Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Shenna
Hurley stood way too close to me, hovering over me and helping me work tonight. Very unfair of him to give me the fanny flutters while I was trying to be an independent woman.
How’s a woman supposed to assert herself and make a good impression when all she can think about is how Hurley lifted his shirt to reveal a massive scar across the otherwise delicious, dimpled lower back? Let’s be real—the scar only makes the man even more lickable.
Lickable, schmickable. He’s still kind of a jerk.
As I’m hopping out of the shower, the doorbell rings.
The thought of an unexpected visitor makes my stomach churn.
But to my surprise, a food delivery waits for me on my welcome mat when I open the door.
This is a dilemma because although I’m hungry, I feel as if I’m being watched. I didn’t order anything, but someone did.
I open the paper bag to find a soup container that emits the tell-tale aroma of Hank’s elk venison stew. There are also beans, rolls, and a slice of Clara’s chocolate pie.
My stomach might reach out and absorb all of it like a freaking starfish if I don’t set aside these feelings of paranoia and sit down right to eat it right now.
I devour everything, and then I text Clara.
Thanks for the dinner. And thanks for the job hookup.
Clara doesn’t read the text right away. She’s probably snuggled up with her hunky husband. Maybe they went somewhere for a late nightcap. Perhaps they’re in bed getting romantic.
I feel creepy thinking about that, but it’s only because I’m the most under-sexed 23-year-old on the planet.
Not that I haven’t been interested. I just never had any choices in the dating department.
And then the bottom fell out when I turned 18. The compound was suddenly no more. The church disbanded, and its members scattered, and at first, I’d thought I was home free to be whatever I wanted to be. Once the cult’s leadership all went to prison for abuse, financial crimes, and other atrocities, I’d thought it was time for all of us to regroup and heal and make a new life, far separated from the doctrines that shackled our family and still had a hold on a lot of our friends and relatives. A lot of families split up, and there weren’t enough men left to make the “sister-wife” system even work properly.
Special aid groups reached out and helped the women and children find places to live. Most men who stuck with their legal wives following the cult’s break up were eager to put the old ways behind them.
But to my chagrin, my mom and dad were not interested in “that kind of help.” My family was among the ones who picked up their lives and migrated to places under less scrutiny. They secretly spoke to others who wanted to keep the strict patriarchal system in place. As the youngest of six siblings who were all scattered to the winds — some single, some monogamous, but all having rejected the faith, I was the last hope of a legacy for my deluded parents.
So, five years after the church was split up, my dad had a surprise for me.
“Look who I found,” he said.
Derek Creevy appeared in our living room, looming so large as the walls closed in.
He held my hand while I sat in shock. “It’s so good to see you again, Shenna.” I still remember his clammy hand on mine. I disassociated while he talked about our future plans and our imminent nuptials.
Later that night, I got in my car and drove. I didn’t know where I was going. I just drove.
As I stare in the mirror and brush my teeth, I feel like I’m trying to scrub away the intrusive thoughts about my parents, Derek, and everything else that has shaped me.
Seeing Hurley Hanlon again has really messed with my head. Maybe I should be grateful. Maybe good things come in threes. Sure, I lost one job, but I got a better one. And my belly is full of good food.
And the good news is, I don’t have to see Hurley Hanlon all that often. He only comes by to check the client sign-ups and to pick up his packages. Well, I’ll have to work quicker and avoid him before he recognizes me.
I sit in my apartment and watch old movies on YouTube on my phone—the only form of entertainment I have to get to sleep.
The eerie sense that I’m being watched persists despite all the good things that have happened tonight. I got free food and a new job. What could be wrong?
Still, I get up and look out the window. There’s a truck parked on the corner, and when I look out there, I see that the driver quickly shuts off the headlights.
I do not like this.
I switch off all the lights in my apartment and look again. The streetlight shows an outline of the driver behind the wheel. I blow out a breath. Not Derek. He’s taller and bigger. Someone is probably arriving to pick someone up for a date; that’s all.
I curl up under my blankets and go to sleep with thoughts of Hurley Hanlon’s big shoulders, sparkling eyes, and hard mouth, wondering what it might be like to kiss someone who frowns like that.
I wake up an hour later to a text notification from Clara.
It wasn’t from me. But I’m glad someone is feeding you.
Was it Jack? No. Jack’s got a date tonight. And that would be pretty presumptuous of him.
No, I know who it was.
Hurley Hanlon had asked me to go eat dinner with him, and I’d turned him down.
