by Debra Kayn
Jerry kissed her cheek at her car. "I'll follow you back to my house."
Maybe she was the one wound up. Jerry had no idea what she was going through. Nelson, being released from prison early, had set her on edge. She wasn't a child any longer but an adult with a life. She had a job, relationships, and a more mature outlook.
Maybe it was time to let go of her past. Nelson had moved on. Maybe that was her sign that she, too, shouldn't put as much feeling into what they'd shared for years. They were two different people now.
"Okay." She yawned and got inside the car.
Once she was buckled up, she drove around the bar toward the street entrance. The beam of her headlights hit a lone figure standing near a tree at the back of the lot.
Going from the width of the man's shoulders, she recognized Nelson. Stopping at the street, she gripped the steering wheel and craned her neck, trying to see if anyone was with him. It looked like he was alone.
Jerry's headlights shined in her rearview mirror. Without thinking, she put the car in park and got out, hurrying toward Jerry's car.
He rolled down his window. "What's wrong?"
"I'm going home." She leaned forward. "I'm truly sorry. I know I promised to spend the night at your house, but I can't."
"Why not?"
She blew out her breath. "I'll call you tomorrow."
"Scarlett? What the hell is going on? We haven't spent any time with each other away from work in almost six weeks."
"I know, and I'm sorry." She backed away. "We'll talk tomorrow."
Getting back in her car before he could ask her any more questions, she pulled out of the parking lot and turned right, toward her house. Jerry's truck turned left. Once he was out of sight and could no longer see her, she turned around in the strip mall parking lot and headed back to the bar.
She pulled into the parking lot, looking for Nelson and found him standing beside his motorcycle. When she got out of her vehicle, he tilted his head and never said a word.
"Do you need a ride?" She rubbed her arms.
Despite the pleasant temperature, her irrational behavior tonight caught up with her. Jerry would be livid if he knew where she was.
"Curley and Paco went to pick up the flatbed to help me haul my motorcycle back to Steel Mechanics." He lifted his chin. "Your boyfriend is going to be pissed that you're not going home with him."
How had he known what her plans were for the night? She looked at his motorcycle. Only then could she make out broken plastic the color of red from his brake light on the ground.
"Did you find out who hit your bike?" she asked, preferring not to talk about Jerry with him.
"No."
"You should make a police report." She walked closer. "There's been a few fender benders happen since I started working here. People misjudge how much they drink, unfortunately."
"This wasn't an accident." His voice had gone deeper. "I was parked with the other motorcycles. My bike was the only one that was damaged."
"You mean someone hit it on purpose?"
"Someone got out and took a fucking bat to the bike," he said, devoid of emotions.
She looked up at him. "Why would someone do that?"
"Do I need to make you a list?" He removed the cigarettes from his pocket. "You should go home. It's late. I don’t want you around this shitshow."
"What about you?"
"I'm not leaving my Harley. I'll wait for the others to help me haul it home."
She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. "Do you want to sit in my car and wait?"
"No. I want you home safe, sleeping without a care in the world."
Knowing she wasn't wanted or needed, she exhaled. "Okay. Night."
She got back in her car. As she pulled out onto the street, she passed a flatbed coming around the corner from the bar. Breathing a little easier knowing someone was helping Nelson, she headed home.
Tomorrow would arrive sooner than she wanted, and she had a lot to discuss with Jerry. Each day, she kept distancing herself from him, and she owed him an explanation.
Chapter 19
Nelson
PACO PULLED INTO THE garage and got off his Harley. Nelson tossed the sandpaper on the floor and shut off the water hose. It'd taken him almost six hours to bang out the dents and reshape the metal on his bike. Luckily, the fork wasn't damaged.
"Charcoal was the closest color to black that they had on hand without ordering and waiting." Paco removed the quart of paint, primer, and topcoat.
All the paint he'd stocked up before he'd gone to prison, and included one that matched his Harley, had been thrown away when he'd cleaned the garage. He looked at the cans. "That'll work. It'll probably hide any flaws I missed in the bodywork."
He needed the Harley on the road because it was his only mode of transportation at the moment. Every vehicle in his father's name, which he inherited, along with his debt, once he'd been cleared of his murder, had been sold off to pay for his lawyer fees.
For how slow the business was going since reopening, his Harley would be the only thing he owned, besides the house, for the immediate future.
Curley walked out of the bathroom, zipping his jeans. "Prez called. We need to take off."
"Thanks for getting me home and helping out." Nelson shook both of their hands.
His liability to Tarkio Motorcycle Club grew deeper. He had no time to worry if he'd be able to pay off his debt.
"No problem. Let us know when you're ready to go after the asshole who done you wrong, man. We'll be ready to ride." Curley walked out of the garage with Paco.
Nelson put the quart of primer in the shaker and flipped the switch. He'd go after the son of a bitch, but he had no idea where to start. Half of Missoula wanted to chase him out of town, the other half pretended he never existed.
