Medicine Man
Cheryl Reavis
OPPOSITES ATTRACT. BUT THEN WHAT?He was about to go to a war zone. He couldn' t get involved with a woman now.She was in a battle for custody of her son. She couldn' t risk a new romance.He was half Navajo; he embraced the spiritual wisdom of his ancestors.She knew nothing about his traditions.And both Will Baron' s and Arley Meehan' s big, protective, opinionated families opposed the two of them being together.If they were smart, they' d walk away from each other fast. If they followed their hearts, who knew what might happen….
The sound of the rain grew louder overhead, and there was a loud crack of thunder.
“Male rain,” Will said, watching the trees bend under the onslaught of the rising storm.
“Rain has a gender?”
“Where I come from it does.”
“What’s a female rain like?”
“Steady. Gentle. Soft.”
After a moment Arley stepped closer.
“I know you’re tough—Airborne and all that—and I don’t want you to panic because this is not because I think you need it,” she said. “This is because I need it—so I’ll feel better.”
With that, she slid her arms around him, resting her head against his shoulder.
He intended to end the embrace, to step away while he still could, but she lifted her head and looked at him. She was so close, her body soft and warm against his. He tried to smile and didn’t quite make it. Instead, he slowly lowered his mouth to lightly touch hers.
Dear Reader,
What a capricious thing a writer’s muse can be. More than once I’ve thought a character’s story had ended only to discover that that wasn’t the case at all. They’re still there somehow, but out of sight, waiting for just the right opportunity to step into the limelight again.
I first encountered Will Baron when he was three years old, and what a great writing pleasure it was to create a better life for this abandoned little boy. Will was happy. End of story. Or so I thought.
Then, here he came again when he was a teenager, both helping and needing help, filling an important supportive role in other stories I wanted to tell and yet still yearning for things he would have been hard pressed to name.
And now, here he is one more time—with his own story at last. Medicine Man is Will Baron’s journey to finally find the place where he truly belongs and to win the heart of the woman he is struggling so hard not to love.
I hope you’ll enjoy reading it, and I hope you’ll visit me at my Web site: www.members.authorsguild.net/cherylreavis/
Best always,
Cheryl Reavis
Medicine Man
Cheryl Reavis
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHERYL REAVIS
award-winning short story author and romance novelist who also writes under the name of Cinda Richards, describes herself as a late bloomer who played in her first piano recital at the tender age of thirty. “We had to line up by height—I was the third smallest kid,” she says. “After that, there was no stopping me. I immediately gave myself permission to attempt my other heart’s desire—to write.” Her Silhouette Special Edition novel A Crime of the Heart reached millions of readers via Good Housekeeping magazine. Both A Crime of the Heart and Patrick Gallagher’s Widow won the Romance Writers of America’s coveted RITA
Award for Best Contemporary Series Romance the year they were published. One of Our Own received the Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series Romance from Romantic Times BOOKreviews. A former public health nurse, Cheryl makes her home in North Carolina with her husband.
For all the readers who have written to ask me what
happened to Will Baron. This is for you, with my
sincere thanks for your kind comments and support.
Special thanks, too, to Vanessa’s sergeant
for answering my many questions.
Any mistakes are mine, not his.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
I never should have come.
Arley Meehan stood in the middle of her sister Kate’s boisterous wedding reception, trying not to look as miserable as she felt. The pub was packed with military personnel, the Airborne contingent from Fort Bragg, courtesy of Kate’s new husband—his side of the family, as it were. She was happy for Kate, for them both—of course she was—and she had wanted this opportunity to get out and have a good time for a change. But weddings were no place for the newly-divorced, no matter how bad the marriage had been, and Arley wished now that she had stayed home with her little boy for an evening of fast food and popcorn, a rented movie and lots of giggling.
The Celtic/bluegrass band her uncle Patrick had hired for the occasion suddenly straddled both genres and began to play a wooden-whistle-and-banjo-spiked rendition of “Sally Goodin,” much to the delight of the guests. A few of the more adventurous couples began to dance, whether they actually knew how to or not, making Arley’s immediate vicinity a dangerous place to be. She moved out of the way, dodging a number of low dips and high kicks in the process, and she recognized a soldier standing alone on the other side of the pub. She knew his name—Specialist Will Baron. He was a medic who worked with Kate at the post hospital and, at the moment, was looking every bit as alone as she felt. Arley had met him once, in passing, last summer, before she and her sisters had even noticed that Kate had been well on her way to marrying a seriously injured paratrooper.
Arley swiftly headed in his direction. She had been given a token assignment for the night—something her oldest sister, Grace, had devised to keep Arley the Handful out of trouble. She was supposed to circulate among the guests and make sure everyone was having a good time, which had seemed totally unnecessary until now. Clearly, Will Baron was the place to start.
“So how homesick are you?” she asked when she reached him.
He looked around, his quick double take suggesting he remembered who she was.
“Arley Meehan,” she said anyway. “Welcome to the Kate Meehan-Cal Doyle wedding festivities. Are you having a good time, Specialist Baron?”
“Yes,” he said politely.
She gave him an arch look. “Not true, I think.”
He almost smiled. “Actually, I…forgot how much I missed it…these family things.”
So did I, she thought. She had missed her sisters terribly, despite deliberately isolating herself from them for a long time. The humiliation of having been betrayed by the man she’d loved, of having made yet another bad choice by marrying him in the first place, had been too much for her. She’d needed to have time to recover and regroup, and to get over the fact that her sisters had been so right and she had been so glaringly wrong. Tonight was really her first big venture back into the fold.
“How’s Scottie?” Will asked, and she smiled.
She’d forgotten that her son had been with her when she and Will Baron had run into each other last summer. “You remembered his name,” she said in surprise.
“It’s something I do—remember things. Is he still collecting rocks?”
“Still,” she said. “At the moment, though, he wants to go on the honeymoon.”
“Well, that ought to be…interesting.”
“Especially since he’s learned to make armpit noises.”
He grinned—something Arley decided he should definitely do more often.
“Good for him,” he said. “Is he here tonight?”
“No, he and the rest of the cousins are having their own wild party—pizza and video games and wedding cake with the great-aunts. I think he’d rather be elsewhere. Tonight’s our regular fast food and movie rental night. So where are you from?”
There was a lull in the music, leaving a strange gap in the din around them.
“Arizona. Window Rock. The Navajo Reservation.”
“So you’re…Navajo?”
“Half,” he said. “My birth mother is one of The People.”
“Your birth mother?” she asked, but he didn’t respond to her clear invitation to elaborate.
“You were brought up with…‘The People,’ I take it,” she said, deciding to respect his reticence. She had plenty of things she didn’t want to talk about, either.
“With. By. For,” he said.
“And your father—what was he?” she asked, without considering whether it was polite to do so. She wanted to know, and she had earned her “Arley the Handful” title as much from being curious as from being reckless.
The band started up again, as lively as ever.
“A Tar Heel,” he said over the racket. “Full-blooded.”
She smiled, appreciating his reference to his father having been born in North Carolina.
“Is he from around here?”
“Not exactly,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“He…died when I was three. I don’t know much about him, actually.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. Well, you can always kill two birds with one stone,” she said, and he gave her a puzzled look.
The noise escalated, and she leaned closer to explain.
“If I’d joined the army to see the world…” she began, trying to make herself heard over the drumbeats.
“I think that’s the navy,” he interrupted.
“Whatever. If I’d joined the army to see the world and I’d ended up in the state where my long lost father had lived, I’d probably try to check it out. Especially if I didn’t know much about him. Two birds. See?”
He didn’t say whether he did or didn’t. The music suddenly softened, enough so she didn’t need to yell anymore.
