Catch Twenty-Two Read online

  “I’m heading into town for that chicken feed.”

  I nod. “See you at supper.”

  He doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t show up later either.

  For the first time in two weeks, I spend the evening on the front porch alone with my eyes focused on the tiny speck of his porch light in the distance.

  Chapter 15

  Zeke

  “You don’t have to leave so early,” Mom says as I enter the kitchen, looking for something quick to eat before heading over to the ranch.

  I don’t tell her that Rowdy’s overeager ass gets to the property thirty minutes earlier than what has been my routine this summer. Although she hasn’t asked about Frankie since the night I blew up at the supper table, I can still see the sparkle of hope in her tired eyes when she thinks I’m not looking.

  “We have a busy day,” I mutter, grabbing a tasteless granola bar from the pantry.

  “We?” She sounds enthusiastic, and it makes me cringe.

  “Rowdy?” Her eyes scrunch as her brain tries to place the name. “The new foreman Mrs. Jacobson hired?”

  I know she’s been distracted since my dad came home from the hospital, but we discussed the guy for thirty minutes the other day. It was a brutal conversation, and while speaking of the new hire, it was nearly impossible to keep a sneer off my face.

  “Ah, yes,” she responds, but I can tell from the confused look left on her face that she truly doesn’t remember. She shuffles to the sink, rinsing her coffee cup. “It’s still early. Why don’t you go spend a few minutes with your father?”

  I want to argue. I want to tell her that going into their bedroom, seeing him wasting away is the very last thing I ever want to do, but her tone doesn’t leave room for refusal. Appetite lost, I toss the granola bar back in the pantry before making my way down the short, narrow hallway.

  Their bedroom door is closed, but I already know what I’m going to find when I step inside. The room has been transformed into a mini-hospital room. Their queen-sized bed has been disassembled and stacked on its side in the corner, replaced with an electric bed meant for my father to die in.

  The family bible is no longer on the side table, having been replaced with a pitcher of water and more meds than any one person needs in a lifetime. The first sight of those meds over a week ago gave me hope. Medicine is meant to cure, to make a person better, but then the hospice nurse explained that they’re merely to keep his pain level down enough to make him comfortable.

  The first time I saw Dad reach for them is when it finally sunk in that things were tragically bad. Before, the man wouldn’t even take over-the-counter pain meds to ease the aches in his muscles and back. Now, he begs Mom for his next dose long before it’s due.

  “Dad?” I say with a quick knock on his door before turning the knob.

  He doesn’t answer, but I honestly don’t expect him to. His days are spent sleeping, and when his eyes aren’t shuttered, they’re crinkled up in the corners from the agony of the cancer eating away at his insides.

  He doesn’t budge, doesn’t even twitch when the old door hinges squeal their resistance. I haven’t seen his hazel eyes, the same ones I see when I look in the mirror each day, in several days. Even though he sleeps a lot, I still avoid this room like it’s the portal to my own mortality. It makes me a complete asshole, a horrible son, but I’ve often lain awake at night wondering if something tragic like a car accident or getting trampled by cattle would be easier for everyone involved, including my dad. It sounds selfish, and I’m well aware that it does, but watching a loved one waste away is a brutal position to be in.

  I heard Mom discussing his care with the hospice nurse and aide the other day, and I know they’re all struggling to keep him comfortable, but no matter how many times they reposition him, he’s still getting bedsores. They’re everywhere, on the tips of his ears, his elbows, even on the ridges of his spine that was once corded with strong muscle. He’s literally wasting away, only able to eat a few bites of food for each meal.

  I don’t nudge him awake or speak again. I merely stand in the doorway and look at the man who was so strong my entire life. He’s now been reduced to the pale man lying helpless in a hospital bed that has no place in his sanctuary.

  Before a sob of weakness can bubble from my throat, I back away and close the door as quietly as I can manage.

