Jaded (2 page)

Chapter Two

Miles of cotton fields and sprawling ranches had given Dodd Cunningham an uneasy feeling that afternoon, even before he passed the
Welcome to Trapp, Texas! Home of the Panthers!
road sign, but he figured small-town life would grow on him. The sense of security his mother felt being near her old friends, the Mendozas, made up for the petty discomforts nagging him.

“Dodd?” His younger brother, Grady, rolled down the passenger window of the El Camino, speaking over the moan of the glass. “Does anyone live in this town?”

“Well, there was the guy back at the gas station.”

“You think he killed the rest of them?”

Dodd cut his eyes toward Grady and chuckled. “Possibly.”

“Well, I think the high school principal could be in on it.”

“Tell me he's not that bad.”

Grady stuck his head out the window and shook his hair in the wind. “I guess you'll find out Monday morning, won't you?”

Dodd smiled as he eased to a stop behind the orange-and-white moving truck in his driveway. He and Grady climbed out of the car to stand on the cracked sidewalk, surveying the pink siding of the shoebox-sized house for the second time that day. Dodd took a deep breath and realized Trapp even smelled strange. Like baked dirt. “I have a funny feeling about this place.”

“Funny like hysterical?” Grady said. “Like maniacal laughter?”

Dodd glanced at puffy, white clouds, finding comfort in their familiarity. Funny like how did I end up here. He flinched. His primary goal was to be an encouragement to Grady and his mother, so he forced a lighter mood. “Funny like you never know what God has up His sleeve.”

Grady strode to the chain-link fence at the side of the house. “You can't pray about a move as much as we have and doubt whether it's right. Obviously God wants you here or He wouldn't keep dumping job interviews on you.” He leaned against the top rail, the wire mesh clinking in protest. “I thought no big trees grew out here.”

Dodd joined him, leaning his forearms on the warm metal. “Grady, that tree is dead.”

“Yet they left it here as a memorial.”

Grady frowned at the oak in their backyard, but Dodd didn't doubt his brother's enthusiasm for their new home. Even at eighteen, Grady had the markings of a natural missionary, and Dodd envied the ease with which his brother adapted to new situations. Their mother had signed a contract to teach at the middle school two weeks ago, and at the last minute, Dodd decided to come with them. He hadn't yet gotten used to the idea of living in Nowhere, USA, and his confidence was sprinting to catch up to his good intentions.

Their mother called from the front porch. “What do you think of the place?”

“You've got to be kidding me.” Grady pushed away from the fence.

“Just wait until Fawn Blaylock introduces you to some of the kids,” she said.

“Mom …,” Grady whined. “We don't even know her. Isn't she old?”

“I think she's twenty. That's not old. Besides, Charlie says she knows all the teenagers in town.”

Dodd followed his brother to the moving truck and shoved the door up with a clatter. Wednesday night, the Trapp elders had come to Fort Worth for a brief interview, and Dodd had met Fawn's father, Neil Blaylock. Polished boots, starched jeans, broad smile. In some ways, the complete opposite of Charlie Mendoza, his mother's old friend from college, who was a softer version of cowboy. The third elder, Lee Roy Goodnight, could've been their grandfather.

Dodd looked at Grady and gently crossed his eyes.

“We don't want no hick girlfriends, Mom.” Grady hooked his thumbs on his tank top.

“I didn't mean to imply you did.” She retrieved a mop and pail from the back of her SUV. “Before you know it, Trapp will feel like home.”

She smiled, but Dodd detected a hint of apprehension in her voice that echoed his own. He took the cleaning supplies as a breeze swept red sand down the street and with it, the odor of manure. “This town will take some getting used to, Mom.” He kissed the top of her head. “But the important thing is the people.”

Grady cleared his throat. “Both of them.”

Forty-five minutes and several dozen boxes later, sweat soaked Dodd's shirt and stung his eyes. He paused to analyze how they would get the refrigerator off the truck. “Of all the vans on the rental lot, I end up with one whose ramps are stuck.”

