For a long time, Cal stood at his bedroom window, his fists tight against the frame. He felt like a thousand cymbals were crashing inside his head.

What Jamie had done-what she'd said- That sonofab.i.t.c.h ex-husband of hers- It had never happened to him before. Never had a woman pushed him away. He knew Jamie was fearful, but he'd meant to be so gentle, so careful- Guys like her ex should be horsewhipped!

The cottonwood trees looked back at him, and the swing and the fences were all white and silent in the moonlight.

He peeled off all his clothes and threw them at the wall.

No! Horsewhipping's too good for him. He should be strung up from a tree, like in the old days.

A woman like that. So warm. I can see it. Deep down so full of love.

Naked, he continued to stand at his window, glaring for hours out into the silent night, until the moon settled behind the mountains, until the morning's first light began to thin out the darkness.

I'm going to get that G.o.dd.a.m.ned sonofab.i.t.c.h. Whatever it takes, I'm going to get that sonofab.i.t.c.h.

And in the guest room, Jamie was burrowed under the blankets, trying hard to ignore the tears she couldn't hold back.

"I don't care!" she kept telling herself fiercely. "I just don't care!"

Chapter Eleven.

They were right on time the next morning, ten o'clock in Elaine's office. Jamie and Cal sat silently next to each other while Elaine reviewed the case.

"What it amounts to, Jamie, is this. We can turn around that custody order from two years ago by showing that there has been what's called a material change of circ.u.mstances."

Even while she explained the procedure, Elaine was puzzling out the overnight change.

What's up between those two? Jamie's been crying. And Cal looks like he could eat nails. And they're both awfully quiet.

She decided not to open that can of worms. Whatever it was, it was just between them, and she was pretty sure Cal wasn't going to bail on this girl, even if they had had a lover's quarrel. Instead, she quickly settled the matter of fees, explaining that she was taking the case pro bono and she headed off Jamie's protests by making some brief explanation, saying the firm always set aside a certain number of its hours in order to represent folks whose pockets were not as deep as the firm's usual corporate clients. Every firm does it, she said. Then she pushed up the sleeves of her dark green silk jacket, turning up the cuffs to expose the pale lining, and didn't give Jamie a chance to discuss it further. She went right into the details of the matter at hand.

Despite her puffy eyes, Jamie's expression told Elaine the girl was paying close attention, trying to find, inside all the legal talk, where the possibility lay of bringing Mandy back to her. Jamie had the impression that the situation was not altogether hopeful, and her fears were confirmed by Elaine's next words.

"We don't have a whole lot to work with. Judge Joyner's decision may have been a model of stupidity"-Elaine was not hiding her contempt for the judge's incompetence-"but the time permitted for appeal has pa.s.sed. That is, it's too late now to change the original order. So now, instead of an appeal, we have to request a modification of the order, based on totally new grounds. A new judge might be sympathetic to your pet.i.tion to modify, but it's going to take a whole lot more than sympathy. So let's look at what we do have going for us."

She leaned forward, holding up one finger to begin the count of the issues for them. "The first and most important change in your circ.u.mstances, Jamie, is that you're in much better financial shape today than you were two years ago, at the time of the divorce. You have regular income now and steady work. Of course, your work is a little bit unusual, but not so much anymore. That may have been a problem for Joyner, but many women are working construction now, and I'm sure we can get around that." Elaine laughed briefly; she had good reason to trust her powers of oral advocacy. "So that's one. Second"-she raised a second finger-"you've managed your money well and you have a substantial amount saved. That's definitely on your side. We'll have no trouble showing that you are a responsible woman and that you're entirely capable, financially, of making a suitable home for Mandy.

"The next thing the judge is going to look at is your present home environment. From what you've told me, the home you share with your father is out of the question. So third, you're going to have to get out of your father's house immediately and get a suitable place of your own.

"Next, if we can, we want to show that the Nixons' circ.u.mstances have also changed, and in their case, for the worse. Now, didn't you mention that Mandy said her grandmother had been sick and had to come up to Salt Lake to see a doctor? People don't travel those distances to come up here unless it's something serious, something the local doctors can't handle. Maybe we can get some information along those lines. We might have a shot at convincing the court that the Nixons are no longer suitable custodial subst.i.tutes-"

"Ms. French, I know I'd make a whole lot better home for Mandy than Ray's mother is doing. I know I would!" Jamie surprised herself by her outburst, but it was so hard to be patient, listening to all that legal talk. Still, she heard the rising emotional pitch in her voice and she knew she mustn't be out of control, so she slowed down, took a breath before she continued.

