The Heart's Command Page 5

  He laughed. "A by-the-book marine?"

  "Of course."

  "I guess Joe will never be a recruiter then. He's never been a by-the-book type. I'm surprised he hasn't busted out of the Corps yet, to tell you the truth."

  "He seems to be doing pretty well, actually," she mused, remembering the medals that had been on Joe's chest last night.

  "Well, maybe they need a mustang from time to time."

  She liked that analogy. "I wouldn't have thought of him as a mustang."

  "I supposed in military-speak that means something else. But I'm talking about an unbroken horse."

  "I knew you were. It kind of goes with what you do for a living."

  Again he smiled, but her thoughts were drifting back to Joe, wondering if the mustang had at last been broken. Because to her, Joe seemed perilously close to an edge he might never be able to return from.

  "Actually," she said, admitting something she'd never told anyone, "I suspect they made me a recruiter because I'm a martinet. A pain-in-the-butt, by-the-book marine."

  Gideon's dark brows lifted. "Why do you say that?"

  "It's a long story, but I learned that the rules matter. Even the ones that seem dumb."

  "A surprising number of rules are there for a reason," he said. "Even the ones that seem stupid. Maybe Joe finally figured that out."

  "Maybe." But she remembered him last night, drunk and wild and ready to fight with her because she'd said he was out of uniform. Now she felt almost embarrassed by the way she had acted, thinking only of the impression he might create in this town where she worked so hard to make the marines always look good. But after getting to know him a bit, she didn't think the man she'd met last night was the real Joe Yates. The one she'd met today had been milder, more reasonable.

  And so, so sad and troubled.

  She sighed and looked toward the darkened window. The curtains were still open, as if to be inviting to anyone outside.

  "There's Sara," Gideon said, rising.

  Bethany strained, but couldn't hear anything. "Really? You hear her?"

  His eyes glinted. "No, I feel her."

  Spooky, she thought. Or crazy. But when she looked at Gideon Ironheart, she didn't think he was crazy at all. She wondered what it would be like to be so close to someone you could feel her presence long before you could hear or see her.

  Then she heard the growl of an engine. Moments later, headlights pierced the night and bounced off the dark glass.

  Gideon went out to greet his wife, leaving Bethany alone in the kitchen. She waited patiently, sipping her coffee, figuring the couple needed a few minutes alone together. Hoping that Joe wouldn't hate her forever for sticking her nose into his business.

  Then the Ironhearts came through the door, hands linked. Sara was a quietly pretty woman, a little taller than average, with dark hair caught up on the back of her head. She was wearing the local uniform of Western shirt and boots, but on her belt hung a badge.

  "Hi," she said, striding toward Beth and offering her hand for a shake. "Good to see you again, Bethany. Gideon said you're here about my brother?" She pulled out a chair and sat near her, while Gideon got her a steaming mug of coffee.

  "Yes," Bethany said slowly. "He's probably going to be furious with me for coming here but...he's in town. I gather he arrived yesterday."

  Sara smiled up at Gideon as she accepted the mug of coffee from him. "Thanks, hon." But her smile was gone when she returned her attention to Bethany. "And he didn't tell me he's home. I imagine that's why you're here."

  Bethany nodded, feeling that she had made a big mistake. Sara was probably going to tell her that Joe was a big boy now and could make his own decisions. Which was true, and she shouldn't need anyone else to tell her so.

  But Sara didn't say that. Instead, she nodded slowly. "What's wrong?"

  "He's...well, he's been through a bad time. A very bad time. I think he's trying to avoid...well...I've spent quite a bit of time with him today. We had lunch together, then went to a movie tonight, and afterward had a sandwich at Mahoney's. But he keeps pulling away into himself. As if.. .I don't know how to explain it. As if he's not really here."

  Sara nodded, her gaze flickering to Gideon. "Maybe he needs some time by himself."

  "Maybe." She had made a mistake by coming here. Sara didn't seem worried that her brother didn't want to see her. Bethany began to feel small and stupid.

  "How'd you meet?" Sara asked.

