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I tried to put all thoughts of the preacher’s daughter out of my head and concentrate on bringing the yard back from the wilderness.

I finished the lawns then contemplated what needed doing next. It was a long list.

I started working on the rear section of the Reverend’s yard, hacking back the brambles and rambling roses that had taken over the corner by the property line. I really needed work-gloves for a job like this, since both my hands and my arms were getting cut to pieces. But I didn’t really mind; the pain felt good.

In prison, a lot of guys had cut. No one talked about it much, but we all knew it went on. I guess it relieved some of the pent up feelings. I thought about trying it once, but the anger and guilt were all I had left of myself, so if I lost those, there’d be nothing. That was a scary thought.

As I’d gotten toward the end of my sentence—my second sentence—I’d been assigned more of the sought after jobs, like working in the prison garden. It felt good to be outside, working with the sun on my back. I mean, yeah, we were allowed to exercise outside, but really working, growing something, it felt more meaningful.

I guessed the Rev wasn’t much for tending God’s garden because the place had gone wild. I wondered how long she’d lived here. There sure hadn’t been any lady-preacher when I was growing up. So I figured maybe three or four years: long enough that people paid mind to her, and recent enough that she was still an outsider. Although that might have been because she was a woman preacher and a Yankee. It didn’t take much to make you an outsider around here.

I worked until the sun was getting lower and a breeze was cooling the sweat on my skin. There was no one around for me to tell I was leaving, and this was no nine to fiver where I needed to punch a clock, so I just packed up and drove home. Dad and Momma had gone out, so I showered, ate my meal in a silent kitchen, and slept in a silent bed. I couldn’t even hear my parents talking to each other when they came in later.

You know the phrase ‘the silence was deafening’? It sounds like horse shit, right? But in prison it was never silent; there’d be people yelling and doors banging, and a thousand and one different noises echoing from the walls. Even at night, you’d hear people moaning and crying—all those nightmares from the combined crimes of two thousand inmates.

But here at night—no sounds. No one talked; no one cried out. Unless it was me, and I wasn’t aware. I’d asked Momma if I could sleep in the family room and have the TV on the first night. Dad replied that it was a waste of electricity. It was three nights before I managed to sleep more than a couple of hours, and that was from sheer exhaustion. I’d lie awake, straining to hear the small sounds of the house settling at night, occasionally the hoarse bark of a dog fox, or the whine of a skeeter buzzing around. We were too far from the road to even hear another car—just a whole lot of silence. It was unnerving.

I dreamed about Mikey again. He was laughing at me this time, and pointing to something in the road, just seconds before we crashed. I saw it all happen in slow motion—the way his neck snapped, the way the glass fanned out in a shower of shards as his body flew through the windshield, the look of surprise fixed in his dead eyes.

I jerked awake, shaking and sweating. Three AM again. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, so I headed to the garage to work out—again.

Four hours later, I stumbled out of the house and made my way to the Rectory.

I was just working up a good sweat from hacking the brambles and heaping them into a pile when I heard her voice.

“Hey, cowboy!”

I turned around and saw the preacher’s pretty daughter, Torrey, sitting on the porch, just like yesterday, holding up a mug of coffee for me.

Her smile disappeared as I got nearer, and I guessed her momma’s talk had had an effect.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked, angrily.

I froze in my tracks. What was she talking about? I looked behind me at the wilderness that I’d been hacking into and turned back to her. Her jaws were clamped together, turning her plump lips into a thin, white line. What sort of game was she playing? Was she going to make out like I’d attacked her or something? The thought caused bile to rise in my throat, and I had trouble swallowing it down.

“Ma’am, I…”

“What have you done to your arms?” she snapped, pointing at the numerous cuts and scratches that were decorating my skin where the tattoos ended.

“Are you freakin’ crazy?” she went on, her voice getting louder by the second. “Why aren’t you wearing gloves?”

“I don’t have any.”

She stared at me like I wasn’t speaking English.

“Come here, you idiot!”

She grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the house.

