Give Him the Slip (35 page)

Luke laughed aloud. He'd forgotten all about that. His twin had
screamed like a girl when the crayfish grabbed him.

Later that night, your mama put on her great-great-grandmother's
wedding gown, and she and I danced beneath the stars. It was a magical day. One
I'll never forget.

I wonder if up there in Heaven, you and your mama are remembering
it, too.

Love,

Dad

Luke's hands trembled as he folded the letter. He was shaken.
Those were not the words of a coldhearted bastard.

"I've kept writing the letters because I don't want to give
up hope that someday you and your brothers will go through your boxes."

Jerking his head around, Luke spied his father standing just
inside the study. Well, crap. He hated getting caught in the act of snooping.

"I think they'll help you understand," Branch said.

Luke summoned his anger to repair the soft spot in his defenses
battered into being by the contents of the letters, then attacked.
"Understand? No way in hell, old man. None of us will ever understand how
you could sit back and let John die."

"I didn't do that!" Branch shot him a furious look.

"Bullshit."

"You watch your mouth, boy. You're not going to talk that way
to me in my own house."

"Sure I will. I don't owe you my respect. You gave up that
right seventeen years ago when you kicked my ass out the fucking door."

"Did I? Let me ask you something. Where do you think you'd
be, what kind of a man do you think you'd be, if I hadn't done what I did? I
can answer that. You'd be a no-good bum instead of the fine man you became.
Remember how worthless you were? A rich kid with no discipline, no goals. No
compassion. Do you remember what you said to me the night y'all burned the boot
factory down? You said, 'It's no big deal. They'll find other jobs.'"
Branch grimaced with disgust. "I should have kicked your ass from here to
Dallas."

Luke shut his eyes. He couldn't argue with that. He
had
been
a shit back then.

"Now, I'll take the blame for your lack of character in those
days. After your mama died, I didn't do my job. I let you boys down. Once I
realized what I'd done wrong, I tried to fix it the best I knew how. If you
think sending y'all away was an easy decision for me, you're flat-out wrong.
Second to burying your mother, that was the hardest thing I'd ever done. But I
stand by my decision then and the ones I've made since. I'm so damned proud of
you boys. Even if I die before you can find some understanding in your souls,
I'll be able to go to my grave knowing I made it all right in the end."

"Really?" Luke shoved John's box of letters into the
cabinet, then rounded on his father. "So, you're good with seventy-five
percent? Three out of four? That's what you have here, you know. Three out of
four. Goddamn you for letting John die!"

Branch staggered back a step and gripped the doorway, his
expression stricken. "No... I didn't..."

"That's right. You didn't." Luke prowled around the room
like an angry mountain cat. "You know, Branch, it's possible I could get
past how you handled things after the fire. You're right; being tossed out did
make men of us. I believe you could have achieved similar results in safer,
less traumatic ways, but—"

"Y'all were safe," Branch interjected. "I had
people watching out for each of you. They'd have stepped in if any of you
managed to get into too much trouble."

Luke recalled some of the trouble he'd landed in during those
first few years and snorted. "You think? Wonder how your"—he sneered
the word—"people defined trouble. Apparently getting knocked off an oil
platform into rough seas didn't qualify. Nor did fighting for my life in a
Mexican alley."

"The rig accident was a case of your being in the wrong place
at the wrong time. That's karma. The other thing... well... what makes you think
my man wasn't in that alley?"

"Nobody was there but me and Terry and the sons o' bitches
trying to kill us," Luke scoffed.

Branch waited a moment, then said, "I know."

The implication of that rolled over Luke like a cement mixer and
sucked the breath right out of him. "No. Terry Winston wasn't..."

"He wasn't my man on the oil rig, but he pitched in when you
took some of your side trips."

Luke slumped back against the desk. Betrayal left a sick weakness
in his muscles. Terry reported to Branch? "We were partners."

"I hated hearing about his death. He was a good man. A damn
fine friend to you."

He was like a father to Luke. He lied to him for a dozen years.
Holy
crap, they're all alike.

Luke cleared his throat. "How much did you pay him?"

"Not a cent. Not after that first meeting, anyway. Terry was
better than that."

Luke shoved his fingers through his hair. He needed to lock all
this away. Now wasn't the time to think or react to this bit of news, not in
front of Branch. He could chew on it later. "So where was John's guardian
angel when he was snatched off the streets of Sarajevo?"

Branch's complexion washed white, and he sank into a leather
wingback chair. "He was taken, too."

"Should have hired better help, Daddy," Luke drawled
meanly.

"The ambassador told me it was a relatively safe posting.
John wanted to go. You know that. He spoke the language like a native and he
felt he needed the experience. In time, I believe he'd have become a great
diplomat."

"Well, he didn't have time, did he? His time ran out because
you failed to act."

"I
did
act!"

"You call that acting?" Luke let loose the rage that had
seethed inside him since his brother's death. "You turned to that
good-for-nothing good old boy from West Texas for help. What the hell did he
do? I'll tell you. He got my brother killed."

"Congressman Parsons tried to cut the red tape—"

"Like I said. Good-for-nothing. All Parsons is good for is
making sure Texas crude gets top dollar on the market floor. Bunch of corrupt
old men in Washington." Luke shook his head. "You had us—your blood,
your sons—and instead you trusted an old oil-field buddy who wouldn't know a
terrorist's motives from a goddamned coyote's."

Branch gripped the armrests and pushed to his feet. "I'm
gonna say again what I tried to tell you at John's funeral. Listen to me this
time, Luke. Do you honestly think I didn't do everything I could to see your
brother released? The government was telling me I couldn't pay the ransom, and
they were throwing roadblocks in my way so I couldn't do it on my own. I had to
have help. I didn't know who else to go to other than Parsons."

