Outlaw Cowboy (11 page)

Just as she grabbed her bag and started thinking about what she'd need, a soft rap on the door sounded. Before Delia could bolt the door or do much of anything to keep whoever it was out, it creaked open and Summer and her swish of bright colors and jingle of jewelry entered.

She pushed the door closed and leaned against it. “Hi.”

“Hey.” At least it wasn't Caleb. Delia wouldn't fall for his bullshit anymore, but she didn't want to be tested on that. Not when she felt so desperate. So angry.

“I… Caleb told me what happened.”

Delia rocked back onto her heels, then stood from the crouched position over her bag. She affected her best don't-give-a-shit posture. “Did he now?”

“I want to help you.”

Delia snorted, but she didn't say anything first because…she didn't believe the girl. Oh, she might want to help, but she was a wisp of color and sweetness. She didn't have it in her to be of actual help.

Delia could use Summer for something, though. She could use Summer against Caleb. His
sister
. This unknown entity. Delia could use the girl to her own ends. But then she remembered the moments before the Rose bomb in the little caravan with Summer making her tea, and how it had felt like having her sisters again.

She couldn't drag Summer into this, even to hurt Caleb. “Look, you're a sweet kid. Nothing I need to do is…sweet.”

“What do you need to do? Let me be the judge of what I am and what I can do.”

Delia pressed her lips together, wondering if she'd ever been so earnest.

“No, Summer. Thank you for the offer, but no.”

“Where are you going to go?”

Now Delia did laugh. “Nowhere for long. You think I'd let your brother scare me off? You're both crazy. I need a roof over my head, and this is where I'm going to be. But there's something I've got to do.”

“And I can't help?”

“No.”

Summer let out a frustrated sigh. “Well, I'll make sure you have a place to come back to. Okay? I'm going to fight for you.”

Delia wanted to brush it off with a “sure” or a “thanks” even, but that last sentence knocked any ambivalence right out of her. Fight? Fight for
her
? “Why? Why on earth would you?”

“Because no one stood up for me when I was in your shoes. Not until I came here. It's like…karma. You put out what you want in return, and you pay back what you get.”

Delia shook her head and went back to packing her bag. “Sorry, Summer, I don't believe in karma. Except she's a bitch.”

“Well, I do. I believe in…something, and this place was a safe haven for me, and Caleb
will
come around, because he isn't… I don't know what happened to him to convince him he's such a bad guy, but he isn't. He's been the nicest one to me.”

“Let me tell you one thing about Caleb Shaw. The bad guy? It's in him.” He was so bound and determined, and he did an excellent impersonation, so she refused to believe it wasn't true.

“I don't believe that.”

“Your funeral.”

Summer kneeled in front of her, placing a hand on her bag so Delia had to look at her. “And I don't believe you're dangerous.” Serious eyes and serious backbone. Maybe the girl wasn't as airy fairy as she let on.

“Is that what he said about me?”

Summer shook her head, her earrings making a little tinkling sound at the motion. “The point is, you're both wrong.”

“How old are you?”

Summer stood and brushed the dust off her skirt. “I have seen my fair share, and I won't be deterred by either of you when I know I'm right,” she replied, not answering the question at all. She touched fingers to her chest, just over her heart, her lips curving a little. “Isn't that amazing, to know you're right about something?” She shook her head. “Anyway, let me help.”

It was tempting. So huge and tempting to let someone else in. She was so tired of doing it all on her own.

But trusting someone had gotten her a warrant with her name on it and an old friend treating her like some kind of mold that needed to be eradicated immediately before it spread. So, no.

“Thanks, kid, I'll…think about it.”

“That's not very convincing.”

Delia managed to quirk a smile. “It's all I got.”

“No one should have to run. No one should have to be scared and alone.”

Delia swallowed the lump in her throat. Poor girl didn't have a clue that the world of “should” was bullshit. She didn't want to have to be the one to break it to her, but life was full of things she didn't want to do. “Sometimes we have to be, Summer.”

“Caleb's going to come around. He's a good person. I know that. Without a doubt. He just has his own stuff going on and—he'll come around.”

“I hope that works out for you.”

