Bohemian Law (Traveler Book 1)

by Misty Walker

  “They said they have a few ideas, but won’t make any choices until my birthday.” Her cheeks turn red and she looks down to her untouched dinner. “I’m sure it will be someone from another band since there are no single men of age in ours. Except Wen, and he’s engaged, so…” She trails off. The blush spreads down her chest. This girl. Some guy will have a hard nut to crack if she can’t even talk about getting married without turning into a tomato.

  “Well, he’s a lucky guy. Whoever he is,” Wen compliments and stands up, grabbing his plate, stacking it with mine, and then holding his other hand out to help me up from the picnic table. I look at it for a long moment. “It’s just a hand, Thea.”

  I grab it and we head over to the dishwash tub.

  “Meet me by the ditch after dishes?” Wen points out to where a couple horses are grazing.

  “Or you could help me with dishes and then I’d be done much sooner,” I suggest.

  “I’ve been working all day. Plus, that’s a woman’s work. You know how it is.” He places our plates and utensils in the dirty dish tub and walks away. I roll my eyes. Woman’s work, my ass. I’ll bet Law would do the dishes with me. Scratch that, I’ll bet he wouldn’t allow me to do the dishes. He’d be too worried I wouldn’t sterilize them properly. I smile. I’m sure I would get out of all the household chores with Law around.

  I’d thank him in other ways. Ways that would reward both of us. I think back to our kiss and the warmth low in my belly returns. When our tongues met for the first time, I thought I was going to spontaneously combust. I wanted to melt but also shoot off like a rocket. I’ve never felt anything like that before. But as soon as the kiss ended, the guilt seeped in. I wonder what it will be like with Wen. Will we have chemistry too? I seriously doubt it.

  Kezia, a few of the other older girls, and I work as a team to get the dishes done. The men sit around the fire, drinking and telling stories. Braithe is standing up and going on about something that happened when he was nineteen. “I went to take a piss in a truck stop bathroom. There weren’t any urinals, so I went into a stall. I started hearing all kinds of noises from the stall next to me. Slurping and moaning. I realize, these dudes are fuckin’ in the bathroom! I look down and see both their pants on the ground. I snatched up both their pants. I feel for wallets and they’re both still in there! I hurry to zip up and take off out the bathroom door. Next thing I know, I have two dudes, naked as the day they were born, running after me. Both of ’em holding their junk and yelling some version of”—Braithe grabs hold of his manhood and starts running around the fire yelling—“come back with my wallet! My condoms are in there!”

  The men all hoot and holler, laughing.

  The women sit around a picnic table playing cards, using coins to bet on hands. Mom is a card shark. She may not have a formal education, but she can count cards with the best of ’em. Nuri must be getting her ass handed to her because she yells out, “You cheating bitch!”

  I would worry about a fight, but I can hear the laughter in her voice. Mom reaches out over the table and sweeps all the coins into her pile.

  The kids run around, playing hide and seek. Seven-year-old Charity finds another little boy and before he can run back to home, making himself safe, she throws a foot out to trip him. He goes skidding across the dirt, no doubt skinning his knees. Charity just laughs and skips off to find the next kid.

  Watching all of this, I’m reminded for the hundredth time why I can’t leave. Not having all this loud ruckus and chaos around me would be so sad. I just wish I could have this and get to know the man who has taken residence in my heart.

  I walk out to the ditch where I agreed to meet Wen. I see him sitting on the water’s edge and I take a seat next to him. The quiet settles in between us. It’s not a comfortable silence, it’s heavy and awkward. When we were kids, we never ran out of things to say. We were always plotting pranks or talking about what place we’d like to go next. This forced marriage has built a wall between us, solid and impenetrable. I hate it. I want my best friend back.

  “Remember when we lived in Washington?” I smile at the memories of that place. “It was the only time we’ve ever lived in stick-built houses because the farmers had those tiny shacks for all the laborers.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” Wen smiles too, picking at dead grass and throwing it into the water.

