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By then, four weeks after his mother had taken off, his father was already preparing to get married again. He was marrying the woman he’d been having an affair with. The affair that had produced another son and had been the final straw for his first wife.
Like him, his stepmother, Sylvia, was only half Navajo. Sylvia was also the mother of his half brother, Garrett, who was five at the time of his parents’ marriage.
The second his father brought Sylvia into the house, Jackson was certain that he was going to be locked out of the family. In his eyes, his father, Sylvia and Garrett formed a complete unit. That left him in the role of the outsider, unwanted and on the outside, looking in.
But Sylvia hadn’t been the typical stepmother he’d expected. To his surprise, she reached out to him. She went so far as to tell him that she wasn’t going to try to take his mother’s place. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t come to her with anything that was bothering him. Knowing that he’d gone through a lot, she said that she intended to be there for him, as well as for Garrett. To her, they were both her sons.
He’d appreciated the effort on Sylvia’s part, but he was just too angry at the world, predominantly his mother, to allow Sylvia into his life. He began acting out, taking part in unacceptable behavior.
Things went from bad to worse.
His father’s idea of fixing a problem was to take a belt to the cause. At first, he did it covertly, waiting until he got Jackson alone. But he soon tired of that and lashed out at him the moment his temper flared.
The first time Sylvia became aware of what her husband was doing, she quickly put herself between him and Jackson. Ben had shoved her aside, which caused Jackson to attempt to tackle him. It ended badly for Jackson, but he had gotten a few licks in before his father had gotten the better of him.
Sylvia had called the reservation police. Ben White Eagle took off for parts unknown that same night, before they came for him.
Jackson was relieved that his father was gone, but the absence of his father’s salary made life very difficult for Sylvia, his half brother and him. Sylvia never blamed him, never threw the incident in his face. This didn’t change the fact that he felt as if he was to blame for everything that had gone wrong.
Things got even worse.
He got arrested—more than once. And each time he did, Sylvia would go to the local law enforcement establishment on the reservation, pay whatever fines needed to be paid and bring him back home.
Jackson secretly felt sorry for what he was putting her through, but even her tears hadn’t gotten him to change. Angry at the world and with little to no self-esteem to speak of, for a while it looked as if his fate was predestined—and cast in stone.
And then his stepmother, in what she later admitted to him was one final act of desperation, turned to his father’s older and far sterner, as well as far more stable, brother, Sam, for help. Sam White Eagle had pulled himself out of poverty and had, Jackson later found out, managed to survive personal tragedy, as well, although at the time it had been touch and go. His wife of less than eighteen months died giving birth to his son. Beset by a number of complications, the baby had died a couple of days later. Sam had them buried together. And then he had shut himself down emotionally, losing himself in bottle after bottle until he finally pulled himself up out of what he recognized would have been a death spiral.
Emotionally stoic, he did feel for his brother’s sons as well as for Sylvia, which led to his taking her up on her plea.
Sam became the male role model for both him and for Garrett. Initially, his uncle put them both to work on his small horse ranch. His reasoning was that if they were kept constantly busy, they wouldn’t have the time, not to mention the energy, to act out.
His uncle turned out to be right. Jackson knew that to the end of his days, no matter what he accomplished, he would owe it all to Sam. When his uncle died, leaving the ranch to him and to Garrett, Jackson decided that Sam’s work should continue. He broached the idea to Garrett, who didn’t need to be sold on it. His brother wholeheartedly agreed with him before he’d had a chance to finish a second sentence.
And that was how The Healing Ranch came to be. Five years after Sam had passed away, the ranch was still in existence, turning out top-quality quarter horses and transformed juvenile offenders who had learned to walk the straight and narrow.
Secretly, Jackson had thought that, after a while, this so-called crusade he had undertaken would get old for him. When he had first started all this, he hadn’t realized that there was a part of him that actually enjoyed the challenge, that looked forward to that rush that came when he knew that the misdirected kid he was working with had turned a corner and no longer was interested in gaining notoriety for what he did wrong but for what he did that was right.
“Wish you were here, Sam, to see this,” Jackson murmured under his breath. He glanced up at the all but cloudless sky. “This is all your doing, you know,” he added.
“You know, they lock people up who talk to themselves with such feeling,” Garrett said to his older brother as he came over to join him.
Five years younger than Jackson, and with only their father in common, the whole world could still easily identify the two as brothers. They almost looked alike, from their deep, thick, blue-black hair to their hypnotic blue eyes. Jackson’s had come directly from his mother while with Garrett it was most likely someone somewhere within his family tree.
