Arrogant Devil(28)
“Was it ever good? Your marriage?”
Her question is so jarring that a sharp memory hits me like a bird smacking into a clean window. The last time Andrew and I were intimate, I was lying face down on our bed with him on top of me, letting it happen, trying to think of anything other than how revolting it was to have him touch me. I turned and my gaze caught on the framed picture on my nightstand: us, on our wedding day…me, smiling up at Andrew like he was my shining prince.
“Yes, we were happy once.”
“Well, marriage is hard. You gotta work at it to keep the love alive.”
I think back to all my desperate attempts to change him. In the end, I only succeeded in changing myself.
I pretend like her advice is blowing my mind. “Wow, really? Guess I just didn’t try hard enough. Any more sage advice? Maybe I should have spiced it up in the bedroom to keep him interested? Maybe I should have been a little more attentive? More doting? Funny? Aloof? Mysterious? Please tell me how I could have saved a marriage you know nothing about.”
My explosion misses her completely. She hums with confirmation then turns for the back door. “Yep, that’s what I thought.”
I frown. “What?”
She keeps on walking. “Nothing. You can go back to your dishes now.”
“Edith!”
The back door slams behind her, and I throw up my hands in defeat. Jesus, what is with this family?
It’s early evening and I’ve quarantined myself in the shack. It’s just me and the local wildlife I’ve yet to evict. I have a hardback cracked open on my lap, a brand-new thriller I found Edith reading yesterday. Apparently we share the same literary tastes—we sat in the game room chatting about books for a good thirty minutes. When I heard Jack’s office door open, I leapt to my feet. I didn’t want him to catch me slacking on the job; I won’t gift him any ammunition against me. Other than our little blowups, I want to be the best employee he’s ever had. I want my likeness framed above a small plaque that reads: Employee of the Year! That way he won’t have any grounds to fire me.
He didn’t see me lounging there with his grandmother, and she insisted it didn’t matter anyway. Still, I didn’t want to abuse his trust, so I got back to work, and Edith must have finished the rest of the novel because it was waiting for me on my doorstep earlier.
It’s great so far, lots of murder and blood—everything a girl needs—but I’m having trouble focusing on it because it’s so damn hot in here. The sun is on its way down for the day, but the air is still humid and stifling. I took an ice-cold shower after work then put on one of Jack’s t-shirts, and instead of knotting it, I’m wearing it like a dress while my jeans hang up to dry. I finally got around to washing them, but this weekend I have plans to go into town and spend a little bit of my advance on some shorts. I can hardly wait.
I push the window open and stick my face out, hoping for some cool wind, but instead, I’m greeted with stale, warm air. A bead of sweat rolls slowly down my forehead. This is ridiculous. Texas is a sauna. In California, it’s probably a breezy 70 degrees. At this moment, a woman is out with her boyfriend and begging him for his jacket. He’s annoyed she didn’t bring one of her own. I didn’t realize it’d be so cold! Boyfriends in Texas must not have this problem.
Without another thought, I rip my book off my bed and fling the shack’s door open. I’m aware that Jack’s t-shirt cuts off pretty high on my thighs, but I don’t care. The idea of shoving my legs into wet jeans makes me want to dry heave. Besides, no one’s going to see me in this ensemble anyway. The guys are already gone for the day since ranch work starts early and ends early, and I’m pretty sure I saw Jack’s truck drive off an hour or two ago, so there’s no reason to suffocate myself in the hot tub I call home.
If there was a pool on the property, I’d jump into it head first. I’d stay there, floating on my back until the sun burns out. As it is, I’m aiming for a hammock nestled under two oak trees behind the house. I spotted it my first day on the ranch, but I haven’t seen anyone use it. It might be a little dirty, but I don’t mind. My hope is that if I really get it swinging, I’ll generate a little air flow to cool me down. If not, I’m marching into Jack’s house and Tetrising my entire body into the freezer. I’ll happily perish beside the frozen peas—just the thought sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine.
I relish the feel of the soft grass beneath my bare feet as I make my way across the yard. I decide this is already infinitely better than the shack, right up until I hear a low whistle that says, Hey there, pretty lady.
My attention snaps to the left, toward the barn, and I freeze mid-step.
A group of ranch hands are circled around the front of the ancient truck I drove to the grocery store the other day, apparently working on it. Two of them are already staring in my direction—Chris and another boy about his age that I haven’t met yet. Chris’ eyes go wide and then he quickly averts his gaze as if I’m tiptoeing around outside in lingerie instead of a loose t-shirt. The other ranch hand doesn’t look away, and I’d bet money the whistle came from him. He’s focused on my bare legs like they’re two juicy cheeseburgers and he’s starving. The third ranch hand—the one with his head tucked under the hood of the truck—finally steps back and pauses his work. With a start, I realize it’s Jack. He wipes the grease from his hands with a rag and mutters something I can’t hear. Neither of the guys respond. He looks up to find them distracted then follows the gaze of the second man right…to…me. When he finds me standing in the middle of the lawn, my knees nearly buckle.