Chapter 13
“No, no, no,” My voice cracks as I rush to my truck, seeing but not believing this to be true.
Why would someone do this? Every single window has been smashed, new dents and scratches on the bodywork, even the head and taillights have been shattered.
It looks like someone took a baseball bat to it.
Inside, the fabric on the chairs has been torn, and a blade is sticking out of the front tire, left there after whoever did this slashed the other three.
“Niamh,” Roman’s arm comes around my waist, stopping me from getting any closer, glass crunching beneath our feet.
“Why?” I feel hot tears on my face.
Maybe I’m overreacting, but this truck means everything to me. Is she pretty? No, but I’ve had her for years. My dad got this truck for me and worked on it himself to get it working. It’s the only thing I have left.
“We need to call the sheriff.” His arms tighten when I attempt to escape them. “Don’t touch anything.”
“Why would someone do this?” I stare at all the damage, spotting new things every time I do. Wires hang out from beneath the steering wheel; there’s paint on the roof. This was done in anger; it’s raw violence, but I don’t understand why it was done to me. What did I do?
People know this is my truck, they see me driving it, they see it parked here every day. I’ve had it for years.
Roman slowly releases me so he can get his cell out, but now he’s not holding me; I can’t help but go to the truck. I need to see how far the damage goes.
“Niamh,” He warns, but I don’t stop as I pull open the door. He’s right behind me, but he doesn’t restrain me this time, just hovers at my back like a guard. I listen to his voice, speaking into his cell, but I don’t hear a word.
A buzz forms inside my ears, muting everything around me as I lean into the car, using the seat to rest on as I swing my gaze around.
There’s a bite of pain in my palm, but it’s as if it’s happening to someone else, the disconnection making it so I don’t feel my skin splitting from the shattered glass.
A hollow ache throbs inside my chest as the true extent of the wreckage becomes clear, my cheeks turning wet as more tears slip down them, dripping from my chin.
“They’ll be here soon,” Roman’s voice is right at my back. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re bleeding.”
I blink, my eyes hot and swimming as I look down, seeing the blood welling around a piece of glass sticking out from the middle of my palm.
“Oh,” I frown.
“Come on,” Roman pulls me away from the truck and toward the bar. “Do you have your keys?”
I’m still watching the blood pool in my hand, willing myself to feel the pain in hopes it distracts me enough to forget the way my heart aches. With a nod, I reach behind me and pluck the key from my back pocket. Roman takes it from me and unlocks the bar, ushering me inside.
He guides me into a chair in front of the bar, and then spins on his heel, storming behind it before he rummages through it to find what he needs.
All I can do is watch him, tracing the concern etched into his face, the way his brows knot in the middle.
He finds what he is looking for and heads straight to me, lowering to his knees in front of the chair.
With a gentleness that seems almost impossible for a man like Roman, his fingers wrap around my wrist, and he coaxes my hand toward him, palm up so he can get a better look at the glass and cut on my hand.
“It means something to you.” His gravelly voice rumbles from him, eyes down while he cleans up the blood smeared on my skin.
“My dad bought it for me. It’s the last thing I have from him.”
A heavy breath pushes from him, and his shoulders lower. “Do you know who could have done this?”
He gets a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit and gently pulls out the glass, immediately putting pressure on when more blood rushes out. I hiss through my teeth, the pain finally registering.
“No,” I finally answer, “Nothing like this has ever happened.”
He nods quietly and continues working on my hand. With a sterile wipe, he cleans up the cut and then pulls out a bandage from the kit. He gently blows against my palm, breath warm while the rough pads of his fingers scratch against my skin, the calluses evidence of the years of labor on the ranch.
“Do you have cameras?” He asks as he wraps my hand.
Shame washes over me. “I had a company that used to look after the cameras and security, but I had to cancel the contract. With all that debt, I had to cut back on some things.”
“Niamh,” The scolding edge of his tone has my defenses rising.
“Don’t judge me, Roman.”
He closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, “We’ll speak with the sheriff.”
“It’s not worth fixing.” A defeated sigh has my body curling in on itself, “It’ll cost me more to have the truck fixed than it’s worth.”
“Don’t worry about the truck,” He grunts.
I chuckle humorlessly, “Easy for you to say.”
“Sweetheart,” He pins me with his warm whiskey gaze.
“Cowboy,” I fire back.
With a shake of his head, he finishes wrapping up my hand, tucking in the ends of the bandage to keep it tight, but behind him, the bar door swings open and my best friend barrels through, her eyes wide with concern.
“What the fuck happened? Why are there cruisers pulling up outside!?” She demands before anyone else can say a word.
“I’ll go handle them,” Roman says, leaving me with Ashley. I watch his large body disappear through the door she just came through, noting the tightness in his shoulders, the tension lining every edge of his body a match to mine.
“Niamh?” Ashley presses.
“Someone vandalized my truck last night.” I blink away the heat that returns to my eyes, holding myself together by wrapping my arms around my middle as if that can contain everything that wants to spill out.
“Why would they do that?” She growls out, “Do you know who did it!?”
“No, and we don’t have cameras anymore.”
“Oh, Niamh, I’m so sorry. I’m sure the sheriff’s office will find whoever did this.”