“Was it hard to get sent to Fort Bragg?” she asked, disregarding his lack of enthusiasm for her opinion that he might find a personal advantage to being posted here.
“Well, it took a certain amount of jumping out of high-and low-flying aircraft.”
“I’ll bet—”
“Who’s this?” a man’s voice said behind her, and Arley froze. She had no doubt that the question was meant for her.
“Will Baron—coworker of the bride,” Will said easily, extending his hand to her ex-husband, someone who was not supposed to be here.
“Scott McGowan,” Scott said pointedly. “So just how do you know him?” he asked Arley, ignoring Will’s outstretched hand.
Arley forced herself to look at him—and didn’t answer. She knew he’d take offense at whatever comment she made, and she wasn’t about to let him cause a scene in the middle of Kate’s reception. She glanced past him at the guests. She couldn’t see any of her sisters.
“I asked you a question, Arley,” Scott said, his voice deceptively calm. She didn’t miss the menace behind the remark, the subtle threat of consequences, and, neither, she thought, did Will Baron.
“So you did, Scott,” she said agreeably. She smiled and didn’t continue. He didn’t appreciate it.
“Let’s go outside—now,” he said. He reached to take her arm, and she jerked back. Will moved, putting himself between her and Scott, close enough to keep Scott at bay and still leave room for him to back down—if he had enough sense.
“Do you want to go with him?” Will asked her.
“No,” Arley said, hating that she couldn’t keep her voice steady.
“That’s good enough for me,” Will said. “For them, too,” he added, nodding toward the nearby group of paratroopers, who were already on the alert and looking in their direction.
Will and Scott stared at each other.
“Excuse me,” Arley said abruptly. “It was interesting talking to you, Specialist,” she said to Will. Then she did what she did best—walked off and left the mess she had created.
“Arley! What do you want from me?” Scott called after her, as if she were the unreasonable one.
Nothing, she thought. And that in itself was a revelation. She didn’t want, didn’t need, anything from him anymore.
She kept walking, dodging the dancers, knowing Scott was likely following her. He didn’t give up easily. The real question was, what did he want?
She could see Uncle Patrick working hard behind the crowded bar, and she headed in that direction.
“Ah! Reinforcements!” he said when he saw her. “Find yourself an apron, darlin’. I need another pair of hands.”
Arley slipped behind the bar. Her knees were shaking as she found an apron and managed to wrap it around herself, taking her place next to her uncle, rushing to fill mug after mug with beer.
“Steady now,” Uncle Patrick said quietly. “Scottie is safe with the aunts and he-who-shall-not-be-named has taken himself out the door.”
When she finally got the nerve to look up, she didn’t see Scott anywhere. She didn’t see Will Baron, either.
She bowed her head again and filled another mug. So much for getting out and having a good time.
“What was that all about?”
Will glanced at Specialist Bernie Copus and considered his options. He could answer the question now and get it over with, or he could answer it any one of the thousands of times Copus would ask for the rest of their natural lives.
“I thought you were going to clean that young man’s clock for him,” Copus said. He grinned, showing the gap between his front teeth, a feature women found irresistible.
Or so he said.
“I don’t know what it was about,” Will said, hoping the truth would bring an end to the interrogation. All he had understood of the situation was that Arley Meehan had been afraid.
“Listen to your old Uncle Bernie, now. I have to admit the former Mrs. McGowan is a good-looking woman—a good-looking woman. But, you’re not wanting to go there, son, believe me. You’re not wanting to get between the McGowan heir and something he prizes. No sirree.”
“Copus, I’m not—”
“No, now, I am serious, William. I know how this thing works.”
“And how is that?”
“You are in the military. He is in the money. His family owns the whole damn world. What do you own?”
“Not much,” Will said.
“Well, there you go. Need I say more?”
“I hope not.”
Copus grinned, showing his gap again. “I’m just trying to help you out, son.”
“Yeah, and how much is that going to cost me?” Will asked, because Specialist Copus was nothing if not mercenary.
“Not one cent—this time. I can see how tempting that little flower is, but I’m telling you, this thing has got trouble written all over it. I am a man of vast experience and I know.”
“Copus, I told you. It’s not—” Will stopped. “I don’t even know her.”
“Okay, okay. You just think of me as that television robot—the one that looks like an old-time wringer washing machine—and I’m going, ‘Danger, Will Baron!’”
Copus waved his arms for emphasis, knocking somebody’s beer to the floor in the process. Will grinned and walked away, leaving Copus to do what he did so well, apologize profusely in the hopes of not getting pitched across the premises.
The music stopped abruptly as the band made room on the small stage for the bride and groom to say farewell and get on with married life. Will joined in the toasts, laughing at the heavy-handed newlywed commentaries served up by a number of the paratrooper guests. He was determined to enjoy the rest of the evening. Even without Copus’s dubious advice, Will knew better than to get involved in whatever was going on between the bride’s sister and her ex-husband. He deliberately stood so he could see Arley out of the corner of his eye, however. She stayed behind the bar, participating in one toast after another, just as he did, laughing in all the right places and, as far as he could tell, completely unaffected by the incident earlier.
Except that he didn’t think that was the case.
The bride and groom were leaving—or trying to. Clearly, it was the custom for everyone at the postnuptial party to escort them to their car. The band members struck up another song, playing as they walked, a reprise of something they’d done earlier.
Will stood back to let them pass, losing track of Arley in the surge of people heading toward the door.
He was one of the last to reach the outside, and he had to force himself into the mugginess of the summer night. He had grown up in the desert and he was used to hot temperatures, but he would never adjust to the oppressive heat and humidity so rampant in this part of the country. He always felt as if he were walking into a living being.
The band played as enthusiastically as ever, but outside the music dissipated into the night air.
“So how homesick are you?” someone said.
Arley stood on the sidewalk near the door.
“Not very,” he said this time. He realized she was starting their conversation over, rewinding it to the point before her ex-husband arrived.
“Really,” he added, and she smiled.
“Maybe you ought to tell your face that.”
“Aren’t you going to go say goodbye to Kate?” he said to divert the conversation to a safer topic.
“I did earlier. Besides, I might catch the bouquet.”
“Wouldn’t want to do that, I guess.”
“No way. So I thought I’d annoy you instead.”
“Any…particular reason?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “You’re so serene. Even when you’re not having a good time.”
He laughed softly, because, at this moment, she couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Is that a Navajo thing?”
“What?”
“Serenity,” she said pointedly. “Pay attention, Baron.”
“It’s kind of hard to do both—be serene and pay attention,” he said, smiling still.
“Just answer the question.”
“Which one?”
“The serenity one.”
“Yes. It’s a Navajo thing.”
“Must be hard to do—in the military, I mean.”
“Sometimes.”
“Now answer the other question. How homesick are you?”
He drew a quiet breath, aware of the night sounds around them, the kind that didn’t mean home to him. “Well, all the pine trees help—except they’re too tall and the wrong variety.”
“That’s what I thought. Did you leave a girl behind? In Window Rock?”
“Ah…no,” he said.
“A lot of family, though.”
“A lot, yes.”
“How many brothers and sisters?”
“One half brother. One half sister.”
“That’s not a lot.”
“Well, my half sister—Meggie—has children—hers and the rest of the world’s. Stray people are Meggie’s thing. And there’s my stepfather—Lucas Singer—he’s also my uncle by marriage, because he married my father’s sister, Sloan, who got joint custody with the tribe so she could raise me. Lucas has a sister—she’s a lawyer, the kick-butt kind. She’s got children, plus there’s the daughter my stepfather-uncle by marriage didn’t know he had and her husband, Ben. Ben’s a tribal policeman. So is my stepfather-uncle and his sister the lawyer’s husband.”
