Finders Keepers

Page 7

That, of course, only made me laugh. “I sure am glad I have you two here for moral support. I’ve never felt so uplifted and surrounded by warm fuzzies in my life.”
“We love you too, buddy.” Jesse slung his arm around Rowen’s neck, the other around mine, and pulled us together for some sick version of a group hug. I was protesting with an exaggerated groan when I heard a few others coming down the trail. It probably shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did.
Mr. and Mrs. Walker, followed by their three daughters, made their way toward us. Neil had a solemn expression, Rose had a small smile, and the girls all looked a bit red-eyed. Go figure. Three Walker girls who’d barely even met Clay had been crying, but his own son had yet to shed a single tear. I told myself the only reason they were able to muster up a few tears for him was because they didn’t know Clay like I did.
Neil clapped my shoulder as his family fell in line beside him. “It’s a hell of a thing, son. One hell of a thing.”
I nodded once then indicated the chaplain. I had planned on being wrapped up already, not greeting guests I hadn’t invited. Despite not having invited them, I was glad they’d invited themselves. The chaplain had been right—it felt good to be surrounded by loved ones, or as close to loved ones as I had. I’d never openly admit it, but it was the truth.
The chaplain rolled his shoulders back. “We are brought together today by a great tragedy. A life ending before its time. A man—”
“Hold on. Wait! I’m sorry. Just hold on one more minute!” someone hollered from the trail.
My initial response to hearing Josie’s voice was to smile. So I went with a drawn-out sigh. When she came into view, I saw what was to blame for slowing her down.
“Damn these heels. Why can’t they make a pair more suited for rough terrain?” She glanced at me just long enough to acknowledge me with a smile before going back to watching the ground like it was about to reach out and grab her. With the heels she had on, it was a miracle she’d made it that far without breaking her neck.
Jesse nudged me. I didn’t get what he was hinting. Then he elbowed me. I still didn’t get it. Finally he sighed and said, “Why don’t you go help her before she breaks a heel or a leg?”
Riding in on the white horse and saving the day was Jesse Walker’s thing, not mine. That’s why I hadn’t picked up on his hint. When I stayed glued where I was while Josie hobbled over a few more rocks, Jesse shook his head. Before he’d taken one step toward her, I grabbed his arm. “I got it. Hey, stilts, let me give you a hand before you go and break your neck.”
If she wasn’t so busy watching the ground, I knew she would have glared at me. “I don’t know what I was thinking wearing these things. Where’s a pair of boots when a girl needs some?”
I’d seen Josie in a pair of shoes other than boots maybe a dozen times since I’d known her, but seeing her in a pair of heels with the knee-length dress she had on made me wish she’d wear them a lot more.
Unbelievable. I was at my father’s funeral and having moderately inappropriate thoughts about a girl’s legs. I didn’t have many, but I knew I’d had finer moments than that one.
“Yeah, but they sure look nice.” I forced my eyes up right about the time Josie stumbled over a rock Hell, maybe she stumbled over her own two feet. I’d gotten to her just in time. I broke her fall right before swinging her into my arms. We didn’t have much farther to go, but I didn’t want to wait another decade for her to maneuver her way there.
“What are you doing?” Josie asked, her tone as shocked as her expression.
I shrugged, asking myself the same question. “Blue moon.”
Josie’s forehead lined. “Come again?”
“You’ve never heard of a blue moon?”
“Yes, Garth. I’ve heard of a blue moon.” Today’s eye roll count: one. “What does one have to do with you helping me?”
“This guy’s got the day off from playing the hero.” I slugged Jesse’s arm after setting Josie down. “I’m filling in.” Jesse’s and Rowen’s expressions matched Josie’s. “What?” I was ready to slug him again if he didn’t stop looking at me like I’d lost my mind.
“I knew you had it in you all along.” Josie planted her feet on a level patch of sand.
“Yeah, yeah. No need to go and spread the word, Miss See-the-Good-in-Everyone, because I’m about to have the reluctant hero inside of me exorcised.”
“Too bad. That was the first time in years that I haven’t wanted to slug you in the jaw.”
The chaplain cleared his throat, and Josie zipped her lips at me.
“Fine, bossy,” I muttered.
“Whatever. Hero.” She gave me a wide grin before turning her attention to the chaplain.
“Garth? Are you ready to proceed?” the chaplain asked, still looking like he wasn’t in any hurry.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Even the smart-ass tone I’d perfected fell flat.
“Did you bring something to symbolize your father being here in spirit?”
“Oh, yeah. I almost forgot.” Digging in my shirt pocket, I pulled out the cap and set it on the large rock beside the chaplain. Want to know how to make a crowd of talkers go so silent it made the air thick? Thunk a Jack Daniels cap in front of them where a casket would be if Clay Black’s ashes weren’t scattered over acres of barren, rented land.
The chaplain was the first to make a noise, even though it was only a clearing of his throat. “Would you mind sharing how this . . . this . . . signifies your father?” The poor chaplain couldn’t even bring himself to say it.
