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Grady didn’t take a full breath until he’d climbed out of the Gator with the food Cecily had brought. A quick glance around the house said nobody’d been here while he was working. Or had they? To be sure, he set the box down and checked the scrap of paper he’d wedged in the bedroom closet door jamb. Still where he’d left it, and he doubted anyone would have noticed it six inches from the floor. Not eye level, and the smallest fraction of an inch sticking out. All his time reading mystery novels hadn’t been wasted.
Still, he couldn’t resist checking his strongbox, in case an intruder had outsmarted him. He went to the rear of the closet, where someone had stowed a bunch of luggage under a pile of plastic trash bags filled with old clothes. He opened the large suitcase, then the two smaller ones nested inside. His box was still there, and the duct tape across the lock was intact. Someone could have snuck in, taken the whole lot of suitcases, searched them, then replaced the box, but the weight felt right, and he couldn’t see any of the cowboys taking time away from their work to search his quarters.
If Enrique or Xiang had managed to track him down and discover the box, they’d have smashed it open—or taken it with them. Or trashed the place. Or both. And come searching for him.
A wave of paranoia rippled over him, and he grabbed a frying pan and went through the rest of the house.
Frying pan? What are you? A girl?
Still, cast iron made a good weapon.
Satisfied nobody was hiding, he put the frying pan away. His back and shoulders ached from hauling those saddles, but not as much as yesterday. His stomach rumbled—the cookies he’d eaten had been burned off by the second trip to the tack room. He eyed the choices in the cabinet and decided on chicken soup.
He had a brief pang of nostalgia, thinking of Hattie, one of his mom’s housekeepers when he was little. She’d been nice to him. Read him stories, and made him chicken soup when he was sick. Or sad. This canned stuff Cecily had provided wouldn’t come close, but it would ease his hunger for now.
While it heated, he yanked off his boots and checked the floor. Cecily had warned him about not wearing boots in the house, and he’d tromped through enough cow and horse shit to deposit a mess on the hardwood. He was tempted to leave it, but keeping the place clean was one way to avoid people thinking he needed checking up on.
Besides, he’d been fending for himself since he was ten when his mom had decided she didn’t need to pay a housekeeper anymore. The closet by the front door had some cleaning supplies, including a broom and one of those squirter mop things. He’d take care of the mess after he ate.
Grady took a mug of soup to the couch. You’d think ranch guests would want to watch television once in a while. Except for the comfort of having a roof over his head and better food choices, the amenities here weren’t much better than life on the streets.
He’d take the comfort factor. Plus, there were books on the bookshelf in the living area. Carrying his soup, he wandered over to peruse the contents. Looked like a used bookstore. Before he could choose one, a car approached. His socks slipping on the floor, not to mention the horse shit he’d tracked in, Grady hurried to the window and inched open a corner of the closed curtain. A dusty, dark blue Ford Focus pulled alongside the Gator. He’d seen the car before, parked behind the ranch house. His breath came easier. More so when Tanya exited the car.
She carried a plastic bag and trotted up the porch steps. When he opened the door, she held up the bag and flashed a grin. “Housewarming present.”
“Come in, but watch your step. I forgot the no boots in the house rule when I came in.” He glanced at her sneakered feet. “I don’t think the rule applies to normal shoes.” A tantalizing aroma wafted from the bag. Fried chicken? His stomach announced its pleasure.
“You met Sabrina?” Tanya asked.
Grady shook his head. “Derek’s girlfriend, right?”
“Yeah. You’ll meet her.” Tanya carried the bag to the kitchen counter. “She's opening a cooking school. I used to be one of her students in Albuquerque until she got me this cool job cooking for the Triple-D.”
Tanya paused for a moment, seemed to be deciding whether to go on or not.
“Seems like a decent gig,” Grady said. “Better than shoveling shit, anyway.”
