3. Scar
CHAPTER 3
SCAR
Once we are settled in the truck, the silence is more awkward and a little uncomfortable. So I decide to go along with what the guys have told her. No point worrying her, at least not right now when I can tell by the bouncing of her foot how nervous she is.
“How was your trip?” I’m hoping to break some of the tension.
“It was nice. Got to see a lot of the country I haven't seen before. With so many towns all done up for Christmas, it looked like something off of a TV show. Everyone was really nice. I got to talk to a few people on the bus and heard some interesting stories.” She smiles, remembering.
I love listening to her talk and the sound of her voice filling the cab of my truck. To keep her talking, I continue to ask her questions.
“What kind of stories?”
“Oh, on the first day there was a guy on my bus who was going to propose to his online girlfriend. They had never met in person, but they play video games together. He says he told her he wanted to exchange Christmas cards to get her address, and he was going to hand deliver hers. Poor girl. But he was so excited he had it all planned out in the style of whatever game it was they had been playing.” She shakes her head dubiously.
“Yeah, that poor girl,” I say, agreeing.
“Well, I choose to think it's romantic, and she will love the effort. I will not believe anything bad this Christmas,” she says.
While I feel like there is a story there, I don't want to push her.
She is quiet again, so I ask another question.
“Do you have everything you need with you? We can head into town tomorrow to get whatever you need.”
“I think so, though I might need a better jacket and some warmer clothes. Kentucky cold is much different from Montana cold. More so than I thought it would be.”
“I will make sure you get what you need. Between the Merc and the outpost, we should be able to get you a good jacket.” In my mind, I am already making plans to get whatever she needs.
Then she’s quiet again, so I fill the silence. “What do you normally do for Christmas?” I ask, trying to get her to talk.
“Normally, my family goes all out with decorations. My mom and I would bake cookies for the Senior Center and the first responders. My dad would help our neighbors put up decorations. The week before Christmas, we’d drive and look at lights. Then come home and have hot chocolate and cookies,” she says with a smile that fades quickly.
“I didn't do much last year,” she whispers.
“Well, my friend will have a huge party, and the town is celebrating after a hard year, so we can do as much or as little as you want.”
That earns me a smile that makes my heart skip a beat. I have to remind myself to keep my eyes on the road because all I want to do is memorize every inch of her face.
“Tell me about Mustang Mountain,” she says.
“I really think you'll like Mustang Mountain. It's the kind of town that always helps neighbors and is a great place to raise a family. Ruby is the mayor’s wife and runs the Merc. She knows everything that goes on in town, so if you need anything, she is who you go to.
“I'm in a motorcycle club called the Mustang Mountain Riders. We are the good guys. We do things like helping at the women's shelter or assist with anything around town. You will meet the guys and their girls and will have more friends than you know what to do with by Christmas. They are all excited to meet you.”
I don't know why I say that, but I get the feeling she needs it. You don't leave everything you have ever known behind if you have friends and a support system to help you.
I pull into my driveway and make the drive up the mountain to my cabin, and she takes it all in. I help her take all her bags inside and that’s when it hits me, not a corner in this house looks like I was preparing for her.
My place is relatively clean, but there is so much more I'd have done if I knew she was coming today.
“Here, you can stay in the guest room. I have to apologize because it's not quite ready for you. I have been spending a lot of time at the Club the last few weeks overseeing the renovations.” I stay as close to the truth as possible.
“That's okay, point me toward the sheets, and I can take care of it,” she says with a smile.
”Not a chance, sweetheart. You can start unpacking while I get the bed set up for you. The bathroom across the hall is all yours. The one in my room has a tub, so feel free to use it any time. After all, it will be your room soon, too.”
Her eyes go wide at my words.
Turning, I go down the hallway and grab the sheets. No way is she going to stop me from taking care of her. She is going to learn this is pretty much a done deal between us, at least on my end. Though I will wait for her to come to that realization.
While I make the bed, she unpacks and gets settled in.
“This can be your room to do with as you please. We can decorate it, paint it, or do whatever you'd like,” I tell her.
She simply nods as I finish with the bed.
“Okay, there are more blankets in the hall closet. I'm going to go make dinner while you finish up in here,” I say and quickly bolt to the kitchen, needing to get some space between us.