“What do you suggest?” Grady asked.

Dodd gauged the distance from the truck bed to the ground. “What if you lean the chunky girl all the way back so she's almost lying on her side, then ease her over the edge.” He rubbed the nape of his neck. “If you pull back when she slides down, I think I can support her weight until she reaches the driveway.”

Grady scratched his head. “So you want me to pitch her down to you? Just like that?”

Dodd pushed up the sleeves of his T-shirt with deliberate movements, flexed, then laughed. “Okay, so it might not be the most practical idea, but I don't see any other option.”

“Cool.” Grady clambered into the truck. “I may get my own room after all.” He dragged the appliance across the bed of the truck as the screech of metal on metal echoed down the street. “That's as near as I can get it. I'll tilt it back and slip the edge off the side.”

Dodd wiped sweat out of his eyes. “Rotate it ninety degrees to take advantage of the smooth side. As it is now, you'll be sliding against the back tubing.”

“But that'll scratch the finish.”

Dodd looked past Grady. “Grab a blanket from behind you.”

Grady dug through a box, then flared the bedding like a bullfighter. “You ready, then?”

“Bring it on.” Dodd grinned at his brother, glad of the time they were spending together, a bittersweet result of their father's death. If all had gone according to plan, they would have still been hundreds of miles apart—Grady working foreign missions with their parents while Dodd labored stateside, sending money to support them.

Grady angled the appliance until the bottom edge lay even with the truck floor. “I'll pull back as I send her over. Here comes the princess.”

Dodd braced himself against the bottom of the fridge and said a quick prayer.

Together they scooted the bulk over the edge, but too late Dodd realized the blanket would cause the appliance to slide too easily.

Grady stammered, “My hands are slipping. Sweaty.”

“Not yet. Two more feet.”

“I can't.”

The top of the refrigerator crashed against the inside wall of the truck, and Dodd buckled under the added weight. “Grady, do something!”

“There's nothing to hold on to.”

Dodd heard running footfalls, and the fridge shifted before gliding to the ground. He rose slowly, massaging a sore spot where the door handle had gouged his inner arm. That would be a substantial bruise, but it could have been so much worse. He breathed heavily as he stepped around the appliance and came face-to-face with one of the largest men he'd ever seen. Several inches taller than Dodd and twice as broad, the stranger was a modern-day Hercules … in a tattered Led Zeppelin T-shirt.

“You came along just in time.” Dodd extended his hand. “I'm Dodd Cunningham.”

The man's gaze swept the street before he gripped Dodd's hand and answered in a deep bass tone. “Just moving in myself.”

Grady sat on the bed of the truck, his legs dangling over the side. “You saved my brother from getting smashed by four hundred pounds of Maytag.” He grinned. “I'm Grady. What's your name?”

The stranger hesitated. “Clyde. Clyde Felton.”

“I'm not above bribing you, Mr. Felton,” Grady said. “If you help lug this old thing into the house, we'd be more than happy to assist with your own belongings.”

“Place came furnished.” Clyde scrutinized the pink shoebox of a house as if it were a nest of scorpions. “I guess I can help real quick.”

Most likely Clyde could have transported the appliance on his own, but together the three of them maneuvered it toward the porch, and all the while Clyde glanced up and down the street. Dodd wondered if the other neighbors would be so skeptical. So far he'd received a hearty small-town welcome, but this guy was new in town too. Maybe he felt as out of place as Dodd.

With the fridge installed in the corner of the kitchen, Clyde said shortly, “No dolly?”

Dodd's mother entered from the backyard, where she had been shaking out rugs. “My son gets carried away pinching pennies. I'm Milla Cunningham.”

“Ma'am.”

Her gaze bounced from their neighbor to the floor and back again, and Dodd knew his mother was having just as much trouble figuring him out as Dodd. The man seemed lost, like a toddler separated from his mother in a toy store—a peculiar blend of angst and excitement.