  “He’s sleeping,” I tell Mom when she meets me at the end of the hallway with disappointment clear on her face. I was in there for less than a minute, and although that was more than enough time to make me regret seeing him, it clearly wasn’t long enough according to my mother.

  “You could sit with him. Hold his hand.”

  “I have to get to work,” I mutter as I sidle past her.

  I hate leaving her to care for him on her own. It’s killing her just as quickly as the cancer is killing him. But what can I do to help? His prognosis is death, and the damn cows on the Jacobson Ranch still need to eat. I tell myself as I drive over that I’m doing exactly what he expects me to. I’m putting in a hard day’s work and keeping my end of the bargain I made when I started to work here.

  But the second I climb out of my truck, I’m hit with the same sight I’ve been forced to suffer through daily. It’s a different kind of pain than the one I face at home, but it’s brutal, nonetheless.

  Rowdy is standing so close to Frankie in the center of the barn he might as well be her damn t-shirt.

  “Wow,” he all but fucking purrs next to her ear. “Look at these muscles.”

  Frankie grins up at him as the asshole playfully squeezes her bicep.

  If he says one word about the muscles she’s built in her ass and thighs over the last month that can’t go ignored, I’ll choke the fucker.

  He’s been on the ranch for a week and a half, and in that short period of time those two have grown as thick as thieves. They’ve become quick friends, chatting and joking with each other incessantly, but he has the ability to make her smile when all I’ve managed to do is increase the depth of the frown line between her brows.

  They don’t even bother to acknowledge me when I walk up. They’re too focused on each other, so I grunt out a “good morning” and head for the tack room. I won’t give either one of them the pleasure of knowing how much seeing them always whispering with their heads bent low bothers me. That knowledge would give both of them power, and since I’m already helpless in every other area of my life, it’s one thing I refuse to relinquish.

  “What’s the plan for the day?” Rowdy asks, and I’m shocked he’s been able to pull his attention from Frankie long enough to speak to me.

  Instead of throat punching him like the muscles in my arms are urging me to, I turn to face him. The man is technically my boss after all, and as hard as it’s been to watch him take over as if my dad never stepped foot inside this barn a day in his life, I still need this job. We have no savings, no prospects of a better job, and Mom hasn’t worked outside of the house since she was a teenager. The medical bills are stacking up. We’re well and truly fucked, but I won’t let that information slip either.

  “I was going to get those stalls cleaned out and then toss a few bales of hay to the west.”

  “Start with the hay,” Rowdy says as he takes a step back. “Leave the stalls for Frankie and me.”

  I clench my damn jaw until I feel the ache in my neck, but I don’t say a word. I simply nod in acceptance, my eyes burning with hatred as I watch him walk away.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me in the barn today, gorgeous. Let me show you how to make the stalls so perfect, the goats will be calling me daddy.”

  Frankie’s chuckle is like nails on a chalkboard.

  “Stupid fuck,” I mutter, but I get to work like I’ve been instructed.

  I hate the fucking guy, but at the same time, I can also admit that he works his ass off. He does things differently than I learned from my dad, but all the changes only make the work easier and more efficient. I don
’t groan with aches and pain when I climb out of bed anymore.

  Maybe it’s the fact that there are three people, all pulling their weight, making it so much easier?

  Even with the decrease in pain, I’d much rather go back to the way things were, when Dad was here and healthy and there wasn’t a girl I can’t get off my mind haunting every thought.

  “Lie down,” I hear Rowdy urge. “Just see how soft that bed is. What? No? Look. I’ll lie down first.”

  Frankie chuckles again, and I can just picture her looking down at him as he reaches up for her hand.

  “See? I told you it was perfect.”

  Unable to chance the sight of them lying on a fresh bed of hay next to one another, I take the long way out of the barn before climbing in my truck. I’d rather make my day ten times longer hauling the round bales to the pasture than staying within hearing distance of them as I load the squares out of the back of the barn.

  I spend the entire day in the field, and by the time I get back to the barn, both of them are gone.

