I make room for him on the blanket, and he sits.
“My friends and I used to get in the convertible or the car with the rusted-out roof and look at the stars. I’ve been meaning to ask why you haven’t had them removed. Seems kind of strange to keep a pile of junk cars on the property.”
“I don’t think it’s strange at all. It adds to the ambiance. Besides, there’s probably a story there. Maybe some of them were used to drag race on the airstrip back in the fifties.”
“Maybe some guy took his girlfriend in the convertible to a drive-in movie.”
“What if one of them was used by Bonnie and Clyde?”
We laugh as we come up with even more outrageous scenarios.
Eventually we stop talking, lie back, and gaze quietly at the stars. He’s so close, I can feel the hair on his arm. Part of me wants him to climb on top of me. Make love to me right here. Would it be like in the books I’ve been reading?
I turn and catch him staring. Not at the stars. At me.
“You don’t have to keep track of the food you eat anymore. I told you, it’s part of the deal.” When I’m silent, he continues. “Joe said you wrote something on your notepad after you took a muffin and drink.”
“Are you keeping tabs on me?”
“I simply want to be clear that you don’t owe me or the lodge anything. You’re doing a great job.”
“Thanks.”
“I wish I could pay you, but I can’t risk getting my uncle’s business in trouble. Are you sure we can’t make you an official employee?”
I sit up. “I like things the way they are.”
“But everyone needs money. For clothes if nothing else.”
“I’ve learned to make do with what I have.”
“You shouldn’t have to.” He sits up, too. “There’s a way for you to make a little money if you’re game.”
My jaw drops. I flashback to the first time someone said those words to me and start to rise. He pulls me back down, and I lose my balance and almost topple off the roof. He grabs me tightly, and we hunker down.
“Jesus, Devyn. You almost fell. You could have died.” He rolls off me and blows out a few breaths. “I swear, what I said came out the wrong way. What I meant is that ranches sometimes need more help than they can get from their employees, so they hire day laborers. They’re paid in cash. We keep a file for everyone who works, but you can fill out the form as Jane Doe for all we care. It’s up to you if you want to pay taxes on the money.”
“I don’t know. I’m a woman, and not a very strong one.”
“I’d beg to differ.” He points to the bruise under his eye. “Can you climb a ladder? Use a paintbrush?”
“Probably not very well.”
“We’re not painting the Sistine Chapel, Devyn. It’s a stable, and it pays twenty bucks an hour. Maddox needs everyone he can get to complete the job on time. We don’t have any guests booked at the lodge Monday through Wednesday. You could bank a lot of cash in that time.”
“You promise me this isn’t charity?”
I cross my heart. “I swear. Ask Maddox.”
I do the math in my head. Twenty dollars an hour over three days. That’s more money than I’ve seen since I worked at the supermarket. “I’ll do it, but I was sort of looking forward to meeting Reuben.”
“You want to learn how to ride?”
I nod and he smiles in the moonlight. I smile back. Fleeting glimpses of happiness. That’s what I get now, though I don’t deserve even that much.
Chapter Eleven
Aaron
The waitress brings drinks to our table. Quinn immediately throws back his shot and orders another. As always, I slowly sip my beer.
Twenty minutes later, my wingman is feeling pretty lively. “Want to see me rodeo tomorrow?”
“Watching you get your ass kicked by bucking broncs is not my idea of a good time.”
“I’m getting better. They don’t always kick my ass.”
“Yet you always seem to be battered and bruised.”
“The ladies love that shit. Seriously though, I stayed on the whole eight seconds last time.”
“And then you almost busted your ribs trying to get off him.”
He shrugs. “Nature of the beast, brother. Badges of honor.”
“You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days. I’d rather not lose another friend.”
He looks guilty for half a second, then shakes it off and takes another shot. “Dude—won’t happen.” He looks over my shoulder. “Those two,” he shouts over the band, pointing to a couple of petite blondes.
“Whatever you want, man.”
“What the hell is with you tonight?”
“Nothing, why?”
“Nothing, my right nut. You’ve usually propositioned half a dozen women by now. What gives?”
“You’ve usually propositioned that many,” I say. “I never need to ask more than one.”
He punches my right arm, and I laugh. Quinn and I never end the night alone. Even if we don’t go home with the women we pick up, we always end up doing something with them, whether it’s in someone’s car, in a back hallway of a club—hell, even the bathroom of an all-night diner.
The Dallas/Fort Worth area is pretty large, but it’s getting harder to find places populated by women Quinn hasn’t slept with. Me, not so much, because I was away at college most of the time. But Quinn—he’s been slapped, punched, and spit on. One girl even keyed the Ford F-150 his mom gave him for his twenty-fifth birthday. It’s not that he’s a dick; he just doesn’t like second dates. Some people would say that makes him a dick. I say it’s fair game as long as he’s clear about it up front, which he is.
I call them the next day. Even had a few second dates. None of them were anything to write home about. Most are too into drinking. That’s what I get for picking up women in a bar.
The blonde women see his inviting gesture and come over. The one with the plunging neckline holds out her hand to Quinn. “I’m Ashlyn.” The other one sidles up next to me. “I’m Raven.”
I peer sideways. “Devyn?”
“No, Raven,” she yells in my ear.
I introduce myself, wishing she was Devyn. It hits me like a ton of bricks. I don’t want some blonde I pick up in a club. Some perky sorority girl looking for an ego boost and a good time. I want the mysterious brown-haired, hazel-eyed woman who lies on the roof and stares at the stars. The one who has nothing but won’t accept a handout from anyone. The one who’s hiding—running even—from her past.
“Aaron?”
I stare blankly at Quinn and the others, who are waiting for me to say something. “Uh, what?”
“I was telling Raven what an entrepreneur you are,” he says with a wink.
It’s something we do. We talk each other up. Sometimes we make shit up, sometimes we don’t. Occasionally, I tell them he comes from a family of mobsters, which isn’t far from the truth. Makes him seem dangerous. Surprisingly, girls love that stuff.