Unbreakable

by Alison Kent

  “Thanks,” Clay said with a nod, his gaze finding Kevin as if he needed a friend. “I like eggs.”

  “I’ll pick up a fan, too. There’s a window unit in what’s supposed to be the master bedroom, but I imagine it’s nothing but a big nest for mice these days. Depending on how my finances shake out”—and what a joke that was—“I’ll eventually look into central air.”

  After a long moment spent blinking and staring, Clay asked, “You saying you don’t have any money?”

  “No. I’m saying I have to be careful with what I have.” Another joke. He was becoming a regular comedian.

  That seemed to satisfy the boy. “What happens once the house is cleaned up? Are you going to move back in?”

  Casper hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I don’t know. Another bridge I’ll worry about when the time comes.”

  “You had to have been thinking something. Before you found me here. You stopped, and all.”

  What he’d been thinking was best not put into words. “I’d just got the letter telling me the place was mine. Thought it best I see what I’d inherited.”

  “Your folks die or something?”

  “Nah. My old lady just didn’t want it anymore.”

  “Guess she hasn’t lived here in a while.”

  “She’s been in Vegas for years, but I don’t know when exactly she moved. I’ve been gone since I was eighteen. Just came back this summer.”

  “You’re like, what, forty or something?”

  Jesus. “I’m thirty-three.”

  “That’s a long time not to see your mom.”

  “Clay…” Casper hesitated. He was the least equipped person he knew to advise on familial relationships. “My mother wasn’t much of one. Not all mothers are.”

  “Mine was,” the boy said, his tone hurt, his posture defensive. “She was the best.”

  “I’m sure she was. I didn’t know her well, but I do know she loved you.” He didn’t know anything of the sort. He just figured it was something the kid deserved to hear. “She talked about you a lot.”

  “Didn’t figure y’all were into talking.”

  Because they were too busy screwing. Clay didn’t have to say the words for Casper to hear them. “Spending time with women is a lot more fun when you both talk about things that matter, and me and Angie did that. About rodeo and about Albuquerque. And about you.”

  “Whatever.”

  Jesus H. Teenagers. Casper reached into the past, grasping for something. “She talked about you and your books. She was damn proud of that, you reading instead of spending all your time in front of a computer or Playstation.”

  Clay shrugged. “I like stories. The best games have stories. But I left my laptop at home so I’ve been grabbing books where I can.”

  Something about that had Casper’s antennae twitching. “Whaddaya mean, grabbing books?”

  “Used stores toss out old ones. New stores throw away ones that don’t have any covers. It’s trash. It’s not like I’m stealing.”

  Eh, they might have to disagree on that. “What else have you been digging out of the trash?”

  “Food for Kevin sometimes. And other stuff.”

  “Food for you?”

  “You figure out the best places to look, the best times.” He flipped his hair out of his face again. “I mean, I’m not going to eat spoiled meat or rotten eggs, but someone tosses out half a Big Mac? Yeah. I’ll bite. Better than Vienna sausages and cheese crackers.”

  Jesus H. Christ. “Your mom talk to you about looking a gift horse in the mouth?”

  Clay dropped his gaze to his too-big feet, shuffled them. “Thanks for the food.”

  That was better. “It’s just for a night.”

  Another shuffle, his soles squeaking against the floor. “You say so.”

  “I do,” Casper said, realizing such backtalk would’ve earned him a fist to the face from his old man. “I stopped by to take a look at the place. I wasn’t expecting visitors. I’m a little blindsided, but I’m working to catch up.”

  “Yeah,” was all Clay said.

  Okay. Change of subject. “When did you get here?”

  “About a week ago, I guess.”

  “And you’ve been here in the house all that time?”

  “Except when I’ve gone out for food.”

  “Did you ever think about going out for a shower?”

  Color stained the boy’s cheekbones. “I washed up along the way. Gas stations. Rest stops. It’s mostly my clothes that smell. I didn’t have the money to wash them.”

