Nell dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “Sweet Jesus. That poor baby.”
“It was all over the Internet. There are dozens of articles and interviews. Apparently, she was in a psych ward for a while. Then, like, became one of those people who didn’t leave their house, like ever.”
“Mercy,” I say.
“Anyway, from what I understand, it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for her to be imagining the whole thing. Making it up. Having a break from reality.”
“Mercy,” I say more firmly.
She gives me a look. “I’m just saying, Ford. Think past your dick and take a step back. We don’t know this woman. You only know what she’s telling you and—”
I get to my feet and when I speak, my voice is calm, quiet. I know from facing down some of the most evil people on this earth, it’s not yelling that gets someone’s attention, it’s the absolute certainty in a hushed delivery. “What matters here is that I believe her, Mercy. This isn’t any of your business.”
“But—”
“No buts. I believe her and I don’t want to hear you saying this to anyone else. She deserves her privacy. Is that clear?” They don’t answer and I move toward my office. “For the record, I was in her position not too long ago and no one believed me. Until we know otherwise, you’d be wise to give her the benefit of the doubt. You don’t know what’s true unless you were there. Were you with me overseas when I watched two of my best friends get blown to pieces?” When they don’t answer, I nod. “I didn’t think so. Don’t judge her unless you’ve been in her shoes.”
“Ford, I—” Mercy begins.
“Save it. And you know what, Mercy? If you’re going to be here, you need to help out. No more freeloading. And don’t either of you say a word about this to anyone else or to Peyton. Unless you want to find somewhere else to stay.”
Mercy sputters. “What about Lexie?”
“Lexie can stay. God knows it’d be less of a circus here than following you all over the country with your boy toys. Now if you two don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.”
My head pounds as I stride back to my office. Having that drink can’t happen soon enough.
Chapter Eleven
Peyton
I should have listened to Ford and stayed at the lodge and rested, but I didn’t.
Waiting around while everyone else cleared out would have only driven me crazy, and I needed to keep moving or it would give me too much time to think. I wanted to be surrounded by people, activity, sounds.
Life.
So I find myself in the center of town again, although this time, I don’t have my parents’ trust money to blow, so I window shop and wonder if having drinks with Ford is just one more in a long line of mistakes.
The colorful sign for Splatters Studio catches my eye as I walk down the sidewalk, and I remember Alice’s job offer. I hadn’t really given it serious thought at the time, as I’d just been planning to pass through, but now…everything is different. I don’t have the money to fall back on, and with the murder I don’t feel like I can leave.
I hesitate on the crosswalk at an intersection as I ponder whether to go in or to head back to my car. If I stay, it means facing what happened that night, something I’ve barely been able to do with my own past, let alone involving myself in someone else’s trauma. It means facing Ford, and whatever is—or isn’t—there. It means staying when every instinct inside me is screaming at me to run. To hide, like I did for so long after I lost my parents.
The safety net I’ve had for so long is gone. This wild adventure I’d begun is over before it really began, but this time I don’t want to be the girl who locked herself away because she was too scared. I want to be the kind of girl who can face her fears and come out on the other side stronger. As much as I want to be her, at the center of it, I don’t know if I am, and I’m terrified to let myself down.
I don’t know why, but in that moment of indecision, I hear Ford’s voice from our conversation earlier.
“I’ve got you,” he’d said. Effortlessly. Like he believed it.
Maybe, for a second, I did too.
My feet move in the direction of Splatters before I give myself the chance to think about what I’m doing. There’s a birthday party going on, but the owner, Alice, spots me the second the bell jingles when I open the door.
She crosses to my side with a smile on her face. “You haven’t left yet?” she asks and pulls me in for a hug. “I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.”
“Actually, I was wondering if the offer for a job was still open. If it is, I’d like to take it.” Butterflies flutter in my stomach and I feel faint, but not because I’m scared this time. Because I’m excited. I shouldn’t be on the cusp of all the terrible things that have happened, but I’ll take my positive moments where I can get them. “I’m going to be in the area longer than I expected.”
Alice’s head tips to the side as she considers me. “I have to say, I’m surprised. Pleased, but surprised. Why don’t you follow me back to the office and we’ll get the employment paperwork out of the way?” She takes me by the arm and leads me to a small, but stylish office in the back of the building. “What made you change your mind?” she asks, as she takes a seat behind her desk and begins rifling through drawers.
I sit opposite her and place my purse in my lap. Shrugging, I say, “Unfinished business.”
She passes me a manila folder and a pen. “Why don’t you get started on these while we get to know each other. What got you interested in art?”
Considering my words carefully, I open the folder and begin filling out the paperwork. “Originally, I was very interested in portraits. The people behind the mask. Capturing the emotions behind the expression, that sort of thing. Pulling the true person out from behind the veneer.”
“You’ll have to show me some of your work sometime.”
I shrug, keeping my eyes on the forms and applying myself to keeping the pen steady as I write. “I don’t really do portrait work anymore. Not in,” my voice breaks and I clear my throat. “Not in a couple years now. I work primarily with landscapes these days,” I finish.
