Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Tess
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I roll my head back and pinch my eyes closed. We’ve been taxiing on the runway for at least thirty minutes, waiting for our gate to open up. The man beside me—midfifties, big belly, bigger attitude (you know the type)—is losing the cool he never had. And with no one riding in the middle seat between us, he’s decided I’m the best person to receive his aired grievances.
He leans closer, assuming I somehow didn’t hear his first groaned complaint. “I paid good money to be on the first flight, and at this rate I could’ve slept in and taken the second. So fucking ridiculous.”
The flight attendant, who wears the kind of empathetic expression that tells me she hasn’t been at this long enough to become jaded, pauses by our row. “Sir, we understand delays are never ideal, but?—”
He cuts her off with a sound caught somewhere between a scoff and a snort, followed by a muttered, “Oh, fuck off.”
A little of the light behind her amber eyes dims. She shuffles past, realizing this is a battle that’s not worth fighting.
I’m beginning to wish I’d driven.
Never mind that the drive from the small town where I live in Alabama to Loveless, Colorado, would take the better half of twenty-two hours, when I’ve only scheduled a few free days off work. Flying next to this asshole is worth it solely for the precious extra hours it gains me with my uncle.
Uncle. I roll the word around in my head, trying to familiarize myself with it. It’s no less strange than the moment it popped up on my LineageDNA results. Gary Barbeau is in his late sixties, with no kids and a family that’s all but gone, much like mine. Yet somehow, a shimmering thread stretched between us in the form of a college fling my late grandfather never knew resulted in a child. The woman married a different man, who raised Gary as his own. My grandfather went on to marry my grandmother, producing a daughter who would one day have me.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
Briefly I allow myself to wonder what Mom would think if she were here. A half-brother she never knew she had. After generations of only children, what a surprise that would’ve been.
It aches more than I’d like, so I shove it down into my heart and lock the door. Another time. Today is a happy day.
Finally the plane rolls into place at the gate and all aisle seaters, apart from myself, shoot up like a light. I mostly refrain because it irritates me to no end that everyone’s in a rush to go nowhere, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a part of me that revels in the waves of agitation rolling off my seatmate at the perceived delay I’m causing him.
“You can go,” he says. Or grunts. His anger-honed tenor makes everything sound less like words and more like an animalistic insistence that I move.
I consider holding the line, but Gary mentioned a friend of his would be waiting to pick me up, and I’m already running behind. The Southern manners in me win out in the end, and I force myself to rise and grab my bag from the overhead bin. The weight of it slaps against my spine as I slip the pack onto my shoulder. The kind flight attendant is tucked into a row of empty seats a few feet ahead, watching as each passenger marches single file down the aisle. I offer her a genuine smile as I pass. “You’re amazing. Just ignore the assholes,” loud enough for said asshole to overhear.
It earns an indignant huff from him but an appreciative nod from her, so it’s worth it.
Denver International Airport was designed to maximize step count while minimizing efficiency. By the time I make my way out of the building, exchanging insufficient AC for balmy summer air, sweat adheres my flowy trousers to my thighs. I’m grateful for the sliver of skin showing beneath my crop top, especially when the mountain breeze rushes in to kiss it.
I scan the row of vehicles parked along the curb outside baggage claim, searching for the blonde woman with wild curls from the photo Gary sent me a few weeks back when he first broke his ankle and realized he wouldn’t be able to pick me up. When I don’t spot her, I retrieve my phone from my pack. I know Gary texted me her number at some point.
I find our thread (ensuring it’s Gary B instead of Gary Z—my boss from an ill-fated endeavor as a diving instructor a few summers back) buried beneath a slew of unread messages from various people I swear I’ll get back to eventually. My uncle, too, has a blue dot next to his name indicating I’ve missed a text. I click on it and tuck my sunglasses onto my head.
Gary B
Zoey has to work, so I’ve tapped into my local resources and found a replacement. Look for the sheriff’s cruiser.
I fire off a reply, letting him know I’ve landed and will be en route shortly, then I dial the number he sent in a follow-up message. The first ring rolls through just as my gaze lands on a black SUV with Sheriff emblazoned along white door panels. A man leans against it, his chin tucked and his phone in his hand. I’m already walking toward him when he lifts it to his ear and his voice reaches through the line.
“Kit Llewellyn speaking.”
