Cowboy on the Run (12 page)

“That’s good to hear, Mr. Walker. Perhaps I can dwindle down my list of suspects then.”

“List of suspects... Are you kidding me? Jimmy and I got into a little spat. We’ve had a lot of them. He’s still bitter about a fight when we were kids. This time, I never even hit him,” he admitted in fury, his patience riding on a very thin thread.

The deputy’s head shot up, cocking an eyebrow in interest. “You’re not planning on leaving town anytime soon, are you, Mr. Walker?” His question implied a dark meaning.

“What? Leave? No. I’m here for the long run,” he snapped, debating why this question reared its ugly head for the second time. “What is this about anyway?” His thread split in two.

“Good, that’s all the information I needed from you. I recommend you staying put for a while, so if you happen to be planning a vacation in the next couple of days, don’t. According to a frantic call from his wife, it seems Mr. Greenwood never made it home from the bar.” The young officer paused, searching Nate’s face. “So far, you are the only person we know of who had any type of recent altercation with him. Because of the dispute, we’re forced to look into the case before the standard 48 hour protocol. I’m sure it’s nothing you should be too concerned about.”

Nate gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain silent as the officer eyed him warily.

“However, we do have sworn witness statements of seeing the altercation—one you have not denied, I might add. Just don’t leave town.” Deputy Andrews snapped his pad shut and returned to his patrol car.

Leave town. Bolt if triggered. Nate scowled as the words sank in, making his mood raw and dangerous. Just because he thought it a time or two, didn’t mean he was going anywhere. And Jimmy not making it home last night? No big surprise. The man had been so drunk he was sleeping it off somewhere.
Probably in a ditch
, Nate smirked to himself.

He went over last night’s events in his head. Sure, he had wanted to kick Jimmy’s ass, but that’s where it ended. Though he
had
threatened to kill the man, when he had left the Lucky Horseshoe, Jimmy was very much alive.

No doubt Greenwood had plenty of enemies, besides himself. Yet, the shock of him missing was hard to swallow. He watched the taillights of the police car until the red lights disappeared then headed into his house.

As soon as Nate walked through the front door, Doyle assaulted him with questions.

“So, who’s the skirt?”

He shot him a confused glance, still digesting the news of Jimmy’s disappearance. Undaunted, his friend continued prodding. “The girl, Nate...who is the girl?”

He pictured Jessie, unable to hide the guilty raise of his lips.

“Give it up. There’s always a woman involved. ‘Sides, if there wasn’t some skirt you were chasing round here, you’d be back at the O-K Corral by now.”

“Jessie Calhoun,” he finally confessed, knowing his mentor would see through any excuses. “She’s the one who got away. No, let me rephrase...she’s the one I lost because I was young and stupid.”

“Is this her?” He asked, holding up a picture Nate hadn’t noticed.

“Where did you get that?” he inquired, laughing as he grabbed the wooden picture frame out of the tall man’s grasp.

Doyle shrugged. “It was over there, on the floor by the recliner. I take it you haven’t seen it yet?”

He shook his head, glued to the expression on Jessie’s face. She looked so content holding on to the two children.

Were the children some distant relatives he hadn’t met? Nate focused on the uncanny resemblance of the girl and Jessie. And the boy...

His heart stopped, and he dropped the picture frame, the wood thudding against the floor in a loud thump. No...it wasn’t possible.

Stunned, he knelt down and picked up the picture again studying the boy’s small, smiling face...it was like staring in the mirror.

Chapter 13

Not thinking clearly, Nate stormed out of his father’s house, grabbing his jacket off the coat rack by the front door on the way. In a second flat, he transformed into the old teenager from his past. The boy with such strong, uncontrollable rage had returned. And he was angry at being angry, adding fuel to the fire.

He was so pissed off, he didn’t even explain his need to leave to Doyle. Nor did he bother to saddle J.W., simply jumped onto the horse’s back and rode like the devil was chasing him across the Walker land. He ended up at the creek.

Now stopped, anger no longer heated his body. There was a chill in the air, and he tucked his hands in his jean jacket. His fingers found the envelope from his dad and brought the letter out. He’d forgotten about it, discarding it in the pocket.

