Finders Keepers (8 page)

Of course it didn’t make sense to Josie. Someone like her,
who’d lived right and said and did the right things, wouldn’t have any qualms
or guilt about taking a friend up on a generous offer. She would have been
invited out of love and respect. Me, on the other hand? I’d been invited only
out of obligation. That Jesse, Rowen, and Josie had even thought to extend the
invite after Clay’s death wasn’t something I was spitting on—not even close.
They’d been the only people to ever offer help, and I’d never forget it. I
wasn’t fool enough to believe they’d invited me because they actually hoped I’d
move in though. We were friends, but I wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine to be
around. They’d issued invitations simply because I didn’t have a home anymore.
Therefore, those invitations had come out of obligation.

Putting that whole concept into actual words wasn’t
something I wasn’t up to the task of doing, though, so I went with a short,
honest answer. “I didn’t want to be a burden to any of you.” That worked. Short
and to the point, just how I liked most everything in life. Save for my
johnson.

Josie snorted. “Yeah, because worrying me sick about you for
months wasn’t a burden. Because driving out there to shake some damn sense into
you wasn’t a burden. Because being friends with you, Garth, as hard as you like
to make it on me, isn’t a goddamned burden.” She wasn’t back to her former
anger levels, but being able to flip a switch like that was a rare trait.
“Thank you
so
much for saving me all of the effort and burden.” She
didn’t even attempt to hide her sarcasm.

I couldn’t grasp why she was so upset. Was she mad at
herself that I’d pulled one over on her? Maybe. Did she care about me so much
the thought of me living out of a truck for months was upsetting? Unlikely.
Josie seemed more to tolerate me than actually like me—but what else was there?
I couldn’t come up with a whole hell of a lot more.

“You know, I’ve been working at Willow Springs the entire
time, so I’m getting three warm meals, three
good
warm meals, five to
six days a week. I wasn’t starving on my days off, either, so it’s not like I
haven’t had a solid meal in three whole months, okay?” I wasn’t sure if
explaining my day-to-day life would comfort her or piss her off even more, but I
was definitely hoping for the former. “It hasn’t even been all that cold until
last night. I had a good sleeping bag, and the cab of my truck is more
comfortable than that old egg crate mattress I slept on in the trailer. On the
nights Clay actually let me sleep inside instead of out in a lawn chair.”

I glanced over to gauge her reaction. Her face wasn’t drawn
up in angry lines, so I supposed we were making progress. “Even if I had the
choice, I’d still take the cab of my truck over the inside of that nasty
trailer.” That was the truth. A sad one, perhaps, but factual. “Come on, don’t
be mad. It wasn’t bad, okay? It wasn’t the Ritz, but it was a far cry from the
worst living conditions I’ve been in. A far cry.”

Then a tear slid down Josie’s cheek. I would have expected
her to shoot lightning bolts out of her eyes before an honest-to-goodness tear.
Something kicked to life inside of me then. Something that needed to say or do
whatever it took to make her feel better. To make sure a second tear didn’t
follow the first. It was all very . . . unfamiliar to me. “Please, Josie, don’t
be upset. I wasn’t fighting for my life in horrific conditions, and when the
conditions did turn horrifying enough to freeze my toes off, you swooped in to
save the day. Everything’s okay, so please—
please
—stop crying.” I
grimaced, anticipating more tears.

Josie sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I’ve done plenty of it in
my lifetime. Crying isn’t going to kill me.”

“But it might kill me.” I wished I could go back in time and
clamp my mouth closed before those five words escaped. Not because they weren’t
true—they were—but because of the way Josie’s eyes widened with surprise before
her whole expression softened. I’d been trying to calm her down, but not so
much that she’d get comfortable enough to lower all her defenses against me. I
needed her to keep those defenses up, those walls strong, because as much as I
wanted to deny it, my walls had a way of crumbling when Josie was close by. My
defenses, my actual ones, skipped off to la-la land when I was with her. That’s
why I’d fabricated extra-abrasive defenses with her. It was the only way to
protect her from the giant mess I was.

“Here we are,” Josie announced.

