NOMAD (Sons of Sanctuary Book 3) Page 7

She crawled under the quilts and stared at the fire. Even though Cann wasn’t in the house, knowing he was close by gave her a sense of peace and security like she’d never known. As drowsiness began to claim her, she admonished herself not to get attached. Cannon Johns was a man unlike any she’d ever known or known of. But her time with him was temporary. Six days. And she couldn’t get attached.

  Something woke her hours later. Still facing the fire, she opened her eyes a slit and watched Cann as he zipped up a black backpack before setting it by the front door. She watched as he undressed, draping his clothes over the cowhide sofa until he was wearing nothing but dark boxers. He was magnificently larger than life clothed or unclothed. He was no Abercrombie model. There was not the slightest hint of softness anywhere on the planes of his body or in his expression. He was hard. Rugged.

  When he turned toward the bunk bed, she shut her eyes. When the bunk moved as he pulled himself up, she smiled. She didn’t know why. There was no reason for it.

  Bud’s first thought, before she even opened her eyes, was that bacon was cooking and that it might possibly be one of the world’s best aromas. She turned over to see what was going on.

  Cann was crouched in front of the hearth tending to breakfast.

  She got to her feet quietly and ran to the bathroom before he could see that, when she first woke up, she looked more like a zombie than a young woman coming into her prime. As she slammed the door behind her, she heard him say, “Mornin’.”

  She’d stowed her bag in the bath because it made more sense to keep everything there. After brushing her teeth, she tamed the hair that had still been damp when she’d gone to bed, by wetting it and pulling it into French braids. She hadn’t worn makeup for the past two days. She told herself she was going for the wholesome outdoorsy look.

  The jeans Maria bought her were slightly baggy, but the chance of having them fit perfectly without trying on was essentially nil. All things considered, too big was better than too small. She pulled the long-sleeved knit Henley over her head. It was a lavender blue that made her eyes pop. Not that she was interested in such things.

  The hiking boots weren’t something she would have bought for herself, but they were surprisingly comfortable and made her feel confident and powerful in a completely inexplicable way.

  When she opened the door, Cann looked her direction. His eyes scanned her quickly up and down.

  “Bacon and eggs?” she asked.

  “Nope,” he said without giving up any more information.

  “Cat got your tongue?”

  He smirked at her. “BLTs.”

  “Sandwiches for breakfast?”

  “That a problem?”

  “No. It’s actually kind of cool. I like BLTs.”

  “Maria brought lettuce and tomato. Oranges grown here in the valley. They’re good. Sweet. Not like the ones that ripen in trucks and trains on the way to grocery stores.”

  “Got mayo?”

  “How do you make a BLT without mayo?”

  She smiled. “I don’t know. Just making conversation.” She watched as he turned bacon over. “So what do you want to do today?”

  He snorted as he walked by her headed for the kitchen with a plate of fresh cooked bacon. After setting it down on the small kitchen counter, he began assembling slices of tomato and large Boston lettuce leaves. Bud became captivated by his hands. Aside from the sheer size of them, which was impressive in itself, they had the look of capability. They were tanned and weathered from years of riding a motorcycle, probably without sunscreen.

  She found herself wondering what those hands would feel like caressing her bare skin.

  “What I want to do today… Well, I’d like to start with a few laps in the heated pool. Maybe have some Bloody Marys brought to me while I’m drying off in my thick white robe. After that, maybe a spin through the mountains in the Lamborghini.”

  She took a seat at the table shaking her head. “Not gonna happen. It’s not running and there’s not a qualified repair within five hundred miles. The Bentley is running though. And I feel like electric blue today.”

  “Bentley it is,” Cann said. “Maybe we’ll stop at that little roadside spot that specializes in fried calamari.”

  “And margaritas. Don’t forget the important part.”

  “Sorry, sugar. Even if you were old enough to drink, doctor says nuh-uh.”

  “All right. Forget the margaritas.”

