Whitehorse Part 6

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Just curious, I guess, over how a woman could marry a man she didn't love ... and have a child with him."

"That's hardly unique in this day and age."

"If you're gonna make a baby you'd d.a.m.n well better love who you're making it with, don't you think?"

"I goofed, okay? In a moment of l.u.s.t we got too carried away to stop and take precautions. That, however, has nothing to do with how I feel for my son. He's my reason for living. My universe. I couldn't love him more if he had been planned."

Johnny veered off the road and onto a dirt driveway that wove over cattle guards and around cactus gardens. He hit the brakes hard, skidding toward a small white frame house with a porch crowded with clay flowerpots. Shoving open his door, he said, "I hope to h.e.l.l you like goats." Then slammed the door so hard the truck rocked.

SIX.

As Johnny used wire cutters to peel the rusty strands of tearing teeth out of the dying goats' hides, he could not help but wonder how Leah would have managed the b.l.o.o.d.y, stomach-turning task on her own. Somehow, he suspected that she would have found a way. As she went about the somber business of euthanizing most of Ramona Skunk Cap's goat herd, her calm, soft-spoken professionalism reminded him of a surgeon-hands gentle and deft, eyes watchful, mind ticking over any and all possibilities of saving the bleating, agonized animals, more for their traumatized owner's sake than for the animals themselves.

The animals whose wounds were not so severe were moved into Ramona's kitchen. Under the yellow glare of a solitary bulb hanging from the ceiling, Leah pumped drugs into the animals' veins and proceeded to sew up their injuries while Johnny held the trembling goats down on the newspaper-covered kitchen table. Ramona stood in the background, talking to herself and smoking one cigarette after another.

At four A.M. Ramona went to bed, leaving Johnny and Leah to oversee the drugged goats themselves. On paper she found in a kitchen drawer, Leah wrote out explicit instructions on how to care for the animals over the next few days-how to clean the wounds, apply salves, administer antibiotics by crushing them into fine white powder and lacing it with honey in their feed. Leah would come back out in three days to check the goats for infection. She would remove the st.i.tches in ten days. If Ramona had any questions or fears, she was not to hesitate calling Leah any time, day or night.

Leaving Leah to clean up the b.l.o.o.d.y kitchen, Johnny went outside to wrap up the dead goats in plastic garbage sacks. He found a shovel in the garage and buried the animals in a hole he dug behind the goat shed. To avoid the coyotes from returning and digging up the corpses, he dragged a rusty oil drum over the grave. Then he returned to the kitchen.

Leah sat in a chair, her head on the table, her eyes closed, cheek pressed into the blood-stained newspaper she had apparently failed to remove before falling asleep. She had not even managed to remove the rubber gloves from her hands.

He wanted to turn his back on the scene and walk off into the dark, put the memory of her lips parted in sleep back into his treasure trove of memories that had, over the years, numbed to the pain of losing her. Now here she was again, older, but just as beautiful, more beautiful because of life's hardships. The tiny lines around her eyes accentuated their depth of compa.s.sion. And those lips-always so easy to smile, to laugh ... to kiss. They were bracketed now with slight creases. Not from smiling. No. He suspected that she did not do much smiling any longer.

Johnny walked quietly to the table. He touched Leah's hair with his fingertips, disturbing a coil of golden-brown strands that slid over her cheek.

Laying his hand on her shoulder, he shook her gently. "Leah. Honey, wake up. Leah?"

Her lashes fluttered and she slowly raised her head. She gradually lifted her eyes up to his.

He grinned. "Sleepyhead. Do I gotta carry you outta here?"

Groggy, she looked around, her momentary confusion almost comical. "Sorry," she finally murmured. "I must have dozed off."

"Must have."

She rubbed her eyes, smearing blood across her brow.

Johnny caught her hand and removed the glove, tossed it into the sink, then removed the other one, flinging it the way of the first. Then he lifted her out of the chair, his left arm under her knees, the other cradling her back. Her head just naturally dropped to his shoulder, cozied against his neck, her lips slightly pressed against the flesh of his throat where his pulse suddenly raced like the heart of a startled deer.

"I can walk," she whispered.

"Sure you can."

Johnny exited the house, stood for a minute in the bracing air that rushed off the mountain to announce the first stirrings of dawn, then tucked her into the pa.s.senger seat of his truck, easing the seat back so she could sleep more comfortably on the trip home.

The point above Brown Bear Lookout had, once upon a time, looked down on the River Road Drive-In, the only drive-in movie theater still standing in the late eighties in the entire southern New Mexico area. Open on Friday and Sat.u.r.day nights from dusk to dawn, and only during the summer months, it specialized in B-rated movies that portrayed violence and raunchy s.e.x as normal to everyday life, as a Norman Rockwell painting did family togetherness.