I’d never been in the Reverend’s kitchen before. It was pretty basic, not all fancy like I’d seen on TV. I guess she didn’t make much money in a one-horse Texas town. Or maybe she just didn’t care about cooking. I somehow thought a Boston lady would have something fancier. I knew the Rectory belonged to the church, but I guess I thought she’d have it fixed up a little more.

Torrey pushed me in front of the kitchen sink and filled it with warm water. She was mumbling and cursing to herself the whole time. Even while I was wondering what she was doing, I couldn’t help thinking she was so damn cute.

Then she started washing my arms, using her hands to cup water and pour it down over the cuts. It stung plenty, but that was nothing compared to the spark I felt every time she touched me. I realized with horror that I’d gotten an instant boner.

“I can manage,” I said roughly, taking over cleaning my cuts.

“Sure, big guy,” she said, snidely. “You managed just fine in the yard, didn’t you, cutting those brambles down to size with your bare hands. Oh yeah, you showed them who’s boss. What’s a little blood as long as you can look like a big strong man? God! Men can be such assholes!”

Boy, this woman was a firecracker. Just the kind I would have gone for once. Not now, of course. She was still standing behind me, and I could feel her eyes burning twin holes into the back of my neck.

“I’m going to get some bandages and Bactine. Don’t move!” she ordered.

She was gone for a few minutes and I started panicking, wondering how it would look if the Rev came back to find me standing in her kitchen, looking all kinds of creepy.

I ignored what Torrey had told me and had one foot out of the door when she came back.

“I told you not to move!” she said, crossly. “Jeez, have you got attention deficit disorder?”

I shook my head slowly like a dumb dog.

“Sit!” she ordered, pointing at a wooden chair.

I sat.

She smoothed dollops of hospital-smelling cream all over my arms and put Band-Aids over the worst of the cuts.

“Don’t you have a long shirt, or something you can wear to cover up your arms? And you really need some work-gloves. I’ll tell Mom to buy you some. For now, you’d better use these.”

She threw me a pair of pink rubber dish gloves. I stared at them in disbelief.

“I cain’t wear those!”

“Is this some macho bullshit thing about not wearing pink? You’d rather get your arms ripped all to pieces? Do you actually have two brain cells to rub together to keep your head warm?”

“Do you ever make any tips when you’re waitressin’, ‘cause you’re so damn charmin’?” I snapped back.

I could have bit off my tongue when I realized I’d said that out loud.

She sat back in her chair, and I wasn’t sure if she was fixing to bawl me out or if she was fighting down a smile.

“Hey! I can be charming—when I want to be!”

And then she laughed. God it was a wonderful sound. People didn’t laugh much around me, and I certainly hadn’t heard my folks laugh lately. It stirred something deep inside me. I didn’t know what it was, but I liked it.

Her amusement finally ended in an unladylike snort, and I could feel my lips turning up in an awkward smile.

“I can be charming,” she said, again.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Prove it!” I taunted her.

She blinked in surprise, and then her smile turned devilish. I wondered what wicked thoughts were hiding behind that pretty face.

“Oh, baby,” she said, her voice all soft and sweet. “I can be charming! Now let me look at those cuts on your poor lil’ arms. Poor you; poor baby.”

And she leaned forward, giving me an eyeful straight down her tank top. She wasn’t wearing a bra and I could see soft, golden mounds of flesh. I closed my eyes and bit back a moan.

I don’t know what she saw in my eyes when I opened them, but her flirty words came to a sudden stop.

“Sorry,” she said, quietly. “I didn’t mean to tease. I was just playing.”

I nodded, uncomfortably aware that if I stood up now it would be obvious just how much her words—and lack of clothing—affected me.

“Okay, you’re good to go,” she said, slapping my knee and standing up. “I’ll just put some more coffee on first.”

She stood at the coffee maker with her back to me, allowing me to slide out of my chair. Perhaps she knew exactly what my problem was. It was humiliating, but I’d had worse things happen.

The only sound in the room was the soft burble of the coffee maker. In the end I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I’ll wait outside, ma… Torrey,” I mumbled.

“You don’t have to, Jordan. I’m the prick here.”

“I … um … I think it would be better. If your momma … if the Reverend saw me…”

She sighed.

