Sunrise Canyon (New Americana 1)

Shaking, he made it into a stall and managed to bolt the door before the dam broke inside him. Choking on sobs, he slammed his fist against the metal wall, again and again, until his bruised knuckles numbed to the pain.

CHAPTER FIVE

By the time Patrick was cleaned up, bandaged and ready to be driven to the emergency clinic, Jake had regained his self-control. A cold numbness had set in, a welcome condition in which he could think clearly but felt very little. It was this state of mind that enabled him to work and function in everyday life. It made that life bearable—most of the time.

The directions to the clinic were easy to follow. It was only a few miles from the museum. But Patrick’s constant barrage of questions made the distance seem endless.

“That’s a cool tattoo, Jake. Did you get it in the army?”

“Uh-huh.” Not really in the army, but Jake didn’t care enough to explain that.

“I want to get a tat when I turn eighteen. Did it hurt to get it?”

“Some.”

“Wow! That would be cool, being in the army. What rank were you?”

“Lieutenant. I went through a program called ROTC, where the army trained me in college and then I had to serve.”

“Did you fight?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Where? Iraq?”

“Afghanistan.”

“Wow. Did you kill anybody?”

“Uh-huh.” Jake held on to the numbness, willing it to deepen, to freeze him to the core.

“Cool. What did it feel like?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Did you win any medals?”

“Uh-huh.” Jake recalled the day he’d taken the two Bronze Stars, the Purple Heart and the rest, and then tossed them off a bridge into some nameless river.

“Did you—”

“Patrick.”

“Huh?”

“Enough questions. Just be quiet.” Mercifully, by then, they were turning in to the clinic parking lot.

* * *

Kira had used her personal credit card to pay for Calvin’s new shirt—navy blue with a roadrunner emblazoned across the front. She’d given Jake the business credit card, along with the keys to Dusty’s Jeep, when he left to take Patrick to the emergency clinic.

It had occurred to her that if he got it into his head, he could leave the boy at the clinic and take the Jeep and the credit card, hitting the open road. But she’d had little choice except to trust him. Patrick needed to be checked by a doctor, and her other students couldn’t be left here unsupervised. Still, Jake’s appearance had worried her—his expression unreadable behind the dark sunglasses he wore, his knuckles freshly bruised as if he’d been fighting.

By any measure, Jake was a volatile man. But Dusty trusted him, she reminded herself. And her grandfather’s instincts about people were almost as good as his instincts about horses. All the same, she felt a wave of relief when, more than an hour later, the Jeep pulled into the parking lot. Patrick climbed out of the passenger side, wearing a shaky grin and a fresh gauze dressing taped to his head.

Jake got out and came around the vehicle. “Three stitches, but no concussion. The doctor says he’ll be as good as new.”

Walking up to where Kira stood, he handed her the credit card and the receipt. “The doctor also said Patrick should take it easy for the rest of the day. No running around in the hot sun.”