The Temptation (Kindred) (11 page)

“You do?” he asked, overjoyed.

“No. I mean, I get that we can’t be together anymore,” I said. I was terrified to make him angry, so I tried to let him down gently by lying to him. “I want to break up. I like you, you’re a cool guy, but I don’t think we’re right for each other.”

Logan was silent for a moment, and I heard him sheathe the knife. My shoulders dropped a little in relief.

Nervously, I looked around me for Travis. I caught a glimmer of lights in the area where the jackrabbit had fled and knew that Travis was saving the poor little animal, just as he’d saved me. My heart melted with love for him.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Logan said with a hint of shame. “I thought you were cool with me the way I am.”

“It’s not you,” I lied, trying to seem normal and maybe even a little dumb, instinct telling me it would be unwise to criticize Logan right now. “It’s me. I’m going through a lot, and I appreciate your concern for me and all that, but right now I think I just need to be alone.”

He looked angry. “I mean, damn, Shane. I don’t know what to say. I just . . . I feel like a moron now.”

I was silent.

He continued, “I just opened up for you like I never did for anyone. I said I loved you. I showed you my soul. My passion. And you rejected me. Ouch, man.”

“I’m sorry. We can still be friends, okay?”

“You sure you want to break up?”

“Yeah.”

“Weird. No girl ever broke up with me before. I’m actually a pretty popular guy. I mean, you might not dig me, but a lot of chicks do. I know that for a fact.”

“I know,” I said, actually pitying him for sounding so insecure now. “You’re a great catch. You’ll find someone new in no time.”

“I’m not worried about that,” he said, but he did, in fact, sound worried. “I bet I’ll have a new chick by Kelsey’s party. Just watch.”

“Okay,” I said, not caring one way or another if he ever found another “chick.”

We walked the rest of the way to my house without speaking, and it was difficult for me to tell what, if anything, Logan was thinking. I thanked him for coming by, and told him I’d go the rest of the way from the street to the house by myself.

Logan puffed up his chest in a macho sort of way, and stalked off, down the road toward his own house, which was about a quarter mile from mine. Something told me to keep my eye on him, and so I stood and watched him retreat. It was dark, so I couldn’t be sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me, but when he got about a block away, I was almost certain I saw a dog or wolflike creature step out of the sagebrush between two houses and follow him. I thought to call out to him to warn him, but just as I was going to do so, the animal changed into a man, jogging to Logan’s side, and touching his arm the way you did to get a stranger’s attention. The man seemed to ask Logan a question, and Logan answered, then the two of them shook hands, and began to walk together, seeming to be talking animatedly.

Terrified anew, I turned back toward my house, and ran all the way to the window. I crawled back through it, replaced the screen, and, after reminding myself that Travis could get through the walls just fine if he wanted to, locked it all behind me. I settled back on the bed, shivering from cold and general weirdness. I stayed like that for a few minutes, and then, sure enough, the smoke seeped into the room again, condensed down to an orb, circled me a couple of times as though checking to make sure I was okay, and then went to hover, as smoke once more, near the beanbag.

“Did you help that poor bunny?” I asked.

I sat in silence for a moment, embarrassed. Nothing. No reply.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure you did. I saw you back there. Thank you. Thank you for everything. When Logan said he loved me, I felt—I just felt like there was no way I could ever tell anyone those words, unless that someone was you. I hope that’s okay.”

The orb changed color now, from palest blue cycling through a rainbow of colors, before going back to blue, and then, seemingly exhausted by the effort, fading completely. Though I could no longer see him, I knew Travis was still there.

And I knew he loved me.

My belly twittered with butterflies and happiness. I squirmed a little, and giggled like a dork. I sat up in bed, searching for him in the darkness, but I saw nothing. I wondered if ghosts needed sleep, too.

Eventually, I flopped back down onto my pillow, and curled up on my side. That’s when I sensed Travis lying next to me. I couldn’t see his light, but I felt him, and knew he was there, behind me, on his side, too. I closed my eyes, and allowed myself to understand what I sensed. An arm slipping beneath my own, wrapping around my waist. His head on the pillow next to mine. The fronts of his legs and body spooned against the backs of mine. His breath, warm and comforting, on the back of my neck. His lips, brushing my nape. That electric pulse of happy energy through my soul from his.