  "Last night at Mahoney's. I went in to get a sandwich and he was there." She hesitated, then plunged ahead. "He was drinking heavily, and I...well, I called him on his appearance and we almost got into a fight."

  "Now that sounds Eke Joe," Gideon mused. "Always ready for a tussle."

  "But not the drinking," Sara said, frowning. "He knows better than that." She looked at Bethany. "Joey's half Native American. Booze is poison to us."

  Bethany nodded, flushing when she remembered how she had ordered whiskeys for them tonight. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  "Joe always avoided it," Sara continued. "We made a point of it while he was growing up." Again her gaze flickered toward Gideon. "I hope he isn't making a habit of that."

  "I didn't get that impression," Bethany hastened to say, remembering how Joe had barely touched the whiskey she'd bought for him. She hoped she was right.

  Sara's gaze settled on her again. "But you're worried about him."

  "Yes, I am," Bethany confessed. "I think he needs emotional support, but doesn't want to reach out for it."

  "Maybe," Gideon said slowly, "he's just not ready for the whole fam-damily. Maybe you should go see him alone, Sara. It may be he's just not ready for me and the kids. Or for Grandfather."

  "Grandfather," Sara said with a nod. "He can be too damn insightful at times."

  "Yeah." Gideon almost smiled. "And he's getting worse with every passing year. Hell, we can't even have a little spat without him making us both feel like idiots."

  Sara laughed at that, but it was a quiet, short laugh. "I'll go see him. I can just sort of run into him somewhere. Is he staying at the motel?"

  "The Lazy Rest, yes."

  "Okay, that's what I'll do. I'll hang out at the truck stop in the morning and ran into him."

  "Thanks." Bethany rose. "I know I'm being a busybody but..." She trailed off, uncertain what to say.

  Sara reached out and squeezed her hand. "Thank you," Sara said. "Joey's always had a tendency to bolt inside himself when he's hurting. And it's usually the worst thing to do."

  Remembering her own experience after the bombing of her ship, Bethany nodded. She wouldn't have made it through that awful time without her friends.

  She said good-night, then drove off into the dark chilly night, hoping she'd done the right thing.

  Chapter 5

  When Joe walked into the truck stop diner in the morning, the first person he noticed was his sister. And not for an instant did he think this was an accident. Somebody had told her he was in town, and he had a good idea who that somebody was.

  For an instant, he considered turning and walking out. But that would hurt Sara, and it would only postpone the inevitable, anyway. Sooner or later, he was going to have to see her.

  At least she didn't race toward him and try to hug him the way she usually did when he came home. Ordinarily he wouldn't have minded that kind of greeting, but right now he didn't think he could stand to be touched.

  She was sitting at the counter wearing faded jeans, a T-shirt, and a light jacket against the morning chill. She smiled when she saw him and waved him over, the way she might have done with a friend she saw all the time.

  That made it easier for him to approach.

  "Hi, Joe," she said. "Wanna get a booth?"

  "Sure." At least he wouldn't have to wonder who was behind him. He picked the corner booth, backed himself up against the wall. She faced him, setting her mug of coffee on the table before her. He was aware of her searching his face as he scanned the plastic menu ca
rd and ordered bacon, eggs, toast and coffee.

  Then he couldn't hide behind the menu any longer, and he had to look at her. And looking at her almost seemed to tear his heart out.

  "Joe?" she said after a moment.

  "Yeah." His voice sounded thick even to him.

  "What's wrong?"

  "You don't want to know."

  "Yeah, actually I do. And you aren't going to shock me. Remember what I do for a living?"

  But he was tired of the story, tired of himself, tired of the endless circle of his own thoughts. "How's Gideon? How are the kids?"

  "Gideon's doing really well," she said, her face softening. "And so are the children. Tim is growing like a weed and I'm beginning to think he's going to be a basketball player. Dawn is...well, she's four, you know? She loves to play dress-up, and sometimes I'm convinced she was a princess in a past life. Very imperious."

  Joe started to smile. "I can just imagine it."

  "Well, if you get around to coming up to visit us, she'll probably treat you like her personal lackey."

