Suddenly, translucent green eyes are staring into mine. “You seem distracted,” he murmurs. “Matter of fact, you’ve been distracted all afternoon—all throughout our ride and now here. You good?”
My wayward thoughts revolve around how good he is, how well he treats me, and how ridiculously appealing he is. Can’t mention any of that, though. “Umm … yeah, I’m good,” I choke.
He wrinkles his brow and frowns at me. “Well then, are you going to answer my question?”
“What question?”
Laughing, he asks, “Anything special you want to get?”
“Oh, um, some avocadoes and chips would be good.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah, I could live on those alone, I think.”
“Well, I doubt it,” he mumbles before leading me to the next aisle.
“Ransom?”
“Yeah?”
“You know a lot about me. Probably more than just about anyone,” I grumble.
“Umm, hmm,” he agrees, as he tries to decide between two kinds of mayonnaise.
I’m dying to know more about him. More than what everyone else knows. What makes him tick? What drives him? Why has he decided to help me? But I’m scared he’ll shut me out even after I’ve been pretty forthcoming with him. To know that level of trust isn’t reciprocated would crush me. “I know next to nothing about you,” I hedge.
He glances up and gives me that lopsided, roguish grin of his. God, if only I could be in his head to hear what he’s thinking when he gives me that grin. “What do you want to know?”
Everything. I don’t know where to start, but I find myself whispering, “Why don’t you like to be called by your first name?”
He grimaces. “You don’t start with the easy stuff, do you? No … what’s your major?” he teases.
I laugh as I recall myself uttering those same words to him not so long ago. “Like someone else I know,” I challenge. “So what’s your major?” I quip, giving a brief reprieve.
“Agricultural Business,” he says with a grin, knowing he’s not off the hook.
“Mine too. Now, why don’t you like to be called by your first name?” I don’t want to cause him any heartache, though, so I add, “If it bothers you to talk about it, you don’t have to answer.”
His green depths pierce mine. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, Denver,” he stresses. I nod. I like that. “I don’t like to be called John because that’s my father’s name.”
I wrinkle my brow in confusion. “Umm … OK. But don’t you have the same last name?”
“No, my mother is a single mom. They never married. She gave me her last name.”
“What’s wrong with your dad?” I push.
“First off, he’s not my dad. He’s my father. There’s a difference. And, well, it’s a long list, but suffice it to say, he’s not a good person. I was about eight when I figured that out for myself and started insisting people call me by my last name. It stuck,” he says, as he throws some lunchmeat in the cart. “And now with my ‘fame’ and his, that’s all the more reason to keep it that way. I just don’t want any kind of association.”
I can certainly understand that. I always hated that everyone knew about my mother’s reputation and associated me with it. Fortunately for me, she’s only notorious in Anaconda. I can only imagine how much worse it would feel if she were famous. “Who’s your father?”
Ransom rolls his shoulders, shifts a little on his feet, and stares down at the selection of cheeses. I don’t think he’s going to answer me, so I walk over to him, place my hand on his arm, and turn him toward me. I’ve never seen this strong man afraid before, but there’s no doubting the fear that laces his features. He can face two-thousand pound bulls on a daily basis. Face an opponent in a boxing match. Help a girl he barely knows, or even likes, deal with her—my heart races as I admit to myself for the first time—rape. But, he’s petrified to tell me who his father is?
“Ransom, if you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to, but please know that I would never judge you or tell anyone else. Your secret’s safe with me,” I promise.
“I don’t want any secrets between us,” he whispers.
My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. With those little words, I know that I must mean something more to him. I wonder what he would do if he knew what that did to me. Taking the cheese from his hand, I toss it in the basket. I weave my fingers through his and squeeze them tightly, waiting for him to tell me.
“Ever heard of a bull rider named John Stone?” he asks, his voice raw with emotion.
