Taji's Syndrome by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Read Free Book Online

declared, taking the time to cuff the boy lightly on the jaw. “You’re a good kid.” Then he was gone into the blur of flakes swarming out of the night sky.
    Harold pulled his knees up and sat huddled against the seat, trying to decide what was the best thing for him to do. His father rarely left him alone, and if he knew more about where they were, he might take a chance to find a phone and try to reach his mother. In the four years since his father had abducted him from his mother’s home in Golden, Colorado, he had been able to call her nine times, so she would know he was still all right. Twice he had tried to get away and return to his mother, but both times his father had found him and beaten him so badly that now he was afraid to make the attempt again. He felt in his pocket for coins, in case he found a phone, and realized he had less than two dollars to his name: he would have to call collect. Little as he admitted it, he missed his mother, and the life they had had before his father returned. Alexa had found them a place on the outskirts of Golden where she raised ponies, specializing in a handsome Welsh Cob/Caspian cross which was starting to earn her a reputation and a growing income. Harold had liked tending to the ponies and being with his mother Alexa, who lavished affection on him as if to make up for the years they had followed Frank on the rodeo circuit. Now Harold was once again on that circuit, and Frank, aging unpredictably, had become increasingly suspicious and demanding of his son.
    “You drifting?” Frank asked as he yanked open the door and pointed an accusing finger at his boy.
    “A little. It’s cold.”
    Frank grunted. “There’s a motel about a mile up the road. They’ve got a room for us, and we can get sandwiches there.” He wedged himself behind the wheel and twisted the key in the ignition. “Old fart better start,” he muttered.
    The engine turned over with a protesting roar, and Harold blinked to conceal his relief. “We going to stay here a day or two?”
    “Have to, if the snow doesn’t stop. Told me at the service station that most places around here are already snowed in. Shit, if I can’t get going, I’ll lose that job in Twin Falls. I said I’d be there next Tuesday.” He tromped on the. accelerator and the camper lurched onto the road, fish-tailing on the icy surface.
    “Dad!” Harold said faintly, trying not to rouse his father’s anger. Nothing made Frank Porter more upset than the fear that someone was criticizing his driving. Harold clung to the seatbelt and ground his teeth to keep from yelling.
    “I can handle it,” Frank growled as he fought with the wheel. “I can handle a lot worse’n this.” He continued his battle for most of a minute until the camper steadied and began real progress down the road toward the motel.
    “Hey, Dad, how long are you going to stay in Twin Falls?” It was a forlorn question; Frank had never remained in anyone place as long as he intended to; someone would insult him, or he would get into a fight, or there would be accusations and Frank would take his boy and they would once again be on the road.
    “Through May, in any case. I told Bowan that I’d help out with getting his horses in off the range and broke, if he’ll guarantee my wages and a place to live for us both. He said there’s two house trailers on his place and we can have our pick of ’em. Things are going our way, kid, if we can get there.” This last was a dark reminder of Frank’s belief that he had been the chosen target of a capricious and vengeful fate.
    “We’ll get there. You can phone from the motel, can’t you, so he’ll know where you are?” He made this suggestion carefully, so that it would not appear that he was in any way prodding his father to do anything. Frank hated any kind of manipulation unless he was doing it.
    “I might,” he allowed when he had thought about it. “Ah. There’s the motel. Hang on, Harold.” He swung