“I will. Should I send you a passenger pigeon?”
Now that was the Blade that she’d worked with tonight. And she didn’t even try to contain her smile.
“I think they’re extinct.”
“Maybe. Then I’m out of options. What do you suggest?”
She retraced her steps until she stood beside him. And she held out her hand.
He looked at it for two seconds, and then he slowly reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. Turning it on, he used his thumbprint to unlock it and then handed it over.
There were a few notifications that disappeared as his home screen came on. His texting app was in the corner, and she pulled it up, putting herself in as a new contact. She handed the phone back.
She wasn’t sure exactly what that meant to him, but giving her number was huge stuff for her. Although she had no idea what that meant for their relationship. Did they have a relationship? She wasn’t sure.
But he had a phone number.
“So you can let me know when you get home safely?” she asked softly, staring at the ribbing on his T-shirt because she was unable to lift her eyes to his.
“Yeah.”
They stood on the sidewalk together, facing each other, breathing together. There were a lot of things she wanted to ask him. Things she was curious about, things she wanted to know, but mostly, what was he thinking?
Maybe he was as confused as she was.
Blade just didn’t seem like the kind of guy who got confused though.
She didn’t say anything more, not even goodbye, since he was texting her later. She turned and walked up the stairs, digging her key out and disappearing inside the house. She did not turn around and look at him.
Although she wanted to.
It seemed too needy. She didn’t really want to see his face anyway, because it was one thing for her to limp beside him, but it was another for him to watch her struggle up the stairs and into the house, limping through the doorway.
With the way her hip stuck out, there wasn’t even a nice figure for him to watch. What did he see when he looked at her?
Maybe he wasn’t looking. Maybe that was the real reason she didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to know if he watched her.
Funny, because she’d stopped caring about that kind of stuff long ago. And now, all of a sudden, it was something she worried about again. She was what she was, and all the operations and doctors and hospitals in her childhood hadn’t been able to change it.
She was content with that.
Chapter 9
Blade made sure he was early to work the next day. The inspector was supposed to be at the shop at 8 o’clock, but sometimes these types were early, so Blade decided he would make sure he beat him.
So he walked in at 6:30. Feeling pretty good. He’d actually slept well. He’d gone straight home after walking Libby to her house. Well, he’d had to go back to the garage and get his truck. There wasn’t anyone out in front of the bar though, and he was able to walk a lot faster, too.
If he and Libby got to know each other better, and after thinking about it for a while last night, he was hoping they did get to know each other better, he wanted to ask her about her leg.
He wasn’t typically a beat-around-the-bush kind of person, and he wanted to know. It had been like that since he knew her.
Their school hadn’t been that big, and he didn’t have any memories of her in elementary school. But he did have a few recollections of her in high school, even though he was older.
And then of course, there was the time that they’d spent, not together exactly, but...
That ended badly. Not between Libby and him. But because of Libby’s sister and what she’d done.
Even as bitter and as angry as Blade had been, he’d never thought that Libby had anything to do with it. It was a trap he’d walked into all by himself.
And that was something he hadn’t given much thought to. Libby had a family. The family hated him.
“Hey, sunshine,” Thad said from where he sat on a stool at the end of the counter.
“Somebody’s had too much coffee already today.” Blade walked further in and realized that Libby was already there. She’d been behind Thad, and he hadn’t seen her at first.
Their eyes met.
The kind of breathless, bottomless, lungs-have-no-end feeling struck him again. He didn’t know what it was about her, but she did that to him. Every time.
He didn’t feel too bad though, because he could tell her breath hitched as well. That actually made him feel good. His mouth twitched. But he couldn’t afford a smile. He didn’t know what was going on between Libby and him, but he wasn’t ready for his brothers to be in on it yet.
Maybe it wouldn’t amount to anything anyway.
She touched her tongue to her lips, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from tracking down. He was still staring at them when she said, “Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, please,” he murmured. Not really paying attention, just knowing if Libby asked him, it was a “yes.” Didn’t matter what the question was.
“You drink coffee now, little brother?” Thad said, sounding shocked.
His question broke the trance that Blade was in. Shoot. He’d just said yes to coffee. He couldn’t stand the stuff. Like mud water.
“I’d say our little brother would drink anything if Libby made it.” Foster slammed the door and strode across the garage to the counter. He leaned against it, smirking. “Ain’t that right, Blade?”
Blade pulled his cards tighter against his chest. If Libby weren’t around, it would be possible that he might trust his brothers about her. But not while she was standing there.
His brothers would be on his side. Well, they might take Libby’s side over him. Because she was just the kind of woman that a man felt he needed to protect. At least, Blade did. He assumed it would be the same for all men, but maybe there was a man who could resist her slender innocence.
But not now. Not for her. He couldn’t talk about her. He wasn’t ready.
“It’s going to be a long day. And it’s important that we make a good impression. Don’t want to fall asleep on the job. If I’m to start drinking coffee, today will be the day.”