“Just your word against mine, Garrett. No one else is anywhere within earshot so there’s no one around to back up your claim. They’ll think you just want the ranch all to yourself and that you’re looking for a way to get me out of the picture,” Jackson told him.
So saying, Jackson eyed his half brother. They had gone through a lot together, he thought with affection. That didn’t mean that either of them ever purposely missed a chance to zing the other.
Garrett grinned. “I guess you saw right through my plot.” He snapped his fingers like someone acknowledging a missed opportunity. “Foiled again. Looks like I’m just going to have to come up with another way to take over the old homestead.”
Jackson glanced at his watch. The latest applicant he had accepted at the beginning of the week should have arrived by now. He wondered if something had happened to bring about a change in plans. It wouldn’t be the first time a teen’s parent or guardian had backed out of the arrangement before it ever started. Total commitment was required and sometimes that didn’t pan out.
“I take it there’s no word yet on our latest resident ‘bad boy’?” he asked Garrett.
Heaven help him, he needed a new challenge, Jackson thought. Needed to be given another teen to turn around and thereby rescue. With each and every one that he and Garrett rehabilitated, he was paying off a little more of the debt that he owed to Sam, a debt that he could never really fully repay. And although his uncle had been gone for a few years now, Jackson felt that somehow, Sam knew the good that was being done in his name by the boy he had saved from coming to a very an unsavory end.
Garrett climbed onto the corral, straddling the top rail.
“Not yet,” he answered. “I just checked phone messages, emails and text messages. Unless the kid and his guardian are using smoke signals to communicate, they haven’t tried to get in touch with us.” Garrett shrugged casually. “Could be they just decided to change their minds at the last minute.”
“Always possible,” Jackson admitted—although he really doubted it. The call he had received from the troubled teen’s guardian made him feel that the woman thought that the situation was desperate—just as desperate as she was. He’d heard things in her voice that she hadn’t knowingly put into words, but he’d heard them just the same. Things that told him that even if he didn’t have a ready bed for this latest applicant, he would have found a way to make room somehow.
Luckily, he hadn’t had to get creative on that front. When he’d inherited the ranch, he and Garrett had renovated the bunkhouse so that it could handle eight boys with ease. Ten would have necessitated bringing in two extra twin beds and space would have been rather limited, but it could be done.
Currently, there were seven boys living on the ranch besides Garrett and himself. His latest success story, Casey Brooks, had graduated less than a week ago. Upon his initial arrival, Casey had been one seriously messed-up, lost sixteen-year-old. His parents had gotten in contact with him because they were genuinely afraid that their son would either be killed or eventually land in prison, where heaven only knew what would happen to him.
Casey had been so tightly wound up it was a wonder he hadn’t just exploded before he ever came to The Healing Ranch.
Getting through to the inner, hidden, decent teen had required an extreme amount of patience and going not just the extra mile but the extra twenty miles. There were times when he was certain that Casey was just too far gone to reach. Those were the times that he had made himself channel Sam, recalling how his uncle had managed to get to him back when he was just like Casey.
It worked, and in the end it had all paid off. That was all he—and Garrett—were ever interested in. The final results. That made everything that had come before—the strategizing, the enduring of endless hostility and curses—all worth it. And he also kept in contact with former “graduates,” taking an interest in their lives and making sure that they remained proud of their own progress—and didn’t backslide.
So far, he hadn’t lost a single teen. He intended to keep it that way.
“Hey, you think that’s them?” Garrett asked. Shading his eyes with one hand, he pointed at something behind his brother’s back with the other.
Jackson turned around to see a beige, almost non-descript sedan that had definitely seen better days approaching from the north. The road was open, but the driver refrained from speeding, something that tempted a lot of drivers around the area, whether they were tourists or natives.
The closer the vehicle came, the dustier it appeared. Jackson recalled that his new challenge hailed from the state of Indiana. Indianapolis to be precise. And unless the Dallas airport car rental agency was dealing in really beaten-up-looking vehicles these days, his latest boarder had been driven down to Forever rather than coming in by airplane.
Interesting, Jackson thought.
* * *
RESTLESS, IMPATIENT AND WORRIED, Ryan Winter shifted in his seat for the umpteenth time even though he had decided more than several hundred miles ago that there was no such thing as a comfortable position in his sister’s beat-up, secondhand sedan.
Ryan glared out the window, sulking.
He’d always been able to get his sister to come around to his way of thinking. But the other morning, when she had told him—not asked, but told, something he was still angry about—that they were going to a place called Forever, Texas, he’d thought she was kidding. It wasn’t until she’d marched into his room and thrown some of his clothes into a suitcase, then grabbed him by the arm and all but thrown him into the car after the suitcase, that he realized she was serious.
