Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
JENSEN
Two things wake me up around three in the morning. The first is my phone lighting up, a text from Brothers appearing on the screen. Right on cue, he’s back, trying to pull me under again. Groaning internally, I roll over and lift it.
Meet me at my house, eleven in the morning. Bring Della. I just want to talk.
I ease myself up against the pillows and set the phone down.
On my way back from the diner, I took some time to drive around Byway and the surrounding areas to get the lay of the land.
I drove past the Caudill Mansion, and Brothers was right—getting a kid out of that place will be tough.
That bothers me a lot, because I promised her I’d get Landis back, but now, I have concerns.
I stare into the dark.
Do I have it in me to cooperate with Brothers?
A little sniffle from her side of the bed breaks me from my thoughts. I turn, studying her inert form. Her core seizes, scrunching her limbs up into a fetal position. It’s dim in the loft, but I can see she’s still asleep. Her eyes are roaming beneath her lids.
She’s dreaming.
I slide back down and roll to my side beside her. She shifts, like she feels the movement in her sleep. Her body goes rigid, and a whimper comes from between her teeth. Without thinking, I grip her elbow and give her a little shake.
Her lids fly open, and she rips her arm back, eyes dark. There’s venom in them as she draws up against the pillows.
“Hey, Della,” I say, keeping my voice low, staying back to give her space. “You alright, baby?”
She stares, brow scrunched. I don’t move, waiting for her to come down from her nightmare. Finally, she gives her head a little shake.
“Sorry,” she whispers.
She doesn’t reach for me, and that breaks my heart, but she’s not pulling back either. I get out of bed and turn on the lamp.
“You want something to drink?” I ask.
She nods. “We’ve got some chamomile.”
I hold out my hand. “Come on, get out of bed. Shake it off and talk about it.”
Her mouth cracks in a tiny smile, and she takes my hand, letting me help her down to the kitchen.
It’s raining. The droplets are loud on the tin roof, reverberating through the rocky ravine to the east. I take the kettle from beneath the sink, fill it up, and turn on the gas stove.
She sits at the table, chewing the inside of her cheek.
I cross my arms, watching her. Finally, she looks up.
“Sorry to wake you,” she says.
“What’s going on?” I ask lightly.
Her throat bobs, and she digs at her thumbnail. “It’s just hard being away from my son. I keep having dreams I’m holding him, and somebody snatches him right out of my arms.”
She looks so lost, so small. I should feel pity, but instead, I’m angry. I’ve known men like Leland Caudill before, rich men with pockets that are never satisfied. They take until there’s nothing left for the rest of us. Della is stuck under the thumb of one of the worst of them.
Her story is an old one, repeated again and again. And yet, she’s fighting back.
“I’m getting your kid back for you, Della,” I say firmly.
She looks up, those eyes that glittered so bright in the stockyard, now dark.
“I want to believe that,” she whispers. “But I don’t understand why this really matters to you.”
My mind skims over the last twenty years out in Montana.
It’s been a good time. Hell, maybe I wouldn’t trade it for a thing.
But there’s this emptiness at the center of it.
I didn’t have a name for it until I saw all my friends hitching up, having kids.
Then, my house started feeling pretty big with only a single guy banging around in it.
She filled it up without trying, just walked in, and I was back in the cool valleys of my home, the parts of Kentucky I do miss.
I can’t stay here. My home isn’t my home anymore. But I could take this piece of it back with me in Della Caudill. I could make her my wife and get to feel golden sunshine every day until I die, but all those things…it’s too early to say them. So, I say something close to the truth.
“Nobody stepped in for me when I was a kid like him. I kinda feel like this is my chance to balance things out.”
She studies me. “You had a real tough time, huh?”
“The usual,” I say. “Nobody at home, better that way. My mom got knocked up with me when she was a teen, and my grandmother kicked her out. We lived in a rented trailer. She worked, but not enough to make ends meet. Then, she died when I hit about sixteen.”
