Chapter 5 #2
Something startled Willow awake. She was in a familiar bunk in the familiar bunkhouse where she’d fallen asleep in the arms of Jeremiah Thorne, an ex-con who was lying to her about…something. Maybe lying was too strong a word. He was keeping something from her.
She’d known that already, and she’d slept with him anyway, like a self-sabotaging rookie. Oh, but how could she do otherwise? If she could’ve made a different choice tonight, she would’ve.
She was alone in the bunk, so she sat up slow.
The bunkhouse wasn’t pitch dark, because there was a near-full moon beaming through the windows along the length of the long, narrow building.
There wasn’t a lot of room to hold things of a personal nature in a bunkhouse, though.
If you had a bottom bunk, you could make use of the underneath.
Most of the hands who’d stayed brought a footlocker along to hold their stuff.
She needed clothes.
She got out of the bunk, onto her knees, quiet as she could be, and moved from one wad of clothing to the next, gathering up her things. None of the Gringo’s clothing was on the floor.
So he’s up and dressed. Great detective work, Sherlock.
Her phone was still in her jeans pocket, thank goodness. Battery life 7%, so she wasn’t going to use the flashlight feature. But she got upright, all the same.
Where the hay was Jeremiah?
She could see, sort of, and she knew the bunkhouse well.
The four bunk beds were in the back of the building along the left and rear walls. Two small bathrooms were across from the bunks on the right wall. Each had just enough room for a shower, toilet, and sink. She went to each, and found their doors slightly open, the rooms empty.
Then she crept forward, past the bathrooms, past the large closet. One narrow section of it was devoted to bedding. The shelves were always stacked with bedding bundles, wrapped together in blue ribbon—Chelsea’s special touch.
The place felt empty.
She walked by the side door, just past the closet on the left, into the kitchen that took up the entire front. The kitchen was empty. She was out of bunkhouse to search. Jeremiah must have left.
She went back to the bunk, confident in her movements, and into the bathroom where she gathered up her discarded uniform, put it into her backpack, slung its strap over one shoulder, and headed for the front door again.
Only, this time as she passed the side door, movement caught her eye, and she stopped in her tracks, turning fully that way.
Jeremiah was out there, bathed in moonlight, standing with his back to the bunkhouse, near the still-smoldering fire pit. She hadn’t told him there was going to be a bunkhouse bonfire yet. She probably should ask, rather than inform, since this was his temporary home.
Last night had been something. Seeing him out there reignited everything she’d started to feel for him.
Tingles swam laps along her spine and her stomach knotted up in that peculiarly sexual way.
He wore a light blue, short-sleeved button down, unbuttoned.
She moved closer to the door, watching him through its glass.
It was darker inside than out, so he probably couldn’t see her there.
She wished he’d turn around so she could admire his chest.
Then he did, pivoting forty-five degrees so the moonlight bathed his chest and so did her eyes, until she noticed he was talking on his phone.
That little kernel of information had been obvious from the first glimpse of him but hadn’t made its way to the thinking part of her brain until her hormone flood had subsided enough for it to take a gasping breath of awareness.
Who was he talking to at two in the morning?
She bit her lip and her hand was shaking when she took hold of the doorknob, twisted it, and finally opened the door just the slightest bit. She leaned close, putting her left ear to the opening.
His deep voice sent chills right down her spine.
“It might be buried out there at the inn. I picked up a metal detector this morning. I’m goin’ back there soon as Willow’s busy on her shift.”
He sighed heavily. Then he said, “About her…I don’t know. I don’t feel good, deceiving her like this. She’s…kind of amazing. Deserves better.”
He heaved a sigh, then tapped the phone without saying goodbye and returned it to his pocket.
Willow hurried to the kitchen to look like she was busy doing something besides listening in.
Impulsively, she grabbed the coffee carafe off the counter and set it under the kitchen tap.
Then she opened a cabinet to pull out a filter and a bag of ground roast. She’d filled both basket and carafe and was putting them into place by the time he came back inside.
He saw her there and smiled with sleepy eyes. “Hey. You’re up.”
“Yeah.” Her voice sounded tight to her own ears. She wondered if he’d noticed.
“And making coffee at two a.m.?”
