Wesley

by Leanne Davis

  Headlights sweep over the house. Crap. The cop! Here I go. My stomach churns in knots.

  “That’ll be Wyatt,” Dani says.

  Wyatt? Must be the son. Dani’s boyfriend. I tense. I’ve listened carefully to every word Tara and Dani have said to each other and to me and I still don’t know what’s next.

  Footsteps and then the front door sweeps open. In walks the Kincaids’ son, a kid who is as black as me. I blink while staring at him as he shrugs out of a wet sweatshirt, shaking his head of beaded water. Slipping off his shoes, he complains, “Damn, I got caught in it… oh, hey, who’s this?” he says, all matter-of-fact and polite. He’d been talking to himself or the room until his gaze lands on me. He turns to his mom, spots the gun in her lap, and his head whips back before he starts glaring at me. I’m surprised he doesn’t cry out from the whiplash in his neck. “What in the hell is going on?”

  “Wesley here was taking refuge from the rain in our barn. Scared Dani to death. She held him up with a pitchfork. I heard screams and voices and I grabbed the gun to see…”

  “But why is the gun still out?”

  “I think he robbed Mrs. Carson.”

  “Of the blind charity money?”

  “Yes.”

  Wyatt is instantly caught up. He turns and glares at me, his hands on his hips, his elbows out. He’s wearing a t-shirt and shorts. He’s wearing more preppy clothes than I’d ever be caught dead in. His look is furious, however, and the whites of his eyes are showing as his eyes bulge out of his head.

  “You called Dad?”

  “Hiker got lost out towards Skamania. He’s the lead on the search. I thought we’d just wait for him. I got this, you two can continue with your plans.”

  Dani rises up. Wyatt’s gaze slides over me, then towards Dani. Wyatt puts a hand out to her shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Yes,” she says without further elaboration before moving past him.

  “We’ll stay until Dad gets here.”

  Three hours. We sit there. Awkward as hell. There’s nothing to say. Tara is far less chatty about her Seattle life. Or recognizing my kind. Or wanting Wyatt to know all that I sense. I tuck that nugget of information away. Perhaps I can use it later on for something. They each get a drink and eat leftover chicken enchiladas, which they heat up. They offer some to me, but I refuse. I’m bored, but worried. I’m stressed and want to leave. Sitting here in a house like this is something I’ve never done before. I feel really weird being housebound when I’m used to freedom and fresh air and living outside, which I prefer by far. Finally, more headlights. A knot fills my gut. I clench my fists and order my facial features to stay neutral. Never let them see you sweat.

  Ryder Kincaid walks in. He’s white. White as a lace doily. So, this couple must have adopted Wyatt. I give Wyatt another surprised assessment. Maybe he was a foster brat like me and got lucky? Pretty lucky, I assume, to find this couple and have them take him in! I wonder if we might have more in common than I first imagined.

  Ryder is starting to smile as he takes off his coat and shoes as everyone else did, a warm greeting on his lips. Is this how a normal family interacts? I sure as hell didn’t know. But his greeting dies when he finds me sitting there. He whips around the corner of the half wall when he spots his wife’s shotgun, still very close to her. “Tara? Are you all right?”

  “We’re fine. I’ve got the situation under control. This is Wesley. He’s been a perfect gentleman, waiting here patiently for three hours until you returned.”

  “Why? What is going on?”

  “Dani found him in the barn, and she got scared and held a pitchfork on him. I came in at hearing the trouble and brought the shotgun. He’s what’s considered a traveler, and he went into the barn to stay dry from that storm. I believe that part of his story. I knew travelers from when I was homeless. They choose to have no permanent place of residence, but are usually completely self-sufficient, and rarely stay in one place for long. He was in a sleeping bag when Dani found him. But he also is the one who stole the charity money from Mrs. Carson in front of the liquor store a few days ago.”

  Ryder blinks in surprise, turns to me, and here I go. To jail. Arrested. I hope to God I get my stuff back someday.