“Sure, okay, if you feel more comfortable. I’ll bring it out to you.”

I nodded my thanks and walked out carrying the pink dish gloves. I studied them, appreciating the gesture more than she could imagine, but there was no way I’d be able to get my hands in those teeny tiny things.

I heard the screen door close softly and when I turned around, a mug of coffee was sitting on the porch step.

But Torrey was gone.

I picked up the mug, inhaling the delicious aroma and felt my eyes sting. The loneliness hit me hard. In prison I’d kept to myself; out here, I didn’t know what the boundaries were anymore. It was a game of life where I didn’t know the rules and couldn’t work them out—and I was losing. Big time.

 

 

 

Torrey

 

I felt like the worst kind of cock-tease after I left Jordan. I’d been messing with his head and hadn’t even realized it. When I saw the look on his face, his desire black in those expressive eyes, I knew I’d crossed a line.

I hadn’t meant to. I swear I hadn’t meant to. But he was so easy to talk to, and I hadn’t made any other friends since I’d moved here.

Was Jordan my friend? I know I’d said we could be friends and I would try. Because I’d never met a person who needed a friend more. It was almost a shame he was so goddamn hot. It made the friendship boundary hard for me to respect objectively. Especially when all I wanted to do was jump his bones.

I shook my head. Mom had been right about one thing—Jordan was vulnerable, and he didn’t need me making his life harder.

But after that scorching look of lust, his expression had turned icy—a cold, hard prison stare. For the first time, I could almost believe what Mom said about him.

Returning to my room, I decided that there still wasn’t any harm in making him a coffee in the mornings and having a short conversation. That was safe territory. I kicked off my shorts and tank top, leaving them in a heap on the floor before walking down the hallway to the shower.

My priority was still to find a job, and yesterday had been a washout. Apart from anything else, I hadn’t heard back from Dad, so there’d been no happy stork delivering a couple of grand to my account. Looked like I was on my own after all.

I dried myself on a random towel that was hanging in the bathroom and hurried back to my room. I ignored my tangle of hair—I definitely didn’t have time to spend 20 minutes trying to drag a brush through it. So I just pulled on my best jeans and one of the dressy shirts I used to wear to the office, and applied a small amount of mascara and lipstick. It was so darn hot, that just walking to my car melted makeup.

I remembered Mom had left the local paper on the coffee table so I swiped that on my way out the door.

From the backyard I could hear the sound of some power tool, so I knew Jordan was still working. I hoped those dumb dish gloves were helping him. I decided to buy him a pair of work-gloves with long, protective cuffs. Mom could pay me back.

I got lucky when I looked at the want ads in the back of the paper. A new Starbucks was opening in the mall, a few miles out of town. I’d worked in a couple of their rival cafés when I was a student, so I was confident I had the kind of experience they were looking for.

As I spun the wheels leaving the driveway, I saw Jordan in my rearview mirror. He was watching me, a look of longing and disappointment on his lovely face.

I couldn’t think about that now. I needed to get my head in the game and find a damn job.

 

 

 

A couple of hours later, I had a stack of applications under my arm and one interview scheduled for the next day.

Okay, so it wasn’t as well paid as the paralegal job I’d walked away from in Boston, and no, it didn’t exactly require a college degree to make great coffee, but it was a start.

I allowed myself to celebrate by buying a really cute skirt that whispered my name as I’d walked past from the small boutique.

Not the smartest thing I’d ever done, spending $75 that I didn’t have, but it made my legs look great. And after the last few days, I really needed a pick-me-up.

When I got back to the house, Jordan had already left for the day.

Yeah, I admit I was avoiding him.

I had one other job to do: I needed to empty out the U-haul trailer. Mom had been on my case about it already.

When it came down to it, there wasn’t much I wanted to keep. Somehow it all seemed tainted with bad memories. Everything could go: Goodwill, e-Bay—I didn’t want any of it.

 

 

Jordan

 

I heard her before I saw her.

She was swearing up and down, cussing worse than I’d heard in prison half the time.

“You useless piece of shit! You worn out worthless hunk o’ junk! I’m going to send you to a scrap yard! Start, you motherfucker!”