“I wish I could offer you a glass of iced tea,” Milla said, “but tap water will have to do for now.” She dug through a cardboard box for a stack of foam cups as Clyde shuffled toward the door, his outdated Adidas dragging across the gritty linoleum.

“Water's fine.”

The man made his way to the front porch one step at a time as he dodged questions from Milla. Eventually she would crack the poor guy, and they'd be friends, but Dodd opted for a slower approach, figuring it might take a while to earn his trust.

Grady motioned to the weeds in Clyde's yard across the street, then the tall grass in his own. “I'll be mowing tomorrow. I'll make a swipe through your place as well.”

Clyde's eyes jerked toward the teenager. “No need.”

“It's the least I can do for the man who saved my brother's life.” Grady slapped Dodd on the back.

“Best stay away from my place.”

Dodd tensed at Clyde's tone, wondering if the crusty neighbor intended the remark as an underlying threat, but his concern evaporated as an older pickup stopped on the street.

“There's Charlie, late as usual,” Milla said, in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

His mother's old friend folded himself out of the truck with a broad grin. His boisterous voice boomed, belying his thin frame. “About time you made it to Trapp, Milla Vanilla.”

“I haven't heard that nickname in twenty-five years—Charlie
Women
doza.”

“Hey, now.” He pointed an index finger at her as he strode across the yard.

The way Charlie put his mother at ease lessened Dodd's doubts about their new home but reminded him of his father's absence. Dodd would give anything to be able to ask his dad's advice about his new job at the church.

“Neil asked if he could tag along.” Charlie gestured toward the truck.

Neil Blaylock, tall and tan, swept a cream-colored cowboy hat onto his head as he walked toward them.

Dodd shook the man's hand. “Good to see you again, Mr. Blaylock.”

“Welcome to Trapp, son. From what I hear, your father would be right proud of you for all you've taken on. Right proud.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It's good to see the old El Camino.” Charlie gazed wistfully at the car. “I can't believe it's still running. Your daddy and I had some adventures back in school.”

Milla peered at Neil and Charlie. “You didn't bring your wives?”

“Not this time.” Neil flashed a smile. “But they'll be at the ranch tomorrow night for the cookout.”

Dodd's stomach tightened uncomfortably. He wanted to impress the church members yet felt underqualified. His measly experience didn't make up for his lack of education, and he was even more ill-prepared to lead his family. He was grateful to have Charlie—and hopefully Neil—as a source of encouragement and guidance.

“Everything go all right with the move, son?” Charlie's large hand gripped Dodd's shoulder.

“Smooth sailing until Grady and I tried to unload the refrigerator by ourselves, but a neighbor came to our rescue.”

“Neighbor?”

“Clyde Felton. He lives across the street.” Dodd motioned toward the porch, but sometime during the conversation, Clyde had slipped away.

“Whoa,” Grady said. “Where'd he go?”

Neil adjusted his hat with a frown. “Clyde Felton was here?”

“Until a second ago.” Grady grinned. “Dodd would be smashed right now if not for him.”

Dodd wondered at the man's abrupt disappearance, but Milla waved away the discussion. “Come on in,” she said. “I'll show you what we've done with the place.”

“That shouldn't take long,” Grady mumbled.

As his mother and brother entered the house with Charlie and Neil, Dodd surveyed the old trailer house across the street. A light shone in one of the windows, but he could detect no movement. The evening breeze carried the trill of a distant train whistle, and Dodd once again inhaled the odor of cattle. He would be accustomed to the scent in a day or two, along with hundreds of other unexpected differences of small-town life, and by the time he fulfilled his three-year commitment to preach part-time at the Trapp congregation, he might even beg to stay. In the meantime, he decided it would serve him well to get to know his neighbors.

Especially Clyde Felton.

Chapter Three

“What do you think the new kid's like, Ruthie?”

I spent all evening ringing up groceries and listening to housewives chatter about Grady Cunningham, and while I hadn't learned anything new, the family's biography changed several times during my shift. By closing time, the older brother had evolved from an unknown Fort Worth man into a rich Montana rancher planning a takeover of the local grain elevator. A few bold shoppers even speculated that he had been in the penitentiary with Clyde Felton.