"I'm sorry, but Edna Nixon makes Mandy feel bad about herself. And bad about me. That's got to be unhealthy for any child, to feel that way about herself and about her momma." She leaned forward in the chair, her fists clenched on the black desktop.

"You're absolutely right, Jamie, and that will be the next thing we do, but we don't even get to talk about that problem until we first show that circ.u.mstances have changed, and I mean changed significantly. Only then, after we convince the court that there's been a real change, do we get an order for a custody evaluation to find out what's in Mandy's best interests. At that point we get the best experts to examine her, and to examine your home and the Nixons'. The other side will try to show that Mandy should stay where she is. Our experts will disagree. The court may appoint its own experts as well. Then all the experts will report their findings to the judge to say which home they think is best suited to Mandy's emotional development and well-being."

Cal had said nothing yet, but he was leaning forward in his chair, resting his arms on his knees, slowly rotating his hat around and around, his dark eyes examining her intently.

"But what about that other stuff?" he said. "About Jamie's ex? And his girlfriend? The things Mandy told Jamie about Ray and Tina? About what was going on at that party the night she had to stay with them?"

Elaine didn't answer immediately. She weighed her response carefully. Finally, she spoke. "I think it's likely Ray is involved in criminal activities, but by itself the child's story is not going to be good enough. We need evidence, Cal. Hard evidence."

She was looking at him thoughtfully, as though she were putting him through some kind of unspoken examination. Cal nodded, also thoughtfully, and she decided they understood each other. She laid her pen down across the yellow pad and sat way back into the big executive chair.

"Of course, if we had that kind of evidence, some real proof of what he's doing, we'd have a much stronger case." She didn't dare to be too explicit, but she was pretty sure both Cal and Jamie were getting the meaning behind her noncommittal words. "A private investigator would be able to do it, but it's hard in a small town for him to work un.o.btrusively. Someone who lives and works in the area could manage it a little more easily. Of course, he'd have to be careful not to do anything illegal himself."

She was now talking only to Cal.

"I suspect we're dealing with some genuinely dangerous people," she said as Cal nodded his agreement. Clearly he had already reached the same conclusion. "Still, with care-and with plenty of nerve-it might be possible for someone who has his wits about him to turn up something useful."

Cal still looked at her thoughtfully, only nodding his head once or twice, following her exactly. "I understand what you're saying, ma'am, and I hope it's real clear that this part of it is something Jamie should stay out of."

Jamie was ready to jump in, but Elaine turned to her, cutting her protest short.

"Absolutely. Aside from the danger-and I know you're not afraid of the danger, Jamie-but I want you to be totally without any involvement in whatever may happen in the course of this-"

She stopped. After all, she couldn't counsel anyone to do anything illegal. Like trespa.s.s. Or breaking and entering. Or burglary. To say nothing of risking one's neck. But if Cal chose to snoop around on his own, well, it certainly couldn't be said that Elaine French had said anything to encourage him. She was, after all, a responsible, highly respected attorney-an officer of the court. She let her voice trail off, waving her hand vaguely in their direction.

"In the meantime," she said, "I'll start putting together a pet.i.tion to modify the original divorce decree. Let's give it a week to see if anything"-she glanced at Cal-"turns up." She pushed her chair back from the desk and stood up, indicating their conference was concluded.

"Well," Cal said to her as she walked them to the door, "I wouldn't be surprised if something does in fact just happen to turn up. If it does, I guess you just might hear about it, ma'am."

Elaine held the door for them. "That's what I'm hoping for. Without some really good information, it's going to be an uphill battle."

Chapter Twelve.

They were silent until they reached the front doors of the Stilton Building, but as soon as they were outside, Jamie stopped abruptly and turned toward Cal.

"You can go on ahead, Cal," she said. "I won't be riding with you back to Sharperville. I'm going to take the bus instead."

"You don't have to do that, Jamie." He was obviously surprised-and not pleased.

"Yes, I do," she said. "I've decided."

She was unwilling to try to explain, but after last night, she couldn't face the long drive alone with him. It had been hard enough, driving back to Salt Lake from the C-Bar. Five more hours cooped up with an angry man would be unbearable.

He looked at her hard for a long minute, but all he saw was her fierce stubbornness, the little jaw set unyieldingly, the blonde head held defiantly. His face was grim, but he didn't even try to argue with her.

s.h.i.t! But if that's the way she wants it- He was too hurt, too angry, too ashamed to argue.

"Suit yourself," was all he said.

He pulled his hat down over his black brows, turned away and left her, standing alone on the sidewalk, alone in the press of people hurrying around her. She turned quickly, too, so she wouldn't have to watch him walking away from her.

