“You know her?” Manny asked. There was a rush of heat and he nearly lost his breath.
“Yeah, of course, everyone knows everyone around here. What about you? Just passing through, or . . . ?” He was so swept away by the good news that her innuendo took a moment to sink in. She could be helpful, this one. He’d indulge her.
Manny slid his hand next to Sandy’s and rubbed her pinkie with his. “Do you know where she lives, sweetheart?”
Sandy pulled her hand back self-consciously and looked down, smiling. “She lives just down the road—I can show you, if you like.”
A calm befell him. “No, darlin’, just point me in the right direction. I’ll find my way.”
She looked disappointed as she walked around the counter and led him to the window. “Just down that road a mile or so. Little white farmhouse, chicken coop in the yard. Can’t miss it.”
“I hope I’ll be seeing you soon,” he said and dusted her marshmallow soft hand with his lips. “It’s always good to have a friend in town.”
Chapter Six
Kit stood at the kitchen counter, stapling some chicken wire to a wooden frame. A raccoon had muscled loose the henhouse door, and while it hadn’t hurt the chickens, all the eggs were gone. Charlie sat cross-legged in an antique chair by the window, filing the knees of her jeans until they frayed. Kit had already yelled at her for ruining perfectly good pants and said that she would have to pay for the next pair herself, but today she let it be. Charlie had been surprisingly helpful at the vet’s, and the hard work had seemed to chill her out a bit. Kit was enjoying the little stretch of ceasefire between them, certain it would be brief.
“Who’s that man?” Charlie called from her perch at the window.
Kit went to the window, but whoever it was stood out of view. She hoped it wasn’t some fallout from the pencil incident. Sugar Faye’s husband worked in oil and probably had a hotshot lawyer in Houston that could take her for every cent, but that didn’t seem like Sugar’s style. It was more likely she’d bring over some guilt cookies and try again to get Kit to atone.
Kit was trying to decide which was worse when she heard the man’s footsteps on the creaky stairs and a knockety knock at the door.
Outside the house, Manny popped a lemon candy he’d taken from the diner and crushed it between his teeth. He buffed his dusty boots on his calves and tucked in his shirt. It was fortunate he had been able to satisfy his hunger and clear his head with the long walk. It helped to settle the urges, the pesky lashes of desire. He had longed for her in prison, and defiled her in many ways, for which he had repented. Even now, he thought he could smell her, woodsy and bitter, gamy . . . But he was a godlier man, cleansed and polished to a comely glow. The canopy of pecan trees rustled above him, filtering the last of the light of day, and he felt just fine as he ascended the front steps and knocked. The day had come, and he was ready for her.
Kit opened the door a crack to see who had come to bother her. There was a man standing there, tall and fit, but she couldn’t make out his face. The western sun hung low and lit him in silhouette from behind. Was it a drifter looking for work? She felt above the doorframe to make sure her gun was there if she needed it, and it was. Cool and loaded.
“What do you want, mister?” she said, her voice husky and bored. She heard him chuckle softly and clear his throat. She bristled at the sound but couldn’t place it. She flipped on the porch light.
“Hello, Kit,” he said.
Before her brain could register, her nerves fired all at once on high voltage. There stood Manny. Older, his physique severe and sinewy, handsome as ever. Blue eyes glinted under smiling lids. He wore a checked button-down and old jeans with the waist cinched to keep them up. The same clothes he wore on that last day. Kit realized she had stopped breathing and inhaled fast. She said nothing, for no words came to mind. Only a violent clash of fear and longing. In one vessel were all the qualities she had loved: the confidence, the caring, the crisp attention that made her feel singular in a room, when all she’d ever felt was invisible. Yet she could not forget he was all she hated, too. He was calculating, selfish, and he had a capacity to deceive like no one she had ever met.
Manny’s expression was soft, gentle. “Forgive me for popping up like this . . .” His voice trailed, but his gaze stayed with Kit, steady and probing. “I only just got let out and had to come see you,” he said. His eyes dropped, and with his middle finger he strummed the mesh on the screen door between them. “I won’t stay long, just hoped you’d allow me to say a few things one of these days when you’re ready. I’ve had a lot on my mind. I’ll be staying at the Big Sky Motel off the interstate, not five miles away. I won’t call on you again, but if you’d like to talk you can find me there. I live honestly now, Kit.” He seemed to be waiting for a response, but what could she offer? She could scarcely trust her senses that it was really him, let alone make sense of the information. It felt as though the walls around her had become brittle and thin, that the whole house could fold in on her. Whatever sense of safety she had scraped together over the years vanished.
He cocked his head and a dark wing of hair swept over one eye. He tucked it behind his right ear. “You don’t have to fret, Kitty,” he said and smiled with sympathetic, upturned brows. “Though I won’t blame you if you do.”
Her body was frozen, but her mind roiled like a thousand rats. She couldn’t make sense of this Manny. How neatly she had tucked him away in a box and left him, untouched, except when he emerged in her dreams. She remembered the article she’d read, how he’d taken the blame for their crimes. Did he think that had settled the score? How would he collect the debt? And what did he really want from her? A cold sweat slicked across her forehead and the back of her neck as she thought of Charlie.
“You’re gonna have to get on out of here” was all she could say and she toed the door shut with her boot, locked it twice.
“Fair enough, Kit,” he called out. “You know where to find me.” Then he turned and left, scuffing his boots in the oyster shell driveway, humming a gospel hymn.
“Who was that?” Charlie’s voice sounded sweet, but taunting.
I have no idea. Kit knew she seemed shaken. She searched for words but hadn’t the means to form a sentence, no less lie convincingly. She filled a glass with water from the tap, the tinge of sulfur from their well strangely soothing.
“Used to be a friend.” It was the best she could do for now. She hoped it would satisfy Charlie at least until she could think of something more convincing.
“You don’t have any friends,” Charlie said, arms folded, looking like she smelled a story. She wasn’t going to let this go.
“He’s not a nice man,” Kit added, falsely absorbed in a scab on her elbow.