“But you won't believe it?”

She had. For so long she had believed Caleb really was something of a unicorn in her world. He didn't necessarily like it, but kindness and gentleness poured out of him. At least when it came to her.

At least it
had
.

“I'm not sure I believe in anything anymore, Summer. Except what I have to do.” Which was find a way to get Steph out. Maybe she wouldn't accomplish it today, but she'd at least be on her way to
finding
a way.

“You can let your brother know I may be gone for a day or two, but I'm not gone for good.”

Summer didn't answer that, but Delia couldn't let that bother her. She meticulously packed her bag with anything she could carry that might be necessary. She wished she had a knife or something for protection, but that could get her into all kinds of trouble.

A twenty wasn't going to buy her a knife. And she couldn't let anyone see her buy
anything
. And…and…and…

She blew out a breath. It didn't matter.

That
was going to be her new mantra.

Summer refused to talk to him. She made dinner, and even though Caleb had been
in
the kitchen when she'd left, she'd written him a note.

It was childish and stupid, and such a sisterly thing to do. It was something Mel might have done when they were teenagers and she was mad at him for skipping out on some chore or another, leaving her with more work.

But things had been different then, before Dad's accident. Everyone had laughed off his reckless, irresponsible behavior. Caleb always figured Mel and Dad laughed it off because they knew as well as Caleb did that having him underfoot was a recipe for disaster. It irritated him, as it always did when he thought about
before
—before Dad's accident, before he'd saved-slash-ruined Delia's life. He'd known he was bad, but it hadn't felt so dark. Then again, he'd been drinking and partying and being an all-around jackass.

He picked up Summer's note, even though she was only then walking out the door. He could have called to her and asked her not to do the whole silent treatment thing anymore. Instead, he read what she had to say.
Do the right thing.

The right thing. Ha. As if there was one perfect right thing. One way that would solve all his problems. The right thing only caused more problems. He crumpled her note, tossed it in the trash, and brooded over his conversation with Tyler this afternoon.

Tyler wanted a contract. Tyler wanted guarantees and inspections and all manner of dumb shit. It ate at him, scraped him raw, especially since Tyler was only putting these restrictions on him because he
could
, because he thought Caleb would fail. But Caleb had agreed to all Tyler's ridiculous safeguards because he had to, because he'd made this bed with every fence he'd wrecked, every prank he'd pulled, every careless, stupid thing he'd done to the members of the community in which he lived.

So whatever hoops were put in front of him, he'd jump through. Because he'd learned his lesson, and apparently being good wasn't ever going to mean not swallowing his pride.

So, what's the use?

He pushed around the casserole Summer had made. No doubt it was delicious, but it tasted like ash to him. Everything but a straight shot of whiskey would taste like ash. Whiskey would taste like heaven and hell. Like salvation and a jail sentence all wrapped into one.

Where was the easy road?

He glared at the food. Summer had been mad at him, sure he was doing the wrong thing, and yet she'd made this for him and the man who would barely even acknowledge her existence. How did she do that? Sure, they'd taken her in, so to speak, but they hadn't done much
for
her, and she'd done a hell of a lot for them.

Do the right thing.

What was Delia eating for dinner? Had she left in a huff? Was she burning the cabin down? Was she facing her father alone?

He swallowed another tasteless lump of food, but it stuck in his throat. He was not a good person. He didn't know how to do the right thing. Something bad and wrong lurked inside him. Why should he or anyone think he could help Delia? In fact, he was doing her a favor by kicking her off Shaw, by saving her from the inevitably of him fucking it all to hell.

Or—was this him fucking it all to hell right here? Not helping out Delia and her sister, who was in a house no woman should ever have to
grow up
in, let alone step foot inside.

Graham Rogers was the lowest form of life. Worse than anything Caleb had in him. How could he stand by…

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeated as he pushed away the plate, then got up and put on his boots, shoved his arms into his coat, and pulled his hat down on his head. This was idiotic, risking himself like this. Thinking he could ever be of any help.

He wasn't a good man, and he wasn't ever going to fall on the side of right, but there were certain things even a not-so-good man couldn't turn their back on.

