by Tessa Bailey
Ignoring the voices calling for him at the bar, Jasper turned on a heel and strode back to his office to make a phone call.
Chapter Ten
Rita could hear Peggy huffing along behind her, struggling to keep up, but her feet wouldn’t slow down. At her behest, they were intent on getting inside their motel room as quickly as possible. Oh God, her cheeks had to be stained bright red. Mortified. She was completely mortified.
Honestly, where was her self-respect? On top of being laughed at by two strangers, Jasper had goaded her, all but forcing her to admit she was in the midst of a dick drought, and then—then he’d had the nerve to throw his own self-loathing in her face. Would he do something like that with a normal, socially well-adjusted girl? Nope. He hadn’t even bothered with the charm once his hand was down her pants and she’d all but begged him for sex. Then she’d just been a convenient place to pour his issues.
One of the main reasons she didn’t date was fear of rejection, fear of someone she actually liked seeing the worst in her. Or, worse, the best in her—and deeming it lacking. The way her instructors in culinary school had done when the famous Miriam Clarkson’s daughter’s skill proved fair to middling, rather than extraordinary. She’d avoided the Internet message boards while competing on the reality show, but her fellow contestants hadn’t hesitated to pass on the gist. She didn’t measure up to the name. And tonight, she’d not only shown Jasper her insecurities, she’d somehow managed to point his out, with barely a conscious effort.
Don’t look now, but here comes Rita, the keeper of mediocrity and shroud of doom. Avoid eye contact.
Might as well start hoarding, because a man wasn’t in the cards. Hell, she didn’t even have friends, unless you counted the kitchen staff she no longer worked with. At least they hung out after work and threw back a tequila shot or two. How had she repaid them? By burning down their place of work.
Really, everyone should just keep their distance.
“Come on, Rita,” Peggy called, her voice carrying in the still evening. “It couldn’t have been all that bad.”
Rita snorted. “I think my definition of bad is worse than yours.”
“Well.” A beat passed. “I’ve never dated a hamster eater, but I’ve had my fair share of bad dates. Horrible dates. Mom’s basement dates.”
“It wasn’t a date. It was like, the world’s most confusing make-out session, and I’m not talking about it anymore because then it’ll just keep being fresh.”
“But this is fun.” Peggy seesawed a hand between them, finally having caught up. “Look at us. Talking about boys and whatnot. We’re early-stages Thelma and Louise right now.”
“Funny you should mention that, because I’m thinking of driving off a ledge into a fucking canyon.” When Peggy made a sympathetic noise Rita wanted to interpret it as genuine, but how could she? Peggy couldn’t walk ten feet without someone offering her a white picket fence and two-point-five children. Interpersonal dysfunctions were not her territory. Rita had bought up every square foot of that particular real estate.
“I think you like him or you wouldn’t be this upset.”
“H’okay.”
Peggy’s nose wrinkled up like an adorable bunny’s. “I guess it doesn’t matter, since we’re leaving in the morning anyway. But I had high hopes for Jasper.” Rita hoped her sister would drop the conversation after that stomach-tightening statement, but no dice. “Oh, well. If I know one thing for sure, it’s that you can’t win them all. My senior year of college—”
Rita groaned up at the night sky. “Peggy, you can’t be serious. Our experiences are not even remotely similar.”
When hurt slashed across Peggy’s features Rita started to apologize for her outburst, but Peggy held up a hand. “No, it’s okay. You’re right…our experiences are not similar.” They stepped into the glow of the motel’s sign and Rita saw an uncharacteristic weariness in Peggy’s gaze. “For instance, I doubt you’ve been carrying a torch for someone so long you can’t let another man—four good, honest men, actually—give you a happy life. Because being miserable for him is better than being semi-content with anyone else.”
“Peggy.” Rita couldn’t swallow. “I had no idea. …I didn’t—“
All at once, her sister brightened, but her speech was stilted. “It’s fine. I’m just blowing off steam.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m going to head in.”
