The Ranger's Passionate Love (5 page)

Three Tuesdays, four new friends
, Kyara thought to herself.
Well, five, if you can include him.

The 'him' in question was, of course, Jason.

At the moment he was standing next to a huge, growling pickup truck, guiding the driver with sweeping movements of his hands.

Everyone near the truck was splattered with mud, but it looked like he’d gotten particularly hit. His hair looked like it might have escaped, but his chest and arms were plastered with it. It made his shirt cling to him, emphasizing the hard lines of his body and well developed arms.

Damn. No one should look like that outside of a commercial.

Just then, Jason gave the signal, and the truck roared. Its tires spun wildly as it strained against the chains coming out its back end. Mud again filled the air, and everyone around turned either to watch, or to scramble out of the way, depending on how close they were.

After a minute, Jason made a “cut-it” motion to the driver. The noise and flying mud subsided.

Kyara made her way over to Jason.

Up close, he looked even better. What might have been flannel at some point now hugged him so closely Kyara could make out the individual curves of the muscles on his arms.

“Give it up, Rich. That thing’s not moving anywhere. We’re gonna have to dig it out the hard way,” Jason was saying.

"Jason?" Kyara called tentatively.

He looked up at her, surprised. A single smudge of black mud ran adorably across his cheek.

"Yes, Kyara?" he responded.

"I don't know if it would help, but I have a lot of gravel back at the restaurant." Kyara hunched her shoulders. "I was thinking I'd put in a parking lot out back, but it hasn't really been necessary. Anyway, it's just sitting there."

With a whoop, Jason scooped her up and spun them both around. Kyara settled back dizzily, acutely aware of just how low his hands had been.

"That would be perfect," he exclaimed, then stopped. "Are you sure you can spare it? I mean, things might pick up for you come tourist season or something."

Kyara sighed. "I doubt it," she said. "Besides, this path helps me out at much as anybody. It might as well go to a good cause."

Jason smiled, his eyes sparkling.

"You're a dream." he turned back to the pick-up. "Can you drive her back to get it, Rich? That way we could get it back here and in before it gets dark?"

There was a long, stony silence from the cabin of the truck. Then wordlessly, Officer Marsh reached over, and opened the passenger side door.

Kyara climbed in, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Ashley was staring knives at her, and Caitlin took the time to wink. Kyara wasn't thinking about Jason anymore, though.

In the weeks she'd been coming out to the project, the officer had yet to speak to her directly.

He'd talk around her, or even in her presence, but never to her.

Not even once.

The door of the truck slammed closed like the lid of a coffin, and they were off. The truck bounced and jerked down the still uneven path.

It's okay, Kyara. Maybe he just needs time. Other people have started to warm up – there's no reason he won't either. Maybe you just have to give him an opening.

"So," started Kyara. "It's hard to imagine wagons and things making their way over ground this rough."

Officer Marsh grunted, his eyes on the road.

"I mean," continued Kyara gamely, "a hundred years ago, or whatever. I can't imagine their engines were as good as this one."

Marsh didn't respond at all this time.
Okay, the joke was lame, but come on, you've gotta give me something here.

"How much farther is it to the mill site, anyway?" she asked desperately.

Marsh shrugged.

Kyara turned towards the window. She was prepared to ride the rest of the way in silence until she caught her own reflection in the glass. She sat there, looking a little sullen, like a kid who wasn't invited to the grown-ups table. Behind her, Officer Marsh's stern, white face seemed to loom above her.

Oh, Hell, no. I'm tired of this. I've been nice for weeks. I'm not doing it anymore,
Kyara finally decided.

She turned back to face the silent sheriff.

"Look, do we have a problem?" she asked, letting some heat into her voice.

The officer took his foot off the gas, letting the truck slow but not stop. Suddenly the truck cabin felt very, very small.

Oh, shit.

"Do we... have... a problem...?” Officer Marsh repeated. His voice was rough, and he sounded like he was turning the words over in his mind.
Well, at least he's talking to me.

"Do you mean," the officer continued, her voice still slow and ruthless. "Like, do we have a problem with you coming into town and taking over Alice's place before she's had time to grow cold?”

“It was for sale-”

“Or were you thinking more, do we have a problem with you just showing up like you belong here and expecting everyone to fall all over themselves to be your friend?"

Kyara opened her mouth to protest, but Office Marsh was in control now. His voice rode right over her.

"Or maybe you mean, do we have a problem with you taking that poor troubled girl's time away from her mama, where she should be. That one could be it."

Wait, Crystal's not troubled. She's a good kid!  What's he...

"Or maybe you mean, do we have a problem with you coming into town and stealing local boys away from nice girls?"

Wait, what? That one isn't even fair!

But now the white officer's tone was low and menacing.

Kyara choked on her anger, suddenly scared by the look of rage and contempt filling the driver's reddening face.

"Do we have a problem?" He let the other shoe drop, his voice vicious. "No. No problem. Everyone knows you're a failure, and pretty soon, your little cafeteria is going to run out of money, and you'll be gone."

The truck was pulling up behind her restaurant now, and he gestured at it with an angry chop of his hand.

Kyara swallowed, and tried to focus her mind through her anger.

"Listen, asshole. That shit you just said isn’t fair. I..." but her voice was cut off as the red-faced man screamed at her, pounding on the steering wheel as he did.

"You can act like we all owe you something all you want, but no one owes you shit. Everyone knows people like you don't actually do anything. I'd tell you to cry home to daddy, but I bet we both know why you can’t.”