While I make dinner, I think of all the things I need to get done around the house to make sure she feels at home here. It's been my bachelor pad for longer than I'd like to admit, so I don't have pillows and blankets to make it cozy. Maybe she wants those things. I know Ruby has some at the Merc.
I know I told her she can do what she wants with her room and she can, that will her spce but I need to clean out what her closet will be in the main bedroom, and make sure there is room for all her stuff in the shared bathroom. The sooner I can get her stuff intermingled with mine, the better. I'm so lost in thought and planning, I about jump out of my skin when she starts talking to me from the other side of the kitchen.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you”--she cringes—“but is there anything I can do to help?”
“It's okay, sweetheart. I’m just used to living alone, so this will take some getting used to. Why don't you set the table as this is almost done.” I nod toward the mashed potatoes I'm mixing up to go with the chicken in the oven.
Once seated, she is quiet again.
“Listen, I want you to get to know me. So that means you are free to ask anything of me you want. Nothing is off limits, okay?” I say softly.
With the pensive expression on her face and the little frown, it’s obvious her mind is racing. So I give her time to figure out what she wants to ask first.
“Why did you seek out a mail-order bride?” she asks.
I could tell her the truth, but I don't think that this is the time to drop that bombshell.
“Well, I watched all my friends fall in love, and I wanted that. It's lonely out here in the mountains. I joined the site on impulse, saw you, and had to reach out. I'm glad I did. What about you? Why did you do it?”
Even though she shifts in her seat, clearly uncomfortable, I want to get it all in the open.
“Last year, my parents were in a car crash before Christmas. My mom never recovered, and my dad passed a few months after her. They left behind a mountain of debt. I was working two jobs and couldn't keep up. One of my jobs was working at the local diner, and a customer mentioned the site as a joke. After a few tequila shots, I set up my profile. The day I got the message from you, I received my eviction notice, so it seemed like a sign to go for it.”
“How much debt do you have, sweetheart?” I ask softly because in no way is this a deal breaker.
“Oh, I can sign a prenup that all the debt remains mine, so you don’t have to take on a cent,” she says quickly.
“No need, sweetheart. What’s mine is yours. How much is it?”
“$48,700 the last time I added it up,” she says, her shoulders sagging.
“Get me the info. I will pay it off even if you choose not to stay with me,” I say, though the words taste like acid in my mouth. There is no world in which she will be leaving me. I will make sure of it. A few of my brothers-in-arms kidnapped their girls, so that is always an option.
Her eyes go wide.“You don't have to do that,” she says, clearly shocked.
“I know I don't, but I'm going to.”
I can visibly see a weight being lifted off of her, and her smile is much brighter.
“I know what it's like to lose your parents. I lost mine a few years ago to a drunk driver too. It's hard to deal with the financial end of it while you try to grieve,” I say, trying to keep my emotions down.
“What do you do for work?” she asks.
I'm thankful for the change of subject.
“I do security management.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
“I am hired to test companies’ online security systems. I basically get paid to try to hack them and then help them strengthen the weak points.”
“That actually sounds really interesting,” she says.
“So, you are a teacher?” I ask.
“Yeah, I've taught Kindergarten, but they have too much energy for me. Then I tried teaching eighth grade, but they didn't listen to me. This year I was teaching third grade, and I really liked it.”
“How did you get the name Scar?” she asks.
Rolling up the right sleeve of my shirt, I show her the nasty looking scar that runs up my arm. When I was younger, I used to hide it. But I don’t anymore.
“It happened during my first motorcycle accident. I was young and stupid and trying to show off to some friends. It’s the one that taught me to respect the road and left me this to remind me every day.”
We talk some more as we finish eating and she helps me clean up the kitchen. Before we are done, she is yawning.
“Why don't you go to bed, and I will finish up here? You have had a long few days and need to get some rest,” I tell her.
“Thank you. I will see you in the morning,” she says.
I watch her head to her room, and double check to make sure the cabin is locked up tight and everything is as it should be. Even though I'm not really tired, I go to my room, so I don't disturb her by staying up.
What a twist the day has taken. If I'm going to convince her to stay, I better get my head in the game.