Chapter 3
Chapter Three
The driveway is empty when I glance out the kitchen window, the storm clouds brewing in the distance turning the sky a deep shade of purple that matches my lovely new bruise from Beau.
So much for being home two hours ago…
With an exasperated huff, I grab a plastic container from the cabinet, my shoulder twinging in protest as I slam the door closed and continue putting away the cold, uneaten dinner I made. No one is home, so this temper tantrum is entirely for my benefit, but it feels good to blow off a little steam.
Dad knows how I feel about Ryker, but he still invited him to stay with us. This house is my sanctuary, but he didn’t even ask me if I was okay with a house guest.
Come to think of it, no one consulted me the last time Ryker stayed with us either. Granted, it was right around the time of my disastrous date with Cooper Blackthorne, so I barely registered him being here, but still.
I place the pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge while my thoughts drift back to how rough those first few months were after Cooper locked me in the incinerator. I’d spent weeks in a near-catatonic state, moping around my bedroom and refusing to go to school until I was too far behind to finish the semester. That was when Dad decided to enroll me in an online homeschool program. I’d been reluctant at first, but the idea of not having to face Cooper every day was enough to bring back some semblance of peace.
Having always been a bit of a pariah, I was relieved when transitioning out of public school in our unincorporated small town meant Dad could no longer force me to play soccer or participate in the drill team—because those were Deadwood High sponsored activities. Problem was, without extracurriculars I suddenly found myself isolated with significantly more downtime than I was used to.
That’s when I discovered my unoccupied mind’s propensity for intrusive thoughts.
For weeks, I existed in a constant state of paralysis, binge watching TV while a small voice in my head whispered that maybe Cooper was right. Maybe I was too much trouble and not worth the sacrifices my dad and brother were always making for me.
Then one day, our neighbor Mrs. Crowe barged into the house and forced me to spend the afternoon gardening with her while she talked my ear off about some nonsense or another. Not only did I get the worst sunburn and subsequent farmer’s tan of my life that day, but I developed a hyperfixation for weeding and pruning tomato plants and landed myself a job tasking around Crowe Ranch.
Staying busy helped quiet my mind, and I threw myself into taking on more household responsibilities. I started by helping Dad manage the bills. Then—although I hated these tasks with the fiery passion of a thousand suns—I added grocery shopping, cooking, and cleaning, until eventually there wasn’t any time for my mind to wander.
It’s gotten to the point where Dad and Noah no longer offer to pitch in, and even though I still dread these tasks, I think I prefer it that way. Every time one of them tries to help with chores, they do it wrong, creating twice as much work for me in the long run. If I’m being honest, I take pride in being the glue that holds our little family together, and I like feeling needed…especially when I find myself struggling over whether or not I’m wanted .
I grab the salt and pepper shakers off the counter and shove them into the cabinet before slamming it closed, nearly knocking myself out when the top hinge separates from the frame.
Fantastic.
I guess I’ll have to figure out how to fix that later. I shouldn’t be taking out my frustrations on our poor little kitchen. Lord knows this old place is barely hanging on as it is.
Except for the electric stove and the bathroom we remodeled last summer, everything in this house is straight out of the early seventies. In the kitchen, avocado-green cabinets and Talavera-tiled countertops are accented by yellowing linoleum flooring. The rest of the floors and walls are covered in blond oak, including the open dining and living room right off the kitchen where brass fixtures line the walls and a big, chunky fireplace sits unused in the corner.
It’s old and outdated, and I absolutely love our little capsule of 1970s perfection.
“Sorry,” I whisper, gently patting the cabinet.
We live in the second to last house on the way out of town. With the exception of the cattle ranch next door and Beau’s place down the street—which I like to pretend doesn’t exist—we couldn’t be more isolated if we tried. The quiet is nice, though. It brings a sense of peace that’s hard to come by, especially for people like my dad with high-stress jobs.
After Grandpa Dunn died, Daniel Crowe—who we affectionately refer to as Old Man Dan—and his wife, Elanor, sort of adopted my dad, who worked on their ranch until he decided to go into law enforcement in his early twenties. After he became a single parent, the Crowes took in Noah and me, too.
I glance out the window to where their pale-white Victorian-style farmhouse is just visible in the smoky-lavender haze of early twilight, and then beyond to the set of headlights traveling down the otherwise empty dirt road .