And then, as I drifted toward sleep, his voice came to me, true and strong in my mind, telling me I was safe, that everything was fine, that Buddy was still alive, that it was time for me to sleep now, that I’d worried too much, been through too much. That he was glad I knew about the rodeo and the music, that he was glad Logan was gone, that Victor was no longer near the house, that I was safe, safe, safe, that he was sorry for the difficulties he’d caused me, that he was so happy to have found me, that he’d never let me go, that his heart told him he loved me more than he’d ever loved anyone or anything in his existence, that he had never loved any girl like this, and that he knew I was his destiny, that whatever happened to me would happen to him, that he was mine forever if I wanted him.

It was pure, inexplicable madness, and at one level, I knew that. But at another, deeper, more profound level, a level without words, a level of music and vibrations alone, I also knew it was true, all of it, true as a melody.

I relaxed. For the first time in more than a week, I relaxed. I let go. I melted into the mattress, and felt suddenly, inexplicably at peace, and blissfully happy, utterly safe, as though nothing could ever go wrong from now on.

In that quiet, intoxicating, magical, romantic, half-asleep moment, curled up with my handsome ghost in the middle of the night, I let myself believe that because of Travis’s love, only good things were coming for me from now on, that everything would work out for the best.

I
dreamed of the rodeo.
It was a summer day, with a distant thunderstorm brewing on the western horizon. In New Mexico we called summer our monsoon season, and everyone just planned their days around the inevitable drenching, healing rains that afternoon or evening might bring.

I hovered again, disembodied but acutely aware of everything, this time above a small, rustic rodeo ring. People crowded onto the metal bleachers below me, eating hot dogs, drinking beers and sodas, fussing over babies, laughing with one another, and watching the activity in the ring with good cheer.

I floated a little higher, unseen by anyone here, and felt Travis with me again.

Farmington.
It was his voice, telling me this.
New Mexico State Finals. June 21.

My sixteenth birthday. I tried to remember what I’d done that day. I’d stayed at the emergency room with my mother, having just gotten back from a white-water rafting trip with Kelsey in the Rio Grande Gorge near Taos, a present from my mother. That day, she and the nurses had thrown a little surprise party for me at the nurses’ station, with cake and presents.

At that moment, as the rodeo was under way.

I looked around me, and saw the bulls in their pens, and wondered if they knew the smell was of their own kind broiling. I saw young cowboys behind the chutes, joking with one another, eyeing one another with competitive glares.

Watch. This is where it starts. The rest of the story you need to know.

I saw Travis brushing a horse, dark like the one he rode when we first met, in an area that seemed to be the backstage of the arena. I watched him saddle it and put some kind of equipment on its legs, near the ankles. Next, he changed out of his jeans into another pair, these a bit roomier. He went to something that looked like a hatbox and took out some ropes, which he put baby powder on before gripping them to test their feel. He took some little ropes and put them over the saddle.

As Travis did this, some other men began loading five calves into chutes. Travis and some other young men took this as their cue to mount their horses and get into position. The announcer said the next event would be tie-down roping, and then I saw one of the calves dart into the ring. The calf was immediately chased by a young cowboy, not Travis. A matter of seconds later, the calf had been roped, and the cowboy had jumped off his horse and tied its legs together, ending by standing with his hands over his head. The crowd went nuts when the announcer said the cowboy had broken a record. The next four cowboys did the same thing, each near to or equaling the time of the first. Then, Travis was up. Astonishingly, he broke the record that had just been broken, moving with a breathtaking agility and confidence. The crowd went ballistic.

No one in the crowd went crazier than Randy, whom I spotted tucking his half-pint bottle back into his shirt in order to stick two fingers into his mouth for the occasional shrill whistle of elation.

“That’s my little brother!” I heard him shouting, punching the air as all the other young cowboys began to slap Travis on the back in congratulations. “I knew it. I knew it.”

Travis took his horse, led him to a trailer in the back lot, and gave him an apple, patting his nose.

I watched as Travis then walked through the crowd, a breathtakingly beautiful smile on his handsome face, accepting their accolades with a humble, but triumphant, grin. I watched as he went to find Randy, taking the bleacher stairs three at a time. He went directly to his brother for a manly hug and some more back slapping.

The brothers stood, arm in arm, waving to friends and celebrating the victory, and then, suddenly, Randy’s face fell into a numb, confused expression. Travis noticed, and asked him what was wrong. Randy didn’t answer, and seemed paralyzed for a moment, in shock.

