Running Scared Part 21

"Come on," Jon whispered. "Otherwise you're going to lose out to Greedy again." Extending a hand, he felt a smile play upon his features as the temperamental animal flattened his ears but reluctantly edged closer. "That's it."

The colt stretched his neck and swept the apple from Jon's open palm in one quick movement. Teeth grinding the apple, he backed away.

"His name is Buckshot."

Jon nearly jumped out of his skin! Heart pumping wildly, he whirled and found O'Rourke standing less than ten feet away from him. He'd managed to slide into his boots but hadn't bothered with a jacket, and his arms were crossed firmly over his chest.

"Jesus!" Jon whispered.

"You like the horse?"

Jon was thinking fast. Now that he was caught, what could he do? Run? But O'Rourke could call his mom. His mouth was dry as dust, his palms sweaty. "He's...okay,"

"You want to ride him?"

"No!" Jon lied. He had to get out of here and fast.

"Too bad. He could use the exercise." Was this guy for real? Jon's teeth began to chatter. "Cold?"

"Yeah."

"You want to come into the house and warm up? I got coffee and maybe some of that instant cocoa."

"No...oh, no." Jon shook his head vehemently. This guy was still the enemy; he knew it in his bones, and yet he seemed decent enough.

"What're you doing here?" O'Rourke asked, and any hopes Jon had of getting away with this without his mother finding out disappeared.

"I, uh, used to come and visit Eli. And Roscoe."

Daegan glanced at the dog sitting obediently by Jon's sneaker. "He likes you a h.e.l.luva lot more than he likes me." His gaze moved up to study Jon's face. "You weren't spying on me, were ya?"

"What? No way!" Jon's heart began to pump wildly again. s.h.i.t! Why hadn't he heard the guy approach? He'd been so into getting Buckshot to respond that he hadn't heard the door open, the screen creak, boots on the porch, or the snap of a twig. It was like the guy just willed himself out here like a d.a.m.ned ghost or something.

"But you have been here before?"

"No, I swear..." The look on O'Rourke's face called him a liar. "Well, yeah, a couple of times."

"Your mom know you're here?"

"No!"

"And you'd like to keep it that way?"

Jon shrugged. "She wouldn't like it."

"'Cause you called me a murderer."

"And she doesn't like me sneakin' around at night."

"It could be dangerous." O'Rourke rubbed his jaw and stared at the moon. "You want your stuff back?"

"Oh." Jon shook his head. "If Mom found it, she'd kill me."

"I doubt it." O'Rourke shook his head. "I'd guess she'd do just about anything for you."

"'Cept buy me a horse."

O'Rourke's laughter thundered through the night and Jon physically jumped. "Your mother's a smart woman, Jon. These animals are nothing but trouble."

"You think?"

"I know."

"But you have 'em."

"'Cause I'm a fool, I guess. They can't go the miles of a pickup, need to be fed and groomed, kept healthy, and are general pains in the b.u.t.t, but, yeah, I like 'em."

"I, uh, better get going," Jon said.

"Next time you want to see the horse, stop by and talk to me first."

"Sure," Jon said, knowing there wouldn't be a next time.

"And Jon?"

Here it comes. This is the part where he's going to let me know that it's his duty, hard as it might be, to call Ma and tell her that I snuck over here. "Yeah?" "Yeah?"

"You're too young to drink."

"Oh."

"And cut back on the smokes." His eyes were sharp and fixed on Jon. "You'd better get back home before your mom figures out that you're gone. Then both of us will have a lot of explainin' to do. I don't know about you, but I'm not in the mood for a lecture."

With that he turned and headed back to the house, and Jon was left with the bad need for a smoke and the dawning realization that Daegan O'Rourke might not be so bad after all.

Chapter 12.

Kate didn't expect to see Daegan again, especially not at the local coffee shop where she usually stopped on her way back from the college, but there he was big as life, smiling at the waitress who was refilling his cup. One long jean-clad leg stretched into the aisle by the table and the sleeves of his cotton work shirt were rolled up, showing off tanned, muscular arms. A five o'clock shadow darkened his jaw, and he seemed at ease in the worn mock-leather booth.

She nearly hesitated at the door, but as if he'd sensed her arrival, he swiveled his head at the sound of the door opening and sent her a crooked half-smile, one that suggested they shared a secret-a private secret. Her stupid heart fluttered and she called herself six kinds of fool. This was the one man-the only man in all of Hopewell-that she should avoid at all costs.

