Epilogue #2
He pulls back, holding onto my shoulders. "You good?"
I bury it all, because no one can see through my shit like him. "Yeah, I'm good. Just partied out."
He cackles. "Okay. Pussy."
"Oh shut up."
He sees it, of course, the insightful bastard. "Rye, promise me you're good."
"I will be." I shake him. "Enjoy your day. Take that beautiful bride of yours home."
They went on a two-week vacation to the Bahamas a few months ago, before she got too pregnant to fly—a pre-wedding honeymoon, since she'll be having the baby any day now.
He searches me. "I worry about you, you know."
I shove him playfully. “I’m good. I'm good. I swear."
"Don’t make me sic Cole on you!” he shouts after me.
I flip him off as I walk away.
Hop into my truck and leave the farm.
But I don’t go home. I can't. I just can't bear that empty fucking place.
Maybe I should get a dog or something.
I end up cruising through town, my windows open to let in the cool spring night air. I love Three Rivers at night—it’s quiet, dark, and peaceful. No summer crowds jamming the sidewalks. No block parties, as cool as those are. Just the streets and the shuttered businesses, the trees with their skirts of flowers rustling around their feet, the stoplights flashing yellow, and the silence.
Whoa—hold on. That's unusual.
I squeal to a halt, mentally reminding myself to have Nyx do my brakes soon.
At the far north end of town, sitting on a bench by herself, is a woman. Or a girl. Not sure. Her head is down and her shoulders are heaving. She's sobbing, like, bad.
Fuck.
I'm the last moron that should be trying to comfort her, but god knows no one else is gonna come by, so it's me.
I shove my truck into park and cut the motor right in the middle of the street—the sheriff is my best friend and he's at the wedding, three sheets to the wind.
I sit on the bench near the girl—close but not creepy or in her space. "Hey."
She lifts her head. Sniffles. Looks at me. “Hello.”
I'm dumbstruck.
Strawberry blond curls—a wild, untamable profusion of them in bouncy ringlets. A perfect heart-shaped face. Big green eyes the color of holly leaves. Exactly that shade. Pale, creamy, freckled skin.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and my heart palpitates. Hands go clammy. Stomach flips.
What am I feeling?
Why can't I breathe?
“Um." I close my eyes. Shake my head in an attempt to clear it of the nonsense. "What's…um. What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
I snort. “Yeah, okay. You're a shitty liar, beautiful."
She frowns at me. "You are not very good at this."
I laugh. "No, I’m not. Do I get credit for trying?"
She sniffs. “Yes. Two points extra credit."
"Sweet. That brings me all the way up to zero."
This gets me another sniff. "That bad?"
"Let's just say school wasn't my strongest suit." I hold out my hand to her. "Riley Crowe, at your service, madam."
She puts her hand in mine—her hand is tiny. I could wrap my fist around hers, and it's not like my hand is as big as Bear's. Big, deep, sad green eyes find mine. "I'm Cadence Cresswell."
"Cadence?" I repeat. "Wow. That's…a really beautiful name."
She tries to smile and doesn't quite make it. But hey, it's the thought that counts. "Thank you.”
"So, Cadence. What has you crying alone way up here at this hour?"
She shrugs. “I am certain you do not want to hear about my silly problems.”
"Sure I do. Beats the hell out of what I was doing."
She sneaks a look at me. "What were you doing?"
"Driving around thinking about my problems." I realize, belatedly, that I never let go of her hand—I'm holding it as if we're trying out a new extended-duration handshake. So, I keep it. See if she notices.
"It is silly."
"I dunno," I say. "I feel like if it's got you crying alone at the ass end of a two-stop-light town like this, it's something." I shrug. "You don't gotta tell me shit, though. I'm just not very good at minding my own business. You can tell me to fuck off."
"Oh, I could never do that."
"Sure you can. Won't hurt my feelings. Mainly because I don't have any."
"No, I just…I do not speak in that manner.” She lifts a slender shoulder. "I am glad you stopped, however. It is nice not to be alone." She looks at me curiously. "What…what did you mean?"
"About?"
"Not having feelings."
"Oh." I laugh, wave a hand. "Just being an idiot. Most of what I say is bullshit, just F-Y-I."
"So you do have feelings?"
"Well, sure. I just don't know what they are." I beat my fists against my chest. "Ook-ook, caveman tough. Caveman not self-actualized."
She giggles—and it's the most musical sound I've ever heard. "Caveman know big words."
I laugh with her, and it…it feels amazing. I dunno why.
I steal a longer look at her—she's sitting down, so it's hard to tell how tall she is, but she’s not tall. Not short either, just not tall. She’s slender. Willowy. She's wearing an ankle-length dress, white with little blue flowers on it. Not much by way of cleavage showing—the dress isn't cut for that, so I can’t really tell what’s rocking under there; the neck scoops only a few inches below her elegant ivory throat. She has the most delicate hands I've ever seen. They flutter on her lap constantly, fidgeting, drumming, like restless birds.
"You don't wanna talk about it?" I ask. "If I'm being nosy, please tell me off."
She shakes her head, her strawberry-blond ringlets bouncing. “You are not being nosy, you are being sweet and kind." She levels those huge green eyes at me—and I swear, her face is 75% eyes. Mesmerizing green eyes. Mossy pools. "My funding got cut."
"Funding for what?"
She sighs. "I am a medical doctor. I've spent the last six months putting together a mission trip to South Sudan to provide emergency medical care. I raised almost half of the required funds from private donors, but I was relying on a big grant from a corporate sponsor, and I just found out that they pulled out of our agreement. I am supposed to leave in two weeks. It is too dangerous, they said. I will never raise the funds now, and I will have to return the money I raised, and…I…I do not know what to do, now."
