by Natalie Dean
She wasn’t sure if someone had stolen her fiddle, or if she had been so beaten that she couldn’t carry it with her…
Ugh, best not to think about such things.
“All right, well, I tried to get everything I could think of that you guys might use, but call me again if I forgot something important.”
“Huh?” She followed his gesture to the table in the room, where she saw several bags were stacked. Wait… what?
Wide-eyed, she walked over and opened one. There was lotion inside, toothbrushes, toothpaste, and mouthwash. Shampoo and conditioner of several types, soap, and deodorant. The next bag even had feminine products in it. It looked as though he had gone into the store and gotten one of everything.
The next bag had food, cereal bars and toaster pastries, bagels and bread. There were also some regular protein bars and pretzels. The bag after that had microwave pizzas, frozen fruit, and some desserts as well. Beef pockets in another along with microwave burritos, sour cream, salsa, and cheese. It was enough to fill the fridge and freezer in the kitchenette and maybe one of the cabinets too.
And yet another bag had rubbing alcohol, witch hazel, cotton swabs, and everything else that Tawny might need to heal. Also socks, several pairs of leggings, and about a dozen or so of those multi-underwear packs in different sizes.
It was all so much.
Once again, she was struck by the peculiarity of it all. Was he… was he gay? Was he playing some sort of strange long con? Nothing made sense!
“Did I miss something?” he asked cautiously, as if he was so sure that he had done something wrong. “Is there something else I should have done for y’all?”
“No,” she managed to say without her voice warbling. “You’ve done more than we could ever ask for. Really.”
He nodded, seemingly surprised by her answer. And that seemed to be a good enough answer for him because he headed toward the door.
“It doesn’t feel that way,” he mumbled.
“What was that?”
But then he was already out, the door shutting behind him, leaving Frenchie to stare after him.
Huh. Well that was something.
Glancing to Tawny to make sure she was settled, Frenchie gave herself a moment to breathe. And once she was done with that moment, she went back to the table and started to put things away.
13
Solomon
“Hey there, pretty lady. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Maribella whinnied at him, shaking her head playfully before letting him pet along her muzzle. Her gray fur was as soft as ever, her muscles jumping under his fingertips before his hand went to her mane.
“Would you like a braid in your hair? You’ve always been a bit vain, haven’t you?”
She wuffled at him, her mouth searching his pockets for treats. He pulled one out for her before he started on a section of her mane, twisting strands around like his cousin, Benji, had taught him.
Dad had said it was a useless skill, back when the teenaged Benji had shown Sam, Solomon, and Silas how to do it, but Solomon had liked learning it. Sure, it wasn’t particularly profitable, and he didn’t get to do it often, but it was a nice thing to do every once in a while.
Something about Frenchie’s words in the truck had stuck with him. When was the last time that he had actually enjoyed the liberties that living on a ranch afforded him? He couldn’t remember. He was so caught up in the business side of things that he had forgotten about the parts that he loved so much.
“Would you like to go for a ride along with Caspian?” Little Maribella was too small for his stature, having been meant for Mom after her primary mount was retired, but then Mom had developed arthritis in her hips and lower part of her spine and given up riding altogether. As a result, poor Maribella didn’t get out much.
Actually, none of their horses did lately.
The beautiful gray girl nodded enthusiastically as if she understood, but she probably just recognized the lead in his hands. Laughing, he went through the motions of tethering her to Caspian’s saddle then headed out of the barn.
For being cooped up for so long, she sure did wait politely for him to mount up once they were outside, dancing in place slightly. But once he started at an even trot, her excitement rang out in a happy whinny.
“That’s my girl,” Solomon said, feeling a warmth in his chest that he hadn’t in a while. “I’ll make sure you get out more often, but for right now, how about a walk around as much of the perimeter as we can get?”
She let out another agreeable sound that he interpreted as her saying yes and picked up the pace ever so slightly. Their ranching operation was far too large to go around in any sort of reasonable time, but maybe he was in the mood to be a little unreasonable.
The cool, crisp air reminded him of when he was much younger… when his cousins would come visit and they would set up a couple of tents out in the fields and tell creepy stories around the campfire.
And also girls, but Bart was really the only one who had much to say about that. Benedict had a girlfriend pretty much as long as Solomon could remember, but he was always pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing.
He could almost taste the smores and woodsmoke on the back of his tongue, a hint of memories he hadn’t thought about in ages.
What had happened to all of that?
He knew as the years passed that Dad and Uncle Douglas had sort of fallen out. Uncle Douglas was a man of very few words, but strong convictions, and apparently, he felt like his younger brother was too obsessed with profit and gain over everything else. Something about not treating the animals nicely enough and becoming obsessed with wealth. But Solomon didn’t understand that considering that Uncle Douglas and Aunt Annie Miller were incredibly well off too. Not billionaires—well, except for Bryant—but they weren’t going to be poor anytime soon. In fact, they could sell everything the next day, never work again, and their grandchildren would still probably be just as comfortable.