Rita started toward the outside corridor that led to their room. “I’m coming with you.”
“Actually,” Peggy started, giving a subtle head tilt toward the parking lot, “I think Bel might need some company. And he appreciates my attempts at comfort about as much as you do. So…batter up.”
Rita looked back over her shoulder to find Belmont sitting on the curb of the parking lot, still as a statue. The sight yanked her by the hair straight out of her pity party, but it didn’t distract her from the guilt she was experiencing over Peggy. “Wait,” she called to her sister, who was already heading toward the room. Peggy stopped at the sound of Rita’s voice. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better. It worked. Even if you just annoyed me into feeling less like shit.”
Peggy dipped, twisting her hips in a little boogie. “It’s a start.”
“See you inside,” Rita said, even though Peggy had moved too far away to hear her. Wondering when her sister had developed a complex side—and how she’d missed it—Rita went to join Belmont on the curb. He didn’t acknowledge her right away when she sat down, which wasn’t a surprise. Her oldest brother spoke through silence. What worried her were the lines of strain around his eyes, the way he stared out at nothing in particular. Knowing he needed to be the one who broke the quiet, Rita took a moment to study her surroundings.
Hurley was a mighty contrast to San Diego. Even in winter, the air was dry and soundless as it filtered through the cars in the motel lot. While San Diego County was certainly spread out in a way that required a vehicle to go most places, New Mexico was actual desert. It stretched and stretched so the wind had nothing off of which to buffer. Rita didn’t know if it was simply being out of her usual surroundings that made it easier to hear her own thoughts, to take a deep breath despite scaling Mortification Mountain tonight. She felt more at ease without work hanging over her head. Without pressure to maintain the restaurant’s sterling reputation.
“Aaron snores.”
Belmont’s monosyllabic announcement startled a laugh out of her. “Is that what you’re doing out here?”
He rolled his massive shoulders.
Rita folded and unfolded the hem of her shirt. “I think Peggy might have a broken heart and we never realized it.”
Her brother’s frown was ferocious, but he didn’t comment.
“I mean, I don’t know why we would know. We never see each other to find out these things. They just come out during an argument or on the Internet,” she said. “I like knowing Aaron snores.”
Belmont grunted, but she knew that meant: Why?
“It means he’s flawed. I’m going to think about it next time he calls my soufflé decent.” She picked at her shoelaces. “Just big old, window-shaking snores.”
“It was a good soufflé.”
That brought her head up. “You were watching?”
Another grunt.
Pleasure ran circles around her rib cage. “I probably shouldn’t be happy you witnessed my almost knife attack,” she said, rubbing the toes of her boots together. “But it’s nice to know…someone was rooting for me.”
Headlights illuminated the parking lot and Belmont’s easy demeanor vanished. His hands clenched into tight fists, body tensing as if preparing for a fight. Before she could question herself, Rita reached over and laid a hand on her brother’s shoulder—and he jerked like she’d burned him, dislodging her touch.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted, alarm replacing the pride she’d felt a few seconds prior. Time moved very slowly as the car pulled into a parking spot about fifty yards away and
an older gentleman got out, ambling toward the motel, a fast-food bag tucked into the crook of his arm. It seemed very important that they not move or be noticed, so relief washed over Rita when one of the motel doors opened and shut behind them.
Belmont didn’t relax right away; it happened in degrees. His hands flexed and dropped to his knees, where they rested. His barrel chest rose as he drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Don’t be sorry.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not out here because Aaron snores. The walls feel too close.”
He looked irritated with himself for having revealed that. Rita could see him already beginning to clam up again and rushed to insert a wedge. “Is that why you live on the boat? No walls…”
Belmont stood abruptly. “If I’m not here when you wake up, I’m at the garage.”
Rita came to her feet as well, although much more slowly. “Okay.” Neither one of them moved. “Go ahead inside. I’m going to sit here a while.”