She was eager to get away from there. She strode along Main Street, a lonely little figure, moving through the uncaring crowd. At the intersection she asked a pa.s.serby for directions to the bus terminal, glad to learn it was nearby. She found it easily, waited for the next bus heading south, to Sharperville, and then chewed her nails miserably all the way back, not even seeing the breathtaking, corks.c.r.e.w.i.n.g mountain pa.s.ses through which the bus traveled, or the mesa-skimming blacktop from which the sheer drop on both sides made the road seem a skyway, unsupported by the earth. It was dangerous terrain and one had to be so careful, but she was too miserable to notice.

When he got back to the ranch, Ellie and Harvey saw right away that something was wrong. Cal looked like he was ready to kick the cat-or anything else handy-and since he was usually so even-tempered, everyone just stayed out of his way; they knew he'd talk when he was ready. Ellie asked if he'd had dinner, but she couldn't get more than a preoccupied mumble. He poured himself a mug of coffee, drank about half of it standing at the kitchen counter, looking fierce. Then he said something about there being a couple of hours' daylight left and he was going to go work on those fence posts and then he disappeared into his room, changed his clothes and stormed out to the road that went through the alfalfa field. The sound of the sledge driving fence posts into the ground could be heard for hours, long after everyone had gone to bed.

"Where you been?" Lee Sundstrom barely looked away from the television to acknowledge his daughter's arrival. A beer can, already empty, dangled from his slack fingers, and in his eyes, brooding and dull, squinting through the cigarette smoke that veiled his face, there was no interest at all in her response.

"I told you. I was going to Salt Lake to see a lawyer."

He made no answer, only puffed listlessly on his cigarette, his sharp face made garish by the television light.

It's pointless to explain anything to him. He doesn't care if I come or go, he doesn't care why I went or what I did while I was away or what I'm going to do now.

Her glance slid past him and past the awful reality of this crumbling place and its useless occupant. With a terrible sense of a shattering collapse, of brittle, over-stressed defenses crashing within her, she hated it all. She wanted to erase it, replace it with its opposite, with a lively, happy family like the one she'd seen in the Cameron home.

But it couldn't be done. This was the reality of her home, these were the facts of her life. Against this scene, the memory of the C-Bar was now like a knife, slicing at the slender threads of her self-esteem. She didn't want this shabby place to be her home, but it was. And she didn't want this empty man to be her father, but there was no other, only this one.

She imagined it all through Cal's eyes and she hated it and was ashamed, and she hated herself for her shame. The confusions that were raging through her were cutting her to pieces. She climbed the stairs to the refuge of her bedroom, undressed, and then sat, naked in the dark and cold, for more than an hour, without even the candle's light to warm her hopes or show her the future.

Cal said he'd help. But not, I think, after last night. And so what! I don't need him. I can handle it myself.

She got into bed, still naked, and finally she slept.

Cal's heart was badly bruised, and his brain felt like mush. What's more, his leg had been aching horribly for hours. Despite all the physical therapy, there were going to be days like this, from now on, when the knee would be giving him trouble, and hard work was the only way Cal knew to fight pain . . . from now on . . .

The words repeated themselves relentlessly in his head, for his time of grieving for the heedless, happy-go-lucky boy he had been was not yet over. With each blow of the sledge-hammer against a post, he fought an agonizing battle against his demons, struggling to accept the reality of a loss that could never be recovered. He would never be the same-could never be the same. And he was beginning to understand: these are the blows that turn a boy into a man. A hard lesson, but Cal was learning it.

And gradually, although his heart still hurt, and he continued to pound those posts with all the fury of a man raging against his fate, the pain in his leg was forgotten, and one idea emerged clearly from the tangle of emotions, a single ray of clarity in the black, senseless hurricane that was twisting through his mind.

Jamie needs help. And whatever else happens, I'm not going to let that ex-husband of hers do her any more damage. I understood Elaine French's message even if she didn't spell it out for me-and I know what needs to be done.

That realization was the first shred of peace he'd experienced all day and it allowed him finally to put away his tools, go back to the house, and get some sleep.

He was up early the next morning and Harvey was glad to see his brother-in-law looking calmer. As soon as the ch.o.r.es were done, Cal said he had something to tend to. Later that morning, Harvey saw Cal had taken one of the saddle horses and was riding west, toward the desert range.

The crew started early on summer mornings, taking advantage of the cooler hours, so by sunup on Wednesday, Jamie was back at work. She tried to concentrate on cutting the drainage trenches alongside the road bed, but her hands pushed and pulled mechanically on the joysticks. Her mind was engaged elsewhere.

A new place to live. That's number one. How long do I have? Elaine said the papers will be ready by the end of the week. I'll need to start looking right away.