My eyes widen, and I nod. If anyone else in any other situation had asked me that, my response would be, “Hell, yeah!” and then we’d commence to raving over what a badass legend he is, how many records he set, and how many times he cheated death at the hands of the beast. But, the only thought filling my head now is “What did that man do to you?” I nod my assent again because I don’t trust myself to speak.
“He’s not a good person,” he repeats.
I give him a small smile and squeeze his hands before letting go to return back to the cart, knowing that standing in front of the dairy cooler at the Community Food Co-op is not the place for him to elaborate on that. “Will you throw some pepper jack in there?” I ask. He breathes a sigh of relief, and my smile widens. “I’ll make you some of my famous Pepper Jack Mac ‘n Cheese,” I promise.
“Famous, huh? Sounds delightful,” he says with a quiet laugh.
“Oh, it is. It’s a flavor party in your mouth,” I joke. “So, what’s your mom like?”
“My mom is … perfect.”
Great! Another perfect mom to live up to. I shake my head at that thought. I don’t need to start thinking about him. “Elaborate, please,” I urge.
He runs his hand over his hair a couple of times. “Well, she’s a teacher. She raised me all on her own. She made sure I had a good life despite her being dealt a terrible hand. I was only three when we got evicted from our tiny apartment ‘cause she couldn’t make rent, so I don’t remember the details. But, I know that she didn’t take that shit lying down. She found a rancher who needed house help and had a small trailer we could rent for real cheap. So, not only did she work for him and waitress full-time, but she also managed to put herself through school, two classes at a time.”
I’m in awe. Money had never been something I had to struggle with, so our existence was easy. Of course, our so-called living was up for debate. “She sounds remarkable. Who took care of you, though, when she was working and going to school?”
“I was able to be with her while she worked at the big house, and she worked nights at the diner. I really don’t know when that woman slept,” he muses with a quiet but strong reverence. “But, when she wasn’t able to be with me, I was with Austin’s family. They treated me like their own. His dad is my mom’s brother, and he’s the only dad figure I’ve ever really known.”
No wonder he and Austin were so close. “You grew up on a ranch?”
“Yep, a big one. When I was old enough, I started working it. I learned a lot. Made me realize that’s what I want one day.”
Yet another thing we have in common. “You’re not going pro?” I ask, surprised. It’s all anyone talks about.
“Yeah, but the career span is pretty short for bull riders, ten, maybe fifteen, years. So the ranch is long-term.”
I nod and hop off the bar of the cart, making a beeline for a bag of Hershey Kisses. “Makes sense,” I agree, as I toss the bag in the cart.
“Something sweet?” he asks with a raised brow.
“Yes, they’re my weakness,” I admit.
Grinning, he teases, “You deserve to have all the kisses your little heart desires.”
And that quickly, I’m done contemplating ranching and families and bad parents, now completely focused on how badly I want for him to kiss me again. My hands feel slick on the cart, and my pulse races as I recall how thoroughly he owned me with that one ki
ss. It’s everything I can do to put one foot in front of the other and finish our shopping.
When we hit the parking lot, I gasp in wonder at the steady stream of snow flurries making their way down to the pavement. I push off to get the cart going fast and jump on the little bar, riding the fast-moving cart to the truck. I hear Ransom laughing behind me. I know I’m being kind of silly, but I love snow, and we haven’t seen in any in a while. I tilt my face up, and sticking my tongue out, I let the little tufts of snow melt in my mouth.
“Whoop!” I holler, as I propel myself off the cart and rein it in just before we crash into the truck. “What a ride,” I muse.
“Nice ride, Dempsey. But cutting it a little close to my baby there, don’t you think?” Ransom deadpans, as he starts loading the groceries into the bed.
“Hey, I was in control. I am a professional after all,” I scoff.
I place the last of the bags in the back before stowing the cart in the corral and returning back to a waiting Ransom. He holds my door open for me, and I smile and mumble a thanks before moving to get in.
Suddenly, his hand is on my hip, stopping me. Looking up at him, I see so many emotions flit across his eyes—amusement, surprise, concern, uncertainty.