"And that's what's unforgivable!" Luke exploded, finally
saying words he'd wanted to say for years. "You didn't know who else to go
to? Goddammit, Dad. You never called us. It was bad enough before I knew just
how close tabs you kept on us, but now... hell! You knew! You knew the uniforms
we wore. You knew Mark was in the army, but you must have known he's army
intelligence. I'll bet you knew Matt was a spook, too. I'm sure Terry must have
told you about my special skills. For God's sake, old man. Why didn't you come
to us?"

"You don't understand. The ransom—"

"Fuck the ransom. It's never been about the ransom. I
actually agree with the government's policy not to pay. But Mark and Matt and
I, we could have gone after him. We had the skills and the balls and the
motivation and the responsibility to go after John. He was our brother. The
best of us. The
best."

Luke's throat threatened to close, and he strove to maintain the
control that he held on to by a thread. Johnny. He'd paid for his brothers'
sins all his life. He'd been a kid when the boot-factory fire happened. Luke
and Mark and Matt had been old enough to know better, but Johnny had just
tagged along. Look what had happened. Guilt all but knocked Luke to his knees.

Guilt should have knocked his father flat. "He didn't deserve
any of it, Branch. All he had was you, sorry as you were after Mama died, and
us. I won't argue with your decision to kick us out of town, but to send Johnny
away, too? To send him to military school? Christ.

"But you weren't finished yet, were you. You helped him get
that job, and then when he really needed us, you turned your back. You didn't
even tell us until it was too damned late."

Luke recalled his return to Brazos Bend. John's coffin. The
helpless sense of rage—at his father, at himself—that had eaten him alive.

"Maybe we wouldn't have saved him, but we could have tried.
We damned sure would have done better than anything Barney Parsons put
together. You should have trusted us, Branch. Damn you for not trusting us to
attempt to rescue our baby brother. That's why we'll never forgive you."

Branch appeared to have aged ten years in the past ten minutes. He
looked old and pathetic, but Luke couldn't pity him. He was too filled with
anger. With betrayal.

Damned if the old bastard didn't have tears in his eyes.

"I guess I'll have to live with that, then," Branch
finally said. "Look, son, I have to go to sleep every night knowing it's
my fault. I'm the one who put John in that military boarding school where he
discovered his talent for languages. I'm the one who paved his way into the
diplomatic corps with my money. I'm the one who called the State Department
when the ransom demand arrived. Yet the one thing I can feel good about when I
close my eyes is the decision I made regarding you and your brothers."

"Feel good? Are you crazy?"

"No, I'm your father. I was John's father. I know in my heart
that he wouldn't have wanted me to risk his brothers' lives on a suicidal
mission against Croatian warlords. Losing John was bad enough. I couldn't bear
losing you three, too."

"Wait a minute." Luke's voice came as soft and cold as a
snowfall. "Are you saying you didn't tell us because you were trying to
protect us? Try again, Daddy."

"I tried my level best to effect a rescue for John, but I
couldn't, I
wouldn't,
risk the lives of the boys I had left. It's what
John would have wanted. What your mother would have wanted. You can hate me for
the rest of your life, but you'll be alive to do it. And for that, I'm
thankful."

"Fuck," Luke muttered.

"I'll ask you this, Luke, and then I won't say another word.
What if it had been you being ransomed by a warmonger? Would you have wanted
your brothers to sacrifice themselves on the razor-slim chance they could get
you out safely? You think about that."

Having said his piece, he turned to leave, shuffling slowly toward
the door like the old, broken man he was. Then he stopped and made a liar of
himself by speaking some more. "And don't you ever let me hear you say the
F word in your mother's house again."

For a long moment, Luke stood frozen in place. His heart pounded;
a metallic taste coated his mouth. He couldn't think about what his father had
just said. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He didn't want to think about his brothers
dying because of him. He wasn't going to be manipulated by Branch Callahan.
Never again.

What if it had been you being ransomed...

He wasn't sure he could draw a breath. The old man might have
controlled the past, but he sure as hell wasn't controlling the future. Luke
wanted to get away. Far away. He couldn't deal with all this. He wanted to run.
He wanted Maddie. He wanted her to take the pain away.

His gaze fell upon the letters, the lies. The betrayal. Be damned if
he'd try to see his father's point of view.

It was just too much. Terry, now this. His mind spun like a top.
"I gotta get out of here."

Taking long, powerful strides, he crossed to the doorway, brushing
past his father without glare or glance or comment. In the entry he shouted up
the stairs, "Maddie! Come on. We're leaving!"

"I'm right here, Luke," she said calmly, gently.
Compassion filled her eyes and she smiled with understanding. She knew. She's
read the letters, wrote many of them. She'd been standing there all along.
She'd heard it. Heard it all.

"Knucklehead! Here, boy." Luke's hand grasped Maddie's
and held it hard. "We're leaving. Right now." His voice was shaking
and he hated it.

"All right." She brought his hand up and kissed it.
"Take me home, honey. It's been a long day."

"Hell. It's been a long life."

He brooded as they walked out to his truck, then as he opened the
door for Maddie, he glanced over his shoulder to see his father's silhouette
framed in the dining room window. All his anger and his pain and his guilt came
roaring back. For a good five minutes, Luke ranted; he raved; he cursed and
kicked his tires. He railed at Terry, even blamed Maddie for recording the lies
his old man told for posterity. "Those lies should die with him. Soon.
I'll burn 'em. I swear, that's what I'll do. I'll cremate them right along with
his sorry, lying hide."