Whitehorse Part 7

"Johnny is no saint. Believe me."

"Maybe I gave him too much credit. Maybe he's just blind."

Leah moved to the shower and turned on the hot water full blast.

"So what is the real reason you were so rude as to tell Mr. Whitehorse to scram?"

Unb.u.t.toning her s.h.i.+rt, Leah moved into her bedroom, leaving Shamika to regulate the water temperature before steam totally filled the small room. She tossed the s.h.i.+rt onto a pile of dirty clothes near her closet door, then peeled her jeans down her legs, kicking them the way of the s.h.i.+rt.

"You know what I think?" Shamika asked.

"I suspect you're going to tell me."

"I think it's time you start back to your support group. It's been a while, you know."

She unsnapped her bra and flung it on the bed.

"You got a lot stored up in you that you need to get out, girlfriend."

"You're right. I'll go this afternoon."

Shamika's mouth dropped open. She centered her eyes on the ceiling as Leah wiggled out of her panties and returned to the bathroom. "'Scuse me if I'm speechless," Shamika yelled. "I can't remember a time that I didn't have to strong-arm you to get you to go."

With hot water pounding her shoulders and head, Leah turned her face up into the spray and closed her eyes. Every muscle in her body hurt. So did her heart every time she thought of Johnny's hands on her, the taste of his mouth on hers, like sweet rich coffee. How could she have allowed herself to weaken so?

"You still going out with Sam tonight?" Shamika called.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Just thought you might change your mind since you and Johnny..."

Leah reached for the shampoo and squeezed the apple-essenced soap into her palm. "Me and Johnny what? For your information, Johnny is deeply involved with someone named Dolores. How do I know? Because I found her makeup bag and storehouse of condoms in his truck."

"Are you telling me that there was none of the old spark between you these last few hours?"

"I'm telling you that I intend to continue seeing Sam. I like him. He's a very nice guy."

"He's no Johnny Whitehorse."

Leaning back against the shower wall, shampoo running in streamers over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Leah closed her eyes and thought: No, he's no Johnny Whitehorse. But then ... who is?

SEVEN.

Dolores's Mercedes convertible was parked under the big pine near the stone bench Johnny bought back in 1995 during an acting job in Puerto Rico. He situated his truck next to it and sat back in his seat, engine running, his eyes vaguely registering the activity in the distance: Roy Moon climbing up on the big red tractor and preparing to drag the exercise track before the horses the horses were brought out for their morning workouts. Jose Ramirez was leading a rambunctious yearling to a turnout paddock, and a young man named Joe Two Rivers, whom Roy had hired the week before, was pus.h.i.+ng a wheelbarrow full of manure and shavings out of the main barn. were brought out for their morning workouts. Jose Ramirez was leading a rambunctious yearling to a turnout paddock, and a young man named Joe Two Rivers, whom Roy had hired the week before, was pus.h.i.+ng a wheelbarrow full of manure and shavings out of the main barn.

The feelings inside Johnny coiled like a spring. He had not experienced desire like he had that morning at Brown Bear Point since the last time he'd been in Leah's presence. The sort that drove a man to act like a fool. To let the base hunger overwhelm judgment. To let the heart shout louder than the whispers of logic in his head.

She did not love him any longer.

It was that simple.

Her response to his kiss had been a physical urge, nothing more. Or an attempt not to totally humiliate him. She had always been very good at avoiding hurt feelings. If there had been a Most Thoughtful category in high school she would have won that too, along with Most Beautiful.

The truck door opened suddenly, snapping Johnny out of his memories. Dolores, in tight starched jeans and an Anne Klein blouse, stared at him as if were Jeffrey Dahmer.

"My G.o.d," she gasped. "Is that blood all over you?"

He looked down at his s.h.i.+rt and the front of his jeans, which were stained and crusty with goat blood. "Yeah," he replied. "I guess it is."

The color drained from her face. "Are you all right? What's happened? My G.o.d, Johnny, I've been worried out of my mind."

"Not my blood." He smiled to a.s.sure her. "Ramona Skunk Cap's goats' blood. Coyotes again."

"What were you doing at Ramona's?" Her gaze fell on an unused syringe and a roll of vet wrap that had fallen on the floor of the pa.s.senger seat, and her shoulders squared. "You've been with Leah, haven't you?"

"Her truck broke down. I happened by. Took her out to Ramona's. Took her home." He shrugged. "Here I am."

She studied his face, his eyes, his lips-her look telling him that she did not totally believe him.

Johnny reached for her makeup bag and handed it to her. "Forgot something."

Her fingers reached for the zipper and unzipped it slowly as she peered inside.

"They're all there," he told her, killing the engine and sliding off the seat. "Count 'em. Only one missing. Of course, you know me and condoms. Never could get used to the d.a.m.n things. Could have screwed a dozen women since I saw you last night and just couldn't be bothered to use them." He slammed the door and walked toward the house.

"You're awfully testy this morning," she said behind him.

