by Bellus, HJ
“What’s going on?” I hear a door slam on his end.
“Got a situation. Thinking I’m going to need your help.”
“Serious?”
I can imagine his eyebrows shooting up in shock. I’ve never asked for help. Have always walked on the right side of the law, only seeing things in black and white until this small town laced with rumors and dark secrets came into my life.
“I need you to bring a woman with you if you can.”
“You need pussy?” he asks, a deep chuckle following the question.
“Jesus, no!” I shake my head and scrub my face. “I need someone to step in as a guardian of a minor.”
“What in the hell do you have going on?” he asks.
I’m in no mood to explain nor do I have the time to do so, but if I want his help I have to. “This new town.”
He interrupts me. “The place we used to chase tail back in the day?”
I cringe. “It was one weekend, Truckee.”
His laughter makes me smile. “You blew your load in fifteen seconds.”
I’ll never forget Uncle Preach’s face when he busted in his barn to find every stall occupied with naked teens. Truckee had the dumbass idea of having a stallion contest, which consisted of four couples and seeing who lasted the longest.
“I could defend myself here, but don’t have the time.” I kick my feet up on an ottoman. “True. Anyway, there’s been a recent death, a crash that took several lives, a house fire next to the home where the woman died, and a seventeen-year-old girl who has been through something. And if I had to guess, it’s damn bad. That house that burned down was the local pastor’s place, and I’m starting to suspect the minor may have had something to do with it.”
“Hold up. The pastor lived next door to the woman who died, his house is burned down, and there’s a minor next door. So what does the crash have to do with it? I’m fucking confused.”
“Nothing that I know of. It’s just all the shit that has gone down at one time in this one-horse town.”
“Who’s in charge nowadays over at Birch Creek?”
“Me, Truckee. I’m the damn sheriff.”
“You know that’s not what I meant, brother. Who really runs the town?”
I shake my head. “As far as I can tell, the old sheriff and the pastor pretty much have everyone wrapped around their fingers.”
“As in the missing pastor?”
“Yeah.” I nod.
Truckee laughs. “Sounds like he might have pissed off the wrong person this time. Briggs’s crew or the Cobb crew around anymore? Knew they went broke years ago, but anyone still hanging around?”
“I don’t fucking know, Truckee. I’m not researching the cattle companies around here, but haven’t heard those names. As far as I can tell, the cattle business has dried up around these parts. Most of the work is at the local mill and social functions are centered around the church.”
“Why not let the law take care of the girl?” Truckee asks, giving up on interrogating me.
“Something is telling me not to. I need to watch her. She’s not okay, Truckee. Has marks all over her, and the best way I can describe her is she’s a caged animal that’s been beaten and tortured. She turns eighteen in two weeks. At this point, I don’t trust anyone around here and want to keep her out of the system. It’s just two weeks.”
Truckee growls. Child abuse is one thing he doesn’t stand for in any shape or form. Our dad was hard as hell on us. Never flinched at beating the shit out of us when he was on a bender. We took it every time if it meant he kept his hands off our mom.
“Give me two hours and I’ll be there.” He ends the call, asking no further questions.
I text him the address to Frankie’s house since I won’t be leaving here. I watch her sleep for long minutes. Under the layers of pain coating her skin I see the raw beauty of this girl. The hack job on her hair is uneven in its unstyled mess. I notice her fingernails. There’s a layer of dirt under each one.
“What did you do?” I whisper to the silent room. “What did you do, Frankie?”
I send a few texts to my team letting them know I’m finishing up paperwork on the crash and then I’ll be over to get the forensics started on the house next door. Not one person questioned why I was in this house with a minor. I’m starting to pick up real damn quick that’s the way this town works. What the sheriff says, goes, no matter if it’s the right thing to do or not. And that right there is the root of all evil.
Everyone turns their head even though they know something is going down that shouldn’t be, then rumors begin trickling in, more than likely depicting the innocent as in the wrong to bury secrets. That’s my guess and if I was a betting man, I’d bet the damn family farm on it.
I ease up from the couch, needing to take a piss. I thank God this house is a simple one and that I can leave the door to the bathroom open and notice if Frankie moves. I glance down the hall once I wash my hands to see her still bundled up and her chest moving up and down before I go to her bedroom, not her grandma’s.
It’s a hollow space, to say the least. There are pictures on the wall, awards, and souvenirs but they’re dusty. It’s as if I’m looking at a museum that’s never been kept up. The only parts of her room that are not a ghost town is her bed and desk. They’ve been well used and loved. A brown leather journal catches my attention.
I take two steps over to it, running my fingers over the worn and loved cover and randomly open it to a page near the middle while glancing around the room doing my best to pick up on some clues. From what I’ve heard around town, her grandma was the most respected and well-loved person to step foot on the streets. I glance back down at the page and fight to breathe as I read each word.