"Kate!" His voice was friendly and smooth, his gray eyes warmer than she remembered. "Have a seat."

The last thing she wanted to do was to be trapped in a booth with him and be caught trying to make idle conversation. He was too full of restless energy for her, too starkly rugged, too d.a.m.ned male. It had been nearly a week since she'd last seen him, and in that time she'd calmed a bit. Laura hadn't called with any mind-numbing news that he was a serial killer or child molester or even traffic violator, but still she had to be wary. He'd admitted that his cousin had died as the result of some kind of fight-who knew what other secrets he kept hidden behind his easy smile?

Before she could take another seat, other customers in the little cafe had twisted their necks to view her. Rather than give them more room for gossip-it was hard enough knowing that most of the townspeople viewed her as an oddity because of Jon and his strange premonitions-she walked up to O'Rourke's booth and plopped down on the opposite seat. She didn't even protest when he motioned for a waitress to bring her a cup of coffee.

"Small world," he said with a devilish glint in his eye.

"Small town, town, or haven't you noticed?" or haven't you noticed?"

A corner of his mouth lifted. "Just the way I like 'em."

"You've lived in the city?" she asked innocently, though her nerves were stretched tighter than fence wire. What was she doing pumping him for information? What could she possibly expect to learn?

"Nah, but I've been in enough of 'em to know that I'm a country boy at heart." Again that country-boy charm.

"Are you?" She leaned back in the seat and was about to ask him where he was from when the waitress, Tami Lynde, daughter of the shop's owner, brought a cup of coffee and asked Kate if she'd like anything else.

Wishing she'd never stepped foot in the door, Kate declined and then felt her back stiffen when she spied Carl Neider, Todd's father, saunter through the door. He was a huge bear of a man with hands like meat hooks, the start of a beer belly, and a flat face covered by a dark beard beginning to streak with gray. His eyes were wide-s.p.a.ced, small and mean, and when he smiled, he showed off a mouthful of gold crowns.

"Friend of yours?" Daegan asked when she watched Neider take a booth on the other side of the cafe.

"Hardly." She poured a thin stream of cream into her cup and listened to the sounds of quiet conversation, rattling utensils, and the squeaking of a slow-turning ceiling fan mounted high over head. "His son Todd is a big kid who's taken delight in humiliating Jon. Called him names, picked fights with him, bullied him-you name it. All the usual." Watching the clouds roll up in her brew, she sighed. "I can't just blame him, of course. Sometimes Jon asks for it."

"No one asks to be humiliated." O'Rourke's eyes narrowed on Neider as he sipped from his cup, and again Kate felt that underlying current of energy, that raw force that was a part of this man. His jaw clamped tight and Kate decided she wouldn't want to cross him. Not ever.

From the back behind the counter, the short-order cook yelled at Tami over the sizzle of the fryer.

When Daegan focused on Kate again, all the warmth had evaporated from his eyes and she felt that same premonition of fear-of danger that seemed to lurk just beneath his "good ol' ranchin' boy" surface.

"You're right," she said. "Anyway, Jon's bigger now, able to take care of himself better. Hopefully he's smarter, too."

"Is he picked on for no reason or is it because of that sight he's got-because he sees things others don't?"

She didn't move and the cup she'd been raising to her lips stopped in midair. Clearing her throat, she set the steaming mug down and frowned. "You're very direct."

"You brought it up."

She couldn't argue the point. Resting her elbows on the table, she folded her hands and dropped her chin on her linked fingers so that she could hold his gaze without flinching. "That I did, Mr. O'Rourke, and the reason I did is because the things that have been said to Jon, the cruel remarks, the vicious jokes, the hateful names wound deep. It doesn't matter that the person who hurls the taunts his way is jealous or scared or feeling inferior. All those ugly words are painful. They scar. Not only him, but me, too, because I love him."

All through her tirade Daegan stared at her. His gaze never once moved from her face, and his lips, already thin, creased into a hard, uncompromising line.

"Do you know what it feels like to be called names-to feel out of place-to think that you're not as good as the rest of the kids?"

A shadow pa.s.sed behind his eyes, a pain-filled shadow that quickly disappeared. "Afraid so," he drawled. "Maybe it's a rite of pa.s.sage. Part of growin' up."

"It shouldn't be."

"Amen."

She lifted a shoulder and sighed. "So that's why I get a little defensive and overprotective. My mother bear claws begin to show and my instincts tend to work overtime and get me into trouble with my son."

"Why?"

