Blue Heaven Part 36

But behind him, the front door to the ranch house burst open, and there stood Swann, holding the little girl with his gun to her head, his mutilated face twisted in agony and fear.

"HEY, RANCHER!" Swann yelled toward the ridge, his voice cutting through the sudden morning stillness. "I've got the little girl here. I want you to stand up and throw down your weapon. We can work this out so n.o.body else gets hurt." As he yelled, Annie could feel his arm tighten around her neck and the muzzle of the pistol press hard through her hair, biting into her temple.

Annie thought, If Jess goes for it, he's a dead man. He should stay put. Look what happened to Mr. Villatoro when he listened to Swann. She hoped William wouldn't try something stupid to save her and get himself hurt.

"You need to answer me!" Swann shouted, his voice cracking, revealing his fear. Annie craned her neck to see that the shouting had stretched Swann's face, popped several of his st.i.tches. Blood streamed down his face and dripped from his chin onto the top of his collar. It was soaking through his shirt onto her neck. It felt hot, like oil dripping from beneath a car. Be tough, she thought. Show grit. No crying. She was more angry than scared, and if he loosened his grip, she would fight her way free like a wildcat.

She felt Swann take a sudden gasping breath of alarm. She turned back around and couldn't believe what she saw.

Jess Rawlins was running down the hill toward them, still holding his rifle, the barrel flashing in the morning sun.

"What are you doing, old man?" Swann yelled out. "You need to stop right now and drop the weapon. STOP!"

Swann jerked the pistol from her head, pointed it unsteadily out in front of them at Jess, and fired off three quick shots. She flinched with every explosion. Jess Rawlins jerked and stumbled, but didn't stop coming.

The old rancher was close enough now that Annie could hear the sound of his boots crunching in the gravel.

Swann suddenly threw her aside like a doll so he could set his feet and grip his pistol to aim with two hands. He fired again, four shots in quick succession. At least two she could tell were hits. There were blotches of blood on the front of Jess's jacket, but the man's face and his look of pure determination hadn't changed a bit.

When the rancher finally stopped it was to raise his rifle from twenty yards away, aim calmly, and shoot Oscar Swann squarely between the eyes. Swann dropped straight back into the doorway, his pistol thumping on the porch. Annie rolled away, unhurt.

MONICA ROLLED the dresser drawer as hard as she could into the locked door of the bedroom, and it swung open, the lock broken. She stepped over Villatoro's body and grabbed William's hand, pulling him through the living room behind her. She saw Swann's trunk in the doorway. He was flat on his back, blood pouring from his ears, pooling on the floorboards. Annie was scrambling to her feet and running off the porch, toward someone out in the yard.

Monica heard it. The sound of a helicopter approaching, blades thumping ba.s.s.

She stepped over Swann's body and saw everything at once. Singer, dead on the gra.s.s in front of his car. Gonzalez, splayed out and steaming, his face and most of his head gone.

The helicopter sliding over the southern hill, flying so low it was kicking up dirt and branches, coming straight toward the house. The sheriff's SUV, siren suddenly whooping, speeding down the two-track toward the ranch, followed by two other departmental vehicles and an ambulance.

Jess slumped in the yard, sitting down, his rifle cast aside, his bare head bowed as if he were sleeping, his hat off, upturned in the gra.s.s next to his legs. Annie running toward him, her arms outstretched.

THE LAST THING Newkirk saw before he turned the pistol on himself was Monica Taylor and her two kids down on the ground with the rancher, hugging him, wailing, keeping him still in the gra.s.s as the sheriff bore down on them.

may I have no hesitation in saying that although the American woman never leaves her domestic sphere and is in some respects very dependent within it, nowhere does she enjoy a higher station. And if anyone asks me what I think the chief cause of the extraordinary prosperity and growing power of this nation, I should answer that it is due to the superiority of their women.

-Alexis de Tocqueville JESS RAWLINS ALMOST DIED three times in the helicopter before he finally stabilized, although there were periods when he wasn't sure just which side of that line he was on. That was a month ago.

Now, he seemed to be emerging from his trauma, if only for a while. There were things he just knew had happened, without recalling the details. The ride in a helicopter, EMTs in flight suits prying his eyes open, asking him questions, talking about him as if he weren't there. Villatoro lying next to him on one side, Hearne on the other. Both either asleep or gone. My team, Jess had thought. Jess's world going black and wonderfully white twice while in the air, once while landing. The white was ethereal, welcoming. But turning back each time, thanks to the electric shocks that restarted his heart. Then surgery, doctors, bright lights, more surgery, the p.r.i.c.k of needles on the undersides of his forearms, the sharp smells of antiseptic and his own blood, the tinny sound of bullets that had been removed from his body being dropped into metal trays.