Her lids lower. “And your father?”
“Pumped and dumped.” I flip the gas off and pour, steam rising. “Yours?”
“He mined coal until he busted out his back,” she says. “Then, he collected disability, and that was alright. But I think not being able to work just…really dragged him down.”
“How old were you?” I set the tea down.
“Seven when he finally went.” She touches the edge of the cup, skimming the tip of her finger in slow circles. “I don’t remember much.”
“Maybe that’s better.”
She gives me a weak smile. “Maybe it is.”
We sit in silence, the weight of everything bearing down. Finally, she takes a sip and blows on the steam.
“It’s good. Tastes like the fields,” she says. “What’s it like, being on the run?”
“I wasn’t running.”
“You were hiding like an outlaw.”
She’s smiling, and I can sense she’s not wanting to talk about her past anymore.
“Well, I always wanted to be a cowboy,” I say. “Got my wish. Did the whole ranch thing, worked with cattle on my friends’ ranches. Worked the land.”
She’s watching me thoughtfully. “Think you found yourself out there?”
“I think it found me,” I say, “right where I was at.”
“But you weren’t happy?”
“I was happy, just not completely.”
She looks down. “I’d settle for almost happy.”
“I think you can have the whole thing.”
“I hope so.” Her voice breaks.
Her shoulders slump. I’m not really a romantic guy, if I’m being honest. But she’s changing me, deep in my bones. I go to her, holding out my hand.
Her eyes are questioning, but she puts one hand in mine and lets me lift her to her feet. A gasp escapes her when I pull her close, her breasts pressing into my sternum.
“What are you doing?” she says softly.
“I don’t know,” I whisper back.
There’s music in the back of my brain. Clumsily, I start moving to it. Her lip trembles, then curves. She’s steering me, subtly, and suddenly, we’re dancing together, like we did back in Montana—turning, spinning, eating up the floor.
Outside, the rain beats a steady rhythm. Maybe that’s what we’re dancing to, the soft Kentucky rain. I can’t tell if it’s incredibly dark in the shadows of the room and beyond the windows, or if she’s just burning as bright as the sun in my arms.
I’m worn out, embittered, but she makes me want to bring down my walls and be a better man. Maybe we stand a chance after all.
There’s no end to the music, so we dance until she falters, letting her hands drop. The rain has stopped. Her tea sits cold on the table.
“We should get back to bed,” she says.
I clear my throat. “Yeah. Brothers asked us to meet him in the morning.”
The magic seeps out of the room. Reality is back, harsh and unwelcome.
“He did?” she asks.
“He just texted me. Eleven at his house tomorrow morning.”
She glances at the clock. “Eleven this morning.”
I brush her hair back, tilting her chin up. She’s giving me big, wide eyes, the kind I don’t know how to resist.
“You want us to go, don’t you?” I say.
She nods, biting her lip. “I know you have history with him, but he’s helped me.”
This is my weakness. When she betrayed me, I had enough pain and anger to hold it back.
But now that I’ve grappled with that and let it shift to the side, I find I can’t resist the beautiful pleading face below mine.
If a chain is as strong as its weakest link, I am a poor excuse for one, because I can’t say no.
“You want to see if he’s talked to Kayleigh,” I say.
She nods. “I just…want to ask how my son is, to hear how Kayleigh is.”
I clear my throat. “Alright. I’ll take you.”
Her hands slide up around my neck, her mouth finding mine. “Thank you,” she murmurs against my lips.
“But you listen to me while we’re there,” I say. “And don’t let your guard down.”
She shifts back, but I keep her close against my chest. Brothers couldn’t have picked a more effective weapon to use against me than this woman. At least, this time, I’m aware I’m being manipulated. I’m coming back to hell with eyes wide open.
“I’ll do anything you want,” she whispers.
I weave my fingers through hers, too numb for anything but the warmth of her body.
“I want one more dance,” I say “Real slow. Then, we’ll sleep.”