Chapter 11 Valentina
ELEVEN
VALENTINA
“You seem nervous,” Faith mocks, her voice light-hearted, and I have to swallow a sharp response. Not everyone’s out to get you, Valentina.
I shrug, looking out the window of her SUV, the greenish tan landscape passing by in a blur. I never ride passenger, and I’m still not used to my drive ‘into town’ looking like some fucking country music video. Maybe I’ll never be used to being here.
“It’s just different,” I finally admit, picking at the skin around my nails. Faith huffs a laugh.
“You’re talking to the girl who almost escaped this place, living on the East Coast in some of the wealthiest neighborhoods for a while. It’s very different.”
I turn to her surprised. “Escaped? I thought everyone who ends up here loves it. That’s one of the reasons Mateo gave up everything.”
Faith swerves into oncoming traffic as her head whips in my direction. “You’re kidding.” A few horns blare in our direction, and my heart rate multiplies to a deadly thrum as I grip the door panel. Faith just continues to stare at me, oblivious to the world passing by in front of us.
I stare back at her for a split second before looking at the traffic barreling toward us. “Uh, Faith?”
She yanks the car back into her lane with a giggle.
I’m afraid to speak, my pounding heart a reminder of our near-death experience only moments before. But I can feel her gaze burning into me again, and the fear of dying from her not watching the road quickly wins out. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”
“Pshh.” She rolls her eyes, returning both hands to the wheel. “Everyone drives like shit in Texas.” The car swerves again, and I snap my head in her direction. She shoots me a devious grin before righting the tires. “Now, where were we before you tried to deflect?”
I pick at my nails. “You were implying people don’t end up in this magical fucking town by choice.”
Faith snorts—great, I’m a fucking joke to her.
Before I can retreat completely, Faith wiggles her fingers in my face, pulling me back.
“Everyone who ends up here hates it here. It’s part of the charm of Moztecha.
” I open my mouth to say something, anything, but she forges on.
“You’re wrong about Mateo. He doesn’t love it here.
He loves the woman who lives here because it’s the only safe place she’s ever known, and he’d do anything for her. ”
There’s a weighted silence. I never even thought of it that way, and part of me shrivels at the idea of Mateo loving Adalene so much. I’ve never known that kind of love or devotion.
“He’s not the only man who’s given up everything to live here,” she whispers, and I nod.
“McCrae’s brother, Augustus.”
Faith’s eyes narrow, her head tipping to the side slightly as she flicks her gaze between mine and the road. She slowly nods. “Sure.”
I face the window once more. “Where’s there even to go in Moztecha for shopping?
” Ever since Faith made the ridiculous suggestion to take me shopping for ranch-worthy clothing, I’ve been secretly looking forward to it.
Shopping is something I’m good at—something I’ve always enjoyed, something I’ve used as a form of therapy.
But I’ve never shopped in a town as small as Moztecha for clothes that are ultimately meant to get trashed. That seems like a challenge, and I prefer to stick within the boundaries of things I’m good at.
Not that I’ve had much of a choice lately.
“Ha, you’ll love this. We’re going to start at the Tractor Supply store.”
I turn to stare at her. “You’re mocking me now.”
She smiles widely, her cheekbones tinging pink, and it’s so damn infectious, I almost smile back. Almost.
Instead of responding, though, we pull into a large parking lot, red dust billowing around us, the sign on the building clearly reading ‘Tractor Emporium’, and my jaw drops.
“I’d never lie to you.” I jolt both at the words and the hand Faith places over my wrist, and I quickly pull away. I want a friend, but that doesn’t mean I know how to be one—or have one, for that matter.
Regret instantly fills me. For half a second, I worry she’ll get upset at my dismissal, my deeply buried need to please everyone rearing it’s ugly head.
Always the happy, confident one, Faith doesn’t skip a beat, jumping out of the SUV with a giggle.
I quickly follow, starring skeptically at the building, at the various old men and women—dressed in their dust-covered button downs and overalls—starring right back at me.
I look down at my clothing choices for today: my only pair of blue jeans, high top sneakers, and a lacy blue camisole with a neckline I’d have never considered low-cut until this very moment.
“Come on.” Faith grabs my wrist again and begins to drag me behind her. I don’t pull away this time, secretly finding comfort in the confidence with which she handles me. No one treats me like she does—all too afraid of breaking me…or being broken by me.
“Remember, we’re looking for jeans, tank tops or t-shirts, whichever tan line you’d prefer, a button up for extra-long sunny days, and at least one pair of boots.” She faces me, winking. “And maybe a hat, if you’re feeling naughty.”
I smirk at that, unable to help myself. “You think I’m the naughty type, Faith?”
She releases my wrist as we walk into the building, and I briefly miss her touch. Before I can think much about it, I’m assaulted with a blast of cold air, and then the overwhelming smell of barn—or what I’ve come to learn is shavings and animal feed.
Her eyes flick to my chest a second before she laughs. “I can see your pierced nipples, Valentina. None of the girls at church who I know have those.”
