Of Bishops And Pawns (Ridge Rogues Book 2)

by Renee Harless

  That had been what triggered my anger this morning with Callie. Normally I could easily let down my partner and send them on their way, always wondering where they had gone wrong, but Callie had been overly persistent in learning about me and my past. She had blabbered endlessly about her childhood and what brought her to Wellington and when she had paused for me to interject about my past, she was disappointed when I asked her to leave. When she took longer than I expected, I left the apartment and she readily followed, begging for forgiveness.

  That was something that I wouldn’t grant her even if she hadn’t tried to pry into my past.

  Grabbing another shade of blue, I smear the paint onto the canvas until it resembled a wave in the oceanic image I was creating. The wave flowed but it wasn’t perfect, cresting and breaking before it would reach the shore. I’d need to add white next to show the cap of the wave as it foamed and fell into itself.

  My emotions felt like the wave I was painting after sitting through dinner. Jolee’s friend joined us for pizza and I remembered her from the animal shelter fundraiser, but I couldn’t remember her name. All that I knew was that she was a memory brought to life. My gaze was transfixed on her as she ate and laughed with my brothers and there was absolutely nothing that I could do to turn away. Even Jolee had kicked me under the table but I couldn’t turn away. I was looking for something, anything, that would alert me that someone had sent this girl into my life as a reminder of my past.

  I lost myself in the canvas as time ticked by, using the paint to rid myself of the awful memories popping up like daisies in a field. The chime on my phone sounded from my bedroom and I left my closet to find a text from Trey saying that Callie was spreading rumors at the bar we had been at the night before. It was nothing that I planned to worry about since it wasn’t the first time someone lied about whatever relationship they thought that we had.

  Falling across my bed, I turned my gaze to the canvases that lined the oversized closet I used as an art space. Most were crap that was now covered in blue splatters from my newest creation. I wasn’t under any illusion that I had artistic talent. I simply enjoyed creating something from nothing.

  I remembered Jolee’s friend mentioning that she was working to fix up an old piece of furniture for her apartment. I wondered if she got the same enjoyment out of it as I did when I painted.

  With no desire to join everyone out in the living room, I stayed hidden away and scrolled through my phone until the night sky descended through my window. The darkness drew me in and I fell asleep without having to lose myself in a strenuous activity. This time the image of red hair and large brown eyes flashed behind my lids until I woke up screaming, my voice hoarse and throat dry as I relived those turbulent times with my sister.

  Knowing that I wasn’t going to be able to fall back asleep, I made my way back to the closet and grabbed a clean white canvas. Earlier I had used blues and greens to try and calm my overactive mind, but now all I could see is red. Pools of blood-red and orange that would give way to the hell I was living in.

  I woke the following day hunched over the easel with a paintbrush covered in red paint dangling from my hand. Arching my back, I stretched and tried to work the tired muscles, but it was no use. I knew better than to fall asleep while painting. I always ended up hurting worse than I would have if I had tolerated the nightmares.

  Needing to fill my lungs with air, I quickly changed into a T-shirt and running shorts. As I exited the apartment, I noticed the rain coming down in sheets, the wind whipping the droplets around like they were nothing more than a feather. Most people didn’t enjoy running in the rain, but it was my favorite. Not only did it keep me refreshed, but I never had to worry about someone else trailing along.

  I made my way around the outskirts of the campus then followed the winding paths between each of the buildings. The school was empty for the most part during the summer breaks, though a few students still took classes that were offered in the summer session. I had taken a few the year before, which helped bring me closer to graduating.

  Thunder sounded off in the distance and I knew it was a safe bet that a storm was approaching. I ducked inside the commons building and planned to spend some time there until the majority of the storm passed. At the small coffee shop, I ordered a drink and a muffin then tucked myself away at a corner table that gave me a view of the people coming and going from the building.

  I was an observer by nature, much preferring to spend my time watching others than being watched. Though my behavior around campus said the opposite. I was the one that all of the guys on campus tried to emulate with my carefree attitude and easy-going lifestyle. They had no idea how rigid I was on the inside. How difficult it was to be someone that I wasn’t. After being tossed around from foster home to foster home, I learned that if I wanted to stay somewhere and be cared for, I needed to be whatever they wanted. That theory applied to the students at Wellington Ridge a well. Ford had cornered the market on broody and closed off. I opted for open and approachable. So far, it had worked in my favor, but it was tiresome to be something for everyone else.

  From the corner of my eye, a flash of red stole my attention from my internal musings. I watched the woman approach the bulletin board and scan the listings. While she was distracted, I took in her appearance. I could tell that beneath the shirt that was three sizes too big and shorts from the wrong decade, she had a body women would kill for. Today she wore a pair of black-rimmed glasses which hid the small freckles that dotted her cheeks. She wasn’t unattractive, but she wasn’t anything that made you do a double-take.

