Home To Texas - Ransom My Heart Part 19

As it had in San Miguel del Norte, his vision blurred, the two housesalmost disappearing behind the veil of stinging moisture. No needcrying over spilt milk, his mother used to say. Or split lives, heguessed. It wouldn't change anything. He still had a couple of jobsto do. One for Sam Kincaid. And one for himself.

HE DIDN'T MAKE A conscious decision to end up at Doc Horn's any more than he had consciously decided to drive to the bluff that looked down on the river. He had just ended up there, operating on instinct, maybe.

Doc's little clinic treated everybody within a thirty-mileradius--people from both sides of the border, no questions asked. Chasehad gotten st.i.tched up here more times than he could count. Most hadbeen because of minor accidents on the ranch. He'd come here once whenhe'd gotten thrown from a horse his daddy had told him not to ride.

And after a fight or two. Even after the beating Sam Kin-caid'srowdies had given him. Despite the rural setting, Doc did good work,as the faded white line on Chase's temple proved.

Chase was surprised when he staggered trying to get out of the truckand had to grab on to the door to keep from going down. He'd beenrunning the last three days on pure nerve and adrenaline, and heguessed it was finally catching up with him. He'd get Doc to fixwhatever was wrong with his shoulder and then he'd collapse in a bedsomewhere for a couple of days before it was time to make the seconddelivery.

There were a few people ahead of him in the waiting

room. He sat down carefully in one of the cracked vinyl chairs and put his head back against the stained wall.

Even the slightly medicinal smell of the building was the same. And the same feeling was twisting in his gut that he'd had the other times he'd come here the feeling that he'd screwed up and he had better be prepared to pay the consequences. He used to sit here dreading having to face his father's hair-trigger temper. This time he didn't know exactly what he was dreading, or at least he wasn't sure what he was dreading the most, he amended.

"Well, if it ain't my favorite patient," Doc said.

Chase opened his eyes and realized that the waiting room had emptied. He must have gone to sleep. G.o.d knew how much he needed it.

"Just your most profitable," he said.

Like Sam Kincaid's, Doc's hair had somehow turned to snow while Chase had been away. He was a little more bent, his face a little more deeply lined, but his eyes hadn't changed. Shrewd and kind, they were looking at him just as they had when he was about thirteen and had gotten himself mixed up in something they both knew his daddy would kill him for if he ever found out about it.

"Yeah," Doc agreed, "I been trying to figure out how I could make ends meet until you decided to come home."

That's exactly what it feels like, Chase thought. Coming home. It might not always be a pleasant experience, but at least you knew you were where you belonged.

"Come on in and let's see what you've managed to do to yourself this time," Doc suggested, pus.h.i.+ng open the door of the small examination room.

Doe's SOUND EFFECTS hadn't changed, Chase decided as he endured the examination. They were the same small humphs and sniffs he'd always made. Chase hadn't realized how bad his chest and shoulder looked because he hadn't changed clothes since he'd left Sam's place on Sat.u.r.day morning. The bruising was pretty nasty, vividly colorful, although some of it was already starting to fade to ye around the edges. As Doc examined him, Chase could , the taint miasma of stale clothing and his own perspir "I guess I should have grabbed a shower and a eh of underwear before I came," he apologized.

"I've smelled worse in my day than a little h sweat," Doc said, his fingers gently manipulating Ch arm.

"Most of my patients don't even own a chan clothing. They got nothing but what they're wearing they get here and what they're wearing's usually still v Doc treated a lot of illegals, some of whom didn't on returning to the other side of the shallow river. C couldn't blame them, although he knew that for mo the undoc.u.mented immigrants who came over the bG the States was no longer the land of milk and honey tt antic.i.p.ated. Too often they ended up working for American workers wouldn't accept in jobs that n.o.bod) wanted because they were dirty or dangerous. But nol could blame them for trying not him and certainly Doc.

He must have made some involuntary response to E last torturing manipulation because finally the d{ stepped back from the table.

"I'm going to give you a and take a couple of X rays. Maybe then we'll be ab figure out what to do. If it's any comfort, I don't thin] have to shoot you."

