Courage of Us

by Brooke May

  “Good morning, Patience.”

  “Good morning, Mary.” It has always felt good that I have never needed to call her Mrs. Michaels. It wouldn’t feel right. “What can I get for you today?”

  “Something for the road, please. I need to get to Great Falls to pick some things up and need a snack for the trip.” She starts to look through my display case. “Your mom said she thought you were baking your grandma’s German chocolate cupcakes today. If you still have any, may I snag one?”

  Grinning broadly, I nod my head and grab the very last of my most successful cupcakes and put it into a little box.

  “You’re lucky. This is the last one.”

  “Oh, good.” She claps. “You know how much I love these.”

  She does, but so does most of the town. I make her a batch every year for Christmas, but apparently, she couldn’t wait until then.

  “Will that be all?”

  She looks at her watch and sighs. “Unfortunately, yes. I have an appointment in a couple of hours, and I need to hit the road now to be there on time.” She hands over her cash, which is always more than necessary, but there is no point in arguing with her. “Thank you so much, snowflake. I love your haircut by the way.”

  For the millionth time today, another sting pierces my chest. She has called me snowflake since the guys started to back in high school. It never gets easy, but at the same time, it reminds me I’m still me, the same girl she used to bathe with her baby boy when we were at their house.

  “You’re welcome. Drive safely.” My voice has softened as I wave her off.

  Once more, I find myself not giving in and opening that Pandora’s box of asking her about Duke.

  I just hope it doesn’t take me too long to get the courage for that.

  Chapter Six

  Patience

  THE DAY HAS DRAGGED ON, and I have fulfilled tons of orders, including a cupcake cake for a five-year-old’s birthday party. It has been a relatively normal day, but Mary’s visit this morning has me on edge. Something isn’t settling right in my gut.

  There is no reason for me to be feeling like this. Mary has been in plenty of times to buy something to snack on either at the ranch or for a trip out of town for the day. She isn’t usually picky about what she gets and just takes whatever I have available, so her asking for something specific is out of the ordinary for her.

  I tried not to let it consume my thoughts for the rest of the day, but it was difficult. As I closed up for the evening and helped my parents clean the store before they left and then went back to start getting the dough ready and some things baked for tomorrow, my thoughts began to wander again.

  It is much easier for me to get things done the night before than getting up at two and getting here, especially in the winter. It allows me to sleep in just a little longer in the mornings. I’ve never been a morning person, so it makes me happy. I still remember my mom trying to wake me up in time for school. It usually took Duke storming into my room and bouncing on my bed to finally get me up.

  A faint smile graces my face at the memory of him once threatening to throw me in the snow drift right out of my bedroom window to get me up.

  Is that the reason she asked for a German chocolate cupcake?

  The question springs into my mind before I even realize it.

  Could that be why?

  My fists punch into the dough on my worktop. Duke absolutely loved my grandma’s cupcakes. He had a sixth sense when it came to knowing she was baking something. I would be dragged from wherever we were to go to my grandma’s house where he would make himself at home.

  It could be possible that Duke is finally coming home. But why wouldn’t Mary tell me? I was his best friend as far back as I can remember until he left. But then again, maybe she thinks I don’t care anymore. I gave up asking about him ages ago after she never volunteered information again.

  It doesn’t matter now.

  Duke has likely moved on with his life and may even be bringing someone home with him if he is coming home. And that hurts a lot. That’s what I did, though. I moved on with Greg to push aside my feelings for Duke and the hurt he caused by leaving. Not that it did any good.

  “Look where that got you, Patience.” Mumbling, I put the cut-out cookie dough on sheets and slide the trays into my enormous refrigerator. I’ll bake them in the morning and make fresh frosting while they bake.

  I’m ready to call it a night and go home.

  Cleaning up, I bundle myself up and head over to set the security code. Once it is set, I brace myself for the cold outside as I lock the deadbolt on the front doors. Steam instantly billows in my face as my warm breath hits the chilled winter air.

  So much for us having fall.

  I swear the weather gets stranger and stranger every year.

  I rush over to my car, careful not to slip on the ice and more worried about keeping warm rather than someone someone jumping me. Centennial isn’t a big enough town to cause any real crime. The last epic thing to happen here was when old man Harris’ fifteen-year-old grandson hijacked his snow machine and took it for a joyride right into Oak Lake.

  That was two years ago.

  Strangely, I feel more comfortable in the grocery store parking lot than I do going home to my dark and empty house. The reason is there are security cameras here; I don’t have any at home.

  It’s probably not the smartest thing right now with Greg and his unpredictability. I don’t know what he’s going to do, but I realize going home alone at night in the pitch dark is not a good idea. Though I can’t afford a home security system at the moment, I hope that changing the locks along with the loaded shotgun hidden in my coat closet will do for now.

  No one knows it’s there. I’m not the most trustworthy person to hold a firearm unless I’m hunting, but when Greg quit coming home at night, I didn’t feel safe at times, so I decided I needed something to make me feel safe.

  So I bought a shotgun and stored it away where no one but me would find.

  So far, it’s stayed hidden and hasn’t been needed.

