Page 11 of The Boy from Half Moon

“Is that a usual occurrence?” I asked, being careful to gauge exactly what he meant. “The staff mingling with the primary partner?”

He grinned and stared directly into my eyes, the deep green color of his eyes causing heart palpitations. “More like the boss making sure his newest team member is settling in,” he pointed out. “Make sure you know where all the best spots in Bend are.”

I knew better but couldn’t resist. “Then I guess I better take you up on the offer, being that Burger King has been my only hotspot so far.” He didn’t need to know about a hotter spot outside of Bend, in Madras.

“You don’t look like a guy that eats fast food,” he remarked. “You’re teasing me, right?”

“I wish I could say I was. I’m at the Bend Motor Lodge on the highway,” I stated. “It was the closest to work with a long-term stay I could find until my new place closes.”

Alec’s eyes widened, and a laugh escaped his pouty lips. “No, you aren’t,” he argued, shaking his head and frowning. “That place is a shithole, Tate.”

I immediately noticed his well-crafted demeanor crack for just a moment as he imagined himself staying at the motor lodge. He appeared disgusted by the notion, but quickly regrouped.

“It’s true, I am staying there, but calling the place a shithole seems a bit rough,” I replied. “It’ll do just fine for three weeks.”

“Absolutely not,” he disagreed, pulling his cell phone from his jeans pocket. “I can’t have my lead criminal defense attorney staying at that dump. I’ll get you a place at a nicer resort.”

I raised my hand to get him to relax for a second. “I can’t have you do that.”

“Yes, you can,” he stated. “River’s Edge Country Club has everything you’ll need. Plus, we can share a drink or two in their amazing bar.”

Alec walked toward the door, out of earshot, and had a conversation with someone on his cell phone. Three minutes later, he turned to face me. “Done,” he said.

“Done? Just like that?” I asked.

“Just like that,” he replied. “I’ll meet you downstairs at five and we can pick up your belongings and head over to River’s Edge,” he added. “Trust me, you’ll like it there.”

He smiled and reached for the door handle, turning to look at me again. “Thank you for that?” I half asked, half stated.

“You’re in good hands with me, Tate. I’m wired into this town and I’ll get you on the right track as well,” he said. “I’ll definitely introduce you to the right folks.”

Alec walked out of my office, leaving me wondering what had just happened. He clearly had money and looks, but also likened himself to having power in Bend. He reminded me of Thomas and what money could do for entitled people. That was the first red flag. However, he was also stunning to look at, and maybe I shouldn’t hasten my opinion about an obviously connected man.

CHAPTER SIX: Luke

Large white bed sheets fluttered in the breeze after the sisters hung them in the warm spring air. From a distance, you could imagine them as sails on a sailboat or butterflies dancing across a lake. I’d never seen an ocean but enjoyed reading books about sailing and discovering faraway places. Places I’d probably never see.

Franklin spent much of his sermons warning us about those imagined places, where most of us only dreamed we could venture to. To the younger men of our group, they seemed fantastical, almost tantalizing in the way he described them. According to Franklin, they were filled with sin and debauchery, two things a young man could certainly fantasize about while living in our grim world.

I released a long sigh and turned back to the barn, hesitating to go back inside with the weather so nice, but I had work to complete. After one more look at the rolling hills surrounding our community, I stepped into the darkness of the barn’s interior.

The massive barn was old yet sturdy. It had weathered decades of dry and exhausting heat, followed by freezing winters on the high plains of Central Oregon. Rain was scarce on the east side of the Cascade mountains that bisected Oregon as they headed north through Washington, going as far north as Canada, but years of heat and freezing temperatures still did a number on wooden structures.

Arid and parched, the land around Madras was desolate and devoid of most plant life. Scrub and tumbleweeds ruled the non-irrigated portions of the ranch, while fertile irrigated patches grew valuable grasses and hay that we sold to farms for their livestock.

The women of our community planted vegetable gardens during spring and canned the assortment for our winter food stockpiles. Some neighboring farms grew marijuana for hemp as well. Franklin had shot down that idea when the elders suggested marijuana as a profitable crop for us, proclaiming hemp to be one more sinful product created by the outsiders.

We kept milk cows for our own consumption, and contrary to what the townsfolk imagined, we used tractors to harvest the hay we grew. I was currently busy bucking the stalls for the few horses we kept to round up the milk cows when necessary. The work was hot as heck in the summers and comfortable enough to not sweat in the season we were currently in, spring.

I allowed my eyes the time to adjust to the dark interior of the barn after stepping in, listening for animal sounds and other distracting noises. There were none today. All was quiet, and I hated the reality something fierce. Quiet allowed my mind to wander and conjure up awful visions. The barn haunted my dreams and terrified me at night while I lay quietly in my bunk bed, my brother above me in his.

“Calm down, Luke,” I whispered, jerking my head around as I explored the corners of the barn.

I pinned my eyes to the ladder that led to the loft, where hundreds of bales of hay would soon be stored. The bales were brought up on the same rope that had bound me so many times. Memories of my recent teen years tore at my brain as I battled to keep the recollections at bay.

The ladder brought back mental images and fear because it represented the access to a place that haunted me every day. Franklin had demanded I go up to the loft with him many times, or he’d catch me off guard when I’d be working there, unfortunately for me, concealing us from the outside.

I shivered and felt the tension locking my neck in place. The feeling I feared the most, the one that was so terrifying whenever it crept over me, was knocking on the door I used to shut my mind off. The smallest memory could set me off like it had at the bakery when the handsome stranger returned.

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