Jake drew in his breath in a shuddering sob, all the old frustration and shame and hatred for his own father welling up in him and exploding in a rage pent up for thirty-five years. He looked at his fist again in disbelief, then slammed it into the concrete wall, over and over, so full of fury that he did not feel the pain. With every blow he growled like a wild man. He kept up the self-abuse until he literally ran out of strength and wilted to the floor, his hand bloody and broken.
***
Miranda braced herself, ignoring the dark dampness of the lower prison cells, ignoring the smell of sweat and urine. Jake hated for her to come here, but when the deputy sheriff told her Jake had badly injured his hand and had been seen by a doctor, she insisted on seeing him right away.
She struggled to stay in control when she was let inside his cell. He slowly rose, looking terribly thin, his face haggard. It was obvious he had not been allowed to clean up. He needed a shave, and his right hand was heavily bandaged clear up to the elbow. “Jake,” she whispered, stepping closer.
“I told you I don’t want you in this stinking place.” He moved past her, leaned against a side wall. “That lawyer you hired came to see me this morning. You keep doing things I ask you not to do! You’re going to need every dime we have left. Don’t be spending money on a lawyer. There’s nothing to defend.”
She saw him now, the old, hard Jake. There was the meanness in his eyes, the old crust that refused to let anything else hurt him. This was the Jake she had first come to know.
“What happened, Jake? What happened to your hand? You’re in terrible pain. I can see it in your face. You’re pale, and you’ve been sick. What caused all of this?”
He smiled bitterly. “Lloyd was here. Didn’t he tell you?”
Her eyes widened. “Lloyd! When? I haven’t even seen him!”
He closed his eyes. “Damn,” he moaned. “He’s left then. God only knows where he’s gone or what he’ll do.” He opened his bloodshot eyes, breathed deeply as he looked down at his hand. “I hit him.”
She closed her eyes and sucked in her breath, knowing what must have gone through his mind. “Oh, Jake,” she whispered.
“He said maybe he was…just like me.” The words came in broken stutters as he refused to let himself break down. “He said maybe he should put on my guns…and go find out who the real Lloyd Harkner is. He’s lost Beth because of me, and that’s what’s eating at him the worst. When he said those things, I lost control. I wanted to stop him…just stop him; but it came out of me the same way it used to come out of my pa, through my fist.”
“Jake.” She started toward him but he waved her off and turned away from her.
“The way he looked at me—” He breathed deeply. “I saw myself, saw all the hatred, the hurt, even the fear. I never thought I could hit my own son. After he left, all the old hatred for my own father and for myself just…welled up inside of me. I started hitting the wall…over and over until I passed out.”
“I can bring you something for the pain—”
“I don’t want anything for it! Don’t you understand, Randy? I want to hurt! I deserve to hurt!”
“No! You’re wrong, Jake! How many years did it take me to convince you of that? All that happened was your father’s fault, not yours! And when you hit Lloyd, it wasn’t out of cussed meanness like your father, it was out of love, out of a desperate need to keep him from suffering and making the same mistakes you did when you were young. When he has time to think all this over, he’ll realize that. You’ve loved him too much over the years for him to turn away from that love forever. Jake, please let me hold you.”
“No. It only makes it harder for me.” He winced with pain and supported his right arm with his left hand as he walked over to sit down on the cot. “You’ve got to find him, Randy. You’re the only one who might be able to talk some sense into him, make him understand. He won’t listen to me right now.” He met her eyes. “You have a way of making ornery men listen. You bring out the best in people. Jess can help you find him.”
She stood in front of him. “He’s my son too. As a mother, I see him as a helpless boy running around out there in a cruel world. You know I’ll try to find him. I’ll have the police search the city. Surely he’ll come and see me and Evie, he’ll come to the trial.”
“Trial? There’s no sense in even having one. I’m already a condemned man.”
“The crime is twenty years old. We’re bringing in people to testify as to the good man you’ve been over those twenty years. I’ll tell the judge what a good father and husband you’ve been. We’ve even subpoenaed Zane Parker to testify to the fact that for years you’ve been his right-hand man, carried important responsibilities, risked your life to save a miners’ payroll. The man might not want Lloyd near his daughter now, or want us on his land, but he can’t deny the truth about the kind of man you’ve been these past years. I’m getting an affidavit from Betsy Price as to the kind of man you were when she knew you in California, and from Mrs. Anderson in Virginia City. The judge can’t ignore the way you’ve changed your life, Jake. He has to take all that into consideration.”