“Go on,” she said, when he stopped his deliberately convoluted recital to see if her eyes had glazed over. Incredibly, she was listening.
“And then there are the non-blood-related people who have a permanent invitation to attend any and all Baron-Singer social gatherings—the ones who are just passing by and happen to smell dinner cooking, and the ones in and out of jail. Basically, it’s the Navajo reservation version of Mayberry.”
She laughed softly. It pleased him to make her laugh.
“What about your birth mother? Does she come?”
“No. She doesn’t. Meggie would invite her, though, if she got the chance. She’s like that.”
“What about your half brother?”
“Patrick. He’s…” Will stopped. There were no precise adjectives for Patrick. He was and always had been a walking contradiction.
“So when was the last time you were home?” Arley asked.
“Christmas. Are we…going someplace with this?” he asked.
“I like to know things,” she said. “Especially when it comes from somebody who doesn’t like to tell them.”
“Well, that would be me,” he said. “Usually.”
“And this usual…reticence—is that a Navajo thing or a Tar Heel thing?”
“Can’t be a Tar Heel thing,” he said, making her smile again.
“Don’t go by me. Some Tar Heels are reticent,” she assured him. “Do you like being in the army?”
“It’s what I need,” he said cryptically. He had never really articulated to anyone why he’d enlisted—there were a lot of reasons, including a very persuasive army recruiter with a quota to meet. But the most important ones had to do with Will’s obligation to and affection for the people who had rescued him after his father was killed and had given him a good life.
Two women stood watching them from the edge of the crowd surrounding the Meehan-Doyle getaway car. One was strong-looking and tall and unyielding, like a tree that would break rather than bend. The other seemed tentative and anxious, as if she had more concerns than she could handle. Both of them looked just enough like Arley and Kate for him to hazard a guess.
“I think I see two of your relatives,” he said when the women’s intense interest began to exceed his comfort level.
“My sisters,” Arley said. “Gwen and Grace, the micromanagers. Kate is usually their target. Lucky me, I get to be their surrogate concern for the next two weeks.”
“Kate’s only going to be gone three days.”
“It’s going to seem like two weeks,” Arley assured him.
“It’s…good to have relatives who care.”
“You think so?”
“Where I grew up, it is. The worst thing you can do is behave as if you didn’t have anyone who cared enough about you to teach you right from wrong.”
“Now, that’s a Tar Heel thing. It’s called ‘not being raised.’ Don’t ever act like you haven’t been raised, Baron. People would talk. It would reflect badly on your father’s family forever, and, believe me, you don’t want that.”
Arley paused. “Will, thank you,” she said suddenly.
“For…?”
She glanced over to where her sisters were standing, then looked at him.
“For not asking me about…what happened earlier. With Scott. And for not letting him start anything. He wanted to make a scene, and I—couldn’t—”
“It’s okay.”
She sighed. “People think he wants us to get back together, but he doesn’t.”
“I’m…sorry,” Will said, for lack of anything better to say.
She shrugged. “Mostly, he just wants somebody to blame for what happened. Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t the one with somebody on the side. Several ‘somebodies,’ actually. Well. Anyway. I really appreciate your help. He could have caused all kinds of trouble tonight, and Kate deserves better than that from me and what used to be mine.”
Actually, Will thought that Arley had defused the situation—by walking away. She stood for a moment, seeming on the verge of saying something more, then decided against it.
“He’s not still around someplace, is he?” Will asked, thinking she might be worried about running into him again.
“No. Gwen and Grace saw him leave.” She glanced toward the sisters again. They looked no happier now than when Will had noticed them earlier.
A sudden cheer went up from the crowd as the car carrying the bride and groom moved a few inches.
“Arley! Arley, come here!”
The treelike sister had found her voice.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to have four mothers?” Arley asked him.
“Actually, I do,” he said.
She turned to go, then didn’t. “You aren’t going to go off and do something…dangerous anytime soon, are you?”
“It’s not in my plans.”
“Are you afraid?” she asked bluntly. “Of being sent someplace…bad?”
“Sometimes.”
They looked at each other—until she suddenly smiled again.
“Maybe we’ll run into each other sometime—you can tell me about your mothers.”
He didn’t say anything, despite another opening she’d given him. But she didn’t let his silence make her uncomfortable. She gave him a little wave and walked away. He watched her go, trying not to think about robots.
Chapter Two
“Just who is that?” Grace asked, lowering her voice for once because of the crowd of people milling around them.
Arley looked steadily at both her sisters. Only Gwen seemed uncomfortable. Neither of them had the right to ask—especially Grace, whose own marriage had ended more abruptly than Arley’s had. None of the sisters knew the reason for its sudden demise, and Grace apparently had no intention of enlightening any of them. She had an entirely different view of the right to privacy when hers was at stake. All Arley knew for certain was that Grace’s husband had left, and Grace hardly seemed to notice.
At the moment, however, Arley had no desire to trade barbs about their assorted personal failures. For once, she opted to let the sisterly meddling slide.
Almost.
“You know, Grace, I’m getting a little tired of that question tonight,” she said. “Did Scott put you up to it?”
“You don’t even know that guy, Arley.”
“Grace, I was only talking to him. I’m not taking him home with me. And I do know him. His name is Will Baron. He works with Kate. I ran into him once last summer. He was nice to Scottie, okay?”
“You’re not that innocent,” Grace said, and Arley laughed.
“You sound like a pop song lyric.”
“You know how you are, Arley—and if you don’t, we do. You’re not trying to make Scott jealous with that soldier, are you?”
“Grace, please! I told you—we were just talking. He’s an interesting person. He’s from Arizona. He’s half Navajo.” She looked over her shoulder to where Will had been standing. He was no longer there.
“Well, Scott obviously didn’t like it.”
“What Scott likes or doesn’t like is not my problem. Yours, either. He had no business being here in the first place.”
“I said not to invite him,” Gwen offered in spite of the look Grace gave her. “Nobody listened.”
“He was invited?” Arley said incredulously, and several people turned to look in their direction.
“I invited him,” Grace said. “To the reception. I was trying to head off trouble. It was purely a token gesture—a courtesy to our Scottie’s father.”
“Grace! Why didn’t you tell me!”
“It was just a test, Arley! I didn’t think he’d have the nerve to actually show up. But he did, and now we know once and for all that he’s—”
“This is none of your business, Grace!” Arley interrupted, as if that had ever deterred her oldest sister. Grace’s determination was legendary in the family. It had probably cost her a husband, and it was about to cost her a sister, as well.
“It is if you don’t have enough sense to realize he might use anything you do to try to get Scottie away from you.”
“What?” Arley said, startled.
“You heard me. You know how Scott is, how his family is—or you should by now. I wouldn’t put it past him or them. And he’s not above doing something just to get back at you.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“It doesn’t matter if you did or didn’t, Arley! That was then. I’m talking about right now. He’s the kind of man who needs to save face. One of these days he’s going to want to follow his grandfather and father into politics. He’s going to need to trump that unfortunate adultery indiscretion. What better way than to try to prove you’re an unfit mother and always were?”
Arley gave a sharp sigh. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“You don’t have to talk. Just listen for once. You never should have married Scott McGowan in the first place—but we got Scottie out of it, and I want us to keep him. Or would you rather his father had custody—in which case Scottie would probably grow up just like him.”
“Grace, stop!” Gwen said, putting her hand on Grace’s arm. “You’re scaring her.”
“I want to scare her.”
Arley looked at both of them and shook her head.
“I’m not talking about this anymore,” she said and walked away. She was too tired to battle Grace. Her head hurt. Her feet hurt. She just wanted to get her little boy and go back to Fayetteville.
“’Bye, Arley,” Gwen called after her.
