Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Mrs. Crowe and I searched the property line for ten excruciating hours and came up with absolutely nothing. No missing cattle. No wayward goats. Not even a mysterious hoof or bootprint.
I’m exhausted, I smell like dirt, and the heat of the day is radiating off my body like a furnace… And that’s not even mentioning the appetite I’ve worked up.
My boots drag as I trudge my way across the yard and up my front porch steps, mentally going over what I have in the freezer while trying to decide what meal requires the least amount of effort to make. I’ve barely opened the front door when I’m met with the delicious, savory smell of beef, rosemary, and thyme. I think there’s some garlic and onions in there too…but it might just be my sweaty pits.
Gag.
“Are you hungry?” Noah hollers from the kitchen while I kick off my boots.
My stomach grumbles loud enough for him to hear, but I answer anyway. “Freakin’ starved. Where’d you pick up food from? ”
“Didn’t order,” Noah says through a mouthful, already shoving a plate into my hands the second I finish hanging up my hat. “Ryker made it.”
There’s a momentary hitch in my breathing as Noah takes a seat at the table. Ryker cooked this? Grabbing the fork, I push around the mouthwatering mounds of roasted meat, potatoes, and carrots piled on top of fluffy white rice. Ryker must’ve also grocery shopped because while I might’ve had a few carrots left in the garden, I know for a fact none of the other ingredients were in the house when I left this morning.
Scanning the kitchen for evidence of a mess or an errant grocery bag, I find that besides the Crock-Pot and a bowl of rice on the counter, the kitchen is once again spotless.
The corner of my lip twitches up as I walk to the table.
Plopping into my seat by the window, I take a massive bite, groaning at how tender the roast is when it practically melts on my tongue. Jesus . Either Ryker really is a fantastic cook or having a meal made for you just makes it taste better.
“Where is he?” I ask, already loading up my next bite.
“Who? Ryker?” Noah mumbles, barely coming up for air from his own dish. “His truck was ready early, so he headed back to Denton.”
“Oh.” A heaviness drapes across my shoulders while a twisting feeling ravages through my middle. I guess he got whatever information he needed from Kane…
Noah laughs, chunks of rice flying from his mouth onto the table. “You don’t have to pretend to be disappointed. I know how you feel about him.”
My brow furrows. Is that what this is… Disappointment?
I shake my head. That can’t be it. I’m just freaking exhausted after a long day.
Taking another bite, I chew slowly and search for a different topic of conversation. “I saw Kane today. Did he let both of you onto the property when he met with Ryker? ”
Noah scrapes up the rest of his meal with a fork, swallows the overflowing mouthful in one bite, then leans back in his chair. “Hell no. We finally got a hold of him this morning, but it was near impossible to convince him to meet us at the gate. He’s a fucking weird dude. Kept droning on and on about his vision for Deadwood and how the estate isn’t ready yet.”
That’s odd… Why would Kane invite me to stop by?
Noah drops his gaze to the table and shifts awkwardly in his seat. “He asked a few questions about you and then called Dad a deceiver … The whole thing was unsettling as fuck.”
I stop chewing, rethinking my own encounter with Kane. Unsettling is actually a pretty good way to put it. “Did you know he’s trying to buy the Crowes’ land? Elanor seemed less than pleased to see him.”
Noah rolls his eyes. “No, I didn’t, but can you blame her? Motherfucker looks creepy as shit. He’s got to be robbing graves for those clothes.”
“I kinda liked his outfit.” I shrug before remembering the uneasy shiver that rippled across my skin when our hands touched. “But there’s definitely something off about him.”
“He was probably strung out,” Noah says simply, reaching over to steal a carrot off my plate. “Ryker said that the religious group Kane was with—Children of Salvation, or whatever—were into heavy psychedelics use.”
“Maybe that was it.” It was more than that, but I highly doubt I could verbalize my feelings about Kane in a way that would change my brother’s mind. I shift my food around on the plate and then glance around the quiet house. “Do you want to watch a movie tonight?”
