R A N S O M
The moment in the bathroom had been more emotional for me than I’d expected. I’d figured Taylor would eventually ask about my name—had been surprised she hadn’t already—and I’d been prepared to answer her honestly. But having to tell one of the best people I’d ever met that my mom had basically chosen my name so I’d be a big “Fuck you” to a hospital staff whose only real crime had been giving a shit about my well-being was incredibly hard.
It made me thankful to walk into a dining room full of people who appeared to be arguing about who’d been the one to name a particular chicken.
“I’m so tired of never getting the credit I deserve around here. I came up with Mother Clucker. I know it for a fact because Mom thought I said something else and threatened me with a spoon.”
“She always threatened you with a spoon. Maybe if she’d ever actually hit you with it, you wouldn’t be such a liar,” a large man sitting across from Owen said.
From his position at the table, it was hard for me to get a full picture of him. He wasn’t large in an overweight way, but rather in a hulking way that made him seem like he bench-pressed cars in his spare time.
“I can’t hit him. He bruises too easily,” Claudette casually commented as she dished some mac and cheese onto her plate.
“Sweet summer child,” Jimi said to Owen. “We all know who the most likely person at this table is to come up with a name like that. Stop trying to steal your grandma’s glory.”
“Please,” Owen scoffed. “You’re too senile to be that clever.”
“Hmm. Am I also too senile to know you sneaked that dog upstairs while your mother toiled over a hot meal for your ungrateful ass?”
“Owen Worthington Parrish, that mutt better not be in my house.” This was clearly a family who liked using full names. At least where Owen was concerned.
“Mom, it’s not nice to call Grandma that.”
Claudette glared at her son until he grabbed his napkin from his lap and tossed it next to his plate as he stood. “You,” he said, pointing a finger at Jimi, “should be locked in a home somewhere.”
“I am. This one,” Jimi retorted.
“If you behaved better, we could let you out more,” said a man who appeared to be an older version of the man sitting across from Owen. He had the same huge frame but with graying hair.
“If you want to live to see your birthday party, you’ll keep quiet,” Jimi threatened.
The man simply laughed her off and continued eating.
“What are y’all doing just standing there? Come on in and get a plate,” Claudette said.
I startled a bit at her voice because I’d been watching the scene unfold before me almost as if it were a movie. Realizing I was part of the action took me aback a little.
Taylor and I moved more fully into the room, but we each came up short when we saw that the only open seats were at opposite ends of the rectangular table. It felt awkward to sit at the head of a table with a family we didn’t know, and Taylor’s hesitance told me she had the same thought.
“Go on, make yourselves comfortable,” Claudette said as she motioned to the open chairs.
I gave Taylor a quick look before moving to one end while she walked to the other and sat down.
“Ransom, Taylor, this is my husband, Roland Jr. We call him RJ for short, and that’s my father-in-law, Roland Sr.”
“Nice to meet you,” Taylor and I said in such perfect synchronicity, one would think we’d practiced it.
Food was passed to us around the table, and we filled our plates with ham, mac and cheese, broccoli, and biscuits.
“Owen told me about your truck. We’ll take a ride out and get it with my tow truck after lunch,” RJ said.
He was clean-shaven and had blond hair that looked slicked back with some kind of product. His face had wrinkles in all the places that marked a man as middle-aged, and while his size made him the kind of man I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of, he looked kind.
“Thank you, sir.”
He gave me a nod in response as he kept eating.
“You two married?” Roland Sr. asked. He looked almost identical to his son, except obviously older.
I shot Taylor a surprised look before replying. “Oh, uh, no. We’re not.”
Roland Sr. looked down the other end at Taylor. “You think that’s a good idea? Just traveling around with a stranger?”
Taylor’s eyes widened. “He’s not a stranger. We’re together. Just not married.”