Dead serious.
He’d tried to reason with her, then he threatened, cajoled and pleaded, going through the entire gamut of ordinarily successful avenues of getting her to change her mind. But every attempt had failed. One by one, his sister had tossed them all by the wayside. She wasn’t going to let him talk or con his way out of going to this stupid, smelly horse place, and he was furious.
He’d had all those miles to sufficiently work himself up.
He thought he knew why this was happening. Because he was the reason why her stick-in-the-mud husband had left. But just because her life was falling apart was no reason for her to take it out on him.
Making one last-ditch attempt to get her to turn the car around, Ryan said, “Look, I’m sorry about your marriage breaking up, but the way I see it, I did you a favor. John was a loser, and you’re a hell of a lot better off without him. If you’re dumping me here at this stupid prison ranch just to get even, it’s not going to work because I swear I’m taking off the first chance I get,” he added for good measure, thinking that would really get to his sister. Debi was very big on family and he was officially all she had. He felt confident that the threat of losing him would be enough to get his sister to back off about this prison ranch and give him the space he needed. “And if I do leave, you’ll never find me.”
* * *
DEBI’S HANDS TIGHTENED on the steering wheel. It had been a long drive from Indianapolis. She was hot, she was tired and she’d gotten lost half a dozen times during the trip down to this ranch. She fervently hoped this place dealt in miracles on a regular basis because she really, really needed one.
Badly.
Debi had a feeling that nothing short of a miracle was going to save her brother. And maybe even that wasn’t enough.
She spared her brother a quick glance. He always had a habit of trying to turn things around, of putting her on the defensive. Well, not this time. She couldn’t allow it.
“This isn’t about my marriage, or lack thereof, this is about you. You’re broken, Ryan, and I don’t know how to fix you.” Even saying it pained her, but it was the truth. Somehow, Ryan had lost his way and she had lost the ability to connect with him. She wasn’t too proud to admit that she needed help in both departments.
“Drop-kicking me here to this dude ranch that’s built out of horse manure sure as hell isn’t going to do it, Debs.”
She sincerely hoped that wasn’t a prophecy. “I’ve tried everything else with you and it hasn’t worked. Maybe the people who run this ranch will have better luck.”
Even as she said it, she mentally crossed her fingers. She’d been at her wits’ end and more than desperate the day after she had bailed her brother out of jail. True to his word, John had been gone when she came home with Ryan. The following morning, she’d broken down in the hospital’s fifth-floor break room. Trying to comfort her, Sheila, another nurse on the floor, told her about The Healing Ranch.
It turned out that Sheila’s cousin had a son who was well on his way to a long rap sheet and possibly life in prison. She had sent him to The Healing Ranch in a last-ditch attempt to save him from himself. According to Sheila, it had worked. Three months later, she’d gotten back the decent kid she’d always known was in there.
Debi had called the number Sheila had given her that very day. She’d had to leave a message on the answering machine, which didn’t fill her with much confidence, but that all changed when she received a call back that evening from the man who ran the place. She remembered thinking that Jackson White Eagle had a nice, calming voice. Just talking to him had made her feel that maybe it wasn’t really hopeless after all.
He hadn’t made her any lofty promises, he’d just said that he would see what could be done and invited her to come down with her brother. Debi hadn’t wanted a tour, she’d wanted to sign Ryan up right then and there, afraid that if this Jackson person had a chance to interact with her brother first, he couldn’t accept him into the program.
“You’re sure you don’t want to see the ranch and think about it first?” he had asked her.
Her online research had told her that the man who ran the ranch had a perfect track record so far. That was definitely good enough for her—especially since she had nowhere else to turn.
“I’m sure,” she had replied.
She’d taken a leave of absence from the hospital, gotten together what there was in her meager savings account, transferring it into her checking account, and driven down here with Ryan. John’s divorce papers were tucked into her purse. She had no one to lean on but herself.
Ryan had put up a huge fuss about being taken away from his friends. He’d also threatened to run away the first chance he got.
He repeated the threat every hour on the hour in case she hadn’t heard him the first half a dozen times.
Debi told herself that Ryan only threatened to run away because he wanted to frighten her into turning around and driving back to Indianapolis. Maybe a year ago, she might have, but what stopped her now was that she knew if she did, for all intents and purposes she would have been signing her brother’s epitaph because as sure as day followed night, Ryan was on a path headed straight for destruction.
“Well, the clowns who run this place aren’t going to get the opportunity to brainwash me because I’m taking off first chance I get. You know I will,” he threatened again.
