Chapter 4 #2
“Go on,” he says, nodding toward the doors like I’m headed into a dentist’s office instead of the lion’s mouth. “You know what to say.”
I glance over, searching for something in his face, Maybe hesitation, guilt, or even second thoughts.
There’s nothing. Just steely expectation.
I swallow down the lump in my throat and open the door.
The slam of it behind me sounds final, like a verdict.
My feet drag on the gravel. My shoes are clean, my clothes are modest, my hair is neatly pinned, but none of it matters.
I feel filthy just walking up the steps.
The door creaks open. The familiar scent makes my stomach churn. Pastor Chester Hilbert stands at the front of the sanctuary, arranging some papers like he wasn’t expecting me, even though he always knew I’d come.
I step inside and the door clicks shut behind me. The sound echoes like judgment.
He looks up. Smiles. Actually fucking smiles.
“Juniper Quinn,” he says, like we’re old friends. “I was wondering when I’d see you.”
Every cell in my body recoils but I walk toward him slowly, each step rehearsed in my head. Be small. Be polite. Say what they want. Get out.
“Pastor,” I manage, voice barely above a whisper.
He descends from the pulpit like he’s floating, hands clasped, smile just wide enough to curdle my stomach.
“My child, you let things get a little tense yesterday,” he says. “But I trust the Lord has softened your heart.”
My fingernails dig into my palms, and I bite my cheek so hard I taste metal.
“I wanted to apologize,” I say. “For disrupting the service.”
He nods, all benevolent and smug.
“The Lord values humility, Juniper. I hope you’ve taken the time to reflect on the choices that led you away from His grace.”
I almost laugh. Almost scream.
Instead, I bow my head and murmur, “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl,” he says.
My stomach turns.
“I know it’s hard coming back to a town with your… history,” he continues, circling closer like a vulture. “But I want you to know the church is always here. The doors are open, especially to those seeking redemption.”
Redemption.
He says it like a leash.
I nod again. “Thank you.”
His hand brushes my shoulder. Just a touch. Just enough to make my skin crawl.
“I’ll be watching,” he says quietly. “I trust you’ll continue to walk the right path.”
I step back. “I should go.”
And before he can say another word, I turn and walk out faster than I came in. I make it to the truck without crying. Barely. Dad doesn’t say a word as I get in. Just puts the truck in gear and drives us away.
And me?
I stare straight ahead, jaw locked, rage twisting in my gut like barbed wire as I desperately try to shove down the memories that one touch unlocked. But they bleed through anyway.
The office door closing.
The way his voice lowered when no one else was around.
The way he made me feel like the sinner while he wore that damn collar like armor.
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.
Dad pulls up to the store, kills the engine, and says, “I need to get some things. You can wait in here or walk home.”
Either choice is a sentence. If I stay, I’ll rot in the heat of the truck while he disappears into the bar for hours. If I walk, it’ll be hours, too, with feet blistering, sun beating down, and the road stretching forever.
I shove the door open. “I’ll walk.”
And before he can say a word, I’m already moving, gravel spitting under my flats, my back turned on him and everything he stands for.
By the time I make it to the creek a few miles outside of town, sweat is dripping down my back. I crouch on the bank, shoes abandoned in the grass, and sink my toes into the mud. The water is shallow, but it’s cool enough to soothe the blisters rising on the soles of my feet.
I want to disappear here. Just another ghost of Ruin Ridge, drowned and forgotten. But, sadly for me, the water isn’t deep enough to drown in.
“Juniper?”
My head snaps up. Caleb stands on the other side of the creek, tan slacks dusted from the walk, plaid shirt rolled at the sleeves.
“Caleb. Hey.”
He hesitates, then steps across the stones until he’s beside me, hands shoved in his pockets like he’s not sure if he belongs here either. “Guess we both still like to come out here to think.”
I let out a small laugh. “Or my dad still makes me walk to prove a point.”
He studies me for a moment, his expression shifting with something like concern.
“Listen, I know things got messy before you left. But I’d like to catch up. Maybe dinner? Just something easy. No pressure.”
It’s a safe choice but my stomach knots because anything connected to the Slade family is never safe. But I’m so lonely, so I find myself nodding.
“That would be nice.”
His smile brightens, genuine and hopeful. “Good. How about tonight? There’s a new place in town. I’ll pick you up around seven?”
I nod again, trying to ignore the unease curling in my chest. “Okay.”
I hate that I’m like this. I should be glad that someone is being nice to me, but all I can do is sit here and wonder if he has a motive.
We head back toward the road together, and for a moment, it almost feels normal. Like I could pretend I’m just a girl and he’s just a boy, and none of the scars between us exist.
“So, where are you staying now,” I ask.
“I have a place in town. Once Mom and Rhett split, she remarried, and I didn’t want to be around them.” He pauses. “She’s had three kids with her new husband.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Yeah.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I work at the bank.” He makes a face. “Which I know how it sounds, since Rhett owns the bank, but I got that job fair and square.”
I really hate that the conversation keeps drifting to Rhett.
But Caleb doesn’t seem to notice because he says, “Rhett’s a good guy.”
As if all this talk summoned him, we spot Rhett working on the fence near the road. His black Stetson is low, covering his face. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up reveling chorded muscles as he works.
“Hey, Rhett,” Caleb calls out.