Her brother shook his head no and pointed at the motel. “You go inside first.”
The protectiveness was simultaneously annoying and—nice. Usually, all the macho brotherly instincts were reserved for Peggy, and while it felt odd to be on the receiving end, it wasn’t so bad. She was pretty sure her eye roll wasn’t very convincing as she passed him, clomping toward the motel. Her spirits dipped again, however, when she turned to wave good night to Belmont and saw that the faraway look was back in his eyes.
Had the road trip been a mistake? Her older brother was obviously suffering some sort of anxiety over being in unfamiliar surroundings. She’d pushed Peggy away—maybe even farther than before—when her sister had only been attempting to help. And Jasper—now that the worst of her embarrassment had cooled, she remembered the way his voice had vibrated with emotion when he’d called himself the town tramp. It hadn’t been male ego talking or some kind of joke. It bothered him. Instead of being remembered fondly, she’d be the girl who stopped in Hurley long enough to prod his demons.
Shroud of doom strikes again.
A sigh left her. She couldn’t do anything about Jasper now. They were leaving in the morning.
Rita ignored the discomfort in her chest and turned to find Belmont leaning up against the motel wall, arms crossed as if keeping guard. Maybe she couldn’t do anything about repairing the rift between her and Jasper, but she could try to make the remainder of this road trip better for Belmont.
When she pushed open the door, Rita found Peggy applying night cream in the bathroom. Rita cleared her throat. “So…about Sage…”
Chapter Eleven
What do you mean it’s the wrong part?”
Rita resisted the urge to whistle under her breath at Aaron’s tone. She’d never heard him exhibit such leashed rage before. Usually it just came out in a well-articulated rant or he shook the issue off as unimportant. Now? In this part of the country, she believed they called it fit to be tied.
They were standing outside Stan’s Auto Body with their luggage, morning sun clear and bright as it beat down on their heads. The Suburban was still tucked safely inside the garage, like a shy dragon hiding from its owners. For Stan’s part, he appeared to be taking Aaron’s anger in stride, sipping from a tiny carton of Tropicana while her brother paced.
“We can’t be stuck here another day. How does this even happen?” Aaron visibly reined himself in, managing a twenty-dollar version of his million-dollar smile. “Not that Hurley isn’t peachy as shit, but we’re on a tight schedule.”
Peggy flopped down onto Belmont’s canvas bag. “Technically, one day isn’t going to kill us. You don’t need to be in Iowa for another week.”
“Yes, but I was going to use that time to lay groundwork. I’m not the only one vying for the adviser position.”
“So you’re losing a day,” Rita interjected, really trying hard not to think about how being in Hurley another day seriously upped her chances of running into a certain honky-tonk owner she’d never expected to see again. The fluttering in her belly was definitely anxiety—not excitement. Or relief. Most definitely not. “We’ll figure out a way to make up for lost time.”
Aaron massaged the center of his forehead. “What happens when another part blows or an axle bends or—”
Belmont interrupted his brother with a look that said, Please, don’t try and talk about cars.
“Is there someone who can drive us to the closest used-car lot?” Aaron asked Stan. “By the time we reach New York we could very well have spent more repairing the Suburban than the damn thing is worth.”
“Not leaving it,” Belmont said.
Peggy stood, tugging down her jean skirt. “The Suburban was Mom’s, Aaron. Remember when we used to ride along with her to catering events, holding everything steady in the backseats?”
The reminder of those early days—before Miriam Clarkson became a household name—shut Aaron down for a second, before he recovered. “When she wrote that journal entry, I’m pretty sure this isn’t what she had in mind.”
