Читать книгу Ranch At River's End - Brenda Mott - Страница 9

DARCI THANKED AUNT STELLA for the chili, and for watching Chris, then hurried out to the car after him. It had begun to rain harder now, quarter-sized drops pattering down in cold splashes against her skin as she rushed toward her red Chevy Cavalier.

Christopher sat in the front seat, listening to his iPod. It was one of the privileges he’d recently earned back for good behavior. Darci shoved the container of leftovers Aunt Stella had sent with them into his lap before sliding behind the wheel. The windshield wipers swished out a steady rhythm as she drove, making her way down the county road and on through town. She hadn’t gone more than the few blocks that made up the downtown area, when she spotted a familiar figure at the side of the road.

Jordan Drake stood next to a black Ford Explorer, examining a flat rear tire.

Oh, dear. Should she stop? Or did he have things under control?

Darci glanced in her rearview mirror and saw him kick the flat in frustration, then head back toward the driver’s door. No spare? She supposed he could walk to the gas station, but it wasn’t in her to ignore someone in need of help, and besides, who wanted to walk in the rain?

Beside her, Christopher paid no attention to the fact that Darci had slowed the car. His head nodded to the beat of what was likely Southern-country-rock—his favorite. She turned into the parking lot of a church, flipped a U-turn and headed back out onto Main Street.

Christopher frowned, pulling off one earbud. “Hey, where are you going, Mom?”

“To help someone,” she said.

“Huh?” He yanked out the other earbud. “But I want to get home and watch TV.” His favorite reality show was coming on, another privilege he’d regained.

“Chris, we can’t leave someone stranded at the side of the road.”

“But you’re always telling me it’s not smart to stop for strangers.”

“He’s not a stranger. I work with him—well, sort of.” She wrinkled her nose, remembering the way Jordan’s hands had felt as he’d tended to her head injury.

“Whatever.” Chris rolled his eyes and bounced back against the seat.

Suddenly, Darci remembered seeing a similar black SUV parked down the street from her and Chris’s place, in front of the blue split-level. The one with a neatly landscaped front yard she envied, and a couple of acres behind it. At least, it looked like the same SUV, with an Honor Student bumper sticker.

Darci pulled up beside the Ford and rolled down her window.

“Hi,” she said. “Need some help?”

Jordan looked sheepish. “Thanks, we’re fine.”

Darci noted he had a little girl—his daughter?—with him. The kid was cute, with long, light brown hair and big blue eyes.

“You don’t look fine,” Darci said.

He shrugged. “I picked up a nail—” he gestured toward the flat “—and, uh, apparently I didn’t maintain my spare tire very well. It’s low on air.” He glared at his cell phone. “And I’m not getting a signal in this spot for whatever reason.”

“Mountains,” Darci said, pointing to the surrounding peaks. “My service comes and goes in the oddest places.”

“Reception’s normally pretty good here.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s the weather.”

“Need a lift to the gas station?”

“It’s closed.” He grunted. “Believe it or not, Harry—the owner—took off for the Labor Day holiday weekend to go fishing. You’d think he’d stick around for the tourists coming through.”

“How about the convenience store? They have an air pump, don’t they?”

Jordan’s face went instantly pale, and Darci thought for a minute he was going to pull the same fainting stunt she had done in the E.R. earlier.

“You okay?”

“Not there,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“I don’t use the convenience store.”

“O-kay. Oh, wait. I forgot. I’ve got a portable compressor in my trunk.” She’d bought it for the four-hour road trip when she and Chris had moved here. “I’ll pump up your spare for you.”

“I’ll do it,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Okay. Let me turn around and park. Be right back.” Once more, Darci drove down the street and found a place to change direction, then pulled in behind Jordan.

A honey locust tree grew near the edge of the curb where she’d parked, its overhanging branches offering shelter from the steady rain. That way she could leave the windows down to let in some air. The rain had turned the August evening muggy. “If it gets too stuffy in here, Chris, you can get out,” she said.

“Can’t I walk home?”

“No. You can wait. Stop being rude.”

“Whatever.” He stuck his earbuds in and slumped down in the seat again.

