodded, and went down the hall to the bedroom he’d chosen for Josh.

When he opened the door, he almost backed out and went to ask Sara who the hell was in his house, because that
couldn’t
be Josh. Josh was only twenty-seven or twenty-eight. The photo Hannah had sent him on Josh’s graduation from the FBI Academy was of a tall, grinning young man, broad-shouldered and strong. Not this shattered wreck of a scarecrow, dressed in black, with black fuzz on his head, deep gouges where his cheeks should be, and a knife blade of a nose. Appalled, Tucker stepped into the room and stood looking down in dismay at his nephew.

Josh opened his eyes and, faster than Tuck could have believed a wreck of a man like that could move, was off the other side of the bed, a knife in one hand and an expression of rage and fear on his gaunt face. Tuck flung his hands up in a gesture of surrender and said, “Josh?”

The man stared at him a moment, then the adrenaline or whatever had fueled his response drained out of him. He dropped his hands, tossed the knife onto the bedspread, and said dully, “Hello, Uncle Tucker.”

“Sorry to startle you,” Tuck said quietly, moving slowly to sit on the edge of the bed and retrieve the knife. It looked like one of Sarafina’s steak knives. He must have picked it up in the kitchen last night, or sometime after Sarafina had gone to bed. Tuck put the knife on the nightstand. “Sit down, son, before you fall down.”

Josh sat gingerly on the other side of the bed. “No. I’m sorry. I… I don’t react well to things.”

“Understandable. Your mother said you’ve had a rough time of it.”

His nephew shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t….” He stopped and folded his arms, his hands cupping his elbows. “I appreciate your letting me come here.”

“You’re family. This is your home from here on out, if you want it to be.”

Josh raised his head and met Tuck’s eyes. “Don’t make promises,” he said expressionlessly. “You don’t know all the facts yet.”

Moving slowly, the way he would with the wildest mustang fresh off the range, Tuck rose and went around to Josh’s side of the bed. He reached out and took one sleeve of Josh’s jacket in finger and thumb, and tugged gently until Josh’s arm slid out. He did the same with the other, then tossed the jacket onto the chair in the corner.

Josh immediately put his arms back in the same folded position, but Tuck wasn’t done. He put his hand—still so slowly, so gently—on Josh’s wrist, and pulled the arm out. As he’d expected, the skin on the inside of the elbow was riddled with needle marks.

“Heroin?”

Josh nodded and closed his eyes.

“Hannah said there was an issue with drugs, but she didn’t say what,” Tuck said, trying to keep his voice steady. “She said you went through some kind of detox and rehab?”

“Yes. I’m clean.” Josh was silent a moment, then said bitterly, “As clean as a heroin addict gets.”

“Well,” Tuck said mildly, “not much chance you’ll be able to make a connection out here. Nearest ranch is fifteen miles west, and Miller’s the closest town. Had some trouble a few years ago when some dumb kids set up a meth lab, but they blew it and themselves to kingdom come. Might find some marijuana around, and down on the rez you might find some peyote, but the shamans are real particular who gets to that. So, I’d say you’re stuck.”

“Thanks,” Josh said. He looked down at his arm. Tuck released him, then said, “Sarafina said you had a rough night. Don’t feel obliged to get up—you look like you could use the rest, and she can bring you breakfast here. You got pajamas in that duffel there? Can’t imagine denim’s all that comfortable to sleep in.”

Josh shook his head. “She doesn’t have to go to any trouble.”

“She’d do it anyway, even if I didn’t ask her. You’re family.”

“You said that.”

“And I’m gonna keep saying it, until you believe it. Look, Josh, your mama told me everything she knew, which I’m betting ain’t anywhere near everything. You tell me what you’re comfortable telling me, and not a stitch more. Soon’s you’re feeling better, you come work with me in the office, and when you’re up to it, you can help out with the stock. Can always use an extra pair of hands. Fact is, I’ve been needing someone to help me with the business end of this for a while. I’m not interested in all that society network stuff, and websites and blob posts.”

“Blog posts,” Joshua said. He looked up and met Tuck’s eyes again, and Tuck couldn’t help but feel that he’d made some little breakthrough. At least the boy’s lips were twitching, as if trying to smile.

“Blog posts. Whatever the hell they are. And handling the government paperwork for the NFS roundups is always a pain in the patootie.”

“Your foreman told me some of that stuff. You contract with the federal government?”

“Yeah, the National Forestry Service. They manage the wild horse herds around here. Sometimes the BLM—Bureau of Land Management—does, but there’s been kind of an outcry about them using helicopters to herd the mustangs, and that surely does mess with their heads. Lot harder to train an animal for the saddle that’s scared to death of loud noises. So the NFS took over a good portion of that end of it. We round ’em up on horseback—less traumatic that way.”

Joshua nodded.

“But that’s all stuff you’ll hear about later.” Tucker picked up the duffel and dropped it on the bed beside Josh. “Get out your jams and crawl into bed for a while.”

Josh nodded again, and opened the duffel. Tucker stood a moment, watching him, then went quietly out of the room, closing the door behind him.

In the kitchen, Sarafina was waiting with an enormous mug of coffee. Eli was sitting at the table, a twin to the mug in front of him. His hands were cupped around it, and he was staring down into the black liquid. “How much did you hear?” Tucker asked bluntly.

Eli’s eyes were sober. “Enough.”

“Then you know he’s clean.”

“He’s detoxed or whatever they call it,” Eli corrected. “Maybe he’s clean and maybe he’s not. He’ll bear watching, family or no.”

Tucker let out a long, heavy sigh, and sat down across from Eli. Sarafina set the mug on the table and went back to the granite counter, where she started cutting out rolls. “Yeah. He’s got a strong will—always has—so if anyone can beat this thing, he can. But you’re right. He’ll bear watching, if only for his own safety.”

“You sure you want to take this on?”

“He’s family.” Tucker sipped the coffee. Hot as sin and twice as smooth; he thought maybe Sarafina added something to it, chicory or something. “I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, not much he can get into out here. And I don’t think any of the hands would be inclined to risk a good job by acting as a connection or whatever they call it.”

“True enough. Still, time will tell.” Eli shook his head. “I hate waste.”