  His smile deepened, and for some crazy reason he felt his heart lift a little. "You used to be imperious."

  She laughed. "No, never. I was just, urn, a tomboy. There's a difference."

  "So everything is going okay?"

  "Better than okay. But you know. I've been writing to you."

  She had. And at some point he'd stopped answering. Guilt flickered through him. "Micah and Faith are okay?" Micah was Gideon's brother.

  "Oh yeah, they're doing great. Five kids now. And every one of them is the spitting image of Micah, except for Sally." Sally was Faith's child by her first marriage, to an abuser. "Sally looks just like her mom."

  "Wow." Joe shook his head, trying to imagine a bunch of Micah clones. Micah was always a silent type, massively controlled. Gideon was more open, more...well, human, than his older brother, who, if Joe were to resort to the beliefs of his ancestors, was probably born to be a shaman.

  "And Grandfather?" he asked after a moment.

  "Getting on, but still active. I swear that man can see right through me."

  "He always could." Which was one of the reasons Joe was avoiding his family. He didn't know if he was up to his grandfather's all-knowing gaze. "How's life at the sheriff's department?"

  "Good. Troubling at times. I'm working on a pretty ugly case right now."

  He knew better than to ask her to discuss it. Sara was more silent than a clam when it came to her cases. "And Nate Tate?"

  "The same as always. I think he stopped aging ten years ago."

  Joe nodded. He and the sheriff had had their run-ins when he was in high school, but he regarded the man with a lot of respect.

  His breakfast was served, grease-laden and delicious, but he didn't feel hungry anymore. Maybe because he knew what was coming.

  "What about you, Joe," Sara asked quietly. "What about you?"

  He sighed and picked up his fork, shoving bacon around his plate to avoid answering. He really didn't want to get into this with Sara. He really didn't. "I'll be okay. I think...I think I'm just having trouble switching mental gears from there to here."

  "Mmm." Her expression was understanding. "Have you considered getting out?"

  "And do what? I'm a soldier, Sara. I don't know anything else." And he didn't want to have this discussion with her. He knew she wanted him to go to college, find a profession. Or even come home and work on the ranch with Gideon. After all, he shared title to it.

  But the ranch was Sara's in a way that he couldn't quite explain, and he didn't think he was the type for the bucolic life, anyway. He'd always had a taste for excitement.

  Well, until lately. Lately he'd begun to think he might have had enough excitement for a lifetime.

  "Okay," Sara said, easily enough. "It's your life and your decision, and I'll shut up. It's just that... Joey, I'm worried about you. I worry about you all the time. Ever since this war started over there, I've been having nightmares." She looked away, and he could see her swallowing back tears.

  Cripes, he didn't need this now. His own head was already too messed up. The thought was such a selfish one, though, that shame silenced it almost before it was born. He wanted to hang his head with self-disgust, and at the same time leave town and never come back. This had been a mistake.

  But this woman had raised him after their father died. Except for her, he'd have been thrust into a foster home. Instead, she had worked full-time as a deputy, putting her life on the line, and straggling to keep their inheritance intact. He owed her a debt he could never repay.

  "I'm sorry, Sara," he said finally. "I'm sorry."

  She reached across the table and covered his left hand with hers. On the plate in front of him, eggs and grease were congealing unnoticed.

  "It's okay. We all do what we need to. I just wish..."

  She looked down and bit her lower lip.

  "Wish what?" he asked, deciding he might as well get it all on the chin at once.

  "I just wish," she said finally, raising liquid eyes to his, "that you could figure out how to be happy."

  Well, she might as well have hit him between the eyes with a sledgehammer, he thought later when she'd finally driven away, leaving him to wander the small confines of Conard City as if walking could exorcize his demons.

  She wished he could figure out how to be happy?

  The worst of it was, he had thought he was happy, at least until lately. But when she'd said that, he had realized she was right. He'd never been happy. Never.

  At least not since he'd hit adolescence. He was one of the world's great perpetual malcontents, always chafing to be elsewhere doing some other thing. Even in the Corps. But with the Corps, they kept you too damn busy to do much ruminating, and you didn't have any choice but to do what you were told.

