Clark slowly opened his eyes to a familiar yet unfamiliar room. He frowned for a moment as he considered the question of where he was and why did the room smell so – so fresh and clean and empty? He wasn’t anything like a slob, but his apartment did smell as if someone lived there.
He blinked twice and remembered. He was at home in Kansas, sleeping in his old room where he hadn’t slept for several years, on special assignment from the Daily Planet. He wasn’t in Metropolis. He wouldn’t see his friends in the newsroom today.
And Lois hated him.
That was the worst part.
His exile was her doing. Despite his love for her – and he’d been totally and completely sincere and honest when he’d told her that he loved her – he couldn’t reconcile Lois’ actions and new attitude toward him with his mental picture of a fiery but good-hearted woman who had a lot of love to give. He’d expected some bumps and bruises along the way to a reconciliation, but he’d never given a moment’s thought to Lois shoving him out of her life forever. As far as he was concerned, it had come completely out of the deepest, darkest blue that ever existed.
He’d loved her. Now – now he wasn’t sure.
Maybe she wasn’t really who he’d thought she was.
He remembered Dr. Friskin telling him one day, during the sessions when he’d felt unaccountably apathetic because of exposure to red Kryptonite, that love and hate were two sides of the same emotional coin, and that they resulted in opposite but extreme emotional states. She said that love that was thwarted and frustrated and rejected might flip over and become hate. She cited examples of husbands and wives who’d started out in love, but then one had allowed other people or other things to be a higher priority than the other spouse. First that other spouse was hurt, then if the causes of the hurt weren’t resolved in a mutually satisfactory way, that hurt would turn to disappointment, then the disappointment would turn to resentment, then to anger, then to bitterness, and finally the love the injured spouse had felt was crushed and buried under argument and coldness and hate.
Clark didn’t want to hate Lois.
But she might not give him a choice.
*****
Rachel hadn’t meant to pull another all-nighter, but she had. The thick pile of office paperwork that she hadn’t been able to avoid the night before was now on Denise’s desk, ready to be filed or mailed or returned for more comments as required. Denise was due in at eight-thirty, so it should all be finished before lunch. Rachel yawned as she drove, hoping Denise wouldn’t call her on the radio and give her more bad news.
The phone call that had her behind the wheel at the moment instead of at home in bed had come in just before dawn, and now she was tooling down the road to Bob Clay’s ranch. Bob claimed that someone had rustled about two dozen cattle during the night, and he’d demanded that the sheriff mount a posse and bring back the thieves dead or alive. Rachel smiled slightly as she thought about bringing them back dead and duct-taped to the hood of her patrol cruiser, just like the old cowboy movies where the rustlers came back draped over their saddles. Or maybe she could just find a tall tree wherever she caught them and hang them from it with the jumper cables she kept in the trunk.
Man, she was tired.
She pulled to a stop just off the road where the tracks of an eighteen-wheeler cut through the soft ground and pointed into Bob Clay’s pasture. She turned on the emergency flashers, then got out and set reflective cones well in front of and behind her cruiser. What she assumed were the tire tracks going in were significantly shallower than the ones coming out. Finally she walked toward Bob’s horse, where he sat slumped in the saddle.
His Stetson barely turned toward her. “Howdy, Sheriff.”
“Hey, Mr. Clay. You know anything more than you – yawn – you did when you called?”
He sighed. “Me and Kenny Brown rounded up what they didn’t take. I’m short twenty-six head of prime beef on the hoof. They’re sellin’ right now for about sixty-six dollars a hundredweight, and those four-year-olds are a little over fourteen hundred pounds apiece, so I’m out close to thirty grand if you don’t find ‘em quick.” He pushed the brim of his hat up. “I can’t afford that kind of loss.”
“We’ll do our best, Mr. Clay. Um – don’t you have insurance?”
He gave her a mean look. “Rachel, you know as well as I do that you can’t insure cattle against theft without paying crazy high premiums. When’s the last time you worked a rustlin’ case?”
“Never worked one.”
“How ‘bout your daddy? Ask him the last time he heard o’ rustlers round here.”
Nettled, Rachel gave him back the look. “I will. Just as soon as he gets over almost dyin’.”
“What?” Bob was genuinely startled. “Almost dying? What happened?”
“He had a bad car wreck last Friday morning. Should be comin’ home from the hospital tomorrow or Friday, but he ain’t in no shape to work a case right now.”
