Page 88 of Plum

“You got a plan?”

“I was gonna do some sistering.”

“Depending on the damage, might be better to shore it up.” My father draws himself up, wipes at his greasy jeans. “I got jacks. Let’s go over there in the morning. See what should be done.”

“She’s not going to welcome us.”

“You give up easy?” There’s an unspoken part to his question. You give up easylike me?

I’m nothing like this man. Or the man who raised me. If I’m like anyone in this world, it’s going to be the woman who strode toward me across a crowded ballroom, terror and hope in her eyes, alone and brave, coming back to me.

“I have a truck, but it’s back in Pyle.”

“We can use mine,” my father says. “I’ll call some brothers who work construction with me. We can get it started in a few hours if she lets us in to the house.” He snorts and leans back, admiring the bike from tailpipe to front wheel the way some men take in a woman.

After a minute or two, he raises his eyes to me. “Wanna take her for a ride?”

I don’t have to think. “Hell, yeah.”

He throws me an old plastic key chain, and shuffles off to find me a helmet and raise the bay door. I take the chamois and run it along her body. You can tell she’s been maintained, protected from the elements, and rode with care.

I’m not surprised when I get her up to two hundred on a straight away outside of town.

I won’t tell my father, but I didn’t fall in love.

I like a rougher ride. I want to work for it; I want toearnthe ride. And that’s what it all comes down to. Why it’s taken me this long in life to figure it out, I don’t know, but that’s what Jo-Beth’s taught me. I need to trust myself to know the value of what’s in front of me. And I need to earn my ride.

I’m starting with Jo-Beth. She’s worth everything, and I’m not giving up until I earn her back.

CHAPTER 14

PLUM

Icame home last night. After the brawl and the pigeons, everyone wanted to talk to me about the rich boy. Everyone had opinions, most of them slurred, and none of them helpful.

I didn’t sleep well. I felt feverish, cold and clammy. The wind picked up around midnight, and branches scraped the siding. I woke up with a start, heart pounding. I reached for Adam. And then I remembered he was gone; I’d sent him away. And I wanted him so badly. His warmth at my back. Soothing murmurs in my ear.

‘Cause I was groggy and weak, I grabbed my phone and swiped, entering my passcode. My finger was hovering over the phone icon before I remembered Mama. How many times she’d locked herself in the bathroom, sobbing into the phone, bargaining with some man to come back. I’d shoved my phone under the pillow, rolled myself in my Amish quilt, and I tried to drift off again, but it took hours.

When I’m woken from a dead sleep at eight in the morning by trucks roaring down my street, I’m not in the mood. My eyes are crusted shut, and my stomach is sour. For some reason, the trucks park in my drive, and doors slam. A man shouts.

I fight free of the sheet that’s gotten twisted around my legs, and I stumble for the stairs. I’m wearin’ a T-shirt that says “Pick Me Up In The White Van” and a pair of white sweat socks. I fling open the door, ready to tell whoever it is that they’re lost, and my heart slams against my chest and stops.

It’s Adam.

He’s standing at the bottom of my porch steps in thigh-hugging jeans and a red flannel shirt. His hair’s still wet from a shower, and he’s carrying a tool box. His shoulders are squared, his chest straining the buttons, and his scuffed work boots make him look like the construction worker from a charity calendar. The shiner from yesterday’s scuffle only makes him look rougher, hotter.

He’s starin’ up at me, stubborn determination in the set of his jaw, eyes burnin’ as if I’m everything he’s ever wanted. My stomach clenches, and heat rushes to my pussy. I press my knees together and cross my arms to hide my pebbling nipples.

A raggedy crew is assembling behind him. Gus and Grinder haul up what looks like a jack. Charge is unloading an armful of lumber. His kid, little Jimmy, is wearing a toolbelt so small it wouldn’t fit around my leg, but he’s got a real wrench, a screwdriver, and a hammer hangin’ from it. The belt’s so heavy it’s tuggin’ down his drawers. He’s got that pissed off, serious look that cracks me up. He’s as mean as his daddy is sweet.

It’s hard to be unfriendly with Jimmy here, but it’s early, and I ain’t as strong as I was yesterday. If I give an inch, I’m gonna throw myself at that man lookin’ at me like I’m air, and he’s drowning.

“What are you doin’ here?”

“I came back.”

I know what he’s tryin’ to do. The conversation about the birds. I hadn’t meant it as encouragement. Or had I? My brain’s fuzzy. It ain’t workin’ right.

---