From her trunk, Darci retrieved the portable air compressor. Compact in size, it plugged into a vehicle’s cigarette lighter. Still, Jordan reached to take it for her as she neared the Explorer. His hand brushed hers, and Darci bit her lip.

“Thank you,” he said. “Michaela and I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” She grinned. “It’s the least I can do to return the favor of you stitching up my noggin.”

He chuckled, and the sound washed over her, much warmer than the rain.

Jordan had lowered the spare tire rack from underneath the vehicle and removed the thick-treaded radial, laying it on its side. While he hooked up the compressor to an accessory adaptor beneath the SUV’s dashboard, Darci clamped the air hose onto the spare. As she straightened back up, she glanced inside the vehicle and frowned. The huge SUV was equipped with enough seats for seven people, yet they were all folded down, except for the two up front. It was as though Jordan Drake and his daughter were the only people who rode in it. Did he have a wife? she wondered again.

The cargo area was practically bare, other than a couple of odds and ends—a small tool box, a pair of kids’ tennis shoes, a rope like the kind you might use on a boat.

Odd.

Why would anyone bother to drive such a big, environmentally unfriendly vehicle if they weren’t going to utilize its potential? Darci realized Michaela was staring at her over the back of the passenger seat, and she smiled at the girl, giving her a small wave. Michaela smiled back shyly and returned the wave with a lift of her hand, then turned to face forward once again.

Darci couldn’t help but notice the scar on the child’s face and wondered what had happened. Had she been in a car accident? Cute kid. She seemed about Christopher’s age.

“Looks kind of bare, doesn’t it?”

Jordan’s voice startled her as he stepped up beside Darci.

She hadn’t meant to be nosy. “No—it—I was just admiring your SUV.”

He gestured toward the folded up seats. “Michaela and I are the only ones who usually ride in it.”

The words were casual, but his voice sounded oddly strained, and Darci couldn’t help but wonder if there was something he wasn’t saying. Just because he and his daughter were the only two who used the SUV didn’t mean he had to fold the other seats down, did it? Darci found the situation odd but shrugged it off.

Jordan crouched beside the Ford to keep track of the air compressor’s progress, watching the attached dial gauge.

It would take a good fifteen to twenty minutes for the tire to fill, and Darci was getting wet. She wondered if she could go back to sit in her car, or if that would seem rude.

After all, Jordan was getting pelted by the rain, too.

“Have you got a jack?” she asked, opting to stay and help. “I can remove the other tire if you want.”

“I’ll get it,” he said, “but you don’t need to stand out here getting wet. I can do it.”

“I don’t mind,” she said.

Jordan went around to the front of the SUV and took a scissor jack from beneath the hood. Returning, he slid it underneath the SUV and crawled after it to adjust the jack’s position, then wriggled back out. Crouching again, he twisted the jack handle clockwise, raising the frame to lift the flat off the ground.

A sudden bang startled her, and for a split second, Darci thought the radial had overinflated and blown up. Involuntarily, she let out a little shriek—just as Jordan flung himself against her, shielding her body with his own.

What the…?

Darci grimaced self-consciously as she realized the loud noise had come from an old pickup truck that had driven past and backfired. Silly her. She glanced up into Jordan’s face, prepared to apologize for shrieking.

He was sweating so profusely even the rain couldn’t hide it. And the fear that crossed his features was so intense….

What on earth?

“You okay?” Darci asked. “It was only a truck backfiring.”

Looking embarrassed, Jordan took a step back. “Sorry,” he said gruffly. Without another word, he turned his attention to removing the flat. “You might as well get out of the rain. No sense in us both getting wet.”

“Okay. Sure.”

Darci sat in her car, pondering what had just happened. Lost in thought, she nearly jumped when Jordan tapped on her window.

“All set,” he said.

Darci got out of the car. He’d already put away his tools and had the cord and hose wrapped neatly in place around her air compressor. She reached for it, but he held it aloft.

“I’ll get it.” Jordan carried the compressor to the back of the car. Darci popped the truck so he could set it inside. “Thanks again,” he said. “I really appreciate your stopping. Guess I’ll see you at the hospital.”