Rhett’s head lifts, his gaze locking on us instantly.
“Morning.”
I moisten my lips. “Hi, Rhett.”
“What are you two up to?”
“Ran into Juni at the creek.” Caleb smiles. “We’re gonna grab dinner to catch up.”
“That so?” Rhett says, his tone flat, but the muscle ticking in his jaw says otherwise. “Don’t you have work today, Caleb?”
Caleb’s cheeks turn pink. “I took a personal day today.”
Rhett hums and then his eyes are on me, and they burn hotter than the summer sun beating down on my back. My throat goes dry.
Caleb shifts beside me, oblivious to the weight of whatever’s happening between me and Rhett. “Figured we could catch up, since it’s been so long.”
Rhett drags the back of his hand across his forehead, smearing sweat, and goes right back to tugging at the wire fence like we’re not worth the effort of his attention. But I feel it. Every clipped movement. Every pulse of tension rolling off him.
“Dinner,” he mutters, driving a staple into the post with more force than necessary. “Hell of an idea.”
My pulse stutters. I hate the heat crawling up my neck, the way my body reacts to him like it remembers things we never actually did. But, god, did I dream about it…
“It’s just dinner, Rhett,” I blurt, feeling the need to explain myself.
That earns me his eyes again—storm-gray, narrowed, simmering. “Didn’t ask you to explain yourself.”
Caleb clears his throat, trying to cut the tension. “Anyway, I’ll see you tonight.” He claps me gently on the shoulder, then adds to Rhett, “Don’t work too hard.”
Rhett doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look up.
We walk a few paces down the road before Caleb waves and veers off toward town. My steps slow, heavy, because I can feel Rhett’s gaze scorching into my back.
“Juniper.”
The word stops me cold. I turn, heart pounding, and find him standing by the fence, gloves hanging from his hand, sweat gleaming on the hard lines of his arms.
“You really think that boy’s safe?” His voice is low, like he’s asking about something far more lethal than dinner.
My spine stiffens. “What does it matter to you?”
He takes his time answering, dragging his gaze down the length of me before locking on my eyes again. His lips curve but it’s not soft or kind.
“Because you’re mine.”
The words hit harder than the sun overhead.
I shake my head, fighting the tremor in my voice. “You don’t get to say that.”
“Don’t I?” He leans against the post, the picture of lazy menace.
“Go ahead, Juniper. Sit across from him tonight. Let him think you’re his second chance.
But the whole time you’ll know you were never his.
You’ll walk into that restaurant carrying my name on your skin, even if I haven’t put it there yet. ”
My breath falters. “You’re insane.”
He smiles like I just proved his point.
“What were you doing in town?”
His question has my stomach flipping for different reasons now.
“Nothing.”
His gaze narrows. “I’d suggest telling me the truth, little girl.”
“Or what?” I let out a bitter laugh. “You’ll spank me?”
Without giving him a chance to answer, I turn and walk away from him. I make it three steps before his arm locks around me like an iron band, my back slamming into the hard wall of his chest. The breath rushes out of me, leaving only the pounding of my heart and the heat of him pressed against me.
“Careful,” he murmurs, voice low, dangerous, right against my ear. “Or just might do that.”
I thrash, shoving at his forearm, but he doesn’t budge. He never has. His strength is suffocating and worse, familiar.
“Let me go, Rhett,” I grit out.
His laugh is dark, humorless, vibrating through me where my spine meets his chest.
“You really think I’m gonna let you walk off after mouthing off like that? After lying to my face?”
“I don’t owe you the truth.”
“You owe me everything.” The words scrape out of him, gravel and fire, his mouth close enough that the brim of his hat brushes my hair. “And you know it.”
My pulse stutters, fury and something far more dangerous twisting inside me. I try to jerk free again, but he just tightens his grip, his hand flattening against my stomach like a brand.
“This isn’t funny,” I snap, my voice shaking more than I want it to.
“I’m not laughing, Juniper.” His tone drops even lower, rougher. “But you should know something by now. When I tell you to be honest with me, I mean it. And if I have to drag the truth out of you…” His lips graze the shell of my ear, a whisper that sears straight through me. “I will.”
Heat floods my skin, humiliation and want warring so violently it makes me dizzy.
“Say it,” he presses, his breath hot against my neck. “Say you agreed to let him take you to dinner to make me jealous.”
The words clog in my throat. Denial sits on my tongue, but the truth burns hotter. And he knows it. God, he knows. His grip eases just a fraction, enough for me to suck in a shaky breath, but not enough to escape.
“Say it,” he growls again.
“I—” My voice cracks. “Yes. I said it to make you jealous.”
The silence that follows is thick. Then he chuckles, the sound rumbling through me.
“That’s what I thought.” His hand slides up, not gentle, fingers curling around my throat just enough to make me feel every beat of my pulse under his thumb.
“Tonight, you’ll let him play at being the nice guy.
But you’ll remember this—” he squeezes lightly, his voice raw with possession— “you already belong to me.”
He releases me so suddenly I stumble forward, catching myself on shaky legs. I whirl around, ready to spit fire, but he’s already turned back to the fence, as if nothing happened and he didn’t just unravel me with a few words and the heat of his hands.
“See you at dinner,” he calls over his shoulder, that wicked smile curving his mouth. “Don’t forget who’s walking you home.”