His father’s last words couldn’t be any more of a surprise than what he had just found out. Opening the envelope, he discovered how wrong he was. It wasn’t even a letter, but another picture.

Nate turned the photo over, noting in his father’s handwriting the word,
Family
. He staggered back, grasping the photo with both hands. How could he have been so blind-sighted? Even a man soaked in whiskey had figured it out before him. For the second time tonight, reality slapped him in the face. Hard.

He stared at the picture. The girl, laughing, was sitting on
his
father’s lap. The boy, adorned with a wide smile was on one side holding his hand, and Jessie, on his other side was kissing his cheek with both of her arms wrapped around him in a loving embrace.

Nate shoved the picture back into his pocket. As if removing the photo from sight could take away the sting. It didn’t. He pulled the picture back out, tracing their faces with his index finger.

His thoughts ran rampant in a wild fury of anger and pain.

How could she not tell him? A father. And the children seated on Jessie’s lap weren’t babies. What were the kids, about six years old? He did the math in his head. The numbers added up. And she never told him? How could she have hurt him so? He’d missed so much of their lives.

Six years.

He breathed a large intake of air, trying to calm himself. The exertion did little more than make his lungs ache. The coolness of the evening permeated, and some of the shock began to subside, allowing him to get control, his disappointment centering on one thought.

Jessie had lied to him. Never once had she mentioned anything about children, much less him being a parent.

A father!

It took every ounce of his self-control not to head to the bar, knowing she was working tonight.

Instead, he returned the picture to his pocket, jumped back on his horse and continued riding, reaching her ranch in less than fifteen minutes. Choosing to wait outside of her home, he paced a worn dirt trail in the grass in front of her house. Spitefully, he cursed at J.W., who was quite content chewing on the grass around the corner.

A few minutes later, Thomas sauntered onto the porch with a cup of hot coffee. He placed it on the porch rail and watched for a few minutes while Nate continued his wrathful pace.

He stopped long enough to shoot a heated glance in the old man’s direction. Neither spoke, only stared. Thomas wore an expression of painful understanding. He could relate to the emotion, but couldn’t forgive him. Not yet, his hurt too shadowed by rage. The man seemed to understand, and turned back into the house.

Nate raised a tired gaze at the skyline, then glanced at his watch. Just past ten. Her shift ended at midnight. That meant he still had a couple of hours to get his head straight and fight the strong urge to run.

It would be easier to head out. So what if it was a coward’s choice? Why not? It was what everyone expected him to do anyway. Besides, what kind of father could he possibly be? He could tell Doyle and Sandy he made a mistake, changed his mind; they would understand.

But could he live with the decision?

The thought didn’t sit well.

Nate made his way to the porch and drank a sip of the coffee Thomas had left for him. The hot liquid was gratifying, strong and rich. The man always had a knack for making a decent cup of coffee.

Too bad he couldn’t have shared the news I was a father over a cup of it
, he mocked bitterly, knowing Jessie’s father wasn’t in the position to divulge such a secret. Thomas would never betray his own daughter’s trust. No, he wasn’t the person Nate was angry with. He was angry at Jessie.

And himself.

Jessie isn’t the only one I’m worried about.
Her father’s words came to life again. This time they made complete sense. He had the kids to worry about.

Nate climbed the last two stairs and settled on the porch swing, a seat he had sat in many a night holding Jessie’s hand and staring at the stars. He gulped down another sip of the coffee. Why did he return here? Everything he looked at reminded him of something about her. He took a deep breath, placed the cup of coffee on the wrought iron table beside the swing and closed his eyes.

How could one little lady give him such a large headache? His head pounded as if it were being squeezed in a pair of vise grips. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, trying to ease the tension. He heard Thomas step out of the house and the gentle creak of the closing screen door. The slight weight of the older man altered the porch swing.

Nate wasn’t ready to talk yet, so they sat in silence.

The pressure of a gentle hand pressed on his knee, and although he found the behavior strange, it was also comforting. He opened his eyes, but the person who sat beside him wasn’t the one he had expected to see.

A small boy stared back at him—like looking into a mirror.

