Mae swallowed. “I won’t.”
Roxy was quiet a moment and then said, “Nobody has ever done anything like that for me before.”
Gazing up at the night sky, Mae’s smile was sad. “You’re worth saving, Rox. Don’t ever forget that.”
Roxy cleared her throat. “And you’re a good girl, Maybelline. Your mama would be real proud of you.”
It was Mae’s turn to dry her eyes. “Thank you for talking to the sheriff.”
“Couldn’t let Jerry go down for killing that cocksucker,” Roxy said, drawing on her cigarette. “Or you.”
“It was brave,” Mae said. She didn’t know why Roxy had initially run away that night. Why she’d been terrified by the idea of telling the truth. But Mae was glad she’d changed her mind. Without her testimony, things might have gone differently.
Roxy ignored the compliment and instead said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, babe, but I hope I never see you again.”
Smiling, Mae said, “Ditto.”
They said their goodbyes, and Mae reached up to return the payphone’s receiver to its cradle. She sat there a minute, watching the rigs, the lot’s many lights playing off their chrome. Jerry was okay. Roxy was okay.
They were all okay.
Soon, she’d have to figure out where she was going. What she was doing. But not tonight. Tonight, all she wanted to do was climb into Clyde’s Freight Shaker, see his brooding frown, and hug Ken. Learning that she wasn’t wanted for murder was enough to process all on its own. She’d do battle with the rest later. Yawning, she picked up the sack and stood.
“You fucking him?” came an unsteady voice to her right.
Mae jumped, startled, and turned to see Lila Jane. She’d been crying, and rivulets of black mascara smudged her blotchy cheeks. She stood with her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she stared at Mae. Pulled up to the curb a few feet away was a rusted red Ford Mustang, its rear bumper hanging askew. The two boys Mae had seen with Lila Jane earlier sat in the back seat, smacking each other with what appeared to be empty Slurpee cups, their raucous voices drifting out the window. Mae must have been too absorbed in her conversation with Roxy to notice the car’s arrival. Squaring her shoulders, Mae answered, “What I do with Clyde is none of your business.”
Lila Jane stared at her for a long, tense moment, and then, to Mae’s surprise, she nodded stiffly. “You gonna do right by him?”
Mae studied her. The look on her face was one of both bitterness and begrudging defeat. This was a woman who had made choices she regretted. A woman who, underneath the I’m-trying-too-hard clothes and makeup, still cared about the man she’d hurt. And, while Mae wasn’t about to tolerate any nonsense from her, she could respect the pride swallowing Lila Jane must have had to do to confront her like this. Mae didn’t know if she and Clyde were headed into relationship territory, but she could answer Lila Jane’s question honestly. “Yes.”
Lila Jane nodded again, her mouth a flat line. “He won’t give you babies if that’s what you’re looking for.”
Mae frowned. Clyde had said the same thing earlier. Was he unable to have kids? Had that had something to do with his and Lila Jane’s separation? With his aura of anger? “Look,” Mae said, adjusting her grip on the bag of cat food. “I’ve only known him for two days. Kids are the last thing on my mind.” Not that she’d feel the need to discuss it with Lila Jane even if it was.
Lila Jane’s smirk carried a hint of sadness. “That’ll change, sweetheart. And things will go to shit. Trust me.”
Having kids wasn’t something Mae had ever thought much about. Not because she had anything against them, but because her own future had always been up for grabs. She’d never known where she was going or what she was doing. She’d just known wherever or whatever it was, it wasn’t in Crownville. Kids were a distant maybe. Though, seeing Lila Jane’s two wrestling and hollering in the back seat of her car like heathens didn’t inspire the burning need to procreate in Mae. And Lila Jane herself seemed less than enthused by her brood. Still, Mae had enough on her mind tonight to ponder whether she wanted to be a mother. Right now, the only thing she wanted in her belly was twelve inches of bread and cold cuts. All she said, though, was, “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Lila Jane dragged her fist under her nose and dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled tissue. “He’s a good man. He deserves a good woman.”