  Ryder has dark brown hair and eyes. He’s in full uniform with a big handgun on his side. A Washington State Fish and Wildlife officer according to the insignia on his uniform. I have no real idea what they are in charge of or exactly how far their authority goes. I’ve run into them in state parks and around different public lands, but I usually avoid all law enforcement. I don’t often draw their attention while traveling. But apparently, they carry guns and must have full jurisdiction like other cops. I didn’t know that. “Did he admit that?’

  “No. But he did it. He’s got the exact amount that was taken in that pack of his. He trespassed here, so I figured he was in the wrong and I should hold him.”

  “Well, I can hold him now. All right, I’ll take care of it.” He starts to come towards me, tugging on the handcuffs in his belt. I sigh and start to rise to my feet. “Put your hands up and keep them there.”

  His tone is cool and commanding without any yelling or sounding panicked or even rude. “And slowly. Very slowly, get to your feet.” His other hand rests on his gun handle.

  I do exactly as he says. Dani huddles with Wyatt on the couch. Their eyes are huge. They might have seen their dad arresting people but probably not in their own house. “Turn around and keep your hands straight up.” Ryder Mirandizes me as he quickly dispatches me, clicking the cuffs on my wrists, and I hate how uncomfortable they feel behind my back. I can’t stand this. I detest this. I want to close my eyes in total embarrassment. But I also fear being locked up somewhere, so I remain cool outside. They will never know I care about anything.

  He takes my arm and leads me towards the entry. I think we’re going to get his shoes on when Tara comes up behind us. “Wait.”

  We both turn to her. Wait?

  “He’s homeless. I’m sure of it. But not like I was. He wants to be. He travels the country. He camps and takes care of himself. I don’t think the stealing was his usual MO. I think he’s harmless. And jail isn’t the answer. Or even being arrested. I think… we should maybe… not have him arrested.”

  “What do you mean?” Ryder shuffles his feet. He’s growing agitated. Frowning, his tone sounds annoyed.

  I’m thinking the exact same thing. What? Tara was homeless for real? She hinted at that, but it’s hard for me to look at the woman I see before me now and imagine her ever being homeless.

  “I mean, I think we should do something different. Something not in strict accordance with the law. Something… I don’t know… surprising.”

  My head whips around and I can only stare open-mouthed at this lady. Something different? Surprising? Have I stumbled on some kind of psycho enclave in middle of nowhere? Are they going to kill me and bury my body in a shallow grave or throw me into some unused cellar?

  What the hell are they intending to do with me?

  Chapter 3

  DANI

  Everyone in the room is staring at Tara as if she morphed into a turtle right before our eyes. I’m beside Wyatt, who looks at his stepmom as if he’s never met her before. Ryder, too. My gaze stops on Wesley. He’s as tall as Ryder and big, with his shoulders hunched upwards, and his arms drawn back behind him. A man in handcuffs standing in the Kincaids’ living room is something straight out of the TV.

  I was both repelled and fascinated by Wesley. I can hardly meet his dark, intense gaze. The few times our eyes met, I dropped my head down—casually—as if I were staring at my nail cuticle intensely. I’m in awe of how anyone our age can be so neutral under the circumstances he’s in. He had to wait three hours to get arrested! How could anyone hold his cool under so much pressure, just sitting there with a woman who was casually holding a gun on him?

  I’d be shaking and scared. I’d… well, hell! The one time a cop pulled me over to give
me a speeding ticket, I cried. Not so much to get out of receiving the citation, but because I’d been caught speeding and I was so, so sorry! I not only admitted it but straight up knew I deserved the ticket, so I asked for it.

  Wesley isn’t so obvious. He doesn’t show any feeling. There is a calmness to him. He doesn’t fidget. Is he uncomfortable being chastised like a child in the Kincaids’ living room while waiting for a cop to arrest him? He doesn’t know Ryder, or that he’s a decent and fair man, who goes out of his way to be kind. But waiting three hours for him to come and get you? I’d be tearing my hair out from anxiety. Wesley just sat there, his legs bent and feet flat on the floor. Aside from the little bits of conversation, nothing substantial is exchanged.

  Then he stands up and turns around to be handcuffed and off to what? I can’t imagine being taken to jail! I would have broken out in hives of distress. But not this guy.

