Chapter 10

Standing beside his motorcycle puffing on a cigarette, Preacher stared up at the brightly lit entrance to the fairgrounds, wondering how the hell he’d ended up at the Wayne County Fair. He’d jumped off the highway only for cigarettes, fuel, and a bite to eat. Three cups of coffee, a stack of pancakes, two fried eggs, and a bowl full of hash browns later, the sun was setting on the horizon. Which left him with two options—to find a nearby motel or get back on the highway and ride through the night.

Of course he’d chosen neither.

His father’s voice echoed in his head. As useless as a glass hammer.

Yeah, Preacher was feeling pretty useless. Useless seemed to be how he operated lately, utterly clueless and with no direction.

“When in Rome,” he muttered. Flicking his cigarette away, he pulled on his denim jacket and joined the stream of people heading inside.

Set up on a large stretch of land typically used for public recreation, the Wayne County Fair was filled with rows of colorful vendor booths with front men loudly hawking their wares, and food stands scenting the air with a hundred different flavors of grease. Decorative lights had been strung from tent top to tent top, brightly countering the black night sky. A carousel, bumper cars, a rickety looking roller coaster, and a Ferris wheel were just a few of the rides the fair’s skyline boasted.

Preacher stood in the center of it all, weighing his options. A ways off, a petting zoo had been erected, and past the zoo he could make out a cordoned-off area where stunt men were performing on motorcycles for a cheering crowd. He stepped forward, immediately drawn to the unmistakable roar of hard-working engines, until the farmyard stench had him recoiling.

Mud and manure didn’t smell much better than a New York City alleyway, yet Preacher preferred the devil he knew. The open road made for a good mistress, but the city held his heart. If it didn’t smell like exhaust and someone wasn’t trying to steal it, Preacher wouldn’t be staying long.

Forgoing the trek through the farm animals, he headed for the vendors instead.

Walking idly through the aisles, browsing without actually seeing any of it, Preacher lit cigarette after cigarette, content to just soak up the atmosphere. Every now and then a pair of nicely tanned legs or a smooth, bare midriff would catch his eye, but nothing that warranted more than a brief, appreciative glance.

At a food booth, Preacher paused to order a burger. Leaning against the makeshift counter, waiting for his order, he surveyed the crowd. It had been a while since he’d been surrounded by so many people at once, the hum of too many voices. In a way, it reminded him of home.

His languid stare snagged on a passing pair of bare legs, sleek and muscular, and then on a familiar scrap of leather tied around the waist above. He blinked and his eyes widened. That was his jacket—he’d recognize that jacket in the middle of a snowstorm, blindfolded. And wearing it was most definitely Debbie Reynolds—those gorgeous legs were proof enough. A crisp new bag hung from her back; her clothing was clean, also new. His eyes narrowed, knowing he’d paid for all of it.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, pushing away from the counter. Forgetting his food, he hurried after her.

He entertained the idea of grabbing her from behind, yanking her between vendors, and demanding that she return his things. Only as he drew closer, his anger began to wane.

She was working. And Debbie “Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire” Reynolds was quite a sight to behold.

Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Preacher slowed his gait, allowing more space to build between them.

It only took a few moments of observing her to identify her preferred marks—young couples with children. She’d wait until the parents were distracted by their kids, then strike and quickly slip away.

She made the act seem effortless, though Preacher knew otherwise. It took quite a bit of skill to lift something off the body of another without them noticing anything. But Debbie was pulling it off. No one who wasn’t actively looking at her, studying her every movement as Preacher was, would be the wiser.

She was so damn good at what she did, watching her in action felt like live entertainment.

If he hadn’t been accustomed to watching his back for even the smallest of threats, she would have gotten the drop on him back at the truck stop. He never would have noticed her; his wallet would have simply vanished, leaving him wondering what the hell had happened to it.

He continued after her, even as she wandered into the petting zoo, full of braying mules and bleating goats and stinking to high heaven. Preacher hardly noticed the stench; he was too busy enjoying Debbie, his grin growing with each theft.

Something soft squished beneath his boot, and Preacher glanced down to find his right foot half submerged in mud. When he looked up again, Debbie had disappeared. Cursing, he rushed forward, his eyes darting in every direction, scanning the clusters of people milling about.

He lurched to a stop only minutes later and burst out laughing. Debbie was standing in line for the Ferris wheel. With his jacket tied around her waist, her new clothes clean and fitted, her hair pulled neatly away from her face, she appeared utterly innocuous, every bit an average teenage girl. Not at all like the lying, thieving little minx she really was.

As the line began to move and Debbie ascended the small set of stairs, Preacher moved forward, an impromptu plan forming. He cut several people in line, jumped up the stairs and onto the platform, slapped a ten-dollar bill across the chest of the teenage boy manning the ride, and darted quickly across.

He slid into the swaying cart just as Debbie was sitting down. Her head jerked up, her eyes going wide as he sat down on the bench across from her. She glanced toward the exit, and Preacher swiftly lifted his legs, placing his muddy, booted feet up on the empty seat beside her, effectively caging her in.

“Shit.” A breathless declaration of defeat.