Noah’s entire body tenses the same way it used to when Dad would catch him sneaking cookies before dinner. “I don’t think so.” The table shifts, wooden legs squealing against the floor when he abruptly rises to his feet. “I’m going to bed early tonight—right now, actually. ”
Pausing my fork mid-route to my mouth, I glance at the clock on the microwave. “It’s not even five o’clock. Are you hungover or getting sick?”
Pink splotches blossoming across his cheeks, he collects his plate, giving me his back as he heads for the sink. “Jesus, Wills, neither. One of the guys on the rig got fired and they need someone to fill in. I’m going to take a nap so I can hit the road in a few hours and catch the first boat out in the morning.” Still not turning to look at me, he drops his plate into the sink… without bothering to rinse it first.
My brows scrunch together. Noah is the least experienced roustabout on his oil platform. Why would they call him? “Is this a seniority thing? They can’t make you go in a whole week early, can they?”
“They’re not forcing me, I volunteered. If I can get in the boss’s good graces, he’ll be more likely to give me the 28/28 hitch instead of the 14/14. You know how badly I want that month on, month off schedule.” Noah’s voice cracks, and after a quick cough, he suddenly becomes very interested in an invisible speck of dust on his shirt.
My eyes narrow. “You volunteered?”
“Yeah.”
“For more work…”
“ Yes ,” he insists, cheeks a deep shade of red as he angles his body away from mine.
My head cocks to the side. Noah has been vying for the twenty-eight days on, twenty-eight days off shift since he got hired, but I could’ve sworn he said he’s not eligible to apply for another year.
I can’t shake the feeling he’s hiding something from me…
It’s probably something stupid—like he got in trouble and needs the additional hours to keep his job—but what’s the use in lying about it? Why is everyone in my life so hellbent on sheltering me from the truth? Dad doesn’t want me to know he’s taking over as chief of police, the Crowes kept their retirement plans a secret until the last possible minute… And now Noah .
“Is there any way you can get out of it?” I ask softly, making sure to keep my growing frustration in check. “With Dad gone, I was hoping we could hang out.”
I shove another bite of pot roast into my mouth while Noah rocks back and forth on his feet, continuing to look anywhere but my face. Then his shoulders slump and he sighs, like he’s resigning himself to an unpleasant task.
“Willa, I want to go in. With Ryker gone, it’s not like there’s much to do around here anyway. You understand, right?”
The food in my mouth dries out mid-chew. Noah might be lying about the reason he’s volunteering for more hours, but whether he meant to or not, he just let a sliver of the truth slip through.
He’s bored .
I shake my head and snort. “Sure, I get it. Why spend any more time in Deadwood or with me than absolutely necessary? It’s not like Dad specifically planned his trip to Austin when he knew you’d be home so that I wouldn’t be stranded without a car. It’s not like you live here rent free and have all your meals made for you. Or like you?—”
“For fuck’s sake, Wills.” Face twisting, he throws his hands in the air.
“Don’t for fuck’s sake me. I heard you the other day.” No longer hungry, I push my plate away. “You shouldn’t let Dad guilt you into staying in Deadwood on my account. If you want to go, then go. If you want to move, then move . Just don’t lie to me about it.”
“Willa, I was mad at Dad. I didn’t?—”
“Save it.” I rise to my feet and brush past him, dumping my mostly full plate in the sink before stomping off to lock up my gun and wash off the grime of the day.
A few minutes of drowning my temper with a cold shower does wonders for my shitty attitude. Unfortunately, it also helps me see the hypocrisy of my anger.
Yes, my ego was bruised, but I can’t blame Noah for not wanting to stay in Deadwood when I’m also actively trying to get out. Especially since I still haven’t told him or Dad I’m going to school in Austin…
Leaning back under the spray, I fill my mouth up with water before spitting it out like a fountain and turning up the heat.