My fists clench at my sides, and by the time the car pulls into the driveway a few seconds later, my anger is back tenfold.
The front door opens, flooding the dim house with my brother’s bright laughter and the smell of his sage-and-cedarwood cologne.
“Where have you been?” I snap, cringing at my high-pitched tone.
Noah’s laughter putters out. “Chill, Wills,” he says, shutting the door behind Ryker, whose smile falters the second he lays eyes on me. “We’ve been at the Cartwright Estate, trying to talk to Kane.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Kane, Ryker’s half brother, spent the last few years with some doomsday church in New Mexico—Children of the Corn, or something equally stupid.
A few months ago, he waltzed back into Deadwood and bought the old Cartwright Estate. No one has seen him since. The last time Dad went out to the property for a welfare check, he’d been stopped at the gate and refused entry by a group of men he’d never seen before.
Where Kane got the money and who the creepy people he brought with him are has been a hot topic for the Deadwood rumor mill. More than once, I’ve found myself eavesdropping on the speculation. I listen mostly so I can avoid repeating whatever mistakes brought him home, but part of me just wants to understand. Kane was always different from the rest of us. In some ways, he was even more ostracized than me. For the life of me, I can’t wrap my head around why he’d come back.
Reluctantly, my anger gives way to curiosity. “Did he tell you what he’s been doing up there?”
“Never saw him,” Noah snorts. “His weird friends stopped Dad at the gate again. I still don’t know what he did to make Kane hate him so much, but that guy sure can hold a grudge. They wouldn’t even let Ryker on the property because Dad was with us. The whole thing was actually kind of creepy.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Ryker says, plopping onto one of the couches and propping his booted feet up on the coffee table like the absolute heathen he is.
“Dude,” Noah deadpans. “They were all wearing the same white button-up shirts. It was freaky as fuck.” He shimmies his shoulders, as if warding off a chill. “If you ask me, your half brother’s really gone off the deep end.”
“You can just say brother,” Ryker says with a drawn-out sigh. “And lay off. I wouldn’t have had an early warning about Beau blocking Charlie’s adoption if it wasn’t for Kane.”
“Whatever.” Noah tosses himself onto the adjacent couch before throwing a tentative glance in my direction. “We did see something, though…” He exchanges a quick look with Ryker and shifts in his seat like he can’t get comfortable.
“They’ve got a lot of construction equipment up there,” my brother finally says, not quite able to meet my eye. “It was a little difficult to see, but I think Kane’s rebuilding Divine Mercy.”
Our living room goes eerily quiet, and the scars on my neck and back become unbearably taut. I try to speak, but the words get lodged in my windpipe.
“What?” I finally manage to squeak, voice barely a whisper. “Why would he do that?”
Noah’s lips pull into a tight line, settling into an expression that’s somewhere between a sympathetic smile and a grimace. “Couldn’t tell you, Wills. I guess he’s starting up his own church and wants to use it? Whatever the reason, I figured it was best you heard it from me.”
Mouth dry, I swallow down the shards of glass in my throat and nod. He’s right, it would’ve been so much worse if I’d found out from someone in town. Still, it takes me longer to process this information than I’m comfortable admitting—the occasional flash of candles and a wall of flame in my memory not making the situation any easier.
Misreading my silence, Noah grimaces. “I didn’t fuck up by telling you, right?”
“No,” I croak, pausing for a second until I’m sure my voice won’t betray me. “I’m glad you told me. It’s like Dad always says: Ignorance isn’t a shield, it’s a?—”
“Blindfold that robs you of your ability to fight back,” Noah finishes for me with an exaggerated eye roll.
We exchange a small smile, both of us jumping when the front door bursts open.
“I’m so hungry I could eat a damn horse,” Dad announces, kicking the door closed behind him and wafting in a draft of humid air that smells like wet grass and hay with a touch of Dad’s peppery aftershave.
“What’s for dinner?” He tosses his Stetson onto the entry table, knocking over a picture frame that he doesn’t bother picking up. “I have just enough time to eat, and then I need to head to the office to finish up some paperwork.”
Noah pops up. “Guess movie night is a no go, then?”
“You guys still do that?” Ryker rises from the couch, glancing between all of us like we’re an exhibit at a zoo. I expect his expression to be judgy, but he almost looks… envious .