  Wesley and Wyatt are strangely similar. They both are in good shape with nice faces. Wyatt’s shorter, more compact in his build than Wesley, but it’s startling how alike they appear.

  I have no idea what’s going on now. Tara has stopped Ryder and all of us are looking at her, puzzled. What the hell is she doing? Wesley especially is staring at Tara as if she lost her mind. Even while he was at the receiving end of my pitchfork or in the sights of Tara’s shotgun, he didn’t look like he does now.

  “Tara, what are you talking about?” Ryder asks, his hand still holding the round, muscled bicep of his prisoner.

  “I’m talking about the fact that you’re a cop and you know that he’s going to be punished either by spending a few days in jail or doing community service and then he’ll have a record and yet, nothing will really change for him.”

  “Change for him?” Ryder repeats Tara’s statement.

  “I’ve had three hours with him. I know kids like him. I know lots of homeless and runaway teens who live on their own. He’s not a criminal. I’d stake my life on it. My gut isn’t wrong. I think he made a mistake that he should atone for, but in a way that really does some good and teaches him something.”

  Ryder’s eyebrows shoot up. I have to agree. Mine do, too. Tara wants to what? I can’t fathom her logic. Wyatt jumps to his feet. “Mom! He robbed an old lady. He hid in our barn. Dani could have been hurt. She thought a cat was hiding in the barn. What if he snuck up on her? She could have really been hurt.”

  Wesley suddenly speaks up. “She was never in any danger from me. I could have reached out and taken the pitchfork at any point. I played along nicely, didn’t I? When I took it, I just wanted to leave. You can ask her.”

  I’m shocked, and my jaw drops. He thought he could have just taken my weapon?

  “It was a lucky grab!” I instantly explain, although I don’t mean to get involved.

  His gaze finds me and again, I have to avert my eyes. It’s like he’s the sun and my eyes can’t stand the glare. What is my problem? The guy is handcuffed! A criminal. He’s at their mercy, and I’m overwhelmed and confused by just a glance?

  “I could have taken it at any moment. I just wanted to leave. I wouldn’t have and didn’t hurt her.”

  “Ryder, come back inside. Take the handcuffs off.” Tara’s voice is firm and gentle at the same time. Ryder glances around to all the faces in the room, his expression confused as he twists his lips and lowers his eyebrows. Almost comically, he shakes his head.

  “Tara…” There is a low grumble of exasperation and annoyance in his tone. There he was in his uniform with a service weapon on his side, but he was confused as to what to do with himself in light of his wife’s request.

  It makes me smile just a little bit. This is why I always enjoy Ryder and Tara’s interactions. They are like second parents to me. My mom died when I was little, so Tara has always been a mother figure to me. I’ve always admired her soft, even tone of voice and the spark that was behind all her words and actions.

  “A few more minutes won’t hurt anything, right? You’ve got the loaded gun. He doesn’t.” Tara points out how reasonable she is being and yet a loaded gun has never been easy for me. It always makes me uncomfortable. I find it intimidating and threatening just to see it.

  Ryder sighs behind the half wall as he unlocks the handcuffs. Wesley’s hands are free and he’s staring down at them as if he’s unsure whether they really belong to him.

  “Sit,” Ryder grunts at him.

  Wesley comes back and sits. Ryder stands in the entryway of the living room, his hands on his hips. “Tara, what exactly do you think should happen here?”

  “I think we should help him.”

  “I don’t need your help!” Wesley jumps to his feet. Wyatt tenses. It’s the loudest, most reactive response I’ve heard from him so far. Ryder stiffens at the sharp tone and the first real show of feelings from Wesley. His hand grips the butt of his gun. “Sit down!” he yells in a deep, sharp voice to Wesley. Wesley obeys him at once.

  “Oh, my God! Ryder. Let the gun go. Sit down, both of you.” Tara crosses her arms over her chest with an exasperated eye roll. She turns on Wesley. “And you did steal money from an old lady that was earmarked for training blind people and improving their employment skills. That was an asshole move if ever there was one, right? I feel like even you must see that.”

