Everyone knew it, and everyone looked the other way. It helped that one of the county judges had been one of her biggest customers.
What a life for a little girl. No wonder she was close to her sister.
“I bought it three years ago.”
Three years. Three winters. Three storm-filled springs.
“What do you do when a tornado comes?”
“I go lie in the hollow.”
That hardly seemed safe, but he’d heard of people doing that. He supposed it would work.
“Can you hear that tornado siren from here?”
“Most of the time.”
Yeah. Sometimes the sound traveled, sometimes it didn’t.
“A phone?”
“No.”
“You should. You can see the weather on it. At least know if there are a lot of storms coming.”
“I just watch the sky. I can pretty much tell.”
Maybe she could. He supposed that was what people used to do.
“How old was your sister?”
“She was six.”
“Where was she buried?”
“Mom had her cremated. It was cheaper.”
“Where are the ashes?”
She lifted her shoulder, shook her head. Her throat worked. “Mom had them put in an urn, but she had a fight with one of the men who came to see her, and it fell and broke.”
What did one say to that? He supposed he could ask if she swept it up. That just made him nauseated.
“I wasn’t at home. I was working. Mom just told me about it when I got back. I don’t know what she did with them.” Her thin shoulder lifted. “Doesn’t matter. My sister was gone anyway.” She moved the ice cube around on her leg, and Chandler looked down at the loud, angry red spot that stretched from her mid-thigh clear down to her knee.
Her legs were white and thin, and shapelier than he would have imagined under the baggy jeans she was wearing. He pulled his eyes away, settling them on her hand and focusing on moving the ice cube around the burn.
“How’s it feeling?”
“Hurts.”
“I don’t know what else to do. I guess I could look up first aid for burns on my phone, but I’ll have to take the ice away for a couple of minutes.”
“You don’t need to bother. We’re doing everything we can. I probably will take some kind of pain medication so that I can sleep. Otherwise it’ll be burning all night.”
“I think you need to take tomorrow off.”
“I have too much work to do. I can’t take off.”
“I’ll get up. I’ll help. Tell me what to do.”
“I have my animals to feed yet tonight. I was going to feed you first, because I know when you’re not used to this work, it’s hard. I figured you were hungry.” She bit her lip and said in a small voice, “I’m sorry about the peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” She took a breath in then let it back out, blowing hard. “I wasn’t expecting to buy you. I’m sorry. I wasn’t prepared, and you suffered for it.”
“Who gave you the money for me?” He’d forgotten all about that. That she’d said the money hadn’t been hers.
“Someone gave it to me, but I don’t know who. They told me not to look at them so that I could honestly say I don’t know. I’m glad they did now. Because I really don’t know.”
IT FELT ALMOST LIKE a reconciliation, or a truce, and Ivory didn’t want that. She didn’t want to be “friends” with Chandler.
She moved the ice cube around the blistering spot on her leg, conscious of him cradling her hand, much smaller, in his. Both spots hurt equally bad. The burn on her hand was smaller in area but had bigger blisters.
Regardless, it didn’t matter. She needed to be firm.
“I really do think this was a mistake. I don’t know why the guy gave me the money, and I don’t even know what prompted me to go through with it, but I think we gotta just admit here and now that it didn’t work out, for both of us, and agree to call it quits.”
He had his head down, staring at her hand where he absently moved the ice cube back and forth. She had to admit he was gentler than she had expected. Her expectations of him had not been high.
It took a while for him to say anything, and it was quiet in her kitchen; not even the ticking of a clock broke the silence. He finally spoke.
“I guess you’re right. I wasn’t cut out for this kind of work.”
The way he said it, he sounded sad, almost like he wished he were cut out for that kind of work.
But she had to agree with him. “I’m sure you make a great action hero. But farming is a completely different scenario, and it doesn’t really fit who you are.” She tried to word her statement nicely, considering their newfound neutral ground. But basically, the man wasn’t cut out for physical labor. God made him to look good, and maybe even made him a good actor, although she’d never seen any of his films, so she wouldn’t know.
He nodded but didn’t reply to her comment. “Whenever you’re well enough to drive me back into town, I can be ready to go.”
“I’m well enough to drive you anytime. I just need pants. But I think it’s only right to feed you first.” She shifted on the chair, a little embarrassed. The pain had dulled somewhat, or maybe she just got used to it. And now the completely bare state of her legs, clear up to her underwear, hidden only by the length of her T-shirt, definitely made her want to squirm.
She had less showing than she would if she were wearing a swimming suit at the beach, but she just felt exposed.
She cleared her throat. “If you wouldn’t mind leaving for a minute, I’ll get dressed and get supper on the table.”
His eyes came up, and she thought she read a little confusion in them, but it was hard to tell. They were a rich, deep blue, and there seemed to be thoughts there that she hadn’t even guessed at. Maybe it was her imagination, because she had trouble pulling herself away, feeling like she was caught and falling.
