Lone Tree (29 page)

“Just get one movie.”

She grinned and left.

The roads were clear and the car ate up the miles.
If she didn’t take her time choosing a film, she’d be home too soon and he’d
start grumbling again about how fast she drove. He had a lot of good points,
but some faults, too—one of which was that he was too darn bossy, and another
that he could nag relentlessly.

Jackie’s place was first. Lainie rang the bell,
waited, then opened the screen and stooped to slide the card under the door.
When she placed her hand against the door for balance, it slid inward. Puzzled,
she straightened.

“Jackie?”

No answer. Jackie Lyn didn’t always lock her door,
especially when running out on a quick errand, and apparently this time she
hadn’t even closed it properly. Lainie stepped inside, deciding the card would
be safer next to the telephone, and then the phone message and the card would
explain each other.

A swish of movement made her jerk her head around
and then a body ran into her, bowling her over, and the door slammed shut.
Though the room was only dimly backlit by a nightlight in the hall, somehow
Lainie knew it was Jackie she’d collided with. She rose onto one knee, more
stunned than frightened. But when she got a look at her friend, she froze.
Swollen and bruised, skin broken and bleeding, Jackie’s face was a pitiable
sight.

The other woman’s gaze was fixed on a point behind
Lainie, and Jackie’s expression told Lainie she didn’t have time to get to her
feet—nor could she effectively fight whoever it was behind her.

So surprise was their only option. Lainie’s fear
didn’t subside, but her paralysis broke. She hit the floor on her side, rolled,
and thrust both feet up at a hovering form. One foot connected with something
solid and hope rose in her that they had a chance. She heard a grunt and a
sharp intake of breath. As the man doubled over she drew her leg back to kick
his head, but he hadn’t been hurt badly because he caught her ankle and
twisted.

Jackie had crawled away and was getting to her feet.
The man reached for her but only caught air. Lainie lay next to a short,
three-tiered bookcase and she grabbed a marble paperweight from the bottom
shelf. She swung in a wide arc and connected with the man’s elbow. He howled, pulled
his arm in close to his side, and Jackie kept moving.

Lainie rolled over and tried to stand. She had her
weight on her right foot when he shoved the bookcase over on top of her. Her
foot slipped, making her leg twist, and she felt something pull in her knee.

He pushed her onto her back and straddled her. Pain
from her knee shot up her leg. She dug fingernails into his forearms and
scratched deeply enough to leave bloody furrows, but he merely reared back and quickly
broke her grip. He grabbed the collar of her shirt, lifted her head and hit her
twice with his fist. Black pinpoints exploded behind her eyes. He let her head
drop and it thumped on the hardwood floor. She heard his voice, low and
guttural, muttering Miles’s name, which made no sense. Room and man blurred.
Awareness tapered off, only the throbbing in her leg kept her conscious.

As her resistance ebbed, he started to rise,
probably to go after Jackie. Lainie panted, tried to stay conscious. She
couldn’t afford to pass out. Something loomed, she caught a flash of movement
and a thud, and then his dead weight dropped onto her.

Jackie Lyn stood over them, clutching a cast-iron
skillet in both hands. She lifted it to strike again, but the man wasn’t
moving. His blood soaked Lainie’s shirt, along with something else that she
gradually realized was oozing, lukewarm bacon grease.

When she tried to get out from under him and away
from the flow of blood, she couldn’t budge him. Spasms of pain shot up and down
her right leg and rendered that limb useless. She anchored her left foot
against a sofa leg and strained with shoulders and arms. Her breath came in
short gasps.

Jackie’s gaze never left the man as she stepped away
and reached for the phone on an end table. She punched numbers in and then
recited her address in a voice devoid of emotion. Her attention on him, the
skillet at grabbing distance and her eyes as focused as a frightened animal’s,
Jackie cradled the phone between her neck and shoulder and tightened the sash
that was holding the robe closed. It didn’t appear she wore anything under it.

