15. Carson James
15
CARSON JAMES
R ule Number One: When you’re holding a grudge, don’t think about how attractive the object of your hatred is.
Rule Number Two: When you do think about how attractive she is, ignore it. It will go away. Probably.
Rule Number Three: When you steal a car, it helps to have the keys.
Daylight was breaking as I hopped into my truck and headed for the front gate. I had a travel mug of coffee in the cupholder, an ache in my balls, and trouble in my bed.
I looped Lennon’s car keys around my finger as I pulled off the dirt road into the field.
She had done a number on the service road when she tried to come in during the storm last night. Grooves of dried mud created deep canyons. I’d have to get one of the guys to grade it down before one of the highfalutin guests got their fancy sedans stuck in one of the ruts.
I did a quick turn, backing my truck up so the hitch lined up with the front of her car, then hopped out.
I unlocked the driver’s side door so I could put the car in neutral, but froze as soon as it was open.
A sleeping bag was laid out in the backseat. Shades to block the sun were fitted over the back windows. From the looks of it, the ones in the passenger’s seat were meant for the front windows and windshield.
A duffel bag was wedged in the floorboard of the backseat. A set of crisp chef’s whites was on a clothes hanger that dangled from the “oh shit” handle. Snacks and shelf-stable foods were arranged in a hanging organizer that draped behind the driver’s seat.
I got the car ready to be towed out and slammed the door. The anger was a better pick-me-up than the coffee.
It took a few tries before the mud let go of Lennon’s car. Before I could fully comprehend how—not if—I was going to address my findings, I was pulling up to the bunkhouse.
I didn’t know who I was going to bitch out first: my brother, my sister-in-law, or Lennon. But someone was about to get a fucking earful.
The ruckus echoing from the bunkhouse as I hopped out of the truck and unhitched her car was my answer.
The bunkhouse kitchen was mayhem. Music blared from the speakers as every ranch hand crowded around the island. The scent of bacon, cinnamon, and coffee hit me like a right hook.
And in the middle of the chaos was Lennon.
I had her duffel bag in one hand, her keys in the other, and a grim look on my face. Lennon’s smile was bright and wide as she cut up with the guys while she piled more and more food onto the kitchen island for breakfast.
I kicked the door shut with my boot, letting it slam like a gunshot.
Lennon looked up as she shuffled pancakes out of a skillet and froze.
“Upstairs,” I clipped. “Now.”
Her eyes dropped to the things I had in my hands. Fear flashed across her face like a bolt of lightning, but as quickly as it came, it was gone.
Lennon ignored me, turning back to the range to drop more batter into the skillet.
I broke through the mass of bodies vying for a plateful of food, grabbed her bicep, and tugged her away. “I said upstairs, trouble. You and I are gonna have a talk.”
“I have food cooking,” she snapped. “It’ll burn.”
“Then let it fucking burn. They know how to use a fire extinguisher.”
She wrenched her arm out of my grasp and snatched her keys from my hand. I held her duffel out of reach, forcing her to march up the steps.
When the bedroom door shut behind us, I dropped her bag and had her pinned against the wall like we had been that first night.
“Tell me it’s not true,” I growled.
“That I made breakfast?” She rolled her eyes. “God forbid I scramble some eggs. You do know I cook for a living, right? I’m not going to burn your house down.”
I pressed my body against hers, shutting her up. “Tell me you’re not living in your fucking car.”
Her sassy sneer turned to stone. “That’s none of your business.”
“It’s my fucking business when you work on my ranch. If you aren’t getting paid enough to live, that’s a fucking problem.”
“Let it go,” she hissed, pushing back against me.
“No.”
“Let. It. Go. You already know,” she snapped as tears welled up in her eyes. “You went through my file. Or was I right about your reading comprehension skills? I’m a felon. I have a record. People will not rent to me. I’ve been trying to get a place ever since I moved here to work on your fucking ranch, and all I’ve heard is no.”