  “Doesn’t cost but a few bucks, soap included.”

  “I didn’t have a few bucks.”

  “Did you…Do you have anything?”

  “Money, you mean?” He shook his head, his hair falling back into his face. “Not anymore. I had a trucker in Midland give me a fifty. It lasted a while.”

  Casper didn’t like the sound of that. “He gave it to you. You didn’t—”

  “Suck his dick? No, man. None of that shit went on. I wouldn’t have taken rides if it had.”

  “Good,” Casper said, though who was he to judge what a kid had to do to survive? He dug his wallet from his pocket, rifled through the bills stuffed inside, and pulled out twenty bucks. That left him with the nine bucks of change from the lunch he shouldn’t have splurged on. He crossed his fingers he wouldn’t have a blowout on the way home. “Take this. Not that you’ll need it, but being without’s not a good thing.”

  Clay shrugged, his hands in his pockets. “I’ll make do. I always have. Mom taught me how.”

  Maybe so, but it still didn’t sit well, and he waited until Clay gave in and took the money. “Guess you were on the road a while.”

  “I left when school was out.”

  “In June? You’ve been on the road two months?”

  He nodded. “Sometimes we’d just hole up a few days. If the weather was bad. Or we’d walk early and late, and hang out inside somewhere to get out of the heat. Sometimes we were just tired and took a break. It wasn’t like we were in a big hurry or anything. I didn’t even know if you still lived here.”

  And if the Dalton inheritance hadn’t fallen into his lap, he could easily have still been on the road. The thought had a bale of dread choking him. “You’re lucky. I only moved back a couple of months ago.”

  “That would’ve sucked. To get here and you not be here.”

  He started to ask the boy what he’d have done if that had been the case, but decided there was no use borrowing trouble when they were both neck deep. “Okay, then. I’m going to see about the water and power and gas, and I’ll be back as soon as I can tomorrow. Stay out of sight. You and Kevin both. A stray dog in ranching country doesn’t raise the same curiosity as one roaming the streets of Crow Hill.”

  “I’ll keep him in, but we’ve been careful, sticking to the east side of the porch when he needs to go. Not as much happening at the house on that side.”

  Casper thought a minute. Last he’d known, the Banyons lived on the west, the Taylors on the east, and most likely a bit of morning gardening and coffee with the old-timers at the Blackbird Diner was the only time Sheldon Taylor ventured out.

  “You can go,” Clay said, drawing Casper’s attention away from his musings.

  “I’m going,” he replied, getting back to counting all the things he had to do before seeing Faith tonight. He dug for his keys, settled his hat square on his head, reached for his sunglasses where they hung by the earpiece from the neck of his T-shirt.

  “We’re fine, dude,” came Clay’s voice from behind him when he still hadn’t moved. “We’ve been at this a while.”

  And that particularly disturbing fact was what Casper carried with him the rest of the day.

  FIVE

  “WHAT WOULD YOU think about having the party at the Hellcat Saloon?” Faith asked, wiping down the plastic tablecloth in the ranch house kitchen, then leaning to pick up stray potato peelings from the floor that always seemed in need of
a good mopping.

  “Mom? In the Hellcat Saloon? Are you kidding me?” Snorting more than laughing, Boone turned back to the stove, flipping the hamburger steaks he was frying up in a cast-iron skillet.

  Such a simple supper, and yet Faith’s stomach was rumbling from the smells. Considering her lunch had been nothing but french fries, and she hadn’t stopped work for so much as a snack the rest of the day, being hungry shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

  That’s what happened when she thought more about Casper Jayne than her own basic needs. Another reason not to risk an affair.

  A stupid reason, but she wasn’t above grasping for any and all straws at this point. He’d be here soon, and she needed her ammunition ready, because her thinking about seeing him after the way they’d left things this morning had her skin itching, her lust crazy hot.

  “If the saloon is closed for a private party, why not?” she asked as she tossed the peelings into the trash. “There won’t be any drunks there, except for her friends, and there won’t be any bar-top kitten dances, unless she wants to climb up with Dad and two-step.”