  “Hell, no. I’m still havin’ margaritas.” He chuckled as he set two large cut-in-half sandwiches down on the table and smothered them in potato chips.

  “That’s mean,” she said.

  “Orrrrrrr…”

  “Or what?” She couldn’t wait a second longer to take a bite. Those sandwiches looked like her idea of an ultimate fantasy meal.

  “Or we could clean up. Go do some target shooting. Play some cards and work on your Spanish.”

  Chewing while pretending to look thoughtful, Bud said, “Yeah. That sounds good, too.”

  They walked about thirty yards away from the house and set up a makeshift target in front of a hill so that they’d basically be shooting into dirt and rock. Bud wasn’t kidding about being good with a gun.

  When she hit her target six times in a row, she threw Cann a smug look. He smiled and nodded, which she took as high praise. Standing so close to him, she noticed the two days of red beard scruff coming in.

  “Your beard looks like it’s on fire in direct sunlight.” He immediately reached up and scrubbed his hand across his jaw. “It’s kind of pretty.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Well, that’s a new one.” He shook his head and repeated, “Pretty,” like that was the most outlandish thing he’d ever heard. He was obligated, according to the code of men’s men, to protest the word ‘pretty’. So he did. But he also seemed to enjoy the compliment.

  On the walk back to the house, Cann said, “So it looks like your old man taught you somethin’.”

  “You mean shooting?” She shrugged. “When he was around, he taught me stuff he knew.”

  “You love him?”

  “Mixed feelings. He’s my daddy, but tryin’ to take this baby from me just isn’t right. He’s not God. Shouldn’t be his decision. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those people who wants to tell everybody else what they should be doing with their business.” She looked at Cann for his reaction, but he gave none. “Thank you for…”

  When she didn’t finish the sentence, he said, “For what?”

  “For taking care of my baby when you could be having a Bloody Mary by the heated pool in your thick white robe.” Cann laughed out loud and the sound of it was good. So good it made her nipples hard. Trying to ignore that, she said, “Do you even own a white robe?”

  He shook his head, “No, darlin’. I do not own a white robe. Never have. Never will.”

  After a few steps, she said, “So we’re back to darlin’.” He chuckled. “Could you, um, really get into trouble for this? Helping me, I mean?”

  “We’ve been over this. Your daddy’s a Ranger. So what do you think?”

  That was a fine example of a rhetorical question. It was a question that imprinted on her heart. Cannon Johns had made a sacrifice to care for her. At the least it had cost him a week. At the most it could cost him his freedom.

  It was an uncommon deed, the sort of thing that could never be repaid and she had no idea why he was putting himself in such a precarious position for a strange girl. With no promise of personal benefit or gain.

  As they stepped onto the porch, she said, “Why are you doing this?”

  He closed the screen door that he’d opened a few inches, looked down at his boots, and sighed. “I couldn’t save my own…” his breath hitched, “little girl. But I think I can save yours.”

  Bud waited until his gaze came up. She tried to push all the gratitude she felt into her eyes so that he would understand that she recognized what he was doing, the chance he was taking.

 
Then she smiled and said, “What makes you think it’s a girl?”

  He smiled in return. “Don’t you?”

  They had oranges and Snickers for lunch. Afterward Cann went out to the shed, turned on the truck, plugged in the phone, and called Brant.

  “Yeah?” Brant answered on the first ring.

  “Checking in.”

  “They were here the night you left. Haven’t heard anything else, but the story’s still runnin’ on TV. People are kind of caught up in speculation about you and the kid.”

  “She’s not a kid.” Cann almost couldn’t believe he’d said that. It had come out fast, without thinking, and he wasn’t even sure he believed it.

  There was a pause on the other end. “I told you not to touch her,” Brant started.

  “I’m not!”

  “Okay. Just keep your head down for, what is it? Three more days.”

  “Yeah. Three days.”

  “Call me when you’re headed back.”

  “All right.”