But he broke the spell when he glanced down, and a flash of humor crossed his face.
It made her angry.
“Just because some of us still have a touch of modesty doesn’t give the rest of you the right to laugh.”
That really did make his lips turn up, and she almost felt like steam was coming out of her ears.
His voice held humor. “I know who your mom was. Remember? I grew up in the same town as you. You don’t have to lecture me on modesty.”
Now, not only was she angry, but she wanted to smack him right in the nose. “You have no right to judge me based on what my mother was. You don’t know me at all.”
Her lines were trite, and she knew it. But they were the truth.
“Wasn’t judging you.” He still didn’t seem to understand how close he was to getting socked in the kisser.
“Yes, you were. You were assuming that I’m not modest. You can make that assumption all day long if you want to, I don’t care. Just get out so I can get dressed.”
He blinked, with his mouth half open. Maybe he really didn’t think he was judging her. But how could he not know?
“I’m sorry.” He said the words slowly, drawn out, like he was trying to figure out exactly what he was apologizing for. Which didn’t help assuage her anger at all. “I guess after spending so much time in Hollywood, I’d forgotten that there were attitudes like yours in the world. I really am sorry.”
“Funny. You didn’t say anything about Hollywood. You mentioned my mother. You think I don’t know what she was? That doesn’t mean that I can’t be something different.” She set her jaw, not wanting to say what she knew she needed to. One couldn’t have someone offer an apology and not accept it.
“I accept your apology.” She spit the words out, sounding more like she was saying I don’t accept your apology. Nonetheless, she’d made the effort. Even just saying the words was hard, because she was right.
“Do you need me to do anything or get something for you before I walk out?”
“No.” If her hand didn’
t hurt so badly, she’d have her arms crossed over her chest. As it was, she stared at the wall. Waiting.
He seemed to sigh before he pushed himself up from the table. “I’ll walk to the shed and get my clothes.” He stopped behind her chair, and she couldn’t see him when he said, “If you tell me how to feed the animals, I’ll do that while I’m out there and save you from it tonight.”
“No thank you. I like doing it.” She wasn’t being the slightest bit gracious; she was being mean, and she knew it. She really didn’t care.
He left without another word, and she scrambled up immediately, putting a loose skirt on. She also walked to the bathroom and grabbed a couple of pain pills. As soon as the ice quit touching her skin, it started burning again. By the time she was dressed, it was seriously hurting. It could end up being a long night. And she wasn’t sure she would be able to wear jeans in the morning.
She would cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, she needed to get supper, get that man out of her house and off her property, and take care of her animals.
The troubles of tomorrow would take care of themselves. And she’d get to them when she got to them.
Chapter 8
Chandler sat in the passenger seat of Ivory’s old farm pickup. It was almost dark, and they were on the outskirts of Cowboy Crossing. She wore a flowing skirt rather than the jeans he’d seen her in up until that point, and he assumed her leg must be hurting, because her fingers gently rubbed her knee. Probably the skin right beside the burn.
Whether she did it on purpose to try to take her mind off the pain, or whether it was something she did normally, he wasn’t sure. But the burn on her hand had turned into one big blister, filled with water, red and painful looking.
He hadn’t said anything since he got in the truck and had said very little since her argument about him thinking she wasn’t modest.
He’d realized, after he left the kitchen, that she was right. He had made assumptions about her based on her mother, and the way she’d been raised, and the things he thought about her in high school. None of them had borne out in the day that he’d been on her farm.
But he’d already apologized, and to bring it up again was probably overkill. She hadn’t taken his first apology very well anyway.
He had his own demons he was dealing with, beside. Basically, he hated that he was “quitting.” Although she’d clearly told him she didn’t want him anymore. Still, she talked about a mutual agreement, and so that implied that he was on board with this too.
“Where do you want me to drop you off?”
He shifted, his head turned and looking out the window as they passed the feed mill his family owned on their way into town. “My car’s still at the rec center.”
“You have your keys?” she asked. He didn’t know why she cared. It wouldn’t matter one whit to her whether he could start his car or not.
“Yes.” And his duffel. He supposed he was coming into town a little better than he’d left, since she’d let him sit in the cab of the truck, and yesterday he’d been relegated to the back.
The rain that was now coming down might have something to do with that. She wasn’t heartless after all.
That was an unkind statement, because she wasn’t heartless at all. She’d been badly treated by him, and he hadn’t even realized it. He didn’t have any recollection of saying what she said he had said about her sister and her death, but he had no doubt he said it. The pain she carried was real.
And he caused it.
He hated that.
He supposed in the last twenty-four hours he’d developed a grudging respect for her, or at least she’d shattered his preconceptions about her and forced him to construct new conceptions of her.
He noted she didn’t use a turn signal or wear a seatbelt as she pulled into the rec center and parked beside his car, which was the only one in the lot.
“Do you need help with your stuff?”
It was a rhetorical question, he supposed, because he just had the one duffel.