A grin spreads across my face for no reason. “Kit Llewellyn, are you here to pick me up?”
His gaze lifts and our eyes meet. My body reacts to him before my mind can even process his sharp jawline and violence-bent nose. Despite the oppressive heat, a chill runs through me. My steps falter. I capture more details, like his tousled blackish-brown hair and thin lips that form a tense line beneath high cheekbones. His hazel eyes have entered my field of vision by the time I remember to hang up the phone.
His mouth opens and then closes. A corner lifts. I feel more than see the path of his gaze as it travels over me, gone just as quickly as it comes.
When he once again settles on my face, the crooked grin becomes a genuine smile. “You must be something special.”
I pause, hand on my bag’s strap where it rests against my ribs. “Excuse me?”
He coughs. Clears his throat. Red rises from the collar of his tan uniform shirt. “Sorry. You’re Tess, right? Gary’s niece?”
Some small part of me sparks at that. Belonging to someone. How long has it been since I was somebody’s daughter? Somebody’s anything?
Since my grandfather—my last living relative—passed two years ago, I’ve only been Tess. Completely solitary. Utterly alone.
“That’s me.” I answer with a smile that’s only semi-forced. The embarrassment has reached his cheeks, dyeing them scarlet. For some ungodly reason I’m tempted to rise up on my tiptoes and kiss the flushed skin.
What the hell, Tess? I may be outgoing, but I’m not that outgoing.
All around us, engines rumble and exhaust floods the air. Doors slam and people embrace, their excited chatter adding to the cacophony. Kit and I stare at each other, and I wonder briefly if he feels the same strange inclination to reach out and touch me.
Doubtful. I’m simply succumbing to the heat and my long day of travel. In an effort to distract myself, I point behind him. “Do I get to ride up front, or am I under arrest?”
He chuckles, and it’s like he transforms right in front of me. Whatever awkward energy was plaguing him before, it passes. I take a note from his book and shake it off my shoulders along with the pack. He’s just attractive. I can deal with attractive. No reason for my brain to short-circuit over some broad shoulders in a deputy uniform.
“I’ll forgo the handcuffs if you promise you can restrain yourself.”
I quirk a brow. First he’s stumbling over his words, and now he’s going to flirt? Perhaps it wasn’t just me, then. “Somehow I’ll manage.”
His gaze flits over me once more, this time so obvious I have to assume he wants me to notice. “Yeah, we’ll see.” He pulls the door open for me, then holds out his opposite hand, palm up. “I can take your bag.”
It’s the first time I’ve noticed his drawl, mostly because I hear them on a daily basis. Everyone in Fly Hollow speaks with a twang, myself included. What I hadn’t expected was to encounter one out here, so far from home.
“Where are you from?” I ask when he climbs into the driver’s side after depositing my bag in the back seat. The traffic monitor tips his hat to Kit as we pass. No wonder he was allowed to hog the curb while everyone else was whistled at to move.
“Mississippi. Near Pascagoula, if you’ve ever heard of that.” He’s facing the road, but I feel his attention on me. Like a secondary awareness. A hand at the base of your spine when the person holding you is looking away.
“I have. I’m from a small town in southern Alabama.”
“No shit.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “How on earth did you and Gary end up living so far apart?”
I relax into the seat, letting my gaze drift toward the window. In the distance the Rockies stand sentinel over the city below. Denver is all shiny metal and moving cars, surrounded by nature so vast my mind can barely comprehend it.
“His mom and my grandpa went to college together at the University of Alabama. She must’ve gotten pregnant right before graduation, but she never told him. At least as far as I can tell. My grandpa passed away, so I can’t really ask him for details.” I shrug, still staring at the changing landscape around us. “Anyway, I guess she married someone in the military when Gary was a baby and never bothered to tell him that wasn’t his dad. Gary joined when he was eighteen to follow the guy’s footsteps, and that’s how he ended up in Colorado.”
Kit nods. “That’s how I ended up here, too.”
My gaze cuts from the window to his profile, which is cast in early afternoon sunlight, making all his edges more harsh. “What branch?”
“Air Force.” He glances at me with a head tilt, measuring my reaction. “Security forces. Basically I was a cop on base.”
I wave a hand around. “Fitting.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “What about you? What do you do?”
“This and that. Whatever I’m in the mood for at the time.”
He huffs a laugh. “What are you in the mood for lately?”