The question from the stock boy shouldn't have irritated me, but after working fourteen hours straight between my day job at the school and my night job at the United, I'd had all I could take. I glared at him where I crouched to retrieve a wadded sales page under the counter, my shoulder grinding against the rough edge of the shelving. “Luis, don't ask. I'm sick of hearing about those people.”

“Well, excuse me for living.” He flipped through a magazine, not looking up.

“Do you suppose you could help me?”

He turned another page. “What do you need?”

“Toss this in the trash and hand me a box of plastic bags.”

He took his time, then leaned against the counter as I spied more trash. The swishing suction of the door signaled an entering shopper, and I looked over my shoulder. A blond teenage boy, head held high, strolled past the greeting-card display. He paused in front of the water fountain and peered back at the door.

Following his gaze, I glimpsed a dark-haired man. Undoubtedly, the blond was Grady Cunningham, JohnScott's football hopeful, and the man was his mysterious older brother. I jerked back around, but not before unintentionally making eye contact with the brunet.

JohnScott may have exaggerated a teensy bit, but Grady Cunningham was indeed handsome. The older brother, also attractive, looked like something out of the L.L.Bean mail-order catalogs in Aunt Velma's guest bath, but neither of them struck me as knockout gorgeous. The quality of their clothing, the length of their hair, even their posture, said city folk.

Luis stared at them, trancelike, so I finished the bags on my own, rising as they came through the checkout with a bottle of Gatorade and a Dr Pepper.

I scanned the drinks, ignoring the appealing scent of cologne-over-sweat, and dropped change into the man's palm. “Have a good day.” Store policy dictated I speak.

Luis's gaze made a slow sweep across the man's V-neck shirt and blue jeans, and then my juvenile coworker craned his neck to get a better view of the boy's fancy athletic shoes. “Y'all must be new in town.”

“I'm Grady Cunningham,” the blond said, “and this is my brother, Dodd.” The boy held his hand toward Luis, who gazed at it blankly before shaking it.

“I'm Luis. This is Ruthie. You play football?”

Now that I had seen him, I understood why JohnScott assumed Grady played. He and his brother moved with the graceful air of athletes.

The teenager gently tossed his bangs out of his eyes. “I played in junior high, but I haven't decided yet. Do you play?”

“Starting freshman,” Luis boasted.

“What grade are you in?” the man asked. His voice held the authoritative tone of a businessman, and I wondered what he did for a living. Banker, maybe?

I grabbed a bottle of Windex and drenched the spotless counter as the spray bottle honked. Why had the older Cunningham asked Luis what grade he was in? The freshman just mentioned his classification.

I wiped the counter with paper towels, wishing they would leave, but when I looked up, three pairs of eyes waited for my answer.

My nerves hummed like Uncle Ansel's hot-wire fence. “Oh. I'm out of school.” I dropped the cleaner.

Real smooth, Ruthie.

Dodd smiled apologetically. “Have you worked here long?”

Luis answered. “Naw, about a month. Ruthie's been here a couple years, though. She's gotta work two jobs 'cause her dad ran off, and her mom can't hold down a job.”

I scrubbed a sticky substance on the side of the register, using my thumbnail to scrape the last bit. Actually, I had worked at the United over
four
years. But still.

“You starting school?” Luis asked.

“Monday morning,” Grady said.

Dodd stepped past Luis and around the counter, and I wondered how a man could look so uppity dressed in Levi's. Maybe it was the way he moved. I'd never be able to properly describe this guy to JohnScott.

Grady bent down until we were face-to-face. “Good to meet you, Ruthie.” He flashed a smile before following his brother.

Luis pattered after them like a puppy, asking Grady what position he played.