"It's been a long night."

"I tried calling you. I heard from my source. He says he might have information soon on Senator Foster's link with Formation Media, and FM's looking more suspicious by the day ... if you're still interested, of course."

"Why wouldn't I be interested?"

"Why don't you you tell we?" tell we?"

Entering the house, Johnny unb.u.t.toned his s.h.i.+rt. By the time he reached the bedroom he'd peeled it off and proceeded to unbuckle his belt. He walked directly to the bathroom, to the shower, and turned on the water full blast and as hot as he could tolerate. By the time Dolores entered the room he had removed his boots and socks, and was dragging his jeans down his legs.

"Normally by this time you would be demanding more information about my source than I could possibly tell you. You'd be gloating over the fact that you're soon going to have Foster's a.s.s on a plate."

"I told you, honey-"

"You're tired. Sure. You had a long night."

Dolores leaned her shoulder against the wall and crossed her arms as Johnny stepped into the gla.s.s shower stall and into the deluge of pounding, steaming spray. The water felt like a thousand tiny, blistering needles sinking into the tight muscles of his back and shoulders. Propping both hands against the wall, he allowed his head to fall forward, offering the back of his neck to the soothing fingers of hot water, holding his breath as it poured down over his black hair, his brow, his eyes, his lips.

The stall door opened. Dolores stepped in, still dressed but barefoot. As Johnny turned his head to look at her, she grinned and slid between him and the wall.

"You look like a man in desperate need of a little TLC, Mr. Whitehorse."

"You're going to ruin your Anne Klein, sweetie."

"So I'll buy me another. Or you can buy me another. How's that?" Taking up the soap, she rolled it in her hands, then slid it down his chest, to his belly, then lower.

He caught her wrist, and grinned. "I'm dead. Really. Maybe after I get some sleep."

"Since when have you ever been too tired for a b.l.o.w.j.o.b, Johnny?"

"Since I stayed up all night sewing up goat entrails and burying a woman's pets so mangled up by barbed wire you could hardly tell what they were any longer."

"But you've always said that s.e.x renews your vitality."

Dolores eased down onto her knees, her hands sliding between his thighs. "Did you make love to Leah, Johnny?"

Closing his eyes, he shook his head.

"Not even a kiss, for old time's sake?"

He twisted his fingers into her hair and gritted his teeth.

"Did you? Kiss her?"

Groaning, Johnny fell back against the shower wall, allowing the water to cascade down his chest and belly, onto Dolores's head and shoulders. It poured down her cheeks and into her mouth as her lips parted, sliding like a tight-fitting glove onto his organ, which had become aroused despite himself.

"Yes," he finally replied. "I kissed her. For old time's sake."

"And did you enjoy it?"

"No." He shook his head and turned his face into the hot spray. "No."

"You never had the kind of s.e.x with her that we have, did you, Johnny?" She flicked him with her tongue, fast, like the fluttering of a hummingbird's wing.

"She never gave me a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b, if that's what you mean. She was too ... innocent. I would never have asked it of her."

"What about now? Would you ask it of her now? Would she go down on you like I do, do you think?"

He closed his eyes. His fingers, bunched in Dolores's wet hair, gripped her head as his entire body turned hard as stone and his breath caught somewhere in his chest and would not budge. Leah's face s.h.i.+mmered before his mind's eye like a rainbow through the runnels of silver water flowing from his brow, her incredible blue eyes drowsy with pa.s.sion, lips swollen by his kiss, cheeks flushed with a desire that both mystified and embarra.s.sed her.

With a groan and a pump of his hips, he succ.u.mbed like flotsam in a whirlpool to the pull of Dolores's mouth.

A hematoma the size of a tennis ball had sprouted on Johnny's mare's stifle. Leah briefly considered using that as an excuse not to live up to her promise to Shamika to go to her support group that afternoon, but, at the last minute, she climbed into Shamika's van and drove into town. Her attendance of the support meetings had been sporadic the last few weeks. When she felt strong, she braved the challenge. When she felt weak, she holed up in her house and buried her head in animal medicine. But, as Shamika pointed out, it was the times that she felt the weakest that she needed support the most.

And she was feeling pretty d.a.m.n weak today ... and all because of Johnny.

Sh.e.l.ley Darmon, a beautiful honey-blonde with sparkling blue eyes and a model's lithe figure, smiled brightly as Leah entered the room. She waved and motioned to the empty chair next to her. Others turned, rewarding Leah with welcomes and outstretched hands whose touches were as firm and a.s.suring as anchors in turbulent water.

Sh.e.l.ley hugged her, holding her close even as Leah tried to pull away. "It's been much too long," she said. "How is Val?"

"Doing great. It's me I'm not so sure about."

"That's why we're here."

