“It’s Mrs. West.”
“Whatever,” I muttered, stamping through the dimming light in the foyer and out to my car. When I’d turned the ignition, I paused for a moment, thinking. I was hungry, having skipped lunch in favor of my library visit, and I knew there was nothing to cook in the apartment’s small kitchen. It seemed Trent and his mother had been existing on sandwiches, canned soup and take-out food, but that wasn’t going to fly with me. I had a hankering for fried chicken and biscuits tonight.
I got lost a few times getting to the grocery store, but once I found the place, it didn’t take long to gather what I’d need. A whole chicken, a bag of flour, some baking powder, assorted spices, a small jug of milk, white vinegar and tub of lard all went into my buggy. In the produce section, I tossed in some collard greens, too. While I was at it, I picked up a bag of coffee. I’d need that come the next morning.
There was a dollar store next to the market, so I loaded all the food into the trunk of my car and ran into the small shop. I found a frying pan and a small sauce pan that weren’t up to my normal standards, but they would do for my purposes tonight. The baking sheets were pretty flimsy, too, but I could work with that. I made a mental note to go online and order a few essentials to get me through until I had time for a trip to the closest department store.
Trent was sprawled on the sofa when I staggered through the front door, both arms full of bags. He jumped to his feet.
“Hey, let me help you. What do you have there?” He lifted two paper bags from me.
“Food for dinner. Can you put them in the kitchen, please?” I followed behind and set the plastic bags on the counter. Once I had everything down, I tugged my shirt back in place—it had ridden up as I’d carried the bags and turned to Trent, my hands on my hips.
“I’m making fried chicken for dinner. I had a long day, I’m hungry, and I just want to eat good food. I don’t care if you eat it or not, or if your mother—” I tried unsuccessfully to hold back a twist of my mouth. “If your mother wants to eat it or not. Whatever. Do what you want. I’m making it and I’m eating it. This is my home, too, and damned if I’m not going to cook in my own kitchen.”
Trent watched me, waiting until I’d finished my rant. A smile played around his lips. “Fried chicken sounds freaking amazing. I’m starved. Can I please eat some of your fried chicken with you?”
He sounded so much like an obedient little boy, humoring me, that I couldn’t completely hold onto my mad. “You may.”
“How can I help?” He unbuttoned the cuffs on his long-sleeved shirt and began rolling them up as he turned on the water to wash his hands.
I stood looking at this man, his unbelievably sexy body encased in worn jeans and a thin shirt, ready to lend me a hand. I remembered what Cory had said today about how hard it must have been for him to return to Burton. I couldn’t understand why he cared what happened to his mother after she’d made his childhood such a hell, but I had to admire a man who honored his commitments. That he hadn’t found it so hard to walk away from me still smarted, but . . . I drew in a deep breath. One step at a time, I reminded myself.
“You can cut up the chicken.” I lifted the bird out of a bag and plopped it on the counter. “I had to buy a knife at the dollar store, since I didn’t figure you had one, so it’s probably crap, but it’s all we have. Knock yourself out.”
Trent grinned at me. “Working with what I have is my specialty.” He tackled the chicken while I started on the buttermilk biscuits and the collards. We cooked in companionable silence, at first only speaking when we had to, but by the time I’d dredged the meat and had it crackling in the pan, I was telling him about my first day at work, describing Gladys and Clark. For the first time in days, I relaxed and felt almost at home.
And my fried chicken dinner? It was damned good.
“WAGONER!”
I was just about out the door of Grainger’s, heading for my truck after my normal eight-hour shift, when I heard Paul’s voice. I paused, turning to look at him.
“Yeah, boss?”
He motioned me over. “Can I have a minute, please?”
Dread twisted in my belly, but I played it off. “Sure.” I moved out of the way of two other guys who were leaving, trying to ignore their glances of open curiosity. I kept to myself at work; I didn’t interact more than was strictly necessary, and I knew that they probably talked about me. I didn’t give a shit about any of them. It was a job to do, and the best thing was to keep my head down and get through.
