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Mad Dog tried to tell himself it didnt matter; the boys pain didnt concern him. But even so, an odd, prickling sensation worked down his spine. It took a supreme act of will not to look at Jake again.
He felt. . . ashamed. As if hed somehow let the boy down.
But that was crazy. Jake and Mad Dog had nothing in common except a kindred wanderlust that brought them both to the same small farm in the middle of nowhere.
Besides, he told himself, what did he know about sixteen-year-old boys? Maybe they were all a little sad and pathetic. Especially before they got laid.
He leaned sideways and grabbed the canteen, taking a long, satisfying drink. Then he thumped Jake on the back. "Well, kid, lets get back to work. " Uncurling slowly, he dragged his tired body to his feet and headed toward the tree.
But all the way there, he felt Jakes gaze on his back, a warm, tangible presence that seemed to demand something in a sly, silent voice. It was goddamn disconcerting.
* * *
Rass sat beside Gretas grave, with his hand laid casually, lovingly, on the cool headstone.
He closed his eyes and held his breath, waiting for the scent of lavender and the gentle touch of the breeze. But it didnt happen this time, and without its magic, he felt depressingly alone.
Sweet Jesus he missed her. . . .
He let out his breath in a tired, lonely sigh.
"Snap out of it, old man," he told himself. He couldnt let go now, couldnt crawl into the shell of sorrow that had encased him since Gretas death. Now, more than ever, he had to be strong for his daughter. For once, she needed him. And by God, he wouldnt let her down again.
Mariah. Her name filled him with regret.
"But shes getting better. " He said the words aloud, allowing himself to take some small measure of comfort from them. This time they werent just w
ords to assuage his guilt. They were true.
She was getting better. She no longer stood as stiff and rigid. Shed even loosened that ridiculously tight chignon of hers. She smiled at Jake and laughed with Mad Dog.
Shed taken a first step down the road to healing, a single, trembling step.
Now he needed to kick her in the butt. Metaphorically. Anything to make her take another step. And he had to do it quickly. Instinct told him he didnt have a lot of time.
But how? That was the question that had brought him to Greta in the first place.
How could he force Mariah and Mad Dog to see what Rass saw so clearly?
The sound of Mad Dogs rumbling, baritone laughter seeped up from the orchard, where he and Jake were I picking apples. The two of them were starting to get along, Rass thought. Probably because of the time they spent working together.
And suddenly Rass had an idea. A slow, thoughtful smile tugged at his lips.
"What do you think, Greta? Am I on the right track? Could a little time alone together be the answer?"
This time the breeze came, ruffling through the fallen leaves in a chattering, dancing swirl. It smelled of sunshine and warm earth and lavender.
Rass smiled. He had his answer.
Whistling softly, smiling, he said good-bye to Greta and headed down to the orchard. As he came over the rise and dropped down into the thicket of trees, he heard the crack-thunk of an apple hitting a barrel.
He peered around a large, leafy tree and saw Jake first. The boy was burrowed high in the tree, carefully plucking ripe apples from the branches. Mad Dog was at the next tree, throwing apples, one at a time from the pile in his arms, into the various barrels.
Rass shook his head. Fortunately Mad Dog was an honest, good-hearted man, because he was pure disaster as an apple picker.
Rass stepped away from the shielding foliage of the tree. "You trying to go straight from picking to applesauce in a single step?"
Mad Dog spun toward Rasss voice. He had the good grace to wince at being caught. "Shit. Sorry, Rass. "
