by Debra Kayn
Cam swooped around and backed up to the curb, cutting his engine. Caiden stepped into the street and shook Cam's hand. "It's good to see you, man."
"You're looking good." Cam pulled his beard down, his aged eyes taking Caiden in. "How's business?"
He hadn't gone into the office in four days after facing Jolene out at her house. Unable to focus, he worked at home. Cut wood, worked out, and beat the fuck out of his punching bag morning, noon, and night. Today was the first day he felt he could come into town and take care of business.
"The good thing about owning the only station in town is everyone needs gas." Caiden widened his stance. "I can't complain."
"That's the fucking truth." Cam pulled out a pack of cigarettes and flicked one halfway out of the package. "Smoke?"
"I'm good." Caiden looked behind him to make sure they were alone and then asked, "How's Jeremy?"
Cam's son was the president of Moroad MC and had three more years left of his sentence in the state penitentiary. Caiden was in the same cell for over a year with Jeremy and had grown to respect him and his power within the prison. He was also the one who'd covered for him when he had to go after another inmate. Along with having his back, Jeremy helped make sure Caiden got released early.
"He's counting his time." Cam cleared his throat and spit on the ground. "His and Tiff's daughter has a birthday Saturday. Christina's in at Rail Point Bar planning a party for her with Tiff right now. I should get over there and give them my two cents. You heading that way?"
Caiden laid his hand on his stomach. "Yeah, I could eat."
"I'll buy you a beer." Cam started his Harley.
He usually stopped in at the bar a couple times a week because the atmosphere was nothing like the bar on the other side of town where he'd lived growing up. Caiden walked to the end of the block. Merk, the vice president of Moroad, and his wife, Desiree, owned the bar. Nobody in the establishment ever judged him for his past, unlike the treatment he received everywhere else around town.
Ten years of freedom and people still crossed the street to get away from him, despite knowing him as a kid growing up. But their reaction wasn't surprising. They all treated his mom like shit when she was alive, too, and her only crime was being poor and an alcoholic.
He pushed through the door of the bar and ignoring the customers, walked to the counter and claimed the bar stool at the end. Preferring his own company, he always sat in the same spot each time he visited.
Immediately, Desiree approached him with a smile. "Hey, Caiden. What can I get you?"
He planted his elbows on the bar. "I'll have a Reuben with fries on the side."
"That seems to be the meal of the day." Desiree flipped the tail of her short braid behind her back and smiled.
He grunted. His visit to Rail Point was for food, not conversation.
"Cam ordered you a beer when he came in. I'll bring it around while you wait for your food."
He swiveled on his seat, found Cam sitting with his woman, Christina, and saluted him with two fingers in thanks.
Taking a quick sweep of the room, he turned back around and caught sight of a familiar body with a mane of thick hair that tightened his gut. Jolene sat six stools down from him. There was only one male customer having a beer between them.
What the hell was she doing at the bar?
With her attention toward her food, Jolene remained unaware of him. He took the time to study her. She was so much his Jolene, but she'd matured. Her confidence more sure, her attitude more confrontational, her body filled out in all the right places. Two of those things he appreciated.
Jolene had no right to tell him to get out of her life.
Desiree delivered his beer. "Here you go."
He removed thirty bucks from his wallet and slid it across the surface of the counter. "Do me a favor and take care of my bill and Jolene's."
Desiree tilted her head. "Jolene?"
He'd forgotten that she was going by a different name. "The woman with the black sweater and the bracelets on her arms."
Desiree peered out at the customers, found the customer, and whispered, "Is that...Jolene? Jolene Shayne? I went to high school with her. I never thought she'd come back. She disappeared before graduation. Nobody could figure out why, since her parents continued living here, at least up to a few years ago, when they moved away, too."
He refrained from saying more. Jolene's desire to slip into town unnoticed going around as a reclusive artist would end eventually. For all he cared, the good folks of Federal could send a welcome wagon to the cabin.
"I'll pay her bill for you." Desiree stepped away, stopped, and faced him again. "That was nice of you to do, Caiden."
Her compliment almost made him laugh, something he hadn't felt like doing in a long time. The only reason Desiree and the rest of the women claimed by Moroad MC members weren't afraid of him was that their own men were felons.
By the end of the day, Jolene would side with the rest of Federal who rather run him out of town.
Halfway done with his beer, his food arrived. He never tasted a bite, only went through the motions. Half his sandwich gone, his back warmed. Seconds later, Jolene tapped his shoulder. He picked up the other half of his sandwich and took a bite, ignoring her.
"I don't know what paying for my lunch is supposed to mean," said Jolene from behind him. "While I appreciate the offer, I'll pay my own bill."
Her arm brushed his arm, and she set ten dollars and two single bills on the counter beside his plate. She then placed two quarters in front of him. He brought his hand down on hers, trapping her to the counter, keeping the warmth of her arm against him, her breasts against his back.
"I don't want your money," he said.
She tried to pull away, and he refused to let her go. "What do you want from me," she whispered.
He let go of her hand, swiveled on the stool, stood, and walked out of the bar without answering her.