Chase closed his eyes again when the old man let room, lying back against the crackling white paper of examination table. If Doc didn't hurry, he knea wouldn't need a shot. He'd be out like a light wit ho Maybe Doc would let him spend the night here.

He hadn't thought until now about where he was g to spend the night. There wasn't a motel around for n and he sure didn't antic.i.p.ate being able to drive. He'd some experience with Doc's idea of a little painkiller. [ shots were both fast and potent.

He decided he would worry about that later. Or let Let somebody. Right now he didn't feel capable of making another decision. Not that he'd done too well lately making decisions. Like he'd confessed to Sam, the trip into Mexico had been a fiasco from the beginning.

After the old man slipped the needle into his arm, the rest of the examination drifted by in a pleasant haze of medicated unawareness. He wasn't completely out, just relaxed enough to feel free to cuss when it hurt. And it hurt pretty often. When he was through, Doc stepped back from the table again to look at his handiwork, which consisted of a cloth harness to immobilize his left arm.

"Shouldn't take more than a few days for that to start to heal. You'll be more comfortable with the support."

"I wish I'd gotten that shower before you hog-tied me."

"You can slip your arm out long enough for that. Removing a couple of layers of dirt'll probably help your feelings as much as that contraption. I expect what you could use most is a few hours of shut-eye. Jenny' Il see to that."

"Jenny?" Chase questioned as Doc's hand steadied him down off the high table.

"I called her to come pick you up," Doc said.

"That's what family's for," Jenny said softly from the doorway of the examination room.

"Picking up the pieces. I guess I'll just have to take Mac's place when it comes to you."

Chase's heart lurched, and he felt his eyes sting again, but he blinked the moisture away, hoping they'd believe it was just the effects of the medication.

She was still Jenny, small-boned and gently curved. She had none of Samantha's slender elegance. Her hair was cut short for convenience, with little regard for style. It was very dark, but the highlights, softly gleaming under the strong lamp of the examination room, were golden. Her eyes were wide and brown, surrounded by a fringe of impossibly long lashes. Her complexion was the smooth, flawlessly tanned perfection of a true brunette.

Because she was so small and brown, Mac used to call her his Jenny-Wren when he wanted to tease her, but there was nothing birdlike about her. She was as tough as her pioneer ancestors, a perfect match, he'd always thought, for Mac's quiet strength.

'"Lo, Jenny," he said.

"Looks like you could use a little help," she said.

Her own eyes were misty, but it had been almost a year since they'd seen each other. He'd phoned her, just to check on her, but lately he hadn't even done that. Too many exposed nerves.

"I thought maybe Doc would let me stay with him awhile."

"You're coming home with me, Chase McCullar," Jenny said.

"I've got plenty of beds and you know it."

"But they've all got lavender sheets," he whispered.

He hadn't meant to say that out loud. The thought had just slipped past whatever control he had left. Maybe that was one mason he didn't come home anymore. And of course, because Jenny's house wasn't really home. Not without Mac.

He saw her glance at Doc, her dark eyes questioning.

Maybe she'd just think the shot had made him loopy. h.e.l.l, maybe it had.

"I like lavender," he said, trying to fix it. That didn't make sense, either, he knew, but he couldn't think of anything else. Her lips began to tilt, and quick relief showed in her eyes.

"That's good," she said. She moved across the room to slip her small body under his good shoulder.

"Let's get you home and into that bed, little cowpoke," she suggested, her voice gently teasing.

It was what Mac had called him when he was a kid, when he really wanted to get to Chase. Usually it drove him to throw a wild punch that his big brother blocked with the ease of practice and a longer reach. This wasn't going to work, he thought, feeling his eyes b.u.m again. He had always known he couldn't come back.

"I can't," he said, stepping away from her, again almost staggering.

"I still got Sam Kincaid's truck. I lost his money, but I still got his truck. Can't afford to lose that."

It was all perfectly clear in his head, but again the quick meeting of the eyes of the other two let him know he wasn't making much sense.

