Chapter 4
Abigail
Three weeks later . . .
I WIPE THE TABLES DOWNin the small country cafe where I sat my first day here looking for a job. I slap the dishrag over my shoulder and breathe a sigh of contentment feeling almost . . .happyin my new surroundings. That’s a feeling I’m not overly familiar with. At least not since I was eight-years-old.
Shortly after the incredibly sexy, but even more frightening ranger told me he knew I was trouble—and real talk, Iam—I slowed my breathing and calmed down my racing heart. He couldn’t possibly know who I am or what I had done.At least not yet.And I’m assuming he doesn’t by now either because I imagine he would be the first person knocking on my door to hang me for Brandon. Do they still hang murderers in Texas? That’s probably something I should look into or move to a non extradition nation in South America but my Spanish is rusty at best.
I was sitting there in the booth, tapping my pen against the want ads, and hoping against hope I would find a job that wouldn’t require some kind of documentation until I could find someone to make them for me of course, when a big man with a dirty white apron over his even bigger belly stopped before my table.
“Can I speak to you for a minute?” he had asked me.
I just hesitantly nodded because I was pretty sure I was about to get the boot from this fine establishment. And he should, it’s just like the handsome lawman said, I’m trouble and it’s obvious. I should have known in a small town rumors would travel faster than the speed of light.
I stand quickly and scoop up my tablet and crumpled paper. I have money, but not a lot. I wasn’t able to take a lot of money from Brandon. He ran the cash flow with an iron fist and the last thing I wanted to do was make him angry or worse—suspicious. I assumed it’s hard to go on the lamb when you’ve just had a bad beating. Also, it would make me stand out even more when I desperately don’t want to. So, while I have money, I don’t have a ton. I need to save this want ad and get the most out of it.
I follow the gruff man down a narrow hallway that leads to an even smaller back office like I’m being led to the gallows. Then again, who knows, maybe I am. He pushes open the door and motions for me to go in first. He’s being a gentleman, maybe, but it’s still hard for me to turn my back on him.
“Have a seat,” he says as he waves to the chairs in front of the desk. I choose one farthest away from him at the moment.
He sighs and then circles the desk to sit down behind it, putting one more thing between us. I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders but I’m still wary of this man I do not know. I should have been warier of the man I thought I did know. I guess some lessons are just learned the hard way.
“I need a waitress,” he says as he nods to the crumpled paper in my hands. “Experience is good but it’s not overly necessary.”
I sit there staring at him for a moment, unsure how to answer him.
“Do you have any experience?” he asks.
“N-no,” I whisper.
“That’s okay too. I had figured as much,” he says with kindness in his eyes and his voice soft.
“I d-don’t have—” I start.
“I know, doll,” he says. “I’ll pay you ten dollars an hour under the table. No paper trails.”
“Why?” I ask, unsure why anyone would help a stranger.
“My mom was the same,” he says as if that answers everything. I feel my lip twitch. I want to laugh at the thought that we’re all just ex-strippers on the run from a murder rap. I haven’t laughed in the longest time.
“I highly doubt that,” I say.
He points to the yellowed bruises between my right eye and my temple. I had almost forgotten they were there. “My father was a right bastard. No one cried when he died.”
I freeze. I hope he doesn’t know. That no one knows. If they do, I’ll have to move on again. But Texas isn’tthatclose to West Virginia.
“Do you want the job or not?” he asks. When I still haven’t answer he presses on, telling me exactly what I wish were true. “You’ll be safe here, I swear it.”
“Yes,” I said. “I want the job.”
Russell had handed me a uniform and I started the next day. It’s hard work, waiting tables, but I love it. I love that I’m making my own money and I love that Russelldoesmake me feel safe here. He walks me to and from my car every day and asks me constantly if I’m alright. Even when the sexy ranger comes in twice a week for lunch or dinner. He never sits in my section and he always leaves me alone.
Three weeks later, I have a nice little nest egg. It’s not much, but it’ll be enough to get me an apartment of my own in another month or so. I wish it could be more but I didn’t want to raise Brandon’s suspicions and I was desperate to leave. Disappearing took just about all the cash I had managed to sneak out under his nose.
I was so thankful for this job, I asked Russell if I could use the kitchen after my shift. He was wary about anyone in his kitchen, Russell rules his domain with an iron fist and guards his kitchen like a mama bear would her cubs. That day, he watched me while he cooked but I didn’t pay him any mind. It was for him that I was baking my Gram’s strawberry pie.
I carefully constructed my crust in the pie tin, a cheap one from the grocery store. My only regret was not being able to bring Gram’s old pie pan with me. I cleaned up my mess while the crust baked and then mixed the bowl of fresh strawberries I had washed and chopped the day before with the sugary mix of the pie filling.
