“Your mother?”
Again Jake paused before answering. “Her name was Evita, and from what I can remember, she was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. But from my earliest memories, my pa seemed to enjoy beating her. He accused her of sleeping with other men, was jealous of her beauty. I wouldn’t blame her if she did sleep with other men, the way my pa treated her. But I don’t believe in my heart she ever did. She just wasn’t that type. I felt so sorry for her when I got older and realized she never had any choice in living with my father. He paid money for her, like a common whore. I’m sure she hated that. At any rate, it wasn’t long before my father turned on me, believing I was the bastard son of one of my mother’s lovers. I can’t begin to describe what it’s like, being seven, eight years old and having your giant of a father come after you with his big fists or a wide belt that leaves welts and scars.”
Miranda combed through his hair again, deciding to be careful with her words. He was being unusually open, and he spoke with near trembling emotion. She was not sure how long this spell of revealing his true feelings would last. “Your back?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He sighed deeply. “Scars from a three-inch-wide belt with a big buckle on the end.” He stopped to swallow and clear his throat, as though the next words were too difficult to speak. “I had a younger brother once. Pa beat him one time until he was unconscious. He was only six. I tried to stop him, but Pa turned on me and wrapped a piece of thin cord around my neck, twisting it until I choked to the point of blacking out. It cut into the skin and left a scar. You probably noticed it when you were nursing me.”
“Yes. I wondered about it.” Miranda fought tears. She never dreamed one man could be capable of such horror against his own children, let alone that a child could survive such a thing and remain sane, if Jake Harkner could be considered sane.
“When I came around, I was still lying on the floor, blood everywhere. My little brother lay not far from me, dead. My mother was in the next room, also dead. Pa had beat her for trying to help me. I didn’t see it, but I know that’s what happened. Pa was outside digging graves. When he came in and found out I was still alive, he told me I’d better never tell anybody what really happened, or he’d kill me, and I damn well believed him. He told others that my mother and brother had taken sick and died from cholera. That was in a little town in northern Mexico, and most of the people there were afraid of him, so nobody questioned the explanation. Pa was a big man, like me. That’s where I get my size from, but my coloring, my looks, that comes from my Mexican blood.”
“I wondered. I knew you had either Spanish blood or perhaps Indian.” She finished trimming his hair, then rubbed in a little of her father’s hair oil to smooth it back and combed through it. She came around to stand in front of him, struck by what looked like tears in his eyes. She decided he would hate it if she acknowledged those tears, so she put on a smile. “You look wonderful. Do you want to go look in the mirror in my bedroom?”
He grinned almost bashfully. “Sure. Lord knows this is the last time I’ll be clean and groomed for a while.” He rose, scooting back his chair and walking into the bedroom.
Miranda wanted very much to ask him about Santana, about the circumstances of his father’s death and how he had ended up living the life of an outlaw. But she had learned a woman had to tread cautiously around a man like Jake Harkner. If he wanted to tell her, he would tell her. She couldn’t pressure it out of him, and she knew now that it was probably something very difficult for him to talk about. He had already told her more than she ever imagined he would.
“Looks fine,” he told her from the bedroom. “I hardly recognize myself.”
Miranda laughed. “Maybe that’s the look you should keep. Maybe others won’t recognize you either. Besides, you’re an exceptionally handsome man, Jake Harkner. You shouldn’t hide under all that dirt and hair.”
There came no reply. She picked up the pan of water and held it against her waist with one hand as she opened the door. She walked out onto the porch and tossed the used water into the grass in front of the cabin. It was then she saw them, three riders coming. She recognized Sheriff McCleave’s horse, and her heart rushed faster. The sheriff! Jake!
She hurried back inside. “Stay in the bedroom!” she called out, hurriedly shoving Jake’s boots under her cot. She grabbed the comb and scissors and put them back with her father’s things, pushed the chair back in place. Jake came into the main room.