There were men he'd made enemies with while in prison who could be out walking around, waiting for a chance to get back at him for the politics that happened behind bars.
Thanks to his father, there was a drug lord and his cronies out there, probably wanting retribution for the shipment that was taken by the Federal agents, and they'd look to him to make up for their loss.
The shaker turned off. He poured the primer in the sprayer and slipped a mask over his nose and mouth. Closing the garage doors, he turned on the exhaust fan.
He'd finished dismantling the bike and wet sanding the metal he'd reformed earlier. All he had to do was put on each coat.
With something else to concentrate on, he let the rhythmic side to side movements of the application calm him. It would take seventy-two hours after the topcoat was applied before he could put his Harley back together and ride. Until then, he was stuck at home.
It could be worse. He could be dead or in prison.
Hell, he wouldn't put it past that little prick, Jerry, to be responsible for the damage to his Harley. He didn't like the guy.
Not even counting the way he'd treated Scarlett; Jerry thought his shit don't stink. He walked around Riverside Bar with a high and mighty attitude, probably to compensate for everything he lacked.
He had no idea what Scarlett saw in the guy.
A dull gray coat covered the metal frame. He stepped back and looked at his work from all angles. Moving over, he sprayed both of the fenders. He'd give it twenty minutes for the primer to dry and spray the paint on.
Pouring thinner into the spray can, he walked outside and worked at cleaning the gun. When he finished, he poured the liquid down the grate in the ground that went to a separate holding tank.
He'd almost reached the door when Scarlett stepped out from around the building. Since she came from the back, she must've crawled under the fence.
"Do I need to nail the fence boards down?" He walked inside, not surprised that she hurried to follow him.
"No, but if you could loosen one more, it would be easier to crawl under." She stopped by his bike. "My butt is bigger than it was when I was young."
He glanced over at her
and dropped his gaze to the shorts clinging to her hips. "I can see."
She stuck her tongue out. He appraised her approvingly. She was the perfect size for him.
He put the can of paint in the shaker and turned it on. Grabbing a different sprayer, he found the right nozzle and attached it to the can.
"Was there a lot of damage?" she asked, beside him.
He reached down and picked up the air hose. "Enough."
"People suck." She leaned against the empty paint rack.
He dipped his chin in agreement. "Don't you have to work?"
"Not until six o'clock."
"So, what? You decided to hang out with the town's killer?"
"Don't say that," she said.
"It's what everyone else believes." The shaker shut off, and he retrieved the can.
"I know you didn't kill him." She waited for him to agree. "Anyway, I came by to tell you that if you need to go somewhere while you're fixing your motorcycle, you can always borrow my car."
He straightened. She held out a key on a single ring.
"I thought you had to work."
She shrugged. "I can take the bus or call Lorraine, she's one of the servers at the bar, to pick me up. She lives over on Pine Street in Mr. and Mrs. Olsen's old house."
He remembered the older couple. Mr. Olsen was a postal carrier. "Where did they move?"
Scarlett frowned. "They've both passed away."
He grunted. Time had stood still in prison, but apparently, on the outside, it continued for everyone else.
She stepped closer, still holding out the key. Scarlett acted as if ten years hadn't separated them. She expected him to be the same person he was back before everything happened.
"I'm good. The bike will be ready to ride on Wednesday. I'm not planning on going anywhere in the meantime. Probably best, I lay low." He appreciated her offer more than he let her know.
She walked over to the desk, leaned over, and wrote on a piece of paper. He tried to ignore the way his body reacted every time she came around.
"I left you my number in case you change your mind." She raised her brows. "I won't bother you anymore, so you can finish your painting."
He poured the paint into the can. "Do you want to stick around and see the new color?"
A smile came to her mouth before she nodded and walked closer. He attached the hose to the spray gun. "There's a stack of masks in the top drawer of the—"
"I remember." She walked over and retrieved a mask, slipping it over her head and positioning it over her nose and mouth before joining him at the bike.
She stood off to the side of him, out of the way. Calmness came over him, and he let himself enjoy the process, seeing the first sheen of color. Without taking his finger off the trigger, he swept his arm left to right around the tank. When he completed two light coats, he could see what the Harley would look like when he finished.
He stepped back beside her. "What do you think?"
The air compressor shut off. He studied the bike. The color was different.
"It's not black, is it?"
"Charcoal."
"I like it. In the sunshine, you'll see the gray in the tone, but at night, it'll look black." She pulled off her mask. "You always were good at painting."
He tried to see the change through her eyes. She made it sound like an improvement, a better choice than the original.
"I better get out of here and let you finish." She put her hand on his arm. "Remember my offer."
He watched her walk out, shutting the door softly behind her. Because he couldn't help himself, he put down the spray can and walked to the back door. Opening it a crack, he put his boot in the opening to keep the vacant lot in view.
Less than a minute later, she strolled across the gravel and stood at the fence. As if she was born traveling back and forth between her place and his, she pushed the wooden boards and crawled underneath the fence.