“How do you know?” Rita asked, without really thinking. “None of us knows what she was thinking because we didn’t ask.” All eyes snapped to hers, all housing identical wariness. She’d broken the Clarkson rule by bringing up an uncomfortable subject, which could quite possibly lead to undesirable answers and feelings and yuck. Well, over the last couple days, she’d spoken more to her siblings than she had in a year, and every passing moment made her wonder what the aim of Miriam’s plan had really been. Maybe it didn’t have shit to do with diving into a fucking ocean. But she’d gone about as far as she could with her siblings for now—it was right there in their posture, how quickly they were about to close themselves off.
Stan shifted in his boots, orange juice carton tapping against his thigh. “They said they could have the correct part driven in by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. I’ll set to work on it right away.”
“Thank you,” Aaron enunciated before snatching up his duffel bag and storming back in the direction they’d come from. He was followed by Belmont and Peggy, who might as well have been escaping a tsunami—her. Rita. Weird how she’d gone her entire life without speaking up and now she couldn’t seem to keep her trap shut.
Rita stared out across the open expanse of land behind the garage, kind of wishing she smoked so she’d have an excuse to loiter. So many of her fellow kitchen employees had bonded over smoke breaks throughout the years, but she’d always abstained, afraid it would affect her sense of taste. Why am I thinking about this?
Probably because she had an entire day to kill now and Jasper Ellis was within walking distance. She’d lain awake far too long last night replaying their encounter. Over and over, until she’d finally gotten up in the dark and shaved her legs, since smooth legs against cool sheets always made her sleep better. No dice, though. I came here so you would fuck me. She cringed just thinking about those words leaving her mouth, about the way he’d expected them. How would she feel if a man said the same thing to her?
Answer: not even remotely good.
It went against the introvert handbook to apologize, but she needed to make amends for her part of last night. Make amends and bail. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.
Now that they were in Hurley for another day, she didn’t have a single excuse.
Weighed down by resolve, Rita turned from her view of the dusty, open land—and ran smack into Jasper.
“Hey.” His smile was strained at both ends, his eyes running over her face as if trying to capture something elusive. “You’re still here.”
It took Rita a few breaths to get her bearings. Because there he was. Solid and soap-smelling. Big. Capable. A little rough around the edges, hair shaggy around his ears. Hollywood stylists probably toiled for hours to achieve his tumbled-in-bedsheets look. A man who woke up, stretched his flexing biceps over his head, scrubbed a hand down his abs, and grinned before getting up to drink coffee naked in his kitchen. Because why spend one unnecessary moment dressed? And
speaking of clothes, the warmth coming off his tucked-in flannel shirt rivaled the sun. She would bet anything that if she sniffed the material curving around his shoulder it would remind her of snuggling into pajamas fresh from the dryer.
“Uh…yeah. Still here.” Stop shuffling your feet like a high school student. “The wrong part arrived and my family is mere moments from a mutiny.”
“Wow.” His eyebrows lifted. “The wrong part, huh?”
“Yeah.” She tucked both hands in her back pockets. “This is starting to feel like Gilligan’s Island.”
Especially because her siblings were nowhere in sight—obviously having returned to the motel—leaving her to be captured by one of the natives.
Jasper seemed to deflate with relief, probably because she’d made a joke instead of sprinting out into the wild blue yonder. “Which character does that make you?”
A smile tugged at her lips. “Probably Gilligan, since he’s the one always screwing up.” She could no longer look at him. “I’m sorry about last n—”
“No. No, no, no.” The toes of his boots met hers. Rita barely managed to contain a gasp at his sudden closeness, the excessive heat he threw off. “If you apologize I’m going to walk right out into that desert and dig a hole for myself.”
She sounded obnoxiously breathless when she said, “That’s pretty dramatic.”
“I’m feeling more than a little dramatic over you, Rita.” Those blue eyes were crystal-clear pools, but so much went on behind them. So much she couldn’t read or understand. “And you’re a Mary Ann, to be sure. She was always my favorite.”
“I guess I should thank you for not saying Mrs. Howell.” He was too much up close; she felt so much magnetism and energy she had to back up a few inches. “Does your local status make you one of the scary dudes with spears?”