The older man climbed down from his horse and walked closer. “I’m real sorry, Rachel, real sorry. I been out o’ town for a week or so, just got back early last evenin’. That’s how I knew the cattle were stolen last night. I checked on ‘em afore I went to bed, but I’m tellin’ you with my hand up ain’t nobody said nothing to me ‘bout your daddy bein’ in a car wreck.”
She relaxed a little. “It’s okay, Mr. Clay. He’s tough and he’s a fighter. And if my momma has anything to say about it, he ain’t going nowhere for good while.”
“Good to hear. Listen, you do right by your family. I’ll work with Tommy and them on this, okay?”
She waved him off. “No. I’m sheriff and it’s my job. It’s what my daddy’d tell me if I’s fool enough to ask him about it.”
The man smiled. “Thank you. I know you’ll do a good job. Anything else you need from me?”
She blinked and refocused her mind. “I already called Whit Parker to come get some plaster casts of the tire tracks. Maybe we can track ‘em with that, or at least use it as evidence at the trial. And Tommy’s callin’ around to auction houses and the neighboring county sheriffs and the highway patrol to watch for a overloaded cattle truck. I’m just lookin’ from here, but them tracks don’t look like that truck should’a had room for twenty-six head. They either got two trucks or they’re too greedy for their own good. And maybe a little stupid, too. They might get rid of some of them beeves to make room for the rest.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, I didn’t even think of all that. Good thing you’re the sheriff.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know what we find out. I gotta try to track these bozos.”
“Good luck.” He swung back into the saddle. “I’ll call some o’ my buddies in the cattle business and let ‘em know what’s happened. They’ll be on the lookout for my brand.”
Rachel assayed a wan smile. “Sounds like a good idea. Unless you got something else to tell me, I gotta get going.”
“You get yourself some rest, young lady. Won’t do nobody no good if you get yourself sick or hurt.”
She waved and walked back to her cruiser. As long as she was in the area, she could check the Irigs and the Kents and the Colemans to see if they’d heard or seen anything.
She missed the ignition slot with the key and let her hand drop to her leg. Boy, she was tired.
*****
Jonathan paused his repainting of the back porch rail as his son pulled the back door open. “Morning, sunshine,” he teased. “City life teaching you to sleep late?”
Clark crossed his arms and leaned against the door jamb. “You try driving from Metropolis to Smallville straight through and see how late you sleep the next day. You’re lucky to see me now.”
Jonathan laughed. “It would knock me for a loop and you know it. You get some breakfast?”
“Yes. Mom forced a double stack of pancakes down me. She said I’d need the extra energy, given the list of chores you have for me.”
Jonathan laughed. “Well, we got some fence to inspect and maybe mend, a tractor that’s running rough, and there’s that corner of the barn we need to clean out for your office space.”
Clark nodded. “Thanks. I’ll see about the electrical line when I go into town for building supplies. I think I can just use one of those kit desks for just about everything I need. Some of them have built-in filing drawers.”
Jonathan shrugged. “Sure, that’d work. As long as you can figure out the assembly directions, that is.”
Clark rolled his eyes and shook his head. Instead of keeping the banter going, though, he stepped past his father and down to the yard. “Someone’s coming up the drive.”
“Oh?” Jonathan lifted his head and listened. “Yeah, I hear it now. Sounds like a regular car, not a truck.”
He could see surprise on his son’s face. “It’s a sheriff’s car. Huh.” Clark walked around the house past Jonathan’s line of vision. By the time Jonathan put away the paint brush and made it around the house, Rachel was leaning against the front fender next to Clark.
He walked over and caught their conversation in the middle. “—got in last night. I unloaded my truck, but I haven’t unpacked yet.”
Rachel gave him a droopy-eyed smile. “When’d you get a truck, city boy? I thought only country folk drove pickups.”
Jonathan stepped up beside them and put one hand on Clark’s near shoulder. “Brought it with him from Metropolis. He’ll be here for a while. We’re setting up an office for him in the barn.”
Rachel tilted her head. “Barn? You need office space, you come to the station and talk to Mrs. Howard. I think she said something about a couple o’ open offices near the station yesterday.” Then she released a jaw-cracking yawn.
Clark shifted closer to Rachel and Jonathan dropped his hand. “Rachel,” Clark said, “I heard about your father. I’m so sorry. He’s doing better now, isn’t he?”