She left off a better one than me, but it hung in the air between them nonetheless. Mae had the feeling that once this conversation was over, Lila Jane would go back to being the claws-out, teeth-bared vixen that Mae had originally taken her for, but for a brief moment, Lila Jane was just a sad, tired woman who’d taken too many wrong turns in life.
And, boy, had Mae known a few of those.
“He is a good man,” she agreed. A moody, broody, growly man but a good one.
Lila Jane sniffed and cleared her throat, stuffing the tissue in her purse, her eyebrows primly arched as if she was already putting back on her bitch-don’t-even attitude. “Don’t break his heart like I did,” she said, raising her chin and leveling her gaze on Mae. “Or I’ll hunt you down and beat your skinny ass.”
Mae measured Lila Jane, who was at least a size or two skinnier than her. “You’ll try.”
Lila Jane stared at her long and hard, and then her mouth curved ever so slightly. A sense of understanding and strange kinship passed between them. Mae smiled, too. Just a little. And then Lila Jane turned on her heel and walked to her car. She didn’t look back as she dramatically tossed her blonde hair and got in. She had to slam the door twice to get it to stay shut, and when she pulled away from the curb, Mae could hear her shouting at the boys to settle down. As Mae watched the Mustang hobble out of the lot, its lone taillight a red, bouncing beam through the haze of dust, she found herself thinking that, in another life, on another day, they could’ve been friends.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Pilot Travel Center
Jackson, Ohio
Clyde tapped his thumb on the steering wheel as he stared out at the parking lot. Where was she? From his location, he couldn’t see the front entrance of the building. An idling rig blocked his view, its driver halfway out his door, talking to someone as if they had nothing better to do than clog up the main drag. Clyde’s instinct was to go find her. Find her and throw her over his shoulder. The rational part of him knew she could look after herself, but the mouth-breather in him wanted to growl and snarl at anyone who glanced her way. Maybe it was because he had put her on a pedestal like she claimed. Or maybe it was because he knew his fellow drivers weren’t always gentlemen. Some were downright barbaric. Like the now-dead son of a bitch who’d been choking the life out of the Shifty’s hooker. And as street-smart as Mae was, she was just one breakable girl in a china shop full of bulls.
“Shit,” he sighed, dragging his hand down his face. What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t her keeper. She didn’t need his protection. She didn’t need him to hold her hand.
Though, damn, holding it had sure felt good.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held hands with a woman. No doubt, it was with Lila Jane. He’d been young and horny, and he’d taken every opportunity to touch her. With Mae, though, it hadn’t been about the hormones. Holding her hand had felt … right. And it made him twitchy as hell. He didn’t do right. He did wrong.
Just as he was about to go on a parking-lot rampage, he spotted her walking toward his rig, carrying a plastic bag. The sight of her eased him, and he let out a breath, relaxing into his seat so he could watch her. She paused, glancing both ways before jogging across the main drag, and even from his height, he could see the bounce beneath her T-shirt. He reached down with a groan and adjusted his hardening cock as she opened the passenger’s door and climbed inside.
She glanced at him as she settled in, depositing a bag of what looked like canned cat food on the back floorboard. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he said, handing her a paper-wrapped sub.
“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just got the regular lunch meat.”
She took it from him and practically tore off the paper. “I could eat cardboard right now,” she said and then paused, looking over. “Thank you.”
An unexpected sense of satisfaction burned through him. Feeding her made him feel good. Taking care of her made him feel good. She made him feel good. He cleared his throat and unwrapped his own. “No problem.”
“I can pay you for it.”
“No,” he said, biting into the bread-padded stack of meat and cheese while firing up the truck.
“I’m not a bum,” she said around a mouthful.
“Never said you were.” He sat his sub down to shift gears, gesturing with his chin at the cooler on the floor between them. “Cold water.”
She didn’t argue. Instead, she reached into the cooler and found a bottle. “Thanks.”
