Southern Riders (Scars Book 1)

by Robin Edwards

  “Oh, it’s just me,” I point to myself, swiveling my head between the woman and Daryl, who to my horror says nothing to confirm my announcement.

  “That’s fine, Hun. What’s your name?” She asks.

  “Jessie Carter,” I reply, and I have to bite back my laugh when she pulls out of a large accounting ledger before flipping to a page and running her finger down the sheet until stopping at a line and marking a check in the empty box.

  They actually keep track of reservations on paper; are they stuck in the eighties? I think to myself. She finally hands me a silver key attached to a keychain with Danville written in bright sparkly green letters. It looks like something you’d get at a souvenir shop.

  “Thank you,” I nod to her before checking to see if there’s any paperwork I need to fill out. Remarking to myself how trustworthy they must be, since I’ve yet to pay anything and they haven’t even taken my credit card number down, I begin to head up the wooden stairway. Daryl insisted on carrying my bag upstairs and now I’m wondering just what he thinks is going on.

  He’s already seen the gray haired old woman thinks we’re together, and now he wants to make me look even worse. If it weren’t for my nerves I’d ask him to leave, but his accompanying me has a calming effect on me, probably because he barely utters a word.

  My room is pretty standard, a queen size bed takes up most of the room, with a small circular table and chair sat just below a narrow window at the edge of the room. There’s one nightstand and a TV sits on a short stack of drawers two feet from the foot of the bed. As I move around taking in the details of the room, Daryl stands in front of the door in absolute silence.

  “Goodbye,” he abruptly says once I finish checking out the bathroom.

  “Oh… Oh, you’re leaving?” I find myself stuttering again; constantly caught off guard by his strange demeanor.

  “Yes. Goodnight,” is all he says before leaving, and pulling the door closed behind him. It’s a peculiar ending to a strange introduction, so in some ways I guess it’s fitting.

  Having fully inspected the room, I determine its perfect. I’ve only reserved the room for two nights and it looks like it will be just what I need. The only bad news is there’s no restaurant at the hotel, but luckily, I spotted a diner across the street. Deciding it best to go out for food as soon as possible, for fear of falling asleep only to wake up starving, I make my way to the small diner for my first meal in Danville.

  The next morning, I awake feeling well rested, only to look at my cell phone and notice I’ve slept until midday. Excusing myself because my body is still on California time, I quickly dress and make my way over to the Sherriff’s station to formally introduce myself to my new co-workers.

  “Jessie!” Yells Captain Doug McCall as I walk into the station. I’m already familiar with him from the Danville Sherriff’s website. He looks to be about forty-five with golden blonde hair and an athletic build.

  “Hi Captain,” I respond bashfully, waving my hand as everyone in the office turns towards me.

  “Oh, you made it!” Announces a man in a brown deputy’s uniform from the back of the small office. He’s slightly taller than me with dark hair and a few tattoos on each of his forearms. “I’m Earl,” he announces once he’s directly in front of me and I instantly perk up.

  “How are you?” I smile, reaching to shake his already extended hand. Captain McCall has already informed me that Earl will be my partner in Danville.

  “Me? You’re the one that’s just driven across the country!” He exclaims before wrapping his arm around my shoulder and leading me through the office.

  “Jed! Cole! Come here!” He calls out to two men standing near the ancient looking coffee machine.

  “Hi,” says a heavy-set, balding man who looks to be slightly older than me.

  “I’m Jessie,” I shake his hand.

  “I’m Jed,” he nods before nodding towards the blonde man standing next to him, “and this is my partner Cole.”

  His partner looks to be my age and a bit of a health nut. While Jed is sipping from a mug, Cole has one of those protein shake water bottles, and his biceps look ready to burst out of the deputy uniform.

  “It’s nice to meet you both,” I smile, looking around the station.

  “Well, this is pretty much it,” Earl says as if he’s reading my mind. My home police station in LA was huge, and it was just one of many throughout the city. When Captain McCall told me there was only one station in Danville because it was a small force, I assumed it would be minimal, but four people is absurd.