I watched as Travis, concerned, followed the line of his brother’s gaze to the sinister face of a man across the ring from them, who sat alone in the bleachers on the other side. He wore a dirty black cowboy hat and had light eyes and a distinctive black mustache. He had a strong but narrow jaw with a dent hacked into the middle, a slash of a scar on his left cheek, and rather large ears for his size. He was middle-aged, maybe in his early fifties, but sinewy and strong, and wearing a blue denim shirt that showed off his broad shoulders.

The longer Randy looked at the man, the darker, redder, and angrier his face became. The man drank carelessly from a bottle of beer, and his small, green, beady eyes kept turning back to the brothers with a look of eerie humor in them, before quickly darting away again in smug satisfaction. The man stood, and made a big show out of stretching, yawning, and scratching his private parts, almost as if to prove to the watching boys that he didn’t care about them, or anybody there, or simple manners, and he wasn’t in any rush. He was taking his time moseying along on his own terms.

Down I drifted in my disembodied state, closer to Travis and Randy, close enough to touch them now, though they could not see me at all, of course.

“That’s him,” Randy said, his voice quaking with emotion as he bounced angrily on the balls of his feet, the way guys in movies did when they were hoping for a fight.

“Who?” Travis asked, confused.

“Him—that’s the dude who shot Daddy.”

“What?” Travis said, stunned, squinting toward the man again. “How do you know?”

“He looks the same. Exactly the same. Look at him! How could you forget a jacked-up face like that?”

“I was freakin’ one year old.”

“I was six. I remember it. That’s the guy.”

“Are you sure?” Travis asked, worry creasing his brow. “It’s been seventeen years, man.”

But Randy didn’t answer, because the man with the mustache was on the move, walking casually toward the dirt parking lot, weaving his way through the crowd. Randy gave chase, weaving through the throng on this side of the ring, hopping up now and then to make sure he still had the man in his sight, motoring forward with fierce determination in his eyes.

“Randy!” Travis called. “Wait up!”

Randy barreled on, ignoring his brother. Travis cursed under his breath, and began to follow him, moving with a fast agility that impressed me, and stirred in me an urge to touch him.

My heart was thundering. Something bad was coming, I could sense it. I floated, following Travis as he hurried to Randy’s side. Randy wriggled through the bodies in between them now, practically climbing over people in his haste.

“Slow down. Calm down, Randy!” Travis said, trailing just a foot or two behind him. People in the crowd watched them with concern, wondering what could have taken the day’s champion from the heights of glory to the depths of the despair apparent on his face now.

“That’s the guy,” Randy repeated, his fury bearing traces of a sadistic sort of joy. “I been waiting a long time for this day. Oh, yeah. This is so on.”

The man with the mustache noticed the brothers following him, and his deliberately nonchalant expression changed, upon reaching the dirt lot, to one of evil pleasure. He was baiting them. He wanted to be followed. With a quick look over his shoulder, he began to trot across the lot, toward an old black Chevy pickup truck. I gasped when I recognized the truck. I knew instantly that Randy was right. This was the man who’d shot their father.

Together, the brothers trailed him, matching the pace, and before the man could jump into the Chevy, they got into a large four-door silver Ford pickup truck, with the trailer hooked to the back, containing Travis’s horse. Randy took the driver’s seat. Down I floated, until I was hovering in the backseat of the truck itself, watching as Travis begged Randy to calm down and think this through. Randy wasn’t hearing it. He was on a mission, in a daze. He gunned the engine, a crazed look on his face, and with the truck lurching in his anger, followed the black Chevy as it peeled out of the lot and down the frontage road, to the west, toward the entrance to the Interstate.

“Slow down, dammit,” Travis begged his brother. “Scooter’s in the back. You’ll injure him.”

“Just shut up,” Randy said, anger in control of him now. “For once in your life, just stop talking.”

“You don’t even know if that’s the guy!”

“Just shut up!” Randy repeated, shouting. “I know that’s him.”

“Why would he come here?” Travis asked. He looked back at the trailer in worry. “You’re going to hurt my horse, dammit.”

“Did you see the way he was looking at us?” Randy asked. “He wanted us to see him! He was taunting us. He came for us.”

“You sound crazy.”

“Plenty of things sound crazy. It sounds crazy to be a little kid and see your daddy shot in the middle of the parking lot right in front of you, too. Right?
Right
?”

Travis didn’t answer.

“Yeah, that’s crazy, right? But you know what?” Randy’s eyes brimmed with tears now. “It happened. It happened. And you know what else? Huh? Now it’s gonna unhappen.” Randy smiled crazily. “It’s time to make things right. Set things right for Daddy.”