Tanya laughed. “For sure.” She cocked her head. “I was living almost on the streets when Sabrina let me into her old cooking school. She made me see there was more than gangs and the streets, and gave me a way out.” She waved a hand as if it would erase her past. “Anyway, we was messin’ with fried chicken for her new school, and she said I could bring this to you.”
If only this ranch gig would give him a way out.
“Smells great.” Grady set his soup aside and snagged a drumstick, devouring most of it in a single bite. “Tastes better.”
Tanya laughed. “Most of what Sabrina does tastes great. I’m still learning about cowboy food, but everyone likes fried chicken, right?”
“Guess so. You want a piece?”
“No, I been tastin’ along the way. Wouldn’t mind something to drink, though.”
She couldn’t mean alcohol, could she? No drugs, no booze, no smoking. The judge had made that clear. Besides, he didn’t do them anyway, so no hardship there.
“Water? Soda? Milk?”
“Soda would be great.” She left him and went to the living room.
Grady went to the fridge. “There’s Coke, Mountain Dew, and Dr. Pepper.”
“Dr. Pepper,” she called.
She was wandering around the room, running her finger along the shelves. Inspecting? Checking for dust?
Her expression was neutral when he returned with her Dr. Pepper and a Coke for himself. He wondered if he should have offered a glass. There’d been a small ice tray in the freezer, but he’d dumped it to make room for the nukeables Cecily had given him.
She accepted the soda and popped the top. Swigged some down, then glanced around.
She might not meet his mother’s standards, but she was a good-looking young woman. Not too much older than he was. He pulled up his limited knowledge of hospitality. “You want to sit down?”
“Sure.” She plopped onto the couch. “I gotta tell you Grady, you got a good thing going here at the Triple-D. They’s good folks. Chef Sabrina, too. I’d be on the streets or in jail otherwise. Never was much at regular school.” She took another sip of her soda. “Where you from?”
Was she supposed to be grilling him? Cecily already knew the basics, and he assumed Derek did, too. “Wisconsin. Appleton.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Not too far from Green Bay.” He opened his Coke and swigged several gulps.
She grinned again. “Ah, the Packers. Where people wear dumb cheese hats.” She grimaced. “No offense.”
He drank more of his Coke. “None taken. I think they’re dumb, too.”
“How’d you get to Colorado from Wisconsin?”
Grady held up a thumb. “Hitched, mostly.”
“Whoa, you are one brave dude. Or crazy. Or both.”
Grady gave her the nutshell version of his life. “I thought my mom would love me more if I was smart. I worked, got good grades, but she never gave a damn. I tried it the other way, but she laid into me for screwing up in school. Best for me was to stick to the middle ground. I liked learning, but I made sure I didn’t let anyone know. I messed up on tests and assignments enough to get Cs instead of As or Bs. Nobody notices a C student.” He swept his arms in front of his torso. “Not much of a sports person. Held my own so I didn’t get bullied. Being a nobody kept me invisible. I’m not even sure any of my teachers cared when I cut out.”
He had a fleeting thought of Avery. She’d been a friend. Would she wonder where he was? If so, would she do anything about it? They weren’t close—Grady never got close to anyone.
Tanya cocked her head. “You didn’t graduate?”
“Nope.”
“That don’t make no sense. With a diploma, you could get better jobs. Even get into a community college.”
“Let’s say circumstances made leaving more appealing than a diploma. I could get a GED if I needed to.” Why he’d left was something no judge or social worker needed to know. Nor were the real details of why he’d been picked up in the Springs. If Tanya had been sent to spy, she wasn’t going to succeed.
“Well, you got it good here,” she said. “You have any favorite foods? I get to make up all the menus.”
“I wouldn’t say no to more fried chicken. With mashed potatoes. Or mac and cheese. Not the box kind.”
She scrunched up her face. “Me? Cook from a box. No way, not never.” She set her empty can on the coffee table and stood. Smiled. “Nice talking to you, Grady.”
“You, too.” He remembered his manners and saw her to the door. Had she accomplished her mission? Or was she simply being friendly?
Should he have eaten her chicken? She hadn’t eaten any. Too late now.