“Really?” She belly laughs, her eyes lit with mischief. It’s a sinister laugh. I don’t blame her. “I don’t believe you. You want more game out of me than this. You’re going to corner me and force me to tell you things I can’t for reasons, I will not, reasons that’ll put you in a very—”
I press a finger on her lips. “Not another word,” I scold.
Ruby smacks my hand away. “What’s changed?” She searches my face as my jaw grinds. “You know something, don’t you? You know something and you aren’t going to admit it?” She cringes and clutches her arms to her chest.
“I know nothing.” I wipe the sweat off the back of my neck as my chest tightens. “No more questions.”
She narrows her eyes and cocks her head. Is that how she looked at them before she shot them? Did they think she was really going to kill them? And what did they do beyond have sex that made her livid enough to take their lives? I look away, spinning my baseball cap around and knuckle my forehead.
“Something’s bothering you. You only knuckle your forehead when you’re worried.”
Now, I have something I’m lying about. I can’t tell her I know a thing, or she might confess. I’d be the only person who knew she did it. Unless Etta does. I can’t bear to think about it. But what if her guilt gets the best of her? What if she panics and opens up? Decides to trust me?
Worse yet—what if she doesn’t?
Chapter 32
Ruby
Rebel has this look on his face like he’s suddenly solved all the world’s mysteries. And maybe the one I’m pondering.
Who sent that box to me, and why?
And this mystery: How did Rebel go from “tell me what you’re lying about” to “don’t tell me anything” overnight?
“That’s mine,” my mom says, yanking a box out of Rebel’s arms. “I’ll carry it on my lap. It’s the one.”
By that, she means the reminder. She’s had it since I can remember. Sometimes she’ll go through it and bless everything in it, as if each thing holds a particular sin or consecration. Mom comes by religion honestly. Her dad was a Baptist preacher who married a Catholic nun who left the order when she fell in love with him. Dad was Jewish. Growing up in our home was…interesting. Invented holidays included.
“Where’s Lake going?” Rebel asks. “’Cause we’re almost out of room. You want me to take you and the bird to the house first, Mrs. Rose?” He’s sweet with Mom considering what an ass she is about Etta. Rebel has the patience of a saint.
At least for some things. And some people. Certainly, not everything.
“No, Opal and Lenny want to ride with me too.”
“They’re welcome to ride in the Jeep,” I say. There’s plenty of room in there for ghosts and lies and secrets.
“Lenny doesn’t think that’s a good idea, do you, honey?” She waltzes a few steps away and cups her hand to her ear. “He says it’s fine that we go with Rebel.”
“Wonderful. You get the deads and Mom.” I ram Rebel’s shoulder as I pass him.
“Rebel.” Mom clucks her tongue, capturing his attention. “Next week, we’re celebrating deads day with a potluck.” She wanders around his truck twice, like she can’t figure out how to get in.
I want to suggest the doors, but she seems so oversensitive in regards to anything I suggest lately.
“Be sure you bring your daddy and Rifle,” she tells him. “And at least one of the deads with each of you.”
I swear to God we are the weirdest family on the planet. And Rebel, God bless him, is going along with all of it like we’re as normal as hot dogs at a baseball game.
“Wouldn’t miss it. Etta’ll be happy you’ve invited her.” A slow smile builds on Rebel’s face as he nods. Then he opens the passenger door and herds Mom to it.
She mutters something about Lenny and Opal beating her into the car and the unfairness of their special abilities. Even the deads are in a contest she wants to win. She seems to be getting dafter by the day. All kinds of oddities pop up, from the word mix-ups to the wandering in circles.
“Hang on,” Rebel says. “Let me move this.” He hauls a squatty glass terrarium out of the truck and proudly holds it up. “Etta made this for you, a housewarming gift.”
Oh, and the peculiar grin on Mom’s face? Priceless.
“The gays are certainly creative, aren’t they? He really is touched.”
Rebel leans toward Mom and speaks slowly, as if she’s foreign. “Etta isn’t gay, Mrs. Rose.” He sets the gift on the sidewalk amongst a pile of boxes.