  I continued to stare at her back as she scanned the pinned papers on the board. She ripped a few of the tags off listings and tucked them in the small purse she wore across her body. The woman didn’t linger much longer before turning and exiting the building and walked into the storm raging outside.

  Curiosity had me considering moving from my table and viewing the board to see what she may have been looking at, but luckily my limbs wouldn’t comply.

  My pocket vibrated and I almost jumped in my chair as it startled me. Reaching for my phone, I saw my adoptive mom’s name flash on the screen.

  “Hey, mom,” I greeted her.

  “Hi, Archer. How are you?”

  “Good. Just finished up a run.”

  “You always did love to play in the rain.”

  “Still do.”

  “Anyway, I was calling to see if you still planned on help with the Wellington Housing Alliance. We start the next build tomorrow.”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  The Wellington Housing Alliance was a charity program that built houses for the less fortunate or those that may have lost their home due to a fire or natural disasters. All of the work was done by volunteers, and local businesses donated items inside the homes. I had been volunteering every summer with the WHA since I was sixteen and I looked forward to every home reveal.

  “Okay. I’ll be sure to add you to one of the groups.”

  “Thanks, mom. Will I see you there?”

  “I’m sure you will at some point. We’re helping four families this summer. So I’ll probably float between all the volunteer groups.”

  “Okay,” I replied as I glanced out of the window and noticed that the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle. Silence followed on the other end of the call and I knew the question was coming before she even asked.

  “Are you sleeping alright, Archer?” Dr. Tracy Fincher had been my advocate since I came into her care late in my teens. I had been listed as unadoptable but that hadn’t stopped her and her husband from taking me in any way. I had been in their care before, they were the first family I stayed with after I was found in my sister’s apartment, but due to politics or whatever shit social services came up with, I had been moved to another foster family. Dr. Fincher was the one who had placed me in therapy to try and silence the nightmares, and it had worked for a short time, but they’d been coming back more and more frequently.


  “I’m sleeping as well as I can.”

  “You let me know if we need to find another therapist, okay. No one should have to close their eyes and see the things that you did.” Mom was horrified when she learned how many days I had lived on my own, even before my sister came home and lost her life. She did all that she could to try and help ease my burden.

  “I’ve been painting again,” I told her, knowing that she would be thrilled that I was actively pursuing my hobby again. I didn’t dare tell her that it was how I stayed awake at night.

  “Oh, Archer. That’s wonderful news. I’d love to see a painting some time.”

  “Maybe.” She had been the first and only person I showed my artwork to. It was hard to hide when I lived in her house. But instead of ridiculing me as I had expected, she cheered me on. Honestly, Dr. Fincher was an angel.

  “Well, I have some papers to get graded. I’m glad you’re helping out the alliance again this year. It’s such a wonderful cause. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Bye, mom.”

  I took my time returning to my apartment, walking through the drizzle as if nature was my own personal shower. By the time I arrived, I was soaked to the bone again, and though it had been warm out for a Bostonian summer, I felt a chill down to my bones as I entered my bedroom. The painting from last night drew my eye in his vibrant red tones splattered haphazardly across the canvas. There was something familiar in the painting, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. A shiver traveled through my body as I continued to stare at my creation.

  I just wasn’t one-hundred percent sure that it was from the rain.

  Chapter Six – Sarah

  I wasn’t sure what to expect as I arrived at the location Dr. Fincher had directed me to via her email. While I was at the commons yesterday, I saw the volunteer sign-up sheet for the Wellington Housing Alliance. I tugged off the contact information for the program along with a few others, but it was my first choice. WHA was a program I had never heard of before, but after doing some diligent research, I had learned that they built homes around the town of Wellington for underprivileged families and those affected by natural disasters. All in all, it was a charitable organization headed by Dr. Fincher, one of the professors at Wellington Ridge University.

  I wasn’t enrolled in any of her classes, but the students seemed to love her even though she taught some of the most challenging courses on campus.

  The surroundings were unfamiliar as I was deposited on the corner by the public transportation. If it weren’t for the slew of construction equipment and a crowd of other volunteers, I would have worried that I was in the wrong place. Instead, I was greeted by a few classmates that I recognized as well as Dr. Fincher who was handing out cups of coffee to everyone as they arrived.

  She quickly placed us in groups of ten that would work alongside a contractor and housing professionals. Pretty much, we were here to do the grunt work.

  In each of the groups, she assigned one point person that would help direct the volunteers and keep them on task.

  As Dr. Fincher joined our group to divvy out the assignments, she frowned as she called out Archer Calloway’s name. I was certain that only one Archer attended Wellington and I knew from Ford that Dr. Fincher was his adoptive mother. The disappointment was etched on her face as she glanced around the gathering for her son.

  “Well, I guess he is running late this morning. In the meantime, Sarah Hodges,” she called out, and for some strange reason, I felt like a scolded child though I knew I had done nothing wrong.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She looked up from her clipboard, eyes wide in surprise, then they quickly softened as she tried to hide her reaction to me. Something was up with these ridge rogues and their families if this is how they would all react to meeting me.

