The Coyote's Cry Read online

  “I’ll give you a hand.”

  Together the two men carried the heavy old books out to Bram’s vehicle. Bram said, “I really appreciate this, Bob, and so will the other residents of Comanche County. Thanks for your help. I have to be going now, but I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”

  “Possibly. I should finish up here by tonight, but if not, then I’ll still be snapping photos in the morning. Drop by if you have a few minutes. We could have coffee together.”

  Bram didn’t want to explain what he would be doing for the rest of today and probably all day tomorrow, so he merely said, “Thanks, I’ll do that if I can.”

  He covered the books with one of the blankets he kept in the back of his SUV, then got into the driver’s seat and drove away. Almost at once he forgot his cargo and began concentrating on finding his great-grandfather.

  And praying to God that some mishap hadn’t befallen the old man.

  Jenna could call Bram “rat” and “snake” in her own mind, and she did, but she was still consumed with curiosity over his backpack. He was going to be gone all night and most of tomorrow, according to what he’d grudgingly told her. But what in heaven’s name was he going to be doing that would require him taking food, water and a sleeping bag with him? Was this law enforcement or personal business?

  Trying with all her might to eradicate everything she’d ever known, thought or dreamed about Bram Colton from her brain, she brought a bottle of lotion to Gloria’s bed and began massaging the weakened muscles of the elderly woman’s legs.

  “We really must get you up and walking more often, Gloria,” Jenna said gently. “Your family loves you so much, and wouldn’t you enjoy feeling strong and able again? Please don’t give up. Help me to help you.”

  Gloria merely watched her with dull eyes, and Jenna’s heart sank. But she couldn’t accept Gloria’s lethargic lack of interest in her own recovery as though it didn’t matter. It did matter, not just because Jenna was a nurse and dedicated to doing the very best she could for any patient, but because Gloria was so very important to the Coltons. Important to Bram. How could she, Jenna, care so much for Bram and permit his grandmother to waste away before their very eyes?

  Realizing that she had just admitted how much Bram meant to her caused tears to gather in Jenna’s eyes and her heartbeat to quicken. Only minutes ago she had decided to hate him forever, and in little more than the blink of an eye she cared for him? What in heaven’s name was wrong with her? Bram had used her—with her own damn help—and she cared for him?

  If she had half a brain she would phone Dr. Hall and ask him to find another nurse to care for Gloria. Biting her lip to keep from crying again, Jenna continued to massage her patient’s arms and legs. She felt as helpless as Gloria truly was, Jenna thought sadly. She wasn’t physically disabled like Gloria, but emotionally she didn’t have the strength of a gnat. Not where Bram was concerned. Was she doomed to suffer indignities of this nature ad infinitum because her father and Bram were at opposite ends of a tiresome, pointless spectrum?

  Jenna could tell that her hands were trembling, though she managed to keep them functioning and doing their job. She felt shaky internally, as well. This thing with Bram was far more serious than anything she could have imagined before the episode in his bedroom. If an acceptable replacement nurse magically materialized this very minute and she could leave this house forever, she would still shiver and quake every time she thought of Bram Colton.

  Sighing hopelessly, Jenna got up from her perch on the edge of Gloria’s bed and went into the bathroom to wash her hands.

  It hurt terribly to recognize and admit her own weaknesses, which when added up really constituted only one catastrophic flaw: feelings for a man who would use her sexually but never even consider anything more between them. Even with that hanging over her head, though, Jenna knew she would not be phoning Dr. Hall about a replacement nurse anytime soon.

  One thing was certain, however. If some course of action occurred to her that would make Bram suffer even a fraction of her torment, she would carry it out in a New York minute.

  He didn’t care how badly he hurt her, did he? Well, he just might find out that her once soft heart had hardened to pure granite.

  In the meantime she was going to do her utmost to incite and stir Gloria’s desire to live. It really was the only thing that would halt or at least slow her downhill slide.