“Yeah, sure.” She watched as he trotted through the rain and climbed into the Explorer.

Belatedly, Darci realized she’d forgotten to tell him they were neighbors.

SATURDAY MORNING DARCI dressed in blue jeans, cowboy boots and a dark brown Resistol, and she and Christopher headed for the Shadow S. Stella had more requests for riding lessons than she could handle, considering she also ran a barrel-racing clinic, and had been happy to hire Darci on as her part-time help.

Anxious for her first day on the job, Darci parked near the barn and got out. Even Christopher was in high spirits. He hadn’t been horseback riding on the Shadow S since he was in grade school and had only ridden a few times at the boarding stables outside Northglenn where Darci had worked. He’d gotten to the point where he’d shown little interest in riding at all, and Darci was glad to see him wanting to get back in the saddle.

Over Chris’s protests, she had used some of her savings and taken her son shopping that morning. Leon and Stella had rules, and one of them was: no boots, no riding. A tennis shoe could slip through a stirrup and hang a rider up if he fell. People had been killed that way.

And Darci had insisted her son get a pair of jeans that didn’t bag halfway down his butt. He’d grumbled as if she were sentencing him to jail, but now he didn’t appear to mind wearing the Levi’s and cowboy boots she’d purchased at the local feed store.

Leon was cleaning stalls when they arrived. He wore his usual gray cowboy hat, battered boots, faded jeans and flannel shirt. His silver handlebar mustache made him look like he belonged back in the 1800s.

“Hey, kids!” he called, still thinking of Darci that way. “You ready to start your first day, kiddo?” With one meaty hand, he grasped the shovel he’d been using and leaned it against the side of the stall before shifting his six-foot, three-inch frame into the aisle.

“You’d better know it,” Darci said. “Chris, you make sure you listen to your uncle today or no riding.”

“Aw, he’ll be fine,” Leon said before Christopher could protest. “Help me finish these stalls, Chris, and we’ll be off.”

Chris grimaced. “Me, clean up horse crap? I don’t think so.”

“You want to ride, you help Uncle Leon,” Darci said. “Having horses isn’t all fun and games.”

“I don’t have a horse,” he said, making Darci want to shake him.

“No, but you’re going to ride one—if you help.”

“Fine.” He shuffled over and took hold of a rake.

Darci blew out a puff of air that lifted her bangs, mentally counting to ten. “Listen to Uncle Leon,” she repeated. “Kick him in the butt if he doesn’t,” she added to her uncle.

Leon only chuckled. “He’ll be fine.”

Was she overreacting to Chris’s attitude? Darci wondered. She didn’t think so.

She found Stella saddling a chestnut mare, her short, red hair tucked under her own cowboy hat, the sleeves of her Western shirt rolled up. A short time later, Darci was mounted on the chestnut and in the arena with her first student—a ten-year-old girl named Jodi. The hour-long lesson flew by, and Darci was heading to the office in the barn to get herself some bottled water when another car pulled up outside the stables.

A pretty woman in her mid to late thirties got out and smiled at Darci. She wore boots, jeans and a T-shirt with a picture of a quarter horse on it, her strawberry-blond hair caught up in a ponytail beneath a ball cap.

“Hi. I’m Nina Drake. Is Stella here?”

Darci was taken by pleasant surprise. “Nina—I’m Darci Taylor. My son, Christopher, has an appointment scheduled with you for Thursday.”

“Oh, hello.” Nina held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Darci.” She pushed back the stray hairs that had escaped her ponytail. “I’ve been puttering around at the rental stables in town, doing a little riding for relaxation, but I think I need help to hone my skills. I’m here for my first riding lesson with your aunt.”

“Sounds like a plan. Follow me. Stella’s in the arena out back.”

The Shadow S boasted two arenas, the one where Darci had been giving a lesson and one behind the barn. She steered Nina in the right direction, then got her water and prepared for her next student.

By the end of the day Darci was tired in a good way and ready to go home and soak in a hot bubble bath.