  “It’s just us?” I ask in a shocked whisper, instantly regretting my reaction when all three guys begin laughing hysterically.

  “Well, we can call state police if necessary, but Jessie, we honestly don’t need any more than we’ve got,” Earl pats my shoulder like an old friend and I smile up at my new partner, feeling confident in my decision to move for the first time.

  “This isn’t Los Angeles, you know,” Cole jokes and we all laugh together.

  “So, tell us about the ride. I’ve never known anyone to drive that far, and you did it alone. You’re pretty bad ass, Carter,” says Jed.

  “You gotta do what you gotta do,” I shrug, holding my chin high in exaggerated pride.

  “Yeah right! She was stopping at four star hotels every eight hours,” Earl accuses with a sinister grin and they all laugh while I hold up my hands in defense.

  “I only stopped at truck stops and slept right in my Jeep!” I declare, but my defense is overshadowed by their laughter and I’m soon laughing at myself right along with my new team.

  “So where do you guys hang out around here?” I ask once we’ve all caught our breath. In unison, both Earl and Jed point to Cole.

  “Us married folk don’t ‘hang out’, but Cole here knows the party scene too well,” Jed looks over to Cole, who is now blushing bright red.

  “There’s barely a scene,” he finally says lowly, his blue eyes sparking as he smiles bashfully.

  “Don’t be shy now,” Earl teases him and we again share a laugh.

  After a few more minutes with my new crew I head out to run more errands preparing myself for this new life. Walking down the main street downtown I catch a reflection of myself in a store window and almost don’t recognize myself. After trying to decipher what looked so different I finally determined the change; I’m happy, for the first time in a really long time.

  Chapter Four

  JESSIE

  I arrive at Mr. and Mrs. Parkers’ home in the mid-afternoon. My new boss put me in touch with them after learning they were looking to rent out one of their townhouses. I’ve spoken with Rose several times arranging my arrival, and she seems even nicer in person when she meets me at the door of their family home.

  “Oh, Jessie!” She drapes her arms around my shoulders, squeezing me like a long lost relative. She smells like a grandma, a blend of sweet perfume and fresh baked cookies.

  “Hi, Mrs. Rose,” I sing like a child.

  “We’re so glad you made it safely,” says Mr. Parker, who has asked me to call him Thomas, but it seems a bit too informal for a man of his stature. He stands at least six foot, five inches, and his perfect posture makes him appear even taller. He’s got the type of stance that lets you know he was in the military for an extended period at some point in his life.

  “Thank you so much,” I smile so deeply my jaws hurt while following them into their living room.

  “We’ve just got to have you sign the lease, darling,” Mrs. Rose explains, motioning towards the coffee table, which has documents spread about with little yellow arrow shaped stickers marking where I should sign.

  “Thank you for preparing this all for me,” I settle into the floral loveseat, which reminds me of the home I left behind.

  “Here’s a pen, dear,” Mr. Parker extends a clear plastic Bic pen towards me and I smile while accepting it.


  “I’m sorry we couldn’t send it to you over in California,” Mrs. Rose begins in her deep accent that sounds very country to me. “We were trying to scan it on a computer down at the shop, and they said you could sign it and even scan it back to us,” she explains like she’s describing how a flying car functions.

  “Oh, this is just fine,” I assure her while reading through the short contract before signing and initialing where necessary. “And there you are,” I gather up all the papers and hand them to Mrs. Rose, who then hands them to her husband.

  “Let’s have some tea,” she excitedly suggests and I follow her into the kitchen as she prepares a pot of Earl Grey tea, my favorite.

  Taking in her home, I’m a bit shocked by how many knickknacks she has tucked away in her kitchen. I imagine they must have lived here for decades; it’s such a cozy space. Most homes in LA are modern and over-designed, nothing like this.

  When she finally brings the tea to the table, I’m entranced by the colorful tea pot, which she informs me was hand-painted by a local artist at a craft show many moons ago.

