Читать книгу Against The Odds - Laura Drake - Страница 12

CHAPTER FIVE

“YOUR PRIOR EMPLOYMENT is a bit...light in adventure. Retail experience is completely missing.” The man across the counter looked up from her application, one brow raised. Travis Kurt, the manager of The Adventure Outfitter certainly looked the part. He had brush-cut brown hair and bronzed skin with starburst laugh lines at the corners, and he had the long muscles of a gymnast. His big hands resting on the glass looked capable and trustworthy. Hope could easily picture him putting up a tent with one hand, while squeezing the life out of a venomous snake with the other.

She checked to be sure her shoulders were directly over her hips, then tilted her chin up, just a fraction. “I learn fast. You won’t find a more committed and dedicated employee.” She brought his attention to her résumé with a tapping fingernail. “My references will tell you—”

“That you were a good bank manager, I’m sure.” He nodded. “But the skills required of an adventure specialist are very different.”

“I’m sure they are. That’s why I’m applying for a retail position.” She clasped her hands in front of her, in an attempt to hide their fine tremor. Widow’s Grove was a small town. Santa Maria, its closest neighbor, wasn’t a big city, either. The employment pool was kiddie-sized. Which probably wasn’t a bad thing, since she wasn’t a strong swimmer. Okay, dog-paddler. “I plan to begin as a clerk, then work my way up.”

She hadn’t known laugh lines could look skeptical.

“Ookay.” He breathed the word out like a sigh, and pushed the papers aside with the edge of his hand. “Can you tell me what the tools in this display are used for?”

She glanced into the lighted case. The top shelf held compasses of many types, the bottom held clear plastic arm boards with Velcro straps. In the middle, plastic maps and small white marker boards. Thank God she’d reconnoitered yesterday, and done her research. “Orienteering. It’s a family of sports that require good navigational skills to go from point to point in a diverse and unfamiliar terrain, at speed. Participants are given a topographical map, and—”

“You know the definition. But have you ever done it?”

“Well, no. But—”

“How about skiing?” He pointed to ski tips, just visible over the tent display to his right.

She knew about skiing. “Alpine, cross-country or snowboarding?”

One side of his mouth lifted a fraction. “Any of them.”

“Actually done them? No. But—”

He pointed to the long delicate rods on a rack to his left. “How about fishing?”

Her brain skipped pages. “Spin cast, fly rod, Spey rod or—”

“Let’s say any of the above.” His eyes reminded her of the close-up photo of a hawk she’d happened upon while researching camping. Watchful. And a bit predatory.

“No, not actually, but—”

“Miss—” he glanced down at her résumé. “Sanderson. You’ve done your homework. That much is apparent. But our clientele actually participate in these sports. Our retail specialists require more than a Wikipedia education.” He looked her over, from her dress flats to her carefully arranged hair. “And be honest, given your background and education, why you would you want this job?”

Her courage melted like candle wax under his hot focus. When her sweaty hands threatened to slip apart, she laced her fingers and hung on. Her career ambitions were shrinking like the rear end of a galloping horse, leaving her in the dust.

Her mother’s rosary bead litany started up. You give up a perfectly respectable career, what do you expect? I scrimped and did without to see that you had an education, and you throw it away for what? To become a store clerk? You don’t have the sense God gave a paving stone. I am a total failure as a mother if this is what—

Hope cut off the tape, midscreech. She’d lived with it while her mother was alive, plus two years. She had no intention of living with it any longer. Or the life her mother had so carefully steered her to. She forced her hands to relax, letting blood return to her fingertips.

Come on, Hope. How do you expect to live a life of adventure, if you give up this easily?

She lengthened her spine and opened her mouth to say something. Something brilliant, to convince this man that she was the one for this job.

Nothing came out.

Her only fallback strategy was to pour out her sob story and hope for the best.

But she couldn’t.

Hope snapped her mouth closed so fast, her teeth clicked. She’d be darned—no, she’d be damned (take that, Mom)—if she’d gain passage to her new life through pity for her past one. Courageous people didn’t behave that way.