She drove on autopilot, chatting with Chris, fully unprepared for what greeted her as she pulled into the driveway of the house they’d moved into just five days ago. Darci stared at the single word of graffiti spray-painted in red across the garage door.

Leave!

Angry tears stung her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. No one besides her aunt and uncle knew what Christopher had done—or at least she’d thought so. The local news had covered the story on all channels, but as a minor, Chris’s name had been left out, both on television and in the newspapers.

But why else would someone paint the word on their garage door?

Who would be so quick to judge her and her son with such hatred? Her landlord would be livid. And here she’d always thought of the little Colorado mountain town of River’s End as peaceful, welcoming.

“Holy crap!” Christopher exclaimed. His face clouded over. “I told you we shouldn’t have moved here.”

Darci only shook her head. She went inside the house and put her cowboy hat on the closet shelf, then changed into a faded old shirt before going back outside. She entered the garage via the side door and rummaged through some boxes she hadn’t yet unpacked, Chris tagging at her heels. Tears stung her eyes. She would not let some stranger’s horrible actions get to her.

“Paint thinner, paint thinner…” she mumbled. Had to be here with the other odds and ends she’d brought with her for household repairs. There.

Darci lifted the container from the box, along with some clean rags and a pair of rubber gloves. She’d have to make a trip to the hardware store and get a can of matching yellow paint to completely obliterate the word. Suddenly she felt angry, and that anger was directed at Christopher.

Her own child had made her life a living hell, and she’d had enough. Every penny of her small nest egg was meant to carry her and Chris along until she had a steady paycheck coming in. And now because of her son’s stupid actions and some hateful vandal, she had to waste money on paint for what had been a perfectly fine garage door just this morning. Who had had the nerve to do this in broad daylight anyway?

Biting her lip to keep her tears and frustration at bay, Darci tossed the rag at her son. “Here. Clean that off.”

“Why do I have to clean it?”

“Maybe because you’re the reason for it,” Darci snapped, then took a deep breath at the stricken look on her son’s face. “Chris, I’m sorry. Christopher!” But he was already pushing his way through the screen door to the house, letting it slam behind him. “Chris!”

He ignored her. Since his father had left a year ago, Christopher had changed from a quiet boy who loved to read, hike and skateboard to a troublesome young man Darci barely recognized as the child she’d given birth to. These past couple of days, he’d seemed more like his old self again, settling in to their new home better than she’d hoped—or so she’d thought.

Silently, Darci berated herself for directing her anger at him. He was still her son. She got to work with the rag and paint thinner. To her surprise, Christopher came back outside with a larger rag in his hand.

“I’m sorry, Chris,” she repeated. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I just can’t believe trouble has followed us here so fast.”

“It’ll never stop,” Chris said, his face nearly as red as the paint he viciously scrubbed. “I made one dumb mistake, and now—”

“It will stop,” Darci said. It had to, or she’d lose her mind. “We have to believe that. It’s just going to take a little time.”

He grunted. “I doubt that.” He indicated the smeared graffiti. “No one wants us here. We could move to China and everybody would still hate me.”

“No one hates you,” Darci said, wishing she could believe her own words. For one moment, Christopher looked like the little boy she used to cradle in her lap when he skinned his elbow riding his bicycle. “People are afraid of what they don’t understand, and sometimes they react in inappropriate ways.”

“Now you sound like Dr. Kingsley.” That was Chris’s psychologist in Northglenn, who’d referred them to Nina Drake.

“Hey, don’t forget you’ve got me. And Aunt Stella and Uncle Leon.” Darci’s father had left her mother when Darci was a child, and her mother hadn’t been a very good grandmother to Christopher. But then, she lived in California and mostly only saw him on the occasional holiday. Likewise, his father’s parents were too busy with their fishing business for Chris. “Now come on, let’s not let some jerk spoil our weekend.”

Darci worked beside the son she loved, no matter what he’d done. She hated having to uproot him from everything familiar. From the place where he’d lived most of his life…from the people he knew…

The move hadn’t been any easier on her than it had on him. But what choice did she have?

No one in the Denver area wanted a kid in their neighborhood who had taken a realistic-looking gun to school and terrified a cafeteria full of students.