Booted

by Pam Godwin

  “But Lorne brought her back, knowing she’s a target.” Jarret turns to Lorne. “You might as well invite dear ol’ Dad to move back in. We can be one big happy fucking family again.”

  “That’s enough, Jarret.” Conor shifts to the edge of the couch.

  “He’s right,” I whisper.

  My presence here will pull John back into this family, and they’ve suffered enough under his tyranny.

  “I’ll leave.” I move toward the door.

  “Stop.” Lorne’s harsh tone freezes my steps. He waits until I turn around before addressing the others. “I’m going to teach her how to use a gun and protect herself. What she does after that is up to her.”

  “That’s your plan?” Jake widens his eyes, the whites around his brown irises glowing in the light.

  Silent objection pulses from Jarret. The tension in the air steeps in testosterone. The porch isn’t big enough for three alpha men locked in disagreement.

  The strange part is, I’m not exactly sure what they’re opposing. Every person here wants John Holsten dead.

  “This isn’t her decision.” Jake paces in a tight circle, hands clenching at his sides. “If she’s arrested for murder, she’ll rat us out to enter a plea bargain.”

  “I wouldn’t—”

  “You don’t know what you’ll do when facing life in prison.” He turns to Lorne. “This impacts all of us, and we’ll deal with it together, just like we always have. The four of us.”

  “There’s five now.” Jarret nods at Maybe.

  “Six.” Lorne’s eyes cut to me and return to Jake. “She’s part of this, whether we like it or not, and she has a better reason than any of us to spill his blood.”

  “Bullshit.” Jake gestures angrily at Conor. “Have you forgotten he tried to kill your sister?”

  “You know he hasn’t.” Conor rises from the couch and rubs her hands along Jake’s contracting biceps. “You need to calm down.”

  “Not until he explains this.” He jabs a finger in my direction. “She fucked the old man and paid the price. That doesn’t give her a vote in what happens to our family.”

  I flinch at his scathing tone, my eyes and cheeks hot with humiliation. I feel naked, on display, and would do anything to make this end.

  “There’s more to it.” Lorne glances at me, his gaze a storm of dark splendor.

  “Like what?” Jake asks.

  I close my eyes. If they hate me now, they’ll really hate me when he reveals what I do for money.

  “That’s her story to tell.” Lorne lets that settle over the group, surprising me into breathlessness.

  I open my mouth to come clean, but he’s not finished.

  “She can either kill him or go to the cops.” A twitch feathers across his jaw. “She’s doing us a favor by dealing with John on her own. The least I can do is give her some training.”

  The mood in the air shifts, their expressions pinched with puzzlement and curiosity. I don’t know what they assume about my story, but one thing’s for certain. They’re furiously protective of their bond with one another.

  “I can’t let you risk going back to prison.” Jake steps toward him.

  Lorne straightens away from the railing, his hands falling at his sides. “That won’t happen.”

  “Think carefully about this.” Jarret approaches Lorne’s other side, closing him in. “All it takes is one ranch hand to see you with a firearm. If this turns into an investigation, our employees will be questioned, and you’ll be arrested.”

  Jarret moves into his space, and Lorne’s face pales beneath the brim of his hat. He steps backward, but Jake and Jarret stay with him, their body language assertive and tense.

  The cords in Lorne’s neck go taut, and his breathing accelerates. I don’t think the conversation’s setting him on edge so much as the proximity of two men corralling him.

  I inch closer, debating whether to intervene.

  “It’s not worth the risk.” Jake puts his face in Lorne’s, his voice rising. “We just got you back, dammit. If you returned to prison, think about what that would do to Conor. To all of us!”

  “I made my decision.” Lorne turns toward the porch stairs to leave.

  “We’re not done here.” Jarret reaches out and clasps Lorne’s shoulder.

  I see the next few seconds play out before it happens.

  Whirling around, Lorne reacts like a man who’s been repeatedly attacked from behind. He seethes past clenched teeth, his arms swinging to block, punch, and defend against a gang of brutal inmates.