When the door swooshed behind my back, the hot-wire fence cooled, my nerves relaxed, and I embraced a few minutes of sheltered privacy. Lifting my hair off my shoulders, I held it to the top of my head. My neck had been stiff all evening, and when I moved it from side to side, I felt a muted crackle like rice cereal. As soon as Luis came back in, I'd turn off the lights and clock out. JohnScott would be here to pick me up in a few minutes, and I had a lot to tell him.

Pivoting to lean against the counter, I froze.

Dodd Cunningham stood ten feet away, watching me curiously as though I were on display behind a Plexiglas wall at the zoo.

I dropped my hair protectively around my shoulders. “Can I help you?”

“I didn't mean to startle you, ma'am.”

Ma'am?

He took a step toward me and rubbed a palm across the back of his neck. “I only came back in to say it was nice to meet you.” He exhaled but didn't turn away.

What happened to Mister Executive? I picked up the damp paper towel. “So you're from Fort Worth.”

“You've heard about us?” He stepped to the empty register adjacent to mine and placed an elbow on the check-writing ledge.

“I'd say by now everybody in town's heard about you.”

“Is that typical?”

I frowned, leaning my hips against the counter. “Everybody knowing everything you do? Yes, I'd say that's overwhelmingly typical. Welcome to Trapp.”

He sighed, then twisted the cap off his Dr Pepper. As he took a drink, I inspected a curl nestled behind his ear.

“How do you stand it?” he asked.

My mind whirled.

“People talking about you, I mean.”

“Oh, that. No choice but to stand it.” I shrugged. “That's just how things are.”

He scrutinized the store, focusing on the cash register, the fluorescent lights overhead, the signs hanging from chains above each aisle. Then his gaze returned to me, and the corners of his mouth lifted. “I'd better get used to it, then.”

“You might as well.”

A car horn honked, and Dodd glanced toward the parking lot. “That's Grady.” He took a step but turned back, the executive tone returning to his voice. “It was good to meet you.”

“You, too.”

When he got to the door, he looked back yet again.

I had never been a fan of flirting, but suddenly it seemed like an opportunity I shouldn't pass up. I smiled and tilted my head.

He reached for the door handle but missed. Chuckling, he glanced at me one last time before sheepishly putting a shoulder against the glass and walking effortlessly through the doorway.

Warmth slid from my scalp to my shoulders, as though chocolate pudding were being spooned onto the top of my head.

I crept to the window to spy on Dodd from behind the Coke machine, absentmindedly wiping fingerprints off the selection buttons with the towel still clenched in my hand.

Grady stood at the passenger side of the ugliest car I had ever seen—an old navy El Camino that wanted to be a truck but couldn't quite make it out of the car category. Luis had his foot on the hood, leaning an elbow on his knee. It might have been a suave position for him if the hood hadn't been so high.

Dodd, on the other hand, walked to the driver's side as he gulped his Dr Pepper with fluid movements, reminding me of a graceful buck JohnScott and I had admired from a deer blind the fall before. The animal poised so close, we could see muscles rippling in his shoulders, until I frightened him away with an explosive sneeze.

Luis and both of the Cunninghams turned as Fawn Blaylock's Mustang sped into the otherwise-empty parking lot and pulled into the space next to the truck wannabe, right in front of my hiding place.

I groaned. Fawn hadn't truly spoken to me in thirteen years. Not since Momma and I left the church. Even though the church members still ignored me whenever they'd see me in town, I had enjoyed a two-year respite from Fawn while she was away at college. Her untimely arrival sucked the joy from whatever daydreams I might have entertained about Dodd Cunningham.

She flounced her blonde curls and perched on the hood of the El Camino, leaning toward Dodd as he spoke. I couldn't make out their words because of the hum of the Coke machine, but I heard the lilt of their voices.

Why was Fawn flirting? She had a boyfriend.

Dodd capped his empty bottle and tossed it in the back of the car. He smiled at Fawn but glanced up the street while she chattered. Grady took a few sips of his Gatorade and nodded. Luis seemed to be the only one playing up to her. She paused, then bubbled laughter as though she were telling a joke, and just as she came to the punch line, the Coke machine shut off, and I was able to hear her last word.
Tramp.
She flicked her hand toward the store, and all three males looked through the window. Directly at me.

