7. Jude
7
jude
S he pulled her hair back in a messy ponytail at the nape of her neck, diving into yet another drawer of Hazel’s clothes.
Fuck. I wanted to wrap my hand around that ponytail, give it a good tug until her lips lined up with mine. The thought made my jeans grow tight.
“This box is done,” she announced, pushing it toward me with her foot.
Settle down, you! I told my dick. This was neither the time nor the place, and if it didn’t get the memo, this was about to get real uncomfortable.
Even in the bunkhouse, knowing a man was killed here, I couldn’t help but stare at her. She was heartbreakingly beautiful. The memories of her, the feelings that came surging back at her proximity, were like a punch in the gut. The need to take her into my arms or pin her against the nearest wall was almost overwhelming, as if I was walking through quicksand, my muscles straining to break free. The frustration and anger I felt earlier was slowly dissipating, replaced by a need to comfort her. I just knew, though, my brand of comfort would only cause her to retreat.
Instead, I watched her, feeling that if I looked at her long enough, I could memorize her for the next time she disappeared. Recall all the facial expressions that gave away each emotion. If I could read her like I used to, I could dive in to help fix the problem before she even knew to ask, just as I had done when we were young.
“Earth to Jude!” Romy snapped her fingers. “Going to tape that box or just stare at me all day?” She smirked, teasing me like she used to.
It was exactly the refocus I needed.
With each box she packed, she was searching, looking between shirts, through shoeboxes.
“What are you looking for?” I asked her. “Maybe I can help look, too.”
She tucked a loose lock behind her ear. “I don’t know. Hazel just said she had something for me. She was pretty vague, so I don’t know if she meant here in the bunkhouse or just on the ranch. I guess it is possible the cops confiscated it, whatever it was.”
“Did you look in the bunks?” I asked her, gesturing to the beds where the ranch hands and trainers slept.
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
She hadn’t wanted to go toward the bunks. I didn’t blame her.
Bullet holes scarred the wooden bed frames. The drywall was patched in the ceiling directly above one bunk and in two places on the wall. How many shots were fired before Jesse was killed? Did Hazel fire all those rounds?
Uncle Chuck, or one of the other ranch hands, must have attempted to clean up. Whatever mess was created by the police search was put back into place, except for the kitchenette where pots and pans, empty, glass beer bottles, and old mail still littered the counters. The place smelled like Lysol and spackle. Dark-brown spots stained the antique wood floors. Grandpa would grimace if he saw the state of the original homestead that belonged to his grandparents, pioneers of the Oregon Trail.
Now the bunkhouse, it was never full during the cold months. It was only full during the summer when it filled up with hired hands. Spring and summer were the busiest seasons, and now with all of this, the bunkhouse was empty. Uncle Chuck needed to hire help, and I’d do what I could to fill in so he could focus on Grandpa and other areas of the ranch, like training.
“This is going to take longer than I thought.” Romy put her hands on her hips and surveyed the room. “I have to leave by midnight if I’m going to make my flight.”
“Can you take a later flight?” I offered.
Romy stood silent, thinking. Biting her bottom lip. My own tongue darted out to lick my upper lip, wishing I could taste hers instead.
I jerked my eyes back to the bunks, and she followed my gaze to the patched bullet holes.
“Fuck it!”
“What?” My head jerked back to her in surprise.
“I can’t leave tonight.” She shook her head, punctuating her words. “I can’t just go back to San Jose as if nothing happened, like my sister isn’t in jail. I’m getting laid off anyway …” Her voice dwindled as though she was processing her thoughts aloud.
“What? You’re getting laid off? Why?” My brows shot up. I didn’t even know what she did for a living.
“Yeah, more school budget cuts.” She shrugged.
Ah, so a teacher. I bet she made a great teacher. How could they let her go? If given a choice, I would never let her go.
“What do you want to do?” I asked, willing to help her in any way I could.
All she did was take her cell phone out of her back pocket and say, “I need to make a call” before walking out.
Who did she have to call? A boyfriend? Just the thought of it pissed me off. It irritated me to think he’d let her come here alone to deal with all this bullshit. Fuck no. I shook my head to break my line of thought.
She must be calling the airline or her boss.
I watched her pace in front of the window, the phone to her ear while she talked.
She wasn’t running away this time. She was staying, even if it was only for a bit longer.
I closed the tailgate with the last of the loaded boxes and turned back to see Romy studying the bunkhouse.
Like all of the buildings—besides the big house—the siding was white. It stood next to the horse stables. The farrier was here today, and we could hear Uncle Chuck talking with him in between the clamoring of filing hooves, hammering, and the sizzle of new horseshoes being fitted. We spent all day sorting through Hazel’s things, but whatever Romy was looking for still hadn’t revealed itself.
“Do you want to grab a burger?” I asked before I could think too long about it.