  “Who put this idea in your head? Wait. It had to be Arwen.” He pulled open the oven door, used a hot mitt to slide out a baking sheet of potatoes and onions broiling to a crisp, shaking them around before sending them back to cook a bit more. “Y’all had lunch and she sold you on using her place.”

  “She didn’t sell me on anything. Not if you mean she’s doing it for the money. She’s not. She offered the food and the drinks at cost.” A detail that appealed to the banker in Faith. “We wouldn’t have to deal with renting a hall and hiring a caterer and hoping we can get the date and time and menu we want. And it would be a whole lot cheaper than the country club.”

  Boone grabbed two plates from the cabinet. “I dunno, Faith. The folks’ve got room at the house. I don’t know why we don’t just do it there.”

  “One, because it’s kinda hard to throw a surprise party in the place where they live. And two, I don’t want to have to play hostess and make sure none of Momma’s Precious Moments figurines get busted by kids running from the one den door, across the patio, and back through the other.” The way she and Boone had done for years, her chasing him to get her diary back, him chasing her for teasing him about dousing himself in Stetson cologne before a date.

  “Grab a couple of beers from the fridge, will you?”

  First she grabbed a couple of knives and forks from the drawer, then went for the drinks, her eyes lighting up when she did. “Ooh. You’ve got strawberries and whipped cream.”

  “And an angel food cake up on top of the fridge.”

  “Dessert. Mmm. What prompted that? Y’all are usually much more caveman with your groceries.”

  Another laugh, this one with less snorting. “Caveman?”

  She found herself grinning, picturing Boone with a club and dressed like Fred Flintstone. “You know. Kill it and gut it and skin it and drag it home to eat.”

  “If you think that’s what we do out here, you need to come around more often.”

  “Speaking of which, do you mind if I sleep over?”

  “No, but why?”

  Because Casper’s not home yet, and he’s been on my mind all day, and we have to settle this thing we started this morning before I explode.

  “Because I’m tired and it’s late and I don’t want to drive home. And the Cowans next door are having their three-year-old’s birthday party tonight, and I’m just not up for all that toddler noise.” When Boone grunted what she took for acceptance, she went on. “I thought I could use the room Darcy fixed up when she was helping y’all go through the Daltons’ things.”

  “Sure. She left it in pretty good shape. It’s probably cleaner than the room Dax left when he moved into town.”

  “Eww. No one has cleaned it? He’s been gone a month.”

  Boone shrugged, sliding the hamburger steaks onto the plates. “It’s not like anyone goes in there, or that we’ve got all sorts of spare time.”

  “Note to self. Hire a maid for the Dalton Gang.”

  “Now that’s funny.”

  “Why?” she asked, scooping potatoes and onions onto the top of her steak. Then scooping more before letting Boone go at it.

  He settled into the chair at the table’s end, piling his plate full, then heading to the pantry for the ketchup. “You think any woman’s going to want to come out here and clean for us? With our reputations?”

  “You earned those reputations in high school. It’s hardly like you’re running around town drinking and whoring the way you did then.”

  “You calling your only brother a whore?”

  “A reformed whore, then,” she said, taking a bite and savoring the crispiness of the potatoes, the savory juice of the meat.

  “No, not reformed. Just temporarily grounded. Whoring takes a lot of money. I’m broke as a joke and it ain’t funny.” He sat again, the legs of his chair scratching over the floor as he scooted closer to his plate. “Which is why I wouldn’t be able to afford a maid if you found anyone to take the job.”

  “I’ll find you a janitor, then. And I’ll pay for it. I don’t like coming out here being exposed to who knows what communicable diseases.” When he gave her a look, she added, “And I don’t like thinking about you living in filth either.”

  “I’m not going to have another man cleaning up after me.”

  “Oh, good lord. What does it matter who does it as long as it gets done?”

  “I don’t want you paying to have my house cleaned. I don’t care who’s cleaning it.”

