11. Kaitlyn
ELEVEN
Kaitlyn
When I get back to Northpoint, Damien’s brother is asleep on the porch, passed out in one of the gliders, front door standing wide open.
Opening the hatch on the old Landcruiser my mom uses for trips to town, I heft out the cardboard box full of groceries I picked up after dinner at the diner with Abbey.
We had a great time. Talking and laughing. Getting along, which isn’t always the case with us, but as soon as Margie slid the bill onto the table and told me to pay up front, Abbey start squirming in her seat and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why.
I could hear them through the wide, open doorway that connects the diner to the Saddle. Teenagers talking and laughing in that loud way they have like they’re trying to draw attention to themselves, the sound of them intermingling with the sharp clack of pool balls and music from the jukebox. Even though it’s still mid-May, Barrett Valley homeschools are mostly done for the summer and kids are celebrating.
“Kaity...” Abbey says my name in that pleading tone of hers—the one that all but guarantees that she’s going to ask for something and that she expects to get it.
When was the last time Princess Abigale did anything around this ranch that would so much as scuff a nail?
“Go on,” I tell her picking up the check so I can wave her away with it. “I’ll be back to get you at midnight.” When she opens her mouth to argue, I shake my head. “ Midnight , Abbey—not a minute later.”
“Fine.” Realizing she sounds like an ungrateful brat, Abbey gives me a smile. “Thanks, Kaity.” She leans across the table to drop a loud, smacking kiss on my cheek before she bolts for the doorway. As soon as she disappears through it, I hear a loud cheer go up when her friends spot her approach.
Remember when you had friends? Remember when people didn’t whisper about you behind your back, right after they got finished smiling to your face?
Moving a bit slower, I stand, taking our dinner check to the front of the restaurant where Margie is waiting to ring me up. Passing it to her across the counter, I wait awkwardly while she tallies the bill .
“You know,” Margie says while she punched at the keys on the register with her index finger. “There’s no law that says you can’t go with her.”
Yes, there is—the law of Tom Barrett.
“I can’t.” I give her a flat smile while I pass a pair of twenties to her when the total pops up on top of the register. “I’ve got some errands to run for my father.”
Margie’s lips thin for a second. “He’s in Helena—what he don’t know won’t hurt him.”
I don’t even consider it. This town is too small to keep its mouth shut. My father would hear all about my night at the Saddle before he even left Helena.
We got enough account for where you’re concerned without you muddying the waters by running wild...
“Have a good night, Margie,” I say instead of making more excuses for why I don’t have the same sort of freedom my little sister does. “Keep the change.” I hold up my hand with another smile before I turn to push my way through the diner door.
Outside, I cross the street to the small, family-owned grocery store that services the town between monthly trips to the Costco in Great Falls. I work fast, loading my basket with the basics along with a few items I think a non-vegan asshole from California would want. Satisfied that even if he’s not happy with my purchases, he won’t starve, I push my basket to the register, submitting to the required ten minutes of small talk and information mining.
What’s your father run off to Helena for, so sudden?
I hear someone has a date with Brock Morris this Friday...
Who was that big fella Damien Bravebird had with him in his truck this afternoon?
“Drifter.” I give Peggy, the owner’s wife and the only cashier in the store a flat smile while she rings up my purchase by hand. “Damien picked him up for some day labor on the way back from seeing his mom.”
Peggy purses her lips at the thought of a drifter running loose in the valley. “I can’t imagine your father would agree to having someone like that on the ranch.”
You’d be surprised.
“Not to worry, Peggy.” I force the corners of my mouth into a genuine smile. “He’s already gone.”
Fending off the offer to help me to my car—probably so she can continue to pepper me with questions, I grab my box of groceries and make my escape.
Practically throwing the box in the back of my mom’s Landcruiser, I jump behind the wheel and make the trip back to the Barr TT as fast as I can.
Passing the turn-off that leads to the main house and outbuildings, I climb the mountain to Northpoint, shaky hands gripped around the steering wheel, heart lodged in my throat.
You made the trip by truck with Damien this morning without falling apart. No reason you can’t do it again.
Don’t fall apart.
Don’t you dare fall apart.
I’m not even aware that I’m holding my breath until my lungs start to burn and black dots start to swim and squiggle in front of eyes.
Breathe, Kaity.
Just breathe...
“I can’t.”
It didn’t hurt.
I didn’t even know it was coming, I promise.
“I don’t believe you,” I wheeze out before taking a long, deep breath. “You just don’t want me to blame myself."
That’s because it’s not your fault.
It’s not anyone’s fault.
“Dad would disagree.” Cresting the top of the mountain, I take the immediate right that brings Northpoint into view. I can see the front door standing open from here.
Bringing the Landcruiser to a stop, I cut the engine and stare through the passenger side window at the gorgeous, giant man sprawled out, fast asleep in the porch chair closest to the open front door.
Panic and grief disappear, pushed aside by a wave of frustrated distain. Out of the Landcruiser, I slam the door hard enough to rock it before circling around the back to retrieve the box full of groceries.
He doesn’t even flinch.
Slamming the hatch, I stomp my way up the porch steps but it’s no use. I could jam a stick of dynamite in his ear and light the fuse if I wanted to. Damien’s brother is a heavy sleeper.
Carrying the groceries into the house, I make fast work of putting them away. Left with nothing else to do, I contemplate just leaving him out there, but I don’t think I could handle another death on my conscience.
Now, empty box tucked against my hip, I head back out to the porch.
Yup, he’s still sleeping.
The hat is gone to reveal a dark head of hair that’s clipped short on the sides and left longer on top, so long it falls across his forehead, the silky black strands of it shining blue in the lights left on in the house.
Stepping closer, I catch a glimpse of ink reaching up from the neckline of his T-shirt to flirt with this collarbone and the set of tattoos that run vertically along each side of his neck.
Acta non Verba on one side.
Ars Longa, Vita Brevis on the other.
Suddenly feeling like I’m reading his diary, I take a step back. “Hey—” I deliver a half-hearted kick to the bottom of his boot with the tow of mine. When that doesn’t work, I give him another, this one sharper. “ Hey .”
“ What ?” He practically growls it at me, those black eyes of his suddenly open and glaring at me in the dark.
“You can’t sleep out here—especially with the door open like that.” I jerk my chin at the open door before taking a step back while I move my empty box in front of me like a shield. “Not unless you want to make friends with a grizzly.”
He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t apologize or say wow, I’m a dumb city asshole, or even call me a liar and accuse me of trying to scare him. Nope—Damien’s brother just stares at me with that sinister, black gaze of his for what feels like forever before he finally straightens himself in the chair. Standing up slowly, I watch him unfold himself, inch by inch, until he’s standing over me and we’re separated by nothing more than my flimsy cardboard shield.
Just when I’m sure he’s about ready to grab me and shake me silly or maybe just launch me off the porch, he takes a step back before turning away from me completely. I watch while he moves through the open front door and shuts it behind him without saying another word.