7. Lyla #2
I work my bottom lip between my teeth, weighing my options. Whatever this is appears to be some kind of peace offering, and if I’m going to build trust with Beck and make a decent impression then it would be in my best interest to take it.
“Fine,” I say. “Wait here.”
I close the door on him, and without seeing him out there I know he hasn’t left. I can feel his presence even through the door.
I quickly shove my belongings back into my suitcase, throw on a pair of sweats over my pajamas, and gather up Critter’s toys that he’s strewn about the floor.
When I open the door again, Beck is still standing outside, hands shoved in his pockets as he waits for me. At the sight of him, Critter growls and bares his snaggle tooth. It’s the only tooth he has left.
“What is that?” Beck says, looking down at a snarling Critter.
“That’s Critter,” I say. It’s the only explanation needed. He’s one of a kind.
“I know it’s a critter, but what is it? Some kind of gremlin?” He looks almost horrified by the sight of him.
I pick Critter up and hug him to my chest, covering one of his ears with my hand and whispering into the other. “Don’t listen to him.” And then to Beck, I say, “You know, dogs are a very keen judge of character? It speaks volumes that he growled as soon as he saw you.”
“Oh it’s a dog,” Beck rolls his eyes and starts toward the truck, taking one of my suitcases with him. “I never would have guessed.”
The drive back to the ranch is uncomfortable and tense. Critter growls at Beck from my lap the whole way, and Beck grips the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. His mouth forms a tight line, eyes fixed on the dark country road ahead of him.
By the time we reach Wild Sage Ranch, you could cut the tension between us with a knife. I pretend it doesn’t bother me, and look out my window at the passing fields, lit up under the silver moon.
Deep down, my gut is roiling with nerves, my mind spinning with questions. Why is Beck bringing me back to the ranch? Does this mean he’s accepted my help? And what is this going to look like moving forward if the man won’t even speak two respectful words to me?
I don’t have time to ponder these thoughts any further, let alone come to any kind of conclusions, because Beck pulls the truck up in front of the house, and gets out. He reaches into the bed and pulls out my suitcase.
“I can’t stay here, in your house,” I say, following him as he walks wordlessly around the side of the house, where the driveway wraps around, my suitcase still in hand.
“Good thing you’re not, then.”
I stop dead in my tracks, trying to make sense of what’s going on.
But instead of turning and going into the main house, Beck keeps walking toward a cabin-like building at the other end of the yard.
There are a few others just like it, but he takes me to the biggest one that already has the porch light on, and starts up the few steps that lead to the front door.
“Coming?” he asks, one foot on the bottom step. I nod, and stride over to him to catch up.
When we reach the top, Beck pulls a single gold key out of his pocket and hands it to me, nodding in the direction of the door. I open it, and am surprised at what I see inside.
It’s obvious the place hasn’t been used in years, there’s a mild musty smell in the air.
But otherwise, the space is quaint, complete with a small kitchenette, a little living room, and a queen sized bed in one corner.
It’s homey, with white shiplap on the walls and up the vaulted ceiling, and mismatched farmhouse style furniture that all seems to work together.
“You can stay here,” Beck says, clearing his throat and still refusing to look me in the eye. “It’ll be more convenient anyway, while you’re working here.”
Well, that answers one of my questions. A small seed of satisfaction begins to sprout within me, along with something else. Hope.
This is one obstacle down. Getting Beck to agree to work with me gets me one step closer to proving myself, and going back to my life in the city.
“Thanks,” I say, as Beck gives me his back and makes to leave.
He only grunts in acknowledgement, and then he’s gone. His heavy footsteps retreat down the steps until there’s no trace of him except for his warm, spicy scent he left behind.
I take a moment to look around the cabin, and take my suitcase over to the bed to unpack it. There’s no stain on this bed. In fact, the sheets have a crisp, clean smell to them, as if someone recently changed them.
Once my clothes are hanging in the wardrobe, I wander over to the small kitchen. A wooden, traditional-style pedestal table sits in the centre, and on top is a bottle of white wine. I turn the bottle over in my hand and read the label. It’s French, but I recognize it immediately.
It’s the same wine I was drinking before Beck picked me up, my favourite one with notes of peaches. Next to it, a scrap of paper with a phone number on it, and a note.
Text if you need anything.
More questions flood my mind. Namely, how did Beck know what wine to get me, and why did he go to the effort to get this place ready for me? I take the wine and a glass that was set out next to it over to the couch.
I pour myself the glass I never had a chance to finish, and contemplate this turn of events while I take the first long pull and swish the liquid around in my mouth.
Beck Hollis is now not only my older brother’s cranky friend, he’s also my boss.
I’m not just here to crash at Wild Sage, I have to figure out how to work with him.
I swallow, and release a long exhale, letting my eyelids flutter shut.
Whatever is going on with Beck aside, I feel safe here. Even with the door unlocked, my fear of being some sicko’s next victim has vanished. Somehow, knowing he’s across the yard in the main house is enough to put my mind at ease.
I don’t know why Beck has been such a grump since I got here.
But I do know that this is one hell of an olive branch.