  Sure, it had given him a measure of pride and confidence he would never have had otherwise. But...he wasn't happy. He hadn't been happy. He'd been putting one foot in front of the other because there had been no other choice. He was proud of being a marine. But he wasn't sure he liked it. And even if he did like it, it didn't seem to be making him happy.

  Hell.

  Maybe it was time he got his head out of his butt and figured out just what would make Joe Yates happy. If anything.

  Alternatively, he could just end his leave early and rejoin his unit, where he'd be too busy surviving and fighting to think about all this junk.

  But some small voice inside him stilled the thought, then rejected it. It was time, it seemed, for Joe Yates to do some thinking.

  Finding a bench in the courthouse square, he ignored the chilly air and watched some old men playing checkers on a board placed between them on their bench.

  And it occurred to him that someday he wanted to be one of those old men, playing checkers in the sunshine.

  Nothing prepared Bethany Mathison for the explosion that burst in on her that evening in her tiny little house toward the edge of town. When she opened her door in answer to the bell, she found Joe Yates standing there, looking like a severe thunderstorm.

  "Joe!" she said, taken aback by his appearance as much as his unexpected arrival.

  "Where the hell do you get off telling my family I'm in town?"

  She looked at him for a moment, feeling her heart sink as she realized she'd gone and screwed up again. Again! By not following the basic rules. Hadn't she learned a damn thing?

  "Come in," she said finally, stepping back and opening the door wide. "The neighbors don't need to hear this."

  "Damn the neighbors." But he strode in anyway, and she closed the door behind him.

  Then she waited, watching a variety of emotions work their way across his face, expecting that at any moment he was going to give her the dressing down she so richly deserved.

  Hadn't she learned anything at all? Rules were there for a reason, and there was a basic social rule that you didn't stick your nose in someone else's business. You didn't carry news that wasn't
yours to carry. You didn't mix in things in which you had no legitimate part.

  And if you didn't follow the rules, you paid for it— or someone else did. And for some reason Joe was looking as if he'd paid for her mistake.

  "I'm sorry," she said finally, when he didn't say any more. "I was worried about you."

  "Yeah, everybody's worried about me," he said, his voice as hard as steel. "The point was, I didn't want my sister worrying. And now you've shot off your mouth and made her worry. Damn you, Bethany, what gave you the right?"

  "Nothing." Nothing except her heart, which cared for him more than it ought to, considering how short a time she had known him.

  "You're damn right, nothing," he thundered. "I'm screwed up, I admit it. But nobody needs to know that except me I've been over there fighting a filthy war that doesn't have any rules, a war where even the good guys do bad things In a place where, if you try to follow the rules, you wind up dead!"

  Her heart jolted. "Your friend?"

  "Yeah. Her and hundreds of other people. Do you know what her crime was, Bethany? Sitting here in your insulated world of polished brash and military creases and starch, do you have any idea what can get you killed over there? Her crime, her crime, was stepping in to prevent a man from beating his wife to death because her veil fell off in public. That was her crime. You see, she didn't follow the rules."

  Bethany's heart jolted again. Why all this talk of rules? It was almost as if he'd been hearing the echoes of her own thoughts. And worse, he didn't seem to be making any sense. He was saying on the one hand that following the rules over there could get you killed, but on the other that his friend had gotten into trouble by not following them. Where was this going?

  But did it really matter? All she knew was that her heart was squeezing so hard it hurt, and her chest was so tight she couldn't breathe. Tears, which she loathed, were stinging her eyes She didn't want Joe to be mad at her. She couldn't stand it.

  He threw up a hand, a gesture so sudden and angry that she almost stepped back. But he wasn't striking at her.

  "You're damned if you do and damned if you don't," he continued, his voice hard with fury. "Yeah, living like that screws you up. It screws you up good. But my sister doesn't need to be worrying about it. She didn't need to know I was around until I was ready to tell her. Now she's asking questions I don't want to answer, and she's stewing about me, and it's all your fault."