Right. It was still the middle of the night. She pasted on a smile before turning to face him. “It’s a gift. In the morning, all you’ll have to do is push the button. You’re welcome.”
“Oh. You’re leaving?”
The disappointment in his voice seemed genuine. But then again, he was good at deception, right? She’d been smart to think this was a bad idea and stupid to ignore that feeling.
“I should get home. The bad thing about sharin’ a driveway with your parents is they know every time you leave, and every time you return.”
He moved a step closer and reached out, smoothing her hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek in the process. Her body responded with tingles and delicious chills and a deep longing.
“It was amazing,” he said.
“I agree.” It wasn’t a lie, not that she owed him the truth when he’d been lying to her.
His fingers trailed up and down her nape. “I…want to…you know, see you.”
Sure he did.
But why? What the hell was he up to? And how was she fixing to find out if she gave him the brush-off now?
Actually, hanging out with him would make it easier to learn the truth. But she didn’t know if she had it in her.
She took a deep breath and said, “I don’t know yet. This is…unexpected. And I’m a little…”
“Disoriented? Confused? Scared?” he asked, then said, “So am I.”
But his earlier words replayed in her head. I don’t feel good, deceiving her like this.
If he felt bad, then maybe he had a conscience, some sort of moral compass that applied to people, not just puppies. Maybe she could get him to tell her the truth. Maybe she could find out for herself.
“You seem pretty sure of yourself to me.”
“You’re not what I expected, Willow. I was unprepared for you.” He bit his lip and stopped talking.
“Whatever that means.” She heaved a sigh and pressed a palm to his cheek, a gesture so impulsive she couldn’t prevent it. It happened before she knew it. And she whispered, “Say more,” and she latched onto his blue eyes with hers and willed him to spill his guts.
“I…I’m not sure of myself. Most of the time, I’m not even sure who I am. I was being groomed to take over for my old man, my education customized around it. And first time I got sent out with the guys to bust some loser’s kneecaps…” He didn’t finish. Instead, he repeated. “I don’t know who I am.”
“I do,” she said.
His brows rose. He was so good looking she wanted to kiss him, even after what she’d heard. “Tell me, then. Who am I?”
“Whoever you decide to be. You’re the one in charge of that, you know.
” She searched his eyes and decided she had to get a look at that phone and find out who he’d called tonight, who he’d told that he was deceiving her.
And yes, she’d feel guilty for snooping on him but she’d heard him admit he was deceiving her, so the way she saw things, it was justified.
He was hunting for something. Something physical. Something that might be buried behind the former boarding house. And he was going back there after she started her shift tomorrow night.
Well, she’d be ready.
He leaned in for a kiss, and she pretended not to notice as she swayed out of reach and changed the subject. “By the way, the gang wants to hold a bunkhouse bonfire tomorrow night. It’s my night off. But I said I’d ask if it was okay with you.”
They were still standing very close to each other. Her hands were at her sides, but his were on her hips.
“It’s your bunkhouse,” he said. “I’m squatting here. But sure, it sounds like fun. What should I do?”
“Everybody contributes something. Beer or pizza or chips and dip. Ethan’s organizin’ it, so talk to him.”
He moved a little closer. “I don’t want you to leave, Willow.”
She lowered her head so he wouldn’t see how damn good those words felt to her, even while she reminded herself they were as likely a lie as the truth. She had no business feeling so dang excited about the two of them, while also feeling terrified. Her feelings were coming on like a landslide.
“It’s better if I go,” she said. “Trust me, once the family gets hold of this…whatever this is, they’ll be plannin’ our nuptials and namin’ our firstborn, and nobody wants that.”
He sighed but didn’t argue. “You’re probably right. Okay, then, get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And instead of leaning down as if to kiss her, he waited for her to lean up.
“You too,” she said, and then she mustered every nanogram of will she had, and turned and walked away from him, out the door into the cool perfection of a West Texas night. Bugs were whirring and chirruping and in the distance, and a coyote howled a long, warbling love song.
Maybe she’d made a huge mistake giving in to her baser urges and sleeping with Gringo Sombrero. But that didn’t matter. What was done, was done.
Her mission now was to find out what the hell he was up to.
What was he looking for in Quinn?