Today I quit going to church. I won’t quit praying. I will pray every day my grandma doesn’t read this because it will break her heart. These pages are my only outlet and what has kept me going. But today is the day I’ll never attend another service. Grandma thought I started my period because of the blood spot on my skirt. She was so wrong, but I couldn’t correct her. It was the first time the pastor took me hard and rough in a different way. I truly thought he took everything away from me until today. The pain was unreal. Tears flowed down my face. His hand over my mouth kept the sobs captured inside of me as he continued to push over and over inside of me. I still feel like a fool when he asked me to help him get the nursery ready for the babies. Grandma pushed me along and I know that fact alone would devastate her. Feeling like a fool is an understatement as I rose from the pew bench after listening to the devil speak his words and the row behind me gasp. They saw the blood coating my skirt. Grandma picked up on it quickly and ushered me home. I’ll never go to church again, believe in a God, or leave this house.
Rapid knocking on the front door gets my attention. I tuck the journal under my arm, knowing I’m invading her privacy, but this may be my only source to discovering who exactly Frankie is and what she’s been through. I grit my teeth, hoping like hell she did kill that motherfucker. I’ll do anything to cover it up, too, before she gets dragged through the court system. I’ve seen it happen too many times in my career. Hell, even witnessed it with my little sister, Saige. It will not happen.
I clear my throat and stride down the hallway. I clench my fists until my knuckles grow white. Tucking the journal under a blanket on the edge of the couch I was sitting on, I go for the door when another steady rhythm of knocking sounds.
I peer over my shoulder to see Frankie still curled up and snoring lightly. I open the door, expecting to come face-to-face with one of my men.
“What?” I growl, flinging open the door and keeping my frame in the center of it. I’m not as big as Truckee, but six feet and two hundred twenty pounds will do this job.
An older woman with stiff white curls jumps back, nearly losing the glass dish in her hands. I have no clue what her name is, but recognize her eccentric style of flashy, gaudy clothing. Today she’s in a pair of lim
e green crushed velvet type pants with a shiny as hell purple top that nearly blinds me. I’m forced to squint with the reflection beaming back at me. I clear my throat trying to distract myself from shading my eyes. Hell, I’m about to reach over and snag the windshield size sunglasses from her face.
“Sorry, ma’am.” I shake my head and clear my throat. “What can I help you with?”
“No worries.” Her hands tremble a bit, I’m sure from my asshole greeting. “I just wanted to drop this casserole off for Frankie and check in on her. I heard the sheriff, I mean…”
I nod and stroke the scruff on my chin. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
I have no doubt this town will always consider Dwight Jones the sheriff.
“Anyway, with him and his family out of town for the next few weeks with their own family death and now this…” She jerks her chin next door with tears brimming in her eyes. “I figured Frankie could use some food and company. That dear girl has lost everything and is only seventeen. Not to mention her, well…her odd ways and what she put her grandma through. Just plain and simple, she’s a weirdo.”
“That’s mighty kind of you.” I reach out for the dish, jaw clenched and nostrils flared. I bite down the words I really want to say. Holy shit, woman, you did a damn fine job of welling up those fake tears and the only thing odd right now is your fucked-up sense of style.
“Mrs. Monroe. Veronica Monroe.” Her eyebrows shoot up as she tugs the warm glass dish back toward her. “I’ll just place it in the oven and set it on low to warm up my famous tuna fish casserole.”
I choose my next words wisely, not wanting to fuel any gossip that will leave this front doorstep with Veronica. I know damn well her intentions aren’t from the heart, but rather deep down from curiosity and the sake of getting the inside scoop to spread to the rest of the town. I sure in the hell don’t need Veronica running off and telling everyone that I’m here with Frankie and guarding her like a madman. That sure as shit would stir up one hell of a hornet’s nest. Fucking small towns, man, they nibble on what they can and make what they want of it.
“I’ll take it.” I check to make sure my shoulders fill the doorway blocking her view of Frankie, hoping like hell she doesn’t decide to wake up right this moment. “We are busy with work right now, getting things squared away with the events that have taken place in the last few days. I’m sure you understand.”
Checkmate, nosey bitch. I offer up a warm, exhausted smile when what I really want to do is slam the door in her face. I don’t go for the casserole again. As far as I’m concerned, she can take the shit and shove it up her prissy ass.
She finally nods and clears her throat, accepting defeat. “Well, please let her know that I stopped by and that several other of her grandmother’s friends from church are here for her if she needs anything.”
That statement makes me dizzy in disgust. I open my mouth and then snap it shut. I can’t react yet until I process this shit.
“Will do.” I nod, taking the dish and wishing her a good day before closing the door. I slide the glass dish on the dining room table and then go back to the living room. Frankie’s calm breathing fills the air. It hits me that this is the only time this girl is at peace.
Her face is relaxed with her cheekbones setting off her face. Her long eyelashes rest on her pale skin. Her lips purse and then relax every once in a while. The journal I tucked in the couch screams my name. My hands sear when I dig it out and open the pages. It feels damn wrong on so many levels.
It shouldn’t. I’m the law and should be doing so many things different in this case, but I can’t tell you why I haven’t. There’s an instinct gut-deep tugging at me to protect this girl. I sit and read, each word ripping and tearing my heart apart. It never ends. The torture continues with each written word, even during the years he never touched her. She became a prisoner in her own home, life, and body.