  Jarret grabs for him again, but Lorne doesn’t see his family or their attempts to calm him. He sees memories. Aggression. Pain.

  Maybe I’m wrong, but I’ve received a few black eyes during sleepovers with ex-cons who woke in the throes of flashbacks.

  “Don’t touch him.” I launch into the gridlock of muscled arms and labored breaths.

  Jake knocks me out of the way as he wrestles to get a handle on flaring tempers. But his impulse to restrain and control only adds to Lorne’s distress.

  “The fuck?” Jake dodges a punch. “Calm down.”

  They continue to grab at Lorne in an attempt to subdue him, arms flying, boots scuffing, and hats tumbling off. Can’t they see that Lorne just wants to get away?

  “Stop it!” Conor grips Jake’s shirt. “All of you.”

  “Let him go.” I throw myself between the men, ramming a shoulder into Jake’s chest and screaming over the ruckus. “Step back!”

  Jake and Jarret freeze, and their hands drop. Lorne staggers backward, eyes haunted. He grabs his hat from the floor and bolts off the porch.

  Jarret moves to chase him, and I step into his path.

  “Let him cool off.” I tilt my head back and wince at the flames in Jarret’s golden eyes.

  “Move.” Muscle and veins strain against his skin as he glowers at me, panting.

  I stand my ground, fully aware he can shove me out of the way. “He needs a minute.”

  “What the hell do you know about what he needs?” Jake growls behind me.

  “I don’t, but—”

  “Something triggered him.” Conor approaches, her face pallid as she stares into the darkness that swallowed her brother. “He never loses his shit like that. It exploded out of nowhere. You guys were just talking. There had to be a trigger, but I don’t know what—”

  “Jarret grabbed him.” Maybe moves to stand beside her fiancé, lacing her fingers through his. “Does he not like to be touched?”

  “No, that’s…” Jarret rubs a hand down his face, his mouth slack. “He doesn’t have issues with personal space. I hugged him the day he was released.”

  “But tonight he was on edge, and you crowded him in.” I rest my hands on my hips, replaying the confrontation in my head. “He turned to leave, to escape the discomfort, and a hand landed on his back.” I scan the distraught expressions around me. “He’s trained himself to be in survival mode at all times. He had to. That’s not something he can unlearn overnight.”

  “What makes you an expert on the prison psychology?” Jake crosses his arms.

  “I’m not an expert. But I spent a lot time around men dealing with post-prison adjustment.”

  “Why is that?” Jake scowls at me.

  I stare at the black field with longing, wishing I could escape like Lorne did rather than rehash my life for the second time tonight.

  Stepping toward the railing, I lean a hip against it and turn back to Jake and Jarret.

  “Before I met your dad, I had sex with ex-cons.” I straighten my spine. “For money.”

  Four pairs of eyes widen at my announcement. Lips part. Heads tip to the side. Their stunned silence sweeps a tingle up my nape. I turn away and grip the porch railing.

  Stillness creeps in until all I hear is the occasional chirp from the shadows in the field. John’s family might be wordlessly judging me, but I won’t give them excuses. Living in poverty, sharing DNA with a drug addict, selling my bo
dy—none of those things define the worth of my soul. They’re circumstances, trials, the ugly parts of my journey.

  The last two years, however, shaped the person I am today. John Holsten, my sister’s death, and my thirst for revenge are the reasons I’m here.

  “I don’t need to defend myself. So I won’t.” I twist back to face John’s sons. “But I’ll answer questions.”

  Jake picks up his hat and sets it on his head, his expression blank. “I want to hear your story.”

  He lowers onto the couch and pulls Conor down beside him.

  Maybe joins Jarret on the seat across from them, curling up on his lap.

  I sit in the remaining chair, draw a deep breath, and tell them everything. As I talk, their features morph through every emotion, from shock and outrage to sympathy and pity.

  After crying in Lorne’s truck, I thought I might break down again. But the narration’s easier this time, my voice steady and remote. Perhaps it’s because my mind is elsewhere, on the man who’s fighting his own demons out there in the dark.

  I finish with the explanation about my phone call to Maybe, why I hung up on her, and my pathetic attempt to shoot John.