“Hi,” the child said with an impish smile and little wave of his hand.

Once he got over the shock, Nate replied, “Hello.”

He studied the boy’s face...
his face
. The surprise of finding out he was a father still hadn’t worn off yet. It was hard for him to believe this was his son. Having a child of his own had never been on his list of things to do. An image of his dad appeared, and Nate’s past came back to haunt him. What if... He swallowed hard, not wanting to bring the surfacing doubts to life...what if he was a worse father than his own had been?

“My name is...ah...”
My name is Daddy?
The words refused to leave his mouth. “I guess you can call me Nate...for now. And who...what do I call you?” He fidgeted under the child’s unblinking stare.

“Gage.” The boy flashed a toothy grin, the front two teeth missing. “My sister’s name is Jade.” He pointed a stubby finger toward the pasture. “We have cows.” This was stated matter-of-factly as he reached for Nate’s hand.

Nate was taken aback by how much the gesture undid him. It seemed so...normal. His heart swelled. This little guy belonged to him. His anger began to wane.

“My sister gets us chickens for dinner. She catches them with her hands.” Gage held out both hands and shook them. “Like this. Mom says its ammaazing.” He drew the word out long and loud, and reached for Nate’s hand again. “I like Rosie’s fried chicken. And I don’t care if Jade catches ‘em with her hands.”

He stared at the boy, catching his gaze. Lost in the identical pools of blue, he nodded his head in agreement. “I like Rosie’s fried chicken, too.”

“Really?” Gage flashed another toothy grin. “So did Papa Walker. Grandpa.” The boy’s smile faltered. “Do you think there’s fried chicken in Heaven?”

Papa Walker.
Nate winced.

The child moved on, changing the subject. “What about blueberry pie? That’s my favorite,” he stated, not waiting for an answer before scampering off the swing and disappearing back through the screen door.

Without as much as a goodbye, the boy—his son—was gone, leaving Nate alone with his thoughts. His hand was still warm from where Gage had held his so naturally, without judgment or question. How easy it had been for the child to trust him...a complete stranger.

The boy returned within minutes, not only with a whole pie, but his sister in tow.

“Who are you?” Jade narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“Nate,” Gage volunteered, sticking his index finger into the center of the pie. “He’s my friend.”

“Why do you look like my brother?” the girl inquired, placing her hands on both hips, and pursing her lips, appearing much older than six. She examined his face, then Gage, and back again.

“Well...” Nate began, shifting under her demanding gaze. Her actions reminded him of himself. If the child was anything like him, she would also refuse to believe any explanation other than the truth.

“I’m...your father... I’m your dad,” he stuttered.

The truth was out. And as uncomfortable as it had been, he found it brought a sense of relief, too.

Jade, silent for a moment, stared deep into his eyes. “Hmph...that’s funny.” She stepped closer, peering into his face. “I always wanted one of those.”

“She means a daddy.” Gage shrugged. “She’s always wanted a daddy.” He paused only long enough to gather another scoop of pie. “Rosie says Santa doesn’t bring daddies for Christmas, just presents.”

Nate’s heart stopped, guilt twisting his insides.

“Can I still call you Nate, Daddy?” His son questioned.

Nate grinned. The boy had a smear of blueberry across one cheek, making it hard to take him seriously.

“Of course, Nate’s good. And Jade?” He studied his daughter’s heart shaped face. Damn if she didn’t look just like her mother. “You can call me Nate for now, too...if you like,” he said, scooting over to make room for her.

She smiled coyly. Appearing satisfied now, she made her way to sit beside him.

“No. I’ll call you Daddy.”

Again, she was a normal, carefree child, sparing him a sweet smile, wrenching his heart in two.

He sucked in a deep breath. Like mother like daughter, the little girl already had him wrapped around her little pinky.

“Can I have some pie, too, Daddy?”

She hugged his arm, and he found it hard to tell her no. Gage handed the pie over to Nate, and Jade dug her fingers into the center, almost identical to the way he had witnessed his son doing a minute before.

“You two ever hear of a fork?” he remarked before joining in, peeling off a piece of crust and dipping it into the center to scoop out a healthy dose of blueberries.