by Leigh Tudor
“That would certainly make us feel better.” Loren collapsed into her chair.
“Look at it this way,” Mercy reasoned, “with her hair cropped short and the color of a road construction sign, there’s very little chance of anyone recognizing her as Charlotte Halstead.”
Loren nodded, leaning her forehead onto her clasped hands. “Good point. We should pick our battles.” She sighed, feeling so much older than her twenty-two years. “But I can’t let her get by with refusing to do her homework.”
She pushed her body, which seemed to have gained fifty pounds, out of the chair to face the specter that had inhabited her little sister’s body.
“Wish me luck.”
“Instead of luck, how ’bout I get you some body armor?”
“These days, Cara doesn’t take the body shot,” Loren said with a monotone voice. “She uses her words and aims straight for the heart.”
Loren stood by the piano, waiting for Cara to finish. “Revolutionary Etude” was a highly complex, violent piece, and Cara was fully committed to playing it to its full emotional potential.
Minutes later, panting after the ominous finale, Cara’s eyes shifted to Loren, genuinely unaware of her presence until that moment.
Loren swallowed, searching for resolve. “I don’t know what you’re going through right now, but I want you to know I’m here if you want to talk. I can’t make you talk. All I can do is let you know that I’m here when you’re ready.”
Cara stared at the piano keys, unmoving except for her chest heaving from the exertion of playing the piece.
“As for your hair, I’m not going to make you change it back. But in the future, I would appreciate it if you’d talk to me first.”
Still nothing.
“In regard to your science project, not completing it is certainly your option. But that decision holds consequences. The consequence being that you will be grounded for the next two weeks. On the days I have a class, you will come straight to the gym—alone—and wait for me to finish.”
Her eyes finally shot up, wide and argumentative. Still, no words.
“On the other days, I will pick you up from school and bring you straight home. No hanging out with Ally and your other friends.”
Cara crossed her arms in agitation, staring at the wall farthest from Loren. “Is that it?”
“Yes, it’s your choice.”
Cara slammed the piano lid, and Loren jolted at the discordant staccato sound. Pushing her seat back, nearly toppling it over, Cara stalked out of the room.
Loren turned just as Cara’s shoulder slammed into Mercy, who was leaning against the wall next to the stairway.
“Brat.” Mercy grimaced, rubbing her arm. “It’s still early. I swear I can dig a shallow grave in less than thirty minutes.”
Loren was about to respond when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Mercy said, walking past a hunch-shouldered Loren.
She peeked through the side window. “Um, it’s the sexually repressed soldier-farmer that totally hates our guts.”
Loren dropped her head in her hands. “Of course it is.”
Mercy turned. “I can always make that grave a double.”
Loren reluctantly lifted her head. “How mad does he look?”
Mercy peeked out the window again. “I’d say—furniture throwing mad.”
Loren looked up at the ceiling and exhaled slowly. “I’ll take care of this.”
“Fine, I’ll just look for a shovel.”
Irreverent humor had always been Loren’s go-to. She thrived on shock value. Used it as a coping mechanism to distract from being forced to live in a virtual prison where the staff was convinced she was a textbook psychotic mess.
Living in the conservative Texas town of Wilder, and trying so hard to maintain a semblance of normalcy for her newly formulated family, forced Loren to temper her more inappropriate banter.
To her pleasant surprise, she found that the more she got to know people, and become friends, the easier it was for her to assess whether her saucy sense of humor would be deemed acceptable. More surprising was that she discovered she truly cared about what other people thought about her. Not just about Mercy and Cara, but what they thought of her, too.
That said, she refused to flip a switch and change who she was. It was one thing to read the room and act accordingly, but it was another to become someone else entirely.
That just wasn’t happening.
The doctor had tried to change who she was, lied about it to the point where holding true to herself had been the one thing that maintained her sanity.
So, in the small town of Wilder, she struggled for that balance between staying true to herself and being liked by her community.
The one person to which this approach didn’t seem to apply was on the other side of her front door with a hot poker up his ass. Despite caring about what he thought of her, she just couldn’t seem to squelch certain ribald comments when his eyes latched onto hers.
And let’s face it, there was nothing sexier than a hot-tempered Alec Wilder. She’d experienced it firsthand—on the other side of this very door.
But this was a delicate situation. And if she didn’t address it maturely, and tone down the sarcasm, it could ultimately threaten Ally and Cara’s friendship, and as far as she knew, Cara couldn’t afford to lose her best friend.
She took a quick inventory of her attire. Sport bra, check. T-shirt and old-school track pants, check. Nothing he should take exception to.
Up popped that devil on her shoulder as she considered removing her tee and wearing only her sport bra. She shook off the errant thought and refocused.
Besides, it was cold outside.
Grabbing the doorknob, Loren closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Behave,” she whispered to herself.
Chapter Thirteen
“Mathematics is not about numbers, equations, computations, or algorithms: it is about understanding.”