  “You know the rest.” I meet Maybe’s damp blue gaze. “Thank you for coming for me.”

  “I’m so sorry about your sister.” She squeezes her fingers around Jarret’s hand.

  I nod, grateful for her kindness.

  Conor stares at her lap, eyes watering. “When Lorne told us John killed our mothers, I didn’t believe him. But after everything he did to you and Tiana…”

  My chest tightens. “And what he did to you…”

  “I’m still trying to process that.” She rests her head on Jake’s shoulder. “He wasn’t like that when we were kids. He was hard, but not so…vicious.”

  “You’re remembering him through the innocent eyes of a child.” Jake touches his lips to her hair. “He’s always been cruel.”

  They talk among themselves, recounting events from their childhood and examining their perceptions of the man who raised them.

  Jarret doesn’t say much, but the transparency in his mannerisms and expressions speaks for him. Jake, on the other hand, has no problem voicing his thoughts. Meanwhile, his eyes give off a brooding kind of elusiveness that makes me shiver.

  As they continue to share memories, my mind wanders to Lorne. I should check on him. But what can I do to help him? Sex is the only way I know how to distract a man from his troubles, and he doesn’t want that from me.

  Jake props a boot on the coffee table and rests his dark brown gaze on me. “So you’re a hooker.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  Conor elbows him in the ribs. “Mind your manners.”

  “Don’t need them.” He absently rubs the wide leather cuff on his wrist.

  “You do if you want to get laid again.”

  He fists a handful of her fire-red hair and drags her to his mouth. “We both know the opposite is true.”

  A slow smile builds on her face, at odds with her sharp whisper. “Let go.”

  His lips bounce, and he releases her, draping an arm around her shoulders and tucking her against his side. His flinty gaze drifts to me, to Maybe, and returns to Conor. “At least she’s not a vegetarian.”

  Maybe extends her middle finger without looking at him.

  “You’re not, are you?” He squints at me. “A vegetarian?”

  “No.” I can’t tell if he’s seriously concerned about this. “Why?”

  As he opens his mouth, Maybe says, “Swear to God, if I hear another sausage joke…”

  “We all know you put out for a seven-inch zucchini.” He arches a brow.

  “Ten inches.” Jarret traces the hem of her shorts. “Whenever I give it to her, she gushes all over it. Guess you could call her a non-dairy creamer.”

  Conor bursts into laughter, and I press my fingers against my smile.

  Maybe twists on his lap to face him. “Have you had that one holstered a while?”

  “Maybe.” He circles an arm around her waist and pulls her to lean back against his chest. His mouth dips to her neck, and she instantly liquefies beneath his nuzzling bites. I think I even hear a moan.

  These people are so obnoxiously hot for each other it makes me squirm in the chair. If I sit here much longer, I might blush, which is ridiculous considering the things I’ve done for money.

  “No one around here’s going to buy what you’re used to selling.” Jake rubs his whiskers, scrutinizing me from head to toe. “What else can you do?”

  “Like…other skills?”

  “Yes, other skills. You’re not staying here unless you pull your weight like everyone else.”

  Sex is one way to a cowboy’s heart, but it’s not the only way.

  “I can cook.” I push my shoulders back. “Native American cuisine mostly, but I can grill and—”

  “You’re hired.” Jarret claps a hand on his thigh. “We eat breakfast at six.”

  “Really?” My cheeks lift. “You want me to prepare your meals?”

  “We don’t have the funds to hire a chef.” Jake leans back, a hint of boredom in his tone.

  “But we need one,” Conor says. “Desperately.”

  “I’ll gladly cook in exchange for food and a bed.” I shift to the edge of the chair and give Jake strong eye contact. “And shooting practice.”

  “So you can kill the bastard who raised me.” He taps a finger on his knee.

  “Yes.”

  He heard my story, and if I read his reactions correctly, he sympathizes with my need for revenge.

  “All right.” His attention slips to the dark landscape behind me, and a grim twist steals across his lips.

  I follow his line of sight over my shoulder, anticipating Lorne’s presence, but no one’s there.

