I notice his sketch pad on the table, those three stupid toys he drags with him everywhere he goes, and in the corner there’s a large piece of wood that he’s in the process of carving, wood shavings littering the floor.
“Busy, busy, boy. Mother would’ve beaten me silly if she’d seen that mess.” I grin, slow and deliberate. “Good thing she’s worm food.”
I saunter over to the table and flip through pages of his drawings. I can’t draw worth shit. Luke’s always been the artist. I tilt my head and study the countless pleasant forest scenes, individual renderings of different trees, animals, leaves, and— “A fucking bunny, Luke?” I shake my head and flip through more when I come upon a page of different parts of a human face. A female face with . . . “Well fuck me runnin’, if it isn’t our little Shyann. You’re in deeper than I thought, brother.” I turn the page to find more sketches of her, her profile, jawline, lips, and—nice, her naked. “When your memory is working, it serves you well. Nice tits.”
I pick up a pencil and scribble my other half a note, then slam the book closed and move outside. Surveying the area, I drop to the top step of the porch. A whine sounds from just under my right foot.
“Good, dog. You stay hidden. Nothing can hurt you if you stay in the dark.” I lean back and my jeans pull tight between my legs. “Fuck, bitch left five minutes ago and I’m still hard.” A growl of frustration gurgles up from my chest.
That won’t do.
Looks like I’ll have to stick around for a while, take care of some of Luke’s basic needs while putting an end to this Shyann bullshit. When my work here is done, he won’t be thinking with his dick and I’ll have this Shyann bitch flushed out of his system. For good.
THIRTEEN
SHYANN
It’s after nine in the morning when I finally pull my truck—with, thanks to my dad, four brand-new tires, an oil change, and new air filter—into the lot at Jennings.
After my fight with Lucas, I had over an hour walk home to think about all that happened. I may have pushed too hard. He didn’t want to talk on the drive to Phoenix—I pushed. He didn’t feel comfortable eating tacos—I pushed. And Dead Man’s Drop . . . I shouldn’t have pushed him. After kicking through the water with a near-naked Lucas, then breaking down at my mom’s house, the way he held me . . . I suppose I let my hormones take the lead to my logic.
I spooked him, backed him into a corner until he was forced to push back.
But still. How quickly he swung from being almost mouselike to viper was scary. I shut off my truck and try not to think about how pathetic I looked in his arms, gazing up at him and begging that his lips find mine. Pushing him again.
I saw the look in his eyes when our lips were just a breath apart. He was scared. I pushed. His rejection stung, but it’s what I needed.
I have better, more important things to focus on. Spending the day with Lucas and seeing Mom’s old place totally derailed my plans. I didn’t think about moving or my mental to-do list once. Typical girl easily swayed by an impressive chest and a pretty face. I give myself an internal shake.
Back on track.
Save money. Move the hell out of Payson, this time for good.
“Mornin’, Dad!” I drop my purse off at my desk and hear the ruffle of his newspaper.
“Guess you slept in?”
I pour myself a cup of black coffee and dump in a ton of sugar to make it high octane. “Yeah. Didn’t sleep well last night.” Replaying every second of my day with Lucas trying to pinpoint where it all went wrong makes for a lousy sleep aid.
Dammit! So much for my self-imposed ban of all things Lucas.
“I’ll be out most of the day. Things should be pretty slow around here, so if you want to forward the calls, I can find something for you to do at the job site.”
No thank you. “Oh, um . . . I’m sure I’ll be able to keep myself busy here.”
Age and sore muscles have him groaning as he pushes up from his rolling chair. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I have a lot of . . . organizing I can do.” I take a sip of the bitter hot coffee, hiding behind the cup.
“Suit yourself. Get bored give me a call.” He shoves his cell into his pocket and snags his keys off the hook I hung on his wall so he’d quit losing them. “Oh, that reminds me . . . Sam called.”
“Oh.” I wave my cell phone before plugging it into the charger. “My battery died.”
He leans a shoulder to the wall in front of me. “You working at Pistol Pete’s?”
I shrug. “Just picking up some weekend shifts here and there if they’re short staffed.”
Disappointment shadows his eyes, but he nods. “Sounds good. Guess this weekend they need your help.”
I try not to show how happy that little piece of information makes me. After all, every opportunity to work is one step closer to getting out of here.
“See ya.” He scoops his tool belt off another hook I put in for that specific reason and leaves.
More time alone with my thoughts. This is good.