A more reserved person would likely be embarrassed, but that’s not me—I’m bold and defiant, even when I secretly want to hide. But nothing about her observation seems like a dig, and if my ears are right, I even detect some awe in her voice.
“I could go with you to get yours done.”
The skin on her neck and cheeks instantly pinkens as she starts handing me various pairs of jeans to try on. Once she’s handed me a pile, she turns, her lip between her teeth. “Promise?”
Unable to help myself, I bark a laugh, and her face reddens further, her smile breathtaking. I nod. “You’re not afraid of anything.”
“What’s the fun in that?” She scoffs, moving toward the shirts next.
“Okay, Faith. I promise.”
We’re almost back to the house, my hands full of bags, my cheeks aching from smiling, when Faith noticeably slows down. “What’s up?”
She shrugs, but there’s a mischievousness to her smile that makes me nervous. “What’s the deal with you and McCrae?”
“Uh—” My mouth flops open, and then I close it. Finally, I shrug. “He’s my body guard.”
“Come on, Valentina. I need more than that.”
“You want more than that, not need,” I correct, feeling my own skin heat. How much can I really tell her? Will she believe anything I say?
“Please?”
I feel myself folding before I even open my mouth again. “He’s saved me, and I guess I feel safe with him.”
“I could tell that. What do you mean he’s saved you?”
I chew on my lip. I like Faith, but I refuse to expose anything about McCrae that could get him in trouble. The cab fills with a strangling silence, and Faith must sense my dilemma.
“Did McCrae ever tell you how we met?”
I look at her, an irrational twinge of jealousy filling me. I shake my head.
“I’m the one who shot the two brothers in the woods.” She shrugs—she fucking shrugs. Like she didn’t just drop a bomb on my lap. A million thoughts fire through me—why didn’t McCrae tell me? Why would Faith do that?
“How?” I choke out, not afraid of the enigma sitting in the driver’s seat but in awe of her.
“They got the jump on McCrae, and I happened to come across them right when one had a gun to McCrae’s head.
I’m a really good shot.” She smirks, and I want to ask her more about the implications of that statement alone, but I hold my tongue.
“And I knew they were horrible men. I saw what they did to Dale, the condition she was in. I shot twice, hit both times, and haven’t lost a wink of sleep since. ”
Again, I just stare.
“You’re not the only one with demons, Valentina.
The sooner you realize that, the sooner you might find joy in others’ company.
I’m not innocent—fuck, I’m not innocent—but I’m not a bad person either.
I’ve taken care of people—starting with my little sister, and ending with, well, you—forever.
It makes me feel good, like I’m doing something important.
Being the older sister, we learn to bottle up how we’re feeling, swallow our emotions for fear of being too much, always taking care of others out of obligation and not just because we want to.
” She faces me as the vehicle comes to a stop outside the house.
“Long ago, I decided I’d take care of people because I wanted to.
I’d use the bitter, angry, overbearing features of my personality as assets to help others instead of drowning beneath them. ”
And then, she jumps out, walking toward the house with enough authority, I feel half obligated to fall in line. I scramble out after her instead, grappling with my need for control and the lack of it when it comes to this woman.
“Being the older sibling sucks,” I admit, anxious to have someone to talk to who understands. The only other person who I’ve tried to talk to about this is McCrae, and even though he listens, he never contributes much.
“Yes! Having to raise yourself and your siblings and always be ‘better’ because they’re watching was exhausting. But it also made you strong, resilient, independent. That’s something.”
I nod, having never thought of it that way. It’s always been a negative—a weight holding me down. But what if it didn’t have to be?
“How are you so wise?” I tease, setting the bags on the counter. Faith reaches into the fridge, pulling out two beers— I’m grateful she’s so comfortable here, with me.
“Therapy.”
I cringe. I’ve never gone to therapy, never even considered it. Doing so felt like a weakness. “I’ve never been.”
“I know.” There’s no accusation in her voice, and I shift, looking for some way to change the subject.
“If you could have anything, what would it be?” I don’t know why I ask, but she just takes it in stride, jumping up to sit on the counter as I look for a bottle opener.
“I guess I’d like my own gun range, somewhere I could teach women to protect themselves.”
I pause, looking up in surprise. Not what I expected, but it also makes sense with everything she’s told me. “Why don’t you just do it? You can afford it.”
“I don’t want my parents to have any stake in it. If I use their money, then they’ll have a say. I don’t want that. I don’t even want them to know.”
I hand her the bottle opener as she’s picking at the wrapper, and she quickly opens it, taking a deep sip. When she lowers the bottle, she looks at me expectantly.
“What would you have?”
I stare at the bottle in my hands, small beads of perspiration already racing to the edge of the glass. “Control. I have none in this life—not where it matters. I just want to feel in control of something, or someone. Most importantly, of myself.”
Heavy footsteps fill the kitchen, and I whirl around to see McCrae retreating outside without a backwards glance.
I can’t help but wonder how long he’s been listening.