  “I’m going to check on him.” I stand, searching the field.

  Where did he go?

  “He’s probably in the stable.” Jarret rises and adjusts his hat. “I’ll go.”

  “I don’t know where I’m sleeping, and…” An inexplainable urge to see if Lorne’s okay pulls at me. “I want to talk to him.”

  After a moment of consideration, Jarret nods. “I’ll walk with you.”

  He turns back to Maybe and puts his mouth at her ear, whispering something I can’t hear. Whatever he says causes her legs to squeeze together, and her fingernails dig into his arms.

  He should just fuck her already and get it over with.

  I step off the porch and wait with my back to them.

  The all-watching eye of the moon shines its glow over the sleeping countryside, casting the tall grass in a shimmering hue of silver. Somewhere in the distance, an owl calls for its mate.

  My ancestors believed that all nature is alive with spirit. Animals, plants, rocks, water, humans—everything has a soul, and we’re all connected in one unified whole.

  My grandmother taught me the old ways, but I was thirteen when she died. I’ve forgotten many of the stories. The teaching that sticks with me the most is to always pay attention. Listen to the wind. Listen to the silence. Listen to my gut. The universe speaks, and it knows.

  Right now it’s telling me to help Lorne find his way. To lead him to his soul. In turn, he’ll protect me so I can walk the earth unharmed.

  Footsteps sound behind me, and Jarret strides past. “Don’t wander around alone. Not until this shit with John is over. Understood?”

  “Yes.” I hurry after him, matching his long-legged gait. “Where’s Lorne been sleeping?”

  “If he slept last night, it was in his truck. He spent the first night out there.” He gestures at a bare spot in the field between the clumps of trees.

  “Outside?” My stomach cramps with guilt. “Why didn’t he kick me out of his bed?”

  “He said the house felt like a prison and ran off with a sleeping bag.” His voice roughens. “We tried to stop him.”

  “He needs time.” I pick along the ove
rgrown terrain, thinking back to the men I’ve met over the years. “A lot of guys come out of prison and isolate themselves from everyone. Doesn’t take long before they’re drinking too much and using medication to numb the pain.”

  “He won’t drink. Not after his dad drowned in a bottle and beat on Conor.”

  John used to talk about Dalton’s self-destruction with disgust in his voice. I don’t know if Dalton knew John killed his wife, but whatever happened between them left a fissure of hatred.

  As we approach the stable, deep, somber vocals croon from within. Jarret opens the door for me, and a familiar cover song strums from the stereo on a nearby shelf.

  Hurt by Johnny Cash isn’t exactly an uplifting song. I scan the space, searching for signs of Lorne as the bitter, self-loathing lyrics fill me with dread.

  Beyond the farthest stall, a boot catches my eye, the rest of the man out of view behind the half wall. I nudge Jarret and point.

  Heading in that direction, I pass the stereo and turn off the depressing song.

  “I was listening to that.” Lorne’s growl drifts from around the corner.

  “It’s a great song.” I glance at Jarret, grimacing. “If you’re thinking about killing yourself.”

  Lorne’s scathing laugh shudders the air.

  As I pass the rows of horses, I do a double-take at the cow cuddled up in her own stall. Her pristine white hair is neatly brushed, her bedding fresh and halter made with fine leather, as if she’s as pampered and loved as the purebred stallions.

  “Keeping livestock as pets?” I raise an eyebrow at Jarret.

  “That’s Chicken.” An affectionate grin lights up his face. “She’s family.”

  A cattle rancher with a pet cow? That’s unexpected, but so is the warmth spreading through my chest. Maybe John’s sons aren’t a chip off the old block. One can only hope.

  I reach the end of the walkway and stop beside Lorne’s boot.

  He sprawls on the ground with his back against the wall, one leg bent, the other stretched out before him. Chin down and hat tipped low on his brow, he hides his face from view.

  His arm hangs over his bent knee, and an unopened bottle of whiskey sits between his spread legs.

  “What are you doing, Lorne?” Jarret crouches beside him. “You don’t drink.”