Jagged (Colorado Mountain #5)(9)

I’d also upgraded the doors, so instead of sliding glass, there were French doors leading from the living room, dining room, and the master bedroom to my backyard.

Most of the wall space was taken up by windows covered with custom-built Roman shades that I’d splurged on back in the day when things in Gnaw Bone were golden.

When Greg lived here with me, we’d decided to get rid of my old stuff, which wasn’t that great, and he’d bought furniture and decorations that made an awesome space spectacular.

That was all gone.

Now I had a couch, and beside it a standing lamp, and in front of it, a nicked, scratched, not-altogether-stable coffee table that I’d actually picked up on the side of the road. The coffee table was the worst of the lot, seeing as I purloined it from a Goodwill pickup. The lamp and couch were only slightly better and that slightly was by a small margin.

My friend Maybelline had donated the lamp and couch to the cause when Greg moved out. She hadn’t been thrilled to do it, knowing it was crap that had been sitting in her garage waiting for her husband to get the lead out and sell it on Craigslist, but she also knew something was better than nothing.

Except for a huge box television that saw the launch of MTV (donated by another friend, Wanda), the rest of the large space was empty.

“Greg got the furniture in the divorce,” I explained.

Ham dropped his duffel and slowly turned to me.

I pressed my lips together when I saw the look on his face.

“You’re tellin’ me your ex left you in a home that’s in this state,” Ham sought further details about the situation.

During one of my many freak-outs that day, I really should have figured out a way to keep Ham away from my house. Unfortunately, I was only thinking about seeing Ham, not about my house. In fact, I thought distractedly, I didn’t even know how he knew where I lived since he’d never been here.

I didn’t question this.

I thought, considering the look on his face, it was more pertinent to share. “I told him to take the stuff, Ham. It was his anyway.”

“You’re tellin’ me your ex left you in a home that’s in this state,” Ham repeated.

I decided not to reiterate my answer.

His eyes moved toward the kitchen then back to me, and when I got them again, I braced.

“Why don’t you have beer?” he asked.

Again, Ham noticed everything, and along with noticing everything, he was capable of making scary-accurate deductions about things he noticed. And Ham’s deductive powers, which could rival Sherlock Holmes’, made things very uncomfortable for me at that moment.

I should have called and told him I’d meet him the next day at The Mark.

I should not have answered the door.

And the idea of cutting and running from everything was getting more and more attractive by the second.

The problem was I didn’t have money for gas.

I took two steps forward, peered around the wall into the kitchen, saw my microwave clock said it was twelve thirty, and I looked back at Ham.

“You’ve been drivin’ awhile and doin’ it in that sling. Why don’t you crash and we’ll talk tomorrow?”

“Why don’t you have beer, Zara?” Ham asked again.

“You’ve got to want to relax, unwind, and get some shut-eye,” I said.

“What I want is to know why a woman who I’ve known eight years, five of ’em she never was without beer, and even once she dragged my ass out of bed to drive her two towns over to hit an all-night liquor store when we ran out, doesn’t have beer.”

That had been a good night.

I didn’t want an interrogation and I really didn’t want a trip down memory lane.

“Okay, how’s this?” I began. “I’m happy you’re here. I’m happy to see you safe and sound. I didn’t expect it but it’s cool if you want to crash here. But I have to open the shop tomorrow so I need some shut-eye. We’ll talk tomorrow night when I get home from the shop.”

“I don’t like you avoiding this conversation, babe, but I mostly don’t like why that might be,” Ham returned.

“And I don’t care, Ham,” I snapped, losing it and watching his eyes narrow. “In case you haven’t gotten it, I’ll say it straight. The answers to your questions are none of your f**kin’ business.”

I’d never spoken to him like that. In fact, we never fought. Ever. Not in all the time we were together, not in all the years we’d known each other.

Ham was mellow, funny, and fun to be around. He’d seen it all, done it all, and had an air about him that he knew that there were things worth getting riled up about, but not many, and life was precious enough not to spend it pissed and shouting at someone. I went with that flow. We had always been easy. I couldn’t remember once, not even once, when things had even gotten mildly heated. Ham made it that way. He just didn’t go there, kept you snug in his laid-back aura, and it felt so good you didn’t want to go there either.

Ham being laid-back, taking me along with him for that ride, and hearing me snap for the first time since I knew him had to be why he whispered a surprised, irritated, “What the f**k?”

“Three years have passed, Ham. Shit has happened. And none of it is your business,” I carried on.

“Zara—”