He grunted, navigating the rig onto the highway. “How was your phone call?”
Her laugh sounded stunned. “It’s over.”
He arched a brow, looking at her. “What do you mean?”
She shook her head as if unable to believe it. “I mean Jerry took care of it. I’m in the clear. Nobody is looking for me.” She gazed out the window. “It’s over.”
He stared at her a moment, then turned back to the road. “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
He wasn’t overly surprised. He’d heard some chatter on the CB about the mess in Crownville, but it had been nothing more than run-of-the-mill driver talk, and it hadn’t taken long for the excitement to wear off. Had there been an APB out for Mae, he’d have heard about it. Still, the knowledge was a helluva relief. Not only did it mean he was hauling less risk, but it meant she was free.
His smile faded as he stared down the center lines illuminated by his headlights. She was free, all right. Free to go back to Crownville. Or anywhere else she chose.
Free to leave him.
Without the threat of imprisonment looming over her, would she stay? Could he blame her if she didn’t? He knew he damn well couldn’t. Life on the road wasn’t ideal, and he wasn’t a prize. She’d fallen off the merry-go-round of life, and he’d caught her. But her feet were on the ground now.
And they could carry her away.
Just when he’d wrapped his thick skull around the idea of having her.
“How’d it go down?” he asked, stuffing his mouth with sub before he had a chance to think on it too hard.
She glanced over her shoulder at the cat, who had eaten the food Clyde had given him and was licking himself down. “Jerry convinced them it was self-defense,” she said, turning back around. “Which it was.” The latter she said quietly, as if reassuring herself once and for all.
“Yeah,” Clyde agreed, looking at her to drive the point home. “It was.”
She nodded, picking a tomato slice off her sub. “I know. I guess the guy was wanted in another state for the same thing.”
“Damn,” Clyde said, shaking his head. It could’ve been Mae getting roughed up that night. Or worse. His only regret was that it had been her that fired the bullet and not him. “He had it coming.”
“Roxy came forward,” she went on, taking a bite of her tomato-free sub. “Told the police what happened. Collaborated Jerry’s story.”
That surprised Clyde. The woman had been scared shitless that night. More so of the inbound police than the dead trucker at her feet. Clyde had expected her to be several states away by now, lying low. “She must care about you.”
Mae paused and considered it. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s funny. My ma always said there are no friends on the lot. Only coworkers.” She laughed quietly and mimicked, “This ain’t Thelma and Louise, Maybelline. It’s hookers and blow.”
Clyde laughed, flashing go-ahead lights at a minivan that was attempting to merge. “Classy.”
“Oh, she was,” Mae said with a grin that faded after a moment. “But I think she was wrong, too. I think you do make friends. You’re just too busy surviving to realize it.”
He thought about it and decided both their childhoods had been about as fucked up as they came. It was one thing they had in common. “You going back?”
She was quiet for a long moment and then said, “I don’t know. I’d like to see Jerry and Roxy and say goodbye, but … I just don’t know. Part of me thinks I should get out while the gettin’s good.” She touched the window, the lights of the distant city a blur in the night. “Roxy thinks so, too.”
A knot he hadn’t felt forming eased a little at her words. “She’s right.”
Mae looked at him. “You sound so sure.”
He shrugged. “You’re better than Crownville.”
She studied him and then glanced away. “I’m no better than anyone else, Clyde.”
He begged to differ, but he kept quiet and drove. She had a lot to process, and it wasn’t his place to try and sway her one way or another.
Even if he wanted to.
An hour and a half later, he turned off the highway, his gaze raking over the crooked, dented road sign illuminated in his headlights as he went.
Little Racoon Road.
He hadn’t driven down it in years.
He wasn’t even entirely sure why he was driving down it now.
Clearing his throat, he glanced over at Mae. She was gazing out the window, absently tracing the silhouetted hills with her finger. Turning back, he said, “I want to show you something.”
“What is it?”