“It’s all the same,” Mom squawks. “No need to put a bow on it. Please tell him thank you. I’m going to make some men with him when he visits for the deads potluck.”
“Amends?” Rebel asks, his brow rising. “Make amends. That’s very kind of you.”
“You and Ruby... Honestly.” Mom waves a hand at Rebel in dismissal. “I have a college degree, you know. Neither one of you do.”
“I’m well aware.” Rebel’s voice rises as he forges a hard smile.
He’s good with her. Better than I am. He settles Lake on Mom’s lap and double buckles them. Then he climbs in on the driver’s side.
“I’ll swing back for you in a few, sweet thing. Rowdy can drive the moving van.”
I edge toward him, breathing through my nose as I bite the inside of my cheek. “Are you taking something for your current state of delusion? Now, I’m suddenly sweet thing? I’ll drive the Jeep.” I spin and march away, chuckling. What has gotten into him?
“You’ve always been my sweet thing, and I’ll drive you. Rowdy and I’ll deal with the Jeep. This isn’t an argument. It’s what we’re doing.” He doesn’t wait for my answer.
I wasn’t going to argue anyway.
I’m so confused. Rebel’s a different man today. Maybe he’s hearing ghosts too. Great, the deads are speaking to everyone but me. Maybe the deads sent me that box.
Speaking of… Shit, the box. I jog inside and fling the coat closet open. But my purse is gone. Maybe Mom grabbed it. My stuff will be strewn everywhere if Echo found my purse. I keep it in the coat closet because he won’t open that door.
All I need now is for Rebel to find the box.
Chapter 33
Rebel
“I see you’re ditching all your hunting gear, Mrs. Rose. Why’s that?” I back out of the driveway, passing a heap of stuff.
“Haven’t gone hunting since my rifle was stolen. I know who it was, but I won’t point fingers at the deads, God bless them all.”
She rattles off her list of deads as I fiddle with the air conditioning.
“Bet you’re glad Ruby’s back in town.”
She straightens her wig then pulls a compact out of her purse, her lips forming a unique shape when she refreshes her coral-colored lipstick. “Opal says she’s thrilled.”
“But not you?”
“I’m not sure this town is right for Ruby Mae.” She carefully tucks her lipstick into her purse as she hums.
“Why’s that?”
“Just things. This town can be trouble for some. I’d hate for Ruby to find more trouble.”
More trouble? This is insane. Does she know that Ruby’s a murderer? Fuck. I can’t keep calling the woman I love a murderer. Every time the thought crosses my mind, another knot forms in my stomach.
“Trouble how?”
She sighs long and low. “Lenny says you ask too many questions. God bless the deads.”
The names of dozens of deads fill the rest of our drive time. She even tosses a few dead presidents into the mix. And she doesn’t tell me to ask a stupid question when she’s done. Though I think I have plenty of them that someone knows the answers to. But who?
After Lake, Monday, and—I assume—the deads are settled, Rowdy pulls up with the moving van and Echo. When they begin to unload, Rowdy shoos me off to get Ruby.
As I turn in the driveway to pick her up, she approaches my window, breathless. “Did you happen to see my purse? It’s
red and funky…a boho leather thing.”
“Nope. But I wasn’t looking for it, either. You look a little panicked.”
“It’s just…I can’t lose it.”
I climb out of the truck and follow Ruby to a pile of giveaways. “I’m sure it’ll show up.”
“Fuck,” she mutters as she covers her mouth with a fist. “Where is it?” She rummages through the pile of discarded items on the lawn.
“You think your mom would have put it in here?” I squat next to her and help her rifle through what looks like garbage.
“I have no idea. I keep it in the coat closet so Echo doesn’t take it. He likes purses. Likes to dig through them.”
“I’m sure you have more than one purse. Stuff always get lost during moves.”
“That purse cannot for anything get lost… I can’t…” Her breath hitches and she punches her fists against her thighs.
“Baby, what’s up? You’re getting pretty emotional over a purse.”
