That McCloud Woman (11 page)

Jack
watched an army of ants march by, swatted lazily at a fly, then stubbed his
burned-out cigarette in the dirt.

"Alayna'd
have a wall-eyed fit if she knew we was out here smokin'," Billy said
after a bit.

Jack
just nodded his head. "Yep. Probably would."

"Kids
aren't supposed to smoke, you know," he added as if Jack might not be
aware of that fact.

Jack
had to turn his head to hide his grin. "I see kids smoking all the time.
Some of 'em not any bigger than you." He cocked his head to look at Billy.
"How old are you, anyway?"

Billy
straightened to make himself look taller. "Seven," he said proudly.
"I'll be eight 'fore long."

Jack
shook out another cigarette, lit it, then passed it to the kid. Billy accepted
it, but a little slower this time. The kid didn't even seem to notice that Jack
wasn't smoking. Jack stole a glance at the boy and saw that he was looking a
little green behind the gills. "You feeling all right?"

Billy
slid a little lower down the wall. "Yeah. I'm okay." He rolled his
head to the side and looked up at Jack. "You aren't gonna tell Alayna that
we've been smokin', are you?"

Jack
lifted a shoulder. "Don't see why I should."

His
reply seemed to relieve Billy somewhat because he rolled his head back around
and stared off into the distance. His eyes had a glassy look, and his face was
as white as his T-shirt. Maybe whiter, Jack decided, noting the dirt stains.

It
won't be long now, Jack thought as he turned his gaze to the distant hills. He
felt sorry for the kid, knowing what was coming, but figured it was the best
way for the boy to learn that cigarettes weren't good for him. Kids rarely
listened to the advice of adults, thinking that their elders were just stupid
and old-fashioned. Jack knew, because he'd thought the same thing of his own
old man.

Things
didn't change much over time, he reflected philosophically. Just your
perspective as you grew older.

"Jack?"

"Hmm?"

"I
don't feel so good."

Jack
turned his head to look at the boy. Tousled brown hair in need of a cut. Faded,
baggy jeans with a grass stain on one knee. High-top tennis shoes with their
tongues hanging out and their laces untied. An oversize T-shirt with a Chicago
Bulls emblem emblazoned on its front. Billy looked like a hundred other kids
Jack had seen on the streets, all of them searching for an identity, a place to
belong.

His
own son would never experience any of those things.

Jack
swallowed hard, forcing back the memory, the pain. "What hurts?" he
asked, trying to keep an emotional distance from the kid.

Billy
let his head slide along the wall until it rested against Jack's arm. "My
stomach," he said miserably. He dropped the half-smoked cigarette to the
ground and clutched his stomach. "It feels like the inside of a washing
machine. You know, all churnin' and foamy inside."

"Are
you going to be sick?"

"I—"
Billy lunged forward, falling to his hands and knees and gagging.

Jack
scrambled to his feet and grabbed the boy, pulling him to his feet, as well.
With one arm looped around the boy's waist, holding him upright, and the other
holding the kid's hair from his face, Jack held Billy while he emptied his
stomach.

"I'm
dyin'," Billy wailed, his fingers digging into the arm Jack had wrapped
around his waist to support him. "I—I'm dy-y-ing."

"No,
son," Jack soothed. "You aren't going to die. But I bet you won't
ever smoke a cigarette again, will you?"

Billy
retched again at the mention of cigarettes. "No, oh, jeez, no, I promise.
I'll never smoke again."

Jack
squatted down beside the boy and lifted a wide hand to smooth the limp hair
from the boy's pale, sweat-dampened face. In doing so, he exposed a band of
freckles sprinkled across his nose, and a scar on his forehead. Without wanting
to, or even knowing why he did it, he pressed his other hand against the boy's
chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart, the warmth of his body. He was
alive.

And
Jack's son wasn't.

