Someday Soon (23 page)

A war seemed to be going on outside his door. Fitting, really, that he should go out surrounded by gunfire. The
door burst open, and Jack feared Enrique’s gorillas had come to torture him again.

“Jack.”

It was Murphy.

“It’s about time,” he mumbled.

“Sweet Jesus, what have they done to you?”

Jack tried to smile. He knew he must look like shit. Well, that adequately described the way he felt.

“Never mind what you look like,” Murphy said, chuckling. “You never were that good-looking anyway.”

Tim wiped a cool cloth over Francine’s face. “How are we doing?” he asked, and his voice shook slightly, as if he’d paid a heavy penalty for each of her contractions.

Her eyes remained closed, but she managed a weak smile. “So far so good.” Her breathing was hard and labored. Giving birth was by far the most draining ordeal of her life.

A pain gripped her at the small of her back, and she whimpered, unable to disguise her agony as the contraction knotted her uterus, attempting to force the baby from her body. By the time the last of the pain had ebbed away, she was panting and weak.

“Can you see the baby’s head?” she asked when she had her breath back.

Tim moved to the foot of the mattress. “Yes,” he cried excitedly, sounding shocked and more than a little frightened. “The baby’s almost here.”

“I know,” Francine whispered.

The time between contractions seemed like none at all. The next one gripped her body like a vise, and she
had the strong urge to push. Her hands found and locked around the rails of the headboard as she bore down with all her might. The effort half lifted her from the bed.

“Good, sweetheart, good,” Tim praised her.

After the next contraction, she felt the baby’s head spill between her legs. Tim’s gentle hands cradled their infant’s tiny head. A mewling cry filled the room as their child drew its first breath.

“We have a son,” Tim announced in a strangled voice that sounded nothing like his own.

Rising up on her elbows, Francine watched as her husband severed the umbilical cord and gently wrapped their freshly washed child in a soft, warm blanket. Tears fell unrestrained down her husband’s cheeks as he gazed upon his son.

“A boy,” he repeated, as if he didn’t quite believe it even now. Taking exquisite care, he placed their child in Francine’s waiting arms.

“He’s beautiful,” she whispered, weeping silently.

“It’s little wonder when you’re his mother.”

Francine stared down at her son, completely enraptured by the pink, crinkly face topped with a crown of dark hair. Then she unwrapped the blanket to inspect his hands and feet, count his fingers and toes.

“I told you he was a boy,” Tim said, as if she’d doubted his word.

“I love you, Tim Mallory,” she whispered through her tears. She felt shaken by the enormity of the love that swept through her for her husband and for her baby. Never had she experienced anything so powerful.

Tim sat on the mattress and wrapped his arm around
her shoulders. “If you aren’t partial to any name, I’d like to suggest one.”

“Sure,” she said, eager to hear his suggestion.

Tim smiled and gently kissed the crown of her head. “How about Bubba?”

Knowing Linette was safely
on her way to San Francisco left Cain free to hunt down Enrique. He tracked the man deep into the heart of Central America.

He ended up in a known hangout of Enrique’s, a cantina. Wearing a disguise, Cain pretended he was there to quench his thirst. Knowing it was best not to ask questions, he made himself comfortable and listened in on the conversations around him. Within a few hours Cain learned everything he needed to know. As he’d guessed, Enrique was in town. He left his killing to others—not that he didn’t have the taste for it himself, but there were problems waiting for him in the States and he dared not take the chance of crossing the borders.

By nightfall Pretty Boy stopped by the cantina himself, his mood jubilant. Before long he had his arm around the waist of a lusty señorita, and it soon became apparent the two had matters other than conversation on their minds.

Cain watched Enrique closely from the shadowy corner in the back of the room. Pretty Boy was both careless and overconfident as he stood and followed the woman out of the bar.

One of his men looked up and called out in Spanish, “Hey, man. When you’re through, I’ll have a turn with her myself.”

Enrique laughed, and his hand stroked the woman’s slim buttocks. “Be patient, my friend,” he said. “I have the feeling this may take a very long time.”

His men booed, and in an effort to appease them, Enrique ordered a fresh round of drinks.

Cain left by means of the side door and made certain he wasn’t being followed. By now Jack would have been rescued and Linette was safely tucked away with family. He followed the couple for several blocks.

“I understand you’ve been looking for me,” Cain said, stepping close behind the other man.

Pretty Boy froze, then viciously pushed the woman away from him before he turned to face Cain. He swore violently, then smiled, revealing even white teeth in a humorless display.

Cain smiled in return, enjoying the advantage of surprise. “You’re stupid,” he told the other man, “to let yourself get caught like this. I would have thought better of you.”

“I’m celebrating,” Enrique told him, gesturing with his hand. “The news of your wife’s death reached me this afternoon.” He laughed sadistically. “Perhaps you should join her, McClellan.” He pulled a gun from his pocket and fired the weapon in rapid succession.

Cain flung himself to the ground, shooting as he went
down. It was over within seconds. Enrique lay dead on the dusty street, his eyes staring blankly into the night sky.