Paul’s office wasn’t very large. It was in a corner of the warehouse, with a door to the main store, as well. He had an old scarred desk and an ancient office chair that shrieked every time he sat down in it, which wasn’t often. He liked to be on his feet, lifting feed sacks with us or loading trucks when he wasn’t working the storefront.
“I’d say sit down, Trent, but I don’t have any damn chairs.”
“Not a problem, Mr. Grainger. Everything okay?” I cast my mind back over the past few weeks. Nothing had happened that I remembered; no accidents, no trouble. I’d been on time every single day since I started working here, and I’d never taken off a day. I did my job, and I thought I did it well.
“Yes and no, Trent. First of all, you’ve been a great worker. I’ve been impressed with you from the minute you started. You keep your mouth shut, your head down and you don’t make trouble.”
“Thank you.” I swallowed hard.
Paul heaved a sigh. “That’s the good news part. The bad news part is . . . business is slow just now. It happens every year, but this one’s been worse. New place opened up over in Duberville, and a lot of the customers who were coming to us are going to them now, since it’s more convenient. Profits are down, and cost of business is going up.” He fidgeted in his chair, but to his credit, he looked me right in the eye.
“I want you to know, this has nothing to do with anything else. I don’t listen to rumors or judge a man by anything other than his work. If I could do it, I’d make a different call. But this is company policy. If we have to let someone go, all things being equal, it’s got to be the last one hired. And that’s you.”
My heart sank so low that I swore I could feel it pounding in my gut. I opened my mouth to protest, but what the hell difference was it going to make? The man was being straight with me, I could tell that. He wasn’t doing this out of spite or meanness. It was just business, and I couldn’t argue with numbers.
So I only nodded and tapped the old worn baseball cap I was gripping in my hand against my thigh. “I understand, sir. Thank you for giving me this chance. I—” My throat closed. Fuck, I wasn’t going to break down like a damn baby. “I just really need this job. It’s been great, and you’re the best boss I’ve ever had.” My voice sounded pleading, and I wasn’t going to have that. I straightened and arranged my mouth into something that looked like a smile. “I get it, though. Thank you for being honest with me.”
“Trent, listen. You find another job and you need a reference, you give them my name. I’m more than happy to write a letter, make a call . . . you name it. And if you’re still looking come summer, assuming business starts looking up . . . I’ll take you back on.” He stood up, the chair protesting with a loud squeal, and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure you won’t have any trouble, though. You’re a good man and a hard worker.”
“Thank you.” I had to get out of there before I lost it, but running from the man’s office wouldn’t be cool. Instead I sketched him a brief salute and turned, moving as fast as I could through the door, across the warehouse floor and outside into the cool of the late afternoon. I made my way to the truck on auto pilot, climbed in and started her up.
And then I sat there, because I wasn’t sure what was supposed to come next. I’d gotten into a routine in the last few weeks, since Elizabeth had moved in with my mother and me. I got home around quarter after four, grabbed a shower and changed my clothes, retrieving a clean set for the next morning, to
o, so that I didn’t have to disturb Elizabeth while she slept. I’d listen to my mother grouse at me about how awful her life was while I went about my business. By the time I’d drop onto the couch, exhausted from a day at work, it would be about time for Elizabeth to get home.
That was the high point of my day. When she breezed in the front door, usually with a bag of groceries, it was like the sunshine and fresh air came in with her. She’d begun greeting me with a smile, and that was the juicy red cherry on top of the delicious ice cream sundae that was Elizabeth. She’d head right into our tiny kitchen, and while she was opening bags, she’d tell me what she was making for dinner.
I had offered to share the cooking duties with her, but she’d cast me a doubtful glance, complete with raised eyebrows.
“Did you take a cooking course between the time you left the Cove and now?”
I’d smirked, shaking my head. “Nope.”
“Then I think I’ll take care of the food, thanks.” Her lips had twisted into a half-smile. “You can handle something else. How about laundry?” Her smile had begun to fade. “Wait—you don’t have a washer and dryer here, do you? Where’s the Laundromat?”