  Yet.

  Shaking the horrifying thought from my head, I pull my car key up on the ring. My teeth chatter and my hands shake uncontrollably as I try to unlock my piece of junk car and start the stupid son of a bitch.

  I should have never agreed to let Greg buy me a car.

  I miss my truck; how it ran well, had heating and air conditioning, and I never had issues starting it in the winter.

  The fog starts to build on my windows as I continue my attempts to bring the hunk of junk to life.

  “Come on. Come on,” I plead. Turning the key results in nothing. I don’t even get a clicking sound. “No.” My head hits the steering wheel, and the horn goes off once.

  Why me?

  I continue to hit my head while I wait to see if I can get the engine to turn over. The stupid pile of crap was running okay-ish—not really—this morning. It did its usual groaning while I was warming it up and backfired a few times on the way to the store, but other than that, it was running fine. Dad just replaced the battery, and I just changed the oil the other day.

  “Why do you hate me so much?” It’s so pathetic; I’m talking to my dying, possibly dead car. “I’m not the one who put you through hell. I loved you, took great care of you, and did the very best to give you a good life.”

  Why does it feel like I’m talking to a dying dog who has always been a little bit of an asshole because his previous owner wasn’t nice to him?

  Numbness has settled into my extremities as I try to start my car once more. If I can’t get it started, I’m fucking screwed. In my rush to get to work this morning, I forgot my phone on my kitchen counter, and since I’ve already locked up the store for the night, I can’t go back in to call my parents.

  Again, I try to start it but nothing. No clicking, no wheezing, just absolutely fucking nothing.

  “That’s it!” Instead of my head hitting the steering wheel, I slam my hand against t
he freezing dashboard at the same time as I stomp both of my feet down on the rusted floorboard. I’m surprised my feet don’t break through it and hit the frozen ground underneath.

  I’m replacing this car the first chance I can. I don’t have any debt; I’m going to go get a loan for a used but still new-ish truck. Thank God Greg never took a credit card out in both of our names. All the debt we were paying on loans solely rest with him now.

  This is just another fine example of how bad Greg was in my life.

  “Sell your truck, babe,” I mumble, mocking Greg’s annoying voice. “I’ll get you a car that will be better for you.”

  Fucking jackass ruined my life.

  I should find out where he is staying now, park this shit pile in the front yard, pour gas all over it, and light the fucker up.

  “That would show him.”

  And get you arrested for arson.

  “Shit.”

  As contemplate taking my shotgun out for a few test shots and using the car as the main target since I can’t do anything with it other than have it hauled off to the junkyard, someone knocks on my side window and shines a bright light on me.

  Momentarily scared shitless, I think I may have peed just a little bit. Who could possibly be out driving at this time of night? But then reason hits me. It could be one of Dale’s deputies making their rounds.

  Gathering my wits, I start to crank the window down.

  My left bicep is slightly bigger than my right due to the amount of rolling this fucking window up and down I’vve done.

  “Hello, Dep …” My eyes bug out of my head, and I’m positive my jaw is hitting the cold metal of the outside of my door as a gasp detonates out of me.

  No fucking way.

  “D-Duke?”

  Chapter Seven

  Duke

  MOM WASTED ON TIME getting us back to Centennial. The time we spent in the truck catching up had a nervous energy surrounding me as we got closer to home. All her animated talking—the waving of her hands off the steering wheel, causing us to swerve more than once—brought back old memories of traveling for football games with her rather than riding on the bus.

  Thankfully, my reflexes to grab for oh shit handles have been refined to the point of perfection. I’m glad I managed to inhale that delicious cupcake before her driving went crazy. But the near death on the highway didn’t deter me from trying to figure out who would be making these bits of heaven that taste exactly like Mamie’s and who would be selling them commercially.

  Patience.

  She’s the only one I know capable of replicating her grandma’s baked morsels. That caused me to slow down my frantic hunger to devour it and savor it a little more. It would make sense she would be the one. The café where Mom got this is in Patience’s family’s grocery store.

  It has to be her.

  By the time we got home, I knew I needed to avoid getting groceries or being seen until I figured out what I was going to say to Patience. I’m so ridiculous doing this shit. I should just walk in like the long-lost best friend I am, give her a hug, and start patching shit up between us rather than cowering.

  But this is Patience LaClare, after all. The girl knows how to hold a grudge, get even, and then act like nothing just happened. One time, she quit talking to Ryder for three months for something he did to her. I can’t even recall what it was, but I do remember it was a complete accident. Patience started with the silent treatment, which is scarier than her going crazy on his ass right then and there.

  Poor Ryder was a ticking time bomb of nerves because he just knew Patience would be getting back at him. By the time he accepted she just wasn’t speaking to him anymore, Patience struck.

  She started off simple by stealing all of his left shoes. When he challenged her—big mistake—Patience upped her game by placing old Barbie dolls around his room. The stupid idiot didn’t realize they were there until he got home one night and nearly shit himself when he woke to voices.