  “So why don’t you have a boyfriend?” Mrs. Rose asks out of the blue, causing me to choke on my tea as she giggles like a school girl.

  “Well, ummm,” I stammer, completely caught off guard by her prying. When she bats her eyes, I know she won’t let me off without answering, so I just tell the truth. “My fiancé and I called off our wedding a few months back and I’ve just been trying to figure it all out.”

  “Oh, that makes sense,” she nods her head as if putting together a mental puzzle piece.

  “How so?” I ask, sipping my tea and she looks shocked as if I wasn’t supposed to hear her admission. Choosing to now put her in the hot seat, I stare on in anticipation as she twists her lips in embarrassment.

  “Well, you know, when I talked to you on the phone I figured you must be a bit frumpy or boring, you know, coming from Hollywood on out here to Danville. I expected someone older, or maybe wider, or even a little less pretty,” she goes on and I feel myself begin to blush.

  “Don’t get all bashful on me, you know you’re as cute as a button! When you showed up at our door I was a little shocked. But now it makes sense, you’ve gotten your heart broken and you needed to regroup. Well, I’ll tell you, you’ve come to the perfect place because there ain’t much more for a young person to do in a place like this,” she giggles before sipping her tea.

  We chat for a few more minutes before she invites me out to see her garden, which is impeccable. There’s an assortment of flowers and an entire bed of herbs, which I’m sure she cooks with regularly. As we make our way to the back of the garden, that childlike giggle escapes her once more as she introduces me to her beloved rose garden, which Mr. Parker surprised her with one spring. She’s built the entire backyard around it, with a rock path leading on to a small pond at the furthest point of the yard.

  Mrs. Rose tells me all about her and Mr. Parker, who have been married for 44-years. With immense pride, she recounts their wedding story in great detail as I smile on in admiration. Together they have two daughters, who’ve each moved on to ‘the big city’, as she puts it. When I later allude to their living in New York she appears to have no idea where I’ve gotten that notion while correcting me. They live in Louisville; and I’m reminded just how small Danville is for a city I’ve never heard of to be so openly referred to as ‘the big city’.

  Just when we’ve worked our way back to the front of the garden, I see movement in the living room, but it’s too swift to be Mr. Parker. Squinting, I get a glimpse of a slight smirk and instantly recognize that well defined jawline, it’s Daryl from the repair shop.

  “Mrs. Rose,” I gather her attention as she picks around in her herb garden. “That man inside; what do you know about him?”

  She looks up to the large glass window and a smile spreads across her face. “Oh, that’s Daryl,” she beams glancing over in my direction.

  “Yes, I met him at the repair shop yesterday. He helped me to my hotel, but he seemed a bit… I don’t know, reserved?” I struggle not to offend her in case he’s her relative.

  “Oh, Daryl is a good guy. As sweet as apple pie! He comes by and just helps out. I think he must have brought my groceries by. I usually pick them up in the evening, but if he sees an order for me while he’s shopping he’ll just bring them by. He’s handy too, he can fix anything,” she waves up at the house and he waves back before catching a glimpse of me, his smile fading into a frown. I wave quickly and return my attention to Mrs. Rose who seems oblivious to the awkward exchange.

  “Yeah, I saw him fixing an old motorcycle,” I reveal and she shakes her head as if I’ve got it mixed up.

  “No, I mean he can fix things around the house. You know, if the refrigerator is broken or something like that. Now, what he does with those motorcycles is a whole ‘nother thing! He’s been fixing them since he was a little bitty thing, ya know. He can take spare parts and build a whole bike from scratch!” She snaps her fingers as she speaks the last word.

  When I don’t find the words to respond her eyebrows rise like a lightbulb has gone off in her head. “I can introduce you,” she smirks and I quickly shake my head.

  “No, no, we’ve already met. I was just curious about him,” I hold my hands up in surrender.

  “Well, he’s a great guy. Soft spoken, but he’s just the kindest young man. If my girls were still here, I’d play matchmaker,” she teases before giggling again.