Holy cow! That girl had a mouth on her.

She was sitting in her Pontiac Firebird, wrenching the ignition key and pounding on the dash. I could tell straight away that the engine was cranking but not turning over. Only two reasons why a car won’t start: it’s not getting gas, or it’s not getting power.

“Um, Miss Torrey?”

Her cute face was red and angry when she looked at me.

“What?”

“I reckon you got a problem with your spark plugs.”

“How the hell do you know that? Did you do something to them?”

I was stung by her accusation. She must really think I was a piece of crap if she thought I’d mess with her car like that.

“No, ma’am,” I said, quietly. “I just know engines.”

Her face relaxed.

“Ignore me and my big mouth, Jordan. I’m just pissed because I have to be somewhere and the Princess has let me down. Now I’ll have to reschedule.”

I couldn’t help a small smile escaping.

“You call your car Princess?”

She grinned up at me. “Sure, she acts like a total bitch most of the time. I only put up with her because she’s pretty. That’s a princess, right?”

An odd coughing sound came out of me, and I realized I was almost laughing. The recognition hurt my chest, and I stopped immediately. I didn’t deserve to laugh.

Torrey looked at me curiously as I dropped my eyes to the ground.

“Um, I can fix it for you, if you’d like.”

“What? You can fix my car?”

I hitched one shoulder and nodded. “If you’d like.”

“You really know cars?”

I nodded again.

“Hell, yes! I’d like!”

“Um, you wannna pop the hood? I could take a look now…”

“Yes! God, yes!”

I examined one of the spark plugs and saw that my first guess was right. I showed it to her.

“See this, Mi… Torrey? It’s dry. That means no fuel is getting through. If it was black, that would mean too much fuel.”

“Can you fix it?”

“I’d need to check the in-line fuel filter, clean out the carb, and check the jets for blockages, make sure everything is sweet. If that don’t work, you’ll need to get a new spark plug fitted, but I don’t reckon you’ll need to do that. Yeah, I can fix it.”

“My God, you’d be a lifesaver.”

Her comment punched me in the guts.

You’re so wrong.

Did she know? She must know. I couldn’t explain. I turned and started to walk away.

“Hey, wait up!”

When I didn’t slow down, I heard the car door open and then Torrey grabbed my arm.

“Jordan? What the fuck? I thought you were going to fix my car, and then you just walk away!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I…”

She let go of my arm, and her voice softened.

“Obviously I said something to upset you … but I have no clue what it was. I do that all the time.” She laughed sadly. “I’m notorious for it. Look, I’d be really grateful if you could fix my car, Jordan, and I promise I’ll shut the fuck up.”

I nodded again, too choked up to talk. I seemed to have turned into a freakin’ emotional wreck since leaving prison. I couldn’t control myself anymore. It was so fucking frustrating.

She clapped her hands together, immediately changing the energy around us, chasing away the darkness that constantly hovered around me.

“So, you can tell me what you need to do the job, but first I need you to drive me so I don’t miss my job interview.”

“A job interview?” I was confused. “I thought you worked at the Busy Bee in town.”

She lifted one eyebrow and smirked at me. “Guess they didn’t like the way I served coffee.”

And then I got it. She’d been fired … because of me.

She had her hands on the passenger door before I managed to choke out another sentence.

“Miss Torrey, I…” My eyes bulged. “I cain’t drive you!”

“Why the hell not? You got some ‘no chicks in the truck’ rule?”

Was she joking with me? I wasn’t sure so I risked a quick glance at her. Yep, she was smiling.

“No,” I choked out. “It’s not that…”

“Glad to hear it,” she said, with a cute wrinkle of her nose. “Have you got your keys?”

“Miss Torrey…”

“Just Torrey! Jeez! Do I have to wear a name badge for you, too?”

“Torrey … if I give you a ride to your interview, I can guarantee you won’t get the job.”

“Don’t be such a douchebag!”

“It’s true,” I said, willing her to understand. “You’ve already gotten fired from one job because of me. Folks around here … they don’t like me. In fact, they pretty much curse the ground I walk on.”

