We’d had a few expeditions like that, and then they came to a screeching halt. Bud and I had tried to figure out what was going on, and got some information from a kid at school whose dad was also a rancher.
Something about someone owing the other guy money.
To our adolescent minds, it seemed silly. If someone owed money, why didn’t they just pay? But we were too young to understand the nuances of business agreements and the egos of alpha men. All we knew was that riding with Mr. Maxwell was over, and my babysitting jobs were too. We’d hoped our own dad would take up the slack. When we initially asked him, he was interested. Excited, even. But when it came down to it, he never had the time.
After that, Dad spoke about Mr. Maxwell as if he were the devil incarnate. Naturally, I’d assumed everything he said was fact. Why would I think otherwise?
He was a bad man, and I was never to go near his house or children again.
So, Mr. Maxwell’s—I mean Roman’s—offer to let me crash was a mind-blowingly kind gesture. Of course, if he hadn’t offered, I would have just hidden my car behind the old barn and sneaked into one of the bunkhouses like I did when I was a kid, and leave the next morning before he’d noticed.
Having my old room sure beat the hell out of that option.
I looked around, marveling how everything in my room was exactly as I’d left it. It was cool and creepy at the same time. I was happy—actually, thrilled—for something familiar and comfortable, but it was also like entering a time capsule filled with my old high school bedspread, pennants from all the colleges I’d applied to, and even my old Avon perfume bottles.
All sold to Roman Maxwell. How fucked was that?
My mother was famous for never throwing anything out. Which made it all the more strange that she and my dad had packed up and left. How does someone who’s a borderline hoarder walk away from all their shit?
There was a soft knock on my door. “Ruby Lee,” Mary called quietly.
I shoved the vibrator, which for some reason I was still holding, under my bed. “Come on in.”
She poked her head through a crack in the door. “Hey, honey. I wanted to bring you some clean sheets, and also a sandwich in case you’re hungry before I head home.”
Well, shit. Now my eyes were filling again.
“Thank you, Mary,” I said in a cracking voice.
What a freaking godsend she was.
She took a seat next to me, the bed creaking. It had never been a very good bed, my brother having taken it off a friend’s hands, but I’d been thrilled at the time to graduate from my childish twin. In fact, I was so excited it probably wouldn’t have mattered if it had freaking bed bugs.
“Guess you’ve had quite the day, huh?” she said.
I’d forgotten how starving I’d been until I took a bite of the sandwich.
I nodded. “Crazy stuff, Mary. But how lucky am I that you’re still here? And look at my room, with everything still intact. It’s really nice of Mr. Maxwell—I mean, Roman—to let me crash. Although I can’t freaking believe my parents sold this all to him.”
She stood to go. “Your parents thought you didn’t want it. You’d been gone so long. And Roman is a good man, Ruby Lee. He’d never turn you out.”
I winced. “Ruby. Please,” I reminded her.
She fake-smacked her forehead. “Ruby. It may take me a couple tries to get it. Don’t hesitate to remind me if I slip.”
I jumped up to hug her. “Thank you, Mary. Thank you for everything. I’m so happy you’re still here. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie. Get some sleep. I’ll be back in the morning. And try not to blow a fuse with that damn… electric thing of yours.”
She laughed all the way down the stairs.
Next day, I drove the few miles to town to see how much the place had changed, and whether if I might find a little apartment or cottage for rent.
Roman hadn’t been kidding about the hotel having burned. I pulled my car over on the opposite side of the street to take a good look and found that all that was left was the brick façade and remnants of the fireplace that had lent the creaky old place some charm. It had been a cool building, definitely old school and quirky, and according to some, haunted.
And just as Roman had said, the Flood Creek Saloon, right next door, was unscathed. It looked just as dumpy as it ever had, but bore no signs of having been touched by the fire.
It was a miracle, that one old wooden building would burn and the one next to it remain intact.
I kept driving until I reached the grocery store, which I knew had apartments above it.
“Do you know who rents the places upstairs?” I asked a gum-snapping woman at the check out.
She pushed her shaggy mullet behind her ears and pointed to herself. “Yup. I do. You want to see the one I have vacant?”
Hope surged through me, and it felt damn good considering the devastation of finding out my parents had bailed on the ranch.
“Do you have short term leases?” I asked.
She looked me up and down. Ranching towns got a lot of drifters.
But did I look like a drifter?
“Sure do,” she said.
“Okay. I’d like to see what you have.”
She waved at one of her coworkers to take her place and grabbed keys out of a drawer. “Follow me.”
We walked outside the grocery and up an exterior set of stairs to a long hallway reminding me of the Motel 6 I’d stayed at during my cross-country drive. Except, the Motel 6 had been nicer.
There were flies buzzing around an unfinished fast-food burger left on the top stair, and cigarette butts scattered outside several doors. The woman took no notice of it besides stepping over them.
“Here we go,” she said, putting one of the keys on her lanyard into the flimsy lock on number eight.
I should have just left right then, but my options were limited, if not non-existent. I flicked on a light switch, illuminating a bare bulb that hardly made a difference in a dim room smelling slightly of stale cigarettes and cat pee.
Careful not to touch anything, I walked over to the kitchen. The counters were covered in mouse poop.
Was she fucking kidding?
And what about me? Was I fucking kidding? Was this what life had in store for me? Cigarette butts and mouse crap?
And I’d thought New York was tough.
On the verge of gagging, I darted for the door, and just before I passed through it, the woman held her hands up, confused.
“Where ya going? Isn’t it cute?”
Oh, where to start. “I’m not big on mouse poop. And urine smells. But thanks.”
She waved her hand. “Oh, that cleans up real easy. Every tenant just comes in and makes the place their own. You know what I mean?”
“Neato. I’ll think about it,” I called over my shoulder as I ran to the stairs.
Stepping over the unfinished burger.
6
RUBY
When I was back in my car, I took long, slow breaths to calm my racing pulse. Was that the best Flood Creek had to offer? If so, I was screwed. Royally screwed.
And speaking of being screwed, a big, black pickup truck had pulled up to the light across the intersection from where I sat in my parked car.