“About ten minutes away by car. I usually go on Saturdays and Tuesdays.” I’d leaned a hip against the worn Formica counter. “I’ll do yours, too. It’s only fair, if you’re cooking and buying the food.”
“That’s a deal.” Elizabeth had held out a hand to me, just to seal the deal. I knew she’d done it without thinking, but I’d stared at her small white hand as though I’d never seen it before. Before she could think better of the gesture and yank it back, I closed my fingers over hers, relishing the skin-to-skin contact I’d been dying for since she’d come to Burton. I didn’t shake her hand; I merely held it within my own, gently, as though it were something very precious and fragile. I’d been tempted to pull her against me and kiss her until I was thoroughly sated. But I knew I’d never, ever get enough of this woman, and I didn’t want to scare her off.
So I’d finally let go and stepped back, waiting for my heartbeat to return to normal before I could speak again. Elizabeth had stared up at me, her expression inscrutable.
Now, sitting in the truck in the emptying parking lot, I let my head fall back onto the seat and closed my eyes. The thaw between Elizabeth and me had been slow and gradual, and I still couldn’t read what was going on in her head. There were times I’d look up and catch her staring at me, and I’d almost swear I saw longing there. But she never made a move, and I couldn’t talk myself into doing it, either. Not when I knew we didn’t have a future.
Nothing had changed, after all. I was still the same loser, the same bad bet, that I’d always been. I was still Trent Wagoner.
And dammit, now I was Trent Wagoner who didn’t even have a fucking job anymore.
I couldn’t sit there any longer. I didn’t want to go home yet and deal with my mother or put on a happy face in front of Elizabeth. I put the truck into gear and backed out, turning onto the highway in the direction opposite town. I didn’t know where I was going, but the open road sounded good.
My truck hugged the curves along the winding country roads. The farms I passed were still mostly brown and bare, though I saw a few ploughed fields. I slowed a little as I neared the Reynolds’ place; in a few weeks, their farm stand would still be open this time of the afternoon, but right now, before spring had really sprung, it had probably closed an hour before. I’d heard that with Ali and Flynn living in New York part of the year, Sam had hired a few people to run their stand during the off-season. Of course, this year Ali might not be working on the farm at all, even though I knew she was back in town. Elizabeth had struck up a friendship with Flynn’s mom, and she’d told me that Mrs. Evans was excited that her son and daughter-in-law were in Burton waiting for Ali to have her baby.
I’d nodded when Elizabeth had shared that information, waiting for the sting that used to hit me whenever I thought about Ali Reynolds. Well, Ali Evans now. But it hadn’t come. Maybe I’d finally shaken off the doomed crush I’d had on her since we were in fifth grade. At least that would be one positive result of marrying Elizabeth.
Of course, there’d been lots of wonderful things about being Elizabeth Hudson’s husband, even for that short time. All the years I’d spent mooning after Ali were nothing compared to the weeks I’d loved Elizabeth. She’d made me laugh more than I ever had, loved me with abandon, accepted every part of me . . . well, every part of me she knew. And the sex? God. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced. Random hook ups were all I’d ever known, but making love to Elizabeth was incredible. The connection between the two of us was real and deep, and when I was buried inside her, staring into her eyes . . .
“Shit.” I banged my hand against the steering wheel and dropped the pedal, flooring it around the next bend just to drive the memory away. I didn’t need to be skulking past farms out here or remembering the tiny little bit of happiness I’d managed to grab for a few short weeks. I just needed to drive until I could convince myself to go home and break the news to Elizabeth that I was unemployed.
I knew she wouldn’t kick my mother and me out. Elizabeth was too decent a person. I knew she could easily cover the rent for us as long as I needed. But I didn’t want that. God, how I hated the idea. I wasn’t a sexist jerk. I was proud of her career, and I’d never given a second thought to the fact that she earned more than me. But I still didn’t want her paying for my apartment. It would be one more nail in our marriage’s coffin.