Arley waved her hand in the air to show she heard, not wanting to hurt Gwen’s feelings just because she was upset with Grace. Grace could be annoying in the best of circumstances, more so when she was right. Scott McGowan wasn’t above trying to get custody of Scottie—even if he didn’t deserve it. He had made it his life’s work to acquire things he didn’t deserve—passing grades in college, business promotions, Arley Meehan. And he hadn’t deserved her, not her love or her faithfulness or her willingness to believe in him far beyond what anyone with any sense would have done.
Even so, she could truthfully say that she hadn’t been a complete idiot where Scott was concerned, regardless of what her sisters and everyone else might think. There was no denying that she had loved him, loved his wildness and his charm, so much so that she had been willing to ignore her growing lack of respect for him for a long time. But the day eventually came when she couldn’t pretend anymore, when she couldn’t let her emotions get dragged back and forth with every promise made and every promise broken. She had to walk away—for her son’s sake, if nothing else. She had managed to do it—permanently—in spite of Scott’s renewed “repentance” when he realized that, for once, he was going to suffer the consequences of his behavior.
“Arley!” someone called behind her—her uncle Patrick.
“You’re not leaving already, are you—and without a goodbye for your old uncle?”
“I’m ready for hearth and home, Uncle Patrick.”
“Well, I know the feeling. It was a fine wedding, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said, feeling a ridiculous urge to cry.
“You hug that darling boy for me—and mind how you go.”
“I’m a careful driver, Uncle Patrick.”
“It’s not the driving I was meaning.”
She looked into his kind blue eyes. “You’ve been talking to Grace.”
“Have not,” he said. “I’ve been using my God-given eyes. And I’m not liking what I see, my girl. You and I both know Scott McGowan can get himself up to no good.”
She sighed heavily. “Well, I am on the high side of suspicious,” she said, and her uncle laughed.
“And that’s a definite improvement—if you don’t mind my saying so.”
She didn’t. The remark coming from him didn’t bother her nearly as much as it would have if it had come from one of her sisters.
A large number of guests seemed to be making their way back into the pub.
“No rest for the wicked,” Uncle Patrick said. “Are you sure you don’t want to rejoin the festivities?”
“I’m sure. I’ll bring Scottie to see you soon. He’s got some new additions to his rock collection he wants to show you.”
“The sooner, the better,” he said, giving her one of his bear hugs, the kind that always made her feel better but this time brought her even closer to tears.
“Tell Grace and Gwen I’ve gone, if—when—they ask, will you?”
He looked at her a long moment. “I will.”
She forced a smile and walked away. A group of soldiers walked ahead of her, laughing, talking and harassing each other the way soldiers always seemed to do. Will Baron wasn’t among them. It annoyed Arley a great deal that Grace thought Arley might be using Will to get back at Scott. She wasn’t. She just welcomed a little diversion. She was so tired of being worried and scared.
And lonely.
Scottie was nearly asleep when she picked him up at the great-aunts’ house. He managed to walk to the car under his own power, but he was too sleepy to buckle himself into his safety seat.
“Mommy?” he murmured as she secured the belt and slipped his favorite pillow next to his head—a beagle dog pillow he’d named Dot, his threadbare sleeping, waking, stress and anxiety companion. She stood for a moment, then caressed his cheek before she closed the car door. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for her son.
Nothing.
It began to rain when she was halfway home. She drove carefully along the back roads leading to Fayetteville. Traffic was heavier than she expected. The countryside was illuminated by lightning from time to time, but there were no strong winds or heavy downpours. Scottie was afraid of thunder; she was glad he was sleeping. He had too many things to be afraid of these days, most of all that his father didn’t love him. He was so eager whenever Scott deigned to come around, trying to impress him with his rock collection, his drawings and papers from school, or how fast he could run and how high he could jump—anything that might elicit some indication that he had his father’s undivided attention, just for a moment. That was sad enough, and what was even sadder was that, for a time, Arley had been just like him.
She was better now, though. Surprisingly better. Even before the wedding reception, she had felt more comfortable about things than she had in a long time. All in all, her life was going…reasonably well. She hadn’t caused any embarrassing moments for Kate—thanks to Will Baron—and it was much more apparent to her now that she was no longer afraid that she couldn’t live without Scott McGowan. Regardless of her sisters’ misgivings, she was actually managing—except with money. She needed a better and permanent job instead of being sent pillar to post by the temp agency, and she was going to keep taking courses at the community college and filling out applications until she got one.
She smiled to herself. Scottie liked that; as soon as school started, both of them would have to do homework at the kitchen table.
Her mind suddenly wandered to the summer afternoon when she’d met Will Baron. She had hardly been at her best that day. She had been frantic to find Kate because of something Scott had or hadn’t done, and because Scottie had misbehaved at the private kindergarten Scott was still paying for him to attend. She had felt totally overwhelmed by it all. She went looking for Kate at home and then at Mrs. Bee’s house next door, and she found Will Baron in the sweltering upstairs hallway on an errand of his own. He may or may not have recognized the degree of her distress, but he had definitely recognized Scottie’s. As they were leaving, he had taken a blue-green stone out of his pocket—a piece of turquoise—and had given it to Scottie for his collection.
He was kind to her son.
And that was the reason she remembered him. Yes, he was nice-looking. Yes, his eyes smiled long before his face did, and he smelled good. But it was because of Scottie that she’d asked Kate later about the paratrooper in Mrs. Bee’s upstairs hallway. There was something intriguing about him, something that made her willing to brave Grace’s criticism and the embarrassment Scott had caused her at the reception in order to talk to him again.
But that’s all it was. A little conversation. She had told her sisters the truth when she said that Will Baron was an interesting person. He was, and it had been a long time since Arley had had any social interaction with anyone beyond her immediate family. There was no harm in it. None. The fact that Kate had invited him to the wedding in the first place should be recommendation enough for Gwen and the ever-suspicious Grace.
But Arley had no expectations that she would see Will Baron again. She rarely went on post—except for futile job interviews, and those were few and far between. She rarely went anywhere, for that matter, except to work at whatever paying position the temp agency found for her, and to the grocery store and to Scottie’s school—and a fast-food restaurant as a treat for him as often as she could afford it. She had met Kate for lunch once or twice, taken Scottie to the post hospital, to the ward where Kate worked when the “get well” dogs were coming to visit, and she hadn’t seen Will Baron any of those times. It wasn’t likely that she’d run into him—unless she did something to make it happen. Which she wouldn’t. She didn’t need Grace’s input to be concerned about Scott and his possible long-range plans where his son was concerned. It was just that Scottie had never been his priority—he thought nothing of skipping a visitation if it conflicted with his social plans—and she knew Scott McGowan well enough to know that actually wanting to be a real father might have nothing to do with his trying to get custody.
She reached to turn on the car radio for company. After a while, she drove out of a rain shower and then right back into another one—the story of her life, thus far. She didn’t regret staying for the wedding reception, in spite of Grace’s lecture and her skirmish with Scott. But if she wasn’t careful, the reason she didn’t regret it could become a full-blown family issue. The Meehan sisters tended to each other’s business. She herself had been an all-too-willing participant in the Grace-led sister alliance to keep Kate from making what they had all thought was a huge mistake in becoming involved with a disabled paratrooper—a man younger than she was, no less. And Kate was considered the “sensible” one. Heaven only knew what would happen if it even looked like Arley the Handful might follow Kate’s example with another member of the military, especially if it might cause problems with Scott.
But she was too tired to worry about it.
It was late when she finally arrived at her apartment, and it was still raining. As she carried the sleeping Scottie to the door, a white car she didn’t recognize crept slowly past and turned around.
Maybe we’ll run into each other again.
