Page 15 of Homicide in Water Creek

Jacks and King 0

The horse beneath her was strong and powerful, two things she didn’t feel at the moment. She’d spent hours in the barn, yet neither her granddaddy nor King had come looking for her. To escape her swirling thoughts, she’d saddled Dexter for a ride to clear her head. He carried her swiftly across the field, the wind blowing her hair back from her face. The chilly air cooled her overheated skin, but she still burned with anger and frustration.

Mother Nature had cooled significantly, just as Jacks had toward her granddaddy. It was barely forty degrees, and the old barn coat she had grabbed wasn’t enough to keep her warm. Jacks didn’t care. She wasn’t going back to the ranch until she sorted out what to do. Years ago, she ducked out on the only man who had ever accepted her as undamaged goods, guided by a misguided belief that it was what he wanted. It turned out the two men who were supposed to be her champions were actually her tyrants.

Keene had always wanted her out of King’s life, but she didn’t know her granddaddy had agreed with Keene, much less helped orchestrate it. She let out a breath as she pulled Dexter back to a slow trot.

“Why am I always the one running?” she asked Dexter. Turning her attention to the sky, she noticed the sun was setting. It was time to head back, even if she hadn’t come to any conclusions about her sad, pathetic life.

She turned Dexter carefully, then set him at a trot back toward the ranches. She didn’t want to be out after dark and risk him getting hurt. “What am I going to do now, Dexter? I have to stop running. Where’s the determination I had when I told Boone it was over? I need to find that version of myself again.”

That version of herself didn’t exist when it came to her Granddaddy. He was her only family. Sure, her parents might be alive somewhere, but they had washed their hands of her years ago. She’d always considered Keene an uncle, but she guessed that was over, too. Was there anything for her in Water Creek now? Was there anything worth staying for?

Part of her knew she’d never convince Keene or her granddaddy that she wasn’t who they thought she was. The cold air froze the tears on her face as the wind burned her cheeks. As far as they were concerned, she wasn’t enough. Enough for what? No. Enough for whom? Yes. For King. He shouldn’t stay in Water Creek just for her. He was meant to do bigger and better things with his life. Those were the words Keene had said to her all those years ago. She didn’t disagree with him. King was meant to do big things with his life. What she didn’t realize at the time was that they could have done those things together.

Her hands were nearly frozen to the reins by the time she climbed down from the horse to open the barn door, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did. Everything she believed about her life was a mirage. It was orchestrated, engineered to improve everyone else’s life while hers never stood a chance.

She led Dexter into the barn and slid the door shut before putting him in his stall. Jacks didn’t want anyone to know she was back, and since everyone was in the chow hall, no one would see her sneak out the back of the barn. She was going home to shower, probably cry over a glass of wine from a box, and crawl into bed. Tomorrow was soon enough to deal with everything that had happened today.

She brushed down Dexter while talking to Dakota and the other horses. They were all her babies. All six of them, seven if you counted the one in Dakota’s belly. This spring, after Dakota foaled, it would be Moonphase’s turn. Moonphase was a beautiful horse she’d picked up at auction about a year ago. Well, horse might be a bit of a stretch. She was an American Quarter pony, but she was gorgeous. About the size of a donkey, she strutted around the arena with a gigantic ego. She made everyone laugh with her antics, and while she could be stubborn, most of that had been trained out of her. Jacks allowed her to keep hold of her inner gut, though. She never trained that out of a horse. If they didn’t like a situation, she allowed them to walk away. It was a give-and-take with animals, and asking them to give too much was dangerous for both the animal and the rider.

It took her over an hour to brush down, feed, and love on the horses, a blissful hour when no one disturbed her or demanded anything of her. She was grateful for that, even though she knew she’d eventually have to face the truth about what her granddaddy had done. He’d give her time to lick her wounds and accept what she’d learned today. She wasn’t who she thought she was. She wasn’t an independent woman who made her own choices. She was a puppet. She just never saw the strings.

