Chapter 7
Seven
Not bossy. Just aggressively helpful.
—Birdee to Creed
Creed
Two days later, I was still thinking about her.
All I could think about during my treadmill run was how her face had looked that night I’d picked her up from her job. As if she was completely and wholly surprised that I was there, like I said I’d be. As if she never expected anyone to keep their word.
When I switched to bench presses, I thought about how she looked when she talked about her creepy boss.
While doing squats, I thought about the look on her face when I brought her to my home—something I was sure she thought she was hiding, and wasn’t.
I knew all about her childhood home.
I’d looked into the past owners when I started remodeling it. A familiar name had come up on a bedroom wall when I’d stripped it free of wallpaper, and I’d been curious to know if the Birdee Calvert on the wall was the same one I knew in real life.
It was.
I’d confirmed it with none other than the man I was looking at across the gym as I headed for the exit, ready for the day in my uniform with my jacket slung over my forearm.
Vito, Cody, and Mable were talking animatedly in the corner of the reception area.
Birdee’s father looked rough.
He had a black eye, a split lip and his arm in a sling.
“Whoa,” I said as I got closer. “You look rough.”
I’d met Vito before everything with Mable, her stepmother, and father had gone down.
When I was in prison, I’d made it a rule to always work out and keep myself in shape in case I needed to fight my way out of a situation.
That habit had continued after my escape.
Now, I worked out at Vito’s gym several times a week when I had the time.
I’d seen the three of them all the time, along with Vito’s wife, Grace.
Who I’d never seen with them was Birdee. Not even after the shit show that was Mable’s stepmother and Birdee’s mother.
“I feel rough,” Vito admitted, offering me his one working hand. “How’s it going? Work going okay?”
“Okay,” I hedged. “I’m doing good. Much better than you and your daughter are right now.”
He frowned.
“You heard I hit your daughter with my company truck, right?” I asked when he looked between Cody and Mable. “Or more accurately, I stopped and she slid under my truck.”
Vito’s confusion cleared. “I did. She seems to be okay now, though. Working up a storm.”
More accurately, she was working because she needed the money, and couldn’t afford to take a day off. Or she was working because if she took time off, she’d be reminded that no one was in her corner, there to help her if she needed it.
But who was I to let him know her personal business?
“Where you headed?” I asked, changing the subject.
“To breakfast with my girls,” Vito answered. “Want to come?”
I was already shaking my head. “I have somewhere to be after this.” I looked between the three of them, wondering if I should ask about Birdee or not. Then decided…fuck it. “Tell Birdee hi for me when you see her for breakfast.”
Vito’s brows lowered. “Uh…”
“We didn’t ask her to breakfast.” Cody winced.
That had my own brows rising in response. “Why not?”
Vito opened his mouth and then closed it.
“I guess I didn’t even consider inviting her,” he admitted somewhat shamefully. “I just usually take the two of these ladies out after a workout. Birdee’s not much of a workout type person.”
And that made a difference?
She didn’t have to work out to join them for breakfast after…
“Okay…” I said as I walked out of the gym and didn’t look back.
People like that really got under my skin.
I guess since I’d had to deal with my own mother’s bullshit my entire life, and my ‘father’ only coming around when he remembered he had kids, I didn’t have much patience for parents who didn’t try with their kids.
When I had kids—if I ever had kids—I would make sure that they knew they were always my priority.
And, if shit hit the fan and didn’t work out with their mother, I would fight tooth and nail to make sure that they knew they were important to me.
I would get along with their mother even if it killed me, because I didn’t want my kids to ever think that they were second best.
I made it to my truck and was heading toward the main road when I passed the coffee shop.
Making a split-second decision, I braked hard and pulled in, heading into the store without giving much thought to what I was doing.
The bells over the door jingled as I opened it, and the smell of coffee and pastries hit me all at once.
My stomach gave a rumble at the smell of confectioners’ sugar, and I walked up to the counter with my eyes already on the display case.
“What can I get you?” the female voice asked.
I looked up and nodded at the blonde-haired woman. “Well…” I hesitated. “Any way you might know Birdee Calvert’s order?”
The blonde-headed woman’s head tilted. “I sure do.”
“I’ll take that, whatever she usually gets, and a black large coffee. All of it to go,” I rumbled.
The blonde got to work.
I studied what she put in the cup.