I waited to see some pity on her face or an excuse to drop from those pretty lips about why it wasn’t such a good idea that she got a ride with me after all.

“Are you going to tell me why?”

I stared at her.

“You … you don’t … your momma didn’t…”

She folded her arms and stared at me calmly.

“No. Mom didn’t tell me anything really. Why don’t you tell me?”

Because you’ll never speak to me again.

She sighed. “You don’t have to. Just give me a ride, okay?”

“People will talk, and if they see you with me…”

“Screw ‘em,” she said.

“Excuse me?” Did I hear her right?

“I said, screw ‘em. If someone refuses to give me a job because of who has given me a ride, then they’re not the kind of asshole I want to work for. Now, do you have your keys?”

I nodded, stunned into silence. Again. Christ, this woman rendered me mute every time I saw her. She was so fucking fearless; she’d charge hell with a bucket of iced water.

She climbed into my truck and sat there waiting for me. I followed slowly, still reluctant. I didn’t want to cause trouble for her; not when her momma had tried to do so much for me. Not when Torrey took the trouble to make me great coffee every day.

I didn’t know how to phrase it so she’d understand what she was up against. Like I said, couldn’t get the words out of my dumb mouth.

She looked completely at home in my truck. One of her long legs was hitched up so her foot rested on the dash. She’d worn a skirt today, slightly more conservative than her usual clothes, but she still looked hot whatever she had on. She wore a plain, sleeveless blouse in a pale blue that made her honey-colored skin glow. She was so fucking beautiful and she was sitting in my truck like she didn’t have a care in the world. I don’t know, maybe she didn’t.

I climbed in next to her and slowly pulled out of the driveway.

“Where to?”

“Left. Into town.”

I did as she said and drove carefully, keeping under the speed limit the whole time.

I was trying to concentrate on driving, but a million and one thoughts were spinning through my brain.

She must have sensed the glances in her direction that I just couldn’t help.

“Ask me,” she said.

“Ask you what?”

An amused smile pulled her lips upward as she looked across at me.

“Whatever you’re busting a gut to hold in. Ask me.”

I vomited out the question that had been fighting to get past my lips.

“Don’t it bother you? Sittin’ here with … with someone like me?”

My stomach clenched when she didn’t reply immediately. I knew she was considering her answer carefully because normally she just blurted it right out, like she didn’t have an edit button.

“I’d say it bothers you more than it bothers me,” she said, at last.

I wasn’t sure what to make of her answer. Was it true? Did it bother me that this beautiful girl would put herself at risk by getting in my truck? No one even knew she was with me.

“Yeah, it bothers me.”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

My eyes widened with shock.

“Fuck, no!”

I could not believe she asked me that!

“Then we’re good,” she said, evenly.

My mouth hung open.

“You’re really not bothered?”

“Jordan, if you did something that made me uncomfortable, I’d let you know. Believe me. I have no interest in hanging out with crazies.”

“I’m not normal,” I stuttered out.

She looked at me appraisingly, and I felt my cheeks flush under her intense gaze.

“Sure, you’ve got issues. Who doesn’t? You’re normal, Jordan. Your past is just a bit more colorful.” She arched an eyebrow. “You’re not that special.”

What a first class bitch!

Then I wondered if she was joking. I couldn’t tell and that just made me more pissed—at her, at myself. I was too angry to speak. Confused, too. Luckily, she quit jabbering and gave me some peace to think.

Soon enough, we were driving through town, and I think I was holding my breath, praying that no one would see us together. They couldn’t think any worse of me than they already did, but I didn’t want to make life harder for Torrey or her momma.

Of course, when I braked for the stop light at the Main Street intersection, I saw Mrs. Ogden gawking at us. She’d always been the town’s biggest gossip. I doubted she’d changed over the last eight years.

“People will see you with me,” I spat out, thumping the steering wheel in frustration.

“Mmm, yeah,” she said, her voice far away.

I turned to look at her and saw that she was staring out of the window.

Well, I couldn’t do anything about it now, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t warned her.

“What have you got on your iPod?” she asked, after a short silence.

“Um, I don’t have one.”

“Really? You must be the only guy I know who doesn’t.”

