Hidden: Part 1 Read online

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “You need a hat and jacket.”

  “Let’s go,” he said testily. “I’m getting hungry.”

  “I’m having fun,” she said, a wistful expression on her face. “Don’t spoil it for me.”

  “Fine. I’m waiting in the car.”

  He was overcome with guilt as he sat in the Expedition and watched her at the checkout counter through the window. Avery gave so much. He had no way to repay her. She was putting him in her debt, and it was upsetting the balance of their friendship. In truth, from the start, Justin had viewed their relationship as a temporary gig, no strings attached. He’d never been in a relationship before, and knew he couldn’t manage one right now. He was living like a bum; homeless, penniless, ego at an all-time low. He needed to construct a new life out of nothing, and it would be an uphill journey. It came as a painful wake-up call that Avery was building future plans around him. He’d stayed in Phoenix too long, gotten too comfortable, and allowed her to think this could last. Now she wanted to repackage him so she could drag him to her party to meet her working-stiff friends.

  He felt like the world’s biggest fraud. Avery was sweet and gentle but she didn’t see how small her world was. He on the other hand had been traveling to rodeos across the country throughout high school and college and never had an address longer than a year. He couldn’t fathom being corralled into suburban living. That would be like confining a stallion to a barn stall. A band of anxiety tightened around his chest and for a minute he could barely breathe. Jesus. He didn’t want to hurt her. She came out of the store with bags piled in the basket, smiling at him, radiant. Feeling like a con man, he got out to help her.

  Trying to ease his guilt, Justin cooked Avery her favorite dinner, linguini with prawns in white wine sauce. He lit candles, picked roses from the yard and stuck them in a vase in the center of the table. In the flickering light they ate slowly, savoring the food and each other. Occasionally he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm, her wrist, leaned over and kissed the warm groove of her neck. Emotionally he should be pulling away but he was drawn to her. The wine warmed his blood. He wanted the fringe benefits without the demands.

  After dinner she grabbed the wine and glasses. “Let’s finish this on the patio.”

  Relaxing together on the swinging chair with the velvety night settling around them she sipped wine and he strummed his old Gibson. Justin knew his voice wasn’t much but he could do a decent western twang and a pretty good yodel, imitating Sourdough Slim. Avery loved the cowboy songs and blushed prettily when he slipped her name into the lyrics. Tonight it seemed appropriate to sing “The Colorado Trail” with its haunting lost-love theme.

  “What a beautiful song,” Avery said after he finished three verses. “So full of longing.”

  “It’s a hundred years old,” he said, finger-picking his guitar. “Came from an anonymous cowboy who’d been trampled by a horse. Multiple broken bones and lacerations. He spent several weeks in the hospital and sang that song to the other patients.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “No one knows.”

  “Will you sing another song?”

  “For you darlin’, anything.” He sang a couple more tunes and then laid the Gibson to rest in its battered case. The pressing heat of the night and the wine made him drowsy. “Let’s sleep out here tonight.”

  “Sounds nice,” she said. “But I need to get cleaned up and I like my bed.”

  Feeling amorous, he reached over and caressed her belly.

  “Don’t Justin, I’m still full.” She moved his hand away and pinned him with her soft brown eyes. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about us. How well we get along and all. Everything you own is in my garage. Why don’t we make this living situation official?”

  “You mean permanent?”

  “Yes, you dweeb.” She flashed a beautiful smile.

  “Like, be a couple?”

  “Yeah. What do you think we’re doing now?”

  Justin’s good mood plummeted like a kite falling from the sky. Thoughts of captivity flickered through his mind.

  “Babe?”

  Her voice invaded his thoughts. She was looking at him with a curious expression. “What’s wrong? You’re grimacing.”

  He shifted his weight and the porch swing groaned on its chains.

  “Are you going to give me an answer?” she asked.

  “I’m not ready to be having this conversation.” Justin felt her body stiffen. “Avery, we’ve only known each other three weeks.”

  “And we’re living together as man and wife.”

  “You’re still married.”

