Page 58 of Jensen

Rolling my head to the side, I watch clouds scud across the sky through the window. This house is beautiful, simple. It would be a good place to raise a family. Landis would love it out here, all the space to run. He’s such an active little boy, always begging to go to the park or play ball in the yard.

My eyes sting.

Brothers said he and Jensen were on the outs. I just didn’t expect such a visceral reaction. He recoiled like he’d put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a snake. Brothers Boyd is no saint, so whatever happened could range from drugs to murder to something worse. But he’d talked so highly of Jensen, I thought there had to be some positive emotion there.

Turns out, I was wrong.

The door slams. I push up, pulling the sheet over my breasts. He’s coming quick, boots loud. The door swings open, and he’s there in the flesh. Quite a bit of it, actually, given that he hasn’t put his shirt back on yet. He shuts the door, takes the chair, and flips it backwards. Pale eyes on me, he sinks down and puts his gun in his belt at the small of his back.

We stare at each other.

He clears his throat.

“The kid…your kid,” he says. He swallows like he’s having trouble speaking. “What’s he like?”

I stammer; that’s a pivot.

“He’s a really good kid, very sweet, very outgoing,” I say.

He winces.

“He’s kind, I tried to make sure he’s always kind,” I continue. “But I look at Leland, and I know what he’s going to turn him into. But I’m…I won’t let that happen. He won’t be raised by Leland.”

His jaw works. “Custody battles are ugly.”

“This isn’t a custody battle,” I say firmly. “Either I die getting him back, or I get what I want. There’s no afterwards that involves me leaving him with Leland.”

Silence.

He leans back. “I could have used a mother with your backbone when I was his age,” he says finally.

There’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

“Your mother is still alive?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Died when I was a teenager. Yours?”

That’s a sore spot, but I can tell he’s not in the mood to be lied to.

“We had a difference of opinion,” I say. “I didn’t want to marry Leland, and she wanted me to, real bad. She ended up remarrying one of Matthew Caudill’s friends, and they moved to New York a few summers ago. I…I tried to get a hold of her when I left Leland, and she told me I was being stupid, giving up Caudill wealth.”

“Money is the root of all evil, huh?”

“I think she was just desperate,” I say. “But she did pick it over me and her grandson.”

“Your father?”

“My daddy died when I was young. He’s buried in my family cemetery, in a holler in Harlan.”

His eyes flick up. “You say Harlan?”

I nod. “Why? What’s it mean to you?”

He shrugs. “I’m from Harlan originally.”

“Brothers say you were from Byway.”

He lifts his head, and I should have guessed from those mountain eyes what county his people hailed from. They’re pale as the lakes in spring, clear as the streams when the ice melts. He’s got them in his veins, the hills I grew up with. That’s why he feels like home, like life courses through his body.