I shrugged uncomfortably.

“Weren’t you allowed one in prison?”

I was taken aback by how easily she asked the questions that most people wouldn’t dare voice. My own parents never mentioned prison, and even the Reverend had tiptoed around the subject. But not Torrey. I didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not.

“No, we weren’t allowed electronic devices. A few people had radios—I had one for a while—but you didn’t keep them for long. Those things are too easy to steal or swap for drugs.”

“Oh, of course.” She nodded to herself. “And you haven’t gotten an iPod since?”

I shook my head, too embarrassed to tell her that I didn’t have any money. Her momma paid me next to nothing to do odd jobs and keep the yard tidy, and what with paying my $40 a month to the parole service for the privilege of them checking on me, and a little to my folks for food and rent, there wasn’t more than a few bucks in change left.

I was glad when she didn’t ask any more questions; my brain was reeling from the ones she’d asked me already. I hadn’t talked this much in, well, eight years.

I started getting twitchy when I realized that her directions were taking us out of town again. I’d soon be beyond the area I was allowed to go. If I broke my parole requirements, I’d be thrown back inside until the next millennium.

“Um, Miss Torrey, is it much further?”

“Just Torrey,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay you for the gas—if I get the job.”

“It’s not that…”

“Then what?”

I stared straight ahead, feeling the burn of humiliation flare up again.

“I’m not allowed to go more than ten miles beyond the town limit. It’s a requirement of my parole.”

“Oh,” she said, looking at me with concern. “Shit, I’m so sorry! I had no idea! Fuck! Look, you can drop me off here. It’s only another mile up the road. I can walk.”

“Another mile to where?” I knew this road, and there was nothing along it for miles.

“To the mall,” she said. “Honestly, you can drop me here.”

There’s a mall?

“Since when?” I blurted out.

She looked puzzled. “Since when what?”

“Since when is there a mall here?”

I was choking the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white.

“Oh,” she said, softly. “I think it’s pretty new. The Starbucks where I’m going for an interview hasn’t even opened to the public yet.”

Shit. They’d built a whole goddamn mall since I’d been inside. I wondered what other changes had happened that I knew nothing about.

“Really, it’s fine,” she said again. “You can drop me here.”

“I guess I can do another mile.”

“I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

I sighed. “Don’t worry about it. Trouble finds me anyhow.”

I prayed that the mall was within my ten-mile limit. I didn’t want to think about the consequences if I put a toe over the line. And I’d only been allowed to drive because my parole officer had argued that without transport I wouldn’t be able to get work, what with living somewhere so remote.

Thankfully, the new mall soon appeared just over the hill, and I stared at the sight. I couldn’t imagine that this small town would be able to sustain anything that size. There must have been parking for over a thousand cars, and several acres of scrubby grassland were now paved and covered in gleaming steel and glass.

But the newness had a feeling of anonymity about it, and I felt more relaxed here than I had in a while.

I pulled into a spot away from other cars and waited for her to climb out. I had an old paperback on the back seat so I planned on just sitting and reading while she went for her interview.

“Aren’t you coming?” she said, frowning up at me. “You’re not going to just sit there, are you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“You’re not in jail now, Jordan, and you don’t need to hide away. Live a little. Take a chance.”

Anxiety spasmed through me, but I knew she was right. And being somewhere like this, where there was less chance of being recognized, well, that appealed. A lot.

My eyes were scanning the area, searching for trouble. I took a breath and tried to act something like normal. At least I hoped I didn’t look crazy mad-dog scary.

Somewhat reluctantly, I climbed out of the truck and locked the doors. I nearly passed out from shock when Torrey hooked her arm through mine and started walking toward the shops.

I looked down at her, speechless.

“Is this okay?” she said, not letting go. “Dad’s always telling me I don’t respect people’s personal boundaries.”

“Um, no. It’s … fine,” I stammered.

“Good,” she said, her voice peaceful.

I liked the way her soft skin brushed against my forearm. I liked it a lot—too much, probably. I realized we would have been taken for a couple, walking together like that. My throat seized up, and I couldn’t have said a word if my life depended on it.