Running Scared (5 page)

Coward. You’re just afraid of losing him!

He was staring at her with confused blue eyes. “Your…your father’s dead,” she said, feeding the lie that had seemed so small and innocent nearly fifteen years ago.

“Is he?”

God, help me.
“You know it, Jon. Your father was killed—”

“I know the story that
you
told me, but there’s more, isn’t there? Things I don’t know. What is it, Mom? Was there another guy? Someone you were involved with after James died?”

“No!” she nearly shouted, her fingers curled over the top of the chair in a death grip as she lowered her voice. “There’s never been another man.”

Still holding the ball, Jon lifted his hands to the side of his head. “I know it sounds weird, but I get this…feeling that somehow…my father…he’s alive. I know it’s stupid.” He shook his head, and Kate bit her lip.

This wasn’t the time to tell him there was the other man, the man who had given Jon life because that man, the one who had been in prison, didn’t know where Jon was, didn’t care, probably didn’t even know that he had a son. Or did he? Was he on his way? The trepidation that had followed her around like a deadly shadow for the past fifteen years crystallized into something real and tangible and terrifying.

“See, crazy, huh?” Jon threw the tennis ball down the hall and Houndog took off in a frantic, scrambling streak of black and white. “Maybe Todd Neider’s right. Maybe I am a freak.”

“Of course you aren’t,” she said, her mouth feeling dry as cotton. She walked over and tried to give him a hug, but he shrugged her off.

“Don’t. Don’t treat me like a little kid.”

“You are—”

“I’m fifteen! I can get a driver’s license in less than a year!” He took a step away from her. “Too old to be kissed and hugged by my mom.”

She wanted to protest. A part of her cried out inside, but she didn’t say a word and tried not to look hurt. He was right. He was growing up, growing away from her. He probably did need a father. But not the man in Boston. Never him.

Houndog, tennis ball firmly in his mouth, rounded the corner, jumped up on Jon’s legs wildly, his bark muffled before he dropped the ball on the floor. The pup’s tail wagged furiously as he stared up at the boy, almost daring Jon to toss it again. Jon didn’t notice, just shifted his backpack to his other shoulder.

Kate tried one more time. “Look, Jon, I didn’t mean to bug you about your dreams, but—”

“Just stop, okay?” His jaw worked in anger and he plowed a hand through his hair.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” she said, as much to convince herself as him. Inside she was falling apart. Was it possible? After all these years? Could Jon’s father have found out about him? The safe little shell she’d built around them was cracking.

Finally Jon saw the dog whining at his feet. In one swift motion, he shot the ball down the hall again. “I don’t think so, Mom. Everything’s not gonna be okay. I don’t want to scare you, but I think we’re in for some heavy sh—stuff around here.”

“You do?” Her heart knocked crazily.

He nodded. “It’s starting. Today.”

“What?” She swallowed back her fear.

His eyes narrowed as he stared through the open window again, to the distant mountains and the black clouds that rolled across the sky. The smells of dry grass, dust, and faded wild flowers filtered into the room, and far away a tractor engine rumbled, but Jon, looking into a distance only he could see, seemed unaware of the noises and odors. Absently he rubbed a hand over the muscles of his other forearm.

Kate felt cold as death.

“The danger,” Jon said slowly in a voice that was an eerie whisper. “It’s coming.”

“Oh, God, no.” This time he hadn’t tried to soften the blow by calling it trouble. This time he had admitted the peril, the unnamed danger that was stalking him.

He swallowed hard, then looked at her, his gaze bright and focused again, as if he were back in the moment. But his grim expression didn’t change. “It’s coming, Mom,” he repeated hoarsely, “and there’s no way to stop it.”

Daegan jammed on the brakes and his truck slid to a stop near the dusty front porch of the cabin. “Fixer upper,” as the real estate ad had boasted, was more than a little optimistic. “Rustic” was a lie. The place was shot to hell. From the looks of it, old man McIntyre hadn’t lifted a hammer, paintbrush, screwdriver, or pair of pliers in years. The cabin was small, with a sagging roof, broken steps, boarded-over windows, and a view of some of the driest acres Daegan had ever seen. The barn hadn’t fared much better. Never having been painted, the old structure had suffered from the elements—sun, wind, and rain contributing to the silvering of the siding and the missing shingles.

