The You I Never Knew Part 2

"This is one time you don't get to call all the shots, Dad." Out of the blue, a trust agreement had arrived in November. She'd been at work, fiddling on the computer with some coffee-bean graphics when a courier delivered a thick envelope bearing the logo of Blue Rock Ranch. She had nearly dropped the package in her surprise. Then she'd shuttered the blinds of her office, sat down at her desk, and opened the package. There was no cover letter, just little Post-it arrows indicating where to sign.

It had taken Mich.e.l.le a few stunned moments to figure out what was going on. After nearly seventeen years of silence, her father was putting a staggering fortune in trust for her son.

She had broken a nail pecking in the phone number given on the trust agreement. The law firm in Missoula would tell her nothing, so she refused to sign the agreement.

That was when her father had called. He'd caught her at home, loading the dishwasher and wondering why Brad hadn't phoned to tell her he'd miss dinner. The sound of her father's voice had banished her annoyance at Brad.

"Mich.e.l.le, I've been sick."

She had closed her eyes and let out her breath. "What's the matter?"

"d.a.m.nedest thing. They call it end-stage renal failure."

"Kidney failure?"

"Yep. I had a spell of strep and ignored it, let it go on too long. There's a rare complication called glomerulonephritis-that's what developed. So far the tabloids haven't picked up on it, but the buzzards are circling."

The hated tabloids. They had made her childhood, as the daughter of a matinee idol, a nightmare. "So what's going to happen?"

Long hesitation. "I've started dialysis."

"Is there a cure?"

"Well, sort of."

"What's that supposed to mean, sort of?"

"My specialist in Missoula says I need a transplant."

"A kidney transplant." Comprehension burst over Mich.e.l.le in a blaze so bright that she flinched. "From a living donor, right?"

"No. I'm on a waiting list for a cadaver."

Hearing the words, Mich.e.l.le had the distinct sensation of stepping off a cliff. The knowledge of what she had to do came swiftly, pushing up through her like a geyser-unstoppable, filled with its own energy. She backed herself against the kitchen wall, sliding down it while the phone cord pulled to its limit. She knew she could stretch this strange moment out, make him talk to her, force him to ask, to beg, maybe. But instead, she shut her eyes and plunged right in.

"You don't have to wait for someone to die. I'll do it, Daddy," she practically whispered. "I'll give you a-" Oh, Jesus. "-a kidney."

"Mich.e.l.le?" Gavin Slade's movie-idol voice beckoned her back to the present. "If you're tired from the drive, we can leave right now."

"No, let's stay. I'm too wired to relax just yet." She had gone through nine weeks of multiple preliminary screening exams at Swedish Hospital in Seattle: blood tests, chest X rays, detailed urinalysis, sonograms and MRIs. Against enormous odds, five out of six antigens matched. Physiologically, she was a near perfect donor for Gavin. Because her father's health was otherwise excellent, he made the ideal recipient.

He sent her a look she couldn't read. "We've got a lot to talk about."

At least he acknowledged it. At least he acknowledged that he'd broken seventeen years of silence only because he needed one of her kidneys.

Mich.e.l.le stared at the arena ring where the barrels were being removed. She was determined to keep her face neutral. I will not be angry at him, she told herself, as she had told herself ever since learning of his condition. Anger had no place in this matter.

"So you remember how to get up to Blue Rock?" he asked.

"I could do that in my sleep, Dad. I might even let Cody drive. He got his license last summer, and he's been bugging me all day."

Gavin nodded to a pa.s.sing couple, but they didn't stop to chat. The barrel racing had ended, and it was time for team roping. People took rodeo seriously in Crystal City, and there wasn't a lot of socializing going on. That would come after, when winners and losers alike headed out to the Grizzly Bar, a local honky-tonk, for drinking and dancing.

"So your boyfriend decided not to come?" Gavin asked.

"He's snowed under at work." She tucked her chin into the collar of her jacket. "His name's Brad, and he's more than a boyfriend. We've been together three years."

"Getting married?"

Her cheeks filled with color yet again. Marriage. That would force her and Brad to define their relationship. "We're in no hurry."

"Well, I'd like to meet him. So he's a pharmacist?"

"He's part owner in a big pharmacy franchise. He's helped me a lot-understanding your illness and what's going on with this transplant. At one time he was thinking of becoming a doctor-a surgeon-but pharmacy suits him better."

At least, that was what he always said. Mich.e.l.le realized, with a start, that she really didn't understand what lay in Brad's heart. Odd. She usually thought of the two of them as knowing each other so well.

An announcement crackled over the PA system, and Gavin perked up. "Mich.e.l.le, I have to go over to the chutes. I've got some new saddle broncs I'm testing. You want to come?"

"No, thanks. I was just going to see what Cody's up to."

"You do that." Gavin started to walk away, then turned back. "Mich.e.l.le?"

"Yeah?"