It wasn’t an invitation. Will wasn’t quite sure what it was—except another reason for his disharmony, which had more to do with his current state of mind than with the postwedding raucousness of the barracks tonight. Everybody was wound tight. Music seemed to be coming from behind every closed door, all of it different and all of it meant to effect the same end. He and his fellow soldiers were expecting to travel—sooner instead of later—and they were all looking for the right mind-set, the pumped-up killer high that would get them through it. He understood the dynamics perfectly. He’d never made a jump without doing the warrior chant all the way to the ground, in spite of his recent cynicism about following the Beauty Way.
He lay on his bed in the dark and tried to disengage himself from the thoughts swirling in his mind. Harmony was essential for anyone who intended to follow Navajo teachings. If he were still a hataalii….
If.
He wasn’t certain if the family knew that he’d all but lost the vocation he’d fought so hard for the privilege of learning. He had dedicated years of his life to becoming a Navajo healer, to learning the complexities of the mindset and the chants and rituals to achieve a kinship with Mother Earth and Father Sky. But what little “serenity” Arley had accused him of having completely eluded him now and had for a long time. He had had such big plans—once—assuming that he managed not to suffer any unfortunate consequences from being posted in harm’s way and that his enlistment ended as scheduled. He was going to return to the reservation in triumph, where he would meld all the knowledge he had gleaned from both his worlds. He would use the medical skills he had acquired in the military to be a true help to Sloan, the aunt who had raised him and who was a nurse in the tribal health clinic, and he would continue to be a hataalii. He would skillfully practice both disciplines, all for the betterment of The People.
There had been a time when he’d been so sure, when he had actually thought that he could be both an army medic and a practitioner of the Navajo healing arts. He had told Arley the truth. He really could remember things—the chants and the details of the sand paintings necessary for the healing ceremonies with the precision the Holy People required. And he could remember all the medical procedures he’d been taught. He could even manage a high-powered weapon and urgent wound assessment on a computerized dummy in the dark and not let it go into cardiac arrest or bleed out. As far as he knew, no patient in either venue had ever suffered from a misstep that he could recall—except for the dummy, and that was early on. He had believed that all he had to do was not let himself get distracted. His desire to make all four of his “mothers” proud of him was strong, and so was his sense of obligation.
But somewhere he had lost his way, lost something integral he couldn’t name; in the process, he had lost himself. He couldn’t blame the army. He couldn’t blame anyone. He had felt his sense of purpose and understanding, of belonging, slipping away from him long before he’d enlisted.
All he had left was a kind of perpetual discord in his heart and in his mind—and an unwelcome and unwise interest in Arley Meehan.
And he was definitely interested. He had been interested the first time he saw her, and he was still interested enough to want to go to a wedding on the outside chance that he would at least catch a glimpse of her, in spite of having no place in his disjointed life for personal involvements, especially the kind she represented. She had a child, and he was only passing through, regardless of his own tenuous family tie to the state. She was so pretty, so lively. Of all the guests at the wedding, she was the one he had wanted most to talk to, but it wasn’t just that. She wasn’t like anyone he had ever met. Aside from her obvious attributes, she was…astute. Right away, she had seen the advantage of his being posted in the state where the father he knew practically nothing about had been born. He doubted that anyone in his family had guessed that he had signed his enlistment papers thinking that he could eventually end up in central North Carolina.
He drew a sharp breath. If he were more like his half brother Patrick, he wouldn’t let himself get all strung up in the reasons for, and the potential consequences of, his behavior. He would just go for it. He would see Arley Meehan as someone to help him pass the time—period. He would do something about it and not be concerned about anything but the pure pleasure of it.
But he wasn’t like Patrick. He wasn’t even like himself anymore.
I don’t know who the hell I am or where I belong, he thought.
And he was running out of time to find out. He’d made all the arrangements he was supposed to make—his affairs were in order. When he’d been home last Christmas, he’d even allowed the Blessing Way to be performed on his behalf, an all-night Navajo ceremony that was supposed to make it possible for him to go to war with the blessing of the Holy People, even if he didn’t actually believe in them anymore.
But he hadn’t gone looking for the better understanding of his long-dead white father he used to think he wanted.
The Baron home place, the big house with a rambling front porch he knew only from photographs, still belonged to Sloan, and it was perpetually rented. He hadn’t wanted to see it for the first time under those circumstances—with strange people living in it—or so he told himself. Besides that, it was located at the far end of his travel limit, and he had used that as an excuse, as well. Somebody in his squad would probably know a short cut, even if it involved driving through a surprised farmer’s corn field, but he hadn’t asked. Clearly, standing in the middle of his father’s past in theory was very different from actually doing it. If he were completely honest, he would admit that he hadn’t delved into the Baron family history because he was afraid to. He was unsettled enough as it was and not ready to find that his white heritage fit him no better than his Navajo heritage did.
A memory of Arley’s young son suddenly came into his mind. He had immediately recognized the look in the boy’s eyes. It came for being caught up in a whirlwind of uncontrollable adult events and being afraid to deal with it alone. He had seen the same expression all too often in the mirror when he was a boy, when Sloan and the tribe were squabbling over who he belonged to and who could raise him.
He sighed again in the dark. He had to stop thinking about Arley Meehan and her little boy and the problem she was apparently having with the man who had once been her husband. He had troubles of his own. He had to keep the family from worrying. It was natural that they would be worried about his likely imminent deployment, but they didn’t know about his loss of direction. He’d told them nothing of his misgivings, and there was nothing he could do to reassure them.
So how homesick are you?
Maybe more than he had realized, he thought as he felt his harmony dissipate even further in a sudden wave of longing for home. He missed his patched-up, mismatched family. He missed the desert, the place where he almost belonged. He missed…something unnameable, something a brief conversation with a pretty young woman had made him suddenly aware might be unavailable to him.
He took a quiet breath, trying to concentrate on the calm place deep inside him, the one he was only able to find after he had decided to be truly Navajo. The words of the Hozhonji song swirled in his mind. The song had great power. It spoke of helpmates and pairs and beauty.
The happiness of all things.
It was a blessing he would have said for Arley’s sister and her new husband if the wedding had taken place in Window Rock instead of North Carolina, and if he were still himself.
Maybe we’ll run into each other again.
Chapter Three
“Have you called home in the last couple of weeks, E.T.?” Copus asked pointedly.
“Yeah,” Will answered, getting better and better at deciphering Copus’s science fiction analogies.
“Written any letters?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Mailed them?”
“Copus—”
“You’re sure you haven’t been neglecting the keeping-in-touch-with-the-family-in-a-timely-manner thing.”
“I’m sure.”
“Well, it ain’t that, then.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The lieutenant is looking for you, son,” Copus said ominously. “I got it straight from the horse’s mouth—a couple of stalls removed. Any minute now, he’s going to be wanting to see you ASAP.”
Will accepted the prediction without comment. He was mildly curious, but he kept stacking long packages of unsterile 4x4 gauze on the supply closet shelf. The unit phone was ringing in the background—making no impression whatsoever on the obviously non-busy Copus.
“Could I at least get a ‘hooah’ so I know you heard me?” Copus said.
“Hooah.”
“Son, how do you do that?” Copus asked.
“Do what?”
“That. Anybody else would be all over me wanting to know what he wants. You don’t even blink.”
“I blink,” Will said. He moved down to the next shelf and continued restocking supplies.
“Yeah, but you don’t ask.”
“Not much point—since you don’t know.”
“Yeah, well, it just so happens, I got a theory or two. And, lucky for you, I’m willing to share them. Assuming that I’m handsomely rewarded for my trouble, of course.”
“Forget it.”
“No, now wait. See, I’m willing to help you out here—get you prepared. But I got to have something for my trouble.”