And I'll have to get the new place fixed up, with a bed for Mandy, and enough furniture and kitchen things for two, so I can show I'm ready to make a suitable home for us both. "Suitable"-whatever that means. As though pretty curtains and new dishes could satisfy a child's need for love and safety. But that's what they'll be looking for. I'll go over to Butcher's Fork in the next day or two, and start buying things. Thank G.o.d, the money will go further, now that I don't have to worry about legal costs. That, at least, is something to thank Cal for, bringing me to Ms. French.

She got through the day somehow-with her mind running on overdrive-and after sundown, when the guys went out for beer, Jamie was in no mood to join them. Instead, she picked up a copy of the Desert Bee and, with a paper-wrapped hamburger and a c.o.ke balanced next to her on the car's front seat, she started hunting for a new place to live. With no success, as it turned out, but it was better than spending the evening at home, and it was definitely a step forward.

But she couldn't stop herself from watching for a sign from Cal-a phone call perhaps, or his blue pickup moving in a cloud of dust up her driveway. No matter how hard she tried, her mind insisted on being filled with Cal, replaying every word, every gesture that had pa.s.sed between them, returning in maddening repet.i.tions to their last night together.

By Thursday morning, she was back at work in an even more poisonous mood, veering uncontrollably between fury at Cal and the frustration of her helpless inability to forget him. By the time the sun was high, the day was hotter, and the dusty cloud around her was drier in her eyes and more grating in her throat, The harsh shards of anger were cutting though her like erratic razor blades, and she was a miserable muddle of blasted pride and murderous rage.

It showed in the way she worked the controls of the backhoe, viciously slamming the joysticks back and forth as she struggled with the impulse to smash something. She made the machine take great angry chunks out of the earth, and even Gordon noticed she was swinging the big boom too violently as she deposited the huge buckets of dry soil alongside the trench. He came up beside the yellow monster, shouting to be heard over the growling engine.

"Hey, Jamie! Take it easy! That's a hundred thousand bucks worth of equipment!"

Oh, go buzz off!

She didn't say it, of course. She had at least that much self-control. She knew that Gordon hadn't done anything to deserve such a harsh response. So she just lifted her hand instead, signaling that she'd heard and understood.

"Sorry about that, Gordon." she managed to yell at him over the machine's noise. "I'll watch it."

Gordon had seen, ever since she'd returned from Salt Lake City, that Jamie's mind was far away, and he'd already decided to give her a couple of days to settle down before he had a little talk with her. Might be she'd need a friendly ear or a little help with some problem. But Jamie made it through the rest of the day without causing Gordon any more concern and he stopped worrying about her.

It wasn't until she was on her way home that night that a sign of Cal Cameron's existence turned up. She had stopped to gas up at the Chevron station and there was the blue pickup, standing big as you please, at one of the pumps. Her heart jumped eagerly, but then she saw it wasn't Cal who was sitting in the cab. Ellie Jackman was waiting on the front seat, and Jamie realized the man filling the tank must be Cal's brother-in-law, Harvey Jackman.

Ellie had seen her get out of her car and called to her.

"Why, hi there, Jamie." She stuck her head out the window to call to her husband. "Harvey, look who's here. This here's Jamie Sundstrom, the girl Cal was talking about."

Harvey was a big man, maybe in his late thirties. Ruddy-faced and genial.

"Hey, Jamie. How're you doing?" He topped off his tank and replaced the nozzle in its holder, then came over to her as she was preparing to start the gas running. "Here, let me get that for you," he said, taking the hose out of her hand. "Fill her up?"

"Yes, thanks. It's nice to meet you, Harvey."

A thousand questions raced through her head but only pleasantries made their way through her mouth. Only when Harvey was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the cap back onto the gas tank did she finally bring herself to say what was really on her mind-what had been on her mind every minute since she and Cal had parted.

"I haven't seen Cal for a couple days. How is he?" She tried hard to sound casual.

"Far as I know, he's okay. Since you guys got back from Salt Lake, I haven't seen him much, either. He just saddled up his horse and said he'd be away for a few days. Yesterday, right about sunup, just after we finished the ch.o.r.es. Said he'd be gone a while-asked me to get his truck ga.s.sed up while he was away. Then he took off into the desert and I guess I won't be looking for him to come home till maybe the weekend some time." He used the bandana that was hanging from his back pocket to wipe his hands. "I wouldn't worry about him, though. Cal can take care of himself."

Jamie just nodded. She didn't trust herself to ask any more questions, but Cal's disappearance, with no explanation, not even to Harvey, only reinforced her certainty that she'd been dumped.

But why would Cal just take off into the desert? What would he be doing out there? Had he decided it was just time to move on?

But no. He left his truck behind. He'll have to be back, at least to get his truck.