  I don’t know how she got their eyes to glow or how she managed to get so many creepy voices to come out of them, but Ryder had trouble sleeping for a month straight before he realized the revenge was over when the last voice—the one he couldn’t find—quit talking.

  I can’t imagine what she would do to me after seven years of not speaking or seeing one another.

  “Your dad is out in the fields today.” Mom pulls the truck into the driveway, and the house I grew up in soon comes into view. “If you want to wait to see him when he gets in, that would be okay. He doesn’t want to have you jump right in after getting home.”

  “I’d do okay.”

  “He knows that.” She pins me with that mom look of hers. “If you really want something to do, why don’t you head into town and go to the station to talk to your uncle?”

  I thought I may do something like that in the next day or so, but if Mom is insisting I go now, I might as well do so. Ever since she told me about the deputy position, it has been on my mind nonstop. I hadn’t put much thought into what I was going to do once I was out, mainly because I didn’t think it would be this soon or sudden. It was always assumed I would step into my dad’s shoes and take over the ranch, which I still plan on doing, but I know the old man isn’t even close to letting me have those reins yet.

  “I guess I could do that.” Getting out of the truck, I grab my bag and follow Mom.

  “I thought as much.” She reaches for my bag and takes it from me before turning to the old barn. “You’ll be staying in there if that’s all right? Dad and I thought it would be a great place for you to adjust.”

  “That will be fine.” I pat my pocket absentmindedly while following her into the renovated barn. “Where’s my truck?”

  “Around the side of the barn. The keys are in it.” She flashes me a smile and disappears into the normal front door that has replaced the old barn one. “I’m going to go get your favorites cooked up for dinner.”

  “Actually, Mom, do you mind if we wait to do that until tomorrow?”

  “Why? You’re home today.”

  “Give me a chance to settle,” I offer.

  Something comes to rest in her features as she regards me. I can’t quite name them, but I know she sees past something I have locked down. “Okay.”

  “Great. I’ll be back after a while.” Kissing her on the cheek, I head over to my truck. I’m anxious as I slide behind the steering wheel, and I pray it starts. When the engine instantly rumbles to life, a breath shoots out of me, and I wait a minute to take in the feel of the vibrations and the memories that come with it. Nothing has changed except for a couple of small rust spots.

  “Good to be reunited.” I run my hand up and down the vinyl before pushing down on the clutch and getting it into gear.

  I lurch forward once since I’m used to driving bigger pieces of machinery.

  As I drive into town, all my old habits of fish tailing around corners and driving way too fast come back to me. The closer I get, the more it dawns on me that if I’m going to take the job with my uncle, I need to change how I drive and act around this town. I would be a man of the law, and just like being a soldier, I’m a model to civilians, young and old.

  By the time I reached the sheriff’s office, darkness was growing quickly, but I was welcomed with open arms by not just my uncle but also the four deputies who were in the station with him. Two of them remembered me, giving me a wide birth after a congratulatory slap on the back.

  It also didn’t take Dale long to rope an arm around my shoulders and guide me through the station, handing me everything I would need to read over.

  “Since you have military training, there isn’t much of a cross over into this job. We’ll be saving money by only sending you to Helena for the actual training part. You’re good with weapons?.”

  “Yes, sir.” Standing in the middle of the patrol room, I remember times when each of my friends and even I sat in one of these seats after getting into trouble. It makes it difficult to swallow,
but I know this is a job I can manage.

  Centennial is a small town compared to the patrol duties I was assigned while stationed overseas, so I shouldn’t have any issues. And if I do, I’ve already contacted a therapist to start seeing regularly.

  “You’ll have to do a shit ton of paperwork, so if you want to get started on it so I can get you on the schedule and find you a uniform, that would be great. Though that might be tough, you’ve grown quite a bit.” He squeezes my biceps. “You look like your grandpa.”

  All the men on the Michaels side are big guys. Grandma used to say it was because of the Norse blood pumping through our bodies.

  “I’m sure it won’t be that hard.” I grin.

  “You might be surprised; my gut has grown since you last saw me.” He pats his inflating stomach.

  “Must be the seat of power you’re sitting on now.”

  “Ha-ha, you little shit, I can still take ya.” He slugs me in the arm, but I don’t even move.

  “How about you start working out with me during downtime?”

  “What downtime? Between your shifts here and your dad keeping you busy on the ranch, you won’t have much time.” He laughs. “Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll get you the paperwork and a pen.”

  Dropping my hat onto the table, I fold myself into the chair and wait until he returns with a stack of papers to get started.

  He wasn’t kidding. There is a shit ton of it. Some of the questions are repetitive—asking me the same thing in as many different ways as they can—but I answer all of them. As I cross my t’s and dot my i’s, it takes me a couple of hours to get through all of them.

  Once I’m finally done with that and have a nice hand cramp to go with it, I follow him into the locker rooms.

  “I don’t have the right fit, but try a few of these to find one until I can get your size ordered.”

  “All right.” The shirt is a little snugger than my military formals, but it will do for now. The tan and brown uniform will now replace my Marine-issued ones.

  “You’ll look good in our uniform.” Dale nods to me. “I never thought I would see the day.”