Will glanced at him. Copus was ready to levitate off the floor at the prospect of snagging a few bucks from the unsuspecting but curious.
“No,” Will said.
“Well, then, what do you think he wants?”
“Beats me.”
“Could be he wants you to give him some pointers,” Copus said.
“I don’t have any pointers.”
“Sure you do, son. You could tell him how to jump-start his love life.” Copus grinned from ear to ear in appreciation of his own stellar wit and his not-so-subtle assessment of Will’s nonexistent female conquests.
“If he wanted pointers for his love life, he’d be looking for you, not me,” Will said.
“Then maybe you could give him some advice on how to live dangerously.”
“He’s in the army. He’s probably already got that worked out.”
Will moved to another shelf.
“Okay, William,” Copus said. “You want to try to figure out what he wants or not?”
“Not,” Will said without much hope.
“We could make a friendly little wager—how’s about that?”
“Copus, I’m not losing what little money I’ve got on some dumb-ass bet.”
“Okay, forget the bet. I think this is big, William. If it wasn’t, one of the sergeants would be wanting to see you, not him. For some reason, you’re on the fast track, son. I think you’re going to want to get some kind of story worked out before you—”
“Copus!” someone yelled down the hall. Kate Meehan, now Doyle, had returned from her honeymoon and was in rare form.
“You’d think she’d be a in better mood,” Copus said under his breath. “Yes, ma’am!” he called, trotting off to see what she wanted.
Will continued restocking. He could hear Copus attributing his unfortunate lack of compliance to her will to circumstances beyond his control, specifically, his urgent need to find Specialist Baron on behalf of one Lieutenant Quinlan—who was not happy.
“I know all about the lieutenant’s unhappy state. Baron!” she yelled. “Leave that and go see what he wants! And stop fiddling around!”
“He lives to serve,” Copus said helpfully. “Fiddling around is not him.”
“I meant you, Copus. Get busy!”
Will tried not to smile and went on his way, more than puzzled by the summons in spite of his outward nonchalance. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, and as he passed a row of windows on the ground floor, he realized it was raining again, a soft and steady “female” rain this time, instead of the usual summer thunderstorm. He was desert-raised, and the smell of it on dry earth was already in his mind. It wouldn’t smell like that here, but it was still all he could do not to stop and simply admire it. He kept going until he reached the lion’s den.
“The lieutenant wanted to see me,” he told the only clerk he could find.
“He just left. He didn’t say when he’d be back—but I’d wait around if I was you,” he added when Will turned to go.
Will waited, watching the rain after all, amusing himself with visions of Copus having to take up the slack in his absence, however unlikely that might be.
About the time he decided to go back to the ward anyway, the lieutenant reappeared. Will could see immediately that Copus was correct in at least some of his estimation of the situation. The man was not happy. He looked as if someone had taken his harmony and drop-kicked it in front of a moving train.
“In!” he said sharply when the clerk advised him of Baron’s presence, leading the way into his office. “Close the door.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Will said.
“Sit.”
Will sat.
The lieutenant plunked himself down behind the desk and carefully placed the stack of papers he was carrying on the desktop. “I’m not going to beat around the bush about this, Baron. We’ve had a complaint.”
Will frowned slightly, rapidly trying to review the most recent aspects of his military life. Nothing came to mind that would cause his having to go straight to the assistant principal’s office, once removed.
So he waited—one of the few military traditions which coincided with his own upbringing.
“Look. Specialist, you can not—I repeat, not—go around insinuating yourself into another man’s marriage.”
“Sir?” Will said, the unblinking state Copus admired so abruptly leaving him.
“Enough said?”
“Sir, no, sir. I don’t understand—”
“Damn it, Baron, how much plainer can I get than that? Leave the woman alone!”
“Sir, what woman, sir?”
“How many damned married women are you chasing after?”
“Sir, none, sir.”
The lieutenant gave a sharp sigh. “No? How about the one that fouled up the colonel’s best golf game to date? He got a direct complaint from one of the civilians in his golfing party. This civilian says his son’s estranged wife is getting herself tangled up with one of our own—a Specialist William Baron. That would be you. I understand there’s a child involved, and as a result, the colonel would greatly appreciate it if you got your sorry ass out of the way of a family reconciliation—especially this family. Understood?”
“Sir, I’m not in anybody’s way—”
“We’re done here. Dismissed.”
Will found Copus waiting to pounce on him the minute he exited the stairwell.
“Well?” Copus said, hurrying to keep up.
“You were right,” Will said without stopping.
“I was? Damn. What was I right about? What?”
Will didn’t answer him.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“So what did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Right. So what did you do?”
“I told you—nothing!”
But Copus wasn’t about to give up. He trotted along, waiting for the big revelation—until he suddenly stopped. “No, you didn’t!” he said loudly. “Tell me you didn’t. Did you go messing around with you know who after what I told you?”
Will kept walking.
“Okay. You’re not talking. I can respect that—and it ain’t like that little flower ain’t worth the picking—”
“I haven’t been picking flowers!” Will said, causing several of their coworkers to stop what they were doing to listen.
“Well, it don’t matter if you did or didn’t—if she’s what you got called in about, somebody’s making damn sure you know the rules of engagement, son. I told you—didn’t I tell you? You better start listening to your old Uncle Copus. So, are you going to tell her you got warned off her? Personally, I wouldn’t advise it—”
“I don’t even know her!”
“Yeah, but that didn’t keep you from stepping up to the very real possibility of tossing her ex-husband on his ass at the wedding reception, now did it? So what are you going to do? What? What?”
“I’m going to mind my own business.”
“Yeah, like that works.”
“Specialist Copus!” Kate yelled down the hall. “What did I tell you?”
“Later, son,” Copus said, drifting in the direction of where he was supposed to be. “And don’t you worry. You and me are going to figure this thing out.”
“What are you doing?”
Arley glanced at her third-oldest sister. There was just enough emphasis on the word what for her to realize that Kate didn’t mean the cardboard box Arley was packing in preparation for the move from the current apartment she couldn’t afford to the one Kate’s new husband had just vacated in the upstairs of Mrs. Bee’s big Victorian house. The Meehans had grown up next door to Mrs. Bee, and Arley felt fortunate that Mrs. Bee wanted her and Scottie as tenants. Arley was very afraid suddenly that Kate was about to rain on her parade.
“Maybe you better tell me,” Arley said.
“Will Baron is a nice guy, Arley.”
“Will Baron?” Arley said in surprise. “What about Will?”
“You’ve put him in a bad situation.”
“What are you talking about? I haven’t seen him since your wedding reception.”
“Where he had some kind of altercation with Scott—”
“That wasn’t my fault! Grace is the one who invited him. Maybe you ought to take whatever this is up with her. And you owe Will Baron big-time, by the way. Your reception could have turned into one big John Wayne movie bar fight, if it wasn’t for him.”
“Never mind that. I understand Will got called in,” Kate said.
“Kate, I don’t know what that means.”
“It means he had to go see his lieutenant, where it was apparently suggested that he not associate with you.”
“What? Are you kidding me? Since when does the army care if I talk to one of their medics for fifteen minutes—tops?”
“I don’t know the details, but I imagine the McGowans had something to do with it.”
“What McGowans?”
“You know what McGowans.”
“I don’t know any McGowans with that kind of clout. Who told you all this—Will?”
“No. I heard it through the grapevine.”
Great, Arley thought. Two sisters who speak in song lyrics.
“So it might not be true,” she said, and Kate raised an eyebrow.
“Okay. Say it is true. You’re telling me that some officer called Will in and told him not to have anything to do with me.”