Me, on the other hand, had no problem. A cap of Jack was home sweet home in my world. “Clay liked to drink. A lot. He also liked throwing empty bottles at me when I did something that irritated him. Like brush my teeth before bed. Or eat a package of Saltines for dinner. Or, when I was still dumb and hopeful as a child, ask for a hug before bedtime.”
I noticed Rowen take Jesse’s hand. It was an easy gesture. Effortless. Almost like her hand had acted of its own accord.
“The bottle that cap came from was the last one Clay threw my way. The one he threw at me the night he died. Right before I left. The last one he’ll ever throw at me. I would have brought the bottle, but it was busted to shit. Totally unsalvageable. But that right there, the cap to a bottle of Jack, meant Clay died with the good stuff in him. That meant it was the first of the month and his disability check had just come in. That meant he had a couple more days of drinking the good stuff out of a bottle before switching over to the stuff out of a plastic jug that turned a person’s insides. My dad died with the good stuff in him. That’s all a person like Clay Walker could ask from life.”
I was still staring at Jesse’s and Rowen’s entwined hands. The longer I studied their hands, the more I realized I never had and never would have that. Someone to stand shoulder to shoulder with and take on life one day at a time. Someone to know what I needed before I even said it. Someone who loved me without conditions. Hell, someone who loved me even with conditions. I’d been with a lot of women, so many women I couldn’t tell if it was closer to dozens or hundreds, and never once had I come close to loving a single one of them. They’d come about as close to loving me.
Whatever Jesse and Rowen had, what Neil and Rose had, whatever that was, I made sure to steer clear of it. Most of my life, I’d considered that a blessing. One or both parties falling in love just made things messy. Complicated the good thing going on. But standing at my father’s funeral, where a whiskey cap stood in his place, alone and with no one to take my hand before I even knew I wanted it held, felt like a curse.
“So this cap signifies freedom? Your father’s departure from this world has freed him from the clutches of addiction,” the chaplain said after a while.
“Sure, this cap signifies freedom. My freedom from him.”
The chaplain’s eyes widened—just barely but enough to tell me that I’d said something to shock him. I hadn’t been going for shock value; I’d been going for the truth. He was back to being tongue-tied, and the air around me was thick with dead silence, when Josie nudged closer to me. Her hand reached for mine, twisting against it until my fist released, letting her fingers weave through mine. Without realizing I’d been holding it, I could breathe again.
Without realizing exactly what I needed, I suddenly had it. A measure of comfort exactly when I needed it. A silent need picked up on and responded to. It was foreign in the best kind of way. Josie’s hand heated mine, its warmth traveling up my arm and spreading until no sign of a chill was left to be found. No sign of the winter I’d lived in my entire life was still around.
“Would anyone like to say any last words?”
The chaplain’s words startled me out of whatever hand-holding, dreamy world I’d lost myself in. Good thing because that was a world I couldn’t be a part of. Not because I wouldn’t accept it, but because it wouldn’t accept me. I gave my head a shake to clear my thoughts, but even if I wanted to with all my will—which I didn’t—I couldn’t free my hand from Josie’s. I’d have to make sure the next time she was close by, I didn’t let her hand get too close to mine. As good as it felt, it would hurt like hell later when her hand was holding Colt Mason’s and mine was running over the body of some woman whose name I wouldn’t remember in the morning. Holding her hand was short-lived and would do way more damage than good in the long run.
“I suppose I should send a sympathy card to Mr. Baker, the owner of the liquor store downtown, since his best customer won’t stumble through his front doors again. He’s probably going to go out of business. Now that’s a tragedy.” I capped my “last words” with a chuckle, but if I thought the silence had been thick before, I’d been wrong.
The fact that Jesse wasn’t shaking his head and muttering jackass or that Josie wasn’t sighing and elbowing me meant my attempt at humor had been timed badly. Too much, too soon. But how the hell was I supposed to deal with it? How the hell was I supposed to muster up some last words that weren’t depressing as all hell or, as I’d chosen, tongue-in-cheek? There was nothing heartfelt to be said. Nothing even moderately endearing.
For the second time in a few minutes, the chaplain looked tongue-tied, positively stumped as where to take the runaway train next. That was when Neil nudged between Jesse and me, making his way up to the chaplain. Like his son, Neil was sporting a suit. I’d never seen Neil in anything besides a pair of jeans.
Clasping his hands in front of him, he searched the sky for a moment. “I know Clay was a man who left a person feeling conflicted most of the time. A man like him is hard to know what to make of.” I wanted to mutter No shit, but the chaplain was watching me carefully. Probably knew the exact words I was biting back. “But I will never forget the first time Garth and Jesse rodeoed together. It was the summer they were eleven years old. Garth was out there on an ornery, old steer—stayed on the whole time, too—and took one hell of a score. Clay was standing beside me, and he nudged me, his eyes focused on Garth, and said, ‘That’s my boy.’” Neil paused long enough to make sure I was looking at him. He nodded, tipping his hat. “That’s how I’m going to choose to remember Clay Black. As a man who was proud of his son, as hard of a time as he had of showing it most of the time.” Dropping his attention to the whiskey cap, he tilted his hat once more before rejoining his family.