“You're a doctor?" I ask. "I'm sorry if I sound surprised, you're just…you seem pretty damn young to be a doctor already.”
She smiles, nods. "I am twenty-four."
"And you're a fully licensed doctor?"
She nods again. "I was rather precocious. I graduated high school at fifteen and received my medical degree at twenty-two. I have spent the last two years doing medical missionary work all over Africa. This trip was very important to me."
“You can't—I dunno, take out a loan? Borrow it from someone?"
A shake of her head. "No. With the war breaking out again, no one will fund me. I have tried, believe me. I am crying because I have exhausted every possible option to salvage the mission. I was up here begging the last people I know with enough money, and they refused to help. The risk is too high."
"I mean, shit is gnarly there, isn’t it? I don’t really follow politics or whatever, but I know the war is not good.”
“Yes. It is very dangerous. And that is exactly why I have to go. The people there are suffering. They need help and I am called to help them."
"How much do you need?"
"Eighty thousand dollars."
"Oof."
"Yes. I have to buy and transport all of my own supplies."
"I don't have that kinda cash, or I’d give it to you."
She shakes her head. "I appreciate that thought, Riley, but I am merely going to have to recalculate the vector of my life.” Her stomach growls, then, noisily and extensively. She grimaces in embarrassment. "I am sorry. It has been a very long day and I have not eaten in quite some time.”
'How long is a while?" I ask, starting to pick up on her unusual speech patterns.
She looks up to the left. "Since yesterday afternoon. I took the bus here from Chicago and then walked to my meeting with the Caterhams and then walked back. I could not walk anymore. My feet hurt too badly. I…I just sat down and started crying and discovered, much to my dismay, that I cannot seem to stop.”
I frown at her. "Wait, wait, wait. You walked …where?"
"The Caterhams live in Grand Lafayette."
My stomach twists. Grand Lafayette is a tiny little town about thirty minutes' drive from here. Which is a good two hours of walking… one way .
"Jesus shits, woman. You took a bus from Chicago to Three Rivers and then walked…by yourself…at night from Three Rivers to Grand Lafayette and back?"
She just nods.
"You're mucho loco, sweetheart."
She just stares at me again, and I can see her brain working but I couldn’t possibly comprehend what she’s thinking. “As I have previously stated, the mission is very important to me. I believe that one does what is necessary without complaint when something is important."
I stand up and hold out my hand to her. "Well, come on, then."
She frowns up at me. "Where are we going?”
"I'm gonna feed you."
The frown deepens—and only makes her more beautiful, somehow. Although a smile would be better. I'll just have to work on earning a smile.
"All the restaurants in town are closed."
“Yup.”
"Then…where are we getting food?"
I grin. “Well, see, they have these things called houses. And in these houses are refrigerators, which contain food. And I, madam, happen to be the proud owner of just such a house with just such a refrigerator.”
She gives me a long, blank stare. “I understand the concept of houses and refrigerators.”
I grin, waiting. “Well? You comin’?”
“I do not know you.”
"Yes, you do. I'm Riley Crowe." I sit back down. "Listen, Cadence. I'll shoot you straight. Okay? I'm an asshole. I'm a player. Y'know? I'm not a good guy. You can't trust me with your heart or anything. But you can trust me to keep you safe and feed you some good-ass food. So, if you want, I'll take you to my house and I'll feed you. And then I'll take you anywhere you want to go. Chicago. Detroit. Lansing. Wherever home is for you. A hotel. Mrs. Abel's B-and-B. Or you can crash at my place. And I promise you—I promise you—you're safe with me."
“If it is good food, then why do you call it good… ass …food?” She blushes, whispering, when she says “ass.”
I snicker a puzzled laugh. “Just a figure of speech, babe.”
She looks at me, examining me closely. “You do not seem like a bad person to me.”
"I'm not a bad person. I'm just not a good one."
Another long pause. “I do not know where else to go. I cannot walk another step.”
"Who are these Caterhams that let you walk all the way there and back by your fuckin’ self, anyway?”
“They are friends of my parents, and they offered to drive me here. But after they refused to fund me, I…" She blushes pink. "I became angry and…well, I fudged the truth somewhat, I must confess, to my shame.”
"The word here is lied ,” I say.
She bites her lip. "I know! I feel very guilty about it. I never lie. But I was so angry and disappointed. I could not spend another thirty minutes in an automobile with them, so I told them a lie and walked away. It was very, very foolish of me."
"I'll say." I take her fluttery-bird hand in mine—it's soft, and tiny, and warm, and it tries to flutter inside the cage of my fingers. "C'mon, Cadence. Let me do something nice for you. It'll make me feel better about myself."
She blinks owlishly at me. “It is all about you after all, then.” I can’t tell if she’s teasing or not, since her expression is unreadable.
"Now you get it. I'm all about me, baby."
She inhales, filling her lungs, and then turns to face me. Takes my other hand in hers and meets my eyes.
Her stare is serious and probing.
It hurts, meeting that powerful green gaze.
This woman is unlike anyone I've ever met.
Quiet.
Reserved.
Good.
A little odd.
Shockingly, stunningly, beautiful.
Tiny.
Delicate.
Strong.
Her eyes are wise. Mature. Insightful. Intelligent.
They search me. They see my soul. Read my secrets.
The longer she examines me, the more stripped bare I feel…and the less I like it.
I'm the one to look away first.
She nods. “Very well. I will allow you to feed me at your home.”
“Okay?"
She smiles—and it’s as stunning as I’d imagined. It transforms her face and literally steals my breath right out of my lungs.
Cadence Creswell squeezes my hands and lets go. "I believe there is more to you than you think, Riley Crowe. And I am choosing to trust you.”
What the fuck am I getting myself into?