It’s almost sensual, the way he says it. I draw a deep breath. The scent of sandalwood comes off him in waves, filling my lungs. “I took a job managing a gym recently. I sometimes teach classes there in the evening hours, too.”
“Let me guess.” He rolls to a stop at a red light leading to the highway, then angles a smirk at me. I’m fully prepared for him to say something stupid like naked Pilates based on that look, when he surprises me by saying, “Kickboxing.”
I snort, which earns a smile that stretches across his whole face. “Do I strike you as a kickboxer?”
“You strike me as someone who could bring me to my knees.”
“ Boooooooo! ” I point both thumbs down, and laughter erupts from him in quick spasms.
He finally catches his breath while shaking his head at oncoming traffic. “Come on, as far as pickup lines go, that was an excellent one.”
My skin heats and I drop my hands to my lap. Purse my lips. I’m here for a reason. Seeking out what is quite possibly the last family tie I have this side of the grave. Do I really have time for this man to be trying to pick me up?
No. But it fills my belly with fire all the same.
He glances at me sideways, apprehension pinching his eyes at the corners. It’s a hole in the flirtatious facade, and it makes him all the more enticing. A little self-doubt is good for a man. At least I’ve always thought so.
I decide changing the subject is in both our best interest. “How’d you get roped into being my ride?”
Kit shrugs. “I was available.”
I peruse his uniform. “You didn’t have to work?”
“Not till later. I took an overnight to cover for one of the other guys.”
“Well”—I fold my hands together—“I appreciate you sacrificing your time off for me.”
“Hardly a sacrifice,” he murmurs. I barely catch it beneath the country music that fills the cab as he turns the radio up. “Feel free to take a nap. We’ve got about an hour and a half drive back to Loveless.”
“I’m not even tired,” I say on the tail end of a yawn.
“Mhm.” He reaches into the side panel of his door and retrieves a jacket with the sheriff’s logo on the chest. “Well, just in case.”
He passes it to me, our hands brushing for only a second. I close my eyes, pretending I didn’t feel it all the way to my toes.
He turns up the volume, and I wonder if he’s pretending, too.
* * *
The Horseshoe Inn is two stories with all outdoor entrances that have doors painted turquoise and a small Adirondack chair outside each room. I wash off the flight and the smell of Kit along with it, though I swear I’m still catching whiffs as I walk in the direction of the bar where I’m supposed to meet Gary for dinner.
I shove thoughts of the dark-haired deputy to the back of my brain, where they’ll hopefully remain to gather dust. It was a strange start to an otherwise really important weekend. Maybe I just needed to latch on to a distraction, any distraction, so as not to be riddled with nerves. A misguided coping mechanism. Nothing more.
People shuffle past me as I move closer to what appears to be the heart of all the hubbub. Loveless is nestled in a valley, with massive mountains looming all around the picturesque town. Its main street is pedestrian-friendly, all manicured sidewalks and bustling businesses that have window displays meant to entice shoppers. I spot the Nomads sign—black lettering atop a neon geometric design—just past a coffee shop that’s closed for the evening. I pause at the entrance, steeling myself with a deep breath.
I shouldn’t be nervous. I’ve talked to Gary multiple times since I contacted him about our match. Still, the age-old fears creep through. What if he doesn’t like me? What if my grief sits like a cloud overhead, casting shadows over all the things that used to make me lovable, so dark that he cannot see them?
No. Today is a happy day. And I will be happy, damn it.
Nomads is filled to the brim when I enter, adding myself to the mass of bodies crowding each cocktail table in the center of the room. Booths line the right wall, and a wooden-topped bar mirrors them on the left. I recognize Zoey from her picture. She’s slinging cocktails in front of a mercury-glass wall with shelf after shelf of liquor mounted on its reflective surface. Plants overflow from every nook, cranny, and ceiling beam, giving the place the feel of a warm hug when it would otherwise seem overwhelmingly packed.
“Tess?” I somehow hear over the cacophony of voices.
Gary appears from the fray like a knight on his steed, only my uncle’s horse is actually a sticker-coated scooter. He offers a hand to steady me when a man passing by knocks me sideways. I stumble more than step into my uncle’s waiting embrace. He’s shorter than me, but that’s not altogether unusual at five foot ten inches. He smells of Irish Spring soap and beer. I drink it in as he squeezes me three times fast.