  “Not in my heart. We’ve settled into a relationship, Justin. We’re happy together. What more do you want?”

  “I haven’t been an adult long enough to answer that.” He knew he wanted more than this. He wanted property with good pastureland, a solid house, quality livestock. That dream materializing might be years away. “I’m not old enough to legally drink. I’m sure not mature enough to settle down.”

  “You’re more mature than men twice your age. I know. I’m divorcing a forty-year-old juvenile delinquent.”

  “Avery, until I can offer a woman something of worth, I have no right to be in a relationship. Right now, I’m penniless, with no prospects, and I still can’t rodeo.” He needed a good couple weeks yet.

  “I make a decent salary,” she said. “I can put you on my health plan. You won’t have to worry about money.”

  “I want to earn my own way,” he said fiercely.

  She looked away with a hurt expression.

  For several long seconds they sat in strained silence. Somewhere a car backfired. The chorus of crickets grew louder.

  “Face facts, Justin. The odds of you making a living off rodeo are slim to none.” Her tone sounded reasonable, calm. “If you stay with me, you could go back to school. I know people in town. I could get you a part-time job.”

  “And work for minimum wage? Christ, Avery, I can’t quit rodeo. Not now. I’m getting to the top. It’s my only chance to earn big money, fast.”

  “Most bull riders barely break even.”

  “True, most bull riders earn shit for money. But now I’m in the PBR. Last year, the top twenty-three riders took in over a million each. The number one rider topped out at five million. I expect to be making six figures within the next couple years.”

  “If you don’t kill yourself first,” she said, an excited edge to her voice. “The risk for injury is higher for PBR. Bulls are bigger. It’s not called the most dangerous sport on dirt for nothing.”

  “Every sport is dangerous,” he said.

  “The linemen that crush each other in football weigh three hundred pounds,” she said. “Bulls weigh two thousand. Most cowboys weigh in at around one fifty. Those odds seem even to you? Riders get trampled, get concussions. It’s David and Goliath every time you sit on a bull.”

  “Hell, Avery, living off you is injuring me more than any bull ever could. I’ve every intention of paying you back for everything once I’m on my feet.”

  “You’re planning on leaving me, then?” Her voice became quiet. She sat very still.

  The fuzzy concept of leaving had crystallized as they spoke. He was comfortable here and would have stayed another two weeks, but now he saw clearly it was time to go before she got even more attached. It would be better for her, too, in the long run. After she got to know him better, she’d be disappointed. He wasn’t an easy man to love. The thought of seeing the bright light dim in her eyes when she looked at him filled him with sorrow. He was gripped by a keen sense of aloneness, like a stone falling down a dark well with no bottom in sight. “I’m sorry, Avery.”

  “Will you come back?” Her eyes, big in the moonlight, brimmed with tears.

  He nodded.

  “When?”

  “I’ll be passing through here for rodeo all the time.” His voice caught and he sai
d hoarsely, “Come here.” He framed her face with his hands and wiped the tears away with his thumbs, wishing he could patch up the hurt he caused. He kissed the top of her head and cradled her in his arms. “You’ve been so good to me. I don’t deserve a woman like you.”

  For a long time he felt her tears seeping into his shirt and the occasional spasm of a sob but eventually her body relaxed and her familiar soft snores rumbled against his shoulder. His thoughts time-traveled backwards over his troubled life and long years of indentured slavery. By the time he reached eighteen and was free of social services he’d had his fill of pseudo-families where things appeared hunky-dory on the surface, but in the shadows ugly secrets festered. He’d grown a tough hide, a preference for his own company, and an understanding that there was something inherently wrong with him. Trust was weaned out of him at an early age and he never learned how to forge close bonds with people. He’d had plenty of acquaintances in his life, but no real friends. He doubted he had the emotional capacity to cement his soul to a woman’s. Sure, he wanted a wife one day, but even then he knew he’d always have a desire to bust loose and hit the road for a spell. One thing he learned the hard way was that it was a mistake to get too comfortable. Nothing good ever lasted.