"It feels good to have you home."

"Ditto, Dad." She forced the words out. Everything felt strange, dreamlike, with the shadows of a nightmare hovering at the edges. It was just nerves, Mich.e.l.le told herself. If all went well, she'd be back in Seattle in a few weeks. "See you up at the house later."

Mich.e.l.le had no trouble spotting Cody in the bleachers at the far end of the arena. Having never been to a rodeo before, he probably didn't realize it wasn't the best place to view the action.

She opened her mouth to call out, then stopped herself. She saw exactly why Cody had parked himself there. The barrel racer-the one in black and turquoise-sat a few rows over, sipping a Dr Pepper and talking to the girl with the teased hair and fringed shirt. They appeared completely unaware of Cody, but then, he appeared completely unaware of them. And Mich.e.l.le knew d.a.m.ned well he was burning up with awareness.

Good, she thought. Maybe he'd finally get over his obsession with Claudia Teller, his girlfriend since the start of the school year. Claudia was a beautiful pale predator who never met Mich.e.l.le's eyes and who answered her admittedly chirpy questions with monosyllables. Claudia had introduced Cody to cigarettes and Zima, and probably to things Mich.e.l.le hadn't found out about yet. There was no creature quite so intoxicating as a provocative teenage girl. And no creature quite so malleable as a teenage boy on hormone overload. A girl like Claudia could make Eagle Scouts steal from their grandmothers. She wore makeup with the brand name Urban Decay. She had bottle red hair and kohl-deepened eyes, and she was as seductive as Spanish fly on Cody's defenseless adolescent libido. The most popular girl in the school, she wielded her power over him with casual ruthlessness.

Since Cody had taken up with Claudia, Mich.e.l.le felt herself losing her maternal hold on him. Her son was a stranger. When he lied to her, she didn't know what to do.

Maybe the sojourn in Montana was a test period, Mich.e.l.le thought. Could she win her son back, or was he already lost to her?

The barrel racer didn't look quite so predatory. Perhaps he'd see her in school. Against his will, Cody was going to have to attend Crystal City High during their stay in Montana because his grades had been terrible lately. He despised the idea, but his grade-level advisor had laid down the law. Attend school in Montana or repeat the term.

Mich.e.l.le wandered off, pausing at the baked goods table to admire a plush wool Salish blanket. Handwoven in rich earth tones, the design touched a chord in her. She thought of Joseph Rain, the master painter she had once studied with. His work had held echoes of these ancient motifs. On impulse, she went out to the car to get her checkbook. There was no cold quite so piercing as the cold of a Montana winter night. The new snow was powdery and light beneath her boots. The Swan River was almost frozen over. Only a miserly trickle down the middle remained, though in spring it would transform itself into a roaring gush of white water.

When she returned to the arena, Cody had moved down one bench closer to the girls. The calf roping had started, bawling dogies and lightning-quick horses kicking up dirt as the cowboys flew at them. The chase lasted no more than a few seconds, but there was a peculiar drama in the frantic flight of the calf, the moment the rope drew taut, the cowboy vaulting from his saddle to bind the feet, the flagger's arm streaking up to mark the moment.

"...and in chute number four, we have Sam McPhee," said the announcer over the PA system.

The world stopped turning.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Sam McPhee...."

Time, breath, heartbeat, everything seemed to stop. Applause erupted from the bleachers. She stood at the rail and gripped the rungs hard.

Sam McPhee. Sam is here.

Mich.e.l.le prayed she'd heard wrong. But she knew she hadn't. Oh, G.o.d. Sam.

"Six-time national champion Sam McPhee retired from the circuit in 1992, but we're lucky to have his local talent here in Crystal City...." The announcer droned on, enumerating accomplishments that didn't surprise Mich.e.l.le one bit. The only thing Sam McPhee hadn't done right was stick around.

After a few moments, she remembered to breathe again. She looked at the chute at the end of the arena, and there he was. From a distance he resembled any cowboy about to rope a calf. Battered hat jammed on his head, the brim angled down, piggin string clamped between his teeth, coiled rope clenched in his fist.

Yet she knew him. Knew the tilt of his head, the set of his shoulders, the fringe of sandy hair touching his collar. She couldn't help herself. She moved along the rail to get a closer look.

Sam nodded briefly, almost imperceptibly, at the guy in charge of the chutes. The calf lunged out. Sam followed on a glossy-hided, athletic quarter horse. He roped and dispatched the calf with a speed that drew gasps of admiration from the crowd. Admiration for a six-time national champion.

Mich.e.l.le stared, spellbound, unable to move, a fly caught in a pool of honey. Sam appeared leaner, stronger, and quicker than ever. He retained that unique grace of movement she recalled so well. More than brute strength, it was an aura of raw ability coupled with arrogant confidence. He waved to the crowd. Everyone knew he'd made the winning time. Everyone knew he was the champion.