She took a breath, a step forward and a chance. “Have you ever in your life wanted a do-over?”

He tipped his head to the side, which she took as encouragement.

She forced her shoulders square. “You know, you go day to day through your life, not really thinking. But one day, something happens to make you stop and realize the path you’re on isn’t leading where you want to go. So you look back, and see all the steps you took to get you to where you stand now...see all the missteps that took you off the path to where you want to be.” She released her hands, spreading them in a shrug. “This job is my step back onto that path.” She glanced around the store, then back to the gatekeeper of her future. “Mr. Kurt, you may be able to find an applicant who has more experience. But I guarantee you won’t find one who learns faster, or will work harder than I will.” She curled her fingers into a fist and dropped it, soft but solid, on the glass case before her. “I have more at stake, and I refuse to lose.”

“I believe you.” The white lines at the corners of his eyes disappeared with his squint. “Okay, I’ll take a chance.”

Hope’s muscles relaxed just enough to get a full breath.

“But—”

Her muscles snapped back to attention.

He leaned on his hands, bringing his face closer. “Training is expensive, so you’d better be sure you want to do this. You’ll be required to take lessons from our experts in three sports that we sell equipment for. Your choice which.”

Not trusting her voice, she nodded.

“You won’t need to be an expert. You just need firsthand knowledge and familiarity with the equipment and how to use it.”

This man was taking a chance on her. What if she wasn’t up to the task? Was her mother right, keeping Hope sheltered all those years? Did she know something her daughter didn’t? A wisp of panic must have escaped on to her face, because he asked, “But if you’re not sure about this...”

Gravity weighed heavier than it had a moment ago, pulling the blood to her feet. She swallowed. Audibly. “Nope. I’m sure.”

He gathered the employment papers. “In the meantime, you can start as a cashier. I assume you won’t need much training there, given your background. When can you start?”

“Tomorrow.” The word, pushed from her diaphragm, came out too loud.

He smiled. “We’re closed on Sundays. Let’s make it the day after that.”

* * *

THE RUMBLE OF his truck’s glass pack mufflers vibrated through the seat, settling into Bear’s chest like a cat’s purr. A crazy extravagance, but the mufflers were a promise he’d made to the ’64 Chevy beater. He knew it looked like shit, with rust and primer spots, but he was saving the paint job for last. He wasn’t sure what he wanted yet, but it was going to be epic. He patted the plastic steering wheel. “Hang with me, honey. We’ll get you a makeover as soon as the bank balance comes up.”

Checking both ways at the stop sign, he turned onto Monterrey. The spring air blowing in the window cooled his sweaty face. Maybe a new A/C compressor before the paint job. A long low brick building on his left caught his attention. No, actually it was the sign out front—The Bar None. A neon Schlitz sign flickered in the small window, and the door stood open. He slowed, trying to peer through the typical bar murk to see if it was crowded.

Damn, I’d love a beer.

He could almost feel the vinyl bar seat under his ass.

But after his last visit to a bar, he had no interest in a repeat performance. Prison claustrophobia squeezed, making him feel trapped in his own clammy skin. He hit the accelerator.

I’ll get a six-pack at the store.

At the Piggly-Wiggly, he scanned the breakfast aisle, hunting for Pop Tarts. Spying them on the bottom shelf, he bent and took two boxes of strawberry. The Walmart in Santa Maria was cheaper, but the place was so crowded and noisy that he couldn’t relax there.

Not that he could here, either, today. He tossed the boxes in the little plastic basket he held in his other hand, and sidestepped a harried woman trying to lift a toddler headed for a full-on meltdown. He walked away, fast.

Turning into the bread aisle, an old lady in a print housedress stood on tippy-toe, trying to reach a loaf of organic whole grain. He reached and handed it to her.

“Oh, thank y—” Looking up to see him towering over her, a look flashed in her eyes. The look of a rabbit, in the shadow of a hawk.