“Perfect,” he grumbled to himself as he surveyed the rest of the ranch.

A pump house, machine shed, chicken coop, and old windmill with missing blades completed the landscape that was nearly devoid of vegetation. No shrubbery or flowers, just a solitary pine tree giving some shade to the house and breaking up the expanse of sagebrush, berry vines, and dirt. Broken-down cars were scattered between the buildings, and tires had been propped against the side of the house or tossed into a nearby corral.

No wonder it had been cheap.

He didn’t really give a damn about the grounds, the house, or anything else. He’d lived in worse. He had to remind himself that he was here for a purpose and this ranch was the closest rental available to Kate Summers, the reason he’d come to this godforsaken place. He didn’t want to think too long or hard about his mission. Hell, he could be on some wild-goose chase, but he was going to see it through. No matter how painful.

With one final glance at the broken rails of a fence that visibly listed, he unloaded his truck, dropped his meager belongings on the rickety porch, and reached into the cooler for a beer. Opening the bottle with the flat of his hand and the rail, he took a long drink, then rammed a tarnished key into the lock of the front door and walked into his new home, temporary though it might be. The electricity had been turned off and the rooms smelled musty. He lifted every grimy shade and threw open each window, letting in a sharp, dry breeze that cut through this valley.

There was furniture—stained and filthy, the floor no better. The real estate agent hadn’t lied. The place needed paint and Lysol, varnish and Windex, elbow grease and lots of TLC. Well, he had a little time. Not that it mattered. He didn’t own these hellish acres, he just had to act like he needed to use them for a while. His own place was waiting for him near the Bitterroot Mountains with Cal Hanson tending the livestock. If he ever wanted to return. He really didn’t know—not anymore. Not since his meeting with Bibi less than two weeks ago.

Rolling up a yellowed shade, he stared through cracked glass and thought about Bibi, a woman he’d tried to forget for what seemed like a million years. He’d gotten the call and agreed to meet her. Two weeks ago…

Heads—you win. Tails—I lose.

Daegan O’Rourke tossed his silver dollar into the cold night air, watched it spin under the streetlamps, caught it deftly, and flipped it onto the back of his wrist. The eagle. Tails.
I lose.
Of course. This was, after all, a no-win situation. An invitation to disaster. But one he couldn’t ignore.

Collar turned against the wind, he watched a jet, lights winking, take off into the frigid night. A few drifting snowflakes fell from the sky, promising that winter in Montana, harsh and unforgiving, was close at hand. Pocketing his coin, he shouldered his way into the lobby of the hotel. He didn’t pause at the desk, just made his way to the bar and slid into a booth near the door to wait.

For Beatrice. Bibi. His sultry cousin. A woman he’d tried to forget, but every time her image filtered into his mind, he felt a jab of disgust and guilt that cut him straight to the bone.

What was it that brought her from the comfort of her town house on Beacon Hill to this harsh stretch of land? He’d tried for years to divorce himself from the family that had never wanted him, had pretended he didn’t exist, had looked down their aristocratic noses at him, had accused him of murder. And yet Bibi was flying in. A bad feeling settled in his gut.

He ordered a beer from a waitress with an eager smile, then half listened to a country-western ballad he’d heard crackling over the speakers of his old Dodge truck on more than one occasion, not that he noticed much. Life on his ranch in the Bitterroots was pretty much the way he liked it: simple hard work, no game playing, no manipulations, no questions without answers, just survival. He picked at a dish of salted peanuts and wished he could just get this ordeal over with.

The waitress brought him a chilled long-neck and he tipped her heavily as he stared at the door. Waiting. For disaster to strike. He’d barely taken two swallows when he saw her.

Beatrice, lynx coat billowing behind her, expensive perfume in her wake, swept into the bar, glanced quickly around, and then, without so much as a smile, zeroed in on him. She’d aged in the past fifteen years—was a little thicker around the middle, her dark hair tinged red, her makeup a little more severe than it had been in her youth. She was still pretty enough, he supposed, if you liked snobby bluebloods. He didn’t. Not anymore. But there had been a time…

She slid into the seat across from him and pulled the collar of her coat closer to her throat. Shivering, she motioned to the waitress. “Jesus, this is a gawd-awful place.”

