Turner's Rainbow 2 - The Rainbow Promise (22 page)

Cal wasn't very hungry because he had eaten so much at lunch, but still he piled heaps of food on his plate, afraid to let anything pass without taking a helping. He ate until he was stuffed, and when he couldn't take another bite, he stuffed a couple of rolls into his pockets. He didn't know when he'd cat like this again. He couldn't conceive of it happening everyday.

As they ate dessert, there was a loud knocking on the front door. Sarah rose and went to answer it. Everyone watched her, curious to see who it was. She pulled open the door. A short, stocky man in sweat-stained work clothes stood on the other side. His blocky face was set pugnaciously, and his gray eyes were as cold as the winter sky.

Cal drew in his breath, rising involuntarily from his seat. He was suddenly cold all over. "Grandpa!"

G
eorge Jackson stared right through Sarah. She had never seen such malevolence directed at her before, and she stepped back instinctively.

"I'm here for Cal. Where is he?" Jackson barked.

Luke jumped out of his chair and hurried into the entry hall to position himself between Jackson and Sarah. The two men faced each other silently for a long moment. Cal watched them, his hands gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. He would have to go back now, he knew, and he wanted desperately not to.

"Cal is staying in this house." Luke's voice was as calm and cold as Jackson's was heated, but it was even harder.

"My grandson's not spending even one night in this godless household. You have no right to take the boy away from me."

"I have every right. I'm his father."

"You're not a father; you're just the man who raped his mother."

Luke looked at Jackson levelly. "We both know that isn't true. And we know why Tessa claimed it—to keep you from beating her to death."

"She spoke the truth."

"She would have said it was John Wesley if she thought that was what you wanted to hear. But the name you wanted was mine, and the word you wanted was rape."

"You're the devil's own. And your boy's got the devil in him, too, but I aim to see that the devil's rooted outta that child. He's gonna grow up in God's way."

"What the hell do you know about God's way?" Luke's eyes flashed blue fire. "You think it's God's way to beat religion into a boy?"

"The Lord's path is a hard one. Calvin's prone to all the pitfalls. But I'll see to it that he don't fall in with sin."

"You'll see to nothing. He won't be with you. He's staying right here."

"You're not fit to raise a child. I'll go to the law and gel him back."

"Fine. We'll go to court. I'm the boy's natural father. His mother wants me to have him. I have the means to take care of him. Who do you think they'll give the child to?"

Jackson's face turned red, and veins stood out at his temples. "You have 'em all fooled, don't ya? You dress so fine and act so high-and-mighty, they forget what you are, what you did to my daughter. Well, I don't forget. You can seduce a weak woman like her." He gestured toward Sarah. "Sweet talk her into marrying you and giving you her daddy's land. But you can't sweet talk me. I know you for the vile sinner you are."

Luke's hand shot out grabbed the other man's shirt, and he jerked him forward. "Don't you ever, ever, talk that way about my wife again. I don't even want to hear her name in your mouth. Do you understand?" He twisted his hand around Jackson's shirt, closing it tightly around his throat. He wound it one more turn. "Do you understand?"

Jackson nodded shortly, hatred in every line of his face.

"All right." Luke uncurled his hand slowly and dropped it back down by his side. "Now. Cal is staying here. I want you off my land. If you ever show up here again, I'll meet you with my shotgun."

Jackson glared and his hands doubled up into fists. But Luke stood poised, ready for him, and Jackson stepped back. "You'll regret this, Turner."

Luke said nothing, simply keeping the same cold stare on him. Jackson made a low growl of frustration and left.

Luke closed the door and turned around. Sarah was smiling at him, her face pink with pleasure and all the old love in her eyes. It made his heart start to hammer.

He looked into the dining room. Cal stood stock-still, and his tanned skin was pale, his eyes huge.

"Cal? You all right?"

Cal wet his lips and nodded. He'd never seen anybody stand up to his grandfather before. He would never have believed it possible. But Luke had done it. Luke had faced the terrifying old man down—and he'd done it for him.

"Don't worry about it, son," Luke told him gently, and the blue eyes, a moment ago so cold and hard, warned. "He won't get you back. I won't let him."

Cal's legs began to tremble, and he sat down abruptly. Luke walked past him and ruffled his hair. Cal had never before felt a gesture of affection from a man, and tears started in his eyes. He blinked them away, hating his weakness.