Noah shrugs. “Every Thursday night.” He pauses to rub the back of his neck. “Well, every Thursday night I’m home and Dad’s not working.”
My lungs constrict. Doesn’t he realize we haven’t had a movie night in over four months?
“Best night of the week.” Dad pats my shoulder as he heads to the table. “Maybe we can all watch a movie this weekend?”
My ribs tighten along with my strained smile. “You’re going to that conference in Austin, remember?”
“That’s right.” He swipe-snaps his fingers through the air. “Sorry, kiddo. I’m not too sure when I’ll be able to make it work, then. Chief Thompson put me in charge of readying the department to go digital at the end of summer. I’ve got a mountain’s worth of records to pull out of storage and sort through for digitization, and then I’ll need to get the whole building prepped for new security cameras. My schedule’s going to be a little wonky for the next few weeks. ”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, voice cracking as I wave away his apology. I try to hide my disappointment by heading for the refrigerator while Dad and Noah take seats at opposite ends of our teak dining table, but he sees right through me.
“Willa,” he says in that flat, no-nonsense tone he usually reserves for my brother or work, “I promise my schedule will settle down soon. We’ll have plenty of time for family movie nights. That’s the beauty of you going to college so close to home.”
I swallow the tightness in my throat. While I believe he means it when he says things like that, I don’t know if he realizes how much time he’s spent away from home over the past six months.
For weeks, Dad’s been switching back and forth between mid and night shifts. He’s also been out of town at least once a month since January, attending various policing conferences to update his certifications and then working twice the hours to make up for the missed time. With the increased oddball hours, he’s been spending more and more nights at the police station’s crash pad. So much so that I’ve found myself wondering if he’s lying about all the extra shifts to cover up a secret girlfriend. But he’s never lied before… Why would he start now?
Maybe if he knew I got into UT, he’d realize how few of these movie nights we have left and prioritize spending time together…
“Hey, Dad?” I clasp my hands to hide the slight shake.
“Yeah, kiddo?”
“I was wondering if we could talk about UT again?” I bite my lip, the pulse in my temple picking up tenfold. “I know you said you hated the idea?—”
“Not this again,” Dad groans, waving his hand in the air as if warding off evil before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Thinking about you in that big city makes my skin crawl. I understand you’re upset about getting wait-listed, but it was for the best. What would I do without you?”
A pit opens in my stomach.
I’d been so busy plotting my escape from Deadwood, I forgot to consider how if I’m not here, Dad won’t have anyone around to make sure he’s eating and sleeping enough. This week alone he’s left his lunch at home twice… I also can’t remember the last time he went grocery shopping, and I’d bet all my savings he doesn’t remember how to work the washing machine.
“Okay. But—” I pause as Ryker’s hulking form saunters toward the table in my periphery. Shit . He’d been so quiet I’d almost forgotten he was here. This is definitely not a conversation I want to have in front of him. Not when he’s already glaring at me, likely scheming up new ways to make my life miserable.
I snap my mouth shut, and Dad dips his chin, grinning like he won the argument.
More annoyed than I should be and feeling oddly irritable, I rip open the fridge and start removing all the covered dishes I’d just finished putting away.
Once dinner is reheated, I head for the table, intentionally ignoring Ryker’s cocky grin from the chair by the window—the seat he knows belongs to me. I have the momentary notion to accidentally knock the pitcher of sweet tea into his lap, but after years of seeing his eyes spark with amusement every time his idiotic games got a volatile reaction out of me, I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
Noah lets out a low whistle at the massive bowl of lemon rice pilaf I set on the center of the table. “Looks great. Perfect meal before a night out with the boys. Thanks.”
My brow furrows. “You’re going out?”
“Is that a problem, Princess?”
Again, I avoid looking directly at Ryker, but that doesn’t stop me from smiling when Noah kicks him under the table.
“Don’t antagonize her. She’s asking because she’s my DD.” He straightens in his seat. “But yeah, if Dad’s bailing on movie night, we’re going out. Sorry, Wills.”
Number seven on my bucket list floats through my mind: Stop hiding. Go out more.
I move to the other side of the table, slowly lowering into the vacant seat. “Where are you guys going?”