He wasn’t completely incompetent, although his hands were burning. As long as he kept them still, they didn’t hurt much at all, but every time he flexed or moved them in any way, the blisters that had formed that day while he had been digging fence holes—filled with pus, and popped, and now bloodied red blotches on his hands—pulled and burned like someone was setting a hot iron on his palms.
He couldn’t say anything about them though. Because she hadn’t uttered one word of complaint about the big burn on her hand or the even bigger one on her leg.
Not to mention, he had a feeling that none of the men in his family would have hands that looked like his after not even one full day of using the post hole digger.
They’d all make fun of him if they knew.
Not that he thought that Ivory was going to tell anyone, but she’d probably make fun of him too. A real man didn’t get blisters on his hands, because he already had calluses.
Not that anyone ever actually taught him that; it was just something everyone knew. One more thing that set him apart from his brothers and made him less.
Ignoring the burning pain in his hands, he yanked on the door latch. “No. I’ve got it. Thanks for the ride.”
“Thanks for the holes you did today.” Her words were soft, and they almost sounded contrite. Like she figured she owed him.
He didn’t feel like she did.
Feeling like he was making a big mistake, and also living up to everyone’s really low expectations of him—maybe living down to the expectations—he slid out of the truck.
What to say to someone whom one thinks one probably will never see again, except possibly around town and maybe not at all?
Talk to you later didn’t sound right. See ya around didn’t sound right either.
He finally settled on, “Have a good night.”
He wanted to say something about her burns, and them getting infected, and taking care of herself. He didn’t even know why he would care. That was new.
“You too.”
If she had the same trouble trying to figure out a good note to end on, it didn’t show on her face when he glanced at it. She wasn’t even looking at him. She had her hands on the steering wheel and was staring out the windshield at the wipers that only partially worked, and didn’t really clean the windshield at all, but just kinda smeared the raindrops on it.
With his keys in one burning hand and his bag in another, he slammed the door and ducked through the rain to his car, throwing his bag in the back, getting in the front, and shutting the door.
She still sat there, and he figured she was probably waiting to make sure he got the car started. Not because she cared, necessarily. It was a country thing. You just didn’t pull away from someone until you knew they were able to get going from where they were.
So he started his car, turned the parking lights on, and put it in drive to let her know that he was now mobile.
She blinked her lights, which surprised him, and then she pulled away.
After a second of hesitation, he blinked his at her.
Delicate features, slender limbs, white blond hair, and cherry red lips. He hadn’t expected those images to stick in his brain. That would’ve been the very last thing he would’ve even thought about when he followed her out the rec door last night.
But now, those were the only pictures that floated through it. And they were underscored by steely determination, stubborn refusal to be like anyone else, and a gritty insistence that she could survive and thrive on her little plot of land.
It’d only been twenty-four hours, but how could he not admire that?
Chandler thought of his parents’ house; that was probably where he’d end up. But he didn’t want to go home. Not yet.
He didn’t even know where he actually really wanted to be. He pulled out of the rec building and drove slowly down the street to the diner.
The rain made dusk come earlier. It was only about 8 o’clock. He wasn’t hungry, but
he figured he’d go in to drink a cup of coffee, and that would delay his homecoming a little bit.
He paused with his hand on the door, seeing through the window that Deacon and Pastor Wyatt sat at the table in the corner. He would’ve turned around, but just then his brother’s eyes lifted and met his through the glass.
He could hardly back away now. So he opened the door and went in.
Deacon was already standing up, smiling and welcoming, but also a little confusion on his face.
Of course, Chandler thought. They were probably all expecting him to quit, but not after just one day.
“Chandler!” Deacon walked across the diner to him. Pastor Wyatt got out of his seat and followed. “We were just talking about you and were about to come out and see you. We didn’t want to interrupt supper or feeding time.”
Pastor Wyatt joined Deacon and held out his hand. “All of that is true, but we also both needed sitters for our children before we could come. My wife has been out visiting and just got home.”
Chandler clasped Pastor Wyatt’s hand and tried not to grimace. It didn’t matter; the pastor noticed anyway.
“What in the world have you done to your hands?” he asked as he looked down.
Chandler snatched it back and shoved them both in his pockets, ignoring the pain that traveled like electrical pulses up his arms and made the back of his neck hurt.
“Ha. Looks like someone has soft hands, huh?” Deacon, who would give him the least hard time of all of his brothers, smirked and slapped him on the shoulder. “Maybe you should wear gloves next time, bro.”
Yeah. Gloves would’ve made it all better. But he hadn’t even thought about it. Which probably showed just how much of a fool he was.
“What were you guys going out to see me for? Is there a problem?” Chandler asked, as much to change the subject as he wanted to know what they wanted.
“No. We just wanted to check and make sure you’re doing okay. That she’s treating you good.” Deacon smirked a little at that too, and that was about the most smirking Chandler had ever seen Deacon do in one day in his life before.
“I was fine.”
Sold! In the Show Me State Page 6