Bounty (Page 78)

Mr. T took off.

Lexie and the girls took off.

Released from babysitting duty and Justice-entertaining duty, not long after, Jim-Billy exchanged his armchair at my house for his stool at Bubba’s.

Tate helped the dudes for a while while Laurie and I chatted, Lauren and my conversation broken occasionally by Joss checking in, Uncle Jimmy checking in and Aunt Tammy doing the same (the latter two had been informed by Mr. T what had happened).

Eventually Lauren and Tate took off as did Wood and Ty.

And Deke and I took off while Cal was still working.

Before leaving, I noticed that three (and for a while, four) men got a lot more done than one (or two). They not only made up for what Deke couldn’t do on the day he lost looking out for me, they drywalled one entire side of my upstairs.

So sitting beside Deke in his behemoth, grumbling down my lane, I did it realizing with all that had happened that day, it felt weirdly, but mercifully, like being strangled on my bed was a blip of life.

It happened.

It was over.

With the help of people who cared, I was moving on.

I had turquoise fingernails and plum toenails. I had a massage from Lexie (who was a massage therapist) that made me feel loose and relaxed, the pain still a dull throb in my face, the aches of my body vanishing under her capable hands.

I had new acquaintances that I had a feeling would be friends. Not only Ty and Wood, but also Dominic (also known as Nic), the outrageously flaming owner and operator of the local salon who cooed and coddled me like Deke did, except in a gay way that was hilarious at the same time heartwarming.

And the work on my house wasn’t just still on track, it was cooking with gas.

Thus Deke’s truck grumbled down my lane with me in the passenger seat on our way back to his kickass trailer.

And I was smiling.

* * * * *

After changing into my pajamas, I opened the door to Deke’s bedroom area and I did it nervously.

I had to ask what I needed to ask.

But I couldn’t ask what I needed to ask.

I looked down the hall to see the trailer dark except for Deke illuminated by the television set he was standing in front of, his tall, man-bunned head nearly brushing the ceiling of the trailer.

He’d taken the opportunity of me behind closed door and he was back in his fleece shorts, bare chest, head turned, eyes to me.

Before I could open my mouth, the trailer went dark because Deke switched off the TV.

I watched his shadow lumber toward me.

I realized he wasn’t stopping so I moved out of the doorway just in time for him to move through it and catch me with an arm hooked at my waist.

That way, he shifted us both to the side of the bed. And with little effort and no coaxing, we both were in it.

Deke flicked the covers over us and pulled me in his arms.

Of course.

Deke being Deke, I didn’t even need to ask what I needed to ask.

“You’re right,” I told his bristly throat in the dark. “Rosalinda’s is jalapeño heaven.”

“Told you,” he muttered.

I’d discovered this that night when Tate, who was our night watchman, showed with Lauren, and his teenaged son, Jonas (a younger version of Tate, the resemblance was uncanny in a variety of ways, including the kid was a good kid, funny and confident to the point of cute because he was openly cocky).

They brought Rosalinda’s.

We’d eaten. We’d shot the shit. Lauren and Jonas left. Tate took watch.

Now it was bedtime.

I snuggled into Deke.

Deke cuddled me closer.

“So, is Jonas the most popular kid in school?” I asked.

“Don’t know. Not in high school anymore, gypsy,” Deke answered teasingly.

“I know that but you can still know.”

“He’s got a steady girl. She’s young but she’s pretty in that way you were probably pretty. That way you know she’ll always be pretty just doin’ it gettin’ prettier.”

I stared in stunned silence at his throat.

Deke didn’t notice.

“Jonas is a good-lookin’ kid. Smart. Good grades. Football player. Good at it, like his dad, and sayin’ that, Tate was in the NFL so Jonas is seriously fuckin’ good at it. And he landed that girl. So yeah, all that suggests he’s popular. The most popular, don’t know. Teenagers are fucked in the brain. Could be the most popular kid wears all black, has got more piercings in his nose than you got in your ears and wears eyeliner.”

“Uh, Tate was in the NFL?” I forced through a throat still clogged with the velvety cotton candy sweetness of his compliment.

“Blew out his knee early in his career. Became a cop. Then a bounty hunter, bar owner.”

“Interesting life path.”

“Best anyone can hope for. Either the contentment of knowin’ they’re right where they need to be, doin’ what they should be doin’ among the folk they should be with or takin’ a path that, least it could be is interesting, best it’s a goddamned kick in the ass.”

“That’s quite profound, Deke,” I told him the truth.

“It’s just real.”

“It should be a bumper sticker.”

I felt his body shake with laughter as he tucked me deeper under him.

“You feel like gettin’ up and writin’ that shit down?” he asked.

“Absolutely not,” I answered.

I felt his words stir the top of my hair when he murmured, “Me either.”

Okay.

Wait.

I did not just wake up terrified and needing his arms around me to take away the shakes, him being close to make me feel safe.