  “Remember, as all the men would pick fresh ones off the trees, we would throw the rotten ones on the ground at them? They would assume apples were falling on their heads from the trees.” We both chuckle at the memory. “You nailed Mr. Boswell in the head so hard he fell from his ladder. All we heard when we were running away was”—I clear my throat before using my best old man’s voice to mimic Mr. Boswell—“‘these fucking apples are possessed. They’re the devil’s fruit!’” We both laugh.

  “Yeah, and no one would’ve known it was us if you hadn’t felt so guilty about Mr. Boswell getting laid up with a sprained back that you told your mom.” Wen looks at me and smiles. “Always have had a tough guy exterior but a squishy middle inside.”

  “I do not!” I defend, because the worst thing someone could call me is weak.

  “You do so!” Wen shoves me with his shoulder, but I catch myself before I fall onto my side. “Remember? You made Mr. Boswell an apple pie and apologized. None of the rest of us kids would have done that.”

  “That’s just being nice. Nice is not weak.” I huff in irritation.

  “It’s a little weak.” He smirks. “But that’s what I like best about you. You’re all brave and fierce in the moment, but afterward, when you’ve had time to think it through, you always do the right thing.” The air grows thick between us and I can’t help but feel like this conversation has drifted away from Mr. Boswell.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I always do the right thing in the end.” I agree.

  “Whatever you’re going through, it’s okay. I see how tough you’re being about marrying me. Pushing me away, not doing all the planning you should be. It’s okay, Thea. I know you and, in the end, you’ll do the right thing.” Wen stands up. “Whatever you need to do for the next five months, do it. Whatever you have to do before you can settle down and be a wife, do it. Just remember who you are and what commitments you’ve made. If you do that, I know you’ll be there on our wedding day, finally ready to be my wife.” He holds a hand out to help me up, but now I’m annoyed at his assessment, so I stand up on my own.

  “What are you talking about?” I know he can’t be telling me I can be with other men. It would go against everything we have both been taught.

  “I’m saying if you need to get into some trouble, run a couple cons, do it.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and holds me there so we’re eye to eye.

  “And what are you going to be doing until we get married?” Now’s as good a time as any to ask what I’ve been dying to know. Our gazes meet and it’s the night sky or the question that makes his green eyes darken. His hands drop from my shoulders and he turns away from me, frustrated.

  “You know women are held to a different set of rules and besides that, you don’t get to question me like this. I’m not some pansy gorger who will let you walk all over me.” He points a long finger right at me. “I’ve already been lenient with you. Even being engaged gives me authority over what you do and don’t do. I’m telling you if you need to be irresponsible for this last bit, go ahead because after we’re married, you’ll be too busy raising kids and setting up a household of your own for all this nonsense you get yourself into.” He drops his finger.

  “You’ve been lenient with me? Did you really just say that?” Who the fuck does he think he is?

  He crosses his arms. “You know the score, Thea.”

  “You’re such an asshole. I hate you so much right now.” My eyes narrow to pinpoints as I glare at him.

  “Feeling’s mutual, babe.” He storms off, kicking up dirt and rocks along the way.

  How did my best childhood friend tur
n out to be such a dick in adulthood? He thinks he can tame me? He thinks I’ll calm down and be his little woman, popping out a herd of kids? That’s not me.

  I plop myself back down on the ground, not ready to face the crowd back at home. I hear clomps onto the soft dirt ground next to me and assuming it was Wen or someone else who wants to talk sense into me, I ask them to leave me alone. But when I look to my side, it’s a beautiful horse. Just one, which is unusual because they always travel in groups. This horse is a light brown. A brief glance tells me she’s a girl. She stumbles down the soft hillside until she reaches the slight stream. It’s summer, so there isn’t a lot of water to speak of, but enough for her to get a drink.

  I watch her for a bit, jealous of her independence. Here is this wild and beautiful creature, no fences, no chains, just the freedom to roam and no one to hold her back. Then here I am, a wild creature also, but with invisible shackles around my ankles, making me a prisoner to my family, to tradition.