Is it possible that was him watching me from the street?
But why?
Unless…unless he knows who I am.
But no, that’s impossible. There’s no way he can see through my disguise. And even if my hair was still brown, my eyes still green, and I didn’t wear makeup, he probably doesn’t remember me. Or the awful nickname he gave me.
The next morning, I dress in my most practical yet professional outfit in my meager wardrobe: a beat-up pair of jeans that happen to be the only ones I own not ripped at the knee, and a plain tee-shirt that hits me right at the waist. If I raise my arms over my head, a person can see my entire tummy, so I’ll have to be careful about that. Maybe Jack will give me an apron or a uniform to wear over it.
My new boss doesn’t comment on my outfit, only congratulates me on a job well done. He informs me that I’m officially hired as the store’s new assistant manager.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have much work for you today, but Hurley told me he could use an extra pair of hands on his wilderness excursion,” Jack says.
Wilderness excursion?
“I’m really more of an indoor cat,” I say.
Jack chuckles. “You’ll be in good hands. Hurley’s a professional. He doesn’t say much, but he’s good at everything he puts his hands to.”
I have no idea why my brain automatically goes to a dirty place when Jack mentions Hurley’s hands. I certainly have no idea why I’m blushing, either.
“Professional? He’s certainly very…assertive.”
“Oh, so you’ve met him,” Jack says with a sly grin that I don’t know how to process.
“Last night. He gave me the fright of my life, and I almost called you to tell you we had an intruder at the store.”
Jack winces and slaps his forehead. “Oh, shoot. Sorry about that, Mildred. I should have warned you. Hurley shows up sometimes when you least expect it.”
“I’ll say.”
The last thing I want to do is go camping with Hurley Hanlon. For no other reason than the longer we hang around each other, the more likely he is to remember who I am.
The bell rings, and a shadow crosses the room as someone with big, heavy feet enters the store. I’m afraid to turn around.
“There he is now,” Jack says. “Whatever you need for the overnight trip, feel free to borrow from the rental supplies. And take whatever food you need. On the house.”
“Overnight?”
“Yeah. Did I not mention that?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“If you’d rather not do it, I suppose I could show you how we do the inventory spreadsheets, but that can wait for another day. Hurley was really insistent that he needed some help today. I hope that’s okay,” Jack explains.
I really do not want to screw up this job, so I bite my lip and give my best brave nod.
Guess I’m going camping.
Jack busies himself with a confused customer, so I set my sights on asking Hurley what I need to pack for this overnight trip. I’m not much of a hiker, so hopefully, I won’t have to buy new shoes.
But before I can get some clarification from Hurley, I step back when I hear the amount of money he quotes to the couple standing in front of him.
“You charge how much for one overnight trip? You wouldn’t consider a newlywed discount?” asks the man.
Hurley stares down at the couple in their matching designer outdoor gear.
“Not…typically,” Hurley stammers. I’m guessing he can see the flashy logos on their sunglasses, jackets, and women’s fanny packs as clearly as I can.
The woman leans into her fiancé and says, “Come on, honey. This is going to be so much better than Aspen content. Nobody’s discovered Misty Mountain on Insta yet.”
Oh gosh. Influencers.
Suck it up, Shenna. You need this job.
Hurley waits for the couple to sort things out, and eventually, the husband agrees to Hurley’s price. I can’t believe anyone would pay in the neighborhood of four figures for an overnight trip in the woods. There’d better be a gold toilet in those hills.
He hands them health waivers to sign and says he’ll meet them outside by his truck.
When he turns to me, I open my mouth to ask a million questions, but all those questions are forgotten when his hand goes to my waist. A rough finger grazes against bare skin. I squeak in shock at the intimate touch, not knowing whether to be offended or flattered that he’s being so forward with me.
“You’re standing in front of the sunscreen,” he says, gently moving me to the side and reaching behind me.
My mouth is dry, and my head goes empty. My only thought is the tingling sensation radiating from where he touched my midriff. “What…what…”
I feel like the kid in A Christmas Story who gets so flustered when he meets Santa that forgets what he wants and stupidly agrees to receive a football under the tree.
Hurley doesn’t wait for me to gather my thoughts.
“Grab your gear; we’re heading out in five.”
And in the next second, he’s on a mission to load up his truck, paying me no mind.
Gear? What kind of gear does one take for an overnight trip?
I guess I’ll figure it out for myself. It’s just one night, though, so how badly could I screw this up?