"Well," Sarah said, restoring the moment to mundane reality. "It's almost time for bed. Why don't you children go play while I do the dishes? Then I'll put you to bed."

Playing wasn't something Cal was used to either, for Grandpa firmly believed in the axiom that "idle hands are the Devil's playground." Emily was happy to introduce him to the concept. Sarah smiled, listening to her daughter's squeals of laughter from the other room. The boy had a good heart, she thought, like Luke.

When Sarah finished the dishes, she made up the bed in the room Julia had occupied when her family stayed at their house. She couldn't put him in the room Vance had used because Luke was still sleeping there. Sarah felt a fresh stab of hurt at the thought. It was so lonely in her bed at night.

She sent Cal to his room to undress, giving him a nightshirt Vance had worn, while she dressed Emily for bed and read her a story. When she was through listening to Emily's baby's prayer, she went into Cal's room.

He stood in the middle of his room, dressed in the faded nightshirt. He looked pitifully thin and alone to Sarah.

"Well." Sarah smiled at him. "Looks like you're all ready." She went to the bed and turned down the covers. She patted the sheets. "Hop in."

Stiffly Cal climbed into the bed and sat there. Sarah pulled up the covers over his feet. "Are you too big a boy for a bedtime story?"

He looked at her in confusion. "You mean, readin' from the Bible?"

"Well, if you want, I could. But I meant a bedtime story, like the ones I read Emily."

"I don't know." His face became shuttered. Sarah had seen the look often enough on Luke's face when she first met him to know what it meant. Cal wasn't sure what she was talking about and was embarrassed by that fact.

Sarah got the book from Emily's room and sat down on the side of Cal's bed. She chose one of the fairy tales with action and adventure as more suited to his age and sex. He listened intently, his eyes fastened on the colorful pictures in the book, his mouth slightly open. When she finished the story and shut the book, he gazed up at her in wonder.

"Did you like that?"

He nodded.

"Good. We'll read another one tomorrow night. Now it's time to say your prayers and go to sleep."

Cal knelt beside the bed with Sarah, thinking that this time the prayer was bound to be long and full of sin and repentance. But Sarah folded her hands and merely thanked God for the day and its blessings, ending by saying, "And thank You most of all for bringing Luke's son to us. Please help us to become a strong and loving family in Christ. Amen."

She rose, and Cal opened his eyes in amazement. He scrambled to his feet before she could change her mind. He got into bed, and Sarah pulled the covers up around him. They looked at each other for a moment, then she leaned down and softly kissed the top of his head. Cal froze. Her scent was all around him, sweet and warm. He wanted to throw his arms around her and hold on. But he didn't.

Sarah straightened and walked out the door. Cal looked around the room. It was twice as big as the one he'd shared with his grandpa back home and far lovelier. The bed was soft and deep, and the sheets were cool and clean, scented with the outdoors. The window was halfway open, and the curtains moved in the slight breeze. It was all so soft, so nice, so good.

He slipped out of bed and padded softly around the room. He touched the posts of the bed, the colorful quilt folded across the foot, the dresser top with its long lace runner, the minor, the china figurine, the washstand. It was his room. All his. He wanted to believe it. But he didn't dare let himself. He didn't even dare let himself hope. It couldn't last; it couldn't be what it seemed to be.

They would grow tired of him. He would do one of the bad things he always did, and they would realize what a mistake they had made. They'd send him back to Grandpa, and he'd lose the wonderful room, the soft bed, the little sister, that kind woman. His father. His home. Those were things he couldn't count on. He'd found out long ago that it was worse than useless to want something; it was painful.

The door opened, and Luke entered the room quietly. "Cal? What are you doing up?"

Cal shrugged and jumped back into bed, afraid that Luke would be able to read his face and see the hope there.

Luke sat down on the bed. He brushed an errant strand of hair back from Cal's forehead. "I never thought I'd find me a half-grown son." He paused. "I meant what I said down there. There's no way I'll let George Jackson take you back."

Cal wanted to throw himself against Luke's hard body, to find safety in his strength. But he was sure Luke would recoil from him. Besides, it would reveal to Luke how weak he was, how scared. Cal was determined that no one should ever find that out.