  Wesley stares at Tara, his mouth open, then he starts to nod as if he feels contrite. “It was an asshole move by whoever did it,” he finally concedes without confessing his crime. Tara smiles at his remark.

  She gives him a slight nod. “You’re good.”

  “Thank you.”

  Wow, he seems to be showing Tara some respect. And a shared smile binds the cleverness of their conversation.

  “It was you. And you are what? Eighteen or so?”

  He doesn’t answer. She continues, “I know you are. I know you travel and think you don’t need any one, but why did you steal the money? My guess is you have been caught in more than one threatening situation, huh?”

  “Especially when a shotgun barrel’s cocked in my face.”

  “Right.” Her laugh is like a bark. “And I’m definitely not the most threatening thing you have been up against. So, tell me, what do you need the money for?”

  Wesley has a long staring contest with her. Tara sticks her tongue in her cheek, poking it out as if giving his silence more consideration. Finally, she says, “Ryder will take you into the station and the security footage will prove your guilt and you’ll be arrested. You’ll be put into a cell. That’s not a very fun prospect for a kid who spends most nights out in the woods on his own, right? I know your type, Wesley. I’m offering you an alternative. Don’t forget we have possession of your backpack. We can turn it into the police and hope it gets back to you unscathed, or hell, we could just keep it for ourselves and play dumb, ignoring your claims of its existence. Either way, you don’t have it. And that’s why you turned the pitchfork on Dani and tried to run, simply to get your backpack into your possession again. That’s what is most precious to you, isn’t it?”

  “You can’t do that! It’s my property! It has nothing to with the money!”

  Holy shit if the guy doesn’t react to that. His pack? What the hell? You’d think he had drugs or a gun or even a unicorn in it. He all but admitted to stealing but what provoked him the most was the thought of Tara and Ryder keeping his stuff. He reacted more to that than the threat of arrest and jail.

  “I know it’s your property. I know, Wesley.” There was a soft understanding to Tara’s voice. Soothing. Whereas minutes before she purposely riled him up, now she was calming him. Her tone was both stern and gentle. She seemed to be dialed into this guy in a way no one else was. The rest of us were witnesses but still confused and unsure. “But you’re not getting it back until you make retribution for stealing from the charity.”

  “What?” He started to settle back down until he heard her last softly spoken words. He roars at her. “What do you want me to do? I just need my stuff back!”

  �
��You admit to the mugging?”

  His lips lock together in a huge scowl. He looks as menacing as I first found him in the barn when we were alone, and I saw him as a trespasser with unknown intentions.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because I’ll destroy the contents of your backpack if you don’t.”

  “That’s coercion.”

  “This isn’t a legal interrogation. I just want to be on the same page. Honesty, Wesley, you will get farther with me than with anyone else.”

  “That’s just fucking cold,” he mutters, glaring now at the woman who had seemed to be on his side.

  “Yeah, well, what you did to Mrs. Carson was fucking cold, too. So, I think this is important enough.”

  “What is?”

  “Helping you.”

  “You’re not helping me. Can’t I just go to jail and you give me back my stuff?” He shuffles around, clearly troubled by his pack. I can’t get my head around it—he’d go to jail just to get his pack from Tara?

  “So?” Tara raises her eyebrows again.

  “Fine. I took the money. I needed to pay a friend who gets my monthly cell phone bill. I’m two months behind. I didn’t want him to shut it down. He threatened me that morning. I just wanted to send it to him and pay it off. I didn’t have any luck finding work around this damn place, so I did that.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Now what?”

  “Yeah, what now?” Ryder’s voice comes into the room. He seems to accept Tara taking control of his prisoner and for once, this is on her.

  “You’re going to earn the money back and then some. You’re going to pay it all back and apologize to Mrs. Carson when you do.”

  “At which time she’ll have me arrested.”

  Tara paused, her lips twisting. “Possibly. Yeah. Let me think on that. Okay, so the money gets put back into the charity somehow, fourfold even, and you’ll gain the experience of earning it fair and square. We’ll see how long it takes you to accomplish that, especially for a small charity like Mrs. Carson runs.”