“It has some important things in it.”
“What kinds of things?” The second I ask, I want to take the words back, fearing she might tell me something about her crime that I’ve all but incarcerated her for.
“Meaningful things. Leave it at that.” Ruby climbs into the truck.
I fasten her seat belt without a second thought. “You got it, boss.”
On the drive to the house, once she seems calmed, I close my hand around hers. “I want to take you out tonight. Would you like that? Just you and me.”
“A date?” She fans herself and smiles wide. “A real date?”
“Yes, a date.” I pinch her waist to receive a giggle.
“You’re confusing.”
“You’re beautiful, Ruby. More beautiful than you were in high school, baby, but you’re a little confusing too.”
And hopefully not a murderer.
Chapter 34
Ruby
I’m confused and confusing. But we’re going on a date. Which is a major leap for us after last night. Everything since I’ve come home has been nonstop push-pull. Hopefully, tonight, we can make some progress.
Rebel picks me up in his truck just as the sun is setting, and it’s all rainbows and unicorns, my version anyway. I can’t help but feel suspicious of all the feels and happiness. Could we be this? A normal couple who’s reinvigorated their long-lost love? Maybe? But then what? I can’t stop picturing a future without him; problem is, I’m not sure where that future puts us. Paris or Wisconsin? How will we ever work? What will I give up for love?
We park in front of Storm Field Bakery, Rebel’s younger sister’s business.
“I’m so impressed with my Stormy girl!” I say.
“Works her ass off but loves it.” Rebel’s proud smile turns my insides to pudding.
I love how he walks the line of rough-and-tumble one minute and sweet protector the next. He’s such a family man. Maybe he’ll be my family man at some point. A girl can dream.
“She was terrified to start her own thing,” he says, “so she made those filled donut holes I taught her to make when she was in junior high. We sold out of ’em at the hardware store in two hours one weekend. That was all she needed.”
My throat grows thick as my nerves tingle. I cup his whiskered jaw in my palm. “Rebel Field, you’re still the same boy, aren’t you? Encouraging everybody around you to go for it.”
“Do I seem like a boy to you? When I push your skirt up later, the only boy you’re going to be talking about is the boy-oh-boy orgasm you’ll be getting. With my tongue.”
We share a look, and he winks.
“And then I’ll give you some man-oh-man.”
“You think you’re getting some later?” I laugh.
“Some later, baby? You’re giving me all. This pussy…” He leans over and strokes the front of my skirt. Then he slides his hand under the fabric and up along my thigh. Oh God. “She’s not going to purr, naw. She’s gonna drown in cream. First yours. Then mine.”
Oh, Lord. Yes, please. “You’ve always been sure of yourself, Rebel.”
“I want what I want. Right now, I want to take you into the bakery for our date.”
I glance at the hand-painted sign on the door. “It’s closed.”
“Baby, really?” He shakes his head, his smirk adorable, as he opens my door, taking me back to high school and our first date.
My guess is I’m about to relive it. Only dirtier.
“First date do-over?” I ask as Rebel unlocks the front door of the bakery.
“You’ve always been a smart girl.” He holds the door open, his warm hand on my lower back urging me in.
“Dirty do-over?”
He hums low. “Mmm-hmmm.”
That says everything—along with the way he licks his lips.
Rebel takes my hand and leads me through the antique-filled space. A chandelier-dotted ceiling, every tiny table, overstuffed chair, and mismatched piece of furniture drool worthy. Storm was always a girl with a point of view. Funky and offbeat. This place has her touch all over it.
“Did you make donut holes?”
“Had Storm make ’em this time.”
“Yay! Are we going to fill them tonight?” I bounce up onto my toes and kiss his cheek.
“We’re gonna fill everything, baby. Every little hole.”
“Such a naughty boy.” I nestle under his arm, happy as a girl could possibly be, crossing my fingers nothing comes up to ruin the sexy mood he seems intent on setting.
On our first date, when we were sophomores, Rebel invited me to his house. In their tiny kitchen was a cloth-covered table with a vase of flowers and two place settings including printed linen napkins.
