for dinner.”
“Good. You do eat.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You’re too skinny.” He felt like a dick for saying it, but it was true. She was on the sadness diet, something he was a little too familiar with. But he’d learned not to give in to that in the military. Learned to eat even when his ears were ringing from an explosion, or the heat was so intense the idea of eating something hot was next to torture. Or when you’d just seen a body, bent and twisted under rubble.
Because food wasn’t about enjoyment. It was about survival.
A lot like life in general.
Clara Campbell needed help surviving. That was clear to him.
Clara scowled even deeper as she walked toward him. “Great. Thanks, Alex. Just what every woman wants to hear.”
“Actually, in my experience, a lot of women would like to hear that.” He snagged the paper grocery bag out of her arms as she tried to walk past him. “SpaghettiOs? What the hell is this?”
“I call it dinner.”
“Sure, for a four-year-old.”
“I’m sorry they don’t live up to your five-star military rations. But I like them.”
She reached out and grabbed hold of the bag, trying to take it out of his arms.
“Stop it,” he said. “You’ve been working all day. I’m going to carry your groceries.”
She bristled. “You’re insulting my groceries. I feel like you don’t deserve to carry them.”
He snorted, then turned away from her, jerking the bag easily from her hold. “Open the door for me.”
“I thought military men were good at taking orders,” she said. “All you seem to do is give them.”
“Yeah, well I’m not in the army now, baby.” He smiled, and he knew it would infuriate her. “Open the damn door.”
Her face turned a very particular shade of scarlet but she did comply, pulling out her keys and undoing the lock, then pushing the door open. He walked over the threshold, and a board squeaked beneath his feet. He made a mental note to fix that.
“The dining room is just through there, set the bag on the table.” She walked in behind him. “See? I can give orders too.”
“While eating SpaghettiOs.” He set the bag on the table she’d indicated, then took a look around the room. It was sparse—the floor, walls and ceiling all made with rustic wood paneling. There was a red rug on the floor with a geometric design that provided the only bit of color to the room, other than a big, cheery yellow cabinet that was shoved in the back of the kitchen, packed full to the brim with white plates. It seemed a little incongruous with the rest of the place. And at odds with the rickety dining table and its mismatched chairs.
He had never been to Jason’s house before. They had met when they were in high school, and consequently, had spent their time hanging out away from the watchful eyes of parents and guardians. After that, they’d wound up serving together in the military.
The place was...well, cozy was a nice word for it. Eclectic badger den possibly less nice but more accurate.
“I’m hungry,” Clara said, fishing one of the cans out of the bag. “Don’t taint my SpaghettiOs with your judgment.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He watched as she moved around the efficient little kitchen, making small economical movements, getting out a blue-and-white speckled tin bowl and a little pan, then opening the SpaghettiOs and dumping them in it. She put the pan on the front burner, turning it to high, then whirled around to face him.
“Okay. What are we talking about?”
“Do you want to wait until you’ve eaten your dinner?”
“No.” She turned around and opened the fridge, pulling out a can of Coke before popping it open and taking a long drink. She didn’t offer him one, he noticed.
“I was contacted by your family lawyer shortly after Jason’s death.”
Clara crossed her arms, her lips going tight. “Okay, why did he call you?”
“Why didn’t he call you, Clara? I expected you would have talked to him.”
She bit her lip. “Well. He did. But we didn’t talk.” Alex stared her down and her cheeks turned increasingly red as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I’ve been busy,” she added defensively.
“Well, if you hadn’t been too busy for the lawyer, he might have talked to you about the fact your brother’s will concerns me.”
“Excuse me?” This was the part he had been avoiding. The thing he had not been looking forward to. Because his friend had left him with property, had left him with his earthly possessions and a letter explaining his feelings, which ultimately were only that: the feelings of a dead man. Alex had to try to fill in blanks he wasn’t sure could be filled. He’d tried to reason it all out to decide if he could justify defying Jason’s wishes. He hadn’t been able to. So here he was.
“He left me in charge of the estate,” he continued. “The ranch, everything on it, everything in it, the house—until things are stable or until one year has passed.”
Clara didn’t move. The only indication she was reacting to his words at all was that her face had gone completely waxen.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Clara? I have a stake in this house now. And in this ranch. Your brother left me in charge.”
“CLARA?”
Clara knew she was supposed to respond. She was supposed to say something. Yell, maybe. Or cry? Something. Alex was standing there telling her he was now linked—legally—to this place that she had poured her whole self into.
She’d grown up here. All twenty-one years of her life. Jason had joined the army when she was just eight years old, coming back intermittently when her parents hadn’t been able to care for her. But since she’d turned eighteen it had all been on her.
There had been no college. No dates. There had been this ranch. It was hers. And now he was just...taking that?
She didn’t scream, though. Instead, she just stood there, numbness spreading from her mouth to the rest of her face. She was way too familiar with this feeling. With the moment the earth fell away and the world shifted. With innocuous moments rolling over and becoming something significant.
With her life changing completely between one breath and the next.
That was the worst part about this moment. Not that it was singular in its awfulness, but that it wasn’t.
Of