The cart lurched, groaned, and then the Ferris wheel began to turn. Like a cat cornered by a bulldog, Debbie scrambled backward, her hackles raised.

And Preacher grinned.

• • •

Frozen in the corner of her seat, Debbie gaped at Preacher. The sounds of groaning metal, whirring motors, and shrieking people winked out of existence, leaving behind only the furious rhythm of blood pounding in her ears.

How had he found her here? Had he been following her? Or was this simply an unlucky case of wrong place, wrong time? Debbie swallowed several times, an attempt to calm her racing heart.

“You know,” Preacher drawled. Head tipped to one side, arms draped over the back of the cart, he studied her intently. “Debbie don’t really suit you. Debbie’s a nice girl’s name, and you really ain’t so nice. You’re more of a…” Preacher trailed off.

He snapped his fingers. “Hell on Wheels! That’s what I’m gonna call you. Wheels for short!”

Still stunned by his appearance, Debbie only continued to stare.

“I woulda given you a ride, you know.” The humor in Preacher’s expression vanished. “Some cash, too. You didn’t have to steal my shit.” He was frowning at her now, and while Debbie’s outward appearance remained frozen, she was shrinking inside.

Although her pride told her she’d owed this man nothing—that in this life everything was up for grabs, no matter how kind you were—her guilt was screaming the opposite. She could feel his heavy leather jacket wrapped around her waist, a weighty reminder of what she’d done.

But it was neither her pride nor her guilt that had her untying his jacket from her waist. It was common sense. Regardless of how she felt, she knew she was no match for this man physically, and in her current situation, dangling from a Ferris wheel, she had nowhere to run.

Pulling the leather from her waist, she leaned forward in her seat and held it out in offering. Preacher eyed her shrewdly a moment before quickly snatching it away. He was patting down his coat when his eyes flashed with surprise.

His booted feet hit the floor with a thud, sending the cart rocking. He pulled his wallet from the coat’s inner pocket. “You didn’t toss it.”

She shrugged. She’d meant to chuck it; she’d never kept a stolen wallet before, only the cash inside.

“I’m guessin’ it’s empty?” His smirk returned.

Debbie worried her bottom lip, unsure of what to do should he ask for his money back. His money was long gone, though she’d since stolen more than enough to pay him back.

But he never asked for it. He only continued to watch her with an infuriating all-knowing look on his obnoxiously handsome face, leaving her feeling as if he could see straight through her.

He didn’t look away until their cart came to a rocking stop.

They both turned, peering out over the fairgrounds. They were nearly on top of the wheel, giving them a spectacular view of everything below. Debbie could see the entirety of the fair and beyond, patches of forest and quaint little neighborhoods. Streets lined with glittering street lamps and rows of homes, their lit windows letting off a soft golden glow.

Debbie’s chest expanded, drinking in the sweet air. The higher she was, the more untouchable she felt. Nothing could reach her up here. She was a goddess among men. As opposed to what she really was. A speck of mortal nothing. A thing to use. Forsaken.

When the Ferris wheel began to move again, she turned back to Preacher. He’d since traded his denim jacket for his leather and was currently transferring the contents of his pockets. Balling up the faded blue denim, he tossed it onto Debbie’s lap without warning.

Startled, she only half caught it and glanced up at Preacher, puzzled.

“Keep it,” he said, nodding at the jacket in her clutches.

She stared at him, a hundred questions burning on the tip of her tongue. Why was he still helping her? Especially after what she’d done?

“Are you sure?” Unable to look him in the eye, she posed the question to the stretch of starlit sky over his shoulder.

“You need it more than me.”

Debbie’s attack of conscience intensified. No one, literally no one, had ever been this kind to her. Her guilt flamed hot once again, Preacher’s continued generosity making her petty thievery feel a thousand times worse than ever before.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted suddenly, finally facing him. “For, um, taking your stuff, and—”

Preacher laughed outright. “Liar.” He laughed again, shaking his head.

Cheeks heating, Debbie clamped her mouth shut. Her guilt evaporated, replaced by indignant embarrassment. If she didn’t need his jacket so badly, she would have thrown it in his laughing face.

If Preacher noticed her shift in mood, he didn’t appear bothered by it. Still smirking, he placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “Speakin’ of. How’d a girl like you get so good at pickin’ pockets?”

“A girl like me?” she bit out.

He shrugged. “You aren’t a typical street rat. For starters, you got good teeth. And you’re smart, too.” He tapped two fingers against his temple. “Pretty easy to tell the difference between someone who’s been to school and someone who hasn’t. So I’m curious how a girl like you ended up so slick. I’m guessin’ someone showed you the ropes?”

She wanted to hate him for figuring her out so perfectly. For knowing so much about her without knowing her at all. For being an all-knowing arrogant ass whose overly confident smirk was grating on her nerves. For laughing at her apology.

But for all her irritation, there was an odd sort of warmth blossoming inside of her. Preacher had seen straight through her. Through the grease and the dirt, through her torn, dingy clothing. Through the lies she’d told him.

No one, not one single soul, had ever done that before.