“We will.” A new voice enters the room, and we both snap our heads up to see a deputy in the doorway. He’s young and somewhat familiar, but I can’t place his face.
“Niamh,” He greets me by name, that familiarity niggling at my brain. It takes me a minute to realize who he is.
“Oscar?” My brows shoot up in surprise.
He winks, “Or Deputy Wright if you prefer.”
“I haven’t seen you since junior year.”
He walks toward me while my brain attempts to catch up. I never even knew he went into law enforcement, but then we never stayed in touch. He left Sunstone Ridge after his father passed away back in high school.
“It’s certainly been a while,” He agrees, taking a seat in front of me before he pulls out his notepad. “It's a shame to be meeting again like this, though.”
It’s strange seeing Oscar in a uniform when all I remember about him was how much he was into sports.
He’d been untouchable, the quarterback for the high school team and expected to go on and play college football.
He took it hard when his father passed, missed months of school until he just disappeared.
We later found out he had moved to live with his uncle.
We were never really friends, just shared a few classes together here and there, but I remember how sorry I had felt for him and I’d hugged my own dad extra tight.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
I go through it with him, and he writes every word I say, the pen scratching over the paper while he nods and asks more questions I don’t have the answers for.
“We’ll figure it out,” He assures me when I’ve finished recounting this morning, his dark eyes soft. “It’s good to see you, Niamh.”
I shift a little when his eyes drop to the ring on my finger, and for a second, it looks like disappointment flitters over his expression. He schools it quickly and rises to stand. “I’ll be in touch.”
Roman hovers by the door, his chin dipped low, eyes on where Ashley fusses over me, making me coffee, checking over my hands and the first aid job Roman did.
She mothers me in the way she’s always done, and I love her for it.
It reminds me of when we were kids, how we acted more like sisters than best friends, and it gives me that sense of safety when it feels like the world has just fallen apart, even though I know it’s too much.
It’s just a truck. I know that’s what everyone else is thinking, and I need to think of it that way too.
I have insurance, sure the payout won’t cover the damage, but I can use what I get from it to buy another car.
It won’t be anything fancy, but I don’t need fancy, I just need to get from the ranch to the bar. That’s all.
I watched the truck get towed away earlier, and now only shattered glass remains on the road. They suspect it was a couple of kids causing trouble last night, probably out of towners simply picking an easy target.
It’s never felt unsafe in Sunstone. I have often left my truck unlocked, windows down and never doubted it. I guess it was just the wrong place at the wrong time.
We had delayed opening the bar since we had the sheriff’s office here, but now it’s almost three and we have a group gathered outside, ready to come in for food and drink.
“Go home,” Ashley touches my arm, “Take the day.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. You have bandaged hands, and you look about ready to cry. Go home, take the day.”
“I’ve had so much time off already,” I defend.
“A few days in several years is nothing. I’ll look after this place.”
“You always do,” I sigh.
“Roman looks ready to drag you out,” She comments, her eyes on my husband. “I’m going to let him.”
“Stop it.”
She chuckles, “What!? He does! He hasn’t stopped staring since he came back in after the sheriff left. It’s intense.”
I roll my eyes, “That’s just Roman.”
She cocks her head from side to side. “If you say so, but I’m serious. Go back to the ranch, get some rest and sort out your insurance. I’ve got this handled.”
Guilt swirls in my gut, but I also know she is right. My head isn’t in it today. “Are you sure?”
“Positive, but when you’re feeling better, we really do need to catch up.” Her dark eyes flick back to my husband — fake husband — and I stifle my cringe. “Considering you two are faking, he sure makes it look real.”
“It’s only been a few days,” I shake my head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Dylan said he knew on hour two of our first date that I was going to be his wife.” She shrugs.
“Please,” I laugh, “That’s not what this is.”
“We’ll see,” She sings, “Now go. Call me later.”
“I will.” I give her a squeeze and then make my way out of the bar and toward Roman where he lurks, a shadow against the wall.
He pushes away from his resting spot, eyes on my face. “You ready to go home?”
“I guess,” I nod, allowing him to guide me through the door. I purposely don’t look at where the glass still litters the road or the spot now empty.
It’s just a truck.
Silver linings — they could have targeted my bar instead.
I’ll have to figure out how to get to work until I can sort a vehicle, but if all else fails, I can walk. It’ll take an hour or so, and won’t be fun at one a.m., but it’s not impossible. Roman opens the passenger door and guides me inside with a gentle hand on the small of my back.
The nape of my neck prickles, and I glance over my shoulder, searching the street. Nothing stands out; no one is looking my way.
Maybe I’m just spooked, but after many years of looking after myself, dealing with drunks and men that get a little too handsy, I’ve grown a sixth sense to the type of attention that makes your skin crawl.
“Niamh,” Roman claws my attention back, “You okay?”
I do another sweep of the street, double-checking the alleys and the parked cars, but I don’t see anyone, so I climb up into the truck, the door closing once I’m settled in the seat.
I know Roman wants to talk, to ask questions but I keep my gaze away, to the window where the town bleeds from buildings to rolling fields, the mountains reaching for the sky on the horizon and even after we make it back to the ranch, I remain quiet, slipping into the house to hide away in my bedroom.