So Tough to Tame (Jackson Hole 3)
“Oh, hello,” the old man said to Walker. He looked back to Micah with that same smile. “Two visitors on the same day?”
“Dad, it’s Walker,” Micah said patiently. Their father just gave him another pleasant smile and shifted his slippered feet. His bare ankles were thin and pale and hairless.
Micah sat down for a conversation. He even reached for his dad’s hand. But Walker didn’t sit down. He paced to the window and looked out at the view of pine trees and a parking lot.
He couldn’t reconcile this frail body with the past. His dad had always been a giant. A mean son of a bitch with a temper to match his strength. When Walker was small, his dad had been a vengeful, flawed god. Unfathomably powerful. Now he was a harmless stranger dying slowly of congestive heart failure and Alzheimer’s.
Walker snuck a look over his shoulder and felt rage boil up inside him. He didn’t even have the right to be angry at this man. His father’s final, parting cruelty had been removing himself from the path of that rage. Walker had lots of things to say to his dad, but if he said them, he’d be raging at a helpless innocent. He’d be screaming at a man who had no idea why or what he’d done. He was free of it.
Every time Walker saw him, it only made the anger worse. The fury grew inside him and pushed at his body from the inside out. He should’ve punched the bastard back when he’d had the chance. He should’ve hurt him. Made him sorry.
He stared out at the trees until they went blurry. Then he stared some more.
After an excruciating half hour, a nurse finally broke up the reunion. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but it’s time for Mr. Pearce’s therapy.”
Walker turned and walked out without a word. When he got to the lobby, he breathed in deeply. It didn’t smell like bleach and urine out here.
“Hey.” Micah’s hand rested on his shoulder. “You don’t even look at him anymore.”
“He’s not Dad. And if he was, I wouldn’t set foot in this fucking place no matter how many times you asked.”
“Walker,” Micah said, but he didn’t add anything else. They’d had this discussion many times. Micah had forgiven their dad. Walker didn’t even want to.
“I miss you, Micah. You should try to switch up your schedule now that you’re the big man on campus. Come through more often.”
Micah pulled him in for a long hug, ending it with a painful slap on the back. “Come see us this winter, all right? I mean it. You do the long-distance driving for once.”
“I will.”
As he watched his brother step through the doors, Walker heard his father’s voice echoing down the hall. Some helpless, petulant tone he’d never heard out of that man’s mouth when he’d been himself.
He clenched his jaw and walked out without looking back. Micah could do this on his own next time. Walker was fucking done with it.
* * *
CHARLIE HIKED THE laundry basket higher on her hip and raced up the cellar stairs. She wasn’t crazy about the stone-walled utility room in the basement of the Stud Farm, but a little Stevie Wonder made it all better. Singing along to one of his best ’70s songs, Charlie danced across the entryway and cheerfully hopped up the stairs toward the second floor. It was her day off and she wasn’t going to let a creepy cellar ruin her good mood.
It was a glorious day. Cold and windy while she was alone and cozy in her little apartment. Nothing could ruin it.
Except a stranger waiting at the top of the stairs to murder her.
She shrieked and nearly tripped to her death before she registered that it was Walker. He raised his eyebrows and said something she couldn’t hear over the music. This iPod would be the death of her.
Knees shaking, Charlie took the last few stairs, set down the basket and pulled her earbuds out. “What?” she croaked.
“I said ‘good song.’”
“God. You didn’t hear me singing, did you?”
“Oh, I sure did.”
She cringed. She had the worst singing voice in the world. Too bad she loved music so much. “I’m sorry about that.”
“No, it was entertaining.”
“Shut up, Walker.”
He grinned unabashedly. “What are you doing here?”