  I climb down next to her, careful to not get too close or startle her. Her mouth moves along the water, drinking as much as she can, but her eye is trained on me. No doubt making sure there’s no threat. I slowly reach a hand out. She doesn’t jerk away or snarl at me, so I keep going until I meet her soft coat. All the wild horses out here are smaller than what I’ve seen at stables and a lot of them have ringworm, leaving scabby, hairless patches on their skin. I stay clear of the ones on her back in case they’re painful.

  I expect her to walk away once she’s quenched her thirst, but she just stays there, her one eye still watching me closely. “What do you think, beast? You think it’s okay to marry someone you don’t want to?” Her hoof stomps on the ground and I take a small step back. “Yeah, I don’t think so either. I’m officially out of options.” Her hoof stomps again. “Oh, Lawrence?” I ask, as if I’m having a conversation with my best friend. “Yeah, he’s great. Our kiss was epic. I want another one.” Beast knickers and stomps her hoof again. “I think it’s over, unfortunately. I don’t want to string him along when nothing can come of it. Besides, he thinks I’m batshit crazy.” I reach out my hand again and give her a rub. “And I guess I might be because I’m out here having a conversation with a freaking horse.” I look over at her and feel bad for demeaning our time together, so I throw in, “No offense.” She snorts in acceptance. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to head to bed. You all right here on your own?” Beast neighs and I walk away from her and straight to the trailer and to bed.

  It’s been days since Theodora walked away, leaving me with tons of questions and a hard-on. That kiss was overwhelmingly intense. I’ve never lost myself like that before. Standing in front of my house, making out like a teenager. It’s just not me. But maybe you want it to be you, a voice in my head says. I shake it off. If I don’t have control over myself, I can’t keep control over anything else in my life, and that can’t happen.

  So, just like every weekday, I wake up early and go for a run. It’s the only time the heat isn’t suffocating during the summer months. Back at home, I head to my weight room and put in an hour. I strip my clothes, place them in the washing machine, and head to the shower. As the hot water beats down on my back and I scrub every inch of my body, I try to release the tension of having Thea walk out of my life just as quickly, and outrageously, as she walked in.

  I make it to work on time and get through my day by focusing on the numbers. The numbers that equal dollars. The dollars that come in and the dollars that go out. Holding onto the dollars we have, while also spending money that will bring in more profit. This work calms my frantic mind. It soothes any chaos that lurks from within. Some might call me a control freak, but really, it’s just self-preservation.

  “Sir, your three o’clock is here,” Monica chirps over the telephone intercom.

  I press the button to speak back. “Send him in.”

  Moments later, the person who would most be considered my friend, the COO of the casino, Mark, comes in.

  “Heeeeeyyyyyy, sexy.” He spreads the word out as he walks in the door, a huge smile on his face. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” He sits in the chair on the other side of my desk and shakes a pointed finger at me.

  “What are you wearing?” I try to take in his suit. Mark has an outlandish personality, and it comes out in his wardrobe. Today his shirt is a Victorian floral print with a maroon and black checkered tie, paired with maroon slacks.

  “Just a little this and a little that.” Mark brushes each side of his brow with a finger and a sway of his head. “Now, about that bone.” He pauses to look down at where my crotch would be if the desk wasn’t hiding it. “Not that bone. A proverbial bone.”

  “Yeah, I caught that.” I’m sure he breaks the company’s code of conduct daily just to get me to relax. Hasn’t worked yet. I’ll never admit it to him, but I enjoy his antics.

  “A little bird told me you saved a spicy little thief from getting picked up by the police the other night.” He crosses one long, thin leg over the other.

  “A friend used my status with the company to get out of trouble, yes”—I clench my jaw—“and I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay, okay, no need to get your panties in a bunch. But like, if you did want to talk about it…” He trails off.

  “Is there a reason you scheduled a meeting with me? Or did you just want to gossip like a teenage girl?” This is exhausting and I’m already drained from the aforementioned spicy little thief.