"I know it must seem awfully strange to you right now," Luke went on. "But you'll get used to it. You'll come to like it here. You'll see." He paused. He didn't know what to say to reach this boy, yet he found himself wanting to find the key to unlock him. But that wouldn't happen tonight, he reminded himself. There were years of pain to be gotten through before he reached Cal inside.

"Good night, son." He leaned down, like Sarah, and brushed his lips against Cal's forehead. He rose and walked out of the room.

Cal watched him until the door closed. He slid down in bed until he was lying down. He pulled the sheets up high around his shoulders, burrowing into the softness of the down mattress. Then, suddenly, tears came out of nowhere like they sometimes did at night. He buried his face in the pillow to muffle the sounds, and he cried.

❧

Luke went downstairs to the kitchen. Sarah was sitting at the table with a glass of lemonade before her. She looked up at ham and smiled. "Would you like a glass?"

"That'd be nice." He sat down at the table while she poured him the last of the lemonade from the pitcher.

They sat for a moment in silence, sipping at their drinks. There was a comfortableness, a rightness, between them that hadn't been there in a long time. "I was proud of you this evening," Sarah said quietly, "the way you stood up to George Jackson,"

Luke's lips curled into a sneer. "He ought to be horsewhipped."

"Yes." Sarah paused. She stared down intently at her glass as she methodically ran her thumb and middle finger down the sides of the glass over and over "Luke... I... I wanted you to know how sorry I am."

"For what? What are you talking about?"

"For the way I acted yesterday. What I said about not wanting Cal. It was wrong. Will you forgive me?"

"Forgive you? Oh, Sarah, there's nothing to forgive. I'm nobody to be forgiving you."

"But I was mean and cold, like you said."

"I was angry. I don't think that. I couldn't think that of you. You're the kindest woman in the world."

Sarah smiled faintly at his hyperbole. "Hardly that."

"Close enough," He reached out and touched her fingers with the tips of his.

Her skin was smooth beneath his fingers. Just the feel of it sent desire snaking through him. He wanted her, as he had always wanted her. He wanted to be with her, to lie with her, to have her head on his shoulder, to hear her voice beside him in the darkness. He wanted her soft body beneath him, her legs locked around him, taking him into her.

He felt like a scoundrel for wanting her. He had killed their baby and almost killed her with his lust. He hated himself for that, yet he couldn't control the lust. Merely touching her hand brought it surging up within him. He thought about kissing her, about sliding his hand up her arm and onto her body. He thought about her breast cupped in his hand, the nipple tightening at his touch. Already he was hard and pulsing.

He lay in bed at night thinking about Sarah, remembering their lovemaking. Every night was a torment: desiring her and despising himself for it. He was an animal. She was barely healed. She must dread his touch after what had happened. He could not take her.

This evening it had been worse than usual. She had looked at him glowingly when he got rid of George Jackson, just as she had looked at him in the past, full of love and pride. Several times today there had been a moment when they were close, when there was warmth between them and no barriers. Those tastes of remembered love had been like a match to straw, igniting the passion in him that was never far below the surface.

He wished desperately that it could be like it was once more. He knew it could not.

Luke pulled his hand back from Sarah's. He cleared his throat and took a gulp of his drink. "Well. I guess it's time for us—time to go to bed." He took the glass to the sink and rinsed it out. He set the glass on the counter and stood for a moment, his hands gripping the edge of the sink. He wanted to turn around and take her in his arms. It took everything he had not to.

Sarah stood up, too. Perhaps now Luke would return to her bed. Maybe the closeness they had shared today had ended the separation between them. She wanted to fall asleep in his arms again, to feel his warmth and strength encircling her.

She climbed the stairs to their bedroom. She heard Luke rattling around downstairs, latching the screen doors and turning off the lamps. Sarah stood in her room, taking down her hair and brushing it, listening for the sound of Luke's footsteps. She heard him coming up the stairs. He paused at the top, and she stiffened, scarcely breathing, waiting.

Luke looked through the open door at Sarah. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, thick, dark, and inviting.

He knew exactly how it would feel beneath his fingers. He knew its softness and scent. His breath came faster in his throat, and his heart raced.

He turned the other way and went into the bedroom he used now.

Sarah slumped. She wanted to cry. Luke didn't want to be with her. She was alone. For the first time in weeks, her loneliness was more missing Luke than sorrow over the baby that had died.