27. Ransom
27
RANSOM
C laire finds a booth to settle into and I go to the bar to get us a couple sodas.
Maeby plops the two bottles down on the bar. “I’m telling you this because your mama can’t,” she says. Her eyes connect with mine, her mouth a serious line. “You take care of that girl or I’ll rip your innards through your throat.”
I give a nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
Speak of the devil—Claire appears suddenly beside me. “We have to leave.” Claire’s face is pale, her voice tight with urgency. “Now. I’ll wait for you in the truck.”
“Sure.”
She turns tail, vanishing outside. I settle up with Maeby and follow her out.
Claire is sitting straight up in the passenger seat of my truck, her spine as stiff as a cue stick. My ass has only just touched the driver’s seat before Claire urges: “Can you start the truck? Please.”
“You got a body to bury?” She shoots me a look. I start the truck and we rattle out of the parking lot. We hit pavement and, as we get further from the tavern, Claire’s shoulders slowly start to relax.
I glance at her. “You ready to tell me what’s going on with you?”
I catch her looking over her shoulder, as though something’s chasing her. “There were men at the bar…men who work for my father. If they saw me here…”
Her voice trails off, so I finish it. “You mean if they saw you with me .”
Her lips thin. “I mean all of it. This is a big year for me. I’ve got a show coming up.”
“You’ll be great.”
“You can’t know that.”
I drum my fingers over the steering wheel. “Yeah. I can. You’re always great.”
“I need to be more than great. They’ll be judging me for Belleflower Queen.”
“Christ. Not that again.”
Those gray eyes train on me. “It’s important to me.”
“You didn’t hear a word of what Miss Maeby said, did you?”
“Of course I did. She’s angry and bitter. I would be too if I’d gotten all the opportunities afforded to the Belleflower Queen and I’d squandered it so I could serve warm beers on a Thursday.”
A bark of a laugh leaves me. “Y’know, sometimes, I think that you’re better than the rest of them, and then you open your mouth and you sound just like your old man.”
Wrong thing to say. Claire goes quiet.
There’s nothing scarier than a quiet Claire.
I squeeze the steering wheel. “Look, I just think you’re getting worked up about?—”
“Stop the truck,” she says suddenly.
“Claire—”
But she’s already whipping off her seatbelt. She opens the car door and I swear, hitting the breaks fast. The car is still rolling when she gets out, hits the ground, and slams the door shut behind her.
Goddammit . I park the truck and hop out.
“The hell are you doing?”
“Walking!” Claire snaps.
She walks with quick, furious steps along the side of the road.
“Claire! Stop!”
She’s lost her mind. It’s miles back home. This isn’t a safe road to walk, no matter the time of day. But she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t even turn.
Alright, she wants to do this the hard way…
I go into the back of my truck. “Last warning!” I tell her.
She lets out a noise that sounds like a growl. Her hands dive into her hair and she pulls hard. “Go fuck yourself!”
Okay. So that’s how it’s going to be.
I pull a ring of rope out from the back. Lasso is a funny thing. I’ve been roping since I was a kid. It looks hard, but it’s not—it’s mostly about not thinking so much about it. Seeing your target. Feeling the rope. And knowing in your bones that you’re going to catch it.
I loop the rope and toss it. It flies around Claire. I hook it and it snags around her middle, pulling her back like a fish on the line.
She fights like a mad cat. I pull her back to me and we tumble to the ground. I taste the grit of earth and she swipes at me, catching my neck with her nails. I get my legs around her, pinning her down, and wind the rope around her arms.
“Leave me alone!” she snarls. Her eyes flash. She twists like a wild animal.
I grip the rope on her arms and hoist her up. She squirms as I carry her back to the truck. She’s easier like this when she’s not scratching the hell out of me, at least. I sit her in the passenger seat, walk around the truck, and get in the driver’s seat.
I reach over her to buckle her in.
“I’m taking you home,” I tell her. “Then I’ll leave you alone all you want.”
Her hair is tangled up. I taste dirt. The truck rumbles, and that’s the only sound between us. We ride in silence all the way back to the ranch.
I punch in the code. The gate swings open. I drive her up the gravel driveway to her house, but stop short. I don’t need her Daddy to see me carrying Claire like a hostage.
I look at her. She’s looking straight ahead. I expect to see that same, dark-eyed fury, but I don’t. Instead, she seems strangely calm. Settled.
“I’m gonna let you out now,” I tell her.
She says nothing.
I pop the knot off. I untangle it from her arms and her middle. She rubs her thumb over her wrists.
A twist in my gut. “You okay?”
She looks down at her shirt. “You made me lose a button, you idiot.”
Claire gets out of the truck, slamming the door behind her.
I leave the truck growling and watch Claire to make sure she makes it inside okay.
You know how long it takes to find a button on the side of the road?
All goddamn night, apparently.
I’m working by lamplight when I finally find the little sucker. A fabric button wrapped up in flower print, tucked away in the tall grass.
Stars are bright in the sky when I roll the truck back onto the Preacher property. I park it at the entrance. The night is crisp and the gravel crunches under my boots. The estate is lit up on the inside, twin yellow lights glowing on the second floor like cat eyes.
I climb the couple steps of the porch. I crouch down and leave the button beside the door.
“Ransom.”
My heart punches in my chest. I start back at the voice. “Jesus.”
Mr. Preacher sits in the shadows. He’s in the big, wicker rocking chair. He’s got a swallow of whiskey in his glass, and he’s staring at me with dark, cold eyes.
I straighten my back. I clear my throat. “Sir.”
He tilts his chin. “You see those hedges, Ransom?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That separates my house from the ranch.”
“Alright.”
Those dark eyes train on me. “If I see you on this side of the hedges again, I’ll take my shotgun off the mantle and blow your head clean off your shoulders.”
I hold my wrist. “Understood.”
His mustache twitches as his mouth twists into a frown. “Go on.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
I leave the button behind and go while I’ve still got my parts intact.