Jack
dropped his hand to his knee and curled the ends of his fingers into the taut denim.
"You gonna be okay?" he asked, his voice husky.

Billy
straightened, drawing in a slow, deep breath, and tested his lungs, his ability
to breathe without puking up his guts again. "Yeah. I think so. I—"

"Billy!"

At
the shocked sound of Alayna's voice, both Billy and Jack spun and found her
standing by the side of the barn, her eyes wide in alarm.

Her
gaze moved from them to the almost empty packet of cigarettes and the
stubbed-out butts on the ground. Slowly she lifted her gaze to Jack, her blue
eyes dark with accusation. "How could you?" she whispered. "How
could
you!" she repeated in a near scream. She rushed across
the distance that separated them and pulled Billy into her arms, and away from
Jack, crushing the boy against her.

"But,
Alayna," Billy began, his voice muffled by her breasts.

"It's
okay, Billy," she soothed, shifting him to her side, but keeping her arm
locked protectively around him. "We'll get you to the house and get you
cleaned up." With a last scathing look at Jack, she turned, and marched
for the Pond House.

Slowly
Jack pushed to his feet, watching Alayna all but drag Billy along with her,
still feeling the sting of her accusation.

It's
better this way, he told himself. Better for her to be angry with him, rather
than with the boy. The kid deserved her love and attention, and needed it.

Jack
didn't.

But
he'd taught the boy a valuable lesson, one his own father had taught him. One
he'd never get the chance to teach his own son. One Billy's father should have
been around to teach Billy.

But
Jack had been there. And he'd delivered the lesson with the same degree of
thoughtfulness and care his own father had expressed when he delivered the
lesson to him.

And
for that Jack felt a small measure of pride.

"Where's
Jack?" Molly asked sullenly.

Alayna
had to struggle to keep her gaze from straying to the empty chair at the dinner
table. "I guess he isn't hungry tonight."

"Probably
hidin' out," Billy grumbled, "after the way you yelled at him. And he
didn't even do nothin' wrong."

"Bil-l-ly."

There
was just enough I-refuse-to-listen-to-another-word-about-this in the warning to
have Billy swelling up like a toad.

"Well,
it's the truth," he argued. "He
didn't
do nothin'
wrong. I tried to tell you he didn't, but you wouldn't listen, and now he's probably
out in that cabin of his starvin' to death 'cause he's afraid to come up here
for supper."

Alayna
inhaled deeply, then slowly released the breath, fighting for patience … and
relief from the guilt.

Billy
had told her what had happened. That Jack hadn't supplied the cigarettes, that
Billy had bought them from another child at school. How Jack had held him while
he'd been sick.

She
tried to justify her reaction by telling herself that anyone happening upon the
scene would have made the same assumption that she had.

Squaring
her shoulders defensively, she picked up a bowl and held it close to Molly's
plate, lifting a laden spoon. "Would you care for some more mashed
potatoes, sweetie?"

Molly
shook her head, her pigtails slapping against her cheeks. "If Jack's not
eatin', I'm not, neither. And neither is Teddy," she added, stubbornly
hugging the bear that was perched on her lap to her stomach.

Alayna
dropped the bowl to the table, then her elbow beside it and pressed her hand
against her aching forehead. Silently she counted to ten.

It's easier to spit out an apology
than it is to try to swallow it and choke on the hoarded words.

Alayna
groaned as one of her father's favorite country wisdoms came to mind. He had a
saying for everything, and no matter how angry or upset she was when he offered
them, she eventually had to face their truths.

She
lifted her head, pressing her fingers against her lips as she looked from one
accusing face to the other. "Okay, okay," she said, dropping her hand
and sagging back in her chair in defeat. "I'll go and talk to him."

"You'll
tell him you're sorry?" Billy asked pointedly.

Alayna
leaned across the table to ruffle his hair. Oddly he didn't dodge the
affectionate display. "Yes, I'll tell him I'm sorry."