Warmth filled his chest at the extra wiggle she gave, squeezing in the small space. Had she snuck over by going under the fence because she wanted to see him or because she wanted to hide her visit from the neighbors by not walking around the block?
Chapter 20
Scarlett
THE MUCH-NEEDED MEETING took place at Jerry's house. Scarlett sat on the couch in his living room. She half-turned toward him, wanting him to understand that what she was going through had more to do with her than him. Her respect for him demanded she sit down with him, away from work, and be honest.
Even if her decision cost her the job at the bar.
She picked up his hand and held it. "I've been dragging my feet in our relationship."
"I know." He inhaled noisily. "I've given you space and time."
She nodded. "You have, and I appreciate it."
"I hope you're here to tell me you're ready to move forward."
She looked down, caressing his hand. As far as eligible men, Jerry hit all the marks. He owned a business, he was kind, and he loved her.
If her mom's past relationships had taught her anything, there needed to be more than respect. She needed to connect on a deeper level to feel that never-ending love.
She gave her head a slight shake. "I'm sorry."
"You're cutting me off?"
"I need..." She grimaced. "More."
"More what?" Jerry pulled his hand away from her. "Just tell me, and I'll work on it."
"I don’t think what I need works that way." She scooted closer. "You're a great person. I care about you. I've enjoyed our time together. But when I think about what I want for my future, I'm looking for more. I haven't quite figured out how to make that happen, and it's probably something I need to do, not you."
He groaned on an exhale. "There's nothing I can do or say to change your mind?"
She shook her head. "I held off on talking about how I was feeling in the hope that I was wrong about us, or the feelings I need were slow in coming. I really like you, Jerry. But it's unfair to both of us to keep thinking I'll find what I'm looking for in our relationship."
He shook his head, hardening his facial features. She squeezed his arm. Confessing made her heart ache for the pain she caused him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Yeah, me, too." Jerry looked at her. "I was in love with you."
She nodded. "I know, and I felt your love deeply."
That wasn't entirely true. There were times she felt special to him, and other times, he treated her as an employee. No more special than Lorraine, Olivia, or Wendy.
Both of them sat in silence. Knowing there was no more she could say, she leaned over and kissed him softly. Then, she walked out of his house.
Outside, she inhaled deeply, thankful that it was over. The pressure on her for the last several months eased. Relationships were hard.
There might never be a perfect man for her, but she wouldn't settle for less than true love like her mom had done several times. Unfortunately, she never developed that emotion she craved from Jerry.
All the way home, her new worry about her job crept up. She planned to go to the bar like normal tonight and work. It would be up to Jerry to demote her to server or fire her if he wanted her gone.
She pulled into the driveway next to her mom's car. That's strange.
Her mom was scheduled to work today. She walked in the front door. A dedicated employee at the store, her mom, rarely took a day off.
"Mom?" She strolled to the back of the house and peeked in the kitchen. "Are you home?"
"Up here," yelled her mom.
She went upstairs and found her mom on her hands and knees in the walk-in closet. "Are you sick?"
"No." Her mom sat on the floor and held up a pair of tennis shoes. "I came to get these."
"What happened to the pair you wore?" She sat on her mom's bed.
Her mom pointed down. "The side ripped out."
"Didn't you just buy those a month ago?"
"I did, and they didn't even last as long as that cheap brand I
normally buy." Her mom bent over and tied the laces. "I'll have to go get new tennis shoes after work."
Having worked at the same grocery store as her mom and sister for a few years after graduating high school, she knew how hard it was to stand in one spot for eight hours a day. A good pair of sneakers was a necessity.
At least at the bar, she was able to move around and change positions.
Her mom stood, kissed Scarlett's cheek, and said, "I better get back to work before I'm late."
"I hope the rest of your day goes smoother." She followed her mom downstairs.
At the door, her mom turned back. "Why were you up and out of the house so early?"
"I broke up with Jerry."
Her mom pouted. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." She wrinkled her nose. "I've known for a while it wasn't meant to be."
"Well, some lucky, rich, sexy guy will snap you up in no time." Her mom blew her a kiss and went out the door.
Remembering Nelson's kiss, her stomach fluttered. What her mom looked for in a man was not what she wanted.
She wanted to be obsessed with everything. The way he looked, smelled, sounded. She wanted to be nervous and excited at the same time. She wanted her heart to race at the mere thought of being away from him because being with him was the best thing in the world. She wanted to feel like she couldn't go on living without his love, because without him, her heart wouldn't beat.
"Stop it," she muttered to herself.
She sat in the corner of the couch and turned on the television. Life wasn't as simple as she wanted it to be.
As she flipped through the channels, she pulled the blanket over her legs. The air conditioning was cranked up because of the forecasted hot weather, and the inside of the house was chilly.
If she happened to doze off, she'd at least wake up with enough time to get to work because the couch wasn't as comfortable as her bed.
An hour later, she'd solved each puzzle on The Wheel of Fortune and caught the end of Perry Mason when banging came from outside. She tossed off the blanket and looked through the sliding door to the backyard.