Her keys jingled as she reached up between us and dabbed her eyes. “Now you know. So, just fucking drop it and let’s go back to ignoring each other.”
There was no way in hell that was happening.
“What happened?”
Lennon shoved against my chest. “None of your fucking busi?—”
“It is my business,” I barked as I grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the wall. “My ranch. My land. My last name on that uniform you wear. My business. So if you have a problem, it’s my problem too. Now talk.”
Something inside her seemed to break. Piece by piece, it shattered behind those haunted eyes. I watched as the shards fell from her gaze, turning from sharp weapons into nothingness.
“It’s a long story,” she said as her blank eyes lowered to her bare feet.
I loosened my grip on her wrists. “Then you’d better get started.”
She pressed against my hold, but the fight wasn’t there. I let go, but stopped her with a hand on her stomach when she tried to move away from the wall.
“There is not a place you can hide on this ranch that I will not find you. Don’t even try to run from me.”
Lennon swallowed and nodded. She began to pace the room and wring her hands, trying to collect herself.
My eyes followed her, but I never moved.
Animals and people weren’t all that different. They both spooked easily when they were on edge. If I wanted the whole story out of Lennon, I couldn’t scare it out of her. She’d run.
“Chef DeRossi and Cassandra know everything,” Lennon blurted out. “It’s not like you can use this against me or something. I’m sure Christian knows too.”
I worked my hand over the scruff on the side of my jaw. “Who said anything about using it against you?”
“Why wouldn’t you use it against me? You’ve tried to get me fired. Repeatedly .”
She may have had the slightest point, and it stung.
“I want to know why the hell you’re living in your car. You’re the one who said it was a long story. Better get started. We’re burning daylight.”
“I did six years in federal prison for accessory after the fact to armed robbery. I was seventeen, but they tried me as an adult.”
I had read that much in her file, but hearing her say it out loud struck something inside me.
“I was assigned a job in the kitchen and that’s where I learned to cook. Chef DeRossi started a reentry program with his restaurant group to help inmates build skills and find work in food service when they got out. I started as a prep cook in one of his restaurants and worked my way up.”
Lennon’s hands began to shake. She breathed through whatever was warring in her mind and centered herself. Her discipline was impressive.
“I served my time,” she continued. “I’ve been a productive member of society. I take pride in my job, and I want to leave all the bullshit behind me.”
“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?”
Lennon glanced at the window as if she were waiting for someone to come take her away. “All I did was drive the car.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My brother...he was the one who did it.” She sat on the edge of the bed and picked at the knee of the sweatpants she wore. “Well, my half-brother. We have the same mother. Different dads. Mine was a deadbeat one night stand. His was an alcoholic who came around every once in a while. Our mom went to jail when I was fifteen, and the state decided he was fit to be my guardian.”
It felt like I was floating as I strode across the room and sat behind her on the bed, pulling her back between my legs.
Lennon tensed. “It was a school night. I had a part-time job at the bodega near our apartment that I had to be at the next morning. I was working on homework when Justin came into the living room and told me I had to drive him somewhere. He handed me the keys to a car that I didn’t know was stolen, and told me to drive him over the bridge to New Jersey. He had me park outside a bank and told me he’d be back in ten minutes.”
I swore under my breath as I slipped my arms around her waist and held her against my chest.
“I heard gunshots, then Justin came out of the building with a backpack. He got in the car and—” her voice cracked “—there was blood spatter all over his clothes. I freaked out and he pulled the gun on me and told me to drive.” A tear slipped down her cheek, splashing on my hand. “We made it out to the Hudson River and he stashed the bag. But by then, the cops were all over looking for him. The security guard at the bank had pressed the silent alarm before Justin...” Lennon sucked in a sharp breath as she tried her hardest not to cry. “Before Justin shot him. Instead of making it to school the next day, I got arrested.”
I rested my forehead on the back of her head, feeling like utter shit for everything.
“I’m sorry,” I said as contritely as I could. “I’m so fucking sorry, Len.”