“Hmm,” the man said as he pushed his plate back so he could rest his forearms on the table. “This is a safe space, Taylor. If this man has kidnapped you for the purpose of, what do they call it now? They were talking about it on the news. Harvesting?”
I widened my eyes in alarm. Did this man think I was trying to harvest Taylor’s organs?
Jimi patted her husband on the forearm. “I think you mean trafficking, dear.”
He snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Trafficking. You could tell us, Taylor. RJ and I can take him. And Jimi here is a wizard with ropes.”
“No,” Taylor said, her voice loud in the quiet room. “No, he’s not…he’d never…that’s not…we’re fine. I’m fine. I’m with him…willingly?” Saying it like it was a question did not help make her sound convincing.
“Ignore him,” Claudette said. “He’s just messing with you.”
Taylor looked at Roland Sr. as if she were begging that to be the case.
The man simply shrugged. “Gotta get my kicks somehow. So, Ransom, tell us all about yourself.”
“I’m actually a little terrified to tell you anything,” I teased, even though I was only partially kidding.
“Smart man,” RJ said.
“Since you’re sitting in my seat, I’d think you’d be a little more forthcoming,” Roland Sr. said.
His words jarred me a bit. “I can move,” I offered as I grabbed my plate.
Claudette sighed. “He made us leave those chairs open for you. In his words, he wanted it to feel like an interrogation. Really, ignore everything he says.”
Owen bustled back into the room and reclaimed his seat. “What’d I miss?”
Roland sat back. “Did you know Ransom and Taylor like to knock over convenience stores in their spare time?”
Owen paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth before he looked up at me. “Why didn’t you let me rob any with you?”
I took a deep breath and stuffed some ham into my mouth, admitting silent defeat to the Parrishes.
Chapter Eight
T A Y L O R
After lunch, Ransom went with RJ, Roland Sr., and Owen to get his truck, leaving me at the mercy of Jimi and Claudette. Despite knowing that it didn’t make sense for another person to cram into RJ’s tow truck to take a fifteen-minute ride down the road, especially since I wouldn’t be of any help beyond moral support, I also felt sort of left behind—like it was a guys-only venture.
That was until Claudette pulled a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and Jimi sat at the kitchen table with a deck of cards.
“You play Rummy?” Jimi asked.
I slid onto a chair and looked at her. “I used to. With my grandparents. But I haven’t in a long time.”
“Need a refresher of the rules?”
I thought hard about whether I remembered at least the basics. “Nah, I think I got it.”
Claudette sat down at an open side of the rectangular table after putting the whiskey and three shot glasses down on it.
I eyed them, both nervous and excited at what might be in store for us.
“In the afternoons, while the men run around like they’re important, we play Rummy,” Claudette explained.
“But we’ve added some rules of our own,” Jimi added with a smirk.
Claudette poured the whiskey into the shot glasses and handed them out. “If you discard a numbered card, you take a sip. If you discard a face card, you take two sips. If you discard an Ace, ever
yone but you finishes what’s in their glass. Got it?”
I nodded slowly, trying to figure out if there was any way drinking with these women was a good idea. But I quickly realized I didn’t care, tucked my shot glass closer to me, and picked up my cards when Jimi finished dealing them.
It didn’t take me long to get into the swing of the game, though I was still seriously outmatched. My grandparents had never played with the same level of competitiveness as the Parrishes.
“Claudette, I’m old. I don’t have the kind of time you’re taking to play a card left in my life.”
“Be quiet, ya harpy. I’m thinking.” Claudette played a card a moment later and looked at me. “Don’t let her rush you. It’s part of her strategy.”
“Why would you tell her that?” Jimi snapped. “There’s no family loyalty in this house.”
“Clearly, judging by the way you sold Owen down the river earlier,” Claudette remarked casually.
“Please. Like you’re not going to cave and let him keep that dog in his room.”
Claudette shrugged. “He’s barely here anymore. I gotta get my kicks in when I can.”