  The sound of Avery’s rhythmic breathing filtered into his thoughts. The familiarity of her body conforming to his own soothed something raw and wild in his nature. For a long time he studied the simple world within her fenced backyard, wanting to remember these untroubled moments of suburban life; the smell of fresh-cut grass, the faint buzz of June bugs dive-bombing the porch light, the distant barking of a dog as a car turned into a driveway, the smoky aroma of barbequed steak lingering in the air from a neighbor’s grill.

  She stirred. He stroked her hair and memorized her face in the moonlight. He knew he would dream of her body often and the many joys he’d discovered in her arms.

  Justin didn’t sleep well. Normally he slept past eight but he rose with the dawn filled with restless energy. After an hour of calisthenics, avoiding pressure to his ribs, he showered and made himself breakfast. Coffee and a mushroom omelet were waiting for Avery when she made a sleepy appearance in the kitchen. Her face looked solemn, resolute.

  As usual she talked about the headlines in the paper—the distant war, local politics, their horoscopes—but her voice sounded flat, distant. Despite her coolness, he wanted to be near her. He shadowed her as she dressed for work and watched attentively as she brushed mascara onto her lashes and put on lipstick. After running a brush through her hair, she turned off the light, leaving him perched on the edge of the tub in the darkness. There was no fire in her goodbye hug, no lingering kiss, no promise of future intimacy. She merely pecked his cheek and flew out the door. He stood staring after her, acutely aware that something essential had been ripped away from his soul.

  After the sound of her SUV faded down the street he tried to lose himself in household chores; vacuuming and scrubbing down the kitchen, but nothing relieved the pressure building in his chest. The everyday sameness of Avery’s existence felt suffocating. He missed the intensity of rodeo—the in-your-face threat of death, the respect of hardened cowboys who bore injuries like badges of courage, the admiration of buckle bunnies who wanted to taste danger by riding a cowboy. He was seized with a longing to be on the road heading for some vague destination, speeding past busted-down ranches that spoke of failure and broken dreams. He wanted to disappear into the horizon. No expectations. No disappointments.

  His desire for freedom filled him with misery.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Sully and Travis had been up for hours when the sheriff’s volunteer group arrived. Sully was constructing a wheelchair ramp up to the back porch, his carpenter tools holstered around his hips. He crossed the driveway to meet the men piling out of the Yukon: Sheriff Matterson, a couple deputies, two neighbors, Pastor Cooper. A van pulled in behind the truck and the wives got out, bundled against the cold in wool scarves and down jackets. Wearing big smiles, everyone gathered around Sully. Hugs from the women, claps on the back from the men. The small talk was cheerful and polite, catching him up on bits of local gossip. Everyone avoided the topic of the war he’d left behind. The conversation drifted to Monty’s murder and stolen horses. Sully recognized fear in the women’s voices, anger on the faces of the men.

  “Cain’t believe I didn’t see nothing or hear gunshots.” Bob Stevens was a lean man with sharp features and a thin mouth. He owned the property next to Monty’s and still had six good cow horses in his barn.

  “How’d they get Gunner outta here without making a stir?” his wife Eva asked. She was as round as Bob was lean, with small eyes peering over plump red cheeks.

  “Wish I knew, Eva,” Sully said, hearing anger seep into his words.

  “Forensics turn up anything, Carl?” Pastor Cooper asked.

  The sheriff pushed his hat back, revealing a deeply creased brow. He looked haggard; eyes puffy, stress lines around his mouth. “We combed every inch of his house and barn. Whatever forensics found, it’s at the lab. The M.E. hasn’t released any info on the body yet.” He hooked his thumbs into his belt. “We go to the bottom of their active case files.”

  Sully saw his own disappointment mirrored on the faces around him.

  “Okay, enough with the gruesome talk,” the sheriff said. “We came here to lend a hand. Let’s get to work. It’s too cold to paint outside but we can start indoors. Jim, Pete, you two start upstairs. Ladies, find things to do in the house.”