Lainie continued to push at the man’s dead weight.
Jackie put the phone down and picked up the skillet. Holding the weapon ready,
she put her right foot on the man’s rump. His weight shifted, Jackie changed
position to shove with her foot at his shoulders, and Lainie coordinated her
efforts with Jackie’s. He rolled off onto the floor with a thump. Lainie noted
the physical distress the exertion had cost Jackie, and knew that her friend
was hurting. Lainie turned onto her side, bent her knee, and the throbbing in
her leg began to ease.

Jackie sat on the fallen bookcase, lifted the phone
to her ear and said in a dull tone, “Yes, I’m still here.” She held the skillet
in her lap. Even as the distant sirens grew louder, she never once looked away
from the man’s motionless form at her feet.

*

Lainie’s knee was sprained. It was barely swollen,
not even bruised, and if she kept it still she was fine. But when she jarred
it, she wanted to scream. It’d heal with time and therapy. Because her face was
sore, she asked the hospital staff for a hand mirror, then wished she hadn’t.
Her left eye was turning purple, the skin over her cheekbone looked like raw
meat, and her lip was split. None of the medical staff attending her had
information about Jackie.

Reed and Miles were waiting when she was wheeled out
of X-ray. The younger man was white-faced. The older man stood back, said nothing.

“Jackie?” she asked.

“They say she’s all right,” Reed said, voice tight.
“Ray and Margene are with her.”

Standing next to his boss, he could’ve been dwarfed
by Miles’s bulk, but Reed had a commanding air about him that wouldn’t allow
him to be dwarfed. He put his hand lightly on hers at the side of the
wheelchair.

“Sorry.” She turned her fingers under his, gripped
his hand and squeezed. “Forgot the movie.”

He knelt beside her, lowered his head and closed his
eyes. His other hand gripped the chair’s arm so tightly his knuckles turned
white. The orderly behind Lainie’s chair waited.

Lainie looked at Miles, who hadn’t moved. He wore
mismatched clothing, his hair was uncombed, and his lower face was covered with
gray bristle. His color was ashen, expression stark, much the same as when
she’d been bucked off Glory. But there was no sign of fear or solicitousness,
concern or relief—just coldness, hardness. He frightened her.

“It’s okay, Miles. I’m okay.” She lifted her free
hand toward him.

He stepped forward, took her hand and gently, very
gently, squeezed it. Then he laid her hand in her lap and stepped back. His
expression didn’t change.

Reed straightened and attempted to take charge of
the chair from the orderly, but the man explained that wasn’t allowed. Reed’s
eyes narrowed. Heading off the clash, Lainie took his hand again, then movement
at the hall’s intersection caught her eye.

Raymond and Margene turned the corner. Tears
streamed down Ray’s face. “That son of a bitch. That son of a bitch.”

Lainie locked gazes with Margene.

“She has to stay the night,” Margene told her.
“Three broken ribs. Painkiller put her out, and she needs to sleep.” She
stopped, faltered. “To get away from it, and to rest. We’ll take her home in
the morning. She’ll be okay.” She looked into space beyond Lainie, and
repeated, as if telling herself, “She’ll be okay.”

“That son of a bitch.”

Miles clasped an arm around the man’s shoulders.
“Ray. She’s going to be all right.” Ray was almost as tall, but rail-thin. His
eyes were liquid pools of helpless rage.

“My little girl. That son of a bitch, Miles. That
son of a bitch.”

“Let’s walk.” Miles steered him away.

Margene looked after them. “Once he gets her home,
under his wing, it’ll be better for him.” Her voice was slow, quiet, with pain in
it, but also a kind of velvet-wrapped strength. She breathed in, out, and
seemed to gain stamina with the breath. “The doctors don’t think she’ll need
cosmetic work. Her face will heal. She’ll need a dentist, though. Lost some
teeth.”

Reed reached out, put his hand on Margene’s shoulder
and squeezed. She looked at him, nodded. “I’m going back now, just to sit with
her.” She looked at Lainie. “You take care.” Her voice cracked. “You hear?”

Lainie took her hand, held it in both of hers.
“Margene, I’m so sorry. I want to see her...when she...as soon as she...if the
doctor says...as soon as I can.”

