Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Skylar
“This should be easy. We’ll stop at the crash site so I can take some photos and make a report. Then we’ll go to the station, and you can call the car rental company and go from there.” Wilder shifts the black and yellow, county-issued SUV into drive.
After Miss Martha and Luther left, Walker arranged for Wilder to help me with my wrecked rental. He wanted to come with me, but he has been complaining about the paperwork he has yet to tackle before his first scheduled hike of the season, so I told him I was fine to go alone.
“Good thing I bought the extra insurance, huh?” I say nervously. Wilder isn’t intimidating like Ridge, but he’s Walker’s best friend, and I want him to like me.
The fact that he’s insanely gorgeous doesn’t help my anxiety. His hair is a darker shade of brown than Walker’s, and he keeps himself perfectly groomed. Even his nails are neatly trimmed. Everything about him screams Type A.
“You’re right about that.” He parks next to the black car. “Stay there.”
“Okay,” I mutter to myself after he climbs out. “I guess all these mountain men are bossy.”
Wilder opens my door and holds a hand out for me. “Careful, it’s slippery. Walker’ll skin me alive if I let anything happen to you.”
The sun has been gloriously bright yesterday and today, melting a great deal of the snow, but it’ll be a while before it’s gone. But even with the snow piled around it, it’s clear how lucky I was that I didn’t go over the edge. I peer over the cliff, a shiver running down my spine at the drop.
“It was incredibly dumb to try and get up this hill in a storm like that,” Wilder scolds. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed. Hell, you almost did.”
“I know.” I try to keep the irritation out of my voice, but honestly, who does he think he is?
Take a deep breath, Skylar. He’s Walker’s best friend, and you don’t want to piss him off.
Needing some space from the bastard, I walk over to the driver’s side to where Walker dug a path to the door so he could get my bag out and leave Wilder to make notes and take pictures. Opening the door, I climb in and gather the rest of my stuff, including the rental agreement with the phone number of the company.
Coming here was supposed to be a day trip. It was a stroke of luck I even decided to pack an overnight bag, but I have astigmatism and don’t see well past dark, so I thought if I felt unsafe, I’d pull into a motel for a couple hours. It was also lucky for me I’m not a light packer, because I had a comfy matching set, two pairs of undies, a sports bra, and the jean skirt and long sleeve I had on earlier to meet Miss Martha and Luther. I’ve long since changed back into Walker’s long underwear because, as it turns out, they’re very comfortable.
After collecting the paperwork, the soft blanket I put across my lap when I drive, and my chargers, I push out of the car, but something catches my eye. Thank god it does because I forgot I brought my mom with me. I grab the glass rock and shut the door.
“What’s that?” Wilder asks, scaring me.
I slap my hand over my heart, and in the process, I drop my mom. “Shit. No, no, no.”
Dropping to my knees, I follow the hole Mom made as she fell through the snow. Almost immediately, my fingers burn and turn bright pink, but I don’t care. I can’t lose that rock. My heart races as I frantically dig, my anxiety climbing.
“Move over. Let me.”
I stand, tucking my hands under my arms as Wilder produces a small shovel. It takes him about five seconds to widen the hole enough to reach down and find Mom. He holds it up to the sun, no doubt seeing the various shades of blue swirling together to look like the ocean, and in that ocean are small flecks of gray.
“What’s so important about a glass rock?” He hands it over and folds his shovel. That’s handy. I’ll have to remember to get myself one of those someday, when I can afford a car. My piece of shit wouldn’t do well up here, but also, it’s in Klutch’s name, and knowing him, he’d report it stolen and get me arrested.
“It’s my mom. Well, obviously not my mom, but her ashes.” I hold it tightly, pressing my lips to it until I feel our connection. Then I tuck it in my pocket.
“Shit. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”
“Were you close?” he asks, leading me back to his SUV.
“Very.” I climb into the passenger seat and buckle up, then we’re back on the road. “Do you have family close by?”
“No,” he replies but doesn’t expand. Clearly, he’s not a chatty person, but if we don’t talk, then how will he accept me as Walker’s wife?
“What about your mom? Are you close with her?”
“No.”
I suck in my lips and nod. Now he’s starting to piss me off. I get that my presence could potentially bring unwanted trouble to the town, and maybe he’s afraid his best buddy won’t have time for him with me here, but he might as well try because I’m not going anywhere.
“If you just want to take me back to Walker’s house, I can make the phone calls from there,” I say with a bite to my tone. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
His focus remains on the road, and if he catches my irritation, it doesn’t show on his expression or in the casual way his right hand is draped over the steering wheel.
“Seriously, Wilder. I don’t want to be somewhere I’m not wanted. Turn around.”
A long minute passes before he finally speaks. “Have you gotten a tour of the town yet?”
I stare at him dumbfounded. Is he just going to ignore my request? “No. I saw the grocery store when I first got into town, but I wasn’t really paying attention. We went to the diner last night, but it was dark, so I couldn’t see much.”
“Yeah, we don’t like light pollution around here, so you won’t find many streetlights.”
“I noticed.”