“I don’t think he actually got lit up—”
“Oh, good,” Arley said, completely mystified as to what that phrase meant, too.
“I imagine it was more a…suggestion,” Kate said pointedly. “With these military types, sometimes it’s hard to tell.”
“Let me guess. The two can pretty much be the same thing.”
“Pretty much.”
“Kate, I am not going to believe the United States Army is run by the McGowan family. What are they going to do to Will if he talks to me again—put him in the brig?”
“That’s the navy. But either way, public image is a lot more important to the military than it used to be. Believe me, an enlisted person’s life is much less aggravating if his or her superior officers are happy and aren’t made to look bad on the golf course.”
“The golf course?” Arley said incredulously, and Kate shrugged.
“Will hasn’t done anything except talk to me at the reception and keep Scott from trying to drag me outside when I didn’t want to go. Oh, and last summer he gave Scottie a piece of turquoise for his rock collection. Now what is the problem with that?”
“I told you,” Kate said. “Public image is a big deal, and who knows what spin the McGowans put on it. The alienation of affection law is still on the books in this state, you know.”
“Well, this is just great. Did anybody happen to remember the divorce is final? Nobody is telling me who I can and can’t talk to. Not the McGowans—and not the U.S. Army. And not anybody else, either!” she added.
“This isn’t about you so much,” Kate said in that quiet way she had when she was right and she knew it. “Will Baron shouldn’t have to suffer the fallout because of your bad marriage, especially when he’s just minding his own business.”
“Well, gee, thanks, Kate. I really needed somebody to point that out. I’m already feeling like a big enough loser—and now I’m taking down the innocent bystanders.”
“Arley, I just want you to get the big picture here.”
“I got it! I have to get in touch with him.”
“Who?”
“Will!”
“Did you hear what I just said?”
“Did you hear what I just said? I need to explain—to apologize.”
“I don’t think he’d want you to. I’m just telling you about this so you’ll be forewarned. The McGowans have their connections, and they’re not afraid to use them.”
“Yeah, well, thanks for that, too. Hopefully, I can get forewarned every time I’m feeling the least bit good about things. And I know all about the McGowan ‘connections.’ It didn’t matter to them one bit that Scott had sleazy women stashed all over town! All that mattered was that I looked the other way so their ‘connections’ wouldn’t be forced to witness an ugly divorce!”
“Hey! This is not my fault!”
“I know that! You’re just…the only one here.”
Kate smiled and gave her a quick hug. “I’ve got to go. I’m glad you’re moving almost home again. It’ll be nice having you and Scottie at Mrs. Bee’s.”
“Does Grace know about this thing with Will?”
“No-o-o-o,” Kate assured her. She gave her a peck on the cheek and left.
Arley stood staring at the cardboard box she’d been packing. She could try calling the hospital. She could leave a message for Will to call her. That would be easy enough. Or…
It occurred to her as her initial aggravation subsided that she was so used to the McGowan way, she wasn’t really all that surprised. They had their prejudices, not the least of which was their disdain for all things military, despite owing a good deal of their fortune to the proximity and spending power of the United States Army. But, for once, Arley decided she wasn’t going to act impulsively. She was going to think about her options, the possible repercussions, and the advantages of being sensible.
Or not.
Chapter Four
“You still here, Baron? Somebody was at the nursing station looking for you.”
Will looked up from the dressing he was changing. The message-bearer was one of the more mobile soldiers on the unit who entertained himself by rolling up and down the hall in a wheelchair all day gathering intelligence. At the moment he was working to get his chair to make a sharp U-turn so he could stop in the doorway.
“Who is it?” Will asked, but he was thinking, “Now what?”
“Don’t know,” the intelligence-gatherer said. “I just heard them trying to decide if you were still here or not.”
Will gave a quiet sigh and finished securing his patient’s fresh stump bandage in place, his mild pleasure that his workday might actually conclude without incident dissipating. He had no real reason to expect the worse—except for the way things had been going lately. Clearly, Coyote, the Navajo mischief-maker, functioned just as well here as he did on the reservation in Arizona, whether anybody believed in him or not.
“Okay, buddy,” he said to his patient. “You’re good to roll.”
“Thanks, man. It was getting pretty rank.”
Will stood back so the soldier could maneuver back into his wheelchair without any unwelcome help, then he cleaned up the area and walked into the corridor past the open doors and through the usual hospital din of miscellaneous television programs, conversations and music.
And a dog barking as quietly as a dog knew how, apparently on cue.
He’d forgotten the dogs were visiting the unit today. He stopped to let a portable X-ray machine roll out of one of the patient rooms, then continued toward the nurses’ station.
He saw Arley first, then the tall red-haired man standing close by.
“Patrick!” he said in disbelief.
“Hey, poco bro,” Patrick said, stepping forward and executing the male clasping-of-right-hands, inside-shoulder-bump greeting with ease. “Long time, no see.”
“What are you doing here?” Will said, still incredulous at finding him on post, of all places. “Is everybody okay?” He hadn’t heard anything good or bad about Patrick in weeks, except that nobody in the family knew where he was—again. Patrick never called or wrote letters. He just showed up—but in Window Rock, not on the other side of the country.
“Everybody’s fine. I came to see you, bro—he’s a good brother, but he’s not all that bright,” Patrick added to Arley, and she smiled. Clearly, he’d made her acquaintance while he was waiting.
“It’s—I’m…surprised,” Will said. The impact of seeing both Arley and Patrick where he didn’t expect to find either of them had left him speechless. He glanced at her. She was wearing a white sundress with yellow buttons, and she looked…so good. He’d forgotten how pretty she was, how…everything.
“So! Patrick! How long are you going to be here?” he asked his brother abruptly, forcing himself to look away from Arley. Patrick was wearing the expensive turquoise-and-silver cuff bracelet their uncle by marriage had had made for him years ago—a good sign that Patrick had a cash flow of sorts and hadn’t been forced to pawn it again.
“That would be hard to say,” Patrick said unhelpfully. He was trying not to grin, clearly enjoying himself for reasons Will had yet to determine. But then Patrick always enjoyed himself, even when he was sober.
But, as glad as Will was to see him, his focus was still on Arley.
“Are you looking for Kate?” he asked her.
“Well, no. It’s…I’m…”
“Ready to go when you are, bro,” Patrick interrupted. “You get to pick the restaurant—I’m buying.”
Will glanced at Arley again. She seemed about to say something more, but didn’t.
“Nice to meet you, Arley,” Patrick said to her, steering her attention in his direction. “Thanks for keeping me company.”
“It was nice to meet you, too.”
It should have been their cue to leave, but Patrick stood a moment longer.
“’Bye, Will,” Arley said and walked away.
He could feel Patrick looking at him, in a way that made him think his irrepressible half brother was on the verge of making some pithy remark.
But Patrick didn’t say anything, and he continued not saying anything all the way to the elevators and out of the hospital. He remained silent as they walked to where Patrick had parked his truck.
“What!” Will said finally when he couldn’t take it any longer.
“You working at the hospital tomorrow?” Patrick asked mildly, as if he’d been waiting for just such an opening.
“Yeah,” Will said cautiously.
“Day or evening?”
“Evening. Seven to seven. If not longer.”
“Good. No reason why we can’t visit and carry furniture.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She’s moving—Arley. I said we’d help.”
“I can’t help her move.”
“Sure you can.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Will didn’t answer him. He was perfectly aware that it wasn’t because of a conversation between a couple of high-powered men on a golf course that he was refusing. It was because of how much he wanted to help her—and he wasn’t about to share that with his uncontainable brother.
“Look, bro. Her sister’s husband can’t do much carrying yet and everybody else they know with any muscle is either working or gone to the beach. We move a little furniture, maybe we get a beer out if it. No big deal, right?”