Molly
hopped down from her chair and pressed herself against Alayna's legs, her eyes
as wide as saucers. "And you'll take him his supper?"

"Yes,"
Alayna said, laughing at the child's serious tone. "I'll take him his
supper."

With
a nod of approval, Molly held out her bear. "Take Teddy, too. Jack might
be scared staying all by hisself."

Knowing
that the bear was what Molly had clung to on those nights when her mother had
left her alone, Alayna had to bite back tears. She took the bear and set him on
her lap, then pulled Molly into her arms. "I'm sure Jack will appreciate
the company." She drew back and swiped a hand beneath her eye to catch a
stray tear.

"Now
you two scoot up to your rooms," she ordered sternly, shooing them away
with her hand, "and do your homework while I'm gone."

"Yes,
ma'am," they replied in unison.

Without
a whine or a single complaint, the two headed for the stairs. Alayna watched as
Billy slipped a brotherly arm along Molly's shoulder, and heard him whisper,
"If you get scared without your teddy, you can come to my room with
me."

Alayna
dreaded having to face Jack again. Almost as much as she dreaded offering the
apology she'd promised the children she'd give him. It seemed as if she was
always having to apologize to him for one thing or another. Usually the other,
she thought, feeling the familiar heat on her cheeks.

With
a groan, she quickened her step. She didn't understand why she was so
physically attracted to him. And she certainly didn't understand why she'd
touched him so impulsively, so intimately, the night before, especially after
she'd made such a fool of herself that night on the pier.

But
she had, and then she'd done what she'd sworn she'd never do again. She'd
avoided facing him—as well as her inadequacies—by leaving him a note and
escaping to town.

But
not anymore. No more avoidance.

Firming
her lips, she shifted the teddy bear under her arm to free a hand and rapped
her knuckles sharply against the cabin's thick oak door. After a moment, the
door opened and a shirtless, wet-headed Jack stood in the opening, a damp towel
draped around his neck.

The
sight of his bare chest and the beads of moisture that clung to the dark hair
that covered it were a vivid reminder to Alayna as to why she found Jack so
physically attractive. As Maudie would say, he was one good-looking hunk of
man.

"What
can I do for you?"

Alayna
snapped her gaze to his and found the familiar frown on his lips. Her hands
trembling a bit, she lifted the covered plate. "A peace offering."
When his frown deepened, she held out the teddy bear as added incentive.
"Molly sent this. She thought you might be scared to be by yourself."
Tears pushed at her throat as she repeated Molly's words, knowing what a
sacrifice it was for Molly to offer Jack the bear.

Jack
looked at the stuffed animal, then slowly took it, holding it between his hands
as if it were a priceless treasure that he might break. "She sent me her
bear?"

Unable
to trust her voice, Alayna nodded.

Jack
shifted his gaze from the bear to Alayna. "But she never turns loose of
this thing."

Alayna
gave up trying to hold back the tears. "I know," she said, blotting
the tears from her cheeks with the heel of her free hand. "That's what
makes the gift so precious."

Only
then aware of the waterworks that were going on in front of him, Jack stripped
the towel from around his neck and traded it for the plate Alayna held. He
opened the door wider.

Alayna
dabbed at her eyes and her cheeks with the towel, trying to get a grip on her
emotions as she passed by him. "Thank you," she murmured gratefully.

Once
inside, she took a deep breath, determined to offer the apology that she owed
Jack. "I came to apologize for yelling at you today and accusing you
wrongly. When I saw you there with Billy and saw those cigarettes on the
ground—"

"He
has a scar on his forehead."

Startled
by the interruption, Alayna turned and saw that Jack had closed the door but
was still standing by it, his gaze fixed on the bear. For a moment, she thought
he was talking about a flaw on the face of Molly's Teddy … then she realized he
was talking about Billy. Wearily she combed her hair back from her face and
held it there. "Yes, I know. I've seen it."