trying to erase the mental picture of his brother’s lifeless body ripped from his grasp on the Red Thunder’s flood-swollen waters.
Like some punishment cursed upon him by a Greek god, Kent, Ellen and the accident on that awful evening visited him nightly, torturing him with all he’d lost.
The television screen showed a transport van filled with racehorses toppled on a rain-slicked highway outside a small East Texas town. As much as his life revolved around horses, it wasn’t his equine brothers that held him entranced but the man swaddled in a black slicker trying to save them. Watching the sheriff on the screen was as if he were viewing his own face, had the rocks in the Red Thunder River not altered it all those years ago.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. Blood roared in his ears. Thoughts tumbled through his mind like debris on a storm-tossed sea. It’s the rain, he tried to convince himself. It made him think of the river, of that night.
It’s not him. It can’t be. Look, the name’s different. Conover, not Makepeace. And Beaumont is at least a hundred miles from Ashbrook.
Downriver, he reminded himself. The sharp cheekbones. The hard eyes. The mantle of responsibility square on his shoulders. Familiar. Could Kent have survived such a long trek down the raging Red Thunder?
The face on the screen joined the haunted memories preying on his mind, overlapping, morphing one into the other, mocking him. Kent, Ellen, anger, so much anger.
“Pajackok? What’s wrong?”
When Nina had found him his broken jaw had made him unable to talk. She’d renamed him Pajackok, the Algonquian word for thunder. She’d told him he was all thunder and no lightning. Told him she’d help him find his spark. He’d done his best to discourage her care but she’d ignored him.
She still didn’t know about Ellen, about his brother, about the damage he’d done with one raw burst of anger.
Pajackok…Kevin Ransom. Both lies.
If he’d changed his name, maybe Kent had, too, and given himself a second chance. Kent hadn’t been happy in Ashbrook but he’d been the responsible one, and those self-imposed responsibilities had weighed him down and cemented him into place. Would he have welcomed the chance at freedom?
Could it be? Could Kevin have avoided all of this torture if he’d just had the courage to face the consequences of his actions? Was Kent alive?
“Pajackok?”
To reassure Nina, Kevin strained to find a smile. The gesture was shallow and didn’t linger long on his lips. The spot of warmth on his heart for his adoptive grandmother grew cold in the shade of guilt and shame from his memories. For Nina’s sake he swallowed them back and forced another smile. “Nothing, Grandmother.”
Despite her shortness of breath she laughed, shaking a finger at him. “Nothing translates to everything when you say it that way.”
“Sometimes, I wish you weren’t so good at reading my mind.”
“Not your mind, Pajackok, your face.”
He ran a hand over the scars that landscaped his cheeks like a dropped puzzle. The ugliness was his due.
“Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to guess?” she insisted on a wheeze.
“I’m worried about you.”
She nodded and looked away. “I’m going home tonight.”
“No, don’t say that.” Sitting on the edge of the bed he took her frail hand in his.
“It’s time.” Her eyes implored understanding. “This robe no longer fits. It’s so heavy.”
He didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to lose her.
Her gaze once again sought the flowers swaying in the breeze, then searched the hills fading into darkness. “Take me to the ranch. I want to see the stars rising over the mountains.”
“Grandmother…”
She tugged at the tubes dangling from her nose, then swept the room with a hand. “This is not my wish.”
Dying, a stranger among strangers. He couldn’t blame her. She’d wandered all of her life, picking up bits and pieces of Native American philosophy along the way. He wasn’t sure what kind or if she even had any Indian blood. All he knew was that because of Nina he’d learned to make peace with most of his demons and had found a noble purpose in life. If she wanted to “shed her robe” watching the evening stars rise over the mountains, who was he to deny her her final wish?
“It’s those damn cigarettes of yours.” Gritting back a flash of anger, he strode to the closet and yanked her purple jacket off the hanger.
“Pah! Cigarettes, whiskey, demons. They all get you in the end. I’ve had a long walk on the good Red Road. I have no regrets. It’s just the start of another circle, Pajackok.”
“I know.” She’d told him enough stories about life and circles and connections. Hanging on to her when she was in such pain was selfish. But he still needed her wisdom, still needed her friendship…still needed her love.
He supported her as they walked down the corridor, wheeling the oxygen bottle behind them. She greeted everyone with a smile. Despite his silent plea, no one tried to stop her. In his truck, he tucked a clean horse rug around her knees and switched the heat to high to keep her warm.
On the hill overlooking the grazing horses she’d raised, a peace he hadn’t seen for months came over her face. In the moonlight the horses were nothing more than dark shapes, moving slowly to the rhythm of their hunger. She sat and motioned for him to join her.
“This is a good place,” Nina said.
“You should have bought your own ranch years ago.” He tucked the blanket around her knees and lifted the hood of her coat onto her head.
“I didn’t feel the need.” She stared at the sky as if it were a gazing ball. “Do the demons still visit you at night?”
Her question took him by surprise and he found the denial strangling in his throat. How could she possibly know about the demons?
“Honor me, son of my heart, by having the courage to go back to your roots and heal your past. Only in that way will you find your peace.”
She was pulling all the strings she’d carefully lain over the years. Honor, discipline, connection, respect. They were the touchstones of her life, her guiding principles, and she’d quietly instilled them in him. He would give his own lungs to see her live, but he couldn’t go back to Texas. Not with the memories of Kent and Ellen tearing him up inside. What could he say to either of them to make them understand the depth of his regret?
He shook his head. “Grandmother, I honor you, b—”
“Good, I’m glad that’s settled. I didn’t want to go home until I was certain you would follow the right path.”
“The horses—”
“Stanley Black Bear will take care of them until you’re ready