We reach the main drag where all the shops are located, and Wilder slows to a crawl. Lining both sides of the road are small houses, each painted bright red with white trim, green pitched roofs, and small porches covered by scalloped awnings. Wooden signs with cute painted logos announce the shops’ offerings.
“You know the grocery store.” Wilder points to the first building that’s bigger than the rest. His finger moves across the street to another shop. “That’s the mercantile. They mostly pander to tourists, but they carry a lot of local products.”
“What kind of products?” I ask, some of my annoyance giving way to curiosity.
“One of our residents, Mary, is a beekeeper, so she sells honey. Some of the Geezers sell their knitting. There are some candles, pottery, that sort of thing. Next to the grocery is a clothing store, but Alberta is seventy years old and thinks women still want to wear polyester pantsuits and knee-length wool skirts with cardigans, so don’t get too excited.”
“Is that the only clothing store?”
“Yep.”
“I fear that’s where my replacement wardrobe will have to come from.”
“Hope you’re cool with looking groovy .”
I grin. “Was that a joke, Wilder?”
“What can I say? I’m a funny guy.” He continues to point out each store. There’s a hardware and sporting goods shop, an ice cream shop next to the diner, both owned by Lavanya and August, an antique store, a coffee shop that doubles as a bookstore, a bar, a gas station, and finally, an outpost.
The building is literally labeled “Culver Springs Outpost” and looks boarded up for the winter. Next to it is a very large hole in the ground, a walking trail circling it.
“What’s an outpost?”
“Oh, he didn’t tell you? That’s Walker’s shop. He books all his excursions out of there, but he also rents paddle boards and paddle boats for the pond. We drain it in the winter to kill all the leeches.”
I obviously knew about Walker’s business, but he didn’t say he had a whole shop. Pride fills me with what he has accomplished. It makes me feel stunted, as if the day I left Vegas, I stopped living.
Wait, what did he say? “Leeches?”
“Yeah, they attach themselves to the ducks, then the ducks go into the pond, and bam. It happens every year.” How can he be nonchalant about something so disturbing?
“And you let people go in the water?”
“They’re not dangerous and pretty easy to remove.”
“That’s disgusting.”
He reaches over and musses up my hair. “Welcome to mountain life, city girl. We have leeches, mosquitos, bears, bobcats, rattlesnakes, and even mountain lions.”
My curls are no doubt destroyed by his rare show of a sense of humor, but I can’t even get mad; he’s finally treating me like I’m not the one who’s a leech. But also, mountain lions ? I look beyond the shops to where the tall pines stand proud. “They’re just walking around out there in the woods?”
“Yup.” He turns and parks. “And this is the sheriff’s station.”
The red house matches all the others, but it’s at least quadruple the square footage, and something about it makes it appear intimidating. I climb out of the SUV and follow Wilder, whose posture is so straight, he could balance a book on his head. We’re met with a long, beige counter. A young woman, no more than twenty-five, pops up from behind it, looking a little frazzled. Her dark brown hair is in one long braid over her shoulder, but random wisps have fallen out to frame a round face with a light dusting of freckles. Her glasses are bright red and bring out the subtle gold flecks in her brown eyes and her bold style. “Oh, hey, Sheriff.”
“Jazzy.” He greets her with what I’m assuming is her name. It suits her perfectly. She’s quirky but cool in an effortless way most women have to work to achieve.
Suddenly, I wish I had worn more than Walker’s baggy long underwear and my black puffer coat. I guess I assumed with so few residents, Wilder was a one-man show.
“The printer is being a little bitch again,” she says; then, as if only just noticing me, she slaps a hand over her mouth.
“Didn’t we just talk about professionalism?” Wilder scolds.
Her eyes go down. “Sorry about that.”
I grin. “No worries. I’ve never met a printer that isn’t a little bitch.”
“It seems to be a required function.”
“Jazzy, this is Walker’s wife, Skylar.”
Her eyes widen as she holds out a hand. “Holy shit, the rumors are true.”
Wilder pinches his brow. “I give up.”
Jazzy ignores him, thrusting her hand out to me. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“You too,” I say.
Wilder sighs in irritation. “Anything happen this morning I should know about?”
“It’s been pretty quiet. Eli started to stir about twenty minutes ago, so once he wakes up, I’ll get him out of here. I’m starting to think we should just label that cell as his and let him bring in some decorations, or at least a nicer pillow.”
“The goal is to not make jail a comfortable place to sleep off the liquor.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Call his mom before he leaves. She’ll dish out more punishment than we could give him.”
She grins deviously. “Will do.”
“And if you need me, we’ll be in my office. Skylar had a bit of an accident, and I have paperwork to fill out.”
“Oh no. Are you all right?” she asks me.
“I’m fine. Just not used to driving in the snow. I’m from SoCal.”
“Ah, gotcha. Wait a second. Let me write down my number. There aren’t too many of us younger women, so we tend to stick together. I swear, this town will die right alongside the Geezers.” She scribbles her number down on a sticky note and hands it to me. “Call me if you need anything or if you just want to get away from the big grump and have coffee.”
“Big grump?”
She turns sheepish. “I mean, you’re married to the guy, so you should know. He’s not the most outgoing person in town.”