Yet somewhere along the way, Solomon couldn’t help but feel like his family had lost touch. But why hadn’t he noticed it until recently?
He rode past the silos that contained the feed for the animals—sorghum, milo, and grains. They had acres and acres of fields for that, rotating them in cycles to let the earth rest. Then he passed by the birthing pens for when it was breeding time for the steers. The McLintoc Miller Ranch was not a dairy ranch, but they had a partnership with several of the other dairy farms in the area so that any females born went to them, and the males stayed with Solomon’s family for finishing. Then there were the rice and wheat crops. The corn. The cotton. The peanuts and the sugar cane.
It didn’t seem like much, and yet it was their whole lives. They’d dropped their sheep, dropped their goats, and it seemed like the workers spent more time with their horses than his own family ever did. They were so disconnected to the earth under their feet. They’d forgotten what it was like to watch the sun come up, the morning dew coating the grass before sizzling off in the heat.
And that made him feel… empty?
He found himself swinging between happy and content while riding along and wondering what had happened. Was he blowing everything out of proportion? Was he letting some homeless girl from the city get into his head?
Because he was thinking about her an awful lot. Even his dreams wouldn’t let him rest from her, playing out dozens of different ways. Sometimes it was her that he had found beaten on the floor, face covered in blood and swollen. Sometimes it was that he was chasing her but he never got any closer. Sometimes it was her screaming at him, telling him that she hated him and he was a total creep.
But sometimes, when he was deeply asleep, they were what could have happened if he hadn’t stopped her from removing her clothes. But those were always the worst, really, because those dreams made him out to be everything that she was afraid of. And even if some part of him enjoyed what happened, enjoyed picturing what it would feel like to have her lips pressed
against his, her body against his, he felt so intensely guilty because he knew it wasn’t what she wanted. What if he really was just like she thought, and he was just better at hiding it? And all the cold showers in the world didn’t help him feel less scuzzy.
Was he helping her just because he was drawn to her? She seemed insistent on the idea that no one did anything for free, so what if she was right? Did he have some subconscious reason for doing all that he’d done? …or did he just want to protect her because she was a human and deserved to feel safe?
Even after a solid week of thinking, he didn’t have an answer, and he certainly didn’t have one when his phone rang.
He recognized the hotel number instantly and answered. He wasn’t sure what he expected. This was the last day at the hotel—at least that he’d paid for—so he’d been hoping they would touch base before disappearing entirely.
“Hey, Frenchie, everything all right?”
“How did you know it was me?”
“I called my phone from your hotel room when I was there and saved it under your name so I’d know it was you if you called.”
There was a strange pause there for a moment. “Wow, you really think of everything, don’t you?”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but I certainly try.”
There was her little laugh. He had missed it, but he knew he absolutely shouldn’t have. Frenchie was a whole decade younger than him and homeless. She was what his father would call a bleeding-heart hippie, but then again, Dad called almost everyone a bleeding-heart hippie.
“Yeah, I’m starting to get that. Anyway, Tawny and I went to the clinic today. They said she won’t need another checkup for a month as long as she doesn’t have any unexpected complications, so we’re gonna clear out of this place later today.”
It was so strange, one moment he was sitting on his horse, sitting comfortably in his existentialism, the next he was panicking harshly. He didn’t want them going back out on the streets where people could hurt them again. Suddenly the whole world was dangerous, with vile threats lurking around every corner.
They couldn’t go out. Not yet. They needed more rest, especially Tawny. So, for the first time in ages, he lied.
“Oh, I was a bit frazzled when I checked you in and I used my points on top of paying for a week, so apparently I basically paid for two weeks.”
“What, really? How did you swing that?”
“Believe it or not, it was a pretty stressful day.”
“Okay, fair.”
“But anyway, the days are already paid for and getting points refunded are an absolute pain. You might as well just stay there.”
She was quiet again, and he swore he could almost hear her brain churning.
“Um, I don’t know about that.”
“I mean, you don’t have to. But I’m certainly not going to stay there, and otherwise the room is just gonna sit there.”
“I… this really seems like a lot.”
His blood was pumping in his veins. He wasn’t used to lying; he didn’t like how it made him feel, but he couldn’t think of another way to get her to stay.
He wanted her to say yes but didn’t want to push too hard. “I mean, it’s up to you, but I’m sure Tawny could use the extra rest.”
“…yeah… I suppose.”
He sat there quietly, waiting for her. He was beginning to understand why it was easy to take advantage of the poor. He had everything that both girls needed to survive. If he was nefarious, he could make their lives truly awful.
He wasn’t, of course, or he didn’t like to think that he was.
Frenchie continued, “Okay, but only if you let me cook you a meal. That is literally the absolute least I can do.”
“Wait, you cook?”
Her sharp bark of laughter on the other end of the line was not expected. “Yeah, I cook. Try not to sound so shocked. I mean, it won’t be anything fancy, but there’s enough here in the kitchenette for me to make…something.”