He could think of a few other things he’d like to say. Like yeah, if she made it, he’d drink it. Didn’t matter what it tasted like. Or that maybe Libby could make coffee that tastes good. He didn’t know. Something that would make her smile.
He tore his eyes away and joined the conversation his brothers were having about the GM that was coming to inspect them. He actually lived in Peach Bottom and commuted to Richmond to work every day.
They thought he’d be there early.
They assumed correctly. At 7:35, the door opened, and a man Blade recognized from around town, Rick Brannon, walked in.
They’d already decided that the three of them would greet him, and then Foster would show him around while Thad and Blade went to work. If Libby needed to help him with any records behind the counter, she would. But in the meantime, she would handle any customers that came in. Which was part of her job anyway, although Foster had been helping her while she learned the ropes.
Rick strode up, and the three met him, shaking his hand and introducing themselves. They knew of him around town, but he just knew them as the Truax brothers. Blade would be surprised if he remembered their names. Most people didn’t.
“Isn’t there another brother?” Rick asked.
“Yes,” Foster said. “He’s a partner in the garage, but he’s the only one that doesn’t work here.”
“He’s a doctor, isn’t he?” Rick held a notebook, a clipboard, and an iPad. But he wasn’t taking notes right now. Blade assumed this was small talk before they got to the actual inspection.
“He is. He works in the ER at Peach Bottom Hospital.” Foster put his hands behind his back and rocked back on his heels.
Blade figured the information that Bram was a doctor could only
help them. But it wasn’t something they went around bragging about. In their circles, it wasn’t exactly bragging to say their brother was a doctor. People were more likely to look down on them for it.
Unless he was saving their life. Or the life of their child.
But with Rick, that was probably good information. Regardless, Blade had zoned out long enough that he was kinda clueless when everyone turned to him with their eyebrows raised expectantly.
Clearing his throat, hating it when he did this, he tried to remember what the last thing was that was said but came up empty.
Conversations that didn’t involve cars, trucks, or some type of welding technique were hard for him to pay attention to. He should’ve been forcing himself to hang on every word.
Too late now.
“I’m sorry. I was thinking about life in the ER.” That was a bit of an exaggeration though close to the truth. And better than saying, hey, I can’t concentrate when people are talking about things that don’t interest me, so I zoned out. “I didn’t hear your question.”
Foster shifted. Even Thad didn’t have a smirk on his face. Blade wanted to shift his eyes and look at Libby. If anybody in the room was going to help him, it’d be her. But he couldn’t do this with other people’s help. He was the one that had been daydreaming, so he needed to step up.
Still, his stomach felt like it contained curdled milk, and his chest felt like he was leaning against a pitchfork.
Rick shifted his clipboard and waved his hand in the air. “We were talking about your brother, the doctor. And then I said, I believe you’re the one that was imprisoned?”
This probably counted for the small talk. Someone like Rick probably wouldn’t clock in until exactly 8 o’clock. So technically, this was probably “off the record.” Because generally a personal question like that wouldn’t be something that he would have to answer.
But to refuse it would be a very bad idea.
“Yes.”
When people asked, any time the subject came up, he always, every single time, wanted to protest his innocence. Wanted to explain exactly what happened. Wanted to say how he was basically lynched.
Inmates, every one, always, without fail, insisted that they were innocent. It was an old song and dance. And after swaying to that music for three years, Blade couldn’t do it. He sounded just like the rest of them.
He’d been convicted. He’d been sentenced. And he’d served the time. Three years in the pen, two years on parole. He’d served it all. It didn’t matter one bit, for one second, that he was innocent.
“I see.” Rick’s hands twitched, like he wanted to write something down. But maybe Blade’s accusing eyes kept him from it. He didn’t know.
“And now you register as a sex offender. Is that correct?”
Bam. Don’t be subtle.
Typically, people who spoke to him about it were a little bit more tactful than that. He supposed Rick didn’t feel like he needed to be, since they kind of needed him.
More than the usual times, he wanted to say he was innocent. But he nodded. “That’s right.”
“Hmm.” Mr. Brannon tapped his chin. “Have you had any type of therapy? I’ve heard that that type of thing is very difficult to overcome.” His lips pressed together. “I know that my questions are probing. And technically, I haven’t started the official inspection. However, I do need to make a recommendation to my superior as to whether or not I think your shop suits our purposes. Already, you boys have a hometown advantage. I would love to have the shop right here in Peach Bottom. Everyone here knows of the Richmond Rebels, and you guys have a great reputation. But I would be remiss if I allowed your rap sheet to go unquestioned.”
Right. That made him feel great. He was the only thing standing between them and the contract that their shop needed in order to survive. Just what he’d always wanted to hear. Even if he was, truly, innocent.
No one had said anything after Mr. Brannon stopped speaking.
There was a rustling to Blade’s right and then movement. Uneven steps on the concrete floor.
Blade glanced over, knowing that it was Libby but not knowing what she was doing.