The words slammed into her like a blow to the gut.
How did he know?

Kyara threw the door open, running for her back door.
I will not cry in front of him. I will not.

Once she was inside, though, the door slammed behind her, Kyara slumped down. Her sobs filled the empty dining hall.

Is my guilt so obvious? Oh, Papa, it's all my fault.

Kyara collapsed to a table, silently shaking in that face of the man's accusations, but more in the face of her own guilt.

The sun had gone down, leaving the dining room illuminated only by the lights of the street through the windows. After hours of crying, Kyara had fallen into a kind of a numb stupor. She still hadn't moved, though her eyes hurt and her throat was sore. Only a frantic knocking at her door finally forced her out of her stupor.

"Go away," she called out, her voice thick from her weeping.

"Kyara?" came Jason's voice. "I came to ... are you okay?"

Horrified, Kyara started wiping her eyes on the tablecloth in front of her.

"I'm fine," she called out. "Go away."

"Uh, If that's what you want, I can go. I just ... I just wanted to check and see what happened. Rick came back and said you weren't going to help out after all?"

I should just quit. It's not like I'm welcome.

But it was so nice. I was finally making friends.

"Rick's a fucking liar." Kyara called back, choking back tears again. "I'm not feeling well, is all. I'll come back next week."

"Are you sure you ... oh, Kyara, what happened?" Jason's voice was suddenly louder and clearer, no longer blocked by the door.

Stupid not locking the stupid doors in this stupid town.

Kyara turned away, trying to hide her reddened eyes in the dark.

"Nothing," she said. "I'm just not ... ."

The heavy fall of boots cut her off as Jason crossed the room.

"What the hell did that idiot say this time?" he asked gruffly, his hand reaching out to rest on her shoulder.

Kyara shook her head.

"It was my fault, anyway. I asked him what his problem was."

Jason let out a long breath. "And he told you." His voice was low, his breath warm against the back of her neck.

Kyara sniffed. "I asked him to. I just didn't know that people knew, was all. I should have figured, in this town, that people would have heard."

Jason's response was slower this time.

"What do people know?"

Kyara tried not to wail when she replied.

"That it's my fault my father is dead."

There was a beat, and then Jason's arms were around her, wrapping around to hold her from behind. He pressed himself against her, leaning the length of his body against the curve of her back. His was still damp from his work, but warm and firm. For just a moment, Kyara just let herself be held, leaning into his strength.

He just supported her, letting her lean against him in the dark.

"Kyara. I didn't know. I don't think anyone did. And if they heard, no one would believe it."

Kyara paused, caught in his arms and the spiral of her own thoughts.

"But the things he said... it was like he knew..."

"What, exactly, did he say?" asked Jason, not pulling away. Kyara turned in his arms, her breasts brushing against the wet fabric of his shirt. She stared up into his face in the dim light coming in from the street.

"He said that I should go crying home to my father, but everyone knows why I can’t."

Jason's face softened, his eyes exploring her face.

"Oh, Kyara. He didn't know."

Kyara blinked up at him uncertainly.

“Rich's a giant racist, has been since I was a kid.” Jason clarified. “He doesn't think any ... well, um, he thinks all African American fathers aren't around. He was saying you had a deadbeat dad, not that, uh, your father had passed on.”

Kyara's eyes went wide, her breath catching in her throat.

“People have tried to get his head on straight, it just doesn't take,” Jason continued.

"But he said I didn't do anything, just like when my father died," insisted Kyara.

Jason shook his head, his eyes still dark with compassion.

"He doesn't think any Black person does anything, either. He was accusing you of being lazy in general, not of any particular time. He's been spewing his opinion all over town. Too much Jerry Springer and not enough brain, is all. No secret knowledge about your past."

Well, the racism was really obvious
, Kyara admitted to herself.
He could be telling the truth.

"
And," Jason continued. "If it helps, the people who know you have told him to shut the hell up."

Not that many people know me
, Kyara thought cynically. But it did kind of help.

Kyara gave a half smile and raised a hand to wipe away her tears again. As her arm wrapped around the solid strength of his to get to her face, she realized with horror what she must look like.

"Oh, God, don't look at me," she exclaimed. "I must be a mess!" She tried to pull away, but Jason held her close.

"Well, I realize I'm covered in mud, so not really in a position to judge, but you look beautiful to me."

His quiet words hung in the air between them, filling the night.

Jason broke eye contact first, stepping away. Kyara felt a surge of disappointment as the warmth of his arms withdrew from around her. For a moment her mind was filled with the image of what it would be like to go to him, strip off his clinging shirt, and press herself against the broad expanse of his chest. Only uncertainty stopped her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You've had a rough night. I shouldn't be hitting on you when you're emotionally vulnerable."

Kyara locked on to part of his statement.

"So," said Kyara, still gazing up at his face, "To be clear, you were hitting on me."

Surprise filled his face for a moment, and then he chuckled.

"Definitely."

He's still covered in mud. I could invite him up to use my shower.
Kyara took a long, deep breath, trying to slow her fluttering heartbeat.
But it has been a long day, and he's trying to be a gentleman. Besides, I look like a hot mess. If he's going to use my shower, I want to look good.

Kyara pushed away an image of her slipping into the shower with him, his soapy hands gliding over the ebony gleam of her skin. She took another deep breath.

"Good," she said at last, and watched him smile. "Keep it up."

He grinned all the way out her door, his smile matching her own.