“Come on, Bree.”
The moment she stepped past Gus, she shot Bree a look that said, Do not screw with me now.
Willing at last to follow Lilah’s lead, the child nodded.
Commanding herself to stand tall, to walk as if she’d spent the past four days shopping in Neiman Marcus rather than riding in a sweltering car while she panicked about the complicated quagmire her life had become, Lilah headed to the cash register.
It had long been her habit to bolster her self-confidence by tending to every detail of her appearance. Now she was acutely aware that her makeup had melted in the heat, her khaki shorts and sleeveless white top were wrinkled from the long drive and she hadn’t had a manicure in months and months.
She recalled the first time she’d met Gus. Only ten, she’d already started dressing to mimic the current month’s cover of Seventeen magazine. Gus, on the other hand, had looked like he worked on a farm and hadn’t changed his clothes in a week. Streaked with dirt and smelling like sheep, he’d covered his dirty body with ripped pants and a T-shirt that was stained, too large and nearly worn through in spots.
How times had changed.
There were so many things she could have asked him: How’ve you been? How did the boy I knew turn into the man standing before me? Have you ever considered forgiving me?
She kept quiet, feeling his gaze spear her back as she placed the food on the counter then fished loose change from the bottom of her purse. She expected the clerk to resume her place, but instead Gus strode to the register, rang up the candy bar and chips and took the money she set down. He dropped her purchases and the receipt into a paper bag and handed them to her. He never took his eyes off her, and he never smiled. The stern angles of his face and sculpted jaw betrayed the Lakota half of his heritage. Clear gray eyes and hair the color of maple sugar, both bequeathed by his German ancestors, might have softened his looks, if not for the stark mistrust in his expression.
Lilah was beyond careful when she took the bag. She didn’t want to so much as graze his pinky. She just wanted to get out of there.
Backing away from the counter, she made the mistake of looking up and saw that Gus had transferred his gaze briefly to Bree. He looked at the girl then back at Lilah and his stare was assessing.
The horrible nerves that seemed never to leave her now kicked into overdrive. Run, run, run, they warned, but Lilah had never been good with exits, and sure enough she began to muck up this one.
“Well, Nettie is waiting for us, and we’re running late as it is.” She kept moving toward Bree, but the silence intimidated her. “The store looks great,” she offered in parting. “Good candy selection. And lattes—that’s what I call one-stop shopping. Best of luck.”
Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she grabbed Bree’s skinny arm and dragged her out the door.
“What’s wrong with you?” the girl mumbled as Lilah hauled her to the car.
“Buckle your seat belt.” Jamming the key in the ignition and resisting a worried glance in the rearview mirror, Lilah peeled away from the station as fast as she could.
“Are you always so mental around guys?”
Leaning as far over her knees as her seat belt would allow, Bree gaped at Lilah. “You were, like, practically a retard in there.”
“Don’t say ‘retard.” ’ Lilah glanced from her passenger to the speedometer and consciously slowed her aging vehicle. Not that the car could ever speed, but Lilah was shaking so badly she feared a strong breeze could wrest the wheel from her hands. “That’s horribly rude.”
“Okay. I can’t believe I’m going to spend my formative years with someone who acts like a dork. How am I supposed to learn anything?” Bree complained with classic adolescent drama, but for the first time in ages, she seemed almost cheerful.
If you learn anything from me at all, learn from my mistakes, Lilah wanted to say, but didn’t. Craving freedom from conversation, she put a tape of Broadway melodies in the cassette player.
Bree listened to the music for a full two seconds then asked, “Are you always so mental around guys?”
Lilah gritted her teeth. “Yes.”
“Oh.” Bree scratched at a scab on her elbow. “Me, too.” Punching the eject button on the stereo, she pulled out the Broadway tape and replaced it with Coldplay.
Lilah glanced over. At another time she would have followed the thread of this conversation, used it to establish rapport with Bree, but right now it simply wasn’t in her. Even though they were headed away from Gus, Lilah’s stomach rumbled so violently she thought she might have to stop the car.
Why hadn’t one of her sisters mentioned that Gus had returned? As the owner of a brand-new gas station, Gus must have been in town a while, and no one had said a word to her.
Wiping her brow, Lilah tried to comfort herself with the supposition that if her sisters hadn’t mentioned Gus then perhaps they didn’t remember that she had once been hot and heavy with the least-likely-to-succeed boy in all of Kalamoose county. At that thought, she felt her stomach unclench a little.
If they hadn’t mentioned Gus then clearly they didn’t suspect she’d left town in part to get away from him.
And, if her sisters had not mentioned Gus’s return—in a designer suit—then surely they had no idea that when he’d been escorted from Kalamoose twelve years ago—in handcuffs—Lilah had been at least partly responsible for the act that had sent him to prison.
Chapter Two
If a man wore a suit in the middle of summer it was either because his job compelled him to or because he trusted himself not to sweat.
Gus Hoffman could wear anything he wanted to work; he was his own boss. He wore the suit because it commanded respect, because it said that he was serious about his business and his place in the community, and because these days he didn’t sweat unless he was working out.
He had learned to use his mind to govern his body, his actions and his reactions. He’d learned the powerful art of self-control.
Lilah Owens had just shot that to hell.
Tension made Gus’s voice tight as he spoke to the young woman he’d hired to manage his store. “The daily audits look good, Crystal. I’ll stop in again tomorrow. Call if you need anything before then.”
Crystal nodded. Following his lead, she said nothing about the incident that had just occurred.
“We’ll be fine here.” Crystal was composed by nature, and she was Lakota; she read Gus well enough to know when to converse and when not to.
With a nod in return, he left the minimart. Squinting in the sun, he walked around the building to the open garage, where he’d parked his car, and raised a hand in acknowledgement to Crystal’s cousin Jim, also Lakota, who toiled over the clutch of a Ford pickup and worked the pumps.
The gas station was pulling a decent business in gas and repair work and more business would be coming Gus’s way; he was certain of it. He liked risks, but