“That won’t fix anything,” Travis said. “You can’t bring him back. Slow down before you ruin Scooter.”

The Ford was on the freeway now, sprinting powerfully after the black Chevy as it sped to the north, in and out of lanes with reckless abandon. Travis held on to the bar near the window, clearly afraid for his safety, but Randy’s eyes were glazed over with bloodthirsty vengeance and pain.

“Shut up, Travis! You don’t remember it like I do. You were too little. You don’t have that day burned into your brain like I do. You don’t have nightmares like I do.” Randy was screaming now, like a madman in the middle of a breakdown.

“You’re going to kill us driving like this. Please. Pull over.”

“I told you to shut up!” screamed Randy, driving faster.

“Just get his license plate number and report it to the police. You’re better than this, Randy.”

“Seriously, Travis, if you don’t shut up, I’m tempted to push you the hell out of this truck. You understand me?”

Travis stared at his brother in shock and, seeing that he was serious, realized there was no point in trying to reason with him.

“How much did you drink?” Travis asked him.

“A little.”

“At least let me drive, Randy. You’re gonna crash.”

“What? And lose him again? Hell no, man. He won’t get away with it. I’m on his tail, and I’m gonna stay there until this idiot pulls the hell over, or runs out of gas.”

“Yeah?” Travis asked, starting to panic. “And then what’re you gonna do? Huh? You want a repeat of what happened to Daddy? If this is really the guy, like you say it is, you want him to shoot us, too?”

“Then I’m gonna get even, that’s what,” Randy answered, sounding like a wounded child. “You think I ain’t packin’ too?”

“This is stupid,” Travis said, exasperated and desperate. He produced a pen and a pad of paper from the glove box, and wrote down the license plate number on the Chevy. “Turn around. Just let the police handle it.”

“Right, like they handled it the first time? They didn’t do anything, Travis. He’s still out there. He’s right there. The man who killed our daddy is right in front of us! And it’s partially your fault. We had to get you diapers, right? You had to crap your goddamned pants.”

Travis stared at the black Chevy, tears welling in his eyes. “I was one year old, Randy.”

“I don’t care! You ruined everything. Do you know how many times I’ve wondered what it might have been like if you’d never been born? If you were never born, Daddy’d still be here.”

Travis turned away from Randy, looking out the window at the desolate desert landscape speeding past. He didn’t speak, fighting tears. Minutes passed, and still the Ford bore down upon the Chevy.

My heart was heavy, knowing how this would end, but not knowing exactly how it would get there. I watched, riveted, sickened, and tremendously sad for both of them. I wanted to reach down and pluck Travis out of that situation, but I was utterly helpless. On they drove, along the desolate road I’d come to know so well, chasing, driving right into the heart of a huge, deep, dark thunderstorm, into the pelting rain and deafening thunder, through the slashes of lightning, on and on, until mile marker 111, and then the turnoff for the dirt road to Chaco Canyon.

The newer Ford was much better equipped for the bumpy dirt road than the old black Chevy, which crawled over the holes in the mud, scraping its belly like a sick dog. Randy drove close to the car, so close at times that he rammed into it. Finally, the Chevy turned off the dirt road, into a steep, narrow dirt driveway that led down a hill, around a curve, and past several hills. It was utterly isolated here. No one around.

“So this is where the snake’s been hiding out,” mused Travis dejectedly, realizing that he was powerless to talk sense into his drunk, angry, emotionally distraught brother.

The Chevy stopped next to a filthy, decrepit single-wide mobile home. It was white, but stained and dented at odd angles, the roof and base painted red. The effect was like one big Cheshire cat smoker’s smile nestled in the dirt. Beer bottles littered the yard, and the windows of the trailer were hung with ripped, stained children’s sheets with cartoon characters on them.

“Nice little place he has here,” Travis said sourly.

That was when the man got out of the Chevy and dashed through the punishing rain, into the trailer. I saw the black gun in his hand, and my heart began to race anew. I felt sick. I wanted to scream at the boys to turn around before it was too late, to go home. But I was helpless. It had already happened. There was nothing I could do now to change it.

Randy cut the Ford’s engine, and reached under the driver’s seat, pulling out a gun.

“Don’t,” Travis said.

Randy ignored him with a lunatic smile splashed across his face.

He opened the door, and dropped out of the truck. Travis sat in the cab for a moment, weighing his options.