14. Lennon
14
LENNON
F rigid smatterings of rain pelted me as I dashed from the gym door to the parking lot. Wind cracked like a whip, snapping at my skin as I kept my head down and ran.
I thought moving to the bottom of the country meant I had escaped cold winters. Apparently, the joke was on me.
Shivers danced through my body as I crawled into the driver’s seat and locked the door. I hadn’t gotten a chance to fully charge my phone, but it would get me through the night. I hoped.
I would have killed to be on the schedule at the restaurant today, but it was my day off. Chef DeRossi had called to not-so-subtly threaten me to take the mandatory day off, so I wouldn’t stab someone with a chef’s knife.
Particularly, a certain cowboy who had, thankfully, made himself scarce. He avoided the restaurant on his trips to and from the bunkhouse, and had stopped eating there with his family.
I shook off the rain and cranked up my car. I’d run the heat for ten minutes, then cut it off for the rest of the hour, then repeat.
I cursed the leasing office that had most recently rejected me due to a “clerical error” after initially offering me an apartment. It was probably for the best, though. It came with an asinine monthly lease and required four months’ rent as a deposit. The terms were criminal.
Shadows danced across the hood of the car as the trees shook with each gust. The storm howled like phantoms screaming in the night.
I wanted to scream with them.
My fingers had turned to icicles during the sprint from the building to my car. They were stiff and chilled as I stretched them and held them in front of the vents to thaw.
I needed to get my window shades up so people couldn’t see in my car; not that anyone else was at the gym tonight. Except for the lone employee keeping the lights on inside to make good on the promise of twenty-four-seven access, the lot was a ghost town.
I was haunted by it.
Vacant memories of the last ten years had tortured me in my sleep. I was running on fumes and staff coffee, and I was damn near out of both.
Something rattled against the outside of my car, and I jumped, nearly knocking my head on the roof.
I hesitated before turning on the interior light. It was generally against my rules of car living, but a moment couldn’t hurt.
A small branch had fallen on the hood of my car. Nothing was damaged or concerning.
I let a slow breath leech from my lungs and rummaged around the floorboard of the passenger seat for the window covers. A shadow fell over the seat as I grabbed them and sat up.
If a tree fell on my car, that would be the icing on the cake.
Maybe I should move parking spaces and get away from the tree line. I liked the privacy it afforded, but I wasn’t in any position to buy a new car.
I turned to glance out the window and scout for a new spot. Eyes stared back at me through the glass.
Burning pain ripped through my vocal cords as I screamed and clapped my hands over my mouth.
Rain-drenched hair in scarlet red pressed against the window next to a pale palm.
No.
No, no, no ? —
I had been running for so long, but I hadn’t run fast enough.
They’d found me.
Vomit lurched up my throat and filled my mouth. I stomped on the brake and yanked the gear shift into reverse. My tires screeched on the rain-soaked asphalt.
The woman jumped backward, trying not to get hit by four thousand pounds of metal on wheels.
I slammed the gear shift back into drive and floored it, squalling tires as I peeled out of the lot. My heart was in my throat as I gunned it down the road without a single thought about where I was headed. The sweat beading on my skin was colder than the rain outside.
I had been so careful. So cautious. I never stayed in one place too long. I kept my traceable finances as minimal as possible. I went without so I could stay under the radar. And for what?
To be found halfway across the country?
Tears stung my eyes as I hit the service road that led to the ranch. I hadn’t even realized I had driven out this far. The route had become a habit, and habits put you in obituaries. Then again, you had to have a family to submit your information to an obituary. People who you were survived by. Loved by.
I didn’t have that. I’d be a nameless, unclaimed body in a morgue.
One tire hit the pothole, then two. Mud and rainwater sloshed outside as darkness engulfed the car. The faint glow from the decorative lamps that lined the dirt and gravel road to the lodge was drowned out by the storm.
I pressed harder on the gas as my heart and pulse raced in tandem. Choppy breaths made my head spin. A shriek slipped from my lips as the car slid across the rivers of stormwater, struggling to stay on the path. I white-knuckled the steering wheel, praying to any deity that was listening to let me make it a little closer to the restaurant. I didn’t want to have to run two miles in the pouring rain and lightning.