She nodded, but her head seemed a bit loose on her neck to Jonathan. “Yeah. Might come home Friday, maybe even Thursday afternoon. Doctors think he’ll get better faster at home. Gonna have some physical therapy starting soon as the docs think he’s ready.”
“That’s good to hear. I’ll try to drop by and see him after he comes home and gets settled.”
She took a long blink, then smiled. “Thanks. I’ll let everybody know when that happens.”
Rachel turned to reach for the car door and lost her balance. She would have fallen flat on the gravel driveway had Clark not caught her and cradled her to himself.
Jonathan frowned. This wasn’t good. Neither Rachel being too tired to function nor Clark holding her like that was good.
He flashed on the first time he’d held Martha that closely. Rachel was a good woman with no significant man in her life. Clark was a good man who was at an emotionally vulnerable point. Jonathan could only hope that neither of them would read more into that embrace than a man helping a friend who happened to be a woman.
*****
She heard Clark call to her as if he were standing in the far pasture. “Rachel! Are you okay?”
She looked up at him and blinked a couple of times. It felt good being held by Clark, even if he was just trying to keep her from splatting on the ground. She tried to stand, but had trouble putting her feet in the right place.
Jonathan leaned in. “Rachel, when was the last time you slept?”
She almost righted herself. “Oh, long about – Monday, I think.” She blinked again. “Today’s – what, Wednesday? Yeah?”
Clark picked her up in his arms and started toward the front door. “Come on, Sheriff, you need some sleep. I’ll put you on the couch next to the phone so you can call in and tell them whatever they need to know. And I’ll make sure nobody touches your car or your equipment until you wake up.” He turned his head and said, “Dad, can you get the front door?”
She tried to push out of his embrace, but of course she couldn’t. So she surrendered to the inevitable and let him carry her through the door as Jonathan opened it.
Martha rushed in as soon as Clark put Rachel down on the couch, then said something and rushed out again. Clark helped Rachel take off her jacket, then her equipment belt, and finally her boots. By that time, Martha was back with pillows and a blanket. Jonathan picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hello, Denise? This is Jonathan Kent. Sheriff Harris is here at our place and she’s exhausted. She needs to get some sleep – yes, she finally fell out. No, she’s not hurt. I’m just glad she wasn’t driving when it happened. I don’t know. She didn’t have a chance to tell me. Bob Clay? Rustling? Really? How about that. No, it’s the first I’ve heard about it. Look, you need to talk to her while you can. She’s halfway to out cold now.”
Jonathan gave Rachel the phone. “It’s me,” she slurred.
“Young lady, you can’t risk yourself like that! You have some very competent deputies who can take up the slack when you’re not available!”
“Naw, I’m sheriff, and I—”
“You won’t be sheriff if you fall asleep at the wheel and kill yourself! Now give me everything you need done on that cattle theft thing. I’ll make sure Tommy has all the particulars.”
Rachel sighed. That woman could be downright intimidating when she put her mind to it. “Okay. Uh, you know I’m at the Kent place, right?”
“Yes. Start talking.”
Rachel chuckled weakly. “You are a slavedriver, Mrs. Howard.”
“Never mind that! Talk!”
“Fine.” And she did. She even remembered to relate all the things she’d told Bob Clay she’d do or have done.
Clark took the phone from her hand and hung up after she said goodbye, then she felt him lay her gently on the pillows his mom had brought during the phone conversation. She would have thanked him for that, for helping her remove her jacket and equipment belt, and for tucking the blanket around her, but she didn’t have the energy.
Two breaths later, she was gently floating on the ebony sea of Nod.
*****
Just before three-thirty that afternoon, Clark stood up from his office corner in the garage. The kit desk with two full-sized file drawers was assembled, the fancy desk chair was ready for use, and he’d dug the channels for the electrical lines. He’d finished his father’s list of chores before eating the lunch his mother had brought to them in the barn. It was time for a short break.
He quietly made his way into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of his mother’s iced tea. A glance at the couch showed that Rachel was still asleep and breathing easily. She might need a lot more rest, but it wouldn’t help her to sleep all day and then be up all night. He hated to do it to her, but she needed to wake up.
He poured a second glass of tea and walked to the couch. He put the glass on the end table and touched the sleeping sheriff’s shoulder. “Rachel?”
Her breathing didn’t change, so he shook her gently. “Come on, Rachel. You need to wake up so you can sleep tonight.”