  Cann gave Bud Spanish lessons while mercilessly beating her at gin rummy, but made it up to her by proclaiming they were having chili dogs for supper. They used wire coat hangers to roast the weenies then stuffed them into buns with turkey chili, mustard, and cheddar cheese.

  She made yummy sounds so comical that she had Cann smiling through dinner. Afterward, he said, “My turn for the bath tonight.”

  She smiled. “Okay. What can I do to help?”

  “What did you have in mind?” he asked playfully in a way that could have been interpreted as flirtatious.

  On impulse, she decided to test the waters, so to speak. “You heat and carry the water. I’ll undress you.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

  He couldn’t help but laugh. The idea of being pursued and propositioned by an underage pregnant girl under his protection was too outrageous to be anything but funny.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You.”

  “Me? I’m not being funny, Johns. Are you gay?”

  “Am I gay?” His eyebrows went up and his forehead wrinkled.

  “Yes. That was the question. I once heard that, when people repeat a question they’re doing it to give them time to think up a lie. Are you trying to think up a lie, Johns?”

  He couldn’t believe he was letting this child put him on the defensive. “Look. It’s not that you’re not attractive. You are. Of course you are. It’s that you’re pregnant, seventeen, and in a position to feel like you owe me. When you add all that together, it’s a bad combination for entanglements. And that is all we’re going to say about it. Except that, I know you were joking. Right?”

  She decided retreat was the best course of action. “Right. Joking. Joking. Totally joking. Just kidding around. Ha. Ha.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  That night Cann dreamed that Molly and the baby were in a field of bluebonnets on a bright spring day with an impossibly blue sky and an impossibly yellow sun. Molly blew him a kiss. She was talking, saying something, but he couldn’t make out what. When she picked up the baby and turned away, Cann felt panicked, even in his dream.

  He tried to run after her, but couldn’t move. She turned around and began talking again. He still didn’t hear what she was saying, but he was left with the distinct impression that it was, “We love you. Now let go of us and live your life. We’re moving on to the next adventure. You should, too.”

  When she walked away, she disappeared and there was nothing left in the dream but the bluebonnets lit by an impossibly yellow sun hanging in an impossibly blue sky.

  Cann woke up feeling different. He couldn’t say how. He didn’t know how. He just knew things had changed somehow.

  CHAPTER Seven

  It was mid-morning when Cann thought he heard the sound of a different engine. Not Maria’s car.

  He rushed to the window and looked out. “Somebody’s coming. Let’s go.”

  He reached down and grabbed the backpack he’d so carefully stowed by the front door and ran for the shed without waiting to see if she was following. He knew he could pick her up on the way out if needs be.

  She was right behind him and jumped into the passenger seat as he was starting the truck. He knew he didn’t have time to back out.

  “Got your seatbelt on?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Put your head down.”

  She did so instantly, and just before he drove right through the back of the shed. He circled in front of the house and headed cross country for the river. They were about fifty yards ahead of the two Ranger SUVs. Cann didn’t stop at the river’s edge but drove right in. They got about one third of the way across when the truck bogged down in mud.

  “Come on,” he said. He jumped out, but she wasn’t strong enough to get the passenger door open against the current of the waist-high water. He pulled the backpack on, jerked her door open and helped her out.

  The Rangers were standing on the bank of the river. One of them fired a gun. Cann suspected it had been fired into the air, but couldn’t be sure. One of them had a bullhorn.

  “Bring the girl back or we’ll shoot,” he said.

  Cann didn’t think they’d shoot at a Ranger’s daughter, but the sons-of-bitches might be that crazy. So he picked her up and cradled her in his arms. If they were going to shoot, they’d hit him. And not her.

  Oddly, those were the random thoughts going through his mind as he was wading across the Rio Grande ready to give his life for a girl who’d been a stranger a few days before. Big eyes hiding behind a Mountain Dew machine.

  Christ. Life is strange.

  He had to hand it to the little mother-to-be in his arms. She hadn’t made a sound. Not a whimper. She’d done what she was told fearlessly.