He made omelets, the eggs having been collected from the coop he’d built and the chickens he’d raised. My crush soared while I watched him whisk the eggs like a pro then cook the omelets in a bubbly pool of butter. God, he was cute. His tousled, black hair, his sparkling eat-me-alive eyes, and his bring-me-to-my-knees smile. We rock-paper-scissored which dessert we’d have. He had two options premade. But I only wanted him. A sweet, sexy, rough-and-tumble bad boy who liked to bake, cook, and build? He could have told me we were having dirt for dessert and I’d have taken the first bite.
He won two out of three games. Then he decided we were having filled holes. Donut holes, that is. Cream and cherry, the two fillings he’d made. I nearly died with desire when he shared the plan and slid a cream-covered finger into my mouth for a taste.
“Rebel, this is…” My pulse zips, my eyes welling, when he pulls the curtain of the bakery’s kitchen back. “God, I missed you.” And yes, it’s a redo. A beautiful redo of our first date, right down to the cloth-covered table and flowers.
He presses himself to my back, his arms around me in a hug. “I wondered.”
“I wish you hadn’t.” I lie my head back and feel his heart thunder.
“Hard not to considering the circumstances.”
I pivot in his arms and look up at his weather-worn brow. My palms sweat, and I tearfully ask, “What do I have to do to win you back for good?”
Chapter 35
Rebel
Her gaze darts around as she blushes. She still has me. Am I worried that someone else may know what she might have done? Hell, yeah. The last thing I want is to lose her that way. Any way.
She must feel me giving off something that says she’s lost me, judging by her watery eyes and her unsure smile. I’m working overtime to hide my concern, which is not an easy thing to do when you wear love on your sleeve.
I skim my fingers along her jawline, her chin, and then her trembling lips. Her gaze settles and lands on mine.
“You never lost me, Ruby. I lost you.”
“Only in geographical proximity. And we’ll have to talk about that again if we can make something out of this thing between us.”
I pull a chair out for her, light candles, and uncork the wine. Then I pour it. “Yes, we do. Because I know you’ve got your
career over there. Not to mention your life. So, tell me something…you really had me in your heart all those years?”
“Not just in my heart, in my everything. In my thoughts, in my dreams, in my wake-up-sipping-coffees.”
I slump onto a chair directly in front of her and slide my hand around the back of her neck, drawing her close to whisper at her ear, “You still consider me your man?”
She inches back. “I never didn’t. I’m glad I didn’t know you were married. That might have killed me. I knew you were probably dating, but married… How did it all come about? Marriage is big.”
“It is big. It was a major change in my life when Paris told me she was pregnant.”
Ruby grimaces, her gaze shifting to the candle, one finger playing up and down the dripping wax.
“So you waited a few months for me?” she asks just before tipping her glass for a long sip. “Then you fell in love?” A fake smile forms on her lips at the same time knots bundle in my stomach.
I inch my fingers to hers then twine them. She wants answers, but the defeated slump in her shoulders and the cheerless pucker of her lips say something else. It must pain her to hear this, though I’m not sure why, because she left me.
“We had a one-nighter.”
“You married a woman you had a one-nighter with?” Her voice rises. “In this day? Rebel…I mean, my God.”
“I felt responsible, and really, she was a nice girl. Sweet. She couldn’t have done it alone. Hell, not even the pregnancy. Was sick as hell. I felt guilty every time she puked, which was nonstop.”
Ruby stares at her fingertip as she traces a line down her cast. “You loved her?”
“Once we got to know each other, I did love her.”
She glances up, breaking away from our gaze the second our eyes meet. It crushes me to see her pain. I wish we weren’t talking about me and Paris, but it was bound to come up at some point. We have years of things to talk about, wade through, and explore. Hopefully not many more landmines to navigate—though, somehow, I doubt it.
I tip her chin up, scoot closer to her, then lean in. “You ever fall in love with anyone?” Please say no.
Sunshine Bleeds A Black Edge (The Wild Things (standalone) Book 3) Page 14