  Bram turned onto the familiar dirt road leading to George’s place, feeling anxious to get started on his search for the old man. Bram had confidence in his tracking ability, which, in this case, was amplified by the fact that George had taken his three rowdy dogs on his own search for his guardian spirit. Those mutts would leave all sorts of signs for a tracker, and since George had no reason for stealth in his hike, he, too, would leave signs.

  So Bram’s scope of confidence also included finding his great-grandfather rather quickly. His main concern was that the old guy might have taken a fall. George WhiteBear’s tall, lean, straight body and barely lined face—not unusual in older Native Americans—gave strangers a false impression. He looked much younger than he was, and it was often hard for Bram to believe George had lived for almost a century.

  But the truth was that George WhiteBear was elderly, and a hell of a lot more fragile than he’d been during Bram’s adoring childhood years. A hard fall could easily break brittle bones, and he could be lying out there suffering. Bram prayed that wasn’t the case, but it was a possibility he couldn’t erase from his mind.

  He drove as fast as he dared on the washboard road, and he was about half a mile from his great-grandfather’s place when he saw a plume of dust ahead, created by an oncoming vehicle. Annie must be on her way somewhere, he thought, and then frowned, because Annie’s pickup truck was red and what he was catching sight of was…white!

  “My God, it’s Granddad’s old truck!” he exclaimed out loud. Had someone stolen it? To Bram’s knowledge it hadn’t been driven or even started in years. But with George gone so long, a thief could have tinkered with the engine, poured gas into the tank and just driven it away. Whoever he was, he was going to be one very surprised car thief when he was stopped by the county sheriff!

  Bram turned the steering wheel of his big SUV and parked it crosswise on the road, effectively setting up a roadblock. He took the gun he always carried under the seat and got out, tucking the weapon into the back waistband of his jeans. Then he waited and watched his poor old great-grandfather’s stolen truck, a truck George still valued highly even though he couldn’t drive it, coming closer.

  It was moving slowly, Bram realized with an angry scowl. Unusually slowly, in fact. Of course, the thief had probably spotted the makeshift roadblock and was trying to figure out a way around it.

  “There is no way around it, jerk,” Bram mumbled. “This is it, the only route to the highway, and you’re going to the lockup. Count on it.”

  The pickup kept coming at the same snail’s pace, and as it got closer Bram could see the form of the driver through the windshield. Then it was closer still and Bram could see details—long hair, black hat…long gray hair and black hat. “My God, it’s Granddad!” Bram exclaimed, too shocked to do anything but stare.

  George stopped the truck and he, too, stared—straight ahead, with not even a glance at his great-grandson. Bram nervously cleared his throat and walked over to the opened window on the driver’s side.

  “Uh, where are you going, Granddad?” he asked.

  “Did your car break down across the road?” George asked.

  “My car’s fine. I parked it that way to stop…well, when I saw this truck I thought someone had stolen it.”

  “Why would I steal my own truck?” George still wouldn’t look at Bram, and Bram was catching on that the old man was angry with him, angrier in fact than Bram had ever seen him.

  “I had no idea you still drove. I thought a stranger…a thief…had taken your truck.”

  “As you can see, I to
ok my truck. I suppose now you’re going to arrest me for driving without a license.”

  “Granddad, I would never arrest you for anything.”

  “You’re the sheriff, aren’t you? I’m breaking the law, aren’t I? Go ahead and get out the handcuffs.”

  “Granddad!”

  “If you’re not going to haul me to jail in handcuffs, please move your car so I can be on my way.”

  Bram flinched internally. He owed this old man, the eldest member of the Colton family, the highest, most sincere respect he could muster. And truly Bram did respect his great-grandfather. He always had. But this whole thing was trying Bram’s patience, which had already been pushed pretty much to the limit today. He drew a calming breath, or one that he hoped would steady his nerves.

  “On your way where, Granddad?”

  “You didn’t tell me which one of my family is dying, so I’m not sure I should be telling you anything,” George said.