He grinned. Bibi never had been one to mince words.

“I thought you might not show up,” she said with a brittle smile, then gave him a quick once-over with interested eyes. “God, Daegan, it’s indecent how good you look.” The waitress came over, and without glancing away from him, Bibi said, “Vodka collins. With a twist.”

“Slumming, Bibi?” he asked, once the waitress had disappeared.

“On my way to San Francisco.” She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a gold case. Her hands were shaking as she slid out a cigarette and reached for her lighter. Little lines of strain etched the corners of her mouth.

“Montana—any part of it—isn’t generally a layover between the coasts.”

“I needed to see you, all right?” She lit up, clicked her lighter shut, and with a sigh, let a cloud of smoke filter out of her mouth and nose.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes,” she snapped back. “Much. Not that you care.”

He didn’t answer that one. Didn’t want to lie. He’d had it with lies a long time ago. Tipping up the bottle, he took a long pull. “It’s been a while,” he finally said.

“Yeah, and I’ve missed you, too.” A drink was deposited in front of her and she fished in her wallet, withdrew a twenty, and said, “Keep the change.”

“Thanks!” The waitress, fresh out of college from the looks of her, smiled broadly.

Bibi didn’t seem to notice, just took a hasty sip from her drink, as if to settle her nerves, swallowed, then sucked hard on her European brand of cigarette. Swirling her drink, she leaned back against the tufted cushions. “I can’t believe I’m here.”

“That makes two of us.”

Her eyes, a dusky shade of blue, found his and he felt a sudden chill. Bibi had always been the most lighthearted of all his relatives, a girl who had been more daring than the rest of her stuffy family and hadn’t let her wealth or social position discourage her from having a little fun. She had accepted Daegan, her bastard of a cousin, the black sheep of the family. Whereas his own half-brother and sisters had detested him, Bibi found him amusing, a ruffian whose blatant irreverence for all things Sullivan fascinated her. Her brother, Stuart, the great manipulator, had used Daegan when he needed him, just as he’d used everyone, including his sister. But that was all a long time ago. Before everything had changed forever. Before they’d crossed the invisible, forbidden line. Now, as she stared at him with pained eyes, he knew that whatever she was going to tell him was bad news. He steeled himself and took another swallow from his bottle.

“I wouldn’t have come unless it was important,” she said, drawing on her cigarette as if for comfort, then spewing a jet of smoke from the side of her mouth. “I, um, oh, Christ, this is hard.” Sighing loudly, she avoided his eyes. “You remember what happened between us?”

A cold lump settled in the pit of his stomach. “I try not to.”

“Yeah, I know, me too, but it wasn’t that easy for me.” Leaning forward, she dropped her head into her hands, her polished nails digging against her scalp, her cigarette burning slowly between her fingers. “Daegan, I don’t know how to tell you this…”

“Just spit it out.” He finished his beer in one long swallow. Every muscle in his body was drawn taut as a bow string and he could barely breathe. He counted off the seconds with the quickened pace of his heart.

“We have a son.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“What?”

“I said, we had a baby together.”

“Jesus, Bibi! Are you out of your mind?” There was a ringing in his ears, a roar of denial thundering through his brain. As if a raw winter wind blowing through a canyon at midnight had passed through his soul, he felt scraped bare. Naked. “No.”

“Yes, Daegan. No matter how much you deny it…you and I, we have a son.”

“But that’s impossible.” God, what was this? His mouth was so dry he wanted to spit. Of all the ridiculous lies—

She lifted her head, and her gaze, saturated with desperate agony, drilled into his. “He’s fifteen.” She was serious—dead serious, her face beneath her makeup pale as a ghost.

Over the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses, Daegan heard the unmistakable knell of doom. That part of his life he’d tried so hard to suppress, to hide, was about to come roaring back at him again.

Bands of steel seemed to constrict his lungs and he couldn’t begin to comprehend the truth—if that’s what it was. The world seemed to buckle beneath him, and all the lies, deceit, anger, and betrayal that he’d left in Boston seemed to chase after him like a relentless shadow. “No way.”