“Wrong.”
Patrick stared at him. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “My mistake.”
“Where—?” Will said when they reached Patrick’s beat-up truck—which was in approximately in the same rattletrap condition on the outside as the one Will drove. If they put the best parts of both of them together, they still wouldn’t have a decent-looking vehicle.
“Where what?” Patrick asked when Will didn’t go on.
“Where…is she moving?”
“What do you care?” Patrick said, grinning. “You can’t help.”
“Damn it, Patrick, where is she going?”
“She’s going to a Mrs. B’s house. I don’t know what the B stands for.”
“That’s her name. B-e-e,” Will said, far more relieved than he should have been that she wasn’t leaving town.
“You know Mrs. B-e-e?”
“Yeah, I know her.”
“You know Miss Arley pretty well, too, huh?”
“I…know her. Barely.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought. Barely—because nobody in Window Rock ever heard of her. Imagine my surprise when I found out she and I were waiting to see the same Specialist Baron.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“She was waiting to see me?”
“That’s what she said.”
“She didn’t say anything.”
“No, she didn’t, did she? That’s all right, though. You can find out what she wants tomorrow. Oh, I forgot. You’re not helping. You know, for somebody you barely know, she didn’t bat an eye when I said I was your brother. Most people look at least a little surprised—I think it must be the red hair,” Patrick added with a grin. “Not our Miss Arley, though. I would have bet money she already knew a few things about Specialist Will Baron and his unusual family tree.”
“I told her I had a half brother,” Will admitted. “I didn’t say he was redheaded and butt-ugly.”
Patrick punched him on the arm—hard.
“You still hit like a girl,” Will said, and they both laughed.
“I’m glad to see you, bro,” Patrick said after a moment.
“Did Sloan send you?” Will asked, thinking their aunt’s hand must be somewhere in Patrick’s sudden, unprecedented urge to drive a couple thousand miles to visit.
“She’s…concerned,” Patrick said.
“About what?”
“She thinks you’re off the path.”
Will made no comment. Sloan Baron-Singer, their father’s only sister, had been born and raised not far from here. She didn’t—couldn’t—really understand the Navajo concept of walking in beauty, regardless of the fact that she’d lived on the rez since Will was three. She did, however, understand the boys she’d guided into manhood—both of them.
“So I figured we could hang out for a while—raise a little hell,” Patrick said. “And then I’ll tell her you’re fine. You are fine, right?”
“Yeah,” Will said. “I’m fine.”
“You just dropped the ball for a minute there, I guess.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you forgot the honored teachings from both sides of the family. You know—the Southern no-staring thing, and the Navajo watch-the-eye-contact thing? Obviously you were wanting to drag Miss Arley off someplace and have your way with her.”
“Patrick—”
“Don’t worry, bro. I’m not going to tell the folks in Window Rock you’ve been running around looking at people—especially girl people you barely know.”
“I’m not going to help her move.”
“Then you can give me directions to Mrs. Bee’s house and I’ll help her. I understand you know the way. Hey,” he said, apparently because of the look on Will’s face, “it’s no big deal. I’ll just have to carry enough for the two of us.”
Will tried to believe that, all through their boisterous dinner at the Steak and Ale, where Patrick entertained every waitress who wandered by their table, and then later when they were back at Patrick’s budget motel on the outskirts of town. Will was still hopeful the next morning when he woke up. Somebody’s radio was playing “I Want To Be Your Man”—which echoed in his mind throughout his entire early-morning run. The hope that he could rely on Patrick to do what he said he would do completely evaporated when Will was met in the barracks hallway by a determined-looking Copus.
“Got something for you, son,” Copus said, looking down at the pink slip of paper in his hand.
“What is it?” Will said, reaching out to take it.
“Now, wait a minute. I didn’t take the message and Trask writes like a drunk chicken on roller skates. Let me figure this out—oh, okay,” he decided, turning the paper around. “He said…”
“Who said?”
“Your brother…?”
“Patrick.”
“Yeah, Patrick. He said to tell you he’d been in an all-night poker game—I like him already,” Copus said as an aside. “And…what with driving cross-country and staying up late talking to you—not to mention the poker playing—he’s got to crash now or die, and he can’t help with the moving this morning—who’s moving?”
“What else?” Will said, not about to tell him.
“That’s it. Oh, no,” Copus said, turning the pink slip over. “He says he needs some money.”
“Great,” Will said under his breath.
“Reckon how he found a poker game so fast?” Copus said.
“If finding a poker game was a paying job, my brother would be Donald Trump,” Will said.
“Like I said. I like him already.”
Copus handed him the pink slip, and Will stood there looking at it, seeing nothing. He was under no obligation whatsoever to meet Patrick’s verbal commitment to carry furniture. None.
He gave a heavy sigh and walked outside anyway, leaving Copus with his curiosity. Some things never changed. Will was the Baron family peacemaker, mediator, facilitator, and the saver of faces. And, for some reason, Sloan had sent Patrick here to take care of him. He wondered if she had forgotten what a burden Patrick could be.
No. Not likely, he decided. Patrick and his total disregard for consequences had nearly cost her custody of Will after his father died. And yet Patrick was the one who had rescued him when Will’s birth mother had kidnapped him from the children’s receiving home—not because she wanted him, but because she wanted to matter. Will could still remember the secluded, ramshackle trailer where she’d hidden him, how afraid he had been—of her and of the drunken man she lived with. He’d been too afraid to cry, to eat, to sleep. And then he’d looked up and seen Patrick and Meggie’s not-yet-husband, Jack Begaye, lying in wait in the underbrush. Patrick, his incredible, redheaded big brother, had come running as hard and fast as he could in spite of the boyfriend with the shotgun, stealing Will right out from under the boyfriend’s and Margaret Madman’s noses. Patrick had brought Will, albeit sick and feverish, safely home again. It was Patrick who had read “Goodnight Moon” aloud a hundred times during Will’s convalescence and offered his hand for holding so Will could dare to sleep.
Which was one of the reasons why Will got into his own beat-up truck now and headed to Mrs. Bee’s house. It was early still, and it was already hot. He was sweaty from his run, thirsty and still a long way from finding his harmony.
He parked in front of the big Victorian house that reminded him a little of the Baron home place, which he’d seen in a photo Sloan had given him. He didn’t see anyone around. He stood outside the truck for a moment, then headed for the picnic table under one of the big shade trees in the backyard to wait. There was a slight breeze in spite of the heat, and someone had planted a well-tended garden nearby. He stood watching the bees work their way through an assortment of tomato and cucumber and squash blossoms. He could hear a radio playing somewhere and the rolling rattle of what he guessed was some beat-the-heat skateboarding going on somewhere down the street. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, and he wiped them away with the tail of his T-shirt.
“Hey,” a voice said behind him.
He looked around to find Arley standing a few feet away. She was wearing shorts and a midriff-baring top that had little ribbon bows on it, and she looked as hot and sweaty as he did—only she was beautiful. If there had been any doubt in his mind, his immediate visceral response to seeing her underlined that there was no way he could pretend he was here solely to keep Patrick’s word for him. Finding her like this and talking to her again were the reasons, and maybe they both knew it.
“Where’s Patrick?” she said.
“Patrick is…there was an all-night poker game,” Will said in explanation.
Arley smiled. “He wasn’t kidding, then.”
“About what?”
“He said he was the black sheep of the family.”
Will looked toward Mrs. Bee’s house. He could hear the banging of pots and pans through the open kitchen window and someone singing “Blessed Assurance.”
“So…Patrick is all about poker games,” Arley said when he looked at her again.
“No, Patrick is all about burning the candle at both ends, knowing it’s dangerous, and still admiring the light.”
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