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” Feeling the sting of being innocently intimidating, he turned away and pulled a loaf of the whitest, fluffiest, empty-calorie bread he could find. After the bland slop in prison, he now ate whatever he damned well pleased, and white bread reminded him of lunches when he was a kid.

At the checkout stand, he snagged a box of Cracker Jacks. Ducking the cashier’s stare, he paid cash and beat feet for the truck.

His jaw loosened when he turned off King’s Highway onto the road that wound through the hills that would lead him home. The hills were still green, but soon they’d shift to the brushed gold tint he loved so much. When he turned in at the ruts that constituted his driveway, grass shushed along the underside of the floorboards. Bordered by barbed-wire fences, the trail wound a quarter mile to the copse of trees that hid his cabin and barn from prying eyes. The privacy was one of the reasons he’d loved this place on first sight. He rolled into his tree-shadowed cave.

A dusty sedan stood in the packed dirt yard.

Warning sirens wailed in his head.

A skinny man in a white shirt stood on the porch, hand cupped, peering in the front window. Bear’s guard-dog temper woke, and snapping and growling, lunged to the end of its chain.

The mufflers burped as he hit the gas and roared into the dooryard. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he yelled out the passenger window, threw the truck in Park and shut down the engine. Then he was out the door and stalking for the cabin, fists clenched.

First its kids stealing paint, now it’s some nosy salesman asshole. Why the hell can’t people just leave me be?

The guy turned. His eyes got bigger the closer Bear got. “I was just checking to see if anyone was home. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Skipping the concrete block step, Bear launched himself onto the porch. “This is private property, and you’re trespassing.”

The guy backed up a step and put up his hands. “I—I’ve got a car. A ’72 Camaro. I heard you do custom paint.”

Oh, shit. His temper whimpered, and tail between its legs, slunk back from where it came, leaving Bear alone with his mess. “Oh. I do business out of the barn. I don’t like people in my personal stuff.” When he held out a hand to shake, the guy flinched back. “I’m Bear Steele. Tell me about your car.”

“Um. I just remembered. I’ve got an appointment in town.” The guy sidled to the broken slats of the railing at the edge of the porch and past Bear, without turning his back. “I’ll need to stop by...some other time.” He scurried down the cinderblock step.

“Wait.” Bear reached in his back pocket for his wallet.

The guy froze, his eyes huge.

What, does he think, I’m going to shoot him? Bear pulled out a business card and handed it down, not wanting to spook the guy by getting closer. “I’m sorry to scare you. Give me a call sometime. I’d love to see that Camaro.”

“Um. Yeah. Sure. Sometime.” He scuttled to the sedan, slammed the door, fired the engine and hit the gas.

Dirt sprayed from the tires, and Bear watched the car disappear in the trees. He hiked to the truck to retrieve his groceries, swearing the whole way.

When the hell was he going to learn to control his temper? Hadn’t it made him lose enough?

* * *

BEAR STOOD WAITING in the hall outside what he’d started thinking of as The Interrogation Room of the hospital. He’d gotten here first on purpose. He leaned, one motorcycle boot propped against the wall, hands in his front pockets. Waiting.

The dream came to him every night, and now his angel appeared twice a week in his waking time, too. He had to talk to her. Had to find out if this meant something, or if it was just one more of fate’s cruel jokes.

But he knew he intimidated her, and after what she’d been through, she was skittish to begin with. He practiced a smile and tried to relax. A bit rusty maybe, but he knew from practicing in the mirror this morning that it made him look less...brooding.

He heard the elevator door ding, followed by Bryan’s high-pitched voice. He and Mark, the scarred guy, came around the corner.

Mark kept walking, but Bryan stopped in front of Bear. “You know, I get hater vibes from you. Do you and I have issues?”

The elevator dinged again.

Crap. That’s all he needed—to be in a touchy-feely discussion when Hope showed up. “Hard to believe, dude, but you star in your own life. Not mine.” Bear glanced from Bryan’s pursed lips, then back down the hall. “I told you. I’ve got nothing against gay. You don’t believe me? Not my problem.”