Sneaking out the barn’s side door, she limped across the darkened field to her house. She sucked in a surprised breath when she noticed a figure perched on the deck railing. “Hiding in the dark could get you shot, you know,” she said, a hand to her chest as she bent to pick up her keys, and to run a shoulder over her cheek. King would never see her cry. Not about this or anything. Not ever.

“Kevlar,” he said, knocking on his chest. “Always prepared. I’m a Boy Scout like that.”

“A Boy Scout, my ass,” she muttered, one hand on her hip. “What do you want, King? I’m tired and ready to put this day behind me.”

He slithered off the railing like a snake encroaching on its prey. “I want to talk to you. That’s all. There are some things you need to be aware of.”

She held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear them. I’ve had enough ‘awareness’ for one day,” she said, using air quotes.

He took the keys from her hand and opened her door, pushing her over the threshold. Completely unprepared, she caught the toe of her boot and pitched forward. Her face was inches from the floor when his hand grabbed her shirt and yanked her up short.

“Hey!” she yelled, her patience finally gone as the valve blew off. “What the hell is your problem?”

King set her on her feet and closed the door behind him, but she was already backing up. She had to get out of here. She had a side door in the hallway by the bedroom. If she could get there, she could slip out and run. Well, limp quickly. She backed up, eyes locked on him, until she tripped over the chair and fell, her head hitting the edge of the coffee table. She jumped up instantly, rubbing the spot on her head, but still moving toward the kitchen.

“Jacks,” King said from the doorway, hands raised. “I’m sorry. Stop, okay? I’m not going to hurt you. Look,” he said, slinging his belt off and setting it on the floor behind the chair. “I’m not armed. I’m not here to do anything but talk. I’m sorry about pushing you. I’m nervous about what I found, and I didn’t want to talk about it out there, where we might be overheard. You’re okay,” he promised without taking a step forward. “Take a deep breath. How is your head? Do we need to get some ice on it?”

As he spoke, her body slowed. Rooted to a spot on the carpet near the kitchen, she rubbed her head. Her gaze strayed to the side door again, then back to him. King would let her go. He’d let her run out the door without chasing her. Jacks was certain of it, but that didn’t get them anywhere. She was just too tired and cold to think about going back out there in the dark. Running wouldn’t solve anything.

“I have to stop running,” she whispered to herself.

“You’ve been running for a long time.” His voice was low and soft. He walked toward the lamp and turned it on low. “You can’t blame yourself for defaulting to that when you’re scared.”

Jacks shook her head, the man in front of her blurring as tears filled her eyes. What could she say to make herself sound less pathetic? She wanted to say something that sounded like the person she had been yesterday, but her signature sass was gone. She had nothing. King’s statement was so spot-on that it hurt. Jacks sank to the floor, her body trembling from exhaustion and cold.

Then King was squatting, his hands on her arms, rubbing up and down. Physical contact with him was what she’d wanted for as long as she’d known him, but now it felt dirty and unacceptable.

“Jacks, it’s going to be okay. I promise you it is. I know it doesn’t feel like it in here,” he said, tapping her chest gently. “But it will be with enough time. You can cry. I know it sucks. I’ve spent half the damn day trying not to cry. I understand you’re hurt right now. I understand you’re broken. Just don’t shut me out, okay?” He brushed another tear away with his hand before resting it flat against her cheek. “Baby, you’re almost frozen. We have to warm you up right now.”

Baby? When did he start calling her that? Did she hit her head harder than she thought?

He stood and moved behind her, lifting her under her armpits. He walked her slowly to the bathroom attached to the master bedroom, then cradled her face in both hands, his sweet, tender brown eyes searching hers. “Listen to me. I want you to stay under the hot water until you can feel your face again. Then put on something warm and come out to talk to me. There are things you need to know about the ranch, and about you and me.”

“There is no you and me,” she whispered. “Apparently, it was expertly coordinated.” She turned away and took off her coat as she walked into the bathroom, her heart breaking even more at the knowledge that she had never had any control over her life. “I think I’ve had all the pain I can take for one day, King. It’s okay if you go.”