Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
DELLA
At ten, I climb down the ladder in my fringe dress.
It’s clean; I used the Maytag I found on the back porch to get our clothes washed up and hung them out on the line yesterday.
He gives me a sharp glance as I step into my boots by the door.
His mouth thins in silent judgement, and all the magic of last night dissipates in the wake of his general grumpiness.
“You don’t like it,” I say.
“I think half your ass is out,” he says.
He’s in a linen shirt, work pants, and his same old boots, like he doesn’t give a fuck, which I’ve come to realize, he, in fact, does not.
“Aren’t you lucky.”
He puts a Camel in his lip. “Get outside and get in the truck, Della.”
He’s using his bossy voice again. Rolling my eyes, I turn to unlock the door, stepping out onto the porch. He grabs the dusty cowboy hat he set on the table the day we arrived and follows me, veering around to where he parked the truck. The engine revs, then the Dodge circles into view and stops.
He pushes open the door, holding out his hand.
I climb in awkwardly, trying to keep my dress from riding up.
Then, he does that sexy thing where he backs the truck up with one palm flat on the wheel.
I look away, trying to get control of myself.
I’m shameless. I can still feel what he did last night, wet between my thighs.
We pull out onto the road. His jaw is tight, his body tighter.
I might struggle to read him sometimes, but not today.
He’s set up his walls good and hard, so I lean against the door, the way I used to do with Leland, and let my forehead press to the glass.
Only, this time, Leland isn’t there to tell me to sit up straight.
We leave the gorge, going out towards Byway.
Then, we’re back in rich folk country, surrounded by high, dark walls that protect millions in horseflesh.
I see signs for the city, and they bring back memories I’d rather forget.
Those roll by, and we’re on the west side, out where the houses cost millions but somehow still less than the one I was kept prisoner in.
No amount of money can buy freedom.
I learned that, good and hard.
Something hurts. I glance down, noticing I’m picking back the cuticle of my thumbnail again. I used to push my hands under the dinner table and just tear at it while Leland talked to his guests. Something to focus on. Pain I could control.
“Stop that,” he says softly.
I glance up, wordless.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” he says. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
He’s locked away still, but I know after last night, he’s not angry with me anymore. I think his grumpiness this morning has more to do with where we’re headed than me.
We pull off the road deep in the countryside. To the right, iron gates surround endless green hills and pear trees. Jensen leans out of the door and hits a button on the gatepost. There’s a crackle, then: “Please state your name and purpose.”
“Jensen Childress,” he says.
He doesn’t state his purpose.
The gates creak and slide apart, and he pulls through.
I’m used to the grandeur of the Caudills, but the classic beauty of the Boyd estate as it rolls into view is something new.
It looks recent, maybe built in the last twenty years.
Everything is dark stone, big windows, perfectly kept gardens, a looped driveway of glittering white gravel.
Jensen pulls the truck up to the door and cuts the engine.
“I maybe should have worn something dressier,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, alighting the truck and circling to open my door. I start wriggling towards the edge, trying not to flash my panties. His hands encircle my waist, warm, strong. Heat travels out from his touch as he sets me down.
“Keep close to me,” he murmurs.
“Brothers won’t hurt me,” I insist.
His jaw twitches. “You listen. That was the deal.”
I nod. He guides me up the steps by the elbow. Before he can lift his hand to knock, the door swings open. There he is, in the flesh. Tall, lean, with a little lankiness, dripping charm so thick, I’m surprised he’s not attracting flies like honey.
“Welcome back,” he drawls.
He holds out his hand to Jensen, who shakes it, but in that grim way Leland used to with men he didn’t like at the racetrack.
Then, he leans in and kisses just above my cheekbone. His hand grazes my waist, right where Jensen’s sits. Jensen jerks back. Brothers pulls away with a televangelist smile.
“Y’all hungry? We’ve got lunch on the table,” he says.
Jensen doesn’t speak. His eyes are locked past Brothers, staring into the house like he’s at the gates of hell.
“Yeah, that would be lovely,” I say.
He ushers us into a vaulted front hall. “Excuse the mess,” he says, waving at nothing. “We’ve been doing a little renovating.”
We follow as he takes a sharp turn, and we’re in a huge dining room.
The table is set with three plates. Brothers sinks down on one side, pointing at the seats across from him.
I’m glad he didn’t take the head of the table.
Leland always sat there. I hated it, the way he’d lord over everyone set me on edge.
