After You Were Gone

by Alexis Harrington

  Julianne sank into the chair to his right and put her hand on his arm. “There’s too much hatred and heartache in life,” she murmured, feeling suddenly overwhelmed and worn out, despite the pep talk she’d given herself earlier. “Good things happen every day, but so do a lot of bad things.” Looking at him, she asked, “Mitchell, do you really think your brothers will stop pestering me now?”

  “They’re just two forking idiots. Julianne, don’t you let them spook you. Stand your ground. You have a right to be happy, and you’re strong. They’re nobodies, and they really hate that.” He leaned toward her. “But they are nobodies.”

  “For nobodies, they do a lot of damage.” She waved her arm in a wide arc to indicate the breadth of their crimes. “And I guess it’s been a hard fight for me all these years, going it alone.”

  He kissed her then, softly, with such tenderness that her pent-up tears stung her eyes before she forced them back. His strong hands traveled up her forearm and down to her wrist, something she found oddly comforting.

  “You’re not alone now.”

  Mitchell walked into the Captain Gas and took off his sunglasses when he confirmed the place was empty of customers. The scent of buffalo jerky and single cigarettes piled in a candy dish on the counter floated in the air around him. But those aromas couldn’t compete with Cherry’s perfume or the desiccated muffin sandwiches sitting under the heat lamps next to the condom cabinet. He’d stopped here because he hadn’t seen any cars in the parking lot or at the pumps right now. He wanted to talk to Cherry alone, on halfway neutral territory. This was the best way he could think of.

  “God-a’mighty, what the hell happened to you?” Cherry demanded from her command post at the cash register, plainly startled. She wore her long red hair in a high, voluminous ponytail, and her form-fitting top clung obligingly to her shape.

  Mitchell’s face was still swollen, and the throbbing pain radiated to his whole head and down his neck. During the day he squeaked by on ibuprofen, but at night he wished for a prescription painkiller.

  She leaned forward. “What does the other guy look like? You won, didn’t you?”

  He didn’t laugh. “As far as I’m concerned.” Her reaction to his appearance didn’t surprise him. After hours of icing, and soaks with cold washcloths administered by Juli, the damage to his face had emerged as one-and-a-half black eyes, assorted bruises, and the nasty gash from a ring Darcy had been wearing when he’d slugged him. She’d screamed when she’d seen him the morning after the fight, scaring even him, and he’d already seen himself in the motel bathroom mirror. Now he was patched up with butterfly strips, but he still looked like a weird melon that someone had kicked around a parking lot and tried to tape back together.

  “I expected Darcy to tell you all about it.”

  “Darcy—I haven’t seen him or any of you Tuckers since late last week. He only comes in to buy beer and cigarettes, or gas for those shitty old cars. He and I aren’t doing the nasty, y’know. He’s just a customer, and someone I went to school with.”

  Cherry could be as smooth as a lake of molasses—dark and blank. She had one of the best poker faces he’d ever seen. But she fumbled this time, and he knew she had to be lying. Her lie told him more than he expected. He wasn’t sure what she was doing with Darcy, but he knew it was something. “Ask him the next time he comes in. I’m sure he’ll tell you a great story.”

  “Did he do that?”

  He raised his brows and gave her a pointed look. “Yeah, but he learned not to do it again.”

  Her laugh sounded a bit forced. “You boys were always such hotheads, giving each other shit, or one guy and another. Do you remember that time—”

  He wasn’t in the mood for reminiscing. “I’m not here for another trip down memory lane, Cherry. Julianne and I were on the highway coming back from Marfa the other night and someone tried to run us off the road.” He stared at her, and she blinked first. “We could have been killed. Then a few hours later, someone threw a can of paint through one of her display windows at Bickham’s.” He took a step closer to the counter. “Do you know anything about that?”

  She dropped her jokey pretense and her voice turned gritty and defensive. “Me! I don’t know a son-of-a-bitching thing, Mitchell. Why would I?” She lit a cigarette with short, fitful movements and squinted at him through the smoke coiling around her head. “Maybe your girlfriend has made some enemies. You should ask her.” She exhaled smoke from both nostrils. Her surprising contempt turned “girlfriend” into a filthy word.

