Reclaimed (21 page)

The day had given way to a cold night by the time they pulled into Suzanna’s drive. She’d slid into the passenger’s seat while Paul talked to Rodney, her shoulders achy from tension. Driving Paul’s truck with his horses in tow had been nerve wracking. She didn’t want to take on the fifteen miles of dirt road.

She’d had a hard time keeping her eyes open after Paul turned off the pavement. He must be tired too. He looked it. His eyes had lost their mischievous glint, and though his mouth still curved upward, his smile looked thin.

Well, he’d earned his exhaustion. She had no idea what the rest of his week had looked like, but if he worked as hard every day as they had today, he was overdue for a nap.

Suzanna rubbed the muscle in her thigh and was rewarded with dull pain. Both legs ached. And her arms and her back. Oh, and let’s not even think about her backside. She wasn’t sure she could walk from her drive into the house. She glanced back at Paul as he threw the truck into
park
. Her imagination ran through a quick scenario of her asking for a piggyback ride, and Paul hauling her into the house in his arms instead.

Heat rushed into her face. She’d keep her tender backside to herself. Sheesh. What was wrong with her?

Paul left the truck, still as agile as an eighteen-year-old. Suzanna pushed her door open but didn’t make it to the dirt before he was at her side. She couldn’t help but lean into the hand that cupped her elbow, and a groan escaped before she could cap it.

“Sore?” He shifted so one hand slid around her waist.

Suzanna cast her eyes upward, certain her face was flaming. “Don’t ask.”

His laugh moved through his chest, which brushed against her shoulder. “We all are, Pickle. It was a day.”

He guided her forward, and she was more thankful with each muscle-screaming step that he held her upright.

“You’re still walking like a biped,” she said.

Paul laughed again. “I ride just about every day. Certain anatomy is a little more accustomed to use, but if it makes you feel any better, my calves are burning something awful. Trudging through the mud is hard work.”

He released her so she could unlock her side door, and Suzanna suddenly wished the trek were a little longer. She pushed open the steel door and reached inside the entry to flip on the outdoor light. A yellow glow flooded her yard. She blinked, trying to understand what had just been illuminated.

Trash. Everywhere. Garbage littered the grass, the sidewalk to the front door and the small flower bed she’d kept weeded. Soreness aside, she jolted straight.

“What on earth …?” Paul said.

It took about three seconds to do the math.

“Chuck,” she hissed.

Suzanna walked into the yard, tight muscles hobbling her gait. The garbage was hers. She recognized the yogurt cups and dinner-for-one microwave meals.

Paul followed, alarm painting his voice. “Maybe coons, Suz.”

“No.” She marched, as well as her tender legs would let her, to the trash bin on the other side of the house. “I keep it locked. Daddy told me once about coons getting into the trash, so I always make sure I’ve got it closed up.”

Coming to the cage her dad had set up for the garbage, Suzanna picked up the chain that should have held the door secure. The carabiner hung at the end of it without any sign of damage. The slide lock had been opened. The whole process required more intelligence and dexterity than even a raccoon was known to have.

Chuck did this. Just like he’d sent a rock through her window. He did it, and she’d had enough.

Suzanna spun on her heel and set off for the front yard again, scooping trash up along the way. She snagged a half-torn Hefty bag and began stuffing it with the unsavory mess. Without a word, Paul followed suit, finding his own ripped bag.

When she’d packed as much as her sack could hold, she marched toward the garage, stomping across the drive.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Paul dropped the trash and jogged to catch up. “What are you doing?”

“Going to return the favor.” She kept her pace, tossing her reply over her shoulder.

Paul caught her from behind with one arm wrapped around her waist. “No, you’re not.”

She pushed his hand, but his fingers gripped the fabric of her jacket.

“Let me go.”

“Suzanna, don’t do this.” His mouth dropped close to her ear. “We’ll clean it up, and I’ll talk to Jude. Don’t seek your own revenge.”

“Jude?” She spun to face him, anger setting her voice hot. “Jude Gilroy did absolutely nothing about my window. Nothing! I’m not so completely ignorant that I can’t figure why. And do you know what they’re saying about me in town?”

Paul caught her shoulders with both hands. “I know, Suzanna, I know, but you can’t retaliate. It won’t end there, and this will continue to get worse.”

“It
is
worse.” She forced the burning tears to stay out of sight. Why was Paul so calm?

Because it didn’t affect him. He’d go home tonight and crash in his safe little house, secure knowing the people in town liked him just fine, and nobody was trying to run him off his land. He didn’t understand.

“I’m through with the small town politics.” She jerked her shoulder free from his palm. “I’m not going to be liked here. For whatever reason, the people of Rock Creek have decided I’m unacceptable. Why should I play nice with people who are so mean?”

Paul pulled her back. “Not everyone in Rock Creek, Suz. Just Chuck, mostly. His lies will surface sooner or later, and if you’ve behaved well in spite of his harassment, you’ll come out clean. Just give it a little more time.”