She grunted and pulled the blanket up toward her face. Clark grinned and tried once more. “Please, Rach, you need to get up. You have sheriff stuff you need to do.”
She opened one eye and looked around. “Mmrph,” she said.
“Mmrph, indeed. Time to get up now.”
The eye blinked slowly. “Izzit Thursday yet?” she mumbled.
He laughed lightly. “Very funny. It’s after three-thirty on Wednesday, and you’ve been asleep for a little over seven hours. It’s time you got up and earned the big bucks the county’s paying you.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then closed her eye and groaned. “I don’ wanna get up, Mom. Just five more minutes.”
Clark laughed aloud. “Young lady, you have a job to do. Now get up before I get my mother in here.”
That eye opened again and she glared at him. “You’d do it, too, wouldn’t you?” she mumbled.
He stepped back and offered his hand. “I would. But I don’t have to, do I?”
She slowly sat up and pushed her hair back from her face. “I guess not.” She took another deep breath and looked up at his hand. “I’ll get up if I can borrow your bathroom for a minute.”
“Of course. Take all the time you need.”
She took his hand and stood. She stumbled against him for a moment, and he thought maybe she hung on to him a second longer than she had to. “There’s a glass of iced tea for you beside the couch,” he said.
“Thanks,” she muttered. She tottered off toward the bathroom.
“I can make you a sandwich if you’re hungry.”
“Mmrph,” she reiterated.
“Leave a quarter by the sink,” he called.
She waved dismissively over her shoulder and closed the door behind her.
Rachel Harris was a nice girl, he thought. She works hard, she’s dedicated, she’s honest, and she seems to have mostly recovered from that shooting last year. And she’s holding up as well as anyone might, given the circumstances and her family’s problems.
Then a heinous thought tapped him on the shoulder and whispered in his ear:
I bet she wouldn’t blackmail me to leave Kansas if I told her I was Superman. The concept startled him. He’d just compared Rachel to Lois, and despite their similarities, there were far more differences between them. Both were fierce contenders for truth and justice, but Rachel was far gentler than Lois. Lois would run through a brick wall to get the truth. Rachel would find a way over or around the wall. Either one would extract the truth, but Rachel’s way left less collateral damage behind. Lois scattered debris all around the impact zone. Where Lois was aggressive and fierce and determined, Rachel was quiet and unassuming but equally as determined.
He shook his head. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about Lois Lane at the moment, other than his simmering heartbreak over the loss of her presence in his life. He didn’t even know if the break was permanent. Who knew whether she would call him tonight and ask his forgiveness and beg him to return to her?
Who knew if she’d ever mention his name again without cursing the day she’d met him?
He was sure that Rachel wouldn’t—
Stop it! he told himself.
Don’t compare Rachel to Lois! It’s not fair to either woman! And it’s not fair to me, he growled silently.
He knew he wasn’t ready to let go of Lois, and even if he had let go, he certainly wasn’t ready for a romantic relationship with another woman. He liked Rachel, but he loved Lois.
Despite being thrown away like maggot-infested rotten meat, despite the cutting letter he’d left for her to read after he left Metropolis, he still loved Lois.
*****
Lois stopped typing and looked at the word on her screen. When did you use the adverb form over the adjective again? Never mind, Clark would—
No.
She couldn’t ask him. Wouldn’t ask him. Besides, he wasn’t there. He wasn’t even in the city.
The thought that he’d surely explain the usage to her if she called him on the phone appeared in her mind like a sneaky and treacherous extra-dimensional imp and she quashed it without mercy.
But that didn’t make it untrue.
She took a moment to renew her commitment. Clark was a louse, an emotional abuser, and she couldn’t trust him with her zip code, much less her heart. Lois Lane was far better off in every way without him.
A deep breath later, she looked at the sentence again. Adjective. Yes. Definitely.
Probably.
At any rate, it was time to wrap up this article and send it to Perry. If she’d picked the wrong form, he’d fix it.
A few keystrokes later, Lois sat back in her chair and wondered if Lucy would be in the apartment for dinner. If she was there, would she talk to Lois or take her food in her bedroom again? How long would she enforce the distance between them?
Probably as long as Lois maintained that Clark Kent was persona non grata in the city of Metropolis.
Which meant they might never speak again. And Lois was no longer sure whether this was acceptable collateral damage or a result of a horrible choice on her part.
Her pride wouldn’t let her admit being wrong about him. Even to herself.
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