  And he had his answer. That bristly defensiveness reminded him of all the “innocent” rapists, thieves, and murderers he’d come across in prison. Not a damn one of them was guilty, either, and a single question about it would get the same kind of response. Before they jammed a shank between your ribs.

  “Keep your distance from me, Cherry. You and I don’t have a reason to talk anymore.”

  “Now, Mitchie, don’t say that,” she began, her tone melting. “Why do you want to go and marry little Bambi? You need a real woman.”

  Another red flag went up in his mind. “Who says I’m getting married?”

  Darcy knew it.

  “Darcy might have mentioned it a while back. It seems like she got over you killing Wes—”

  A Captain Gas regular walked in just then, and Mitchell put his sunglasses back on.

  “Hey, Buddy Lee,” she called, recovering her breezy persona with obvious relief. “How’s every little thing?”

  “Hey, Cherry. I’m on the number two pump for a fill. And ring me up for a case of PBR.” Buddy Lee was heading for the beer cooler when Mitchell walked out.

  He started his car and drove off, just catching a glimpse of the vehicle parked at the number two pump. He whipped his head around to confirm what he thought he’d seen—a big, dark-silver SUV. Like the Yukon that had tried to run Juli’s truck off the highway? When he decided to turn back, he was on the other side of the railroad tracks, and a train was creeping past. By the time he got back to the Captain Gas, the SUV was gone.

  Julianne sat at her desk inputting her list of damaged inventory. So far, the estimate had climbed to nearly $1,000, and that didn’t begin to include the cost of fixing the hardwood floor or the plate-glass window, which had left her gasping. She was glad the installer had submitted the bill directly to her insurance company. At least she didn’t have to fiddle around with that paperwork. She hated paperwork—she wanted to get back to fruitful activity, not push invoices around. Every passing car out front or group of voices made her antsy. It was Friday, a big part of a three-day weekend getaway. For tourism, it was a little gold mine. But potential business was passing right by her closed door.

  Being closed meant no income. A small, artful barricade disguised the mess on the floor, and she’d rearranged the display tables with new merchandise. The hardwood couldn’t be fixed until next week, and she’d have to close again for that. But the window was in and except for the red stain on the floor, it was hard to tell anything had happened.

  “Julianne? Are you here?”

  She jumped. It was a woman’s voice, but one she didn’t place immediately.

  “Around this way!” she called from her desk. She got up and opened the back door. Hearing the crunch of footsteps on the side-street gravel, she waited and saw Darlene Gibbs come into view.

  “Mother of pearl, Julianne, what happened? I saw the Closed for Repairs sign on the front.” Darlene puffed her way up the steps while Julianne held the door open. “I thought your shop was up and running.”

  Julianne sighed. “It was.” Briefly, she explained the vandalism without going into any detail about reasons or “perps,” as Sheriff Gunter said. “I’ll be open again tomorrow. Have a seat.” She pushed out the desk chair next to her own.

  Darlene settled her ample backside on the padded upholstery and fanned her face with a church bulletin she’d pulled from her purse. “What a world,” she clucked. “You wouldn’t expect tha
t kind of crime in a small place like Gila Rock. I guess it’s everywhere now, especially with the increase in tourists.” She lifted her nose. “That coffee smells wonderful.” The coffeemaker was just gasping out the last bit of steam and hot water into a fresh pot.

  Julianne headed toward the new card table that held the cups. “I’ll get you some.”

  “No, no. I don’t like the taste, but I love the smell.” Darlene was a short, round woman in her late forties, with a gray-blonde pageboy and today, a soft-blue, coordinated outfit of pants and a top. A grandmotherly sort who wouldn’t strike a person as a real estate dynamo, she nevertheless had been the top producer in her office in Marfa for the past three years. “Anyway, I have some interesting news.”

  Hope fluttered in Julianne. She poured coffee for herself and loaded it with milk. “You have a buyer for the farm?”