“Daegan, why would I come all the way here unless it was true?”

He didn’t say a word, just stared at her. His head reeled. Bile burned a hard path up his throat and he signaled for another beer.
No! No! No! There has to be some mistake. Bibi was his cousin, part of a world he detested. No way could they have…

“I should have told you…you might have found a way that I could’ve gotten an abortion—”

“For the love of God, Bibi, what’re you saying?”

“But…Mother and Daddy found out that I was pregnant and they took charge and…I ended up having the baby—a boy—and giving him up for adoption. Oh, God, Daegan, I’m sorry.” Her throat worked and tears stood in her huge eyes.

Daegan felt as if the world had jolted to a stop. Bibi could be lying; it wouldn’t be the first time. But the haunted look in her gaze and the pinched corners of her mouth convinced him that she wouldn’t have made this trip without a good reason. A damned good reason. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to pull himself together.
Think, O’Rourke, think! You’ve been in tight situations before and been able to work things out, but a kid. Oh, Jesus! She’s lying, she’s got to be. But why?
When he opened his eyes, the glare he sent her could have cut through steel. “I don’t believe it.”

“Damn it, Daegan, why would I make this up? Why in the name of God would I lie?” She blinked hard and pride elevated her chin a few notches. When she took a final drag on her cigarette, it shook in her hands.

A son? He had a son?
Painful images of his own childhood flashed before his eyes. He’d grown up without a father’s love, or recognition, with the cruel knowledge that the man who had sired him had considered him nothing but a mistake, a fluke of improper birth control, a big bother. “Wait a minute, Bibi. This is all too fast. Start over—” But he already knew the time, date, and place. He hadn’t been careful. Neither had she. Reckless, wanton, stupid kids. That’s what they’d been.

A whining song about love gained and lost played from hidden speakers. The waitress left another beer on the table. When she disappeared, Bibi jabbed out her cigarette and rolled her glass between both palms.

“How do you know it’s mine?” he asked.

A twisted smile curved her lips, but there was not a trace of merriment in her eyes. “I know, okay, Buckaroo? I wouldn’t pull this out of thin air. Even I’m not that crazy.”

He was still trying to find his equilibrium, to put his mind back onto a much-needed even keel. “Your folks—they know?”

“About you?” She shook her head and the dim lights played in her reddish tresses. “Are you kidding? It was bad enough telling them I was knocked up, but if they knew it was you…” She swallowed and blinked hard. “So I lied. Said it was some sailor I’d met, a guy named Roy Panaker, and they bought it. He didn’t even exist as far as I knew and they didn’t check when I told them he was married and had already shipped out…” She lifted an elegant shoulder, and with the gesture the fur slipped away from her throat. “It was the best I could do.”

“But you never told me.”

“I didn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t. You’d already joined the damned army to avoid jail, Stuart was dead, and…I guess I just had to fight this one alone.” Burrowing deeper in the lynx, she sighed. “I screwed up. What can I say?”

Daegan’s emotions were galloping in every direction, but he took the reins, pulled them back in, and tried to look at this situation objectively. As he always did. This time, it was damned near impossible. “What if I said there’s no way I’m ever gonna believe you?”

“But you do, Daegan; I can see it in your eyes.”

Another song was playing, a faster one, and some brave couples were twirling around the dance floor, laughing, talking, going on as if the world hadn’t stopped on its axis. Daegan rubbed his chin, felt two days’ worth of stubble and tried to ignore the roiling in his stomach, the sickness that wanted to consume him with the knowledge that he and his cousin…oh God. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“That’s the worst part,” she said with a sigh. “It was hard, you understand. Damned hard to tell Robert Sullivan III that his only daughter was pregnant and unmarried. Not that the old man had many aspirations for me, but since Stu was dead…” Her voice, filled with pain, drifted away, and for a few seconds she followed it, as if lost in the swirl of lies and heartache that she’d lived with for fifteen years. Suddenly she sniffed, blinked hard, and pursed her lips. “Well, I was all they had left and the scandal was too much for the family to bear. You understand, of course.”