In the midst of the surgeries, there had been a long parade of faces, voices, one after the other, some he knew, some he didn't, some he wished he didn't. He would try to sit up to meet and greet the people who were there to see him, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. He would be able to speak, smile, talk things out sometimes. Not always, but sometimes. There were instances when he could see them and hear them clearly, and his mind was active, but he couldn't will his lips to move. He hated that.

But there were things he could recall clearly.

Monica, wearing many different outfits, even changing her hair, telling him to get well, pull through, she needed him to live, it was important.

Sheriff Carey, hat in hand, talking to his own boots, apologizing as much to himself as to Jess, Buddy with him, looking from Carey to Jess. Carey saying, "They're mounting a recall pet.i.tion to get rid of me. The whole d.a.m.ned valley. I'll resign before they throw me out, though." Buddy saying, "Our old sheriff says he wants the job back."

Karen and Brian, Karen shaking her head as if she just knew this kind of thing would happen, Brian consoling her for her loss, putting his arm around her, gently trying to steer her out of the room before she broke down. Karen saying she didn't know how she would deal with it if Jess died now that he was such a hero, wondering out loud why he'd never shown this kind of heroism with her before, saying this was so ... unsatisfying.

J.J., escorted by Buddy, breaking Jess's heart when he reached out and touched his hand through the sheets before recoiling, Jess knowing how hard it was for his son to do that, thinking at the time it was best J.J. not even know about Monica and Hearne, the best thing for everybody concerned. J.J. making Jess's heart soar when he said he was feeling better, that he'd like to try to come back to the ranch and reenter the world to see how it worked out, that he missed the place and his father more than he realized.

Doctors showing other doctors where the five bullets had hit, reen-acting the trajectory of the one that had really done the damage when it broke his collarbone and angled down, nicked a lung, exited through his spine. The others, two in the thigh, one of which turned out to be the real bleeder, one in his neck that pa.s.sed straight through, and a really painful one in his b.u.t.t, kind of embarra.s.sing, mostly. That one ached the most. Then it didn't.

Three surprising visits, although they didn't seem surprising at all at the time.

Fiona Pritzle, darkening the doorway, flowers in her hand, saying, "How are you doing, my big guy?" Jess, coming out of himself, hurling a bedside water bottle at her, missing and hitting the top of the doorjamb, the water spraying everywhere. Fiona scuttling away, the nurses rushing in to calm him, get him settled back in the bed, reinserting the tubes in his arm.

Jim Hearne, in jeans and cowboy boots instead of his banker's suit, apologizing to Jess for not making it into town. Saying, "It wasn't the first time I didn't finish a ride, I guess."

"I'm proud of you," Jess said. "You tried."

"Didn't try hard enough," Hearne said sheepishly. "There's nothing I wanted more than to be the hero."

"You're a hero," Jess said.

"No," he said, looking away, moisture in his eyes. "I betrayed Laura. I wish I could tell Laura one more time that I love her."

It took him a few moments to collect himself, then, "I betrayed people who looked up to me, and I betrayed myself. And in the end, I didn't come through for Annie and Monica. I wish I could talk to them, clear the air."

"That's not necessary," Jess said. "They know you did your best. That's what they'll remember. You gave your life for them."

"Doesn't seem like enough," Hearne said.

"What more is there?" Jess asked.

Jim Newkirk came into his room after dark, wearing a ball cap. He looked fine, the picture of health. Newkirk stood at the foot of the bed and wouldn't meet Jess's eyes.

"I thought you were dead," Jess had said.

Newkirk looked out the window. "I am. I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"Not very d.a.m.ned good."

"Better than me."

Jess said, "Life's messy, isn't it?"

Newkirk had haunted eyes. "It's hard, all right. But maybe a man can live with himself if he makes the right decisions. If he does what he knows is right. Things may not work out, but at least he can live with himself."

Jess fell asleep and never saw Newkirk again. But he had a feeling he'd see Hearne.

EDUARDO VILLATORO, on crutches, wearing his brown suit. Introducing Jess to his wife, Donna, and his mother. They had flown up from Southern California, Villatoro said, and had stayed with him at the motel but were now at Julie Rodale's house, keeping Julie company.

"Julie has convinced Donna to consider moving here," Villatoro said, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. "We might even do it. I should enjoy my retirement, don't you think? Maybe I'll buy a horse."

"Great," Jess said, smiling. "Another ex-cop moving here."

After Donna and his mother left, Villatoro told Jess the wrongfully convicted Santa Anita employees were being released from prison. He also said the FBI had figured out everything, even how the ex-cops used pigs to dispose of the bodies-Anthony Rodale, Tom Boyd-and a.n.a.lysis of the pig manure confirmed it all. Thanking Jess again for saving him from that. Saying oddly, Jess thought, that he admired how Jess could look at a mountain and know the story about it.