He got in the truck, not wanting to waste time with walking. He knew without a doubt Delia had reacted in some way to his kicking her out. She hadn't sat docile in that cabin all day—she'd planned and plotted.

She might even be gone, though he doubted she'd give him the satisfaction. Still, the painful rock of dread settled in his gut uncomfortably.

What if she is gone?

That rock settled deeper, more painfully. What if he'd told her she couldn't be here and she'd left, determined to save Steph on her own? It was her business, her life, and he'd fucked up everything the last time he'd intervened in her family life.

But for as strong and determined and full of absolute grit as Delia was, she wasn't evil. There was a goodness to her that was only ever combatted by desperation. The man she wanted to stand up to was evil. Which meant she needed someone…someone who had it in his arsenal to stand up to a monster…because he was part one himself.

But the fact that Delia was inherently good wouldn't matter to someone like Tyler, who saw the world in black and white. A man who wanted a contract that said he could cancel the lease at any time and Caleb would get nothing.

If he knew that Delia had spent one
night
on Shaw land, land he was leasing, Tyler would yank the lease and Caleb would be left with nothing. No money. No chance at fixing his reputation, and no Shaw name on Shaw land.

Caleb stopped in front of the cabin, pissed off all over again that he had to sign something so inherently unfair. He stomped across the yard, pounded his fist against the door, then pushed inside before his stomach could sink at the lack of an answer.

Silence.

That pain in his gut dug deeper, but he ignored it. “Delia?” He pushed through the cabin, checking everything. Her bag was gone, with no sign she'd even been here, except for a few of the supplies he'd brought her that first day lined up on the counter.

He swallowed at the tight feeling in his throat. This was fine. This was for the
best
.

Though…maybe she wasn't gone. She'd gone for a walk. She and Summer were trading complaints about him in Summer's caravan. Everything would be fine.

There was really something wrong with him.

He slammed out of the cabin and hopped in the truck to drive to Summer's, but her junker of a car was gone. He turned the truck around, knowing he should head back to Shaw, knowing he should forget this.
This
was the crazy impulse.

And he let it drive him toward the path that led out of Shaw. In the west, the mountains glowed bright orange and pink. Brilliant. A scene he'd seen over and over again, but even at his most cynical, this sight had always made him pause, and breathe, and feel…full. Real and bursting with possibility.

He stopped, allowing himself a few seconds to drink it in. The colors, the way the mountains took them on and reflected them out in a brilliant swirl of light and color all made completely by nature. And for a moment, the weight lifted, and with it the frustration and the anger.

He could believe in possibility, even the possibility there was nothing wrong with him, or if there was, he could overcome it. Because he was here, seeing this, a
part
of this.

Despite all the concerns, realities, and pieces of his life that limited him, cursed him, and kept him in this hard place, never knowing quite what the
right
step was, he knew he had to find Delia. Now, not later, and somehow he had to make this right.

He drove down the lane, but there was no way she would just be walking down the street. At least, he didn't think so. If she was too afraid to stand up to her father and too afraid for him to know she was in town, he doubted she'd be that brazen.

She was afraid enough to hole up in a cabin, afraid enough to all but go hungry so no one saw her. And, considering he'd seen Graham hold a gun to her head, he couldn't blame her in the least.

So she'd probably be in the trees. She was probably following the line of them that swept down into Blue Valley.

He stopped his truck and got out, peering through the dim light. Though the sunset was still high in the sky, still above the mountains, the tree line was dark with dusk, and he didn't see any movement.

“Delia?” he called, trying his best to be quiet as he walked along the tree line, squinting for any sign of her…if she'd even gone this way. Maybe he should have checked the barns.

“Delia?” he called louder, pushing into the trees, his thought process a circle of
what the hell am I doing
?

He heard a rustle, what could either be the footstep of a human or an animal. “Delia?”

“Shh.”

He couldn't make her out, but he thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, so he turned to it. Footsteps moved closer, more rustling, and then finally Delia appeared around the branches of a pine.

“What the hell, Caleb? Are you
trying
to make it known to everyone in the world I'm here?”

“We're miles from anyone. No one could hear me.”

She rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. “Oh, suddenly we're so certain no one can hear you or find me. I'm kind of tired of your bullshit.” She kept walking as she clutched her backpack strap to her shoulder.

“Yeah, me too,” he muttered to himself, forcing himself to follow her deeper into the trees. “Delia—”

“I'm not gone for good, if that's what you're hoping.”

“I'm following you. Why would that be what I'm hoping?”

“I don't know, Caleb. I don't know what you're hoping for.”

That was the problem, because neither did he. Hope was dangerous. Hope was usually a lie. Hope never worked out like he wanted it to, so, no, he didn't have a clue what he was hoping for.

He only knew, right or wrong, he wanted to help, and he couldn't force himself not to help. No matter what it might cost him. So, he was a moron. All he could hope for was that it wouldn't blow up in his face.

* * *

Delia stalked away from Caleb, back onto her path toward West Blue Valley. She was cold and tired and mad and sad and a million other things, and Caleb showing up did not help that at all.

Whatever he says, you will not believe him. You will not trust him. He'll break his word every time.

Didn't she know enough about the untrustworthiness of men to keep her brain intact no matter what Caleb was here to do?

“Come with me.”

She laughed outright. “Did you start drinking again?”

“No.”

She wouldn't feel bad for putting that hard note in his voice. The asshole deserved it. He deserved anything she could throw at him. “Look, I don't know why you're here.” She talked right over his attempt at an explanation. “I don't care why you're here. I have things to do, and it's got nothing to do with you. So go away.”

“Come back to Shaw.”

“Oh, I'll be back, sweetheart. Don't you worry about that.”

“Where are you going? What are you doing?”

She kept walking and did her best not to let the exhaustion or cold show. “What do you care?”

“I care.”

“Changed your tune?”

“Trust me, I wish I didn't, but it doesn't seem to change the fact that I do.”

“Pardon me, I'm busy. I'll have to swoon later.” A bramble caught on her coat, and she had to tear herself free, hoping it didn't rip the increasingly fragile outer shell.

Wasn't that some symbolism?

“Delia.” His hand closed over her arm, and though she tried to wrench free and keep walking—walk away from the searing, heavy pain in her chest—he held her in place. Strong hands and strong arms.

Everyone was always so much stronger than her.

“Come with me. Just for a few minutes. I just want to show you something.”

“I've heard that line before.”

“Come with me.”

“And then what?”

“I'll…” His brow knitted together. “I'll…” He took a deep breath and let it out. “I'll explain what happened. And we can try to reach a…compromise.”

She wanted to laugh. The word “compromise” was not in Caleb Shaw's vocabulary. “Summer yelled at you, didn't she?”

His mouth quirked almost in the approximation of a smile. “Yelled at me, called me my father, then gave me the silent treatment. It was quite a feat of sisterly manipulation for someone who hasn't even been around a year.”

At the word “manipulation,” she tensed and pulled on her arm again, needing to be away from him. “I don't want
your
manipulation, Caleb. I have things to do.” She wrenched free, but had a bad feeling it wasn't her strength that freed her. No, the bastard had
let
her go.

“Don't make me do this,” he said gravely.

“Do what?”

He feinted left, and she tried to get around his right, but his arm snaked around her waist, and with what seemed like no trouble at all, he hefted her up and over his shoulder, her backpack clattering to the ground, his hat going askew.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” she shrieked.

Using a tree trunk for leverage, he managed to bend down and grab the backpack with a grunt. “I'm doing this for your own good.” He righted his hat.

“My own—” He started walking toward the road. What on earth? She couldn't let him do this. She knew—she just knew if he got whatever he was after, she would lose and he would win, and this compromise would do jack shit for her and Steph.

So, she punched his back and kicked her legs, trying to make contact with his vulnerable parts, but this was a man who rode horses and herded cattle every day of his stupid, worthless life, and she wasn't nearly as strong as she'd like to be from all the lack of food the past few weeks.

“I hate you.”

“I know,” he puffed, making it out past the tree line. He stopped at his truck, and when he released one hand from her legs, she fought to push off of him, but he was too strong, even with just one arm looped under her butt.