I didn’t contribute much to the conversation. I was too focused on playing the right cards, which was getting increasingly difficult the longer we played—and the more we drank. I could hold my own against any college senior, but I hadn’t spent much time shooting back whiskey during the previous four years.
It was also becoming increasingly clear these women could drink any co-ed under the table.
“You know what’s a funny word? Queen. Queeeen. K-w-een. It does weird things to my lips. Queen,” I rambled.
“Well, that didn’t take long,” Jimi muttered.
“What didn’t?” I asked dumbly.
“Let me get you a roll,” Claudette said as she stood and went to the counter to retrieve the plate of biscuits she’d served with lunch.
I chose one and bit into it. “These are so good. Do you make them yourself?”
“No, they’re Pillsbury.”
“That damn little dough guy makes a mean roll,” I said as I shoved the rest of the biscuit into my mouth and reached for another one.
“Maybe some water,” Jimi suggested.
“Nah, I’ll just wash it down with the whiskey,” I replied, reaching for my glass.
Claudette reached out, putting her hand over the shot glass, but my momentum caused her hand to rise with the glass so that I ended up kissing the back of her hand.
“Mmm, what kind of lotion do you use? It smells wonderful.”
“Dawn dish soap,” she answered.
“I’ll have to check for that at Ulta.” Then what I said registered. “Oh…wait… Soap. Got it. I can just go to the grocery store.”
Claudette returned with my water and set it down in front of me. Jimi started to say something, but I didn’t hear her because I threw the glass of water back like it was a shot of whiskey, causing the water to slosh all over my face before dripping down onto my shirt.
“Oops,” I said before breaking into a fit of giggles.
“We’re gonna be in trouble,” Jimi groused.
“She’s in college,” Claudette argued as she handed me some napkins to wipe myself off with. “How was I supposed to know she’d be such a lightweight?”
I felt indignation welling up within me. “I’ll have you both know I won a prize at a frat party once for longest keg stand by a female.” I reached into my jeans pocket to pull out my phone. “I think I even have a picture of it somewhere.”
“That’s okay, dear. We believe you,” Claudette said.
“I don’t,” Jimi mumbled, but I pretended not to hear her because moving my fingers over my phone was hard. Had I hit my hand on something? Why were my fingers so slow and stiff?
“Have some more bread,” Claudette said, pushing the basket toward me.
I eyed it warily. “I feel really full.”
“Oh sweet baby Jesus, here comes the vomit,” Jimi said.
“I haven’t thrown up since freshman year,” I defended.
“Maybe we should take a walk outside,” Claudette suggested. “Maybe some fresh air will fix you up.”
“Okay,” I agreed because they were the hosts. If they wanted to take a random walk in the middle of the day, who was I to stop them?
I don’t know how long we had walked for or where all we had gone when I heard a vehicle pull up and the sound of its doors closing.
I looked at the chickens Owen’s mom kept on the property. “Do you eat them?” I asked.
“For the tenth time, no. We only eat their eggs.” Claudette sounded tired, but I wasn’t sure why.
“Uh, what’s going on here?” someone asked. I turned and saw RJ, Owen, and Ransom looking down at me. The voice had been deep and a tad unfamiliar, so I assumed it was RJ who’d spoken.
Ransom’s face looked concerned, but I couldn’t focus much on that because the sun was backlighting him, and he looked like he was glowing.
“You look like Edward.” I gasped. “Wait, didn’t we talk about this once?”
“About what?” he asked.
“Team Jacob or Team Edward. After today, I am solidly Team Edward because you are fiiiine.”
“What the hell happened to her?” RJ asked as I continued to gaze lovingly at Ransom. At least I assumed it was lovingly. By the look on his face, I wasn’t sure I was quite pulling it off.
“We just had a couple drinks over a card game,” Jimi explained.
“For the love of Pete,” he mumbled.
“Who’s Pete? Have we met him yet? Oh! Is he one of the chickens?”
