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I drop my eyes to Jake’s waist, the tattoo he sports on the side covered by his T-shirt now, but I remember the words. My Mexico. He said Flora was an immigrant, so is the tattoo for her? Or how cowboys escaped across the border back in the day, Colorado became his escape? His Mexico.
“We need to have some fun,” he chirps, lightening the mood with a smile. “Let’s all go up to the lake tomorrow.”
The lake? Not the pond?
“Get some music and beer in us,” he goes on. “Some cliff diving.”
“Cliff diving?”
His eyes fall briefly down my body. “You have a swimsuit, right?”
But the question sounds more like a warning, because he doesn’t damn well want me swimming in my clothes like yesterday.
Or in my underwear like Flora.
Yes, I have a…bikini. Dread coils through my stomach. I usually wear whatever our personal shopper buys without a care, but I think I’m going to care with them tomorrow.
Why don’t I have a one piece? Or a rash guard? Ugh…
Over the next couple of hours, I’m a demon, rushing from one task to the next, and glad for the distraction. Jake, Noah, and I finish morning chores, I cook breakfast and Noah cleans up, and then I assist them in the shop, typing out responses to emails that my uncle dictates concerning the business while he works.
Jake and I load two bikes onto the flatbed, roping them down, before he slips his T-shirt back on and pulls his keys out of his pocket. I know he needs to take them to town to deliver them to the transport, shipping them off to wherever they’re going, but suddenly he stops and looks over my shoulder.
I follow his gaze.
Kaleb is at the other end of the barn, jeans hanging loosely from his hips, no shirt, and the sun shining across his bare chest, which is damp with sweat, as he brings the ax down and chops a log in two.
He rubs his jaw across his shoulder, blood from his open wounds spreading across his cheek.
“Go grab the First Aid kit,” Jake tells me as he starts to walk for the driver’s side. “Kaleb needs help.”
“Yeah, professional help,” I grumble. “He…”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him about the other night in the shop.
And about the barn yesterday.
But…I can’t put all the blame on Kaleb, I guess. It’s best not to bring it up.
“He threatened that guy with a gun yesterday,” I say, instead.
Kaleb scares me.
But Jake turns around and charges right back to me. “That guy,” he tells me, “has a clubhouse in town for gangbangs with a scoreboard on the wall, rating each girl on a scale of one to ten. There are no less than three-hundred names of all the tail he and his friends have bagged in their short lives.” And then he points in my face, and I rear back a little, scowling. “You’re fucking lucky Kaleb found you and not me, because I wouldn’t have waited before you left before I fucking killed him.”
I cock an eyebrow but don’t protest further.
“Now move your tush,” he orders.
He turns around and climbs in the truck, and I drag my feet for another minute after he drives off before walking into the barn and yanking the damn First Aid kit out of the cabinet.
He doesn’t want help from me. Not any more than I care to help him.
And I still don’t believe for one second he or Noah were trying to keep me safe. Even though, assuming what Jake said is true, it’s good they did show up, actually.
But, no. I think Terrance might have been correct on that assessment. They’re territorial. It could’ve been any guy with their baby cousin up there, and they would’ve been angry and started a fight.
Trudging over to where Kaleb is working, I stop, not wanting to make eye contact.