My lungs hitched as the car skidded out of control. A loud thunk jolted me out of the terror as the car hit a pothole.
Okay. Take a breath. Breathe.
I let go of the steering wheel and shook my hands to try to regain circulation. The war against fight or flight was an uphill battle.
I pressed the gas, but nothing happened. The crash of rain overhead drowned out the faint whizz of the tires spinning in the mud. I pressed my foot to the floor.
Nothing.
“No, no, no,” I muttered as I pocketed my phone and cracked open the door. The front tire was halfway buried in mud. My headlights were barely visible in the torrent. Hell, I could barely see my hand in front of my face.
I grimaced as I yanked the keys from the ignition and slammed the door. My sneakers sank into the mud as I tried to get away from the car. The last thing I wanted was for a guest braving the storm to rear-end my car or flatten me like a pancake.
The field was waterlogged, but it was easier to cross. I kept my head down and counted each breath as I walked, then jogged, then ran.
Everything was dark. The freezing wind was an insulting smack that rattled my bones. I couldn’t walk into the lodge looking like this, and heaven forbid the cooks who were still closing up the restaurant saw me.
My sneakers had nearly suctioned to the ground when the faint glow of the bunkhouse came into view.
The only light on in the entire house was at the very top. That light was my beacon as I picked up my pace, focusing on the burn in my lungs to keep from crying.
It didn’t help.
The warm sting of tears was a sharp contrast to the frost that coated my skin and cut to my marrow.
Oxygen came in short, choppy gasps like waves lapping at the shoreline as I stumbled up the steps to the front door. Lights began to turn on inside, one by one.
My energy was gone. I wanted to collapse on the stoop and cry. I wanted to sleep for years. The fear would come back tomorrow.
Before I could knock, the door whipped open. I nearly fell into the body that met me on the other side.
CJ’s hands shackled my waist, holding me up and drawing me in. “What the hell are you doing, trouble?”
I couldn’t help the mix of sniffles and sobs. “I-I didn’t have a-anywhere else to g-go.” My teeth chattered as I choked out each pathetic word. “What are you doing?”
“I was coming to get you.”
My eyes found his. Those hazel eyes were soft like cashmere but were surrounded by sharp lines of worry and a little mistrust.
“What?”
“We have cameras everywhere,” he said as he kept my body firmly against his while he reached around and closed the door behind us. “I know exactly where you are, always.”
I wiped my cheeks with my fingertips, not realizing they were flecked with mud from the run. Dirt smeared my cheeks as I tried my best to keep from crying in front of him.
I didn’t have much to my name, but I had my pride. And that was the one thing I had to let go of.
My fire line.
I had to cut it down to stop the burn.
“I just need somewhere to crash for the night,” I admitted. “Or not even for the night. Just until the storm lets up.”
CJ’s jaw worked back and forth. “Go upstairs.”
My eyes danced over the conglomerate of sectional couches and recliners in the spacious den. “I can wait on the couch.”
“I’m not letting you sleep on the couch. Besides, you’re filthy.” With that, he turned and walked up the steps.
I followed, feeling a little like I was being marched to my own execution. He opened the doors and led me down the hallway.
Men peered out of the rooms at me as I dutifully followed CJ. I had seen most of them working around the ranch, but hadn’t spoken to them. Their gaze made my skin itch.
“Inside,” CJ clipped as he opened the door at the end of the hallway and waited for me to walk in.
The room was simple and neat with a queen-sized bed, a nightstand, and a heavy trunk against the wall. He had pulled back the curtains on either side of the window, giving him a bird’s-eye view of the lodge, the restaurant, the patio where the restaurant’s smokers were kept, and the road that led in and out.
In the distance, I could make out the little lump that was my mud-covered car.
He had watched everything.
Every move I made. Every late night I spent babysitting the smoker so I wouldn’t have to sleep in my car. All of it.
The click of the door closing shook me out of the exhaustion-induced stupor.
“Bathroom’s right here,” he said as he opened one of the interior doors and flipped on the light.
The room was tight, but it had a private sink, toilet, and shower that the rest of the house couldn’t access.