Her eyes, the color of a dusk sky, brightened. “The Burger Shack?”
“Best burgers and shakes in Willows,” I proclaimed, the corners of my mouth lifting.
“You read my mind.” She smiled, heading toward the passenger-side door.
Unlike when she saw Uncle Chuck come up the drive, this smile was directed toward me. I’d do anything to earn that smile. She could have all the burgers and shakes she wanted if it meant seeing her face light up like that.
We drove the boxes back to the garage, storing them between the cars—at least until Romy could secure a storage unit. Uncle Chuck insisted she didn’t have to pay for one, but she turned down the offer. Always one to stand on her own two feet, her stubborn independence apparently extended to taking care of her sister, too. Dr. Deborah would refer to that as being anti-dependent, rejecting help even when it was needed.
After we unloaded the boxes, we headed into town.
Sunday night was quiet in Willows. It was still early for the busy tourist season, and most visitors went home on Sundays. A short line stood in front of the walk-up Burger Shack. While we waited in line, she picked at her nails and kept her eyes down, avoiding the looks of the customers. I wanted to wrap a protective arm around her, but I kept my hands stuffed in my pockets. As soon as we ordered our food and shakes, and she took that first sip of cookies-and-cream milkshake, her face softened.
I could feel eyes on us as we sat and ate. I didn’t know if they were looking at me—I was often recognized when I was out in public—or if they were scrutinizing Romy, Frank Miller’s daughter and Hazel’s sister. I made eye contact with a few looky-loos until they uncomfortably shifted away.
One of the waitresses came up to our table to deposit a fresh ketchup bottle, banging it against the table and making our glasses rattle.
“Hope your fucking sister gets what’s coming to her.” The woman who appeared to be about Uncle Chuck’s age, her graying hair pulled back in a bun, glared at Romy.
“Excuse me?” Romy snapped, her eyes as sharp as steel as she turned toward the woman.
There’s her fire. I knew she still had it in her.
“My boy never should have gone to work for you Larsens.” The woman’s narrowed gaze shifted to me. “You think you own this town, but I’ll tell you what. Justice will be served, and karma’s a bitch.”
With her last words, she stormed away, disappearing into the kitchen behind the counter.
I turned to Romy. Her face was flushed with anger, and all I wanted to do was shield her from the sting. An old feeling of my hackles rising in defense of my best friend caused my own blood to boil. I should have done something to stop that woman before she got a word in edgewise.
“Hey.” I reached out, my hand encompassing hers, which was still wrapped around her shake. “Ignore what that woman said. She’s obviously upset, but it’s not about either of us.”
“I think she might be Jesse’s mom,” she whispered, her eyes darting around us.
People had turned to watch. I’m sure by tomorrow morning, the gossip from the Burger Shack would be all around town.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
A feeling of déjà vu washed over me, a vivid memory from high school when we played hooky. I found her hiding under the bleachers after PE, dwelling over some girl drama. I had asked her the exact same question. She had taken my hand and we snuck off campus, spending the day at the river instead, drinking warm beer I stole from the ranch hands.
She nodded, packing up her burger and shoving the last of her fries in her mouth.
I stuffed our burgers back into the paper bag and stood from the booth.
I’d decided she wasn’t going anywhere tonight. “You’re staying with me.”
Romy nearly choked on her french fries. “Wha-what?”
“I know you’re not going to stay with Frank.” I handed her purse to her. “You haven’t even let him know you’re in town, and hell if I’ll let you sleep in that car again.”
“Jude.” She said it like a scolding.
It made my toes curl in my boots. But I’d behave myself.
“I’ll sleep on the couch. Besides, this way, you’ll be close to the bunkhouse and can keep looking tomorrow.”
I turned on my heels, walking out to the parking lot.
“I can’t kick you out of your own bed.” She trailed behind me.
“Sure you can.”
We piled into the truck. I took a pull on my shake before setting it into the cup holder and handed Romy the burger bag.
She held the bag in her lap. “I’ll call around and see if there’s a cabin or room available.”
“It’s not a problem, Romy, seriously. Save yourself the trouble.”
“I can’t—” She stopped herself midsentence, and I waited for her to finish. Just like last night when she considered getting in the truck with me, I watched the gears roll around while she pondered it.
Her lips pursed in thought, and I couldn’t help but ogle her mouth. Er … maybe this was a bad idea. Would I be able to stay away from her while she was sleeping in the next room? Just having her alone in the cab of the truck made the blood go straight to my cock, like my skin was on fire if I didn’t touch her.
“Okay,” she finally agreed.
“Okay?” I asked, surprised.
“Just to be close to the bunkhouse. I only have a sub until Wednesday, so I’ll have to leave before then.”
I nodded, pressing my lips together to keep from smiling, and turned on the ignition.
Three more days? I could do three more days with Romy.
But would three days be enough?
Something told me it would never be enough.