“I did six years. He went away for thirty. Armed robbery and attempted murder. He lucked out that the security guard lived. Probably would have been life.”
“Should’ve been,” I muttered.
“Having a record sucks. It makes finding places to live really fucking hard. I usually end up subletting or agreeing to shitty lease terms. My credit is trash.” Her pause was weighted. “I’m still working on finding somewhere local to live. There aren’t many options in town.”
“I know I’m going to regret asking this, but where have you been sleeping?”
Lennon was halfway to picking her nails to death. I wrapped my hands around hers to still her nervous fingers.
“My car,” she said with measured caution. “Nothing I haven’t done before. I’m a pro by now. I have a gym membership that gives me amenities all over the country. If I’m desperate for a bed, I’ll get a cheap motel room with cash.”
“Why cash?” The words were out before I could stop them.
Lennon chewed on her lip for a long moment. “Remember when I said my brother stashed the bag of money he stole?”
I nodded.
“My public defender got the judge to agree to time off my sentence if I helped them put Justin away. I told them everything. Every detail down to the phone call and where he hid the money. Except, the bag was already gone. I ended up still serving time because they thought I had lied since they couldn’t find the money.”
“What phone call?”
She sighed. “Before the robbery happened, Justin got a call from someone, and it sounded like they knew what he was about to do. I only heard Justin’s side of the call, but he said, ‘It will be where I said it would be.’"
“Did the cops ever find out who he was talking to?”
“No.” Her hands tightened in mine. "They thought I faked a third person so I could hide the money. But it had already disappeared while I was still handcuffed to a table, getting questioned. I used to wonder if I had hallucinated the phone call.”
Lennon lifted the t-shirt I had loaned her and showed off a sickle-shaped scar that curved over her hip. Two nickel-sized scars dotted the skin beside it.
“I didn’t hallucinate it,” she said a little more firmly. “When I got to the facility I was going to serve my sentence in, a woman in my block shanked me. Some guy paid her off to send me a message. He thought I had the money.”
I traced the ridged silver skin with my fingertips. “If you don’t have the money and the guy from the phone call doesn’t have it, that means your brother has to have it, right?”
She shrugged. “I always wondered if my brother double-crossed his guy and had someone hide the money from everyone when he stashed the bag by the river. Honestly, I don’t give a shit where the money is or who has it now. I just want to put it all behind me. I’m constantly looking over my shoulder. I can’t explain it, but I’ve always had this feeling that someone was waiting for me to get out so they could track me down. So, I pay for most everything in cash. I travel with Chef DeRossi’s launch team that opens his new restaurants, so I’m not in one place for too long. Everyone always called me ‘Len’ when I was younger, so I started going by Lennon instead of Eleanor. I always hated my name, so that wasn’t a loss. It sounded too stuffy anyway.”
“Lennon fits you.” I pressed a kiss to the back of her head. “What happened last night? Why’d you have to move your car and come back to the ranch?”
She wrenched her hands from my grip and pressed her fingers to her eyes. She looked exhausted.
“Someone knocked on my car door when I was getting ready for bed. This woman I’ve seen around town a few times.”
“Did she tell you to leave or something?”
“I think I did time with her.” Lennon closed her eyes. “And running into someone you met in prison once you’re out is generally a very bad thing.”
I tightened my hold on her. “Was it the woman who stabbed you?”
“I don’t know. They both had red hair. Like, really bright red-velvet cake colored hair. I’m not sure if it’s actually her, but I’m not about to find out. I need to lay low, change up my routine, and find somewhere else to crash.”
“Here,” I said without a moment of hesitation. “Stay here.”
Lennon peeled away from me and stood up, running a hand back through her black and white hair. “No. I’m not staying somewhere I’m clearly not welcome. I’m fine on my own.”
I jumped up after her. “Len?—”
She turned to me with hostile, red-rimmed eyes. “Thanks for the hospitality and the heart-to-heart. But I learned long ago that I’m the only one who can protect me. I’m not falling for you, Cowboy.”