Debbie took a breath. “Sunshine. Her name was Sunshine.”

Early on in her travels, Debbie had found herself stuck in Nashville, Tennessee. Out of money and without a plan, she’d spent most nights sleeping along the Cumberland River under a bridge, and most days rummaging through city garbage cans for something to eat. Out of options, she’d been trying her hand at panhandling on the Boulevard, typically with very little luck, when she’d happened upon Sunshine.

Tall and slim, her hair the color of ripe wheat, her skin glowing a tawny gold, a young woman had expertly strummed her guitar, crooning to a crowd of people. Debbie had stopped to listen, partially transfixed by the haunting quality of her voice, but mostly jealous of the ever-growing pile of money being tossed into her guitar case.

Hours passed, the crowd dispersed, and still Debbie remained—she’d had nowhere else to go. She’d watched the woman pack up her guitar and get ready to leave. But instead, she’d turned to Debbie and smiled.

“Ride’s over.”

Startled, Debbie blinked at the pimply-faced teenager standing outside their cart. Mouth downturned, eyes glassy, he stared blankly back at her.

“Ride’s over,” he repeated, deadpan. “You two have to get out.”

“Here, kid,” Preacher said, handing the teen a folded bill. “Buy yourself a personality. We’re stayin’ on.”

Turning back to Debbie, Preacher folded his arms over his chest and quirked a brow. “You were sayin’?”

Debbie looked at her lap, where she was still clutching Preacher’s denim jacket. The butterfly ring on her index finger—a gift from Sunshine—glinted in the moonlight. As she often did, she began to twist the silver band around her finger. “She taught me everything I know.”

Sunshine had been born on a commune, the unclaimed result of her mother’s many bed partners. She’d run away at thirteen for reasons she’d never disclosed to Debbie. By her twenties Sunshine had learned more than a few tricks for surviving on the road, pickpocketing being one of them. Surprisingly enough, Debbie had excelled at it.

Still twisting her ring, Debbie took a breath and met Preacher’s gaze. “And then one day she was gone.”

“She ditch you?”

Debbie nodded. Those few weeks had been the happiest of her life. She’d thought she’d found a companion, someone to share the burden of her lifestyle with. She’d thought her bad luck had finally taken a turn for the better.

She’d thought she’d found a true friend.

Finding her suddenly gone one morning, Debbie had broken down in tears. And she hadn’t cried since.

“It wasn’t anything you did.” Shaking his head, Preacher’s gaze wandered away. 

“Known chicks just like Sunshine. Guys, too. They got the bug. Gotta keep movin’, you know? Can’t sit still, can’t stay in one place too long. Bet my ass she stayed longer than she would have if she hadn’t met you. And I’m guessing she left while you were sleepin’ ‘cause she didn’t want to have to say goodbye.”

“It’s easier for ‘em that way. Somethin’ is broken up there, in there.” He tapped a finger to his temple and then over his heart. “They can’t face staying, and they can’t face leaving either.”

Debbie took a moment to consider his words. It made sense, more sense than anything else. And for the first time since Sunshine had left her, she felt maybe not quite so miserable about it.

“Was your mom—is your mom like that? Like Sunshine?”

“Nah. She was just makin’ do. Just getting by until she found somethin’ better, somethin’ permanent… like you.” His eyes settled on Debbie, those dark depths quickly sharpening.

As uncomfortable as she was in the face of his scrutiny, Debbie held his gaze, even as her stomach twisted anxiously. This was the most she’d spoken to another person in quite some time, and by far the most truth she’d divulged in twice as long. She also assumed Preacher had already guessed as much, given how obnoxiously perceptive he was.

And then he smiled. Not a smirk. Not a laugh. A generous curve to his mouth that lifted his cheeks, reaching all the way to his eyes. In that instant, he appeared younger than he looked. Sweet, even. And achingly handsome.

Debbie’s lips twitched. The unease in her stomach began to ebb. Instead of clammy, she felt warm—a sort of comforting warmth, a sensation that was completely foreign to her.

“Anyway,” she mumbled. She glanced out across the fair. They had nearly reached the top again, and the view was no less beautiful than before.

“Stealing is easy when you’re practically invisible. Hardly anyone even notices me.” Unlike Sunshine, whose beauty and style had all but commanded attention, Debbie was plain in comparison.

Even before she’d set out on her own, she’d gone virtually unnoticed by her peers. She’d been the girl in the background, finding comfort in the shadows. And to her mother, she’d been only an accessory—a pair of polished pearl earrings worn only to complement the much larger, much more extravagant necklace.

Unfortunately the only person who had noticed her had been a monster.

“I noticed you.”

Debbie’s eyes darted back inside the cart, colliding with Preacher’s.

I noticed you.

Those three words took flight, finding and nudging awake long hidden places inside of her.

Throat bobbing, she turned away. Why would someone who had spent her entire life hiding suddenly find being noticed so incredibly appealing? She didn’t like being noticed. She worked hard to ensure she went unnoticed.

So what had changed so suddenly?

Unable to stop herself, Debbie’s gaze shifted back to Preacher.

It was Preacher. She liked being noticed by Preacher.