Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Truck
“Poet Sunshine Peabody!” Salem screeched on the other end of the phone.
I winced, glancing at Brooks in the driver’s seat of the truck.
He was smirking.
Yep, heard that middle name, all right.
“Salem Kathleen Powell,” I fired back.
“Why didn’t you tell me or Hadley that you were coming to Huckleberry Hill?” she demanded.
“Who told you?”
“Hello—the Huckleberry Hill gossip hotline is undefeated.”
I sighed. “Gracie.”
“Yep.”
“Can nothing be a secret in this town?” I asked.
“No—you know that better than anyone,” she said with a laugh. “So, what’s going on?”
“I quit my job.”
“You what?”
“A couple of days ago. Now’s not really a good time to get into it. You guys are still in Colorado, right?”
“Right,” Salem said. “We’ll be home in a few days. You can tell us the entire story then. Wait, where are you staying? You’re not staying at the ranch because otherwise Muddy would have told me you were staying there.”
“I’m crashing at The Regal Beagle,” I explained.
“Well, pack your shit and get to the ranch,” Salem commanded. “I’ll give Muddy a heads-up that you’re coming.”
“No—Salem, there’s no room for me.”
“There’s plenty of room. We can move the boxes out of Hadley’s bedroom and stick them in the cellar. The bed is still there, and we haven’t even started preparing her room as a nursery. I should really get on that, shouldn’t I?”
“No, seriously, it’s fine,” I said. “I’m . . . happy where I am.”
“The baby shower isn’t for two weeks. You can’t stay at The Regal Beagle that long.”
“I love you. I love your family. But I’m not crashing at the ranch house for two weeks. I’m not sharing a bathroom with you and Cas. Especially since you’re still throwing up in the mornings.”
“I didn’t think of that.” She paused. “All right, well, I’ll talk to Hadley, and we’ll noodle on something. But you’re okay, right?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I said. “I think.”
“Does Wyn know where you are?”
“Of course she knows where I am. Who do you think put me on the plane?” I said with a laugh.
“Man, you guys really kept that one close to the vest, didn’t you? Okay, love you, and I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Have fun with your legendary bull rider.”
“Oh, believe me, I am.”
I hung up and set my phone in the cup holder of the truck console.
“Sunshine?” Brooks asked.
“Don’t you dare,” I snapped.
“Wasn’t gonna,” he lied—but he couldn’t stop the laugh. “God, that middle name really does fit you.”
“Well, don’t get attached to it. I’m changing it to Danger. Poet Danger Peabody has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, hate to break it to you, but Sunshine it is, and Sunshine you will always be.”
“If you tell anyone . . .” I warned.
“Your secret is safe with me. So, your parents must be interesting people.”
“Interesting,” I murmured. “That’s one way to put it.”
“You got any siblings?”
“Two,” I replied and then stopped talking.
“Another touchy subject?”
I sighed. “No, it’s fine. I just know once I tell you their names, you’re going to make fun of me even more.”
“I doubt that. Now come on—tell me.”
“I have a sister named Troubadour. She goes by Tru. And a brother named Bard.”
“Wow. You guys never stood a chance, did you?”
I shook my head. “No, definitely not.”
“Older, younger?”
“Both older,” I said. “My sister by ten years, and my brother by twelve.”
“Ah, so you’re the oops baby, huh?”
“I’m the ‘I think I’m going through perimenopause—oh wait, I’m actually pregnant’ baby.”
He flashed a grin. “Are you close to your siblings?”
“No,” I said. “They were so much older when I was born, you know? So by the time I was five, my sister was fifteen and my brother was seventeen. They both kind of inherited my parents’ nomadic, adventurous spirit, so I don’t see them a lot, even now that we’re all adults.
My brother is currently touring Europe with his band, and last I heard, Tru was in India. ”
“What’s she doing in India?”
“I don’t know. Something with yoga.”
“And your parents—where are they?”
I sighed. “England.”
“England, like where your grandfather is?”
I nodded. “Yeah. They’re currently the innkeepers for an old castle that’s been converted into a hotel in the northern part of England, and my grandfather is meeting up with them soon.
But they’re already getting the itch to move along, so who knows where they’ll be by Christmas.
They don’t stay in one place for too long. ”
“So how did you wind up getting raised by your grandparents?”
“When I was about seven, my grandfather and grandmother spoke to my parents and said they’d watched them drag my two siblings across the world—they’d even lived on a sailboat at one point—and while that might have worked for them, I wasn’t getting what I needed.
So they offered to take me in, and my parents dumped me on their doorstep.