  He didn’t hear any more gunshots. And he didn’t hear any more instructions. He suspected they’d figured out that they might as well save their breath. Nobody was getting their hands on Bud until she was eighteen goddamn years old.

  After they walked out of the river, they turned around and looked at the Rangers on the other side. They were watching, but it was clear that, as Brant had said, they weren’t going to do anything else.

  When he set Bud on her feet, out of curiosity he put two fingers on her neck. Her heart was pumping like they were being chased by Godzilla. Yes. She was naturally born battle worthy and going to be a great mama to some lucky kid.

  Cann pulled out his phone and got their location. Then, turning his back on the river, he made a burner phone call.

  “Yeah?” Brant answered.

  The relief Cann felt hearing that the phone had picked up service was indescribable. He closed his eyes for a second.

  “Just like you said, Prez. They won’t follow across the river.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Yeah. Mary and Joseph, too. Arnold’s truck is a little less than halfway across. Maybe Maria knows somebody who can get it out tonight and give it a new incarnation.”

  “You’re gonna owe Arnold a ton of money.”

  “Well, what’s it good for anyway? We’re three miles northeast of Ojinaga.”

  “Hang on. Heading due south will run you into Highway 16. I’ll have somebody out there looking for you. If you don’t make connections before you get to Ojinaga, go to the Alsuper on Avenue Trasvina y Retes. They’ll pick you up there.”

  “Okay.”

  “Be careful. If you get to the Alsuper before my contact finds you, let her have bottled water and the fruit after you wash it. Nothing else unless it’s packaged in the U.S.”

  “Yep. Got it.” He looked at Bud. “We’re hoofin’ it.”

  “Okay.” She smiled as if he’d just said she’d won free pizza for a year.

  “Brant’s sendin’ somebody out to look for us, but we’ve got to get to the highway and it’s a ways. If they don’t find us on the road, we’ll make contact in town.”

  She nodded. “Why’d you carry me?”

  He looked down at his feet. Those
boots would never be the same and he doubted the walk was going to be fun. “Heard a shot. I knew it was unlikely they’d shoot at us. But every now and then a crazy sneaks into law enforcement or somebody makes a mistake.”

  “Yeah, but why’d you carry me?”

  He looked up into those amazing violet eyes and got transfixed for a minute. “Come on. We don’t have time to stand here jabberin’.”

  “Jabberin’?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I wasn’t jabberin’. And that’s kind of insulting. You know that?”

  It took them almost three hours to get to Federal 16. It would have been a forty-five minute walk on pavement, but cross country is something entirely different.

  After they’d been walking for about an hour Bud said, “Remind me to thank you properly for these boots. I’d be in a world of shit makin’ this walk in those Keds.” She paused. “They were cute though.”

  She pretty much kept up the small talk and prattle for the duration. It might have bothered some guys, but Cann found it strangely comforting. He also admired the fact that she was doggedly cheerful in the face of events that would cause open complaining from most women.

  “There aren’t any rattlesnakes out here, right?” Cann just laughed. “But you’ve got that pistol loaded, right?”

  “Right.”

  He didn’t want to mention that there were a lot of things more dangerous than rattlesnakes that close to the border.

  When they finally stepped onto the paved road, Bud said, “Yay. We made it. Which way?”

  Cann just pointed east and started walking. He had to constantly remind himself to slow his pace because his legs were so much longer than hers.

  There were no cars. Just miles of blacktop, scrub brush, sand, and hills. The ground wouldn’t grow crops or even enough edible flora to feed goats. It was a part of the country that many Texans called God-forsaken.

  Fifteen minutes after they’d been on the road, a red pickup approached going west. Cann eased the backpack off, unzipped it and slid his hand inside until the pistol filled his palm and his finger was on the safety. The truck slowed and two guys took a long look at them, but didn’t stop. No doubt two gringos walking on 16 was a sight to see. The guys in the truck would be telling that story for years and people would laugh and say they’d had too much tequila, that such a thing simply would not, could not, did not happen.