Debi sighed as she stared at the road before her. She wasn’t all that sure the threats were empty ones. Ryan could very well mean what he said. That was why she wasn’t going back home once she had finished registering him and got him settled in. If Ryan did take off, she wanted to be right here where she could go after him and bring him back. He was her brother and at fifteen, obviously still a minor. She was responsible for him, and she would have felt that way even if he were eighteen.
She prayed that it wouldn’t come to that, but considering what she had already gone through with Ryan, she wasn’t counting on it being easy.
“I mean it. I’m gone. First chance I get,” Ryan repeated with emphasis.
“Yes, I heard you,” Debi replied stoically. She also heard the fear in his voice. God, let these people here reach him, she prayed. She saw the cluster of people in and around the corral. “Okay, we’re here. For my sake, try not to insult the man in the first five minutes.”
Ryan’s laugh had a nasty sound to it, and she knew this was not going to go well. “Hey, I don’t want to spoil the man, now, do I?”
She didn’t bother answering her brother. Anger and despair had grabbed equal parts of her. Anger that he had allowed himself to become this destructive, negative being and despair because she couldn’t snap him out of it and had been forced to turn to strangers for help. She’d thought she was too proud for that but obviously pride had withered and died in the face of this situation.
There were two cowboys by the corral as she pulled up. Were they just workers, or...?
She saw the slightly taller of the two draw away from the enclosure and approach her car. Debi turned off the engine, carefully watching the approaching cowboy’s every move. He strolled toward them like a sleek panther, with an economy of steps.
Debi got out of the vehicle. Ryan remained where he was. She wasn’t about to leave him in the car, not even if she was only inches away and had the car keys in her hand. She knew her brother, knew that he could hot-wire anything with an engine and take off at a moment’s notice. She had no doubt that he probably thought that he could propel himself into the driver’s seat and just take off without a single backward glance.
Well, not today, she told herself. Bending down, she looked in through the open window on the driver’s side. “Get out of the car, Ryan.”
“No,” he informed her flatly.
At fifteen, Ryan was taller than she was and while scrawny-looking, he was still stronger. The only time she ever managed to get him to move was when she caught him off guard.
That wasn’t going to work here, she realized, looking down into his defiant face.
Jackson White Eagle chose that exact moment to enter into her life. “Trouble, ma’am?”
Chapter Two (#ulink_fae55999-b488-53a4-8e0d-379f84c7943a)
“‘Ma’am’?” Ryan echoed with a sneer. “Is this guy for real?” he jeered, turning toward his sister.
“Very real,” Jackson assured him in an even voice that was devoid of any emotion. “Why don’t you get out of the car like your sister requested?” he suggested in the same tone.
“Why don’t you mind your own freakin’ business?” Ryan retorted, sticking up his chin the way he did whenever he was spoiling for a fight.
“For the next month or two or three,” Jackson informed him slowly with emphasis, “you are my business, Ryan,” he concluded in the same low, evenly controlled voice with which he had greeted the teen’s sister.
Jackson opened the door on the passenger side, firmly took hold of Ryan’s arm and with one swift, economic movement, pulled his newest “ranch hand,” as he liked to call the teens who arrived on his doorstep, out of the car and to his feet.
“Ow!” Ryan cried angrily, grabbing his shoulder as if it had been wrenched out of its socket. “You going to let this jerk manhandle me like that?” he demanded angrily, directing the question at his sister.
Before Debi had a chance to respond, Jackson told her brother matter-of-factly, “That didn’t hurt, Ryan.”
“How do you know?” Ryan cried, still holding his shoulder as if he expected his arm to drop off.
“Because,” Jackson said in a calm, steely voice, “if I had wanted to hurt you, Ryan, trust me, you would have known it. To begin with, the pain would have thrown you off balance and you would have dropped like a stone to your knees.” He released his hold on Ryan’s arm, but his eyes still held Ryan prisoner. “Now then, why don’t you get your things out of the car and come with me? I’ll show you and your sister where you’ll be staying for the next few months.”
“Few months?” Ryan repeated indignantly. “The hell I will.”
Jackson suppressed a sigh. He turned from the woman who he was about to escort to the ranch house and looked back at the teen she had brought for him to essentially “fix.” This one, he had a feeling, was going to take a bit of concentrated effort.
“By the way,” he said to Ryan, “I let the first two occasions slide because you’re new here and this is your first day—”
“And my last,” Ryan interjected.
Debi had stood by, quiet, until she couldn’t endure it any longer. “Ryan!”
The smile Jackson offered to the woman who had brought the teen to him was an understanding one.