Those blue eyes, full of earnest concern, took her captive and removed the heat from her boiling rage. Suzanna swallowed, dropping her gaze to stare at his chest. Daddy would preach forgiveness. Mother would fly into a nasty fit. Who did she want to resemble most?

Paul shifted and took the trash bag from her hands. “I’ll talk with Jude face-to-face. Let me take care of it, okay?”

Her fingers uncurled from the plastic. Having Paul talk with Gilroy again wasn’t going to fix anything, but disappointing him, going against his judgment, felt foolish. No, it felt impossible. She could endure Chuck’s antics. Live through the townsfolk’s cold treatment. But to fall short in Paul’s opinion? Wasn’t going to happen. Not if she could help it.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“That’s it?” Paul’s pulse pounded in his forehead. “Jude, you’re not trying. You and I both know who did this. He’s not even denying it.” He turned to Chuck, his fists balling at his sides.              

Chuck dropped his boots off his desk, his smirk tempting Paul to violence.

“You’re getting a little too wound up about this, Rustin.” Chuck sauntered next to Gilroy and placed a large hand on the sheriff’s neck. “Just harmless pranks, boy. That’s all. Didn’t need to drag Jude’s uniform in here to make a big fuss. No harm done. Right, Gilroy?”

Jude ducked his eyes for a half a second. Cornered. The man was stuck. How had Chuck managed to position every man of influence directly in his back pocket?

“It’s not worth the paperwork, Paul. They were just pranks, and nobody got hurt”—he glanced up at Chuck—“and it ends here, right?”

“Just pranks?” Paul stepped forward and focused his scowl on Jude. “She had to replace a window, and she’s scared. That’s all harmless?”

Chuck moved as though he were guarding Jude, protecting his investment. “I recall the three of us pulling all sorts of shenanigans back in the day. Nothing ever came of it. Let it roll, boy. You’ve let that woman get you wound up too tight.”

“Nothing ever came of it for
you
, Chuck. I spent the night in jail the time we shattered the windows at the old factory.”

Chuck shrugged. “Your old man could have bailed you out, same as ours.”

“Might have done you some good if your daddy hadn’t been so worried about his political image.” Paul crossed his arms. “Actions have consequences, Chuck. You’d think that after a couple of decades you’d have that figured out.”

Gilroy’s cell phone beeped. “Listen, boys, I’ve got a day ahead of me. I don’t want to hear anymore about this.” His eyes darted from one man to the other.

Chuck raised an eyebrow as though he’d just been challenged. Oh good grief. He was like a little boy on the playground telling everyone that the swing was his. Gilroy took the call and scurried out of Chuck’s office, a pathetic look of relief smoothing his expression.

Maybe he should have let Suzanna trash Stanton’s yard. Civility was going nowhere.

“Seems to me you’re really not understanding this whole situation, Rustin.”

Paul turned his attention back to Chuck, his hands dropping to his hips.

“Line’s been drawn, and you’re standing on the wrong side.” Chuck narrowed the space. “I’d think real careful about where I leave my boot prints.”

“As I recall, we already had this conversation, Chuck. Your spineless antics haven’t changed my mind.”

Chuck grunted. “Just wanted to make sure you remembered that talk”—he squinted and folded his arms over his chest—“because I haven’t forgotten it. Let me make this real clear. I can make life pretty dang miserable when people stand in my way. And little Miss Priss is in dead center of that path. I won’t have it.”

“What is your deal with that? It’s a piece of dirt, Chuck. A little bit of ground that never belonged to you, to any of your family or even to a close friend. Why are you so crazy over this?”

“That woman doesn’t belong here. I’m sick of Colorado money coming in and claiming things they have no right to claim. They turbocharge inflation and fling their money around like they’re better than everyone else. She’s an outsider, and she’ll always be an outsider. It’s just that dadgum simple.”

Paul shook his head. “That’s not it at all.”

Chuck cocked an eyebrow. “No?”

“Nope. You don’t think that deep. She told you no, and you can’t stand it.”

A flash of heat sparked in Chuck’s eyes. Bull’s-eye.

“You’re just a ten-year-old bully, Stanton. You may have the ears of everyone in this town, but it won’t be long until everyone sees you for who you really are.”

Paul pivoted on one boot and set off toward the exit. Chuck’s voice, low and cold, stopped him at the door.

“One way or another, I’ll get that woman out of Rock Creek, Rustin.”

Paul glanced over his shoulder. “You’ll have to go through me first.”

Chuck nodded, his smirk resurfacing. “You’ve been warned.”

Paul hadn’t skipped Bible class since… well, he wasn’t sure since when. But Suzanna didn’t typically go, and he wanted to be sure she didn’t walk through those church doors alone. He read through Matthew chapter twelve over coffee until it was time to leave for the service.

He slowed his pickup before he reached the creek, pulling off the shoulder at the tree line. He could see Suzanna’s garage from that position, but unless she was really looking, she wouldn’t be able to see him. Pulling at his collar, he tried to smother unease. He felt like a sneak… or some creepy old man, spying on his beautiful neighbor. Following her. But shielding her took priority over dignity.