I had to look out the window to confirm it. That she’d
managed to cover miles of country in a handful of minutes seemed humanly
impossible. Good thing she had family in the sheriff’s department. Otherwise
she’d have enough speeding tickets to wallpaper her bedroom. Gazing at the
Gibsons’ barn, I wondered if the cot was still tucked away in the back stall.

In seventh grade, after Clay had landed more hits on me than
usual, I’d hitched a ride to the Gibsons’. I was “running away” for good that
time. I’d arrived in the middle of the night, thrown some pebbles against
Josie’s window until I woke her up, and without a word, she led me into the
barn. She set up a cot with blankets and a pillow for me. She even had a
plastic container stocked with a flashlight, snacks, and some comic books, like
she’d been expecting me. Since it was summer break, no one missed me, most of
all Clay. A few mornings later, Mr. Gibson found me, ordered me to leave, and
pretty much said he’d be waiting with a shotgun the next time I decided to move
into his barn with his teenage daughter a hundred yards away. Josie had cried
that day too, but Mr. Gibson wasn’t swayed by her pleas or her tears. I left
that day, never returning to Josie’s place until a couple of years ago. That
one night . . .

In seventh grade, I hadn’t understood why Mr. Gibson wanted
as much space between me and his daughter as his shotgun could create, but I
figured it out a few years later. He’d figured out sooner than I had that I was
no good for his daughter.

“So”—I glanced out the windshield at the dark house—“your
dad?”

Josie opened her door, and a rush of cold air hit me. “He’s
asleep. He successfully got his daughter through her teenage years without her
getting knocked up, so he sleeps a lot more soundly. He wouldn’t even hear a
herd of cattle run through the dining room.”

“Does he still sleep with his shotgun under his pillow?”

Josie smiled at me. “Only when he’s expecting you to show
up.”

“Comforting. Thank you.” I smiled back before forcing myself
out of the cab. After all of that warmth, the frigid air almost knocked me
over. Hurrying toward the barn, I was stopped halfway there.

“Where the hell are you going?” Josie stepped in front of
me.

“The barn. Preferably before I freeze my ass off.”

Her whole face except her eyes was covered up, but hell if
those eyes weren’t the most expressive things I’d ever seen. “You’re not
sleeping in the barn. It’s probably a whole two degrees warmer than your
truck.” Grabbing my arm, she turned me around and steered me toward the house.

“Hey, two degrees can mean the difference between losing and
keeping one’s toes.”

I wasn’t fighting her, but she didn’t stop tugging on me
until we were at the front door. “And seventy-five degrees can mean the
difference between chattering yourself awake all night and drifting off into a
peaceful sleep.”

If Josie thought peaceful sleep was an option for me, she
was living in a state of disillusionment.

Putting her mittened hand up to her mouth, she opened the
door quietly and slipped inside. I followed her, half expecting to find Mr.
Gibson in his favorite chair with his shotgun aimed between my eyes. Like most
of the homes around there, the Gibsons’ place was an old farmhouse that they’d
done a nice job of keeping up. It was more updated and modern than the Walkers’
home but just as inviting. Well, inviting for anyone who hadn’t been threatened
with death if they ever showed their face around it again.

The guest room was on the main floor, across the hall from
Josie’s parents’ bedroom. The old wood floors creaked with every step, and I
hoped Josie was right about her dad sleeping heavily. I was just about to take
off my boots and continue toward the guest room when Josie shook her head and
tugged on my arm again. She wanted me to follow her up the stairs. Only two
rooms were on the second floor. One was a bathroom. And another was Josie’s
bedroom. The one time I’d been in her bedroom, I managed to sleep with my best
friend’s girlfriend. If that was the kind of disaster I could expect from
entering Josie’s room, I would not be making a return visit. No. Way.

Like the wood floors, the steps creaked, and I didn’t stop
wincing until we reached the second floor. Josie looked as relieved as I was
we’d escaped detection. Keeping her hand wrapped around my arm, she pulled me
down the hall, past the bathroom, and stopped outside of her . . . I pulled my
arm out of her grasp and shook my head. Hell, no. I wasn’t going back in that
room. Not only because of the bad memories, but because of the good ones, too.
That night had been a combination of extreme highs and lows.

Josie rolled her eyes, opened the door, and managed to grab
my arm and pull me inside before I knew what was happening. She flipped on the
light and closed the door before I could escape. “Afraid of a girl’s room? It’s
not like you’ve never seen one before.”