  After thanking her for all of her help we head back inside and I find myself hoping that Daryl will pop out from around a corner, but he never does. Maybe he bolted when he saw I was there, I can’t be sure. The town is too small not to see him again, hell as it seems it’s too small not to see him every day. Mrs. Rose kisses both of my cheeks after Mr. Parker gives me to keys to my new home, which I move into tomorrow morning.

  The next day I wake late again. After checking out of McClarens Inn, I decide to venture out. Stepping into the summer air, I feel it’s time for a big lunch. So I decide to walk over to Donna’s Diner, denying that I’m hoping to catch another glimpse of Daryl in the process.

  When I finally make it into the diner I’m drenched in sweat, clearly underestimating the Midwest humidity. There are a few patrons scattered throughout the small diner, and a red headed waitress calls out to me from the bar seating, encouraging me to sit anywhere. Hoping it’s not rude, I opt for a small booth in the corner of the diner, which allows me to people watch in the new town that’s fascinating me more and more with each passing day.

  There’s a menu tucked behind the salt and pepper holder at the edge of the table and the first thing I see when I flip it open is a picture of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. My mouth waters looking at the picture, so when the red head arrives at my table, I’m praying they’re still serving breakfast.

  “Is it too late to order pancakes?” I worry aloud and she pops her chewing gum while scrunching her pudgy nose in confusion.

  “Whatchu mean is it too late?” She asks in the thickest accent I’ve ever heard in real life. She sounds like a character from a movie or something.

  “Are you still serving breakfast?” I clarify, and her face relaxes as if I’m finally speaking her language.

  “Baby girl, you can order anything on that menu at any time. Gary gonna make what you fixin’ to have. So, is it pancakes?” She asks with a hand on her hip.

  “Yes, please,” I smile and hand her the menu.

  “Just put that back there,” she points to the salt and pepper holder before adding, “I’m gon’ have him make you the works, honey.”

  Roxanne, which I don’t entirely think is her real name, has really relaxed me, so by the time she brings me a mug of coffee I feel at home in the small diner. There are two graying old men sitting in a booth together, as well as a younger couple sitting at the bar. Just when Roxanne brings my huge breakfast a small family of four
walks in and takes the booth two tables in front of me.

  Looking over my plate I think my belly just might be as big as my eyes today. There’s a stack of three buttermilk pancakes on one plate, a big square of butter melting away at the top. On another plate there’s three fried eggs, hash browns, and five strips of bacon. Moving from one plate to the next, I tear through the food like I haven’t eaten in weeks. Roxanne doubles over in laughter because I’m unable to speak due to a mouthful of food when she returns to refill my coffee.

  After fixing my second cup of coffee just the way I like, with a little cream and a lot of sugar, two more groups of people come into the diner and I begin to wonder if it’s a late lunch rush, hoping I can finish before all of the booths are taken. The last thing I want is to be the solo person in a booth while a group is forced to sit at the bar.

  “Don’t go rushing, they’ll be just fine,” Roxanne scolds me when she sees me trying to scarf the rest of my breakfast down.

  “Aww shit!” She grumbles looking out the windows that line the diner.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask while following her eyes to the parking lot.

  A stream of motorcycles pull into the lot, revving their engines loudly to announce themselves before each stepping off their bike with that rebellious arrogance the gang members in LA wear with pride.

  “The gotdamn Marauders,” Roxanne grumbles and then turns, returning to the kitchen before I can respond.

  Unsure of what she meant, I look between the black leather clad group and see ‘Danville Marauders” written in white on the back of one middle aged man’s jacket. As they assemble outside, the mother in the small family sitting close to me begins to rush her children, anxious to leave.

  “Come on, Danny! Eat up or we can take it home,” she urges the young boy and I’m upset by her need to escape. Everything was going so perfect in the diner and now the tension is so thick you could cut it.

  The door swings open and a buff guy walks in wearing a military buzz cut, a leather jacket over a white t-shirt, and destroyed denim jeans. He’s sporting a mischievous smile and Roxanne looks anything but happy to see him.