  Bram exploded. “Dying! Where in hell did you get that idea?”

  For the first time George turned his head and looked at his great-grandson. “Are you speaking to me?”

  “I’m sorry, but today has just about done me in. Listen, I came by your place early this morning and you weren’t there. I talked to Annie and figured out you had gone looking for coyotes, your guardian spirit. I went back to my place to get a backpack, food and water, and here I am again, all set to hike the hills and look for you. Instead, here you come down the road in this old truck, which I didn’t even know still ran.”

  “Why wouldn’t it still run? It’s a fine truck.”

  “That’s beside the point. Granddad, would you please turn this fine truck around and drive it back to your place? I will take you wherever it is you want to go. Besides, I have something to tell you. It’s the reason I came out here this morning.”

  “Oh, you were finally going to tell me who in my family is dying?”

  “No one is dying!”

  “Either you don’t know about it or think I don’t know about it.” George put the truck in reverse and stepped on the gas. The pickup shot backward, swerved to the left and ended up in the ditch.

  Bram ran after it, suddenly scared to death. He breathed freely again only when he saw George getting out of the cab, apparently uninjured.

  George called, “That old truck has more power than I remembered.” He calmly walked to Bram’s SUV and got in.

  Bram looked at the old truck in the ditch and then back to his great-grandfather, now sitting calmly in Bram’s rig. Shaking his head, he walked over to his SUV and got in.

  “I take it you want to leave your pickup in the ditch for now?” he said to George.

  “It’s a good place to park it.”

  “Fine.” Bram started the engine, then decided to get the worst of this meeting over with. While he drove he glanced at his great-grandfather and felt a swelling of love in his chest. “Granddad, it’s Gran. She had a stroke.”

  George didn’t respond for a long moment, then said sadly, “Gloria, my dear child. I will outlive my daughter.”

  “She isn’t dying, Granddad.”

  “Not today, but soon,” the old man said.

  Bram knew arguing was futile. Besides, he wasn’t so sure himself that Gran wasn’t dying. She wasn’t even close to being the grandmother he had adored all of his life. She had no sparkle, no life in her eyes, no laughter just waiting to erupt, and she displayed no will at all to recover and return to even a semblance of her former self.

  “Where were you going?” Bram asked quietly.

  “To town. Didn’t I already tell you that?”

  “Maybe you did, but where in town?”

  “The feed store. Since no one bothered to tell me who had fallen ill, I decided to find out for myself.”

  Bram drove in silence for a while, then brought up the subject that he knew was on his great-grandfather’s mind. “Apparently you located your guardian spirit.”

  “I did,” George confirmed.

  “And he conveyed the message of illness in the family.”

  “Death in the family,” George corrected.

  A chill went up Bram’s spine. George’s premonitions, wherever he got them from, were usually much too accurate to ignore.

  “Something quite unusual occurred when I finally found coyote,” George said then, surprising Bram, for his great-grandfather seldom detailed meetings with his guardian spirit. “He wasn’t alone. He brought fox with him, and she was a golden fox, so beautiful to behold that my eyes watered.”

  Bram recalled stories of fox, raven, bear, coyote and other animals that represented guardian spirits, heard many times in his youth. This was the very first time Great-granddad had actually seen fox, and Bram couldn’t remember ever hearing about a golden fox.

  “Does fox’s color have significance?” Bram asked.

  “I believe it does, although I haven’t yet deciphered it,” George replied. “Is Gloria in the hospital?”

  “She was. I had her brought to my place when the doctor said she could receive home care. She has a full-time nurse.”

  “Then we are going to your place now?”

  “Yes, Granddad,” Bram said with a catch in his voice. As sad and difficult as seeing Gran in bed and helpless was for him and the rest of the family, it was going to be doubly so for her father. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he added softly. “But when it first happened the doctors weren’t certain of the severity of her condition, and I saw no sense in worrying you unnecessarily. I can see now that I should have told you right away.”

