Burying Water (Burying Water #1)(55)

I nod. There are just some things Ginny’s better off not knowing. She didn’t see him on her property anyway, so technically it’s okay.

Wanting to steer her away from the topic, I say, “So I met Chuck Fanshaw today. He said to tell you ‘hi’ from his family.”

“Oh, I’ll bet he did,” she grumbles. “His grandfather showed up here a month after Papa died, trying to scam me out of this place. Chased him away.”

My gaze shifts to the straw broom resting by the door. She was ten seconds away from swatting the cable guy with it that day he arrived to hook up my cable. I know it’s not just a figure of speech for Ginny.

Though I know I’m going to regret this, I bring it up anyway. “He mentioned boarding horses in the barn. Have you ever considered that?”

“And have people traipsing all over my property? Over my dead body.” She shovels a mouthful of pasta into her mouth.

I shrug. “You’d also have horses running in the corrals. Wouldn’t that be nice to see again?”

I get a harrumph in response, but it’s better than a litany of cursing, so I leave it alone.

“What else did the little Fanshaw say?”

Her reference to Chuck being “little” makes me smile. He’s at least six feet tall and two hundred pounds. “Basically that I should swindle you out of your vast fortune by getting on your good side.”

Her hand freezes midway to her mouth for one . . . two . . . three seconds. And then Ginny does something I’ve never seen her do before. She starts to laugh.

We eat the rest of our dinner in comfortable silence, with no more mention of “that damn boy” next door.

TWENTY-ONE

Jesse

then

Heels click against the garage floor, pulling my attention from the engine. I swing around.

And suck in a mouthful of air.

She’s wearing the same short, sparkly blue dress that she wore the night I met her at the lounge. I remember thinking she looked cheap then. I’m still not crazy about the dress, but I’d never call her cheap now.

“Hi, Jesse.”

With her bright red lipstick, the fat lip she had three nights ago isn’t visible. But I know it was there, and I’m still angry about it.

Viktor’s been around the house for the last two nights, so Alex has stayed away. Or maybe she would have anyway. It’s probably best. If I had to look at that lip while working on this engine of his, I probably would have taken a blowtorch to his Shelby. Still, three days without seeing her has only emphasized for me how much I like being around her.

“The door into the mudroom is unlocked if you need to use the bathroom. The gate is set to open automatically from the inside. Just remember to shut this door when you leave, okay?”

“Where are you going?”

“The Cellar.”

I glance at my watch. “It’s only nine thirty.”

She shrugs. “Viktor called. He wants me there earlier, so I have to go earlier.”

“Just like that?”

She smiles sadly. “Just like that.” She hasn’t been sleeping well; I can tell by the makeup caked on around her eyes, which does a poor job of masking the dark circles.

“That getup . . .” I jut my chin toward her dress. “I know that’s not you.” I know it’s all part of her façade for her husband.

She shakes her head, her hands stretching out the hem to show me even more of her long, lean legs. “I hate this dress, but wearing it makes things easier for myself.”

“I wouldn’t make you wear that shit,” I hear myself say. I don’t know where that came from but now that it’s out, I can’t stop. “I’d let you dye your hair whatever color you wanted. I’d let you shave it off; I’d let you wear men’s sweatpants. I’d do anything I could to keep you in school. I’d never leave you alone in the dark.” My eyes settle on that lip again, the truth hidden by a streak of red. “I’d never lay a hand on you. Not like that, anyway.”

Alex’s chest rises and falls with deep, shaky breaths as her eyes turn glassy. I glance down at my hands to confirm the grease. As much as I want to, I can’t touch her right now. But she can touch me. And she does, lifting her hand to graze the back of my cheek with her knuckles. “I know you wouldn’t, Jesse,” she whispers. “If I don’t see you when we get home, then have a good night.”

I watch her walk toward her car, her calf muscles straining against the height of those heels.

I’d kill to be back in that pricey hotel room again.

Time escapes me.

Really, it’s the thrill of turning the key in the ignition for the first time, the satisfaction that I’ve put all these pieces of metal and rubber together in just the right way, that has kept me here so late. That’s why I’m sitting in the driver’s side of the Aston Martin in Viktor’s garage when I hear Alex’s engine revving. Her headlights hit me as she races up the driveway.

I hold off, wanting to see her face when I start this car, curious about what she’ll say. Unfortunately, the engine cuts off and Viktor climbs out of the driver’s seat. My disappointment swells. It’s stupid, really. This is his car. He’s the one who needs to be excited.

“Jesse! What are you still doing here?”