Page 70 of The Naughty Elf

And wait.

Ginger comes by the window every fifteen minutes or so, peering out of the gap of her curtains before stepping away again. Checking to see if we’re still here.

It’s torture. We each pace in turn. Then we hear the loud rumbling of a truck headed down her driveway.

A weight sinks in my stomach.

This is going to go to shit. Bennett’s white truck breaches the hill, and I momentarily drop my head into my hands. An absolute shitstorm. What are we supposed to say to him?

About what happened with that creep. About what happens at the site, in the office. What happens between his only daughter and the three of us.

If we don’t say anything, is he going to know?

“Just let me do the talking,” Jackson says beside me.

Good plan. He’s the one who’s good with his words. He’s been friends with Bennett the longest.

I lift my head and nod at him.

I can’t wallow. I’ve already come to terms with the fact that the man who helped me learn to take my nerdy obsession with mechanics and physics and apply it to building things. We started with building an addition to his house.

Granted, I didn’t do a lot of hands-on stuff. I was a gangly sixteen-year-old who needed to get out of my house. Who spenttoo much time with his older cousins making mischief. They were sent to jail, and I was deposited on the Thatcher ranch.

Bennett was only twenty-one at the time, leading projects for his father, Bernard. He was a big dude who had a big heart and a penchant for tough love. At least he did show the love part with praise, a pat on the back, and some good chow.

He's the one who gave me my first beer.

And how do I repay him? How do the three of us repay him for what he did for us?

We share his granddaughter’s bed. We can’t even provide her a safe place to work.

It’s my turn to pace as Bennett pulls into the driveway, blocking in the three of us in. He parks and sits there, hands on the wheel, mean-mugging the three of us. The long seconds make anxiety rise in my chest.

My heart is going to give out on me, and the worst part of it, is not being able to comfort Ginger through this.

The door clunks open, and Bennett steps out. The bang of him slamming the door makes me flinch.

Ginger’s hand appears between the window shades again.

Jackson steps forward, waiting for Bennett to approach.

His cheeks are red, eyes bright with anger, but the worry lines on his forehead make it all the worse.

“What the hell happened to my daughter?”

31

JACKSON

“Why did my daughter call me crying, telling me that she quit her job? Why has she locked herself in there, like she’s afraid to tell me why?” Bennett is seething mad, the red in his face spreading as he barely keeps his voice level. “Why are the three of you here?”

I hold my hands up. “We had an incident at work. It’s been taken care of, and we’ve called Sheriff Bentley to report it.”

He bristles, and I regret how I decided to approach this. “Why did you have to callthe sheriff?”

I clear my throat, clenching my jaw. “One of our new hires…was a bad choice.”

“You’d better explain and fast.” His hands turn into fists, and I realize that I might get decked for this.

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