Brown Bear Point had been a haven for young lovers. On those summer weekends, pimple-faced adolescent boys and their starry-eyed dates would line their parents' cars up side by side under the pretense of watching the movies below for nothing. But within minutes the windows, rolled up to m.u.f.fle the sounds of intimacy coming from the backseat, were fogged with condensation. Rumor was three-fourths of the babies born out of wedlock in the area had been conceived at Brown Bear Point.

That had been before the junkies and dope dealers decided the point was secluded enough to carry on their drug trade, sending the lot of hormone-driven teenagers to search out less dangerous rendezvous places.

Johnny had never brought Leah here-would not have dreamed of it. He'd cared too much for her reputation. He had, however, come here alone occasionally, long after the lovers had all gone home, and watched the sun creep over the mountains. With the morning sun warming his face and making him drowsy, he imagined building a house for himself and Leah in a place such as this-where the only noise to disturb the dawn peace was the trilling of birds. He imagined carrying her outside on those sparkling, fresh mornings, laying her on a blanket of green summer moss and making love to her beneath shaded trees.

What had brought him back here today, he could not guess. Maybe because he simply was not ready to take Leah home yet. Maybe because some perverse, m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic need to watch the pale sun kiss her cheeks one more time had taken hold of his logic.

Leaning back against the driver's door, right leg jack-knifed on the console, he sipped hot coffee from a Styrofoam cup and watched as her eyes slowly opened and her head lifted. She stared out at the ball of b.u.t.ter-yellow fire suspended above the distant mountain peaks that were splashed in gold and red streaks.

"Where am I?" Her voice sounded dry and weak.

"Brown Bear Point."

She looked at him, confusion deepening the creases around her eyes. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"An hour." He motioned to the McDonald's sack on the dashboard. "There's coffee if you want it. Cream, no sugar as I recall. There's also a Danish. You still like apple, don't you?"

"You have a memory like an elephant." She reached for the sack. "Mind telling me what we're doing here?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. Sometimes I think this truck has a mind of its own."

She dug like a child into the sack, licking her lips as she pulled out the apple Danish in cellophane.

"Let me." Taking the package from her, he tore it open.

Leah watched, a partial grin on her mouth. "You were always a take-charge kinda guy, Johnny. I could do it myself, you know."

"Just thought you might get tired of doing everything yourself."

"I'm used to it." She tore the bun in two and proceeded to eat, her lids fluttering in pleasure as her tongue slid along her lower lip, capturing slivers of cinnamon and icing. "G.o.d, I feel as if I haven't eaten in a month."

"We could go somewhere that serves bacon and eggs if you want."

She shook her head and looked out at the sun. "This really is beautiful, Johnny."

"Aside from White Tail Peak it's my favorite place to kick back and get my thoughts in order."

They remained silent for a while as Leah finished the roll, her gaze locked on the horizon as if she dared not look at Johnny. She was nervous, he could tell. The plain fact of the matter was, so was he. h.e.l.l, he'd dated some of the most beautiful models in the world, had bedded a few movie stars who thought it would be cool to screw an Indian, and none of them had stirred the hunger in him as Leah Foster once had. And still did, apparently.

Leah took a deep breath and, without looking at him, said, "Why did you really bring me here, Johnny?"

"h.e.l.l if I know," he replied softly.

"I really don't think it's wise."

"Why?"

"We're not the same people we were twelve years ago."

"Yes we are. Maybe our lives have gone different directions, but-"

"Too much water under the bridge. Oh, I forgot. We burned that bridge, didn't we? The fact is, it's still burning. It burns a little hotter every time you slander my father to the press."

"I don't want to talk about your father."

"Why won't you leave him alone, Johnny?"

"I said-"

"How could you go on 20/20 20/20 and say what you did about his involvement in the reservation casinos? You're still holding on to your bitterness because he came between us, and what you perceive that he did to your father." and say what you did about his involvement in the reservation casinos? You're still holding on to your bitterness because he came between us, and what you perceive that he did to your father."

"If you're referring to my father's blowing his head off ... I don't blame your old man for that. I blame my father. He made that decision. He pulled the trigger. He took the coward's way out. I'm just trying to protect my people. They've been screwed over by a blind system for too long and you know it."

Leah opened the door and jumped from the truck.

Johnny followed. He moved around the truck and caught her arm, pushed her back against the truck, pinning her to the fender. "I didn't bring you here to fight," he told her. "Right now I don't give a d.a.m.n about your father. Right now all I want to do is lay you over the hood of this truck and make love to you like I used to. Because the memory of my body inside of you has gnawed at my brain ever since I saw you standing there in the rain the other night. Because I want to slide my tongue inside you again. And I want to hear you sigh in pleasure. I want to feel you shiver in ecstasy. Because I've never enjoyed being with a woman like I did with you."

"Stop," she whispered as hot color crept up her cheeks. "Just ... stop saying those things. They're cruel."

He slid one hand around her neck, fingertips threading through the fine hair along her nape. His thumb slid along the sh.e.l.l of her ear as he moved his body against hers, the erection in his jeans an unbearable pressure that made his skin sweat.

