It felt like coming home.
I pressed my cheek against the center of his back and watched as we blew past farmers just beginning to plant their crops, the brown fields and green tractors blending together into one.
Exhilaration flooded my veins, and I found I was almost disappointed when he slowed to turn down a dirt road. Unlike the rest of the desert landscape, we were now surrounded by trees stretching at least sixty feet in the air.
“Pecan orchard,” Jamie shouted over the bike before making another turn.
We passed a large red barn before pulling up in front of a modest Folk Victorian farmhouse with a large covered porch. Its steep-pitched gabled roof with decorative trim reminded me of the houses I used to draw as a child.
He shut the bike off and turned back to me. “You like it?”
My body felt as if it was still vibrating as I climbed off the bike, causing me to stumble slightly as I made my way up the worn steps. “Like it? It’s gorgeous. It even has a porch swing! Will the owners care that we’re here?” I asked while looking through the front window.
“The owner is here.”
I looked back at him in surprise. “You live here?”
The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “Well, not lately, no. Been campin’ outdoors more.”
My fingers trailed over the wooden porch swing, and I kicked off my sandals before sinking down onto it with a contented sigh before declaring, “If I lived out here, I’d never leave. It’s so quiet and peaceful.”
Jamie leaned against the railing, watching me with an unreadable expression on his face. When he stayed silent, I added, “How’d you find it?”
“It was Angel’s,” he said, retrieving the pack of cigarettes from the inside of his jacket. He tapped one out and offered it to me.
I shook my head. “I quit.”
He lit up and took a long drag before asking, “Since when?”
“Since Dakota found my pack in the freezer while looking for Sundae Cones. She got Kate involved, and I received quite the lecture on the dangers of smoking.”
“I wish I could’ve been there to see that.” Jamie stared off into the orchard.
“So, Angel used to live out here?”
“Well, he bought the house for me and my ma. Was gonna move us in once the club took care of my old man. When he lost her, he refused to come back, and it sat empty.”
“Did you know it was here? Back then, I mean.”
He shook his head. “Not until about three years ago. I got sick of stayin’ out at the clubhouse, and he told me about it. Wolverine and Bear helped me fix it up, and I’ve been out here ever since.”
“Oh.” I nodded to myself before getting up, keeping my back to him as I moved over to the porch steps. “Is this where you’ve been the whole time?”
It shouldn’t have upset me. I’d pushed him away; I didn’t get a say in where he went afterward. I guess I’d always assumed he would’ve become a nomad, moving from place to place as he tracked down the men who hurt me; not living alone out in the country.
“Come on.” He hopped off the railing. “Got somethin’ I wanna show you.”
I pushed my hurt feelings aside and let him lead me around to the back of the house where a gingham blanket was spread beneath a massive oak tree. The red cooler on top had kept it from blowing away.
“What’s all this?” I asked, brushing the hair back off my forehead.
He stripped the suit jacket off and directed me to sit before proudly announcing, “I made us lunch.”
No matter how much I wanted to stay mad at him, I couldn’t fight the smile that crept onto my face when he pulled out bologna and cheese sandwiches and bags of tortilla chips.
A sharp pain pricked the base of my nose, the feeling almost foreign. I hadn’t been able to cry in years, yet was close to it because of lunchmeat.
I quickly turned away as a burst of laughter broke free from my chest.