—William Paul Thurston
American mathematician and
pioneer in the field of low-dimensional topology
* * *
Alec stood at the Ingalls’ front door, ringing the bell for the third time. He knew they were home. He could hear their muffled voices on the other side.
When he’d pulled into their driveway, he was once again duly impressed. They’d painted the house light green and trimmed it in black.
He wouldn’t have thought of that, but it looked good.
Real good.
Not a half-assed job, either. They’d spent the time required to do it right, scraping the old paint off the house and filling in any holes or gaps with wood putty. It wouldn’t have surprised him if they’d replaced some boards, too.
Maybe they planned on staying in Wilder? Who spends that much money on a house they didn’t even own unless they planned on sticking around for a while?
He noticed the rain had died to a slight drizzle as he turned to lean on the porch rail, waiting on the sketchy sisters to decide if they were going to open the door any time soon and noticed the bricked walkway and flowers along the sides.
Maybe he should think about fixing up his house? Maybe that’s just what he and Ally needed? Projects they could do together, to strengthen their relationship.
Fucking couldn’t hurt at this point.
He heard the door creak and he turned to see Loren step outside and close the door behind her.
“I’d invite you in,” she said, hugging her waist due to the chill, “but we’d have more privacy out here.”
He nodded, pissed that she looked so damn good in just a pair of jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. “Your sister as pissy as mine is right now?”
She smirked. “Mercy’s digging a shallow grave in our backyard as we speak. So, I’d say that’s a definite yes.”
Silence. They stood facing each other, not sure what to say next.
“I really had no idea about the whole hair and makeup thing,” Lor
en offered up. “And I swear I don’t know what’s gotten into Cara; this just isn’t like her. It seems like her attitude has been getting progressively worse over the last few weeks.”
He shouldn’t have been surprised that she assumed he was here to blame Cara for Ally’s shitty behavior.
He leaned back on the porch rail with his hands in his pockets. “Despite recent events to the contrary, I’m not here to lay blame.”
Hope appeared on her face. And he decided she really was lovely. Gorgeous, even. The reflection of the moon made her hair glow and her eyes shine. Even her skin appeared luminescent.
Fuck, waxing poetic about a woman who conjured more red flags than a fourth of July parade was not why he was here.
He cleared his throat, getting back on task. “I came here to apologize for my earlier comments and to see if we couldn’t stay in touch and help each other out with the girls.” He crossed one leg over the other. “This isn’t like Ally, either, and I’m hoping if we keep one another informed, we can get to the bottom of this.”
She stepped closer, nodding. “I’d appreciate that. I keep asking Cara what’s wrong but she just looks at me like I have horns growing out of my head.”
Alec’s chest tightened as he watched his tough-as-nails neighbor morph into a lost parent. He didn’t know how he felt about seeing her so vulnerable.
Lost and vulnerable was his kryptonite. Clearing his throat, he pulled away from the porch railing as he dug into his pants pocket.
“Okay, then.” He handed his phone to her. “Put your number in my phone; I’ll call you so you’ll have mine, too.”
Their hands touched with the exchange, and he imagined grabbing her by the wrist and stealing her breath along with her uncertainty. But then he remembered the last time he took a chance on a woman, and then the day he came home for leave.
Witnessing his wife sitting at the kitchen table singing what sounded like a Baptist church hymn, rocking in her chair and looking straight through him was a scene that would be forever etched in his mind. And then searching the house for Ally, and finding her in the upstairs closet. She was gaunt, half-starved, and shaking uncontrollably. Her tear-streaked face looked up at him as if he were a mirage.
He squeezed his eyes shut as his solar plexus caved in on himself. He was supposed to serve and protect. He gave an oath to do so when he joined. But the one person who’d needed him most was back home, being beaten and starved by the very woman he’d put in place to care for her.
Not again, not ever again.
He reopened his eyes with renewed resolve as Loren plugged her digits into his phone.
“Feel free to call me anytime and thank you for doing this,” she said, handing the phone back, rising up and down on her toes with restless energy.
“Another thing,” he said, slipping his phone into the pocket of his jacket. “What happened here—on the porch.”
She began to chew on her bottom lip, and nodded.
“It shouldn’t have happened. It was a mistake,” he said, looking to the side for a moment and then back to her. “It won’t happen again.”
Loren looked down at her shoes, but not before he caught a glimpse of glassy eyes. She nodded, as if physically unable to dredge up any words.
“Thought I should be clear about that,” he said, sliding his hands in his back pockets.
Another nod.
“I better head back.” He walked backward toward the steps. “Make sure Ally hasn’t started a rave at the house.”
An unconvincing half-smile appeared, and she once again nodded mutely.
Alec made his way along the bricked walkway, swung his body up into his truck and pulled away. He glanced in his rearview mirror and watched her slip back inside. He scraped his face with his hand and blew out a breath. Despite the gasket-sized knot in his gut, he needed to do that. Needed to squash any question as to why he showed up at her front door tonight. The more they kept things friendly, the better.