Laura Hearne, Jim's wife, came to see Jess and brought the RAWLINS file with her. She said she knew the situation with Jess's ranch had troubled Jim greatly, and felt she owed it to the memory of her husband to finish the job he'd started. She'd done some research, she said. Her idea was to donate the ranch to the State of Idaho on the condition it be kept intact.

"Poor Jim," Jess said. "I miss him."

Tears flooded her eyes, but she didn't cry. She was a tough old girl. Country people were more used to the cycle of life and death; they experienced it every day.

"I miss him, too," she said, looking up at Jess. "I always knew about Monica, even though he never told me. He didn't have to. I forgave him years ago, but I never told him that. I wish now I had told him."

Jess nodded, thinking Hearne would have liked to have known that and hoped he knew it now.

Jess told her to forget about the donation. He had a better idea. When he told her, she responded with a devilish look, said she'd help with the details because Jim would have wanted her to.

"I just wish he hadn't died feeling guilty," she said later. "That eats at me."

"He didn't, in the end," Jess a.s.sured her. "He was doing the right thing, and he was on a horse again. He loved you. He told me."

What Jess didn't say was when Hearne had told him.

This time, she cried.

JESS AWOKE, his head clearer than it had been since he'd arrived in the hospital, whenever that was. The pain was simply gone. Everything, gone. No feeling below his chest. He rolled his head over on the pillow. Sun streamed through the window and warmed his face. The room was filled with flowers, which was probably why, he thought, he kept dreaming he was in a garden.

Annie sat in a chair at the side of the bed.

"Shouldn't you be in school?" Jess asked.

Annie looked up. She seemed older, somehow. More serious.

"Is this really you?" she asked.

"Yup."

"It's hard to tell. Sometimes you're there, and sometimes you're not."

"I'm here," he said. "I think." He could feel the sun, and it felt real. The lack of pain was certainly real.

"We've been coming here every day for two weeks," Annie said. "My mom brings us after school."

"Two weeks? I had no idea," he said. "It's May, then."

"I guess so."

He tried to recall the days, the weeks. It was impossible to sort out. He knew what he knew: the faces, the visits, the explanations from people living and dead. Maybe, when he was strong again, he could sort it all out.

Annie glanced toward the door, then rose and leaned to Jess. "Mrs. Hearne told us what you did."

Jess worked his hand out from beneath the covers and reached out to her. He was shocked at how spindly his arm looked, how gnarled and old his fingers had become. Nevertheless, she took his hand in hers. She didn't seem to mind. Jess felt a twitch of a smile. "What does your mom think about that?"

"She can't believe it."

He snorted, antic.i.p.ating pain. Astonished, he said, "It used to hurt to laugh. Now it doesn't."

"Why did you do it?" Annie asked, demanding an answer.

Jess said, "Because you're tough. You can handle it. You'll do well."

She nodded. No point in arguing that.

Jess said, "You agree with me, then."

"Annie." It was Monica, entering the room, her face flushed. "Jess, I'm sorry," Monica said. "You know Annie." Monica glared at her daughter, who smiled back.

Jess looked up at her. It was good to see her again.

"She's a pistol," Jess said, his voice thick.

"Jess, we need to talk about what you're doing. Laura Hearne talked with us and explained how it all works. She's been an angel, considering the circ.u.mstances. She says she'll help us every way she can, just like Jim would have done. She's a remarkable woman."

"I agree," Jess said.

"But I still don't understand why."

Jess nodded. "Annie knows," he said, looking at Annie, who nodded, as if they were sharing a secret.

"You might want to rethink this when you're well," Monica said. "You're pretty busted up."

Not just that, Jess wanted to say. He lowered his eyes, looked at the contours of his body under the blanket, the way the sheets draped away from his knees and trunk. He wanted to see a fitter version of himself, but it was not to be.

Annie was still squeezing his hand. "Like Laura told you, Annie, I don't care what you do with it as long as you benefit from it. You can sell it to developers, or divide it up, whatever you want to do. Jim had some good ideas on how to keep most of it intact. He was a smart man, and Laura is just as smart. You and your mom should listen to what she has to say."

Annie flushed and rolled her eyes, saying, "Jeez."

Monica moved further into the room and put her hands on Annie's shoulders. "This is a lot for Annie to understand right now. I can't believe it myself. You'll likely want to change your mind when you get better," she said, chuckling softly.

Jess reached up and brushed a strand of hair out of Annie's face. She had tears in her eyes. She knew.

He felt suddenly exhausted and happy, as if he'd just had a huge meal in the middle of the day. He felt sleep reaching up and pulling him back to somewhere dark, shadowed, and peaceful, and when he opened his eyes, it was light again, and he was riding Chile, his legs firm and strong, the sun high, the sky cloudless, and the air smelled of pine and cattle.

end.