"Every time I thought of your husband f.u.c.king you I wanted to kill him, Leah. I wanted to take all the old anger I had for your father and turn it on a man I didn't even know. I still do. Because I can't get beyond the feeling that you're mine. What's here is mine." He slid one hand between her legs where her jeans were warm and moist. She felt as if she were melting over his fingers. "Ah, Christ," he groaned, then kissed her.

Her mouth quivered. Opened. His tongue danced against hers, inviting, luring, seducing a moan from her throat that made him shake. He clutched at the snap on her jeans; the zipper gave easily from the pressure of his hand sliding beneath her French-cut panties. He knew without looking they would be pink and trimmed with lace. He knew how they would hug the swells of her b.u.t.tocks and dip slightly into the cleft of her lips, cupping them like a man's gentle but craving palm.

She caught his wrist as she had the first time he'd gotten fresh with her, hungry to experience her inexperienced body, wanting to know her like no other man had known her, knowing even as she tried to deny him the liberty that she wanted and needed it just as much as he did.

The loose jeans slid down her hips as he laid her body back on the truck. He moved in between her legs, his own spread slightly, his free hand plucking at his belt buckle, hearing it tap against the truck as he unzipped his fly. Ah, the memory of their old pa.s.sion, exploding like fireworks, uncontained, shimmering, and breathtaking. Red and blue and green and gold splashing against a sky of vibrant black-it had never been like that with anyone else. Never. Never.

He laid his body down on hers, kissed her lips, her chin, her nose.

Tears slid from her eyes and down her temples. Her chin quivered.

Johnny frowned as she placed one hand against his cheek, caressing it as she tried to smile bravely. "Please," she said. "We're not kids anymore, Johnny. Consequence means something now. I just don't think I can handle this at this point in my life."

Taking a deep breath, Johnny closed his eyes. The rush of testosterone that belonged more to an eighteen-year-old than a thirty-year-old subsided like water down a drain. Laying his head on her breast, he whispered, "Sons-ee-ah-ray, "Sons-ee-ah-ray, why can't I forget how much I loved you?" why can't I forget how much I loved you?"

They drove home in silence, Leah gazing out at the awakening countryside that sparkled with morning dew. Dozy drivers on their way to work listened remotely to their car radios and contemplated their day of dealing with tourists with more money than good sense, making the trip back to Leah's more tension fraught than it might have been otherwise.

Johnny pulled into Leah's driveway just after seven.

Shamika stood on the porch, hand cupped over her eyes to shield them from the glare of the sun. Her initial expression of concern melted into relief as Leah jumped from the truck and waved.

Johnny shifted into park and killed the engine, staring after Leah as she moved down the pebbled walkway, the crumpled McDonald's sack in one hand. She did not look back.

He left the truck and followed her.

Shamika regarded them both with an expression somewhere between irritation and bemus.e.m.e.nt. "You two look like something the cat dragged in."

"Try a pack of hungry coyotes and you've just about hit the nail on the head," Leah replied, tossing her the sack. "I'm dead. I'm getting a shower, then I want to see Val before he's off to school."

"He joining you?" Shamika grinned. joining you?" Shamika grinned.

Leah flashed Shamika a look that made her eyebrows rise, then she turned on Johnny so suddenly he nearly plowed into her. What little vulnerability had softened her features earlier had vanished.

"I appreciate your help, Johnny. More than you know. And thanks for the breakfast."

"Thanks for the breakfast? That's it?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "That's it."

Turning on her heels, Leah brushed by Shamika and disappeared into the house. Shamika watched her go, shaking her head before looking back at Johnny. "I was just about to cook up some pancakes for Val. Would you like to join us?"

"No, he wouldn't," Leah yelled from the house. Appearing at the door again, her cheeks flaming with color, she said, "I'm exhausted and filthy and ... I'd like to spend some time alone alone with my son. Perhaps some other time?" She gave Johnny a thin smile before turning away. with my son. Perhaps some other time?" She gave Johnny a thin smile before turning away.

"Sorry," Shamika said. "Come to think of it you look as if you could use some sleep yourself."

"Right." He headed for the truck.

"Mr. Whitehorse?" As Johnny looked around, Shamika said, "Don't take it personally."

The reflection in the bathroom mirror resembled something out of a Boris Karloff movie. Her hair looked as if it had not met shampoo in a week. Smudged mascara around her eyes made her look like a racc.o.o.n. Not just any racc.o.o.n, but the one she'd parked near those hours ago, squashed, b.l.o.o.d.y, and bloated, and she suspected that she did not smell much better. Newspaper print had been stamped down one side of her face when she'd fallen asleep on Ramona Skunk Cap's kitchen table. If she squinted just right she could make out the words "No arrests have been made" reversed across her right cheekbone.

How could Johnny possibly have found her alluring enough to want to make love to her on the hood of his truck?

Shamika moved up behind her and regarded her reflection before shaking her head. "I'd say any man who was willing to look at you over breakfast has got to have the soul of a saint."