And it’s been a couple of phone calls a year, some postcards from wherever they are, and that’s kind of it. ”
Brooks fell silent for a moment as he turned the truck onto a dirt road.
“Huh,” he said finally.
“Huh what?” I asked.
“I understand now why you’re so determined to be independent.”
“Oh yeah? Explain it to me—I’d love to know, Dr. Brooks.”
He raised a brow. “You were the forgotten child. The afterthought. So your grandparents probably overcompensated, right? By protecting you, giving you everything you wanted. And I don’t mean that in a bad way.
I just mean that you’re sheltered, you know?
And then that probably translated to your adult life and your friend group.
I overheard Salem. She’s adamant about taking care of you. ”
“Are you sure you’re a cowboy?” I asked. “Or do you have a background in psychology?”
“I read a lot.”
“Makes sense, I guess. You don’t watch TV. You have a lot of free time to read when you don’t watch TV.”
“Poet?”
“Yeah, Brooks?”
“I had a lot of free time to read . . . when I was in prison.”
My breath caught in my throat at his admittance of his past.
I glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at me. His hands were clenched on the steering wheel.
“Poet?”
“I already knew,” I said softly. “About your . . . time there.”
He finally pulled his eyes from the road to look at me. “You did?”
“Salem mentioned it when she sent the photos of you and Archer. I didn’t remember right away,” I explained. “But your name sounded familiar . . .”
“Oh.” He paused and turned his attention back to the road. “Most people treat me different as soon as they find out. It’s why I haven’t . . .”
“Told the townsfolk?” I guessed.
“Yeah.”
I nodded in understanding. It explained why Richard and Gracie treated him so . . . normally. Like he didn’t have a seasoned past. Like he was just a quiet, well-mannered cowboy.
“You didn’t treat me different,” he pointed out. “Why not?”
“I panicked for a moment when I realized who you were. I did.” I swallowed. “But then I thought about two things.”
“What?”
“Muddy never would’ve hired you if she was worried about her family’s safety.”
I was quiet for a moment. Long enough for him to press, “And the second thing?”
“I feel safe with you.” I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “You’re . . .”
“Not like an ex-con?” he finished for me.
“Not what I expected,” I corrected.
He paused. “You let me sleep in bed next to you. Even after you knew.”
“Yes.”
The truck filled with silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was just two people who had stripped away the veneer of platitudes.
I didn’t know what he’d done to land himself in prison.
Despite my weakening resolve to keep him at arm’s length, I was hungry for knowledge, but I refused to ask.
Maybe I was being respectful. Maybe I was safeguarding the image I had of him.
Maybe I was protecting myself from getting in any deeper.
I was starting to worry I had no self-preservation instinct where Brooks was concerned.
We were in desperate need of a new subject.
“So where are you taking me?” I asked.
“Elk Ridge. You just talked to Salem, and I’m guessing she’s already called her grandmother to tell her you’re in town. So if I don’t bring you to see her, I’m going to get shit for it, and I’d prefer not to get shit for it.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “What about you?”
“What about me?” he replied.
“Well, I know about Archer, but I don’t know anything else about your family.”
Brooks pulled into the driveway of the ranch house and parked. “Sorry, that’ll have to wait for another time.”
“But you’ll tell me?” I pushed.
He glanced at me. “Eventually.”
The front door of the house opened, and a wiry woman with a silver braid stepped out onto the porch, her hands on her hips.
“Oh man,” I murmured. “Why do I feel like a lecture is coming on?”
Brooks laughed. “Yeah, definitely a lecture.”
“You’re gonna come with me, right?” I asked him.
“No. I’m the help. I don’t go into the house.”
My brow furrowed.
Was that Brooks’ decision, or Muddy’s?
I unclasped my seat belt and climbed out of the truck. And then I walked up the steps toward Salem and Hadley’s grandmother.
“Come here, sugar,” Muddy said, her brow creased with age and sun. “Let me get a look at you.”
I stopped where I was and let her peruse me from head to toe.
“You look good,” she stated. “Now give me a hug.”
With a laugh, I embraced the woman who felt like everyone’s grandmother.
She pulled back and then stared over my shoulder at Brooks. Her eyebrows rose. “Well, this is interesting. Brooks, you want something to drink?”
“Oh, no thank you, ma’am,” Brooks said. “I’ll be in the barn. Poet, come find me when you’re done.”
I nodded and then let Muddy lead me into the house.
She closed the door behind us, and I followed her into the kitchen.
“Sit,” she commanded, pointing to the table. “I’m making us tea, and we’re going to have a talk.”