“Ransom?”
He takes a deep breath, his hand tightening on my hip. “Denver, I … had fun today.”
“Me too,” I admit. Worry is the only emotion left in his eyes. “You’re not worried I’m going to say something, are you? I’d never betray your confidence,” I swear.
He gives me a look of disbelief and shakes his head. “No, I’m not worried about that.”
“Well, you’re worried about something.” I frown. My fingers itch to smooth the doubt from his features. I don’t like him looking less than his strong, confident self.
“You. Just worried about you,” he confesses.
My heart thumps blissfully in my chest. And I marvel again at how incredible he is. Somehow, I know that no matter what happens between us, I’ve made a true friend in Ransom, and that has been exceedingly good for my warped mind. Tears spring unbidden to cloud my view of him.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just—”
“No,” I interject, “you didn’t make me sad. These tears are grateful tears. The good kind. I don’t know if you understand how much your friendship means to me, but it means a lot. It means … everything. Thank you.”
“Friendship,” he muses, rolling the word around on his tongue.
“We’re friends, right?” I ask, suddenly insecure that I’ve read too much into his actions.
He sighs. “Yeah … no, I’m glad we’ve made friends.”
Impulsively, I pull at his hand on my hip, bringing it around me, and gather him in my arms. I lay my head on his chest and feel him shudder against me. He’s strong and warm under my cheek. There are so many things that I want to say in this moment—how amazing he is, how amazing he makes me feel, how I’d give anything to be with him if I weren’t so screwed-up. Of course, the fact that I’m no good for people like him, that I’m incapable of more, and that, ultimately, I’m unlovable—keep me from saying any of that. Instead, my grip intensifies as I hold onto him. In the snow. Next to me. In a grocery store parking lot.
“I’LL GET THE other two bags while you unpack, all right?” I suggest, as he tries to head back out the door. My pockets feel a little lighter. I check them and come up empty. “I must’ve left my phone in the truck anyway.”
“You sure you don’t mind?”
Ever the gentleman. Well, mostly. “No, I don’t mind. Be right back.”
I head down the stairs, pausing as I always do before I hit his floor to make sure the coast is clear. I don’t see any movement, so I double-time it until I’m safe outside.
When I reach the truck, I see my phone sitting on the seat and breathe a sigh of relief. It has all my music on it, so I’d definitely be lost without it. Opening the door, I snatch it off the seat and pocket it. I lock up and reach into the back to grab the last two bags. As I grasp the handles, I hear a pair of angry heels on the concrete heading my way, and I look over my shoulder to observe a furious Mrs. Tanner just behind me. Oh my God. What is she doing here? Did something happen to him?
I turn and open my mouth to ask her just that, but I can’t get a word out before she slaps me right across the cheek. Hard. I gasp because that stings like hell. Blinking hot tears from my eyes, I try to muster the strength to look back at her. My eyes barely meet hers before she rears back and slaps me even harder. I vaguely register the bags slipping from my hands, and the cans crashing onto the concrete. Her ring catches my lip, and my tongue automatically darts out to catch the little dribble of blood that escapes the fresh cut. My breathing is garbled, even to my own ears, and I know I’m on the verge of losing it. Ransom kept me busy this week, so I didn’t have much time to think about all the hurt, all the agony that Greer must be feeling, and her slaps bring it all back, bombarding me at full force.
Fisting my hands at my sides, I look back at her and plead, “Hit me again, Mrs. Tanner.” The tremor in my voice causes copious tears to spill from my eyes. “I deserve it, so do your worst. But just know that no matter how many times you hit me, how much pain you cause me, you can’t do anymore damage than I’ve done to myself.”
