Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JENSEN
I’m struggling to focus on putting a feasible plan into place. So, I leave her in the bed, not handcuffed this time, and go out onto the porch and call Jack Russell.
Not many people know how close I am with Jack. He doesn’t like other people in his business, so he pretends he’s everybody’s enemy or casual acquaintance, depending on his mood, until proven otherwise. But Jack’s one of my best friends in Montana. I’ve always been able to ask him for help.
He picks up, sounding a little groggy. “Hold on,” he says.
I hear his footsteps. Then, a door shuts with a soft click.
“You got company?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “What’s going on?”
I clear my throat. “She’s from Harlan. Brothers Boyd sent her to bring me back.”
“I thought something along those lines.”
“You did?”
“She’s got your same accent.”
Frustrated, I run a hand over my face. “You could have told me.”
“Suspecting is not the same as having proof. What do you need from me, Jensen?”
My mind turns, trying to come up with a plan. “I need two horses shipped to the Red River Gorge as fast as possible and a safe house waiting for us when we get there. We’ll travel up through eastern Kentucky to avoid the cities and Caudill territory.”
“And then?”
“Then, I’m getting her kid back,” I say.
“She’s got a kid?”
“She’s Leland Caudill’s ex-wife. He’s Matthew Caudill’s son, the guy who… You know what he did.” My throat tightens, blocking the words. “She’s trying to get her kid from him. I said I’d help.”
He releases a sigh, that sounds a hint judgmental. “Why?”
I could lie, but Jack knows me too well.
“Because I think me and her…might have a shot,” I admit.
“A shot? You’re hauling your ass across the country and risking your life because you think there’s a shot she might be the one?”
I look down at my boots, trying to sort through the emotions churning in my chest.
“You’re lying,” Jack says. “You’re going back to face him.”
“Two things can be true at once.”
He’s quiet for a while, and I know he’s sitting at his desk, staring into space.
“Jack,” I say.
“What?”
“Tell me the truth about something.”
“When have I ever lied?”
I can think of a few dozen times, but not when it comes to serious things. No, on those, Jack is a straight shooter.
“I have to deal with my shit, don’t I?”
He clears his throat.
“As a professional avoider of my own shit, yeah, you do,” he says. “It might be time to stop looking over your shoulder. Time to stand and deliver.”
I take the phone from my ear for a moment to myself. When I put it back up, I can hear he’s still on the other end.
“I’m going back,” I say. “I’ve decided.”
“I’ll send the horses and have the safehouse set up for you. I still have contacts in the area.”
“What do you want for it?”
Jack Russell never makes a deal for free, not even for friends. As one of the best assassins in the country, he knows his worth, and he sticks to it.
“You’re good,” he yawns.
“What?”
“I said, you’re good. It’s nothing.”
He hangs up, and I know he won’t take another call tonight. Slowly, I pull my phone from my ear and stare down at it. Is it a bad sign Jack is doing me a favor for nothing? Is he expecting me to not come back?
Confused, I go back inside and climb the stairs to my bedroom. She’s asleep, curled up in a ball under the covers. I sink down in the chair by the open window and have a Camel because, despite how many I’ve had in the interim, they still take me back.
They taste like home, the place that made me who I am.
It runs through my veins like blood. Deep down, there was always a part of me that knew I’d go back. The mountain of shit I left behind was too big to just walk away from. I don’t think I’ve been at peace a day in my life, not until I saw her at the stockyards.
Maybe there’s a chance Della Caudill, with all her baggage that turned out to be mine too, is a shot at fixing things.
I like her, a lot.
There’s a future in my mind’s eye where we have all the things normal couples do, the things my friends have now.
God, they look so damn happy. In my mind’s eye, I wake up, go out to take care of the ranch.
She’s in the kitchen when I get back, having her coffee.
There’s a faceless little boy sitting at the table.
My eyes snap open. Cold sweat trickles down my temple.
Is that what I want?
I don’t have to answer that. From the very beginning, that was what I’d always wanted. The Crisco tin was never about money. The money was never about the truck. The truck was never about the business. It was all about making a home where somebody loved me and I got to love them back.
I’m sick of the barely-getting-by-kind of home. I need the real thing.
If I want a shot with Della, I have to help her. If I want a shot at ever finding peace, I have to help myself.
No more running. I hate to admit it, but Jack’s right. From here on out, it’s time to stand and deliver.