Leah eased down into the folding chair that was one of a dozen situated in a circle, spoke and smiled to the women who seemed eager to draw her into conversation. Yes, her vet practice was starting to take off. No, she had not gotten around to reading the James Herriot books yet, but she would, she promised, as soon as she got caught up with all her paperwork, and ... no, she had not yet received the Special-Needs Parent Bulletin. Was there anything exciting to report? No new medications? Theories?

Certainly, she would be happy to help their fund drive. To say the children needed a new school bus was an understatement. The way it limped up the road, she was surprised that it ever made it to school.

Would Senator Foster consider sponsoring the drive? His influence, and the fact that his own grandson had been afflicted with cerebral palsy, would bring statewide if not nationwide interest to their plight. He could certainly spearhead the drive to get the government to cough up more money for future research.

She would speak to him, of course. But they must understand politicians ... so much to do and so little time to do it...

The meeting came to order. Sh.e.l.ley welcomed the newcomers, then invited them to stand and introduce themselves.

Tom and Betty Thackery were in their early thirties. He was an insurance salesman. She was, or had been, a CPA for a local accounting firm. They had waited ten years to have a child, making certain there was money in savings to handle the costs. They'd bought a nice house with a big backyard because they believed children needed a lot of s.p.a.ce to run and play in...

Their daughter had been born two months premature. First the baby seemed fine. It wasn't until she was nearly eight months old before they realized there was a problem. It began with seizures...

The doctors could not tell them for sure how the damage had been caused. Could have been due to the early birth, as was most cases of CP.

Betty blamed herself. Obviously she had not done something right during her pregnancy...

They didn't know if they could cope with the aspect of caring for a handicapped child for the rest of their lives. They were struggling with guilt over the fact that they did not want to-why were they being punished? What had they done in their lives to warrant G.o.d's burdening them with such a catastrophe?

Why, dear G.o.d, could the child not have died in delivery and saved them all from this nightmare? Betty wept into her hands, fingers hiding her shamed face, shoulders shaking as her husband hugged her, consoled her, and cried himself.

Sh.e.l.ley went to Betty and took her in her arms. "We've all thought the same thing. Why us? What could we have done differently? And there are times still, when we look out on a normal world full of normal children and ache to see our own chase kites, and play ball, and tap dance in tutus on a stage before proud giddy parents. We would love to go out in public with our children and not be stared at with pity and morbid curiosity. We would love to go into a restaurant or a movie without fearing the reaction of others. We would love to grow deaf to the taunts and jeers of healthy children whose cruelty stems from ignorance and not meanness. We would love to know the feel of our own sons' and daughters' arms around our necks, of their warm, wet kisses on our cheeks, of their squeals of pleasure on Christmas morning.

"But those pleasures are so minor compared to the moment your little girl finally manages to say 'mama,' to reach for your hand, to read her first word. Or the sparkle in her eyes when she knows she's pleased you. She may never walk, or run, or gather daisies in a meadow and present them to you on your birthday, but she will will love you-never doubt that for a moment. Her brain may be damaged, but not her soul. It is as vibrant and strong as a thousand healthy bodies. Let it carry you, and you both will learn to soar with eagles." love you-never doubt that for a moment. Her brain may be damaged, but not her soul. It is as vibrant and strong as a thousand healthy bodies. Let it carry you, and you both will learn to soar with eagles."

Dana Carpenter sat forward in her chair, elbows on her knees, hands clasped loosely together. "I remember when my son was born prematurely. I told my best friend, 'I don't think I can cope if something goes wrong with my baby.' And she said, 'Yes you will. You will because you have to. G.o.d never gives us more to bear than we can handle.' Now I like to think that G.o.d gifted me with my son because He He thought thought I I was special." was special."

Sh.e.l.ley took her chair and crossed her legs. "My husband left me when Michael was still a baby. h.e.l.l, I hadn't worked in several years. The only job I could expect to get was answering phones. That salary wouldn't even cover paying for private day care for my son, much less his therapy and medications, which were running nearly three thousand dollars a month. Fortunately my husband might have been stingy with his emotional responsibilities, but he has lived up to his financial ones. He carried all the expenses while I went back to school and got my teaching degree. Now I get to work and enjoy the same holidays as Michael. I can afford to hire a nanny who comes in and gets Michael ready for school, and is there in the afternoon when he gets home. And to top that off ... are you ready for this, ladies? I met a man."

The group whooped and high-fived one another as Sh.e.l.ley beamed. "Yep. Just when I thought I'd grow old and gray before ever finding a man who wanted to shoulder the responsibility of a special-needs child, I meet this incredible man when I took Michael up to Rockaway Ranch. He volunteers twice a week at the ranch, helping with the horses and children. He and Michael hit if off immediately. We started seeing one another and ... I'm feeling really good about this relations.h.i.+p. I don't have to be terrified of some joker finding out about my son and dumping me like a hot potato." She wiggled her eyebrows and added, "Did I mention he's a hunk?"

Laughter around her as Leah looked from one face to another, smiling herself, feeling any moment as if she would implode.

"Leah?"

She looked around at Sh.e.l.ley.