She looks a little taken aback by my words, but a coldness schools her features before she spouts, “I begged him. Begged. Him. Not to follow you here. To cut ties with you, but he promised me that you were more than your mother. That you would never hurt him the way your mother hurt my brother, my brother-in-law, my cousin,” she sneers. “The list goes on and on. But he assured me that that’s not who you were.” Shaking her head, she mocks, “But the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree, has it Denver? You’re just as low as your mother. Matter of fact, lower even. You were best friend to my son. You’ve known him since birth. You knew exactly how terribly he would hurt at your betrayal, yet that didn’t stop you, did it?”
Words seem to lodge themselves in my throat since I know that nothing I can say will make this right. I finally stammer, “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Tanner. And I know that’ll never be enough for the pain that I’ve caused him, but … I. Am. Sorry,” I emphasize.
She raises her lip in disdain at my paltry offering. “So sorry that you’d shack up with the first man who shows you a little bit of attention, huh?” she challenges.
How long did I think I’d get away with him not knowing about that? “It’s not … it’s not like that.”
“Save it for someone who’s not privy to your conniving, deceitful ways, Denver,” she snaps and narrows her eyes at me. “You think I didn’t see how you lined up my sons? First, you wanted Lawson. When he wouldn’t have any part of you, you set your sights on Greer. And you used and played him to a tee, didn’t you?” Her blazing eyes dart over her shoulder before they meet mine again. “He’s coming out here, so make yourself scarce. I don’t want him to set eyes on your lying, manipulative face. Understand?” she barks.
Completely humiliated, I mumble, “Yes, ma’am.” She spins on her heel and stalks off.
Unlocking the truck, I throw myself inside quickly and make myself as small as possible.
Closing my eyes tight, I try to leave my head for a while. All the ugly thoughts about myself, my nature … the ugly truth about what I’d set in motion, swirls the drain but refuses to go down.
I wonder what he’s told her to make her that angry with me. Did he think I started sleeping with Ransom right after he … did that to me? Betrayed me like that? I know I’ve done some awful things. Hell, I’m the first person to admit how fucked-up I am, but he of all people should know I’m better than that. And he’s not completely innocent here. I tried to warn him away. I didn’t even choose my college until after he picked his, hoping that would drive a wedge through our messed up connection.
Who am I trying to kid? I’d sunk my hooks so deeply into him he’d never stood a chance.
I can sit here and try to justify it until the cows come home, but the truth of the matter is, I’ve brought all this on myself.
I shriek as the truck door suddenly flies open, but I breathe a sigh of relief when I see an angry Ransom staring me down. “What the hell?” he grinds out. Before I can utter a syllable, he rages on, “You scared the shit out of me. I come out here to check on you and find groceries all over the ground and you nowhere in sight. What the hell?” he repeats.
“I …” My voice is shaky to my own ears, so I try again. “I dropped the bags—”
“What’s wrong with your face?”
“Same thing as usual,” I quip. My lip burns when I smile.
“No, it’s red. Is your lip busted?”
“Yeah … I bent down to pick up everything, and when I came back up, I rammed my face into the side mirror.” That’s believable, right? Those things are massive and unforgiving. “I just sat down for a minute to get my bearings.”
His fingertips graze my smarting cheekbone as he studies me. “That’s gonna leave a bruise. C’mon, let’s get you inside.”
Chapter Thirty
Ransom
MY LITTLE FIGHTER had done well this week. Her nightmares were still there, but she was getting easier to wake up from them and didn’t fight me as much. I think it’s me that’s not doing so hot. Constantly holding her, knowing I shouldn’t want to take her and make her mine while she’s dealing with all that she’s dealing with—it makes me feel like a pervert. I’d thought of just taking care of myself, but I know I wouldn’t be able to resist using her image, and that’s fucked too. So by Friday, I’m a little snappier, a little short in temper. She called me on it too. I told her I was tired and stressed out and would try to stop being a jerk. She told me she wouldn’t have me any other way. That made me laugh my ass off.
It’s Friday evening, and we had a quick dinner. I can tell everyone is bored, but I fail to come up with anything creative because my mind is elsewhere.
Used (Unlovable, #1) (Unlovable Series) Page 26