  “Too bad. You want me out here more often? The place is going to be clean.” That thought brought her back to the reason for this visit. “That’s another thing to consider for the party. Having it at home means we’d have to get Momma and Daddy out of the house for the day and get a crew in to clean. And they’ll have to come back the next day because I’m not going to mop and vacuum and haul away all that trash.”

  Boone sliced into his meat with the edge of his fork, scraped up a huge bite, but before shoveling it into his mouth, said, “Almost sounds like you’re trying to talk yourself out of this whole party thing.”

  “No. I’m trying to talk you into having it at Arwen’s place. Yes, she calls it a saloon, but it’s more like a Chili’s, or an Applebee’s even, than it is a drinking hole with swinging doors and barmaids draped over pianos.” She reached for the ketchup, squirted ribbons over her crispy potatoes. “And it’s sure not anything like the old Buck Off Bar.”

  That brought a grin to Boone’s mouth, but still he shook his head. “Maybe not, but I have a feeling a lot of the folks’ friends from church aren’t going to want to step foot inside that den of iniquity.”

  “Are these the same friends who showed up last month for the barbecue cook-off Arwen hosted? Because I don’t have time to factor hypocrisy into all the other things on my to-do list.”

  “You won’t have to if you have the party at the house,” he said, screwing off the top from his longneck.

  She took a deep breath instead of growling at him. “If we go that route, and I’m not saying we’re going to, then what money we save by not renting a hall we’ll have to put toward security on top of everything else. I’m not going to play hall monitor.”

  “You’re not going to cook or clean or round up heathens. Check.”

  “Boone, it’ll be so much easier to hire pros.”

  “I get that, Faith. But I want Mom and Dad to be comfortable, and I can’t see that happening at the saloon. I mean, hell. We could throw the party here, if it comes to it. I know it’s a drive, and that might be an issue, but at least put the ranch on your list of locations to scout.”

  The party wasn’t for six weeks or so. Not every decision had to be made immediately. And it wasn’t like the guest list would be peppered with Crow Hill society who might turn up their noses at stepping out of their hilltop mansions.

  But she would put her foot down about s
ome things, and her brother would just have to deal. “I will, but don’t count on it, okay? It’ll be late when the party’s over, and even if they leave early, some of the church folk are older than Momma and Daddy. You forget how dark it is out here at night.”

  “Look, just do what you think’s best,” he said, digging into his food again. “Bring me a list of what you’re spending. I’ll write you a check.”

  “I want you to have fun, too.”

  “As long as Mom and Dad have a good time, I’ll have fun.”

  “No you won’t. You hate coming to town and showing your face.”

  “If I hate coming to town, it’s because I’ve got too much to do to enjoy being away. Plus, the fridge on the back porch is full of beer,” he added with a grin.

  Instead of grinning in return, she glared. “I don’t like thinking about you out here drinking alone.”

  “I don’t drink alone. I drink with Casper. That’s assuming we don’t both pass out in our supper plates first.”

  “That’s it,” she said, finishing up her food and pushing her plate away. “You’re taking the rest of the night off. And not to spend in the barn doing more work. I’ll clean up in here. You read or sleep or take a hot shower. Relax.”

  “I don’t have time to relax.”

  “Uh-uh. No arguing. Move a chair outside and prop your feet up and have a couple of those beers.”

  “It’s hot outside.”

  “There’s a ceiling fan on the back porch.”

  “Yeah, circulating hot air.”

  She was going to strangle him. “Then sit in the living room. Watch a baseball game.”

  He cocked an arm over the back of his chair and took her in. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  Yes! But of course she didn’t say that. “I’m trying to take care of you. You’re my brother. I love you.”

  “More like you’re trying to get your way about the Hellcat Saloon.”

  “And here I thought I was so convincing,” she said, getting to her feet and stacking their empty plates, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Ugh. You smell like cow shit. Leave your clothes in the mudroom and I’ll do a load of wash.”

  “I can do my own damn wash.”