Out on the sidewalk, John Lawson moved to the edge of the sidewalk and pulled his baseball cap down to avoid Caiden's gaze. Anger flowed through him, and he stepped in front of John, forcing him to go in the opposite direction. When the man complied, Caiden said, "Asshole."
He'd known John practically his whole life and had been looked down on in high school. John had no problems starting rumors and taking jabs at him for living above the bar two blocks down. All it took was killing a man and a decade in prison to make John afraid of him. Mother fucker.
"Caiden, wait," called Jolene.
He continued walking.
The patter of her feet hitting the sidewalk prepared him for the hand that grabbed the back of his shirt. He stopped and made her walk around his body to face him.
"What's your problem?" She held up the money she'd tried to give him inside the bar. "I haven't seen you for twenty years, and I move back to Federal, and suddenly you decide to be rude, pay for my lunch, and break into my house. Nothing about the way you're acting makes any sense to me."
"I walked through the door," he said.
"My door?" She floundered, her mouth opening and shutting, until she could continue. "You can't just come into my house."
"Are you locking your door now?" He raised his brows. "Cause that night, your door was unlocked."
"Yes." She shook her head. "You weren't teaching me a lesson, Caiden. You trespassed where you weren't invited."
"Would you invite me in if I asked?" He lowered his gaze to her breasts, and when she refused to answer, he said, "That's right. You have a boyfriend."
She stared down at his hand. He rolled his lips over his teeth. The thought of her with someone else tasted bitter. There were a lot of years she was on her own. She was a beautiful woman. There had to be men who'd come and gone in her life while he was in prison. He sure in the hell knew she hadn't been thinking about him, or she would've waited for him when he was released.
She looked up into his eyes. "Are you boxing again?"
He looked down at the scabs ac
ross his knuckles and curled his fingers. There was a time when she'd take care of him and hold the ice on his hands and rub his fingers taking the stiffness out of them. She'd cared.
"I...." He lifted his hand and rubbed his jaw. "No."
"Good." She inhaled deeply and stared into his eyes. "Caiden?"
He couldn't walk away from her when she used that sweet tone of voice. She'd said his name the same way the first time he removed his jeans in front of her before they had sex, and afterward when she worried about being good enough for him. What a joke. Her not good enough for him, the guy from the wrong side of town and her sitting pretty in her parents' hilltop home, surrounded by everything beautiful. Yet, she'd been worried.
"I don't know what I did that has you angry at me after all these years," she said. "You might've known me when I was younger, but you don't know me anymore. I don't know what you've heard or what you believe I'm doing back in Federal, but I've moved here for the peace and quiet. I'll make sure if I see you in town, I go in the opposite direction. I'm not here to make you mad."
She stepped back. He watched her turn and walk away. She'd made the decision to leave him before. She had no right to come back where he had to see her all the time.
"Jolene?" he said, calling her back.
She turned around. He tensed. Her pursed lips, narrowed eyes, and stiffness in her body stopped him from telling her to go to hell.
"Why'd you buy the cabin?" he asked.
Jolene looked away, and her nostrils narrowed at the swift intake of air. Satisfaction came, and he enjoyed the view. She remembered.
"I needed somewhere quiet to work, and I've always found the outdoors relaxing," she said.
"Bullshit." He licked his lower lip. "That was our house, Jolene."
She lifted her hand to her hair and turned around. Her ass swished with each step as she hurried away from him.
She could run away. She could hide. But she remembered. Knowing that made it worth his trip into town.
CHAPTER 5
There is always some madness in Love. But there is also always some reason in madness. — Friedrich Nietzsche
Jolene rolled out of bed and hurried to get dressed. The cold air hit her bare skin. She shivered putting on a sweatshirt and pulling up her jeans. Pushing the clothes hanging in her closet aside, she looked for her boots and found them in the back.
After she had her thick socks on, her boots tied, she rubbed her hands together and went out to the kitchen with her phone. She needed heat in the cabin and to do that, she needed to call the gas station and put an order in for someone to come out and fill her propane tank in the yard.
She'd gone two weeks without running into Caiden after their altercation at the bar and dreaded the day she'd need to call for heat in the chance he'd answer the phone. With her luck, he'd read more into the situation and refuse to fill the tank in her yard. She'd die in the middle of winter in minus-ten-degree weather because she couldn't chop down a tree to burn wood in the fireplace.
She found the phone number and pushed connect while she still felt the chill from waking up in a cold house. A woman answered, and Jolene sighed in relief. "Yes, hello. This is Jo Smyth. I need to talk to someone about getting my propane tank filled. I've recently bought the house on 17B Black Bear Road. The realtor mentioned there was an account already set up for this property and all I had to do was put it in my name."
"I could put you down for a delivery today at ten o'clock," said the woman.
"Oh, so soon? That's wonderful." Jolene opened the fridge, removed the carton of milk, and found a mug. "Do I need to come in and pay first or do you bill me?"
"We can either bill you, or you're welcome to pay by check when the delivery is made. Our employee will have you fill out a new account form to have everything changed to your name."