"He seems to think that I'm in his way," she admitted, though she knew she shouldn't confide in him, shouldn't trust him with any secrets close to her heart. "He's convinced that I should keep my nose out of his business."

"Maybe you should."

"He's only fifteen."

"How does his dad figure in?"

She nearly choked on a swallow of coffee. "His father?" she repeated, astounded that this man would bring him up. "His father's gone. Jim died before Jon was born."

"I didn't know...and he had no stepfather?"

"I never remarried," Kate admitted, then drained her cup. This conversation was getting personal-too personal.

"Why not?"

"What about you?" she said, turning the tables on him. "Is there a Mrs. O'Rourke?"

He shook his head. "I'm not the marrying kind."

That, she believed. "Neither am I," she said, fishing in her purse. "I mean I was, with Jim, but...well..." She found her wallet and pulled out a couple of bills. "I guess he was just a hard act to follow and I didn't have all that many offers. Lots of men-at least some of the ones I dated-considered Jon extra baggage. Can you imagine? The fact that he has this sight made it all the worse. But it's worked out just fine," she a.s.sured him. "Jon and I are all right." She slapped the bills on the table.

"I'll buy," he insisted.

"Thanks, but I'm used to paying my own way," she replied. "Fact is, I like it that way." With that she swung out of the restaurant and made a beeline to her car. Being around O'Rourke was just too unsettling. He was too direct, too restless, and too d.a.m.ned s.e.xy. His eyes, so deep and gray, his hands, big, calloused, the backs dusted with dark hair, his jaw firm and square. For crying out loud, she'd never, never looked at a man so intently since Jim.

Calm down, she told herself and ignored the pounding of her pulse. He was just a man. Nothing to be afraid of. At least not yet. She climbed into her station wagon and jammed her key into the ignition. Her new neighbor had learned more than she'd intended to tell him about Jon today, but now it was her turn. As she checked her rearview mirror to back out of her parking spot, she made a note to call Laura tonight and find out what her sister had dredged up on a would-be cowboy named Daegan O'Rourke.

So now what are you going to do, O'Rourke, kidnap the boy?

Daegan dug his heels into the old gray he'd bought at a local auction and glowered at the fence line, as if he gave a good G.o.dd.a.m.ned what happened to this place. The sorry rusted wire and rotted posts weren't any of his concern-just part of the lie, a lie he was getting d.a.m.ned sick of.

The truth of the matter was he was looking beyond the fence and through a scraggly thicket of pine and spruce, to Kate Summers's house. The trees veiled his view, but he caught glimpses of the white 1920s vintage cottage with its wide back porch and blue trim. The yard, dry and spotty, was partially obscured by a row of raspberry canes and a vegetable garden. An apple tree stood near a weathered building that was probably a pump house or woodshed, and a long, sun-bleached rope dangled from one of the lower branches. He spied the path Jon used to sneak over here and couldn't stop a smile. The kid was sly, but Daegan had felt the boy's eyes on him while he was watching television, known he was being observed. He'd let it go on long enough for Jon to trust him and see that he was just another lonely bachelor rancher.

Ha! Another lie. Daegan couldn't hardly open his mouth without veering from the truth these days.

He needed to approach Kate again, but he hadn't figured out how. After lucking out and meeting her in the cafe, he hadn't seen hide nor hair of Ms. Summers, so now it was his move. If he could come up with one. Flattening her tire, pretending to need the use of her phone, waiting at the coffee shop where he knew she stopped after work-he'd played out all his "coincidences." Now he'd just have to call her up and pretend to be interested in her. Trouble was, he might not be pretending. She was starting to get to him, Kate Summers was. Complicated and pretty, she wasn't the type of woman who usually attracted him. Smart women with sharp tongues, deep thoughts, and stormy pasts were usually too much trouble. But Kate was different. And she was the adoptive mother of his son.

He gritted his teeth and fought a headache. Christ, what a mess!

Usually riding cleared his head, though he rarely saddled up an aging plow horse that he'd saved from the glue factory such as this gray. Years ago, he'd discovered the thrill of racing across acres of open land astride a swift horse. In his early twenties, after his brush with the law, a hitch in the army, and a brief career as a private investigator, he'd pointed his nose toward the western horizon. He'd landed in Albuquerque, then drifted through Laramie before ending up in western Montana, where he served as a guide to tenderfoots. Eventually he'd saved enough money to buy his spread in the foothills of the Bitterroots, the first place he'd ever felt was home.

And now he was here, astride an old nag, glaring at a ridiculous excuse for a fence while contemplating just what to do about the boy. His son.