  Chapter 16

  Frankie

  “Later.” I wave to Rowdy as he leaves for the day. He’s been working here for almost three weeks, and I have to say, he’s a breath of fresh air.

  When I climb out of bed in the morning with aching muscles, I know I’m going to spend the day working hard while at the same time smiling and laughing. He’s jovial and happy, always quick with a joke or compliment. He’s nothing like Zeke, the brooding jerk who barely forms sentences anymore.

  Lately, I’ve been avoiding Zeke and his sneering, handsome face. He seems quite content to hate his life and his job, so I’ve found myself gravitating to Rowdy’s always smiling face. I’m not attracted to him, but we flirt constantly. Even though I bat my eyelashes at him and he takes every opportunity to touch my arm or the small of my back, there’s no sizzle. Nothing like the fire that ignited in me when Zeke kissed me in the truck or when he’d held my hand all those weeks ago on the front porch. I don’t get the vibe that Rowdy feels that way about me either.

  Although we’re in close proximity all day long, I don’t get the feeling that he’s attracted to me or hoping that something comes of all the time we’ve been spending together. We’re comfortable, and I love that I’ve found someone like him for the remainder of my time in Utah. Nan wanted Zeke to be that guy for me, the one making me laugh and smile. After the first night I spent holding hands with him not saying a word, I found myself wanting him to be as well. But true to form, he turned into a jerk without so much as an explanation.

  I kick my dirty boots off on the side steps before going into the house. Nan never complains when I track dirt in, but I don’t want to create more work for her in the morning.

  The usual scent of supper is absent when I open the door, and my stomach grumbles in protest immediately. Working on the ranch is hard work, and I’ve found myself eating more in the last couple of weeks than I ever have before.

  “Did you skip lunch?” I ask Nan when I step through the side door, finding her sitting at the table with her supper plate in front of her.

  I know for a fact she didn’t because we had lunch together, but it’s odd to see her starting without me. We always eat together, so it’s out of character to see her already sitting down for the evening meal before I was done working. I’m not late getting in. The sun has barely begun to dip below the horizon. My eyes dart to the clock on the stove before I look back at her.

  “I figured you’d eat with Zeke this evening.” She smiles, her vibrant eyes sparkling with mischief.

  “With Zeke?” My brow draws in. I haven’t eaten with Zeke and he hasn’t been at our supper table for weeks. Lately, he doesn’t even stick around for lunch. We haven’t even driven to town together to get supplies for the ranch lately, giving us the opportunity to stop and grab a soda from the gas station in town.

  “At the fair,” Nan clarifies.

  Shit.

  “That’s tonight?”

  Her grin widens. “You don’t have to pretend you haven’t been looking forward to it.”

  I’d rather stand in a pile of fire ants with honey coating my skin.

  I don’t know what to say, and I can’t think of a lie that would appease Nan enough to drop the conversation, but Zeke isn’t going to show up here excited for our date. I don’t think he looked at me once today except for the quick good morning he tosses our direction each day. I don’t want to let her down, but the county fair hasn’t been mentioned since shortly after I first arrived. We’ve made no plans other than that initial conversation when he was pretending to tolerate me in front of my grandmother.

  “Hurry up, now. Get showered.”

  I blow out a puff of air before turning around to shoot up the stairs. I can pretend to leave with Zeke. If Nan heads to her room right after supper, keeping her nightly routine, I can spend a few hours hanging out in the barn with the goats until enough time has passed to be considered a good date. She doesn’t hover these days, and even though it would be shitty to let her believe otherwise, I’ve made up my mind.

  After undressing, I stand in front of the bathroom mirror. I’ve never been athletic, preferring books and crossword puzzles over anything that resembles exercise, but as I turn to the side, I can easily admit I like the differences in my body since I’ve been helping around the ranch. My muscles are nothing spectacular, even when Rowdy made me flex for him the other day, they were tiny, but they’re definitely more defined than they were when school let out for summer break.