  Even in civilian clothes, Carl Matterson looked like a cop and acted like one. Sully spotted Travis coming out of the barn, Butch trotting close behind. Sully had cropped the poodle short and Travis had fashioned a little red sweater for him out of an old turtleneck. Pulling iPod buds from his ears, Travis looked surprised at the party of people milling in the yard.

  “Hey, Travis. How about making these guys useful?” Matterson said. “Think you can dig up some projects for them?”

  Travis looked puzzled. “What kinda projects?”

  “Sorry, Travis,” Sully said. “I forgot to mention these folks were coming out to give us a hand. General repairs, clean up.”

  “Well, I’ll be a son of a gun.” Travis grinned. “How much time you got?” He escorted Bob and Evan back into the barn.

  The women loaded up casseroles from the van, followed Sully into the house, and spread their dishes across the kitchen counters. Sully peeked under foil and lifted lids, releasing good aromas: chicken enchiladas, lasagna, tuna casserole.

  “We’ll have a potluck at noon. Everyone meet back here in the kitchen,” Sue Matterson said. She was a pretty woman; tall, well-proportioned, blond hair turning gray, no-nonsense brown eyes. A good match for a tough cop like Carl. She’d kept their three boys in line with a firm hand until they left for college. “Let’s get this food put away.” She opened the fridge and stood motionless, frowning. It was empty except for a bowl of eggs Sully had gathered from the hens, leftover beans still in the pot they’d been cooked in, and a half-defrosted chunk of meat sitting on a plate bleeding.

  “What the … ?” She pulled out the meat, wrinkled her nose, and held it at arm’s length. “This stinks.”

  All eyes in the room turned to Sully.

  “I believe that’s the last of the elk Travis shot before my first deployment. He was gonna grill it for dinner.”

  “Eek!” The disgusted faces of the women forced Sully to stifle a grin. Travis would douse it in hot sauce. He could eat anything.

  Sue looked at Sully like he was utterly incompetent and tossed the mound of meat into the trash then set the can out on the porch. The women started stuffing the fridge with casseroles. He sure wasn’t gonna go hungry anytime soon. He peeled back foil on a pan and caught Sue’s eye, his hand hovering over a blueberry corn muffin.

  “Go ahead, Sully.” She smiled. “Eat up. That’s what they’re here for.”

  Carl also reached for one but Sue gave him a look
and slapped his hand away. “Forgetting your diet already? Go on. Get. There’s no room in the kitchen for you.”

  The two men strode into the living room, Sully guiltily stuffing his mouth. Matterson removed his hat and ran a sunburned hand through his thinning hair. “Time to roll up our sleeves. I’ll start taping. Wanna take down everything on the walls and start spackling?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Sully started in his bedroom, pulling down old posters and packing his trophies and buckles into boxes, then moving them to the garage. Returning to his room, he pulled all the furniture into the middle of the floor, covered everything with drop cloths, and stood in the doorway viewing his handiwork. Ghostly images remained on the walls. Decades of his life had just been stripped away. His new identity would soon take shape in this space, starting with a fresh coat of paint.

  Carl was taping the oak doorframe in the living room. He had turned on the radio and was singing “Digging Up Bones” along with Randy Travis, making up in volume what he lacked in harmony.

  “I hate to break up the music fest but what color paint did you get?” Sully knew he was stuck with whatever it was, considering it was free.

  “Macadamia nut.”

  “What the hell kinda color is that?”

  “Brent at the Depot said this is what they’re painting all the model homes.” He pried the top off a can, stirred, dipped in a brush, and slapped a few strokes across the wall. It was a warm cream color that made the yellowed white beneath it look dirty. “You approve?”

  “Damn straight. Why didn’t you just say it was buckskin?” Sully smiled. “Let’s get ’er done.”

  The rhythm of painting and the buzz of women’s voices went uninterrupted for several hours. Sully took a coffee break and saw the women had taken down the curtains and pulled up all the throw rugs. All morning he heard the rumble of the washer and dryer coming from the laundry room. Women were dusting and scrubbing crevices and light fixtures and other places he never thought to clean. With good cheer and efficiency, they moved through the house like a military brigade, and he caught snippets of conversation coming from all corners.