The deep roar of a truck engine damn near rattles the pictures off the wall. I don’t have to wonder or peer through the blinds to see who is here now. It’s Truckee. My brother and the only man who might be able to get my ass back into the rights of the black and white law by doing the dirty work. Reluctantly, I close the journal with a few entries unread. I had to skip over a few because they were too damn unbearable to digest.
Chapter Thirteen
Dalton Cray
“Jesus Christ never believed in Mary Poppins until this shit.” Truckee takes his cowboy hat off and wipes his beard with the other. “More like it looks like Mary Poppins took a shit in here and sprinkled her magic dust. Thought this shit only happened in movies.”
“Enough.” I stand from where I was perched, glancing over at Frankie. If it wasn’t for the rise and fall of her chest I’d have my fingers on her neck checking for a pulse. “This is actually how normal people live.”
I know it’s on the tip of his tongue to argue that he has no idea what the hell normal means. Truckee ran with the death of our parents and built a damn dynasty.
“Shit me sideways, it’s intriguing.” He takes a seat in a rocker with an afghan tossed over the side of it. “Kinda damn cozy, if I don’t say so myself.”
“Did you bring a female?” I begin pacing.
“Shit, Cray, you’re making me nervous, and here I thought I was waiting on tea and crumpets.”
“This is no fucking joke, Truckee. She,” I point to Frankie on the couch, “doesn’t have money or one single fucking adult who gives a shit about her. It’s us. So get out all of your fucking jokes and either help or drive your ass back to your ranch which means the most to you. Remember Saige, our sister? Her story looks like a fucking fairy tale compared to what she’s facing.”
This gets a genuine reaction out of him. He’s up and on his feet in a matter of seconds and gets right up in my face, yanking me closer by the collar. “Don’t you fucking dare bring her up right now.”
“I will. We couldn’t save her, could we? She went through hell with us as mere spectators.” I toss the journal. “Read this and you decide.”
I round the corner into the kitchen, slapping both of my hands down on the countertop and concentrating on my breathing. My vision narrows, going in and out of focus. This shit is hitting way too close to home for me.
The front door opens, pulling me out of my past and the scary part is I have no idea how long I’ve been stuck here, trying to ground myself. I round the corner to see a woman similar in age to Truckee with black hair and olive skin. He passes her the journal with a jerk of his chin and that’s when I know he knows. The determined look in his searing eyes even gives me goose bumps. He’ll do anything at this point and the power he has should scare me.
I walk back into the room sitting on the opposite side of the couch as Frankie. The woman wastes no time flipping through the journal. I don’t have the energy to introduce myself and it seems Truckee is all fired up and doesn’t think of it either. Ten minutes of silence passes before she slaps the journal shut and looks up at us.
“Okay, what do I need to do?” She stares directly at me.
“I need you to step up as the guardian ad litem.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “That takes a process in court, and between then she could be placed in foster care. How long until she turns eighteen?”
“Two weeks,” I reply. I had to dig to confirm that information without raising too much suspicion. Frankie doesn’t have a driver’s license and no record like other teens with minor consumption.
“She’s right,” Truckee grumbles. “Too many areas for loopholes.”
“Get a document, Truckee, stating I’m the guardian,” she demands.
He scrubs his face. “I can do that. It will take about an hour. What was her grandma’s full name?”
I tell him and listen to the two of them jumping into action. Quite entertained, how this spitfire of a woman orders my brother around. I have no idea what the situation is between them, but can only guess.
* * *
> Frankie
I keep my eyes closed, not moving a bit, listening to these strangers find a solution to fixing my problems. The joke is on them because there is no way to fix me or this situation.
“You can give the letter to the courts showing I have custody,” a female voice adds.
Dalton clears his throat. “It can’t be that easy.”
“It will be. It will be a legit letter and last I knew you were the sheriff in this shit shithole and can make anything happen,” a deep voice growls.
“Don’t go there, Truckee.”
“Grow a fucking backbone, Cray. We couldn’t save Saige, but now we have a chance to redeem another life. If that means skirting the law, then fucking saddle up, brother.”
Silence slices through the room. Even in my fake sleeping state, I cringe internally. There’s no missing the raw emotion and heartbreak between these two. I have no idea who Saige is and what she went through, but there is definitely regret.
“Back the hell down.” Dalton raises his voice, showing his authority. “It’s not about skirting the law here. Hell, I already know that this town turns their fucking head to nearly everything. Won’t be a problem getting the custody transferred. We have a much bigger problem and I’m about to find out how bad it is.”
“What do you mean?” the feminine voice asks.
“Ray Chapman…”
Dalton is cut off by the other man. “Who the fuck is Ray Chapman?”
“The pastor.” Disgust is clear in Dalton’s tone. I’ve never heard anyone talk about the man with nothing but respect. “He’s missing right now. We may have more than just custody to cover up. I need to go next door and see what we are dealing with.”