Hot milk. Caramel. Vanilla syrup. Brown sugar syrup.
“What is that?” I wondered as she set it down in front of me.
“Birdee doesn’t do caffeine,” she said. “It messes with her heart. So she found out when she was in high school and early college that she could have almost all of the same tastes of a latte without the coffee in it.”
“You know her well?” I asked curiously.
The woman smiled, and the lines around her eyes let me know that she was probably a little older than me, even though her face didn’t show many signs.
“She worked here for a long time. Until she started that job at the anti-venom office.” She waved her hand.
“I was sad to see her go. She was one of my favorite employees.” She looked around at her shop.
“It’s hard to find someone that wants to work so early.
But Birdee was the best. She never complained.
Just got up and worked her butt off. Every holiday.
Every early morning shift. Every late evening shift.
She was always here. I think she has the all-time overtime award with me. ”
She placed several pastries into a box, then looked at me. “Are you eating any of these?”
I grinned. “Nope. I don’t do sugar this early in the morning.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re one of those, aren’t you?”
“Those?”
“Those,” she confirmed. “The weirdos who think sugar is bad.”
I flashed her a grin as I handed her my card. “I’ll eat sugar just fine, ma’am, but not this early in the morning. It makes me need to shit, and I don’t really like having to do that in the woods without toilet paper readily available.”
The woman’s mouth twitched. “At least you’re honest.”
I shrugged.
“That’ll be thirty bucks. I gave you the Purdy discount, though.” She chuckled.
“How much would it’ve been if I didn’t have the Purdy discount?” I paused. “What’s the Purdy discount?”
“Fifty. My scones are expensive and will sell out in about ten minutes. I always put some to the side in case Birdee makes it in, but it’s not all that often anymore since she lost her car.
We’re too far away for her to ride all the way over here,” she said.
“And the ‘Purdy’ discount is for Birdee. Purdy Birdee.”
Purdy Birdee. I liked that a lot.
“How about you keep settin’ them aside, and I’ll pick them up for her,” I suggested.
She studied me. “Who are you to her?”
“A friend,” I admitted.
At least, I was trying to be.
“A friend.” She took in my appearance. “My Purdy could use one of those. She doesn’t have too many of them.”
With that she looked behind me to the next customer, and I knew that I was dismissed.
I liked her, though.
Gathering the coffees and pastries, I headed back out to my work truck.
The cold hit me like a slap in the face, and once again I cursed the weather.
As an Alabama native, I’d never seen temperatures like I did in Northwest Montana.
I mean, sure, I’d heard that the winters were brutal, but until you experienced one firsthand, you wouldn’t have a clue.
I was shivering by the time I got to my truck and started it up.
The drive to Birdee’s place took all of five minutes, and when I got there, it was to find her halfway down the road ready to walk to work.
I pulled over and rolled my window down. “Get in!”
She was wearing head-to-toe black, dressed warmly in a thick North Face jacket and pants. Her boots were solid and thick, and the only thing I could see of her face were her eyes and her nose. Her perfectly red nose.
She tilted her head. “What are you doing here?”
I leaned over and threw the truck door open. “Get in.”
She contemplated it for a few seconds, but then a gust of wind swept past, taking with it a tuft of snow from the road and spraying it into her face.
She wiped it off, then climbed in.
“Thank you,” she said softly once she had the truck door closed.
I waited for her to strip free of some of her layers before saying, “I stopped by the coffee shop, and the owner gave me your order.”
She froze with her gaze on the cup of ‘coffee.’
“Reyelle gave you my order?” I asked.
“She did,” I confirmed. “She also saved some special pastry for you.”
She looked at the box next. “Did she really?”
I nudged the box toward her. “She did.”
“Ohh,” she breathed.
When she had her seat belt on and she was situated with a scone in one hand and her coffee in the other, I swung the truck around and headed to her work.
“How’d you know to go there?” she asked.
“One coffee shop in town, babe.” I chuckled. “Other than Starbucks, and you don’t strike me as a franchise girl.”
“I’m not,” she admitted as we came to a stop near the diner in town.
She looked over and froze, her gaze lingering on three people in the front window of the diner.
Cody, Vito, and Mable.
She looked away, not saying anything, and took a small bite of her scone.
“These are my favorite,” she admitted. “Which Reyelle knows. Every good memory I have from childhood was spent at Shade’s house with Reyelle.”