At the middle of it all, I approach my art with the quiet meticulousness that characterized my childhood. My mom used to tell me my art was the only place where I truly let myself go, where I connected with people. I haven’t been able to connect much these days. My therapist likes to say I paint landscapes now because I’m afraid to look too deep into another person. Well, whether he was right or not we’ll never know, because I haven’t painted a portrait since the day before my parents died.
“One of your landscapes, then,” Alice comments.
I glance up, lost in thought. Then I catch the thread of the conversation again. “Right, of course. I’ll have to remember to bring a piece sometime.”
The portraits I used to do sit forgotten in Uncle Bradley’s attic. I used to think I could find the answers I was looking for when I did someone’s portrait.
I used to think I knew everything.
The truth is, no matter how hard you try, sometimes there are parts of life that just don’t have any answers.
“That sounds lovely. Now are you staying at the lodge or have you found someplace in town?”
“I have a couple more days I’ve already paid for, but after that, I actually have no idea,” I admit. I finish the stack of papers, close them in the folder, then hand them over. “To be honest, I hadn’t planned to stay, but circumstances have changed so I’m sort of winging it.”
“The great thing about small towns, if there is such a thing, is that we all are in each other’s business.” She grins and gestures for me to get up. “I’ve got some friends around town who might have a place where you can stay. I’ve got a small house, but it may not be to your taste.”
Touched, I scoop up my purse and follow her back to the main room eagerly. Finally, something is going my way. “I’m not picky, really. I’m grateful.”
“That’
s a start,” she says.
“I appreciate your help. I’d love to know more about what we’ll be doing here.”
“Of course. Let me give you an overview and then, if you’re still interested, we’ll go take a look at the house.”
Before I can thank her again, she’s off. Alice leads me to each of the smaller rooms. “These are primarily for small get-togethers. Sometimes we have birthday parties, dates, classes, business events, and so forth. You’ll be responsible for coordinating with the person arranging each event, the supplies, making sure they have everything they need. If you’re up to it, I’d also love to have you teach a class or two, maybe run a Paint and Wine night.”
The thought causes those butterflies to triple. “I’d love to teach. Anything you need me to do, really.”
It isn’t just because I need the money and want to stay close to the town, although both of those are important factors. Working here will require that I get out of my room, interact with other people. I’ll get to know the locals and keep my skills fresh at the same time. By getting to know them, it may help me discover what happened on the lake. It may not, but I feel like I owe it to the woman to at least try.
Hours later, I return back to the lodge with a job, and a place to live once my stay is up. The house Alice owns isn’t really anything to write home about. If Uncle Bradley were to see it, he’d think I was joking. Located on the far side of Bear Lake, it’s a small, two-bedroom, shotgun style construction built sometime in the tail end of the 1940s. The walls are wood paneled. The floors are chipped, cheap linoleum. The bathroom is covered in an obnoxious pink tile that reminds me of Pepto Bismol.
But it’s got a roof, sturdy locks, and Alice is letting me rent it ridiculously cheap.
Maybe there’s something to this small-town thing.
Nell and Ford’s sister give me the same assessing look from behind the front counter when I burst through the doors, but I’m floating too high to read too much into it. I take the steps back to my room, two at a time, and when I open the door to find it dark again, it doesn’t even faze me. Tomorrow is my last full day at the lodge, so I take a few minutes while I’m feeling energized to pack. Somehow my belongings had exploded all over the place.
That done, I change into a pair of skinny jeans, a fitted, button-up flannel shirt with a camisole underneath, and run a brush through my hair. I don’t exactly consider dinner and drinks with Ford a date, so I don’t do more than swipe on some mascara. As I’m walking out of the room, I check my phone and find a missed call from Uncle Bradley, which I resolve to return…later.
I lock eyes with Ford the second I step out of my room. The grand open first floor makes it easy for him to watch as I come down the stairs and cross the lobby. Nell and his sister have disappeared. The lobby is empty save for us.
My mouth goes dry at being the center of his focus. Suddenly shy, I tuck my hair behind my ear and concentrate my gaze on his chin. “Hey,” I say, when I reach the counter. I can feel his eyes studying me and I flush.
Ford comes out from behind the counter and I nearly swallow my own tongue. He’s wearing his shitkicker boots, jeans that hug powerful thighs and cup him in all the right places, and a tight, long-sleeved Henley I want to peel off.
“I’ve got steaks and veggies from the grill for tonight, whiskey and wine. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect. Where exactly are we going?” I ask, as he retrieves a fabric bag with clicking bottles and a tray full of food from behind the counter. “Here, let me take that,” I offer and shoulder the bag.
“Thanks. One of our rooms is going through renovations. It’s a mess, but it has the best view of Bear Lake and the mountains. If you’re here for landscapes, it’s where you want to be.”
“It sounds amazing. I appreciate you going to the trouble.”
He glances over his shoulder. “It’s no trouble, Peyton.”
