But really . . . I’ve done everything I can to dissolve this unexplainable strain between us, but he refuses to let it go. I don’t expect him to kiss my ass, but it would be nice if he made a little effort to engage. He’s one of those quiet artsy types, antisocial and awkward, but still! I can tell he forces himself to talk to me and even that is giving me the bare minimum. What pisses me off is why I even care.
Whatever. He can have his tortured and brooding artist bullshit.
“Why do they call you Shy?”
I glare at him and have to remind myself that he didn’t do anything wrong, so sending him the death stare probably isn’t cool on my part. “Because it’s my name.” Duh.
“Hmm.” His thoughtful eyes scan the horizon.
I go back to watching the scenery.
“But you’re not shy.”
“No. I’m not.” I sigh heavily. “My mother’s name was Annika. In Native American culture, you name your child after they’re born and according to who they are, how they act, or what they look like. The Ann was taken from my mom’s name, and my grandfather believes by naming me Shy I was cursed to be the opposite.”
He makes a sound, somewhere between a chuckle and a huff.
“My middle name is Blue Eyes.” I motion to my eyes. “Obviously. It’s a little much so I dropped the ‘Eyes’ and go by Shyann Blue.”
He smiles. It’s subtle but warm.
“If you think that’s bad, my brother’s name is worse. My dad named him Cody. My mom gave my brother his middle name. Shilah.”
“What does it mean?”
“It’s brother in Navajo. His name is Cody Brother Jennings.” A snort of laughter brings Lucas’s eyes to mine. “You must think we’re crazy.”
“No.” He looks uneasy and pulls his hat lower to shield his eyes. “You miss her.”
The way he says it, his words dripping in a childlike fascination as if he wants to understand me, makes me want to pour out my deepest darkest secrets. “Sometimes so bad I can’t breathe.”
“I can tell. I hear it in your voice when you talk about her.”
I wish I remembered more. As much as I scramble to recall the simple things like the way her hands looked after a morning in the garden or the way her arms felt when she’d hug me, they slip through my fingers as soon as I bring them close. But I’ll never forget the softness that would touch my dad’s face when he looked at her. Nor will I forget the look on his face when he watched her take her final breath, and certainly not the expression he wore when he stared at her, seated at her bedside for hours after she died.
Even worse is what she looked like, her brittle hands curled up against her rib cage, paler than the sheet covering her emaciated body, her eyes slightly opened, lips parted, totally void of life. Of spirit.
My eyes burn and frustration rolls through me. Why does every positive memory I have morph into something ugly? I can’t have one thought of her without it leading to her death.
Irritation at being robbed of good memories makes me want to jump out of my skin.
A blue sign comes into view in the distance. That’s exactly what I need. I’m sure Lucas will hate it, but right now I don’t give a fuck; I just want the pain to go away.
I point to the sign. “Turn off there. I need to do something. It’ll only take a second.”
LUCAS
That was too close.
When she asked me about what I did before I moved to Payson, darkness flickered at the edge of my vision. Stuck in the truck, I couldn’t run, so I turned the focus on her and asked about her name. But learning about Shyann is a double-edged sword because the more I learn, the more I want to know.
Now I’m in foreign territory.
The sign ahead says DEAD MAN’S DROP.
We’re forty-five minutes between Payson and Phoenix with nothing around for miles and she wants to make a quick stop at Dead Man’s Drop?
“We told Mr. Jennings—”
“I know.” Her words snap with impatience. “We’ll get there fifteen minutes later than planned and we’ve made good time so far. I don’t think it’ll be a big deal.”
“I—”
“Please,” she whispers, her eyes cast out the window.
I flip on the blinker and take the exit.
“Thank you.” She points. “Right, then follow the dirt road. I’ll tell you where to stop.”
I do what she asks and after five miles, she motions for me to pull over. Before the truck comes to a complete stop, she’s out and charging through the thick brush of forest. I lock up and chase after her. Losing the boss’s daughter in the woods seems like a sure way to get myself fired, if not killed.
Luckily she’s stomping, so following the sound of crunching underbrush makes it easy to find her. I keep a good distance and hope she knows where she’s going and how to get back because I’m not paying attention to anything but avoiding the swing of her hips and her tight jeans.
After a few minutes I see a flash of green from the corner of my eye, like fabric being thrown. When I peer up, I stumble hard over a rock and catch myself on a tree to gawk at the view before me.
Shyann has removed her shirt and is standing in a black bra and jeans while hopping on one foot to remove her boot.
She’s getting naked.
I blink to the dirt floor and force my eyes to stay put.