Brothers gives me an easy, pleasant smile.
My mind goes back to the day Kayleigh admitted she was sleeping with him.
I was shocked, having never met him before.
I just heard the stories swirling around the city.
When she brought me to him so I could ask for help getting Landis back, it all made sense.
He’s not my type, too refined, too horse money for me.
But he’s such an alluring personality, it’s hard to resist him.
A man and a woman in black clothes appear and fill our plates without speaking. The doors swing shut behind them. Brothers shakes out his napkin, laying it over his thigh.
“I apologize for the lack of wine or beer,” he says. “No liquor on the Lord’s Day, but I’ll get the cigarillos out with dessert.”
“I’m good,” says Jensen.
I just smile, and Brothers winks at me, like it’s instinctive to him.
“Quit flirting with her,” Jensen says.
Brothers raises his palms. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Boldly, I lean forward to pick up my silverware. “I don’t think it’s me he’s flirting with,” I quip.
There’s a second of silence, then Brothers lets his head fall back as he laughs. To my shock, Jensen’s jaw twitches, like deep down, he wants to smile. Innocently, I put a bite of brisket in my mouth. It’s warm, tender, and a little spicy.
“Oh, I forgot how much I like you, Della,” Brothers says. “You are a treat and a half.”
“That why you helped her?” Jensen says.
Brothers’ pleasant eyes narrow. “I helped her because my heartstrings were tugged by the plight of a mother and her child.”
“God, that’s such bullshit.”
“Ease up, Jen. Nobody’s out to get you,” Brothers says, abruptly cold. That chills me to my boots. I’ve never seen him angry, and I have a feeling it’s not something I ever want to witness firsthand.
“You were,” Jensen says, not missing a beat.
Tension crackles. Jensen is chewing slightly. Then, he stops and smiles, but it’s not a nice one. It’s a watch-your-mouth-before-I-fuck-you-up kind of smile.
“You’ve got some bite to you now, Jen,” Brothers says finally.
“Learned from the best.”
“Could have done with some refinement.”
“Sorry, my education got cut short by my entire family being gunned down by the Caudills,” Jensen says. “Speaking of family, where’s your brother?”
My jaw drops. Brothers’ lids flicker as he waves a long-fingered hand.
“Oh, Jem? He got shot in the head.”
The silence is startling. Brothers told me Jensen was no friend to the Caudills, but I didn’t realize they’d killed his family. The admission about Jem Boyd isn’t shocking, because we all saw it on the news when it happened, but Brothers’ casual tone is disarming.
“Jem’s dead?” Jensen says.
Brothers has a sip of his glass, like he’s discussing the weather. “Yeah, Leland shot him behind a building at the racetrack about five years back. He was going for me, but I sent Jem to do my business for the day. Unfortunate.”
I stare. There’s usually a heartlessness around this type of man when they discuss death that I’m used to. Leland would put a bullet in someone and complain about the stain on the rug. But this is different. There’s so much pain behind the forced lack of emotion in Brothers’ face.
Jensen pushes out his chair. “I need the washroom.”
He gets up and leaves, to my surprise. Brothers puts his hands together, releasing a sigh.
“Jem and Jensen weren’t really friends, but they got along well,” he says. “Worked together a lot at one point.”
“I’m sorry about your brother,” I whisper. “I never said that, but I should have.”
He dips his head. “I appreciate that, Della.”
I shift awkwardly and clear my throat. He lifts his eyes, and they’re warm and friendly, sweet like honey.
“You can speak your mind,” he says.
“Okay,” I say. “Are you…you still seeing Kayleigh?”
His lids flicker and his throat bobs. “We do still…meet on occasion.”
The memory of Kayleigh holding Landis is still painful, and it makes me bold.
“You mean you’re still sleeping with her,” I push.
He tongues the inside of his cheek. “On occasion.”
“Can you give her a message from me?”
The door swings back open, and Jensen sinks down beside me. “Don’t make deals with him, Della,” he says. “You can’t trust him to tell you the truth.”
Brothers’ sharp eyes dart between us. “And you trust Jensen to be truthful?”
I don’t have an answer for that, because yes, I do, but I don’t really know why I trust him more than any man I’ve met. Jensen zeroes in on Brothers, who offers him a paternal smile in return. Then, his focus shifts back to me.
“What would you like to tell Kayleigh?” he says, voice soft.