"Perfect. Thank you so much." Jolene waited until the woman said goodbye, then disconnected the call.
Excited to have heat in the house tonight and not wake up in the morning, dreading the chill, she heated a mug of milk in the microwave, added a spoonful of sugar, two dashes of cinnamon, and stirred. The first swallow warmed her stomach.
Taking the mug with her to the bathroom, she put on her makeup, brushed her hair, winding the mass into a messy bun, brushed her teeth, and went into her workroom. Her body came alive and warmed despite the coolness of the room. Working with raw gemstones, cutting them, shining them, and then placing them in her own design brought her satisfaction. Everything else in her life could be falling apart, and her saving grace was losing herself in creating something beautiful.
Jewelry that made other women feel special and loved.
With two hours to burn until the propane delivery came, she brought down the garnets. She raked her teeth over her bottom lip. The line she planned would be the biggest move of her career, so far. She'd climbed the ladder against impossible odds, learning and making mistakes. The time was right to break out and be noticed worldwide.
The debut would permeate high society, even her mother would notice in Arizona.
She opened the lid and removed one rough garnet. She ran her finger over the uneven surface. From all appearances, the stone looked like any other embedded gem but with time and a skillful hand, the blood red, the smooth surface would emerge, stunning her.
And, stunning the inner circles of the elite, only then would her mother learn that her imperfect daughter had created something so perfect, it would be out of her parents' reach. The thought pleased her.
She put the garnet away and set the container back on the shelf. In the meantime, she continued to disappoint her parents. When she'd called them, and announced she was moving back to Federal, her mom informed her they had decided to become year-round residents in Arizona. The joke was on her. Even after all these years, her path would never go in the same direction as her parents.
Distance between her and her parents was a good thing.
Needing to check on her silver, she sat down on the rolling stool and divided the bars according to the weight she'd need for the rings. Then, she reorganized her tools. She ended up hunched over her drawing pad working on designs when the crunch of gravel caught her attention.
She stood and looked out the window, reading the decal on the side of the white truck and spotting the large oblong tank in the back. Hurrying through the house, she walked outside to the porch to direct the driver. The air inside the cabin seemed colder than the outside air with the sun shining on her, and her skin tickled in pleasure.
The truck door opened and Caiden stepped out of the truck. She grabbed onto the porch railing. "No way," she said under her breath.
He strolled across the yard. Her stomach tightened. How could he be bigger and better looking since the last time she'd seen him two weeks ago?
She still couldn't get used to the changes in him from when they were together. There was a scar on the side of his forehead. An injury he probably earned in prison. Her throat closed every time she imagined him all alone in a cell, for years. His hard life gave him a hard look and untrusting eyes. The softness she remembered long gone.
Caiden stopped in front of the porch and put his boot on the first step. "Do you want the tank topped off or put on a monthly half fill?"
She snapped out of her memories and blurted, "You must've recognized the address. Couldn't another deliveryman come?"
"Nope."
Regretting her question knowing he probably found it hard to get a job after spending time in prison for killing a man and her responsibility in the matter, she walked off the porch and pointed to the tank in the side yard. "You can fill it. The tank is over there. If you want, you can drive across the grass and get closer."
He left her and walked back to the truck. It'd taken her almost two years of therapy and her parents sending her away from Federal before she could think about Caiden without crying.
Then, her life went on without him.
She'd matured and realized all people change. S
he'd certainly changed.
Moving out of the way of the truck, she stood on the far side of the propane tank, stealing glances at the man she'd loved enough to give up everything for and who had made her feel special.
Despite his hard years incarcerated, he looked good. Better than good.
Instead of lean muscles, he'd filled out. His chest and shoulders were broader than most men. His stomach flat and solid, he appeared strong and the way he dealt with the hose and moving while he worked, he had retained his athletic ability.
She caught her lip between her teeth and glanced down at his left hand, searching for a ring. Until today, she'd never even wondered if he was married. It never entered her mind that he could be someone's husband. Though she never pictured him being a man who would wear a ring either.
A noxious fume filled the air, and she stepped back. Caiden flipped a handle, tightened a ring, and the whooshing gas was contained to filling the tank. He glanced at her and walked over to the truck. Her pulse accelerated at each look he threw her way until her spine tingled.
He returned with a clipboard and pen, handing her the paperwork. She filled out her name, address, phone number, and her face heated at the way he stood in front of her watching.
She paused. "I'm sorry about your mom."
Six years after his arrest, she'd read on the town's online newspaper that Cynthia Hall had been found dead in the apartment above the bar. The news had hit her hard, not because she'd been close to Caiden's mom. In fact, the opposite was true. Her only interactions with Cynthia was when the woman ordered Caiden out of the apartment when she came home loaded.
Caiden grunted. "It is what it is."
She lifted her gaze and lowered the clipboard. "Still, I know she meant a lot to you."
Most times, she questioned how he could love a mother who neglected him. They lived in poverty, and his mother never put effort into providing a decent home life for Caiden. Other times, she admired his loyalty toward Cynthia. Despite the hardships, he respected and loved his mom.