“You made it!” When he pulls back, his eyes are red-rimmed. I imagine mine are, too. The crowd parts to let the man on a scooter pass through as he guides us away from the black-and-white-tiled entrance, closer to the bar, where Zoey glances up and offers me a welcoming smile.
“Of course I made it! I had a police escort.”
He chuckles, the apples of his cheeks turning rosy. His eyes are slate gray, as kind as they are unfamiliar. I search his face for any hint of hers, but my mother never looked much like her father anyway.
The loss still hits me square in the chest. I got my hopes up when I should’ve known better. I’ve never quite figured out how not to do that.
He must see the disappointment in my face, because his grin disappears into the fluff of his beard. “Come on; Santi made us to-go plates. We can find somewhere quieter to catch up.”
“Welcome to town, Tess!” Zoey calls as she passes a tied-off bag full of Styrofoam containers to Gary. “Hope Deputy Get-in-Your-Pants didn’t, well, you know.”
Gary grunts, pinning Zoey with a stare. “My niece would never.”
Wouldn’t I? Guilt throbs at my temples. I certainly contemplated it more than once on the drive over, when I wasn’t dozing in and out. Turns out Kit was right. I was absolutely exhausted.
I still feel the tingle of his thumb rubbing my elbow to wake me when we finally made it to the Horseshoe. I cup it, suddenly certain they can all see the place where he touched me like a scarlet letter burned into my skin.
“You two enjoy dinner,” Zoey says, humor alight in her eyes.
“Hopefully we can actually meet sometime this weekend when it’s not so…” I wave a hand at the chaos.
She laughs, already fisting two glasses and depositing them beneath their respective beer nozzles. “I’m counting on it. You’re part of the family now.”
You hear that, Mom and Dad? I’m part of a family again.
I smile because I don’t trust myself to speak. Not until Gary and I have made it out of the bar and are safely headed back toward my motel. Our pace is slow, impeded by his less than reliable steering of the scooter supporting his booted foot. I glance at it, my eyebrows pinched together, but decide that if he’s not bothered by it, I’m not going to question it.
“Thank you so much for inviting me out here.” The night is cool and breezy, easing the heat of the day out of my system. It’s so much better than the scorching humidity of the South. “I can see why you love it so much.”
“Oh, any place can be a good place. It’s the people that make it so lovely.” He smiles up at me. “Wendy and I never had any kids of our own, but boy would she get a hoot out of Zoey and the rest of her friends. You’ll see tomorrow. They keep me young.”
“I’m glad you have them.” I genuinely mean it, but my voice is thin. Too much want stripping it of life.
When my parents died, I’d never felt more alone in my life. My grandparents took me in, sure, and my friends still called, but none of them knew how I felt. I let myself wallow in it for a summer. Really tempt the grief to drown me. But then fall came and I’d somehow managed to survive, so I decided if everyone around me’s life had gone on like normal, I’d pretend that mine had too. Soon I’d pretended for so long I even tricked myself. Until the first time my grandparents brought me back to the Carmen.
Gary nudges me with his shoulder, stealing me away from the memory. When I meet his gaze, he smiles. “You have them now, too. They may not have popped up on that DNA test, but they’re my family, so that means they’re yours.”
My smile is weak and watery but present nonetheless. “That means more than you know.”
He points to a bench along the sidewalk. “Let’s take a seat here and eat. I know we’ve talked so much, but there’s still more I’d love to know.” He passes me a foam container when I sit down, then opens his own in tandem with me. The scent of spices and fresh, chargrilled meat makes my mouth water.
“What can I tell you that I haven’t already?” I take a bite and swallow it down, sucking a dribble of green chili off my thumb. The delicious substance has soaked through the burger bun and poured onto my fries, which is pretty much ideal.
“Well, first you can tell me about your ride with Kit. He can be a real charmer, or at least he thinks so.” Gary chuckles, pops a fry in his mouth, and hums his satisfaction. “And then, if you’re willing, I’d love to hear about my baby sister.”
Despite all the moisture, my mouth is suddenly bone-dry as I contemplate which is worse. I lean into my uncle, gaze fixed on the lamppost across the street. But I’m not really seeing it. I’m seeing my mother in a casket, my father in a matching one five feet to her right.
And I still feel Kit’s thumb brushing my skin.