  Even my legs seem stronger, the ridge of my calf more prominent when I stand on my toes.

  Although gaining strength has been a plus, my work on the farm has done nothing to make me look more like a woman. My breasts are still small, and my frame makes me look like a child rather than even remotely resembling the modelesque-type girls that run the in-crowd at school.

  I want to be fierce. I want to be the girl that’s not an afterthought. I wanted to turn into that girl this summer, but here I stand with scratches on my arms and dirt under my nails, looking more the tomboy than ever.

  Sighing, I step inside the tub, resigned to get tonight over with.

  My shower is quick, my hair taking longer to blow dry than anything else, and I don’t bother to do anything with it other than tuck it into a messy bun on the top of my head. My clothes are basic, a simple tank top and cutoff shorts.

  My flip-flops clack on the hardwood stairs as I make my way toward the front door.

  “Have a good time,” Nan says, still sitting at the table with a wide grin on her face. “Hopefully a few hours with a pretty girl will be just what Zeke needs. Daniel isn’t doing very well. I imagine that boy is suffering right along with his dad.”

  Guilt swims in my gut as tears burn the backs of my eyes. Nodding swiftly to Nan, I step outside under the pretense of waiting for Zeke on the porch. I haven’t for a second forgotten that Zeke’s dad was sick, but he hasn’t brought up his illness, so neither have I.

  Maybe I should pull him to the side tomorrow and let him know that I’m here for him if he needs to talk or a shoulder to cry on, but I doubt that will go over well. Zeke doesn’t seem the type to show many emotions other than anger, and being vulnerable around anyone will probably never happen.

  I ring my hands in my lap as I sit on the front steps, missing the feel of Zeke’s calloused hand against my palm even though it’s been weeks since I felt it. If I concentrate long enough, I can still feel the whisper of his skin against my own.

  I’m seconds away from standing and making my way to the barn to hide out when headlights turn down the driveway. I know it’s Zeke’s old truck just by the familiar sound of the engine. Standing, not expecting him to climb out to get me, I begin to walk to the driver’s side, hellbent on letting him know that we don’t have to go through with this. I open my mouth to explain my plans to hide in the barn, but then his door swings open, and out steps a freshly showered Zeke.

  He’s got
on nice, dark-washed jeans I’ve never seen him wear before, and his button-down shirt is crisp, the cuffs rolled up his tanned, muscular forearms. Dress boots don his feet, and he’s the perfect image of a handsome country boy, smirking lips and all.

  “I didn’t think you’d show,” I whisper as he takes another step closer to me.

  “We made plans over a month ago, Frankie. Of course, I’d be here.”

  Emotion clogs my throat because even after everything that’s happened, he still kept the promise he made to Nan that first night we met.

  “I was going to hide out in the barn for a couple hours.” I hitch my thumb over my shoulder, and his eyes dart to the old building as his tongue caresses his lower lip.

  I couldn’t read his thoughts easier if there was a big neon sign above his head. He likes the idea of spending time with me alone in the barn. Either that, or he’s working through another manipulation.

  Deciding it’s the latter like it’s been every other time, I walk around the front of his truck. “Let’s get this night over with.”

  Chapter 17

  Zeke

  Damn it.

  She’s in a bad mood.

  But the frown on her face doesn’t distract me from the scent lingering on her skin as it fills the cab of the truck when I climb inside. It’s too hot to keep the windows rolled up, but I hate knowing the perfect combination of lavender and honey will escape out the window once I start to drive.

  Chancing that I read her eyes right when she saw me, I look over at her and grin. It’s several long seconds of her staring out her side window before she’s curious as to why I haven’t pulled out of the driveway, enough to look over at me.

  “You look stunning.”

  Beyond sexy, if I’m completely honest with myself.

  She scoffs, immediately turning her eyes to look away from me. “It’s a tank top and cutoff shorts, Zeke. Don’t start with your foolish manipulations before we even get out of the driveway.”