  “Yes, you should have.”

  They finally reached the ranch, and Bram was relieved to see Jenna’s car parked in its usual spot. In the back of his mind he’d worried that she might arrange for a different nurse and leave because of this morning. He wanted her to care for Gran, true, but he also just plain wanted her, and he suffered over a dilemma that he feared he would never be able to solve.

  After parking near the house, he got out and walked around the front of his vehicle to offer assistance to his aged great-grandfather. But when Bram reached that side of the SUV, he was already standing on the ground and required no assistance.

  Together the two men walked to the house. Jenna knew the sound of Bram’s SUV by now, and her heart actually skipped a beat when she heard it arrive. Obviously his plans had changed, she thought nervously, because she hadn’t been worried about seeing him until tomorrow.

  She was in Gloria’s room, where she had every right to be, and so she stood her ground and prepared herself to face Bram with a stiff upper lip and a challenge in her eyes that just dared him to say something rude to her.

  She was taken completely by surprise when she saw the tall, dignified older man with Bram.

  “Jenna, this is George WhiteBear, my great-grandfather,” Bram said without quite meeting her eyes.

  But George turned his dark eyes on Jenna, and she smiled at him. He was a wonderful-looking old man, and she liked him on sight. So what if his great-grandson was the jerk of the century?

  “Hello,” she said. “I’m very honored to meet you.”

  George stared for a long moment, then said softly, “The golden fox.”

  Bram heard him distinctly, and Jenna thought she did. But when she left the two men alone with Gloria, she frowned and decided she couldn’t possibly have understood what George WhiteBear had really said. After all, why would he say something to her about a golden fox?

  That was just too bizarre.

  Chapter Six

  Brewing a pot of tea in the kitchen, Jenna’s thoughts kept returning to her introduction to George WhiteBear. If he had said “the golden fox,” which was what his words had sounded like to her, what would it mean? Surely he wasn’t using the word fox in the same context some men did when referring to an attractive woman. That dignified old gentlemen? No, she couldn’t believe George WhiteBear would talk that way behind a woman’s back, let alone to her face.
r />   His remark could have had something to do with her blond hair, she mused. Maybe she had heard the word golden correctly and misunderstood the others. Maybe he admired light-colored hair and had complimented her.

  Still pondering the incident, which seemed rather mysterious to her, Jenna poured tea from the pot into a cup and then carried the cup to the table. Sitting down, she sipped her hot tea and listened to the unintelligible rumble of male voices coming from Gloria’s room.

  Jenna actually prayed that a visit from her father would lift Gloria’s spirits. Maybe he was the one person Gloria had longed to see all this time.

  Sighing, knowing she was merely engaging in wishful thinking, Jenna found her thoughts going back to the morning and the urgency with which Bram had made love to her. It was a memorable event, however she looked at it. Even though he’d retreated into that rude shell of his practically the second it was over, being in his arms, his bed, having him naked and holding her, having him inside her and joined in the most intimate act possible between a man and a woman, was something she would cherish forever.

  Emotionally she was in Bram’s bed again when he walked into the kitchen and said, “Oh, there you are.”

  Jenna’s cheeks got warm because of where her thoughts had taken her, but she cleared her throat and did her best to look composed. “Yes, here I am,” she said.

  Bram looked rather uncomfortable. “Listen,” he said, “don’t pay any mind to Granddad’s remark.”

  “What remark?” Jenna asked, becoming strangely positive, in light of Bram’s discomfort, that she had heard George WhiteBear correctly.

  “He only said one thing to you when I introduced him,” Bram said, speaking more sharply than he’d intended, to cover his embarrassment over having to talk to Jenna about a Comanche ritual she couldn’t possibly comprehend.

  Obviously this was really bothering him, Jenna realized. Very well, she thought. She would stop pretending she didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “Yes, he said only one thing,” she said calmly. “What did it mean? How should I take it?”