That was true. I’d been in my and a dozen other men’s fair
share of girl’s rooms. That wasn’t what had me all but breaking out in a cold
sweat. I was in Josie Gibson’s bedroom. That wasn’t just another girl’s
bedroom. “Yeah, um, why don’t I just take the guest room tonight?” I hitched my
thumb over my shoulder as Josie peeled off the layers of winter wear.

“Sure. Be my guest. But just so you’ve been warned, expect
my dad to crawl in beside you in a couple of hours because that’s normally when
my mom kicks him out for snoring up a storm.” Josie kicked off her boots and
waved me toward the door. “Happy spooning.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Okay. The barn it is.”

“Uh-huh. I thought I already made that clear. I didn’t go
save you from your truck to let you sleep in the barn.”

I pinched my nose harder. “Then where do you want me to
sleep?” I knew it was a dumb question, but I needed Josie to spell it out for
me.

“Wherever you want, so long as it’s on this side of that
door.”

I silently groaned and let out a string of curses. As miserable
as my truck had been, it beat sleeping in Josie’s room by a mile. There was
hell, and then there was Josie’s room. It was the last place in the world I
wanted to be.

As rooms go, it wasn’t an offensive one. Her room had a lot
of white, lots of windows that let in plenty of light, and it wasn’t overly
girly. She still had that picture of Jesse, her, and me taken at the Fourth of
July picnic the summer we were ten. Jesse had that stupid smile on his face,
like usual. I had a scowly frown on mine, like usual. And Josie . . . well, she
wasn’t looking at the camera—she was looking at me. It was the only photo, the
only instance, where she’d noticed me when Jesse was close by. I loved that
picture.

So the room itself wasn’t a problem. It was what had happened
inside the room. Right there. On that bed. If I wasn’t so damn conflicted, I
would have needed a cold shower to calm the memories flashing through my mind.

“If you want, you can take a shower. Dad and Mom will think
it’s me, so you don’t have to worry about that. A hot shower might feel good.”
A hint of a smile crawled into position as she opened a dresser drawer.
“Popsicle man.”

“I’m so exhausted I’d probably fall asleep in the shower, so
thank you, but I’m just going to pass out if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” After pulling a couple things from her
drawer, she looked at me and twirled her finger. “Turn around, please.” My
forehead lined. She grabbed the hem of her sweater. “I’m exhausted and would
like to pass out, too. Being out half the night searching for a certain someone
has a way of sapping a girl’s energy. But I don’t sleep in my clothes like some
people. Me, I prefer pajamas.”

Oh, perfect. She was about to change with me a whole ten
feet away. The situation just kept getting better and better. Yes, that was a
whole heap of sarcasm right there. I swallowed and spun around. I cleared my
throat and tried to clear my mind of what was happening behind me. “Some of us
lost all their pajamas in a fire.”

“Oh . . . um . . . do you want to borrow something?” After
the fury her voice had held earlier, hearing it soft and quiet was almost as
alarming.

“No, thanks. I don’t think we’re the same size.”

When a pillow hit the back of my head, I turned around.
Changing time must be over if her hands were free to throw a pillow at me. When
I saw Josie, my mouth almost fell open. “I thought you said you were changing
into pajamas.”

She glanced down and lifted her arms. “These are pajamas.”

“Really? Because from a male’s point of view, that’s
lingerie. Pajamas are, you know, the flannel, frumpy things that cover lots of
skin that old ladies wear.” Shit, I was trying so hard not to check her out,
but it was impossible. A man could have held a knife to my throat and told me
to stop looking at Josie or die, and I would have been a dead man two seconds
later.

Josie gave me an amused look as she finished tossing the
mountain of pillows off of her bed. “I’ll keep that in mind. When I’m an old
woman. But right now, I like this kind of pajamas.”

Yeah, I liked them too.

Flipping her hair forward, she worked it into a ponytail
before flicking off the light switch. “I thought you said you were exhausted.
Are you planning on standing there all night?”

If I got to watch her in my new favorite women’s “pajamas,”
then hell yes, I would stand there all night. The lights might have been off,
but those windows and that moonlight didn’t exactly make it dark.