letting them victimize him. Like Farrah had been victimized.
Farrah’s death shouldn’t be the reason, he’d said. Shouldn’t be the reason to make love. To which Meg had responded, So, don’t let it scare you away.
And here she was, nineteen years later, the one scared away.
Scared of righting wrongs with Ethan. Of getting involved in a relationship. Most of all, most of all, scared of being a woman. A woman whose disease could return with a vengeance.
Oblivious of the turmoil in her head, Ethan stroked her cheek, a first in forever. “It’s long past,” he said quietly. His hand dropped. “Come on, let’s head back.”
She trailed him through the rugged, sun-speckled woods. And, watching the beacon of his white T-shirt amidst the shadows, she couldn’t help but think how once, long ago, she would have followed him into eternity.
Meg waited until Beau came through the back door after school, threw his backpack on a kitchen chair and strode for the fridge. Dark hair gelled, jeans low on his hips—but not so you could see his underwear—he hung onto the door, one high-top sneaker resting on the toe of its mate.
“Hey, honey.” She stood at the sink, grating carrots for a salad to go with the casserole she’d tossed together. “How was your day?”
He continued to stare inside the refrigerator. “Same.”
Translation: boring, stupid, wish-I-didn’t-have-to-go and I-hate-school.
Decision made, he hauled out a tub of yogurt, dug a spoon from the drawer, delved into the snack. Another time Meg would have reprimanded him for eating out of containers. These days she selected her battles.
The one about to occur was one of those diacritical choices.
She turned, set down the grater. He’d plunked himself on a kitchen chair. “Beau, I need to ask you something.”
“Wha—?” His mouth was full of yogurt.
On the towel hanging from the hook above the sink, Meg wiped her hands, gathered her thoughts. At times her moody son could be provoked to anger by the slightest word.
“This morning someone came in and made a complaint. Which concerned you.”
Flicking her way, his gray eyes, Doug’s eyes, told nothing. Did he know? She felt a cool finger tap her spine.
“Who?” he asked.
“Ethan Red Wolf.”
“The guy who took over Old Man O’Conner’s rifle range?”
“Mr. O’Conner to you, Beau.”
“Whatever.”
Pick your battles, Meg. “Have you been on his property?”
Beau shrugged. “Maybe.”
“When?”
“Can’t ’member.”
She didn’t like the smirk as he dipped his head for another spoonful of yogurt. “Let me refresh your recollection then. Labor Day and the last weekend of July.”
He slammed the container on the table hard enough to bounce a few blobs over the rim. “What am I, under investigation? If you’ve got something to say, Mom, then say it.”
“All right.” Meg shoved away from the counter and came to the table, where she sat down kitty-corner to her son. “Here’s the deal. Mr. Red Wolf saw you on his land on both those days. He spoke to you during the last meeting. Both times you were carrying a twenty-two.”
“So?”
“So first off, you know the rule about taking the gun without supervision.” Doug had bought Beau the rifle for his last birthday, something Meg had vehemently opposed.
“Big deal.”
“It is when you ignore my wishes, son. I’ll be taking the gun to the office in the morning. It won’t be returned until you understand the consequences for your actions.”
Irritated eyes rose. “Who needs a stupid gun, anyway?”
Indeed. “Second, you disregarded the No Trespassing signs on private property.”
“I was crossing it to go up the mountain.” His gaze skittered away. “Me’n Randy were target shooting.”
“There’s a range in Livingston for that, Beau. You could’ve asked me to take you.”
“Yeah, well, Randy’s embarrassed about his aim. Can’t hit a barn wall, so I was showing him some tricks without getting razed by those dork friends of his dad’s.”
Linc Leland, son of the mayor. She could well imagine Linc’s disappointment in his apprehensive son. What Beau saw in the boy, Meg couldn’t fathom. Beau was a leader, Randy a follower.
She said, “Randy’s problems don’t give you the right—or authorization—to use someone’s private property as a practice area. Or to shoot at eagles.”
“Eagles?” His eyes widened. “Who said we were shooting at eagles? The Blackfoot guy?”
“Excuse me?”
The tips of Beau’s ears pinked. “I mean, Mr. RedWolf.”
“Then say his name, Beau. Don’t be disrespectful of someone’s ancestry or heritage.”
“All right! I get it already.”
“Do you? Sometimes I wonder if you’ve learned anything I’ve taught you.” She should stop, but suddenly she saw a teenage Ethan in high school, heard the taunts by Linc Leland and his friend Jock Ralston. Hey, Tonto. Where’s your horse? She had hated those boys, but she’d hated the look in Ethan’s eyes more. That shame and regret for who he was, who he would always be. She had loved him for a thousand reasons, but one rose above the rest: that he stood alone against the odds.
He’d never quite believed her. And in the end her foolish arrogance had proven him right.
To Beau she said, “You constantly go behind my back. You ignore the ground rules. I’m trying to make a living for us, Beau, but when you do things—”
“Okay. You don’t have to rag on and on.”
She inhaled slowly. “This morning Mr. Red Wolf found a wounded eagle in the area where he spoke with you and Randy.”
“That doesn’t mean we shot it. He’s lying if he said that. Jeez, Mom, we know it’s illegal to shoot eagles.”
“Ethan didn’t accuse you, just said he found an injured eagle where he’d last seen you two boys. He’s asked that I do some investigating and get the matter resolved before—”
“And just like that you figured it was us shooting the bird.” Beau shoved back his chair. “Figures. You never believe me, no matter what I say.”
“That’s not it at all.”
“Forget it. Believe what you want, then. That’s what you always do anyway.” Spinning around, he stomped to the back door, flung it open and was outside before Meg could get around the table.
Damn it, she thought, watching him pace down the dirt path to where the battered old pickup she had bought him last spring waited.
Believe what you want, then. Her own words, echoing through the tunnel of her past. Words she had tossed Ethan the night of their prom. Believe what they say,
then. Don’t stand up for yourself. Don’t be the man I thought you were.
What goes around, comes around, Meg. With a heavy sigh, she went back to grating the carrots.
Chapter Three
Beau squealed his wheels out of the yard. God, his mother made him