Bryan let out an exasperated sigh and rushed into the room.

Her white-blond hair caught his eye first. Even when he was ready, her face still held him for the space of several heartbeats. She was beautiful. And not because of his dream, either. Her ice-blue eyes held secrets that her open face belied. She was all business, even in khakis and a denim short-sleeved shirt. But her lips...her lips were pure sex. They made him want to bow his head and worship them.

Noticing him notice, she looked down and kept walking.

Before she could brush by him, he reached out, and touched her arm. She shied back, the lines of her body full of alarm.

“Wait. Please. I just wanted to talk to you for a second. I’m Bear—”

“I know your name.”

“I just wanted to tell you...you don’t have to be afraid. I can’t help how I look, but that’s not who I am.”

She looked up at him, head cocked. But her eyes softened. “Okay.”

How do people do this chitchat thing? He put his foot back on the floor, and his hands back in his pockets. “Um. How’s that adventure thing working out for you?”

A tiny self-satisfied smile softened her mouth. “Nailed the interview. I start today.”

“Nice. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” She took a step toward the door.

“Wait.” He took a hand from his pocket, reached out, but didn’t touch her. “Were you serious about wanting to be more adventurous?”

She looked at him as if he was a vacuum cleaner salesman on her front porch. “S-sure.”

“Then how’d you like to go for a motorcycle ride?” He pulled his mouth up into what he hoped was a benign smile. “I’ve ridden a hundred thousand miles without an accident. I promise I’m safe.”

“I don’t even know you.” She slapped a hand over her mouth, as if shocked at her own abruptness.

“I get that, but—”

“I mean, you don’t ever talk, in group.” Those ice-blue eyes probed his face, looking for a crack to get into. “How can you expect people to feel comfortable around you, if you just sit and glare at us?”

He could give a crap if anyone was comfortable around him. Except her. “Oh.”

“Excuse me.” She brushed by him.

The Rani woman came around the corner, talking to the big woman in the shapeless dress, who walked head down, hair hiding her face.

He ducked into the room. What now, Slick?

It was pretty clear that he wouldn’t get closer to Hope without giving something up. But talking about himself in a group like this? He’d feel as though he was on a Dr. Phil show. No way. Not happening. He grabbed an empty chair and scooted it back from the circle.

Then slid it back in.

He sat, crickets playing “Dueling Banjos” in his stomach as the last two settled into the remaining chairs.

“Happy Monday, everyone,” Bina said. “Who would like to share first this morning?” She patted the soap opera lady’s hand. “Brenda? How about you?”

She just shook her head.

“Brenda, this is a safe space. Feel free to keep it to whatever you’re comfortable sharing.”

The woman pulled at her dress, trying to make it even looser. “I’m not from around here. My husband, Phil, got transferred to Vandenberg six months ago.”

“He’s in the air force?” Mark asked.

“No, he’s a civilian inventory management specialist.”

“Do you like it here, so far?” Bryan asked.

Hands in her lap, she picked at a cuticle. “It’s okay.”

“Why did the court mandate that you be here, Brenda?” Bina leaned forward, trying to get the woman to look at her. It didn’t work.

“I don’t know.”

Bear heard it only because she sat beside him.

“You’ll have to speak up, dear,” Bryan said.

“We’ve got bossy, nosy neighbors.” Her voice hovered, just above a whisper. “Phil, he gets mad sometimes.” She tucked a hank of hair behind her ear, eyes still on her lap. “For good reason. I... I’m kind of a mess.”

The group waited. Bear swore he could hear dust falling.

“What makes you say that, Brenda?” Bina asked.

She heaved a sigh, and rolled her eyes until they landed on Bina. “Oh, please. Just look at me. I’m fat, I’m ugly. I’m pretty useless.”

Bina frowned. “I don’t think that’s true. Tell me one good thing about yourself. Something you’re proud of.”

Brenda sat like a female Buddha, contemplating the meaning of the universe. Finally, she said, “I married well.”

“Really?” Mark said. “Pardon me for saying so, but your husband sounds like a major jerk.”