“You really don’t have to.” He didn’t know what to say. It was strange to have a homeless girl cook for him. He didn’t know why; he just knew that it was… strange.
She spoke up, “What’s that thing you always say? Because I want to?”
He couldn’t help the grin that pulled at the corner of his mouth. “All right, fine. Dinner and then you’ll stay for the whole week. When do you want to do this?”
“Uh, it’s still early, so how about tonight? That way, if you hate it, you can just kick us out.”
“Yeah, that’s definitely what I’ll do.”
“I knew it. The fate of the world relies on my culinary expertise.”
“You know, I think I saw a movie about that.”
“Hah, I’m sure you did. See you later, Solomon. After six?”
“Sure. Do you need me to get groceries?”
“No, I still have plenty of that money you slyly stuck into my pocket, don’t worry about that. But since you’re pretty enthusiastic, if you want to bring a dish to pass, that would be acceptable.”
“All right, I’ll see you at six then.”
“Sounds like a plan. See you tonight.”
She hung up and he stared at his phone, more pleased than he had any right to be. Whistling to himself, he finished up Maribella’s walkabout then returned both horses to the stable, giving them a long, luxurious brushing then making sure he said ‘hi’ to every single other horse in the building.
By the time he made it back to his truck, it was nearly noon. Still plenty of time to cook something up. He wasn’t a very good cook considering he always had either Mom or the house staff, but he could make a pretty mean chili. Usually he liked to let it slow cook overnight with braised beef in it and lamb fat, but five hours or so wouldn’t be too bad.
So, he hurried home, a spring in his step. He was supposed to be working on something or another for his dad, but he’d taken the day off. It was his first vacation day in three years, and he wasn’t mad about it. And, to be honest, it seemed like his father didn’t even realize it. But that was probably because he was out golfing with his friends who all came from old money.
It felt good to be back in the kitchen, to be doing something with his hands. Grinning, he pulled his earbuds from his pocket, put on his music, and started his prep.
He was so engrossed in his activity that he didn’t notice that his brother had entered until Sal was pulling one of his earbuds out. Solomon jumped, knocking his younger sibling’s hand away.
“Geez, make some more noise, will ya? You almost gave me a heart attack.”
But Sal just grinned like the occasionally annoying little brother that he was. “Huh, you’re in here cooking, but you’re smiling. That’s weird.”
“Is it?” he asked, moving around his brother to continue what he was doing. Once he got everything into the slow cooker there wouldn’t be much else for him to do, but he wanted to get it all in as fast as he could so it had the most time possible.
“Yeah, usually you’re only in here after you get bad news, and you’re almost always making brownies.”
“Well, these definitely ain’t brownies.”
“Yeah, I got that. Looks like chili.”
Something in his brother’s tone made him cautious. “It is.”
“What are you making it for?”
“I’ve got a dinner to go to.” He didn’t know why he was suddenly being so cagey, alarm bells going on in the back of his head.
“Oh really? With who?”
“No one you know.”
“Really? You sure about that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, I dunno. Just because I think it’s with that homeless girl in the city.”
Solomon actually choked on nothing, nearly dropping the spoon in his hand. For a brief moment he thought about lying, but he’d had far too much of that already in one day.
“It might be. It might not. Since when are you my keeper?”
“I’m not
. But just be careful around girls like her, brother.”
His temper spiked for a moment, white-hot behind his eyes. “What do you mean, girls like her?”
“Whoa, don’t take it that way, man. But you know what Mom says. Sometimes people are so busy surviving that they forget how to be people. Remember that.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll make sure to do just that.”
Sal shrugged and headed out, but inside, Solomon couldn’t help but think that he had it all wrong. Frenchie’s fight for survival made her more human than anyone in his own family was anymore.
But maybe, if he tried real hard, he could remember more of what it was like to be human too.
14
Frenchie
Frenchie couldn’t remember a time when she’d been so well-rested, well-fed, and felt so completely safe. It wasn’t going to be fun to go back out onto the streets, where it was cold and unsafe. Where she had to constantly look over her shoulder, be three steps ahead of life, and always have a Plan A, B, and C for everything.
Maybe that was Solomon’s grand plan. To spoil her rotten until she was completely dependent on him, and then he would have her, hook, line, and sinker.
No, he wasn’t that conniving. She had been tricked before, but never that bad. In fact, he pretty much seemed to be the exact opposite of that. All honesty, justice, and the rules. Heck, he probably dressed as Captain America on Halloween and tasted like apple pie if she kissed him.
Frenchie froze right in the middle of what she was doing, the cheap knife she’d found in one of the kitchenette drawers hovering over the cabbage.
Why was she thinking about kissing Solomon?
She shoved that thought out of her head as quickly as she could. She knew better than to get a crush on some rich guy. Life was not a fairy tale; she would not have some magical happy ending. Girls like her didn’t get stories like that.
Shaking her head, she pulled herself back to reality and the matter at hand. Which was cooking a meal.