“I know,” Margene said. “I’ll tell her.” Her hand
squeezed Lainie’s in return, then she pulled hers free and left.

Equipped with pain pills, crutches and a knee brace,
Lainie was released that night. The hospital staff had cut her jeans off, so
she wore a blue-checkered hospital gown under the black jacket. Miles and Reed
retrieved her car, and Reed drove her home in it. Miles followed in Reed’s
truck. She kept herself in check until they drove through the Lone Tree gate,
then she lost it. Sobs and tears spilled out of her like an overflowing dam.

Reed sent several glances her way but didn’t attempt
to shush her. He parked in front of his house, got out and came around to her
side to help her hobble to the house door. The red truck was still behind the
sedan, engine idling, when she entered the house.

Before a week had passed, every ranch hand had
visited Lainie at least once, each person bearing flowers, candy, balloons or
stuffed animals. Luke couldn’t make up his mind so had brought all four.
Somehow Reed had found a place for everything; his house resembled a gift shop.

Nelly, her first visitor, had presented her with a
nosegay of wildflowers in a tin can wrapped in aluminum foil. The simple
offering made her eyes mist. Setting his homemade vase on the end table, he
withdrew an apple from his pocket.

“I feed this to Glory for you, soon as I get back. I
done explain how things be to her, and she waitin’ for you, till you back on
your feet again.”

“Thanks, Nelly.”

His gaze stayed on her as he slipped the apple back
into his pocket. His head moved in a barely discernable nod. “You be okay, I’m
thinkin.”

“Yes. I am.”

He continued to stand there, solemn-faced, holding
his hat in his hands. “Miss Jackie need your help, need all our help. I’m
prayin’ for her.”

A tear welled and rolled down her cheek.

Shuffling over to where she sat in the armchair, he
bent, stiffly because of the restrictive arthritis, and gave her a light peck
on the cheek. Then he took his leave, walking slowly with innate dignity.

Surprising her, Randy showed up on his own, and he
reacted to her injury with such intensity it seemed he was the one in pain.
He’d probably realized how easily it could’ve been Bobbie Ann who’d wandered
into that house and blundered into Carl Henry. From his broken sentences, she
got a glimmer of the ongoing ordeal in the Cooper household, and his deep
respect for the family came through loud and clear.

Jackie had gone home with her parents and was giving
up her small house. Lainie guessed she’d never feel safe there again; Lainie
doubted she herself would ever feel safe in it. Randy was helping Ray move her
furniture into storage. Once Jackie was ready to be on her own again, she’d
find another place.

Their only contact was by phone, at Lainie’s
instigation, and regardless of how she worded a question or statement, she got
wooden responses. She was worried about Jackie, needed to see her, but her injured
knee rendered her immobile. Because her friend hadn’t yet been moved to place a
simple phone call, it was doubtful she could be enticed into making a personal
visit. But Lainie called, issued the invitation anyway, and wasn’t surprised
when it was declined.

The phone rang only minutes after she hung up. She
answered, expecting to take a message for Reed.

“Hi, this is Bobbie.” She sounded too cheerful, like
her voice was forced. “We talked Jackie into getting out for a while after all.
We can be there in an hour if the offer still holds.”

“Then get on over here. Best news I had all day.”
Lainie put the receiver in its cradle and stared at it. She realized Jackie’s
family didn’t know how to help her, and hoped that Lainie could. But the truth
was she didn’t know how either.

Then she looked up, her mind lighting upon the
practicality of receiving company. Refreshments were in order, but she couldn’t
get around well enough to make anything. She called Rosalie, who sounded both
pleased and amused with her hesitant request, and promised to send over
fresh-baked cinnamon rolls.

Her guests arrived, and Lainie’s worry doubled
itself. Jackie was healing physically, though her face still bore signs of
discoloration, but the psychological scars ran bone-deep, surrounding her like
an aura. She was listless, yet anxious, both distant and skittish. She held no
animation or glow; it appeared she was merely performing the daily motions of
living.