  “I’m going to assign you as the leader this morning. Here is the task sheet for house three, which you all will be working on,” she explained as she handed me a printed spreadsheet with a list of items that needed completion and the timeframes in which to complete. “I’m certain that we can handle this for today.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Dr. Fincher.”

  My group was introduced to the contractor we’d be working with and I immediately felt at ease with the woman that had made a name for herself and her company in town. She explained that this was her fourth year working with the alliance and that we were all saints for donating our time.

  Quickly we followed her over to the location of house three, where some construction had already begun. This particular house was going to be a reconstruction from the existing frame, not a complete teardown. I had been secretly hoping to destroy something with a sledgehammer, but it seemed as if my vision was nothing more than a pipe dream.

  Within the group, I let each person choose which task they wanted to start with, the majority requesting to reframe the structure. Of course, with my luck, that left me on floor duty.

  After a quick rundown by the contractor on how to remove the old flooring in each room I went to work. Starting with the bedroom in the back of the house, I began ripping up the carpet, exposing the nails and subfloor. There had been no padding under the old dingy carpet. The movement of the carpet kicked dirt and dust in the air, which left me sneezing even with the mask I was wearing.

  I had rolled the mass into the center of the room and stood in the doorway, wondering how I was going to get the pile out by myself.

  Wandering outside, I went in search of the contractor or Dr. Fincher, but I didn’t see either person. I supposed that I could pull someone from the team to help me haul it to the dumpster, but I didn’t want to disturb them from their own projects.

  Defeated, I walked back into the house and lifted the edge of the roll of carpet and tugged. The mass didn’t want to move at first, but finally, it budged, inch by agonizing inch. I had no idea carpet could weigh so much. I finally got the roll into the hallway, which gave me a direct line out of the front door when I backed into a large mass.

  Whirling around, I quickly formed an apology, but the sound died on my lips when I found Archer standing behind me with a pinched expression on his face.

  “What are you doing?” he growled, his muscular arms crossed against his chest.

  “Ugh, bringing the carpet out to the dumpster.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Ugh. . .yeah.?” I replied as if he couldn’t see that was exactly what I was doing.

  Instead of responding, Archer bent down and grabbed the end of the roll, gesturing with his chin for me to grab the other end.

  “You should have asked for help. You’re going to get hurt doing this all by yourself.”

  If he had been anyone else, I would have assumed that he indeed was looking out for my welfare, but with his condescending tone and pinched expression, I knew he was anything but looking out for me.

  Biting back at him, I replied, “I would have except everyone was busy with their own assignments and, of course, you were nowhere to be found this morning.”

  “I was busy.” His response was clipped as if he didn’t owe me an explanation, which he didn’t, but if he was going to have an attitude, I certainly deserved some sort of reasoning.

  “Of course you were. Who was the flavor last night?” I questioned as I followed him to the dumpster, immediately regretting that I had accused him of sleeping around last night.

  “No one you would know.” Together we hefted the pile of old material into the dumpster and I found myself in another sneezing attack. “Now, where is the assignment list so that I can make sure everyone is staying on task,” he demanded and something about his condescending tone sent a wave of fury through me. I had already been disgusted by how he had spoken to Callie yesterday morning, but he had no reason to speak to me in that manner.

  “It’s in my back pocket for safe keeping,” I explained as I walked back into the house, grabbing a hammer along the way to remove the nails left from the carpet. Knowing he was following
me, I added. “I can assure you that everyone is staying on task.”

  “Yes, well, excuse me for not trusting your assurance. My mother put me in charge.”

  Spinning on my heel, I turned to face him and pointed the end of the hammer in his direction. “I hate to break it to you, but when you didn’t show up this morning, your mother put me in charge today. And since your mother is the one in charge, I will be following her directions.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.” Archer flung his hands in the air as I went about plucking nails from the subfloor.

  “You can take that up with Dr. Fincher. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” The boy was infuriating as he stomped out of the room like an insolent child that didn’t get a toy that he wanted. I didn’t have time for the games he played.

  Through the window, I watched him stalk across the backyard until he found his mother speaking with the contractors. I couldn’t read lips, but I was sure he was telling her how difficult I was and how I wasn’t qualified to charge for the day. Surprisingly, Dr. Fincher patted Archer’s cheek in a lovingly way before she pointed back toward the house, directly to where I was watching through the window.

  Sullenly he walked back to the house, his steps less confident than before. I turned away from the window the closer he came and went back to pulling nails from the subfloor. I could tell that he had returned to the bedroom without having to look up from my job. My body could sense his closeness, just as it had at dinner last night.

  From under my lashes, I watched as he extricated his own hammer from his tool belt that sat low on his hips and went to the other side of the room and began pulling nails. We worked together in complete silence, the only noise coming from the radio just outside the window.