LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

already given him his meds. Next round is written on the schedule. He needs his exercises after lunch.” Brian grabbed his gym bag off the back porch and tossed it over his shoulder. “I’ve got to go.”

      “Where are you headed?” John asked, letting the screen slam behind him. He wanted Brian to answer the question instead of ignoring him like he had since he’d returned. Other than instructions about their dad, Brian hadn’t said anything except “pass the butter,” at breakfast. John’s brother worked from sunup till past midnight every day, breaking only for meals and to take care of their dad.

      And now he was taking off to go to “work” for four days?

      “All you need to know is written down. Since Alicia can’t be here, call Mabel if you need something.”

      “Shouldn’t we hire another nurse or a proper physical therapist?” His brother’s announcement last night that it was John’s turn to take care of their dad had thrown him for a loop. He had no training for this sort of duty.

      Helping his father—other than in and out of the wheelchair—wasn’t like facing down the enemy. But for some reason making a mistake scared him to death.

      “I won’t do that to Alicia. And neither will you.” Brian shook his head, adding to the disgust already plain on his face. “Truth is, we can’t afford it. Dad doesn’t have insurance. Alicia’s been coming by without payment until I get some cash. She insisted. I’ll pay her eventually, but I have to sell one of the mares. I’ve been having problems, since she’s in Dad’s name.”

      “I can pay. How much do you need?”

      “Keep your money.”

      “It’s for Dad,” John said, stopping before he spouted what he really thought about his brother’s pride.

      Things were a lot worse than John had imagined, but even then, his brother’s loyalty to Alicia wasn’t a battle he was willing to wage. Stick to Brian’s plan and negotiate peace when the time is right.

      “Four days. Then we’ll suffer through a discussion,” Brian grudgingly mumbled.

      The ranch and his dad were a different story. Brian couldn’t keep him from looking at the financials while he was gone to “work.”

      “I’m not sure of what to do with Dad.”

      “There’s a list of exercises on the stand next to his bed. It will give you a chance to talk to him without me around. You can complain all you want.” Brian shoved his hair off his face and pulled an old beat-up straw hat onto his head. “Mabel said she’s glad to help with Dad and is five minutes across the road.”

      “I remember where Mrs. Standridge lives. Why are you wearing Dad’s hat?” His brother shot him a look and stuffed the hat harder on his head. “You could drive the rental to wherever you’re headed. I don’t have to return it for another couple of days.”

      “Now, why would I want to do that?” He tossed his gym bag into the front of the truck and climbed in. “Don’t call her unless you really need to impose.”

      “Don’t impose. Right,” John mumbled to a trail of dust mixed with gas fumes. “Four days without a freaking clue. Is that a reason to impose?”

      Talking to his brother was more difficult than facing a terrorist. Brian was right about one thing—speaking to his dad had always been easy. But that was a long time ago, before two-minute conversations or voice-mail tag had become their routine. Long before his dad had such a hard, frustrating time just communicating that he wanted a sip of water. Maybe he could talk about some of his war stories? His dad might enjoy those.

      But storytelling would have to wait until he’d checked forty sets of hooves. Made certain the rest of the herd was moved to the front pasture—what was left of it—and had plenty of water. Checked the fence line, which meant saddling an unfamiliar horse and riding for the first time in twelve years. In between the three-page to-do list, he was supposed to check on his father every half hour.

      How had Brian kept up with the work four hired men had accomplished while they’d been growing up? And why had he left with only a small bag for four days?

      Well, if Brian could do it, he could do it. He wanted to do it. If he could handle hotheaded naval aviators, he could handle some chores he’d done most of his childhood.

      Piece of cake.

      Chapter Four

      He couldn’t do it.

      Saddle sore, John wanted to drop in a chair, turn on a mind-numbing rerun of an old television show and drink a beer. If he’d been in San Diego, that was exactly what he would be doing. Or hitting the beach.

      Of course, if he’d been at home in front of his TV, he wouldn’t be frustrated at not completing any task on Brian’s list. He’d consistently been aware of each minute slithering by. The stops and starts of checking on his dad had disrupted each job he’d begun. As a result, he hadn’t finished anything.

      After a couple of hours he’d admitted he was out of his element. He’d run and trained almost every day since leaving home, but every part of him was sore in a different way. By lunch he’d called Mrs. Standridge. He wasn’t ashamed to ask for help. He was used to teamwork, admitting his shortcomings and working to improve.

      As soon as she’d arrived, he’d seen the look in his dad’s eyes change. Brian could have been a little more specific that their father was embarrassed for anyone to see him. Mable had let him know a couple of hours ago she’d fed his dad breakfast for a late lunch, something J.W. could eat almost on his own. J.W. clearly didn’t want her in the house, but there wasn’t a choice. They needed help.

      The excruciating one-hundred-plus temperature had climbed along with the sun. By the heat of the afternoon, it had hit 109. Might just make it down to ninety-eight later that night. Finally some relief. Ha! He hadn’t experienced a Texas summer since his teens. He’d like to see Brian survive after being dropped in the middle of a desert, dressed in full gear. He missed the ocean breeze and his run along the beach in California.

      Different life. Time to concentrate on this one and see if Brian would allow him to return home more often. Yeah, he was seeking permission from his brother.

      Which meant getting inside and tackling more things on the list. But first, he needed to get some of the sweat off him. One bathroom meant no shower until Mabel left. He crossed to the watering trough he’d just filled, pulled his shirt off and stuck his head under. The water cooled him like the shock of jumping in the Pacific.

      He shook his head and swiped his hand over his face to sluice the water off before he headed to the house. The distinct hum of his favorite Camaro pulled behind him and stopped.

      The last person he’d expected to see was Alicia. When he turned, there she was, one hand gripping the steering wheel, one hand gripping her cell. She didn’t make a move to get out of the car. According to the news he’d just heard, her kid was still missing. Why was she here?

      Lost. He’d seen that look before.

      The petrified stare of someone who had no options.

      “Alicia?” He opened the car door, reached across and turned the engine off then leaned on the roof. “Hey, you okay?”

      “No.”

      A whisper of desperation. Tears trickling from swollen eyes. She barely resembled the confident woman who’d met him in the driveway.

      “They can’t find her and...”

      “I want to help, but I’m not certain what I can do.”

      He could see her trying to keep control by blowing air through her puffed cheeks. It wasn’t working. Again, out of his element. Should he get her out of the car and take her inside or bring Mabel out here?

      “They— I thought— I have to sell the car, but he just called....”

Скачать книгу