  “Possibly.” The older woman motioned Julianne back into her desk chair and leaned forward eagerly, as if she were about to impart an exciting secret. “It’s a couple from Dallas hoping to switch gears. They’re in fast-paced jobs and after the husband had a little heart scare, they thought they’d like to get away from that.”

  “And go into farming?” Julianne asked, almost incredulous. “Talk about stress—”

  “No, no, honey, they’re looking for a property they can turn into a little resort. You know, like one of those guest ranches or a winery spa or something. There’s the one south of Marfa, but that’s pretty highfalutin. Some people just want a more down-home country trip.”

  “And they’re interested in my place?”

  “They could be after I show it to them. I told them about it, and they’re arranging a trip out here to look around. I’ve got other farmland for sale, but none that is as right for this use as yours.”

  The wheels in Julianne’s head began turning. She’d had quite a few visitors ask her about accommodations around Gila Rock. There were none she could think of except for the Satellite Motel, where Mitchell was living, and a couple of others like it. The sort with neon signs partially burned out, dusty pop machines lined up outside the offices, and dead flies on their window sills.

  “I’ve heard that people are looking for more B and Bs around here. Customers have asked me about them, too, now that Gila Rock is attracting some combination of artsy vacationers and the Marfa lights crowd.”

  “So, there you go,” Darlene said, and hoisted herself out of the chair. “I’ll let you get back to work, and I’ll go on about mine.” She replaced her makeshift fan in her purse and dabbed a tissue at her sweaty temples. “Lordy, I just don’t handle this hot weather the way I did when I was younger. I’ll have to sit with my car’s A/C blowing on me for a while before I see my next client. Anyway, I’ll let you know when the Dallas couple is coming.”

  Julianne stood to see her out the back door. “Thanks, Darlene. I appreciate the visit. Come back when I’m open.” She laughed. “The shop looks better than this back room.” Once the woman was on her way back across the yard, Julianne went to her computer and pushed aside the tedious task she’d been working on before. With quick keystrokes, she googled bed-and-breakfasts around the southwest to see what they looked like. Some photos depicted rustic decor, embracing the traditional western-cowboy flavor under endless blue skies. Others had a quaint cottage feel, and a few others emphasized a luxurious Victorian theme.

  She took a taste of her now-lukewarm coffee, imagining the farmhouse with a new, old-fashioned look and the possibilities spun out from there like streamers in the wind. It could be done. She’d need help, of course—it would be a big job. Then her bubble of inspiration burst.

  Who was she kidding? she thought and rested her chin on the heel of her hand. Such an ambitious project would take money. A lot more money than the Bickham’s facelift had cost. And although she and Mitchell had talked about a future and starting over, who knew what was coming?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Julianne bumped along a narrow, side-road shortcut that ran between town and the farm, past the scrub and occasional skittering lizard. Jack rode shotgun, and she was glad to have him along.

  She’d asked Mitchell to come with her, considering everything that had happened lately, but he begged off, claiming to be busy with his coaching job. They’d argued over it, but he still wouldn’t budge. That and her already-jumpy nerves made her irritable. His damned family was the reason she was having so much trouble, and even if he’d divorced them, it was still open season on her. The least he could do was come along in case one them decided to ambush her. She was just plain scared, and it irked her to admit it even to herself. She was tough enough to take care of herself. But it was nice having someone in her corner. At least she was headed in the right direction—back to town. And she’d feel better when she got there.

  Out on the far distant hills, dark clouds crowded together in an expanding low ceiling. The wind had kicked up with them, but it was hard to tell whether those clouds would bring rain or just sit out there like crouching wolves, watching.

  After the floor refinisher had completed the job, leaving behind a bill that left Julianne gasping, she’d decided she had to get out of Bickham’s. There was still work to do, but her nerves were pulled as tight as they could stretch. She’d locked up, set the alarm, and taken Jack with her to check on the farmhouse.

  Not too many people found their way to this back road, and the solitude suited her right now.

  A few window shoppers had stopped by the property to look, but Darlene Gibbs still had her money on the Masseys from Dallas, the couple who wanted to escape big-city life. Of course, it didn’t help that the FOR SALE sign kept getting knocked down. Kids, probably, the same sort that Mitchell had once been. The Masseys were due to fly in sometime next week, and she’d wanted to make sure everything looked presentable. God, that farm. She’d gotten another monthly mortgage statement for it. Her income from Bickham’s made it possible for her to pay her bills, but with two loans there was precious little for extras.

