I wave goodbye to my brother and his family and go inside to eat yet another dinner by myself.
I'm workingfrom a list Dakota texted me last night. And I'm still on the first task.
General cleanup.
It's hard to know what's salvageable on the Circle B because everything needs attention. Everywhere I look there's some form of debris. Fallen branches, pine straw, pine cones, trash from parties past, even shit I'm guessing was left by the movie people. Dakota told me someone came to check on the property every so often, and it looks to me they did a half-ass job.
I'm here and ready to work with a giant paper to-go cup of coffee from the diner, an even bigger bottle of water, and at this exact moment I'm pretty damn grateful I thought to grab my work gloves. At this point I have a decent pile going, trying to consolidate as much of the stuff I identify as trash. I'm sure Jo's opinion on what's trash isn't totally the same as mine, but she's not here to direct me, so I'm doing the best I can on my own. I stick my earbuds in and get to work.
It doesn't take long for the sun to burn off the cool midmorning air. Sweat streams down my back, and since nobody is out here except me and the two blue jays I spotted thirty minutes ago, I take off my shirt and tuck it into my back pocket.
The work is hard, honestly a little harder than I'm used to. On my family's ranch I stick to jobs that have to do with horses, and that doesn't include cleaning stalls. That chore goes to the lowest man on the roster, and in the summers we hire a high school kid looking to earn some money.
So this? This is hard work. All because I was going to help Sara and Mickey. In hindsight, I should've walked to their house. Or jogged, actually, to get there in time. I saw Sara in town yesterday after I left Mrs. Calhoun’s. She was carrying groceries, bogged down by how many she was trying to carry at once. I pulled into an open spot and took a few bags off her hands, and her long sleeve rode up just enough that I saw the new bruise on her wrist. My presence could've protected her, that's for damn sure.
I know something more needs to be done, I just don't know what. If I step aside, if I involve the police when I know Sara won't, that'll be it for Mickey. The state can press charges all on their own, they don't even need Sara to do it. If they see evidence of abuse, it's game over. I'd hate to see that happen, but I'm afraid that's the road they're headed down.
Surprisingly, this hard work is good for me. My muscles are screaming, but I like it. I break only to drink from my water. I finished the coffee an hour ago. As much as I'm actually enjoying the labor, I'll have to quit soon. I'm almost out of water.
I'm bending down, trying to pry two old boards apart, when I hear it. A crash, a scream, coming from the trailer three hundred feet away. I run toward it, completely confused, not understanding how such a thing could even happen when I thought it was deserted out here. Jo comes tearing out from the trailer, hair whipping her face.
She runs straight for me, then realizes it's me and skids to a stop. "What are you doing here?" she demands.
"Working. What the fuck happened in there?" I look over her shoulder toward the trailer, but all appears to be in order. No chainsaw-wielding madman chasing after her.
She wipes a hand over her forehead, where tiny beads of sweat have accumulated in her hairline, and ignores my question. "You're working? I haven't even told you what to do."
Wow. Jo really thinks I'm an idiot. Looking around here and figuring out where to start isn't exactly rocket science. Plus, you know, I had a list. "I'm a self-starter."
Jo frowns. Not shocking, considering that seems to be all I make her do.
I drop the act. "Dakota gave me a small list. Asked me if I could help you."
Jo's frown deepens. "So now you're a Good Samaritan? You get to come out of this smelling like roses, acting like you're helping me out of the goodness of your heart, when you're actually avoiding a DUI?"
The muscles in my neck and upper back coil. "You know."
She sighs and stabs dead grass with the toe of her sandal. "Shelby is my roommate."
I scratch an itch on my chest, and it isn't until my fingers meet bare skin that I remember I'm shirtless. I stand up a little taller, knowing it makes my muscles swell. It's not that I'm trying to impress Jo, but I'm not trying tonotimpress her either. "There's probably something she signed somewhere about not telling people certain aspects of her job."
Jo shrugs. I bet she wouldn't be so cavalier if it was her private business being shared. "It's a small town. Word will get around eventually. It always does, Wyatt."
A small shiver curls around my spine. "You said my name."
"So?"
"It's the first time you've said my name since the sheriff called us in."
"Do you have a point?"
"Maybe you like me after all."
Her chin lifts, eyes blazing. "Don't count on it."
I look back at the trailer. "How long have you been here?"
"A few hours. I've been listening to music and researching. You?"