They all looked at me like I was a bomb about to explode. That’s when I realized something. “Wait. Am I on the ground?” I let my head flop to the side so I was looking at the chicken coop. A chicken was on the other side of the wire staring straight into my eyes. I looked back up at everyone. “Did I fall down and get stuck?”
“You wanted to get a closer look at the chickens and kind of…flopped down there.”
Oh. That doesn’t sound like me.
I held my hand out, and Ransom grabbed it, hauling me to my feet. But once I was on my feet, I continued to sway forward, bumping up against his chest. How could someone’s chest be so firm and soft at the same time?
I nuzzled in. “I like it here.”
I felt his laugh more than heard it. “More than on the ground with the chicken?”
Twisting my head, I looked up at him. “I feel like you’re making fun of me, but my head is starting to hurt, so I can’t figure out how.”
He cupped my jaw and smiled down at me. “Why don’t we go up to the bathroom and clean you up a little?”
“Is that a eu…eu…eupheem…euphem… What’s the word I’m trying to say?”
“Euphemism?” he supplied.
“Yeah, that. Did you mean that…word I can’t say? Because last time we were in that bathroom, we almost—”
Ransom’s large hand over my mouth kept me from finishing my sentence.
I licked his palm as punishment for his rudeness.
R A N S O M
After I finished picking grass out of Taylor’s hair and dusted most of the dirt off her, I led her to Owen’s room. Claudette had said she could rest there for a while. I was only half surprised to see Gimli lying on a heap of blankets beside the bed. His tail thumped against the floor, but he didn’t otherwise move as I settled Taylor onto the bed and covered her with a quilt that was folded at the bottom.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered for her to sleep, which was unnecessary, considering soft snores were already emanating from her. I backed out of the room and gently closed the door before heading toward the voices I heard downstairs.
“I can’t believe you got that young girl sauced,” I heard Roland Sr. say. “I expect that kind of thing from Jimi, but you’re supposed to have better sense than her.”
“We’d only been playing for about a half hour,” Claudette
argued. “How was I supposed to know she’d get tanked so quickly?”
I walked into the kitchen and saw everyone gathered at various spots around the room. Jimi was sitting at the table, Roland was leaning against the counter, and Claudette was at the sink, cleaning what looked to be shot glasses. Owen was doing…something over by the pantry. His back was to the rest of us. Only RJ was missing, and I assumed that was because he was looking at my truck.
“How is she?” Roland Sr. asked when he saw me.
“Seems okay. She can sleep it off for a while before we get back on the road.” I was desperately hoping my truck was an easy fix and this extended stay with the Parrishes didn’t throw us too off schedule.
Claudette turned toward me, drying her hands on a dish towel. “I’m sorry. I had no idea it would go to her head so quickly.”
“Honestly, she’s been under a lot of stress with school and the prospect of meeting my family Saturday.” And possibly having witnessed her current boyfriend kill her old one. “I think that played a big part in her getting a little…”
“Trashed?” Jimi supplied for me.
A laugh bubbled out of me. “Yes. So no one’s to blame. She probably needed to blow off some steam.”
Claudette nodded once and said, “Do you want some coffee?”
“That’d be great.” A little caffeine jolt would do me well for the rest of the drive, especially since I doubted Taylor would be up for getting behind the wheel for a while.
Claudette busied herself pouring me a cup and brought it over with a carton of cream and a bowl of sugar, and I started doctoring my coffee how I liked it—a little cream, a lot of sugar.
“Owen,” she said. “You’re not fooling anyone. We all know the dog is in your room, and we all know you need to feed him. Stop stuffing snacks into your sweatshirt and just take what you need.” She rolled her eyes and huffed.
Owen’s head turned, and he appraised his mother for a second before looking down at the mound under his hoodie. When he returned his attention to his mom, he was glaring. “You take the fun out of everything,” he groused.
Let's Not & Say We Did (The Love Game Book 5) Page 7