“Come on,” Greg muttered beside me. “We’ve been working since dawn. Can’t he find someone else to play volunteer?”
Larry shot him a warning look. “You want to take that complaint to Pete directly? Be my guest.”
Greg immediately shut up, and I couldn’t blame him. None of us wanted to draw Pete’s attention these days. He’d been on a hair trigger since his confrontation with Evelyn, looking for any excuse to send one of us back to prison. Sam had been the first casualty, but we all knew he wouldn’t be the last if Pete had his way.
“When do we need to be there?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral despite my racing thoughts. Church meant town. Town meant the possibility of seeing Ryder.
“Now,” Larry said, checking his watch. “Pastor John’s expecting us in twenty minutes. So load up.”
We piled into the back of the ranch truck, a dusty old Ford that had seen better days. I wedged myself between Darius and Joey, my mind spinning with possibilities. I hadn’t seen Ryder in over a week, not since our day at the cabin. We’d managed to exchange a few notes through Evelyn, but it wasn’t enough. And I missed him with an intensity that scared me.
As we bumped along the dirt road toward town, I fingered the key that still hung around my neck, hidden beneath my shirt. I’d taken to wearing it all the time, a constant reminder of what was waiting for me when my parole ended. Just a little under four months left. It felt like an eternity.
“You think they’ll feed us?” Joey asked, breaking the silence. “Church ladies always have good food.”
“If you’re lucky,” Larry called back from the driver’s seat. “But we’re there to work, not eat.”
The drive into Hell Creek took about fifteen minutes. As we passed through the small downtown, I couldn’t help scanning the sidewalks and storefronts, hoping for a glimpse of strawberry blond hair. But there was no sign of Ryder.
We pulled up to the small white church at the edge of town. Its wooden steeple reached toward the clear blue sky, a picture-perfect small-town scene. Tables had been set up on the lawn,and a few older women were already sorting through boxes of donations.
“Ah, here they are!” Pastor John called, waving as we climbed out of the truck. He was a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a genuine smile, one of the few people in town who treated us parolees like actual human beings. “Thank you all for coming to help.”
“Pete’s orders,” Larry said, shaking the pastor’s hand.
“Well, I think you’ll earn some heaven points either way,” the pastor chuckled. “We’re just glad to have some muscle around here. I’m afraid the usual volunteers are geriatric and not much help setting up tents.”
I looked around at the church lawn, taking in the scene. Several elderly women were bustling about, organizing piles of clothing and household items on folding tables. A few men were struggling with a large canvas tent that kept collapsing on one side. The whole setup looked like organized chaos.
“We’ve got tents to raise, tables to arrange, and boxes to carry from the basement,” Pastor John explained, gesturing toward the church. “Mrs. Wilkins has been collecting donations all year, and I’m afraid they’ve taken over our Sunday school rooms.”
Larry divided us up quickly, sending Joey and Darius to help with the tents while Greg and Kyle were assigned to table duty. I got stuck with basement detail, which meant hauling boxes up a narrow staircase for the next few hours.
“Connor, you head down with Pastor John,” Larry instructed. “And remember, best behavior. This is a church and Pete doesn’t like to look bad in front of the only deity that might forgive him for what he’s done.”
I nodded and followed the pastor through the side door of the church. The basement was cool and dimly lit, with concrete floors and walls lined with metal shelving. And true to his word,it was packed with cardboard boxes, plastic bins, and garbage bags full of donations.
“We’ve been blessed with generous parishioners this year,” Pastor John said with a smile that didn’t quite hide his exhaustion. “Though perhaps too generous.”
I let out a low whistle. This was going to take all damn day.
I got to work, creating a relay system where Pastor John pointed out which boxes needed to go up first and I carried them up to the lawn where they were passed off to others. The rhythm of the work was almost meditative, and I found my mind wandering to Ryder. Was he working at Nelson Ranch today? Had he thought about me as much as I’d thought about him?
I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost didn’t register the voices drifting down from the top of the stairs.
“...just need to drop these off for the sale. Cole insisted.”
My head snapped up at the familiar voice. Ryder. He was here.
“Of course, dear,” an elderly woman replied. “Just bring them down to the basement. The boys are sorting things there.”
I froze, a box of old kitchen appliances suspended in my arms. My heart hammered in my chest as footsteps approached the stairs. Then he appeared, backing down carefully with a large box in his arms, completely unaware of my presence.
He was wearing a faded blue T-shirt that hugged his shoulders, his strawberry blond hair slightly longer than when I’d last seen him. The sight of him sent a jolt through my system that was equal parts joy and panic. What if someone saw us together?
“Ryder,” I said softly, unable to stop myself.
He turned so quickly he almost lost his grip on the box. His green eyes widened, a flash of surprise followed immediately by a smile that lit up his entire face.
