Chapter Nineteen
The piranhas were pleasantly absent, at least at first. The gleaming red classic car turned a few heads, but he’d left the top up both to give what cover it could to him, and because he was going to be picking up things that he’d need to secure. Although he was halfway there when he remembered this was Whiskey River, not L.A., and the likelihood of anyone stealing cleaning supplies out of his car was just south of nil.
As it turned out he was able to ease into it; the guy at the hardware store wasn’t familiar, and he had no idea who Jamie was. But he was immensely helpful; when Jamie told him what he needed to do, he walked around the store with him, making suggestions.
“Wood floors? This’ll do it. For tile, here, this stuff’ll cut through layers of grime. And this brush, see how it’s angled? Corners and edges. But don’t use it on the wood.”
Jamie tossed the stuff into the cart.
“Windows?” the man with the name tag labeled Martin pinned onto his chest asked.
“Yeah, but not too many. A lot are broken and have to be replaced.”
“You got a guy for that? Because I know a guy.”
“So do I.”
“Mine’s the best in town at getting stuff done,” Martin said.
Jamie found himself grinning. “Unless his name’s Mahan, you’re wrong.”
Martin looked startled, then laughed. “Yeah, that’s the guy. I was thinking you were new here, but if you know about True, maybe not.”
“Not new,” Jamie said, “but I’ve been gone for a while.”
A booming voice came from behind him. “And it’s damned well about time you came home, son.”
He turned around to see Brant Barker, who had run the gas station and mechanic’s shop just off the town square for as long as Jamie could remember. “Mr. Barker.”
“I saw that sweet old buggy outside, so I had to make sure nobody’d absconded with it.”
“Just me.”
The tall, not quite burly man lifted his worn Rangers cap, ran a hand over a head of still-thick silver hair, then resettled the cap.
“That doesn’t count. Millie always meant for you to have it.”
There was a sadness in his voice that triggered a memory. “And you kept it running for her.”
Brant studied him for a moment. Something decided him, and he said, “I tried for years to get that woman to marry me, you know.”
Jamie blinked. “Uh…no. I didn’t know.”
“Well, I did. But she never quite got over losing that soldier of hers.”
“I know.” He wasn’t sure what else to say, so he went with the truth. “I know she did like you, a lot. She always said you were a good man. The kind she’d want, if she was looking.”
Brant stared at him for a moment, and then a warm but sad smile spread across his face. “Thank you for telling me that, son.”
Jamie gave him an echoing smile. “Seems like something you should know.”
“She was damned proud of you, boy. You and that music of yours gave her more happiness toward the end than anything else.”
He said nothing about what had sent him running home, for which Jamie was grateful. In fact, he was feeling pretty good after that, and it lasted through stops at the bakery—okay, so he was a sucker for the smell of cinnamon rolls—then Riva’s Java for a cup of coffee, where Riva herself offered condolences on both Derek and Millie, since she hadn’t seen him since his aunt had died. There was no dig in her tone when she said that; either she saw nothing odd in him staying away, or thought it was none of her business. He was guessing the latter; she did a good job of never antagonizing a customer.
It kind of ended with his stop at the drugstore for toothpaste. He winced inwardly the moment he walked past the checkout counter. He’d forgotten about Martha. She gave a dramatic gasp when she saw him, putting a hand to her chest as if the shock had given her palpitations.
“Jamie Templeton!”
A for recognition.
But he managed a smile. Maybe it was for the best. Martha would have the news he was back spread all over town within the hour. He could get it all over with at once.
Besides, this way he didn’t have to say a word; once she was off and running, the woman carried a conversation all by herself. Even when she asked a question—“You’re not using those awful drugs, are you? Your folks raised you better than that.”—she never waited for an answer before barreling on.
As he finally escaped the barrage, he’d decided he actually preferred Martha’s flood to the condolences, because he could sense behind most of them the awkwardness people felt, given that Derek had in essence done it to himself. The ones about Aunt Millie were fewer, not surprising given how long it had been. And those who did mention it tended to do so with a touch of curiosity, no doubt wondering why the nephew she’d raised from age fourteen had left town again right after her funeral and never come back.
But this was Whiskey River, and no one was blatantly mean or cruel. There was just that question mark in their voices. And he tolerated it better than he’d expected to, and was feeling fairly satisfied about venturing into town as he headed back to the Mustang.
It lasted until he walked past the barber shop. The door was jerked open just as he passed, and Charles Reid stepped out. Quickly, as if he’d been waiting to pounce.
Like a wolf spider.
Jamie smothered a groan. The proverbial grumpy old man at thirty-five. Hell, Charles—never Charlie, or Chuck—had been born grumpy and never changed. His earliest memory of the man was when he’d had to be about thirteen, and Jamie and some other five-year-olds were playing in the park on an after-school outing. Charles had stood there, frowning at them, although they were in fact being rather circumspect because one of the kindergarten teachers was there overseeing things.
It was the irrepressible Zee who had asked the teacher, Mrs. Stephenson, why the boy over there was mad at them.
“Because you’re having fun,” she’d answered with the laugh that had all the little boys half in love with her.
And she’d been utterly right, Jamie thought now. Charles just didn’t like the sight of anyone having fun. He wondered what kind of childhood the guy must have had to have been like that so young.
“So,” Charles said rather pompously. “It is you.”
“Yes.” I suck at being anyone else. Hell, sometimes I suck at being me.
“Finally come back for your girl? About time.” He had not expected that. And couldn’t think of a damned thing to say. “Wouldn’t blame her if she doesn’t take you back, though.”
Jamie felt a knot deep in his gut. “I would be surprised if she did.”
That seemed to take the man aback, giving Jamie enough time to mutter a “Gotta go,” and get to the car.
He was back on the main road before he let himself think about what Reid had said. Take him back? Was that really what people thought, that he’d come to see if Zee would take him back? A stark, harsh longing for just that erupted in him. He fought it down.
Why on earth would they even begin to think she would? He hadn’t come back to make that futile effort. How he felt didn’t matter, he was certain of her feelings about him.
He’d come back because he hadn’t known what else to do. Because he needed to face the truth. The final, unavoidable truth, the one that he knew in his mind, in his gut, but refused to let into his heart.
Facing it was going to be next to impossible.
But trying to get Zee to take him back would be the impossible.