I guess Walker wasn’t kidding when he said he has a reputation. “Maybe I should be telling you to call me if he’s ever a dick to you. I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
She points at me, her eyes bunching up. “I like you.”
“Well, I like you too, and since I happen to be in need of a new wardrobe, maybe you can help?”
“Now you’re speaking my language. I love to shop.”
“I’ll be in touch this weekend.”
“Perfect.”
“If you’re done yapping,” Wilder says.
“Don’t be surly. It’s not often I meet other women who aren’t tourists,” Jazzy sasses.
With a roll of his eyes, he walks with purpose past the counter, and I give Jazzy a wave as I follow. We pass by two cubicles with desks with phones and computers on the right, a unisex bathroom on the left. What grabs my attention, though, are the cells that sit straight ahead. The two small square areas are lined with cream-colored steel bars, a thick lock in the center of each. They’re completely empty save for an uncomfortable-looking cot. One of the cots is empty and has a folded gray wool blanket on it, but a sleeping man is on the cot in the other cell. All four of his limbs hang over the sides, and his mouth is hanging wide open.
“That’s Eli. He likes to drink and pick fights.” He places a hand at the small of my back and leads me to an open door on the left. “My office is in here.” As he closes the door after us, Eli lets out a long and loud snort before catching his breath and mumbling nonsense. “That’s how we know he’s getting ready to wake up.”
“I see.” I don’t know what else to say. I had no idea places like this still existed. It’s so far from my life in Bakersfield, and I’m having a hard time processing that this is my new home. It’ll definitely take some adjusting. I’m used to a certain hustle, where everyone minds their business and no one makes an effort to get to know you. I’ve certainly never had a stranger give me her number and ask me to coffee.
“Take a seat. It won’t take long to get a case number for you. Then you can make your calls, and we can get Tall Mike out to tow the car.”
“Tall Mike?” I ask distractedly as I take in his office.
The first thing I notice is that it’s immaculate and devoid of anything that would tell what kind of man Wilder is. No pictures on the wall, no knickknacks on the bookcase or his desk—there’s not even a nameplate. And it’s abnormally clean. There are perfect lines in the carpet from the vacuum, the metal filing cabinet gleams, there’s not a speck of dust anywhere, and the cherry wood of his desk is so shiny, I can see my reflection.
“Yeah. He’s tall, and not to be confused with Mike, who owns the auto shop where Tall Mike works.”
“Of course,” I say, as if that’s not a strange way to distinguish between two people.
Wilder almost looks embarrassed as he wiggles his mouse to wake up his computer. “I know how things are . . . different around here. Growing up, I bounced around Culver Springs, Sacramento, and Redding, so I understand how much of a culture shock this must be. But trust me when I say, I settled here instead of either of those big cities because this community is something special.” He winces when Eli snores loud enough to shake the walls. “Sure, there are some. . . characters, but that’s what makes this place homey.”
I nod and smile, distractedly still trying to figure out why this office looks like it was staged for a movie. “I think it’ll take me some time, but other than the snow, I’m loving it. And it’s not like there aren’t bigger cities nearby if I need something I can’t get in town.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Did you just move into this space?”
“No. Been here for four years. Why?”
“No reason. It’s so empty and clean.”
He stacks the papers in a tray labeled incoming, but there’s no need, since they were perfectly stacked before. “The space you keep is a direct reflection of your mental state.”
“Or it’s a direct reflection of your personality,” I say under my breath.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
He sighs, as if he’s dealing with a child. “Look, I’m trying, okay? I know I’m not an easy person, but Walker is more than a friend to me. He’s my family.”
“We’re both his family.”
“Yeah, but I’m not na?ve about what’ll happen if we don’t get along—the girlfriend or wife always wins.”
“What do you mean?”
He folds his arms on his desk. “We have monthly poker nights, but let’s say, for example, I said something to piss you off, so you suddenly suggest he stay in for a movie night instead. Who’s he gonna pick?”
I’d laugh at how juvenile this conversation is if he didn’t look seriously worried. “Has that happened before? With previous women, I mean.”
“No, Walker’s never been a boyfriend kind of guy. Shit, sorry. I’m fucking this up.”
“He’s the king of one-night stands, yeah, I get it.” I smirk, since this isn’t new information for me and it’s kind of funny to watch him combust.
“No, that’s not. I just. . .” He runs a finger along the collar of his button-down. “Look, my parents got divorced when I was real young, and my dad remarried shortly after. I didn’t get along with Carol, so I was out. The last time I saw him was when I was six, so I know it happens, and I don’t want that for the four of us guys. If you could help me out, that would be great.”
All the humor I was feeling dies as I take his words to heart. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that even grown men are just a product of their upbringing, even if they never talk about it.
I rest my hand on his forearm. “I’d never do that, Wilder. I love Walker, and I want him to be happy. If monthly poker nights or hunting trips or just having a beer on a random Saturday afternoon with his friends makes him happy, then I’m all for it. I’ve just been messing with you today. I’m sorry if I made you think I didn’t like you.”
After a few thoughtful seconds, he gives me a tight-lipped smile, my words seeming to appease him. “Good. Now let’s get this report filed.”