Inspiration strikes, and I say, “So this room, it’s covered in like plastic sheets and everything, right?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Wait here just a second,” I tell him and run to my room. I come out a few minutes later with a bag full of supplies, my easel, and two large canvases. I’m loaded down with stuff, but I don’t care. One night of fun is worth it.
“What are you doing?” he asks warily and the look on his face is so comical, I laugh.
“Relax, we’re just going to have some fun. I’m not the only one who needs to let go a little.”
“I don’t need to let go of anything.”
I snort as I follow him up to the third level of the lodge I didn’t even know was there. “Your wound up tighter than a two dollar watch. It’s probably why you can be such a jerk.”
He eyes me as he holds the door to the room open. “I’ll remember that next time I decide to feed you.”
“Wow,” I say as I walk in the room. “You weren’t kidding. This place just keeps getting more and more beautiful.” The windows mimic the first-floor lobby, floor-to-ceiling windows and on the other side is a breathtaking view of Bear Lake. “I’d kill for a place like this.”
“My parents used to live up here before we converted the back rooms downstairs to an apartment. My sisters and I grew up here. I’ve been updating it the past couple months as I can.”
I turn to him. “You’re a handyman, too?”
“When I have the free time,” he says with a shrug. “C’mon, I’m starving, and you look like you could use a drink.”
He pulls two sawhorses together, covers them with a piece of extra plywood and drapes a clean drop cloth over the top. I pull two folding chairs over and give them a quick wipe after setting my supplies down by the door. Ford plates up the food and pours himself some whiskey and me a full glass of wine.
“This smells amazing,” I tell him, as I take my seat.
“You’ll have to thank Nell, she’s the one who makes sure I get fed at night.”
“I’ll do that. She didn’t look very happy to see me this afternoon when I got back.” He flicks on a lamp and then comes to sit opposite me at our makeshift table. “I hope I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Ford digs into his steak, chews. “Nothing like that, but I have to be honest, my sister did some digging about you.”
I sit back in my chair, my smile evaporating. I inhale half my wine for something to do. “She did?”
“She’s a little protective, but that doesn’t excuse her behavior. Trust me, I’ve already reamed her for invading your privacy like that.”
The wine makes my head feel a little fuzzy. “Don’t be upset with her. I’m sure it’s only natural to want to find out more about a stranger. Especially considering the circumstances.”
Ford reaches across the table and covers my free hand with his own. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Peyton. I’ll make sure Mercy doesn’t spread it around.”
The genuine understanding in his expression makes me want to melt. “Thank you. Don’t worry about it. The news is sure to spread at some point.”
He takes a sip of his whiskey, and the second he removes his hand, I want to ask him to put it back. I guess my art isn’t the only thing I’ve been missing. Companionship, closeness. The simple act of being touched by another person. All I can think about is all the other places I want his hands.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks softly.
“For once, I’d like to talk about anything but that,” I try not to put a pleading tone in my voice, but I can’t help it.
“Your wish,” he says and nods at my food. “Now eat, then you can show me why you dragged all that shit up here.”
I pause as I taste perfectly seasoned red potatoes. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”
He smirks. “Baby, I’ve only known you a couple days, and I’d love to put you in a straitjacket sometimes, but I don’t think you’re crazy.”
Chapter Twelve
Ford
“I feel like an idiot,” I say, as I stand still for her to
wrap an apron around my waist. “I’m not a 1950s housewife.”
Peyton snorts. “You’ll thank me when you don’t have paint splotches all over your pretty clothes.”
I glance down at the Henley and jeans I’m wearing. “You’re delusional if you think these clothes are pretty.”
Her eyes linger long enough on my body that the alcohol in my bloodstream ignites. I give half a thought to telling her if she’s worried about getting paint on my clothes—she can take them off—but I think better of it and gulp down the rest of my drink instead. More alcohol sounds like a better plan.
“Just shut up and wear the damn apron, Collier.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She refills my glass of whiskey and her own with more wine, then goes about putting out paints and setting up two canvases, distributing brushes, and God knows what else. I pull up two stools just to watch her. Mercy hadn’t been totally wrong when she said I watched Peyton. Before it’d been with wariness, like an animal observing a new, fascinating creature. Now I don’t have to look away. Honestly, I don’t give a fuck. It could be the whiskey, could be the way she looks at me over her shoulder, her blonde hair all wild and her eyes bright with laughter.
Now that the heavy conversation has passed and we’re both thoroughly plied with booze, there’s a lightness about her I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing before. She giggles as she stumbles back from the kitchen, having retrieved two mugs of water.
“Nice,” I say and sip my whiskey.
“Shut up or this will turn into a nude lesson.”
I lift a brow and gesture with my glass. “This just got more interesting. Feel free to strip anytime, sunshine.”
Drunk, Peyton smiles and I find myself smiling back. She skip-stumbles over to my side and takes my glass from my hand, shushing me when I argue. “You can have it back in a few minutes. You promised you’d come paint with me. I’ve heard Marines are quick learners, I’m sure you can keep up.” She tugs me by the hand and leads me to the easel. My body follows her without protest, like we’re magnets and I can’t help but go where she leads.
Traitor (Last to Leave Book 1) Page 8