Cain studied the man and felt no thrill in the death. No thrill in eliminating one who brought only suffering and heartache into the world.

A shout could be heard in the distance, and Cain made haste leaving town. He rendezvoused with Murphy an hour later.

“He’s dead,” Cain said without expression.

“Good.” Murphy’s eyes refused to meet Cain’s. “Listen, I have some bad news. It’s about Linette. You’d best get back to Montana fast.”

The hours it took him to reach Montana were the longest of his life. Cain paced the hospital waiting room like a beast until an older couple glared at him, silently requesting that he stop.

The woman left the room, and minutes later a chaplain came into the area.

“Are you all right, son?” asked the minister, claiming the vacant chair next to Cain.

Cain looked over at the compassionate man, and his throat constricted. He wasn’t anywhere close to being all right. Fear and anger festered inside him like a raging infection. Rarely had he tasted hate in such a bitter form.

“I’m fine,” Cain said tightly, and clenched his fists so hard that the blood drained from his fingers. He stood then, because sitting for any length of time was impossible.

“Is there someone I can phone for you?”

“No one.” Cain had sent both John and Patty Stamp home for fear his frustrations would spill over onto
them. Neither deserved to receive the brunt of his anger.

The minister gently pressed his hand on Cain’s shoulder. “The chapel’s on the bottom floor if you change your mind. I’ll be there until six this evening.”

Cain nodded, eager for the man to leave him alone. The minister left, and Cain returned to the chair and buried his face in his hands. He hadn’t slept in two nights. Hadn’t been able to close his eyes without picturing Linette being pulled from the wreckage that had once been their car.

He could hear her screams of terror, feel her pain. The torment of those last moments hounded him like an evil spirit.

All this had happened to his wife because of him. Because of what he was and what he did.

A shuffle of footsteps attracted his attention, and Cain looked up to find Murphy standing just inside the doorway. He walked across the room and sat down next to Cain.

“Enrique’s henchmen have been rounded up,” he announced.

Cain regretted that he hadn’t had the pleasure of killing the sons of bitches himself. “What about Jack?”

“He’s been better.”

“Is he going to make it all right?”

“Sure. Give him a month or two and he’ll be good as new.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Murphy leaned forward and braced his elbows against his knees. “What about Linette?”

Pain tightened his chest, and Cain found he couldn’t
answer. He shrugged. She’d been badly hurt, but it could have been much worse. He felt helpless to reach her, helpless to comfort her. The guilt of knowing he was the one responsible for what had happened ate at him like sharks in a feeding frenzy.

The two men sat side by side without speaking for the next hour. No sooner had Murphy left than Linette’s physician stepped into the room.

Cain stood, his eyes connecting with the other man’s. He instinctively squared his shoulders, dreading the worst.

“I’m sorry, but we couldn’t save the baby. We did everything possible.”

“My wife?”

“She’s resting comfortably for now.”

Cain’s legs felt as if they’d gone out from under him, and he slumped onto the chair. The physician sat next to him, going over the extent of injuries. The prognosis for a complete recovery was excellent.

“When can I see her?”

“Soon. Let her sleep for now, that’s what she needs most. Her body’s been badly battered. The seat belt and air bag saved her, but the shock of losing the baby has taken its toll. I suggest you let her sleep.”

Cain would have agreed to anything just then. “Fine. I’ll be here.”

A few more hours later Linette squinted against the bright light and rolled her head to one side. She discovered Cain sprawled on the red vinyl chair next to her hospital bed, asleep. His head drooped to one side and his arm dangled over the cushioned armrest, his knuckles brushing the polished floor.

She stared at her husband for several moments. The memory of everything that had happened flooded her mind. She’d lost the child. Nothing mattered but her baby. Not the men who’d attempted to murder her, not the fate of the occupants of the other vehicle. Nothing. Only the death of her child.

It was easier to close her eyes and sink back into a drug-induced sleep than deal with reality.

The next time Linette woke up, Cain was standing at her bedside, her hand cradled between both of his.

“Hello, honey,” he whispered.

She blinked up at him, finding the lights inordinately bright. “The baby,” she said. There was no question in her voice, only certainty.

His response seemed to require a long time. “There’ll be other children,” he said gently.

“I wanted this baby,” she said, choking on a sob.

“I wanted this baby, too.”

His words were meant to reassure her, but she felt no comfort, only pain, only grief, her old friends. After Michael’s death, Linette had given up the hope of remarrying and having children. Then she’d met and married Cain, and it seemed that she’d been given a second chance at love and life. Now she realized it was only a second chance at grieving. A second chance of dealing with loss and pain.

Cain raised her hand to his face and pressed it against his cheek. “The sooner we get you home the better.”

“Enrique?”

“Dead.”

She bit into her lower lip, amazed at the amount of hate she felt for the dead man. “I hope he rots in hell.”

“I don’t think there’s any question of that.”

“The other people in the accident?”