  Julianne hadn’t been out here for weeks, but her agent had also told her that both of the spotlights had burned out on the exterior shop wall. She wasn’t surprised—they weren’t on a timer, although that had been a project she’d once meant to get around to sometime. They were on twenty-four hours a day. It was silly, she supposed, but she believed that having lights on made it look as if someone still lived there. If she’d had more time, she would have taken a quick look at the property, but these days she was short on money, time, and patience. It was enough that the parched front grass and weeds had been mowed, and that the mailbox was empty of flyers and shopping news. She’d have to thank Darlene for seeing to that. They’d never discussed grounds maintenance, but obviously, Darlene had thought about it. Julianne had seen no evidence of vandalism. What a surprise.

  Now that she was headed back to town, the late-afternoon sun glared in such a blinding narrow ribbon along the horizon even her sunglasses didn’t help much. Then she heard a hard thump from the undercarriage, as if she’d run over something or maybe even broken a part. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw sparks trailing the truck bed like the bottom end of a roman candle. After clunking around for thirty or forty yards, the truck ejected some beat-up thing that looked a big tin can. It bounced out, spinning away behind her.

  “Crap,” she muttered, and pulled over to take a look. After a quick trip around the truck, she couldn’t find anything wrong. She trotted back down the road to see what she’d hit. Just as she reached it, she heard a familiar chugging. When she looked up, she saw Cade’s Dodge nose out of a nearby gravel pull-out. Great.

  The object in the road turned out to be an old oil filter, not hers. This one said Mopar, what little printing was left on it.

  “Trouble, Julianne?” Cade asked, rolling up to her. He looked just about the same as always, this time wearing a feedlot cap and a blue-striped work shirt.

  “No, I just hit a piece of junk. The sun was in my eyes and I didn’t see it.�
�� She kicked the oil filter off to the side of the road, then eyed him for a moment. “Cade, what are you doing out here?” She hadn’t seen him since their stormy encounter more than a month ago, and there was no reason for him to be out this way. Cuervo Blanco was in the opposite direction.

  “We’d better have a look.” He shifted into reverse and backed up to where she’d left her truck. Julie turned to retrace her steps and saw him get out of the Dodge and lift her hood. He poked around in the engine compartment, fiddling and prodding. When she caught up, he asked, “Are you sure you didn’t break something?” From inside the cab, she could hear Jack growling low in his throat.

  She tightened her ponytail. “No, I don’t think so. It just made a lot of racket. This pickup has been through worse. Why?”

  “Hm, you can’t be too careful. You know it’s pretty isolated out here.” He pulled out the dipstick and looked at it without wiping it off, tapped on a hose or two, and strummed a belt. She knew that none of this would reveal anything about damage. “Follow me.”

  “Follow you where? I’m going back to town. The truck is fine.”

  “To the farm. I’ve got some tools with me—it’ll be better than standing here in the road. There could be a problem, Julianne, maybe with the power steering or even the brakes. You know you don’t want to get stuck out here with a breakdown.”

  She wasn’t helpless when it came to machinery, but she didn’t know as much about fixing cars as Cade did. She looked up and down the road. No one was out here but them. It would be a hassle to get stuck here, even with cell phone coverage. “Well, but . . . oh, I guess. All right. But I can’t dawdle.”

  Julianne got back into her truck and turned it over. It sounded fine to her, but maybe that power steering thing . . . She wasn’t going to follow him when she knew exactly where she was going. Checking the rearview mirror, she watched him turn around and fall into place behind her. Jack stood so he could see out the back window, that growl still rumbling. His ears were cocked, and his posture was rigid. A weird chill made her shudder, as if things were just, well, off. Or odd. Cade had been pretty scarce after the day she’d revealed their shared history. Mitchell had been certain he’d keep hanging around, but that hadn’t happened. Maybe he’d gotten over his mad, although that still didn’t explain why he was out here.