Wild Blood Read Free Page B

neatly folded loose-leaf paper and what looked like a Xeroxed legal document. The writing was shaky and rushed, but he recognized his mother’s hand.
    Son,
    If you’re reading this, I’m gone. I wanted to tell you this in person, like I should have years ago, but I kept putting things off and now there’s no more time. The Good Lord’s calling me home to be with your father. I wish there was a better way for me to say this, but at this stage all I can do is give it to you point-blank: I am not your mother. Leastwise, not the one who birthed you. Will wasn’t your natural father, either. We adopted you when you were still a little baby .
    You were such a beautiful child! Your father and I fell in love with you the moment we saw you. We were almost too old to qualify for adoption, and we were scared we wouldn’t be allowed to take you. I was forty-four and Will forty-six at the time, but the lady at the foundling home was so nice. She could tell how much we really loved you, bless her. Your father and I always meant to tell you the truth someday. Please believe that. But after you daddy was gone, I guess I was afraid you’d try and find your biological parents and abandon me. I should have known better, but I was afraid of losing your love. I know that sounds silly, but when it comes to the heart, common sense doesn’t have much power. I’ve loved you as much — if not more — than the woman who gave birth to you. She didn’t want you, but we did. You’re our son, even if we didn’t make you ourselves. Nothing can ever change that .
    I don’t know anything about your birth parents except that your natural mother was a Native American. We had to go all the way to Arizona to find you —
    There was more but he couldn’t read it. The words kept blurring and jumping around. He carefully refolded his mother’s letter, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
    Luke looked up from his coffee and nodded at his stepson as Skinner returned to the kitchen. “So, you read it?”
    â€œYeah.” The inside of his mouth felt like it was lined with sandpaper. He shuffled over to the percolator and poured the last of Mrs. Cakebread’s coffee.
    â€œShe really did mean to tell you before it was too late,” Luke sighed.
    â€œI know.” Skinner took a sip of the dark, bitter brew and leaned against the counter. “When did she tell you I was adopted?”
    â€œShe never had to,” Luke admitted with a shrug. “I always knew. So did everyone else in town. Will and Edna went out West for awhile. When they came back, they had a baby with ’em. What with your coloration, folks figured you for some wetback’s kid they bought. One thing’s for sure: no Cade ever had eyes like yours.”
    â€œThat explains why I never felt welcome here,” Skinner grunted.
    Luke sighed and turned his coffee mug idly between his big, rough hands. “Folks hereabouts are suspicious of outsiders and them that’s different. It pained your mama to see you treated like that, but she knew you were strong enough to take it without gettin’ twisted up inside. She had faith in you, Skinner. She was convinced you’d make something of yourself one day.”
    Skinner unfolded the copy of his adoption papers on the kitchen table. “Daddy used to say that if a man wants to know where he’s going, he has to know where he’s been.”
    â€œSkinner—” Luke frowned at his coffee, as if by staring into its depths he could read the future. “Your mama was convinced that what happened to your father had something to do with your natural parents. I’m not sure what it was—she never would talk to me about it—but she saw something in the woods that day that convinced her of it.”
    â€œWhat are you getting at?” Skinner frowned. “My daddy was killed by a bear while he was out hunting. How