I ducked behind the machine as anger struck like a rattlesnake. It was one thing for Fawn to treat me like pond scum when it was just her and me, but she had no business talking about me to strangers. Reaching behind the Coke machine, I slammed light switches one after another while two images flashed across my mind. Dodd Cunningham leaning against the counter smiling at me. And Dodd Cunningham standing by his El Camino peering at me doubtfully. I could have ripped every blonde strand from Fawn's arrogant head right then, but as I walked to the back of the store, I realized my anger wouldn't change her one bit. Fawn was a Blaylock, and that was that.

By the time the store surrendered to darkness and I slumped into the break room, my anger once again lay coiled in hibernation.

“Those guys are great,” Luis said as he shuffled into the room smelling like a third grader after recess. “I told Grady he can hang out with me and my friends on Monday.”

The thought of Grady Cunningham and Luis Vega hanging out together should have evoked an automatic eye roll, but his statement barely registered with me. “Did you see JohnScott out there?” I asked.

“Parking lot's deserted.” He pulled his shoulders back. “Fawn and I shot the breeze for a while after the Cunninghams took off.”

It couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but I didn't mention that to Luis. Instead, I grilled him for information. “So, Grady's brother? He's in college or something?”

Luis sighed dramatically. “Dodd's twenty-six, Ruthie.”

JohnScott's age.

I weighed the possibility of the man living with his parents, but the image didn't fit. More likely he came to help the family move in, with the intention of returning to his job as CEO in a Fort Worth high-rise.

But maybe he was staying in Trapp.

I chewed a hangnail. What if he came in the store every evening, leaned against the register, and smiled at me?

As the ice machine dumped its load with a clatter, I reached for my purse. “So Fawn just met them?”

“Yeah, but she already heard about them from her dad and the church.”

The muscles in my neck tightened. “What do you mean?”

“Duh, Ruthie.” He slapped his hand against his forehead. “Dodd's the new preacher.”

I turned away as my skin prickled, starting at my elbows and pulsing all the way down to the soles of my feet. Probably it was goose bumps, but it felt more like hives, or pox, or tangible dread. How could that man be the new
preacher
? It was impossible. I stared at the bulletin board, pretending to study next week's work schedule and willing my voice not to quiver. “You mean their
dad's
the new preacher.”

“No, Ruthie, the dad kicked off a year ago. It's them and their mom.” He reached past me to hang his box cutter on a hook.

The image of Dodd Cunningham behind a pulpit didn't compute, and instead, I pictured him leaning on the check-writing ledge. He had seemed so sincere when he asked, “How do you stand it?”

Suddenly my brain connected the dots.

Dodd was the preacher, so of course he had heard about my history with the church. All about Daddy and Momma's scandal. All about how everybody down at the church shunned us.
He knew.
That's what he meant.

I felt as though someone had punched me in the stomach. The goose bumps tickling across my skin melted into a heated tension that made me short-winded. I didn't know whether to be irritated or furious, but I was definitely suspicious.

Lapsing into reflex mode, I moved through darkened aisles to the front of the store as Luis went in search of the manager to ask what needed to be done out back. My mind clouded in a dust storm of anger and humiliation, but I relaxed when I saw JohnScott outside the entrance. My cousin leaned out the window of his truck, studying a playbook under the purring glow of the store lights. I pushed through the doorway as though pushing through a wall of quicksand.

“You see him?” JohnScott queried while I locked up.

For a split second I wondered if he somehow heard I made a bumbling idiot of myself in front of Dodd Cunningham, but then I realized he was only fishing for information about our town's recently returned rapist.

“Clyde Felton? No, but all the women say he's huge and scary.” I picked up two stray cash-register receipts and a sticky soft-drink can from the sidewalk and tossed them in the trash barrel before opening the truck door.