“They weren’t hurt. As for the men who ran you off the road, they’re sitting in a jail cell, and I sincerely doubt that they’ll see anything on this side of the bars for a good long while. It seems they’re wanted for a long list of offenses.”

“Good,” she said without much enthusiasm. “What about the men you hired to protect me?”

“It doesn’t matter, honey, nothing does but you getting well.”

“Tell me,” she said, louder this time, draining her strength.

Cain’s eyes became dark and fierce. “Their bodies were found yesterday.”

Linette closed her eyes. “Dear God.”

“You don’t need to worry. It’s over now. Neither Enrique nor anyone else is ever going to hurt us again.”

All this was more than Linette could take in at one time. She felt as though the world were caving in on her.

Physically Linette healed, but the emotional scars cut deep grooves into her heart. She grieved for the loss of her child the way she’d grieved for the husband who’d been taken in his prime. She had no energy, no will.

Cain was at her bedside every day. The room was crammed full of flowers, stuffed animals, gifts galore. Linette thanked him, but none of the trinkets he brought her meant a thing.

“Linette, please,” he said the night before he was scheduled to take her home from the hospital. “What is it?”

She shook her head. The world felt gray and cold, and
even the warmth of Cain’s love couldn’t chase away the chill.

“Tell me.” He squatted in front of her and gripped her hands in his. “I can make it right, whatever it is.”

“You can’t fix this,” she said through her misery.

“I can’t bear to see you so unhappy. Are you in pain?”

She shook her head. She was in pain yes, but not the kind that a kiss and a Band-Aid would cure. This agony was familiar, one she’d lived with those first weeks and months after losing Michael.

“What can I do to help you?”

Linette closed her eyes. “I want my baby.”

Defeated, Cain buried his head in her lap.

Home offered little solace. Linette sat and stared into the distance. She ate only because it was easier to give in to Cain’s urging than to argue. Each day she gained a little more strength, but she hadn’t the will or the conviction to pull herself out of the lethargy that trapped her emotions.

At night Cain held her in his arms. He hadn’t attempted to make love to her since the accident, in the beginning for practical reasons, later because she had no desire. It had died with their unborn child.

Their once active sex life came to a grinding halt. She shied away from his kisses, and soon he stopped offering them. Linette suspected Cain was losing patience with her, but she couldn’t help herself.

Then one afternoon, about three months after the accident, when spring seemed to burst overnight onto the countryside, Cain came into the house for dinner.

“You’ll never guess what I found this afternoon,” he said conversationally, sitting down at the table and reach
ing for the bread. “A stray calf. It looks like her mother’s dead. I brought her into the barn for the night.”

“Her mother’s dead?”

“John says this sort of thing is common. I’ll bottle-feed her for a few days and then sell her at the auction.”

After dinner dishes, Linette wandered out to the barn, thinking she’d find an adorable calf to pet. It might be fun to watch Cain feed it a bottle, she mused.

Instead of a cute, cuddly calf, Linette found a scroungy-looking thing leaning against the rail, its head drooping to the ground. It was ugly and filthy with cuts and mud caked all across its back side.

“You poor baby,” Linette murmured.

Cain came out of the shed with a milk bottle, looking none too pleased to have to deal with a stray after a long day on the trail. “John said this should work.”

“I’ll do it,” Linette found herself offering.

Cain looked at her as if he weren’t sure he’d heard her correctly. “You’re sure?”

Linette offered him a small smile and reached for the makeshift bottle. Although Cain made an excuse and left her, Linette knew he wasn’t far away. More than likely he was waiting to come running when she called.

“Hello there, Funny Face,” she said gently, moving into the pen where the calf waited. She patted her hand against the top of its head. Not having been around live-stock much, she wasn’t sure what to expect.

She certainly didn’t anticipate feeding a calf from an old milk bottle to be as easy as it turned out. Funny Face took to the improvised method as if born to it. She drank the last drop and then raised her ugly face to look at Linette with big brown eyes.

The following day, just before Cain had left with John Stamp, Linette asked, “What about the stray?”

Cain muttered something under his breath. “I forgot to feed her. Could you give her another bottle for me?”

She nodded, when that was what she’d wanted him to ask her all along. Why she should be so shy about it, she didn’t know.

After the men were gone Linette wandered out to the barn. Funny Face rushed to the gate to greet her. For the next few days the calf mewled and came running the instant she caught sight of Linette.

Despite her depression, Linette found herself smiling at the ugly heifer. The calf wasn’t so much interested in her as she was in the milk bottle.

After a week, when Funny Face had finished her morning feeding, Linette decided to give the heifer a long overdue bath. The entire back side of the stray was caked in thick, dark mud.

By the time she finished, Linette was convinced all she’d done was transfer the mud from Funny Face to herself. Cain found her like that, on her knees on the barn floor, brushing the snarls out of the calf’s tangled hair, talking to the disgruntled stray in soothing tones.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me, Cain McClellan,” Linette warned. After wrestling with a stray calf for the last two hours, she was in no mood to be teased over her appearance.