Downshifting, he kept an eye out for deer. Though he hadn’t come here in ages, he remembered how lousy they were in these parts. “Somewhere I used to go,” he said. “When I wanted to get away from …” He paused and then finished, “Fuck, everything, I guess.”
She sat up, peering out the windshield. “Where are we?”
“Hue,” he said, and the name sounded rusty on his tongue. “I grew up here.”
More like survived here, but it was what it was.
She gazed out at the nothing-ever-happens-here countryside with renewed interest. In the dark, it was only trees and valleys. Of course, it was only trees and valleys in the day, too. With a population of five hundred and forty-nine, there weren’t many houses to be found. He couldn’t say the same for memories.
“Are we going to your old house?” she asked.
“No. I had it torn down about five years ago.”
When his folks had let it go to the bank, he’d stepped in and bought it for a dime. A week later, he’d stood in the overgrown yard and watched the demolition crew break it apart board by board. When they’d started in on the roof Rose had fallen from, Clyde hadn’t been able to hold back the bile that rose in his throat. He’d turned away and bent at the waist, grabbing his knees as he retched in the weeds. When he’d had no more to give, he’d stood, dried his mouth, and walked away.
He’d never looked back.
No doubt the property was nothing but briars and unchecked trees by now, and for all he cared, it would stay that way until the day he died and someone else ended up with it.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “Where then?”
“Just up ahead.”
When he came to the dirt road, he pulled the rig to a rumbling stop, judging the ground condition. Last thing he needed was to get stuck out here. But the road, maintained mostly by the local farmers who used it to access the surrounding crop fields, looked solid, dry, and wide enough for a combine. Satisfied, he guided the rig onward, his beams rolling over rows of soybeans.
“Off-road in a big rig,” she said with a grin. “This is a first.”
“Don’t get too excited.” His mouth quirked. “We’re not going far.”
The eighteen-wheeler bumped over the terrain, and he took it slow, keeping an eye on his mirrors. Mae rolled down her window, breathing in the warm night air with a smile.
“Smells like honeysuckle,” she murmured.
“Yeah. One thing I always liked about this place.”
S
he stuck her arm out the window, the breeze tossing her hair. “I’m so used to smelling nothing but diesel fumes, I almost forgot how sweet honeysuckle is.”
“Nothing like it,” he agreed.
Though, as he studied the way the moonlight played over her cheek, he decided she was far sweeter than honeysuckle could ever be.
She smirked. “I suppose if you’re taking me out here to murder me, you could’ve picked a worse place.”
He shook his head but grinned anyway. “We’re here.”
She stared ahead as they approached a wide patch of bare dirt. “We are?”
“Yep.” Eying his mirrors, he set about turning the rig around so it faced the road, ready for their eventual departure. He knew the landscape by heart even after all these years, but it was still slow going. Backing up a fifty-three-foot trailer always was. And with only his running lights and the moon to guide him, he was forced to take it extra easy. Mae watched her own mirror, murmuring directions to him every so often. He could’ve done it without her help, but damn if it didn’t feel good all the same.
By the time he shut off the rig, she was bent in her seat, tying her boots. “How far are we going?” she asked, looking over at him.
“Not far,” he told her, twisting to grab a blanket out of the sleeper. He had to tug it out from underneath Ken, who stood with an annoyed meow, arching his back. Clyde scowled at him but said, “You can bring the cat,” as he opened the driver’s door.
He could almost feel Mae’s grin as he hopped down onto the dirt. Looking around, he let out a breath. Even in the dark, the place still looked the same. Sounded the same, too. Night insects buzzed, and bullfrogs croaked somewhere in the shadows. It was soothing and chafing at the same time.
He hadn’t been here since the day he’d gone fishing and left Rose alone.
Since the day he’d ruined both their lives.
Heading around to the passenger’s door, he helped Mae climb down with the cat. She smiled at Clyde, and for a moment, they were so close he could’ve kissed her. Instead, he breathed in the scent of her and closed his eyes as her shoulder brushed his.
Mother Trucker (Crownville Truckers Book 1) Page 12