  “Okay, yes. There is a real reason. I got your report about cutting a few positions. Since our fight about this last month was so much fun, I wanted to come and have a repeat performance.” He’s right. I did propose this last month, and we did have a fight over it. He won that round, but I plan to win this round, because I’ve seen too many of his supposed essential personnel meandering around the hotel like bored zombies.

  Mark and I argue back and forth for an hour. Me showing him the numbers and video evidence to prove a few employees are not needed while he argued one slow day doesn’t mean layoffs. Eventually we met in the middle and cut half of what I proposed, which is the number I was hoping for, but knew he would fight me. I’m getting what I want and he doesn’t even know it.

  “Don’t take this concession to mean I’m happy, Mr. Grumpy,” Mark says with another shake of his finger. As he walks toward my door, he stops and turns back to me. “Let’s get drinks after work.” Before I can even say no, he throws out, “Eight o’clock at the Sky Bar. See you there.” My office door slams shut. As much as I want to text him to cancel before the echo of the slamming door stops, I don’t. Maybe I need to change some things.

  At eight o’clock on the dot, I’m at the trendy bar and searching for my flamboyant coworker. I spot him sitting at a small, round, bar height table, chatting with the waitress. As I approach, Mark jumps up and claps.

  “Here he is! This is the one I was telling you about. Successful, handsome, and best of all, single!” He turns into Vanna White, displaying the prize to be won, and I roll my eyes, remembering why I don’t go out with Mark. The waitress smiles and laughs a little, but she thankfully ignores the awkward situation Mark has put us in.

  “What can I get you?” she asks, pulling out her notepad as I take a seat across from Mark.

  “Vodka and soda. Top shelf, please. No twist.” The waitress scribbles down my order and walks away.

  “Booooring.” Mark sing-songs and I just shrug. “So, now I’ve finally got you out of the office, spill the beans on the girl.”

  I should have known this is why he asked me to have drinks.

  “There’s nothing to tell. She was a friend. She’s not anymore. That’s it.” I fold my arms and rest them on the table.

  “Fine, I guess I’ll have to get you drunk and ask again.” He huffs like a petulant child.

  “That’ll be hard to do since I have a two-drink maximum when I go out.” Not only is binge drinking unhealthy, it’s also irresponsible on a work night. I’
ll already be out past my usual bedtime. No need to also contend with a hangover tomorrow.

  “You’re no fun and let me tell you, you are someone who needs some fun,” he scolds. It’s something Thea would say. If she were here, she’d be doing shots with Mark and then dancing all night. My mind drifts to the first time I saw Thea dance by the bonfire. I shake my head. She’s gone and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  “Yeah, well. I’m not known for fun. You should know that by now.” The waitress brings me my boring drink. It looks and tastes like a representation of my life. Bland and stable.

  “That doesn’t always have to be you. You can let go once in a while.” Mark tries to reason with me.

  “Yeah, maybe.” I wonder if it’s why Thea disappeared. Was I too boring? Too reserved?

  “Maybe? Definitely!” Mark takes my drink out of my hand and in its place, he hands me some kind of electric blue concoction. “First things first, we call this drink an A.M.F.” He quirks an eyebrow as I take a sip. At first it just tastes fruity, but when the alcohol hits my chest, I exhale audibly, sure if a match was lit, I would breathe fire.

  “What does A.M.F. stand for?” I choke out, thumping a fist into my chest.

  “Adios Motherfucker.” Mark pushes the drink back up to my mouth and I take another sip. It goes down much easier this time.

  Three A.M.F.s and a couple hours later, Mark has gotten the whole Thea story out of me. I’m not proud I caved so easily, but I have no one to blame but myself. And the A.M.F.s. Definitely blaming the A.M.F.s.

  “I think you should go see her.” Mark encourages.

  “No, definitely not. Right?” Fuck me. When did asking Mark for advice start sounding like a good idea?

  “You definitely should go see her.” Mark snaps toward the waitress to get her attention. Over the course of the evening, I’ve somehow told the waitress, Crissy, about Thea as well. I’ll be so ashamed tomorrow.