He opened a narrow closet and grabbed a folded towel. “You’re filthy.”
I looked down at the mud I had tracked across the floor. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t accept or reject the apology. There was no cursory “it’s okay.” His face remained stoic and unreadable as he pushed the towel into my hands.
“Go on.”
“My clothes are in my car,” I said through chattering teeth as I looked down at the rain-soaked leggings and long-sleeve shirt that clung to my body.
“You’re gonna get pneumonia if you don’t get out of those wet clothes and get warm. I’m not going to tell you again. Get in the shower, Len.”
I refused to linger on the fact that he had called me Len instead of “trouble.” I clutched the towel to my chest and slipped into the bathroom.
I had rules about bathing. I always waited to use the gym showers until at least two other showers were in use. There was strength in numbers and witnesses if something ever happened. I was quick and efficient. I didn’t dilly-dally.
Those rules were the same, even behind the locked doors of overpriced truck stop showers. I rinsed off and got out within ninety seconds.
As much as I wanted to linger in the billows of steam and the perception of safety, I wasn’t breaking any more rules tonight. Showing up at CJ’s door, practically begging for help, was all my pride could take.
I was in and out in record time.
I had just hopped out of the shower and was squeezing the water from my hair with the towel when a knock at the door startled me.
I yelped and wrapped the towel around my body, tucking its tail between my boobs.
“Unlock it real quick,” he said from the other side.
I took a slow, deep breath and flipped the latch on the knob.
But CJ didn’t come in. He didn’t even peek. He stuck his arm through the crack, dropped a stack of clothes in the sink, and then shut it again.
I stared at the closed door, wondering what the hell his angle was. Curiosity got the better of me and I rifled through the stack. There was a pair of sweatpants that would fit if I rolled the waist over, and a t-shirt I’d swim in.
But they were clean and dry.
I dried off and dressed, trying my best not to focus on the lingering remnants of his cologne as I rinsed my mud-caked clothes in the sink and wrung them out.
When there was nothing left to do but face the music, I opened the door.
CJ was stretched out on his bed, scrolling through his phone. When a floorboard creaked underfoot, he looked over.
“We have a washing machine, you know. We’re not completely uncivilized,” he said as he took in the damp clothes in my hands.
“I’ll take them to the laundromat in town when I get out of here tomorrow.”
He sat up and his feet hit the floor. “What were you doing out in the storm?”
I bristled at the interrogation. “None of your business.”
“It is my business if you’re sleeping in my bed.”
I laughed. “Who says I’m sleeping in your bed? I told you I’d wait on a couch. And if that’s off the table, I’ll walk to the restaurant and wait it out in my office.”
Lightning snaked across the sky.
“Sure,” CJ said with a dry laugh. “Step outside and get struck by lightning. Be my guest.”
I scowled at him.
“Tell me why you were out in the storm, and I’ll let you sleep on the couch downstairs.”
Fuck him.
I turned and headed for the door. “Thanks for the shower. I’ll take my chances with the lightning.”
CJ was up and out of bed before I could get my hand on the doorknob. “Lennon?—”
“What is your angle?” I snapped. “I don’t owe you answers. You’re the one who opened the door and let me inside.”
He froze in stride. “Why were you going back to the restaurant in the middle of the night? Why aren’t you at home?”
“It’s barely after ten. It’s not the middle of the night.”
His eyes flared with sparks and embers. “Might as well be midnight when you have to be up at the ass crack of dawn. Now answer the question.”
I worked it over in my mind. I couldn’t tell him the whole truth, but that look in his eye said that he wasn’t about to let this go. And if he didn’t let it go, he’d take it to Cassandra. Or worse, Chef DeRossi.
“I had to move my car,” I hedged.
The flames that had pulsed between us that night at the bar were back. Heat roiled between us as we lingered in the standoff.
“Right,” he said doubtfully. “You had to move your car. In the middle of a fucking storm.”
I lifted my chin. “You asked for the answer. I didn’t say you’d like it.”
Energy pulsed between us like downed power lines arcing with electricity.
“Take the bed,” he said as he grabbed his phone and brushed past me, heading out the door.