By now, loose lips were flapping like a slack tarp in the wind. He couldn’t let her walk into the shunning alone.

Paul gripped the steering wheel, and his shoulders tightened. Dad-gum-it, Chuck. Not only was his heart rotten, his timing was cruel. It’d been years since Paul had met a woman he was interested in. Interested? Well, that was an understatement. He was pretty sure he was done gone. Suzanna had tossed a lasso around his heart, and Paul had no desire to struggle free. Now this. How could he pursue something deeper with her and not make Chuck’s manufactured tale look like truth?

What could he possibly do?

Dressed in dark blue jeans and a flowing teal top, Suzanna breezed from her doorway. She turned, locked the steel door, and scanned her yard. Checking for trouble. Paul never had to lock his door—worry-free departure was part of the charm of rural living. He blew out a breath. Suzanna probably had less trouble living in the city.

Apparently satisfied, she strode to the old yellow Jeep. Her hair bounced against her shoulders, strands of golden-brown catching in the light fall breeze. She’d curled it this morning. He’d never seen it fixed that way. Did she have a reason to look special?

Paul drifted back to yesterday afternoon. The morning hadn’t started well, with Jude being so pathetically apathetic about Suzanna’s predicament, but the sale had gone well. He had stopped by Suzanna’s afterward and asked her to go for a ride.

She looked tired, but her smile brightened her eyes, and she agreed. They rode in her west pasture until her stomach growled, and then she invited him to stay for supper. Chicken- salad sandwiches. Paul wasn’t much for chicken, and the croissants made it seem like girly food, but it sure tasted good sitting across from a pair of pretty blue eyes.

Dare he hope she’d curled her hair for him?

Schoolboy. Paul laughed at himself but sobered with the next breath. It didn’t matter whether she did or not. She’d probably keep him a good lariat’s length away after today.

Suzanna backed out of her drive and set off for town. Paul waited to put his pickup in drive until after she took the first turn.
God give me wisdom
.
Today could be awful.

Suzanna parked on the road beside the gravel lot belonging to the church. She had to steel herself, just like all the other Sundays. Her stomach rolled as she flipped the sun visor down. She met her reflection in the tiny mirror with a scowl.

“Fake.” She muttered. “He’ll see through you one of these days. What happened to indifference?”

She wrapped a barrel-rolled strand of hair in between her fingers and let it slide through her grasp. She hadn’t curled her hair since… when? Long before Jason’s transplant. Time became irrelevant after that.

Jason had loved her hair. Curly, straight, up, down. Whatever. He’d played with it every chance he could. The first time he’d touched her, he slid a tress between his fingers. They’d been kids, but even then, as teenagers, they really only had each other. How could a loving God take him?

She balled her fists. He wasn’t a loving God. It didn’t matter what Daddy had said.

A truck pulled up behind her and parked, drawing her glare away from the white church building. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she was surprised to see Paul sliding from the vehicle. She fixed a pretty mask and snagged the Bible Daddy had given her on her twenty-first birthday.

“Hey, neighbor.” He sauntered toward her.

Her heart did a clippety-clop when he stopped near enough for her to smell his mild cologne. What was he wearing? It was light and crisp and smelled happy. Appropriate. “Kind of late, aren’t you?”

Paul shrugged and tapped her elbow with his index finger, a hint of an escort to the church building. “I was slow getting after it this morning.”

He kept a leisurely pace, his boots scuffing against the rocks. Suzanna hadn’t seen him drag his feet before. Almost as if he were dreading something.

Church? Not likely. Paul, like his sister, loved church. His face illuminated with peace and joy—which was true for all the other days of the week too—but especially on Sundays. Suzanna often caught herself gaping when he’d raise his hands during a song or when she’d sneak a glance at his earnest face while he pored over some passage in the Bible. What exactly moved him so that he would become so enviably undignified? What stirred him to read an old book with such devoted hunger?

Daddy didn’t worship that way. And she’d never seen him study like that. His face, while kind, always looked stern, almost grim, when he studied the Bible. Did Paul know something her father didn’t? Or maybe it was the other way around.

But today, this first Sunday in November, Paul looked tired. Unenthusiastic. Yes, reluctant even.

Her hand fluttered to his arm. “Are you feeling okay?”

Contact. The muscle under the cotton sleeve tensed beneath her fingertips. A current of energy raced through her hand and down her arm.

Paul stopped, and his eyes settled on her. He covered her hand and attempted a smile. Where was his zest?

“I’m okay, Pickle.” His voice was low, tentative.

He most definitely was not okay. She’d seen dread in a man’s eyes before.

“
What is it, Jase?” They’d been waiting for the doctor to release him for far too long. His arm had been set and wrapped in a cast for hours. Why were they running all these tests? What had the doctor told him when she’d gone to get something to eat?

Paul had that look. Her breath caught as panic clamped down on her lungs.