"Doc can take care of the truck," Jenny said.

"You know you can't drive, Chase, and Doc hasn't got a bed that can hold you. You'll be better off at my house."

Not our house, he thought. Not hers and Mac's. My house. That was the reality. Jenny's dating someone flitted through his brain, but he couldn't think about that tonight.

Maybe tomorrow he could deal with the idea that someone had already taken his brother's place.

"Come on, Chase," Doc said, putting his arm around his waist.

"I'll take care of Sam's truck. I'll run it over to you in the morning. You let Jenny take care of you. From the looks of you, somebody needs to start taking care of you."

In the end it was easier just to let them do what they wanted, and that was how he ended up spending the night again on lavender-scented sheets in the narrow bed he'd slept in for most of his life.

AFTER HIS SHOWER, he had fallen into that bed and almost slept the clock around. When he finally woke, he found Jenny had laid some of Mac's clothes out on the foot of the bed. They weren't even too bad a fit, he realized with a trace of surprise. Apparently there wasn't as great a size difference between him and his brother as he'd always believed.

Just part of that big-brother syndrome, he guessed.

But then Mac had always seemed larger than life to him.

He still did.

Jenny was in the kitchen when he walked in. He had slipped his arm back into Doc's contraption, and he h admit that it felt better that way.

"Hungry?" Jenny asked, wiping her hands on the t that had been lying on the counter beside the sink she'd been cutting up potatoes. She poured a cup of of from the metal pot that was always warming on the of his grandmother's stove and set it down in front ofI on the wooden table.

"Maybe," he said, easing down into the chair. He I little hungover, a little queasy, but he couldn't rem el the last time he'd eaten. Maybe food would help.

"Breakfast or supper?" she asked. Her eyes bad co ered the care he'd taken sitting down, but she didn'l how he was feeling. Jenny wasn't the mother-hen typ "Whatever," he said.

"How about a sandwich?" she offered.

"Just to tid over till suppertime."

"That sounds good."

It was good, and he ate two before he quit. He'd know whether the black coffee or the food was resp on but both the nausea and the grogginess had graduall) appeared.

"Better?" Jenny asked, pouring him another CUl; then putting the pot back on the stove.

"Thanks," he said.

"Doc brought the truck by a while ago. You want t, me how you ended up with Sam's truck?" She pulle( the chair opposite his and sat down.

"I did a job for Mr. Kincaid."

"It was Sam last night."

"I was doped up last night. I guess I forgot my pl He hadn't meant for the bitterness to be there; but it Even he could hear it.

"But you did find Amanda," she said. It wasn't a, tion. Maybe he was still groggy because it took him and to recognize the significance of that. Jenny knew had been going on.

"Yeah," he said, "we found her. How the h.e.l.l did you know about that?"

"She's all right, isn't she?"

"She seemed to be fine. Well enough to sing some d.a.m.n song about a cat in my ear for about five hours," he said.

He hadn't realized he was smiling. It was pleasant to remember that Mandy had held on to his neck, softly singing as he carded her. When he glanced up, Jenny's dark eyes were filled with that same look that had been in the kidnapper's. More compa.s.sion. He looked down at the coffee in front of him because he didn't want to see it.

"I don't think she was any the worse for what happened," he said.

"That's good."

"Of course, since I don't have any way of knowing what she was like

before, I can't really say," he added. He allowed his eyes to move upto focus on hers. The accusation he hadn't voiced was in them."I'm sorry, Chase, but I gave Samantha my word."

"How long have you known?"

She hesitated, but Jenny hated deception, hated lying, so eventually she'd tell him the truth.

"Almost ... from the first. Since Mandy was born, I guess."

"You didn't think you should mention it to me? The fact that I had adaughter?""I told you. I gave Samantha my word."He nodded. That hurt like h.e.l.l. Not only had the Kincaids chosen to shut him out of his daughter's life, but even Jenny had gone along with

their decision, apparently accepting it as the fight one.

"Thanks for the bed and the food," he said evenly, using his right hand to push himself up from the table.

"You're mad because I didn't tell you."