“You don’t even know him.” She glared across the circle. “See? This is what I knew would happen.”

“Why don’t you tell us about you, instead?” Bina jotted a note on the small notebook in her lap.

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Why don’t you tell us your happiest memory?”

When Brenda’s head lifted, the crease between her brows was gone, and she looked different.

He realized that it was her eyes. Well, not her eyes exactly, but it was as if she was looking out them instead of looking inward, for the first time since he’d seen her.

“I had a puppy once. He was sweet, and all mine.”

“What kind of dog was it?”

“Oh, I don’t know, just a mutt, mostly. I found him in a parking lot of a grocery store, digging in the trash for something to eat.”

“What did you name him?” Hope asked.

“Bucky.”

When Brenda smiled, Bear could see the woman behind all that fat and sadness. She was pretty.

“Bucky and me, we went everywhere together. He loved me.”

“Where is he now?”

The pretty woman dissolved into the washed-out housewife. “Oh, he died. It was a long time ago.”

Hope asked, “Why don’t you get another puppy?”

“Phil doesn’t like animals.” Brenda’s head dropped, and she started worrying her cuticle again. “Besides, he’s allergic.”

She should develop an allergy to Phil. Not that it’s any of my business.

“Thanks for sharing that, Brenda. It’s nice getting to know you a bit better.” Bina crossed her legs. “Who else would like to share?”

Bear almost squirmed in his chair, but caught himself in time. Say something. But what? Hope made it clear he was going to have to give to get. But what would constitute sharing, without revealing anything? Any thread he picked at could unravel his carefully woven blanket of solitude. And he couldn’t allow that to happen. He chewed his lip. What then?

“You are now looking at a retail adventure specialist,” Hope said.

“Hey, congrats,” Mark said.

“That’s the job you wanted, right?” Bina watched Hope from under one raised eyebrow.

“Yes. I start later today. I’m manning the register to start, but I’m going to take lessons in three adventure sports, to better be able to sell the equipment.”

“You’re not going to skydive, are you?” Bryan’s long-fingered hand splayed on his chest. “I’m terrified of heights.”

The kid looked so aghast, Bear couldn’t help it—he chuckled.

Bryan shot him a glare.

“No way. I’m looking for adventure, not terror.” Her fond smile, aimed Bryan’s way, pinched Bear. “No, I think I’m going to start with surfing. It looks so... I don’t know, freeing. You’re riding a force of nature, harnessing the power for your own happiness. You’ve got to feel free then, wouldn’t you think?”

The longing made her face glow. It pulled words out of him. “That’s what it feels like, when I’m on my bike.”

Bina jumped in, fast. “How so?”

“Well, you’re not harnessing nature, but you’re out in it—almost a part of it. You smell what’s in the wind, feel the flow of the land underneath you. The changes in temperature, the weather. It affects you in ways there aren’t words for. You can only feel it.”

“It sounds amazing.” When Hope turned that fond smile on him, it warmed him. Or maybe it was embarrassment. Or both. He ducked his head. “It is.”

“Tell us something else about you, Bear.” Bina’s voice was soft, but it poked him.

“I have a business, doing custom paint jobs, out of my barn.”

“Cool,” Mark said. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“My dad had a repair shop when I was growing up. He hated painting. Turned out, I liked it. So I took over that part.” He checked the clock on the wall over the door. Five more minutes. Surely he could keep this up that long. Surely Hope would consider this “sharing.”

“Why did you join the army, Bear?” Bina only sounded innocent.

He shrugged. “Those people brought their shit to my country. Thought I’d give a little of it back.”

“Wooah,” Mark said.

“Amen, brother.”

Bryan rolled his eyes.

“I understand you were a ranger.” Bina consulted her little notebook. “A sniper, is that right?”

He ground his teeth. She couldn’t lead him anywhere he didn’t want to go. He glanced at Hope. She nodded, encouraging him. How had he walked into this ambush?

Bryan’s strident voice broke the silence. “What I’d like to know is why he was in prison.”