Sam had it in spades-the star power and magnetism of a true pro. She got a good look at him as he led his horse, showman-style, along the rail. The years had hardly left a mark on him. He still filled a pair of jeans like a Levi's poster boy. He still had that slightly crooked grin that had once made her heart melt. Accepting the accolades, he still had that funny, enchanting "aw-shucks" manner about him.

And he was still caught up in the shallow thrills of the rodeo, she reminded herself with a superior sniff as a leggy brunette handed him a trophy, accompanying it with a kiss.

Was it the rodeo that had seduced him away from her? That had made him disappear overnight? She had never seen him again. Until now.

"That was kind of cool, wasn't it?" Cody came up behind her.

"What, the calf roping?" Good G.o.d, thought Mich.e.l.le. Panic beat so hard in her chest it felt like a heart attack. Cody didn't know. She never thought she would have to tell him. Good G.o.d.

"Yeah, the calf roping, whatever." He watched the handlers, done up like clowns, shooing dogies into pens. "It was pretty cool."

Was it genetic? Mich.e.l.le wondered. "I thought you were into wholesome pursuits like slam dancing and body piercing."

"How about driving, Mom? Can I drive from here to your father's place?"

Mich.e.l.le nodded, thinking irrationally that if she gave in, she wouldn't have to deal with the other. "All right. You can drive."

For a few moments longer, he watched Sam with interest. And why not? The tall cowboy, with his easy smile and smooth way with the ladies, was sure to appeal to a boy's imagination.

Her heart chilled, aching in her chest. Sam was here. Sam and Cody were both here. And they didn't know about each other.

Chapter 4.

It felt d.a.m.ned good to win. Winning always gave Sam a rush. Cheap thrills. They never lasted long, but they were easier to come by than the real thing.

"Nice ride." Edward Bliss fell in step with Sam while he walked Rio to cool out the big horse. "You done good, pardner." Beyond the paddock, some of the rigs were getting ready to leave, diesel engines idling.

"I guess I'll be buying all of Ruby's blankets." Sam led Rio in a wide circle. Steam rose from the quarter horse's body and plumed from his nostrils.

"You're too late. I just sold the last one. To a pretty blond lady I didn't recognize." Edward handed him a bottle of water.

"I a.s.sume you introduced yourself." Sam took a swig from the bottle.

"Nope. She was in a hurry. Had some whiny longhaired kid with her who kept saying it was his turn to drive."

"When you're a kid, it's always your turn to drive." Sam finished the water. Out in the parking lot, the sound of gunning engines roared. "So, you got a hot date?"

"Does a coyote have fleas?" Edward gestured at a plump, dark-haired woman in denims and a chinook jacket. She waved to him. "Pearl, from the bank. We're going up to Polson to have a few beers. Want to come?"

Sam grinned, thinking about the suggestion Loretta Sweeney had whispered in his ear when she'd given him the winner's trophy and check. "I've had a better offer."

Edward read his mind. "Loretta's a s.l.u.t."

"That's what I like about her."

Edward took off. Sam bent to put on Rio's boots-he always put boots on the horses so they wouldn't damage their hooves in the trailer-when the whir of a spinning tire made the horse shy.

"d.a.m.n it." Sam dodged an iron-shod hoof.

A second later, he heard the unmistakable metal-on-metal crunch of two vehicles meeting. Rio grunted and flattened his ears. Looping the horse's lead around a rail, Sam went to see what the problem was.

"s.h.i.t," he said. "s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t."

The yuppie Range Rover from Washington had backed into his trailer. Its b.u.mper was hooked into the rear, brake lights casting an eerie red glow over the dirty, churned-up snow. As Sam stalked across the parking lot, the yuppie gunned it again. With a wrenching sound of metal, the b.u.mper unhooked. The Rover lurched forward.

Sam put two fingers to his lips and pierced the air with a loud whistle. "Hold on there!" he yelled, breaking into a run.

A few people stopped, shaking their heads when they saw the damage. The driver's side door of the Rover opened and out jumped a slender teenage boy.

Great, thought Sam, eyeing the studded jacket and sleek ponytail. An underage driver to boot. He could see someone in the pa.s.senger seat of the Range Rover. The kid's date, maybe?

"Guess you had a little trouble backing up there," he said, keeping calm with an effort.

The kid tossed him an insolent glance. Light glinted off a small silver nose hoop. "Guess so. Sorry about your trailer. Insurance'll cover it."

The boy's nonchalance grated on Sam. h.e.l.l, he looked too young to have a license. A learner's permit-possibly.

When Sam thought of the time and expense repairs would take, he got more p.i.s.sed. From the corner of his eye, he could see the boy's pa.s.senger rooting around in the glove compartment.

"Yeah, insurance'll cover it," Sam said, "but only after I fight with them for about six months. Tell you what-this looks like a few hundred dollars' worth of damage. You could come out to my place and work it off."

"Work it-"