Now that school is out and most of the college students are home for the summer, there’s been a party of some sort every day of the week. Ever since they started serving food and boozy shakes, Benny’s Ice Cream Parlor tends to be the hangout spot during the day. But at night, the party moves to someone’s house or down by Widowmaker Springs.
Beyond dropping Noah off and picking him up drunk off his ass, I’ve yet to participate. A prickling sensation spreads beneath my skin. Tonight’s as good a night as any to start checking things off my bucket list. It would also be good practice prior to the eclipse party…
“Can I come?”
Noah’s eyes widen. “To actually hang out?”
The shock in his voice makes my shoulders curve forward protectively. “Yeah.”
I’ve barely finished saying the word when Noah shakes his head. “Not tonight. We’re going to that new bar in Jonestown.”
“Like hell you are,” Dad snorts, not bothering to look up from the mountain of pilaf he’s shoveling onto his plate. “Ryker’s not twenty-one yet. If he still wants a career in law enforcement, he can’t?—”
I burst out laughing, the boisterous sound slowly tapering off as the entire table turns my way with a mixture of quirked and heavy brows. “I’m sorry,” I say through a chuckle. “Ryker wants to be a cop ?” The idea is so ridiculous my laughing fit starts all over again.
“Is that not your plan anymore?” Dad asks, directing his question to Ryker.
“It’s still the plan, sir,” Ryker replies, but his eyes are on the table, the muscles in his jaw feathering and cheeks flushing as he fiddles with something silver in his hand.
An unfamiliar sensation ripples through my chest at the sight, tightening and squeezing in a way that makes it difficult to draw in a full breath.
Dad claps his hands together. “Great, then it’s settled. No bar. ”
“Come on, Dad. I know the bartender, it’ll be fine.” Noah winks at me and launches into a ridiculous speech aimed at convincing our father that it’s perfectly acceptable for them to go out a few weeks before Ryker’s technically twenty-one.
I roll my eyes. Sometimes I think he forgets what our dad does for a living.
Drowning them out, I shift my attention across from me where Ryker’s eyes are downcast and moving rapidly as he reads what I assume is a text message under the table.
Here we go. Now that they can’t go to the bar, I bet he’s already making alternate arrangements for tonight. Maybe I should warn the Crowes their cows are about to be tipped…or call Mayor García and tell her the fountain in the Old Town Square is about to be soaped again.
Ryker sets his phone on the table, screen facing downward where it immediately starts buzzing. He silences it, but it starts up again.
And again.
And again—the vibration against the wooden tabletop growing louder with my annoyance.
“Do you want to get that?” I huff, dropping my fork onto my plate with a clatter.
Softly setting down his own utensils, he crosses his arms over his chest. “That depends, Princess. Do you want to drop the shitty attitude you’ve had since I walked through the door?”
Despite the undertone of snark in his voice, Ryker’s demeanor is calm and controlled, making my outburst look childish and pathetic. Heat flushes my ears as I open my mouth to save face with a witty retort, but nothing comes out.
This is the other reason why I’ve never liked Ryker. He always says exactly what he’s thinking.
“Well?” he prompts with a raised brow.
Still flustered, I fold my arms and lean back in my seat. “I rather like my shitty attitude. So no, I don’t think I will. ”
“Go figure.” He sighs, cocky expression faltering as his shoulders slump and his eyes drop to the table.
I pause, confused by the exhausted sound emanating from his too-full lips, a sound I’ve only ever heard from Dad after a particularly taxing shift at work.
Ryker’s phone vibrates again, and I jump when he abruptly scoots away from the table and excuses himself to take the call out on the porch.
“Dad,” Noah argues once the front door closes, “can you imagine if it was Willa in this situation instead of Charlotte? I’d be losing my shit. Come on, Ryker needs a fucking break. He needs a night out on the town.”
A seed of doubt pushes through the cracks of my annoyance and twists up my insides. Maybe Ryker was right and I should adjust my attitude. God only knows what Noah or I would be like if we’d grown up the way Ryker did. Not to mention how either of us would act if we thought the other was potentially in danger…
Dammit. I need to apologize—and quickly if I want to keep the wounds between me and Ryker from festering and growing more uncomfortable than they already are.
An echo of thunder rolls in the distance, and I sigh, pushing my pride aside as I rise to my feet and follow after him.