Page 26 of Crossroads
“We did.” His clipped answer is infuriating. I’m not used to Emerson being quiet.
“So why didn’t you want to go swimming,” I prod. “Are you really that afraid of getting into trouble?”
He raises his brow, saying without talking that he isn’t ever afraid of that, which I already knew. “I don’t swim where I can’t see the bottom. That water is disgusting. You’ll probably catch something in there.”
“So sweet of you to worry,” I say, pushing my shovel through the muck to start helping him.
“Didn’t say I was worried about you.”
I ignore that part. “You should try it. There’s something therapeutic about swimming out here. It’s quiet. Peaceful.”
He stops shoveling, his dark-blue eyes fixated on me, making me squirm. “Why are you talking so much? I don’t think you’ve ever said this many words to me at one time before.”
My ears feel hot from the embarrassment that floods through me, but I hope I hide it well when I shrug it off. “Just making conversation.” There’s a defensive edge to my tone, and he definitely picks up on it. That devilish smirk of his present on his face.
I’m about to tell him to shut the hell up when I see John walking through the front door of the barn. He’s wearing a jovial smile as he approaches us. “Pack a bag, boys. I have a job for you.”
We both freeze, my hackles raised because I can already tell this is going to be bad despite the pure joy on John’s face. “Where are we going?” I ask cautiously.
“I need you to go to Colbey to an auction and pick up a steer I’ve had my eye on.” To some people, I’m sure the statement sounds weird, and by some people I mean Emerson, whose face is all twisted in confusion. But for me, this is pretty run of the mill.
Although Colbey is a six-hour drive from here, I don’t really mind the task. The part I don’t like is theboysand not boy. I’m not making that drive with Emerson. Not a chance. No fucking way. “Well, that doesn’t take two people. I’m happy to go, John.”
“Two-man job. Boss’s orders,” he says with an amused glint in his eyes. The thing about John is most people think he’s the strong silent type. But as you get to know the man, you realize he has a pretty twisted sense of humor, and I know he’s enjoying this far too much.
“Boss? So Kelly wants us both to go? What? As some sort of bonding exercise?” Emerson pipes up, and okay, he’s quicker than he looks because that’s exactly what Kelly is doing here.
John just raises his hands up in mock surrender—as if he’s just the messenger instead of the conspirator. “John, you have to know this isn’t a good idea,” I try.
He just smirks at me, all too happy. “Boss’s orders. Get packed for a night’s stay. The auction is bright and early tomorrow morning.” He walks over to me and hands me an envelope. “Money for gas, hotel, and food. Have fun, boys. Kelly will text you all the details for the auction. You’ll take our truck with the good trailer.”
Neither of us move, and I don’t know which one of us looks more disturbed, Emerson or me. He actually looks a little pale. “Hotel?”
“Well,” John uses his hand to scrub over the slight bit of stubble he has on his chin. “Motel, probably, and one room. Sorry we can’t afford anything fancy, but it’s just one night.”
One room. Shit. Shit. Shit.
This is not good, but I wouldn’t dare demand two rooms when they’ve already done so much for me, and I can’t afford to pay for one by myself.
It’s just one night. It’ll be fine. I look over at Emerson, who seriously looks like he might pass out.What the hell is wrong with him?
I don’t get time to find out because John has him go up to the house with him to pack his shit, and I follow orders dutifully, climbing up to the loft and packing all the necessities for a one-night stay.
I meet him at the truck and see he has the keys in his hand. He doesn’t fight me one bit when I take them and jump into the driver’s seat. He tosses his bag in the back and follows suit.
Being eerily quiet for him.
“It’s just one night,” I say as I get us on the road. He’s acting like this is a hardship for him. But I’m the one who has to bestuck in close quarters with his loud mouth for the next twenty-four hours.
“I’m sorry, are you actually happy about spending six hours in this truck and then spending the night together? And here I thought you didn’t like me,” he quips with a sharp edge to his voice.
“I don’t,” I say honestly, looking out the windshield at the wide expanse of road ahead. “But you’re acting weird. Have been all day.”
“I’m fine,” he says irritably, looking out his window. “How about we make this a silent trip?”
“Really?” I ask, surprised by that. The guy loves to fuck with me. Pushing my buttons is one of his favorite things, but he’s gone into a really dark sort of mood ever since I found him in the barn.
Something about my swim really set him off.