He couldn’t afford to get wrapped up with a woman he knew so little about. And what he did know, didn’t begin to pass muster. Whatever was going on with Ally required one hundred percent of his focus. God knew he owed it to her.
Driving up to the house, he saw that Ally’s bedroom lights were out. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was relieved. Their earlier argument was about all he could take for one night, but the thought of sitting in his parents’ living room and watching TV by himself was just as unsettling, if for different reasons.
Less than ten minutes later, he pulled into Lucky’s Tavern and walked inside. Gus, the owner and friend since high school, was tending bar, so he took off his jacket and sat in one of the barstools, as far away from others as possible.
“Hey, stranger,” Gus said with a grin. “You here to drink or troll?”
“Have you ever known me to troll?”
“Not that I can remember. But you might want to rethink that considering there are about a dozen women in here who would gladly oblige.”
“Not interested,” he said, pulling the bill of his cap lower. “But I will take a Guinness.”
“Right up.”
A minute later, Gus scooted his drink toward him and leaned on his elbows, taking advantage of the lull. “How’s farming treating you?”
“Not too well.”
“Still not taking to it?”
Alec sighed. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to hate anything more.”
“So, why the hell are you doing it?”
“Don’t have a choice. The only thing I’ve ever been good at was being a Marine. Those skills don’t exactly transfer to civilian life.”
“Why don’t you talk to O’Malley? He’s looking for some extra acreage. Selling the cattle would be easy enough.”
Alec shook his head. “Family home; can’t do that to Ally. The place is all she’s known.”
“Well, then stay in the house and lease the land and sell the cattle.”
“Not as much profit.”
“Not unless you start doing something you can stomach.” Gus dried one of the beer mugs. “Look, O’Malley’s leasing the acreage at the Old Kramer place, so it makes sense that he take on yours as well.”
Alec took a long swallow, the evening taking on a bit of promise. “That’s something to consider.”
“Hold that thought,” Gus said, backing toward a customer who’d called him over.
God, how he hated farming. For as long as he could remember, all his parents had talked about was him taking over the farm so they could retire. He’d joined the Marines in an effort to delay that eventuality, and then his parents were killed in a car accident on their way to their first vacation in over ten years.
Thank God Ally wasn’t with them. Alec had agreed to stay home and watch her for the long weekend. Thought it would be a good idea to spend some time with her before being sent to boot camp. The Marines were pretty decent about it. They delayed his being shipped out and allowed him to make arrangements for Ally and his parents.
That’s when he’d met Marisa.
He crushed a peanut shell as his mood diminished.
But that actually made him think.
Maybe selling the farm and moving wasn’t such a bad idea? Maybe the memories Ally had for the house were those with Marisa instead of their parents. Maybe the old house was a constant reminder of the abuse she’d suffered?
Gus returned, wiping his hands on a towel. “Speaking of the Kramer place, you check out the Ingalls sisters?”
“I know of ’em.”
“The middle one, Mercy, haven’t seen much of her since she’s not drinking age. But the older one comes in a couple of times a week. Teaches a self-defense class out at Pastor Roberts’ church.”
“I’m sure she causes quite a ruckus when she shows up.”
Gus smiled. “She sure is something. Always comes in and orders the Special, steak burger with home fries, then takes it out back to Jimbo.”
Jimbo was
Wilder’s town vagrant who moved about during the day, but usually spent his nights in the alley behind Lucky’s. He was harmless, and had no intention of living anywhere but under the stars. Even during the coldest winter months, he refused to go to a shelter.
During one of their few evenings out, Marisa had told Gus and Alec that they should call the police on him, insisting vagrancy was against the law.
Gus continued, “She puts money in that juke box and gets all the women out on the dance floor. She doesn’t care if they’re twenty or eighty, little thing manages to get them all to dance. Calls it impromptu cardio.”
“You don’t have a dance floor, Gus.”
“Exactly. She gets them dancing all around the tables, and then the people at the tables can’t help themselves and they start dancing. She sure is something to see.”
“You sound sweet on her.” Alec’s eyes narrowed.
Gus leaned closer on one elbow. “Believe me, I’d give it a shot if she were willing, but she’s turned down every single able-bodied man within a twenty-mile radius that’s made their intentions known. Not sure if she’s picky, or prefers the ladies, if you know what I mean.”
He left again to pour a beer for another customer and returned. “Couple of weeks ago, Robbie Bennett came in. You know the arrogant ass-wipe. Always acting like he’s God’s gift because he’s a banker’s son. He got a little too handsy with her—ended up hunched over, holding his junk as he duck-walked out the door. The entire place went nuts and put her on top of the bar to dance it out.”
“Let me guess, she can dance.” Alec smirked at the rhetorical question.
Gus grinned as if envisioning her dancing in his mind’s-eye. “You ever see the movie Coyote Ugly?”
Alec squeezed his eyes shut.
Fucking hell.
Loren looked just like that sweet little blond in the flick, with the fuck-me lips.
He finished his Guinness, knowing where this was going. “I don’t think there’s a Marine from south Texas that hasn’t.”