Why that mattered to me when I already knew we were doomed was something I didn’t want to examine too closely.
I slowed the truck at the next crossroads, glancing in both directions for traffic. These roads were notorious for speeders—hell, I was one of them—and the last thing I needed was a car slamming into the side of my truck. Although the thought of all the angst, the pain, the stress and the strife melting away as my life seeped into the black asphalt was dangerously tempting right now.
My mind darted to Jenna, to the image that had haunted me for nearly a year. I hadn’t actually seen her sprawled across her bed, surrounded by empty pill containers and a bottle of Jack, but I’d tortured myself so often with how I imagined it must’ve looked that by now it felt like memory. I saw her pretty young face—God, so damned young—slack and blank, her hands reaching and empty. Yeah, that was on me, too.
A car horn sounded behind me. I’d been so preoccupied that I hadn’t realized a car had pulled to a stop behind the truck. Without really thinking about it, I hung a left, and within a few minutes, I was approaching the glowing neon lights that outlined the Road Block.
I hadn’t been to the bar since the night I’d rescued Elizabeth almost a month before, and up until then, I hadn’t been there since my return to town. But right now, I wanted the noise, the crowds and a chance to make all the memories recede. I wasn’t planning to get plastered, but one drink wasn’t going to break me or kill me.
It was early enough that I nabbed a spot toward the front, and when I swung open the door, only a few people sat at the bar. I made my way across the room and eased onto a stool.
Mason was talking with a guy in the corner who was nursing a beer. He glanced over and spotted me, surprise spreading over his face. I watched as he slid a bowl of nuts toward the beer drinker and moseyed my way.
“Hey there, Trent. Haven’t see you in a while. How’s everything going?”
I lifted one shoulder in an approximation of a shrug. “You know. Same old shit.”
“Get you a beer?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Please.”
He grabbed a mug and filled it from the tap before setting it down in front of me. “So. Same old shit, huh?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Everything going okay with Elizabeth? You know, your wife?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I know. She’s good.”
“Funny thing. I’ve been hearing about the new lawyer in town, and I’ve even heard some people talking about how the p
retty new attorney’s shacking up with Trent Wagoner and his mama, but no one ever says anything about the two of you being married.”
I snorted. “Guess it’s not something she wants anyone to know, huh? And it’s not like . . . we’re just living in the same apartment because of—it’s complicated. We don’t need to tell anyone about the quickie wedding on New Year’s Eve, mostly because our uh, ‘marriage’—” I gave it the required air quotes. “—has an expiration date. I’m just waiting for Elizabeth to tell me when that is.”
“That’s a damn shame.” Mason wiped at the bar with a rag. “She seems like a pretty decent chick, though. Even when she got sloshed, she was polite. Are you sure you can’t make it work?” He leaned in toward me, lowering his voice. “I get that complicated deal. Remember Rilla and me? We got married just so I could save her reputation. I never thought it was going to be more than that. Never thought I wanted any more. But now, I can’t imagine my life without her. Rilla, our kids—they’re what keeps me sane and happy and steady.” A wide smile split his face. “Sometimes you gotta get through the complicated to get to the good and steady.”
I took a gulp of my beer and wiped some foam off my lip. “Good for you. I mean it, man. I’m happy you and Rilla made it work. But it’s not really the same with us. You know me, Mason. I’m no good. Not for long term shit. I’m strictly a one-night-of-fun-and-done guy. Elizabeth deserves more than an asshole like me who can’t even manage to hold onto a basic job hauling feed sacks.”
“Whoa there, buddy.” Mason braced his hands on the bar in front of me, scowling. “First off, I don’t want to hear you talking shit like that. Yeah, used to be you had a rep you deserved. I’d see you in here, hitting on anything in a skirt and scoring most of the time. But not lately. You came back into town, and the only time I’ve seen you in here was when you came to pick up your wife. What I hear—and trust me, I hear just about everything in this place—is that you’re working your ass off down at Grainger’s and during your off time, making sure your mother stays off the streets.”
Always My Own (Always Love Trilogy #2) Page 10