Muscles slowly unwinding in the steam, I glance around at all the details Noah, Dad, and I installed when we remodeled the bathroom last summer. Onyx river rocks on the floor, long black subway tile all the way up to the ceiling except for the massive window near the top that we put in for ventilation, and an entire wall of glass for the shower door.
It’s the only room in the house that’s not straight out of the seventies, and all I had to do was mention one time that I might want to study interior design before Dad encouraged me to find out if I liked it. He and Noah had the old shower demoed that same night, and we were at the hardware store first thing in the morning.
The bathroom took four weeks to finish, and by the end of it, I knew with absolute certainty I had zero interest in designing home interiors or remodeling.
Or in trekking over to the ranch for a shower ever again…
But it’s always been like that for us. Preparing for job interviews with Noah. Covering household duties so Dad can get some rest after working long hours. No matter how big or small the need and despite all the shit the three of us have been through, we’ve always been there to support one another.
Until lately.
Now it feels like there’s a growing river of secrets standing between me and the people I love most.
If I just told Noah about UT, maybe he’d want to stick around. It might even help him understand why I overreacted. Either way, we need to put this stupid tiff behind us.
Rinsing the last of the soap from my body, I sigh and shut off the faucet, pausing at the sound of heavy footsteps and a door slamming so loud it rattles the glass. Wrapping a towel around my torso, I step out of the shower, my wet feet padding against the cool tile as water drips onto the floor.
“Noah?”
No response.
I shake my head. He might be mad, but ignoring me is childish.
Unless that wasn’t him , a small voice whispers in my head.
Skin sprouting goose bumps, I crack open the door to the main part of the bathroom, the steam that billows out momentarily making it difficult to see. For one horrifying second, I think the shadow in the mirror is another person in here with me, but quickly realize it’s my own reflection.
“Noah?” I call again, pulse galloping as I peek into the hallway.
Still no response.
Adjusting my towel, I glance at my brother’s vacant room before tiptoeing into the main living area…which is also empty. My nose wrinkles. Earlier the pot roast smelled delicious, now the scent is unbearably potent…and slightly different? There’s an underlying note of sweetness to it that leaves a sticky feeling on my tongue, the same way overly aromatic perfume does.
Did Noah get a new cologne?
I glance toward the window, hoping to see his Blazer in the driveway, but that’s empty, too.
A pit opens in my stomach. He left…
Intent on putting this stupid argument behind us, I turn toward the hallway to go grab my phone, but my steps falter when I spot a large egg carton perched precariously on the edge of the coffee table.
My head cocks to the side.
Closing the distance, I ignore the note taped on top and lift the lid, my nose scrunching when I find dirt and little green sprouts in each compartment.
What is this? Was Noah high?
I unfold the note quickly and scan the black handwriting scrawled across the yellowing paper.
Something is written above the last line, a signature maybe? But dirt and moisture have smudged whatever it is beyond legibility.
A chill runs up my damp skin, my head snapping left and right as my spine prickles with unease.
This isn’t Noah’s handwriting…
Which means someone else was inside my house.
I suck in a sharp breath, the potent smell of pot roast suddenly so overwhelming I feel dizzy. “Hello?” I call out, gripping the towel more firmly around me.
No one answers and nothing stirs.
I grab the carton again to look for another clue as to who might’ve left it, only to scream and hurl it to the floor when something cold and slimy slides across my thumb.
Breath ragged, I glance down, the tightness in my chest uncoiling as an earthworm slithers out of the spilled dirt. With one hand on my towel to keep it in place, I quickly scoop up most of the mess, leaving the note and clumps of dirt on the floor as I rush out onto the porch and toss the egg carton into the yard.
Darting inside, I quickly bolt the lock behind me before checking the back door and then the windows, verifying with trembling hands that everything is sealed up nice and tight.
When I’ve finally caught my breath again, I head straight for Dad’s room to grab my pistol, suddenly very aware of just how alone I am.