She came out from behind the counter, dressed just a little nicer than she had been the past few days, a khaki skirt, a shiny green shirt, and a necklace and earrings. He thought maybe she had some makeup on too. He’d gotten hung up on her lips before, so he didn’t even look there.
He didn’t need this distraction. He’d already made a fool of himself twice.
“Mr. Brannon. I think you know me from church?” Libby said softly, sweetly, as she moved forward with her hand out.
“Libby Hopkins?” Mr. Brannon’s eyes grew wide. “You’re working here?”
She shook his hand. He held onto it as he spoke. Not in a creepy, pushy way. Almost like a concerned father. “Was the church not giving you enough hours? And I thought you were working at the flower shop as well. Did your dad okay this?”
“I’m still working at the church,” Libby said, nodding. “But, Pamela, my boss at the flower shop, hired her niece, and she took most of my hours. As you said, the Richmond Rebels have an excellent reputation in town. And I was honored to be offered a job here.”
Blade tried hard not to smirk, because she had not mentioned her father at all. He almost assuredly had not given his permission for her to work at their shop. But she was in her mid-twenties. It wasn’t like she needed it.
Then, Libby did something that completely surprised him.
She gently pulled her hand out of Mr. Brannon’s grasp and stepped back. To Blade.
The hand that Mr. Brannon had been shaking slipped into the crook of his elbow.
His eyes widened, and his heart lurched. He kept his head down, so that Mr. Brannon could not see his facial expressions until he got them under control.
“Blade and I have been seeing each other.” Her voice held honeyed tones, and she looked every inch the church secretary. Other than the small amount of anger that she’d shown to him yesterday, when he held his hand out to help her up, he hadn’t seen her act like anything else. But somehow, she just looked even more the part.
He knew he sure as heck didn’t look the part of the church secretary’s boyfriend. And it wouldn’t matter how he schooled his expression; he’d never look that part.
But his heart was doing something weird in his chest, and not because he wasn’t looking like a church secretary’s boyfriend. But because Libby had done something so sweet, so nice, and so...unexpected. For him.
He had to say, he wasn’t used to people defending him. And maybe she hadn’t defended him in so many words, but she had deftly thrown her weight behind him.
Mr. Brannon looked from Libby to Blade and back. “I hadn’t heard that.”
Blade’s mind raced.
If Mr. Brannon knew, it was just a matter of time until Libby’s father knew. Libby didn’t live with her parents, but there was a lot of potential there for her life to be miserable.
He wanted to move away from her hand. He wanted to deny that they were seeing each other. Because by doing those things, he would be protecting her. But he couldn’t do that, because he would also be exposing her as a liar and a fraud.
And he’d be letting his brothers down.
Although she hadn’t, exactly, said anything that wasn’t true. But the implication was definitely inaccurate.
“We’ve been taking it slow.” Libby smiled up at him, a sweet smile, the one that took his breath away. And made all the thoughts of moving away from her fly out of his brain and disappear.
Libby turned back to Mr. Brannon. “You do remember, don’t you, when Blade was on trial, there was no real evidence against him. In a case that was less emotional, he would never have been convicted.”
Blade knew Libby’s reputation was strong, and he could also tell that Mr. Brannon respected her. Blade could’ve said the exact same thing that Libby did, and Mr. Brannon would’ve dismissed it immediately. He’d se
en men do it over and over again. Until he’d stopped proclaiming his innocence. Because every convicted inmate did the exact same thing.
But when he had someone like Libby on his side, gently reminding respected members of the business community of the facts of his case—the fact that there had been no facts—it’d been a he said/she said issue that should never have gone to trial. Unfortunately, the movement that any woman, every woman, should be believed when she made accusations like Libby’s sister had made had permeated even their small town, and he’d been the beneficiary of the demise of the policy of innocence until proven guilty.
Because Libby’s sister had lied.
Chapter 10
That hadn’t exactly been her plan.
Libby’s fingers flexed on Blade’s arm, hard underneath her hand. No wonder Clarice came in and couldn’t keep from touching him. Libby sure didn’t want to take her hand away. But she couldn’t think about that right now. She was focusing on, if not convincing Mr. Brannon, at least allowing the idea that Blade might be innocent to permeate his thoughts. The idea that she believed Blade was innocent.
What was the point of having a good reputation, of having the respect of people in the church, because they knew she would do right no matter what—she’d lived it. What was the point of having that, if she couldn’t use it for good?
Blade had never actually told her that he was innocent. All she knew was her gut feeling.
Maybe, if this worked, she would ask. Ask what really happened that night.
She’d been afraid when she’d walked over, and then again when she slipped her hand into his arm, that he would reject her.
She didn’t like help. She didn’t like it aimed at her weak spot. Maybe she’d take help reaching up to the top shelf or lifting something that was too heavy, but when it came to her leg and her limp, and the things she couldn’t do because of that, or the things that she was slow at because of that, she resented people who felt like they needed to help her.
Hopefully, that wasn’t the way Blade felt about this.
It didn’t seem to be, since he hadn’t moved away.
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