Chapter Ten

After my scare with Clyde Felton, I no longer attempted to traipse around town by myself. JohnScott had snatched me up, driven me home, and talked in soothing tones until I calmed, but I still panicked whenever I thought about the rapist. My cousin kept reminding me that nothing actually happened, but I knew he was just as alarmed as I was.

Regardless of his comforting words, the tension brewing between JohnScott and me was worse, and I wasn’t about to broach the topic of the Cunninghams. Even though JohnScott acknowledged my fear of Clyde, he probably wouldn’t approve of my apprehension about Dodd. I chose to remain silent, but of course he knew something was up, and by the weekend, we had established an elephant-in-the-room rapport.

After Velma’s big dinner on Saturday night, our options for entertainment were sparse, and JohnScott and I ended up in the parking lot of the Mighty Clean Car Wash, licking dipped cones from the Dairy Queen. While John Mayer sang from the cab of JohnScott’s truck, I sat on the tailgate swinging my legs and gazing up and down the street. “It’s quiet tonight.”

JohnScott chuckled. “Next week will be rowdy, what with the homecoming game.”

“I hope you’ve got your boys ready. I hear Denver City’s tough this year.” I bit a chunk of chocolate from my cone, and ice cream trickled toward my thumb.

“They’ll give us more of a challenge than we got last night, that’s for sure.” JohnScott smiled at me, and I almost felt like things were back to normal. If only we could sit on his tailgate at the car wash every evening and ignore the rest of the town. A car engine revved behind us, and JohnScott’s brow wrinkled. “Watch out now.”

His eyes never left his cone as Fawn Blaylock’s Mustang pulled into the side entrance of the car wash. She eased through a washing bay, then sped out the front entrance after she glanced at us. Gravel showered the change machine, killing my hopes for a peaceful evening with my cousin.

JohnScott stuck out his bottom lip. “Too bad she couldn’t stick around.”

I contemplated her tinted windows as she stopped at the intersection. “You think Tyler’s in there with her?”

“Without a doubt.” JohnScott cocked his head as the Mustang turned the corner. “How do they decide which awesome vehicle to drive?”

“Maybe they flip a coin.”

The corners of his mouth dropped. “When I taught your history class, Fawn bragged about her car so much I thought I’d scream.” He repositioned his ball cap. “But I confess, I’m jealous of Tyler’s truck.”

“Why’s Fawn taking the year off from school?”

“I heard she’s expecting a marriage proposal from Tyler now that he graduated.”

“Is she working?”

He snickered. “Why would she? Her daddy has more money than God.”

JohnScott didn’t often insult people, even in jest, and the light acid in his voice revealed his bitterness toward anyone who didn’t work to support themselves. I enjoyed the momentary meeting of the minds, but then he chuckled. “Well, looky there. Miss Blaylock may change her mind and come back now.”

Any warm fuzzies I felt toward JohnScott vanished when Dodd’s El Camino stopped at the red light. The preacher was quickly becoming JohnScott’s idol, and I recalled my bitter envy back in first grade when Fawn got mad at me and spent an entire recess playing with Wendy Bly. Hurt and fury had overcome me at being so easily replaced.

This was worse.

JohnScott lifted his cone in greeting as Dodd and Grady pulled into the parking lot, but then he leaned toward me with his face directly in front of mine. “Can you be nice?”

“Polite, yet distant. That’s the best I can do.”

“I’ll take it.”

Dodd eased to a stop next to JohnScott’s step-side pickup and called through the open window. “So this is the Trapp high life? Ice cream in a gravel parking lot?”

“Don’t knock it.” JohnScott rose to lean against the side of his truck as Dodd killed his engine. “You should see it in the dead of winter.”

“It couldn’t be worse than this.” Grady stepped out of the car. “Where is everybody?”

“Home watching CSI probably, but all the cool people are down at the car wash.”

Dodd’s eye caught mine as he slowly shut his car door. He sucked a straw in a Dairy Queen cup, and from the gentle curve of his cheeks, I guessed he had a milkshake. I looked away.

“Ruthie-the-checker-girl.” Grady dropped to the tailgate next to me. “Can I call you that? Because Miss-Turner-the-checker-lady doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

Why did they have to come? The night had been so normal up until then. “I’m not a teacher, so I don’t see how it matters.”

Dodd lowered the tailgate of the El Camino and sat sideways, leaning against the inside of the bed with one knee bent. “Do you have a degree, Miss Turner?”

Good grief. “No, Mr. Cunningham, but I’ll be going to college next fall.”

He looked perplexed. “I thought you were older.”

“Did you now?”

A vehicle with an amplified muffler approached, drowning out my acidic remark, but it was probably for the best. JohnScott would be all over me if I kept this up. I glanced toward the street, and anxiety prickled across my skin like poison ivy. Clyde Felton’s beat-up sedan crawled toward the red light, then accelerated without stopping. His engine, growling like an angry hound, could be heard long after the car sped away.

JohnScott whistled low, but Grady, of course, smiled.

“That’s Clyde Felton. He lives across the street from us. I guess you know him?”

My cousin shook his head. “I know of his family, but Clyde only just got out of prison.”

“No way.” Grady’s smile tapered. “What did he do?”

JohnScott glanced at me, then lowered his voice. “Served twenty years for rape.”

Dodd’s elbow slipped off its perch on the edge of the El Camino, and Grady’s mouth fell open.

Scooting back in the truck, I hugged my thighs to my chest, and my skinned knee protested as my jeans tightened across the scab.

“So, Dodd …” JohnScott moved to stand behind me at the side of the truck. “How did your first week at the high school go?”

Dodd nodded slightly, acknowledging the change in topic. “Blessedly uneventful.” He took a draw from his milkshake and watched the two of us. “Not a single drug bust.”

JohnScott whooped. “Drug bust? Was that normal in Fort Worth?”

“Not every day, but a couple times a semester.”

My pulse still raced faster than a jackrabbit, but I figured I would relax more quickly if I forgot about the convict and joined the conversation. “Did you preach in Fort Worth, too?”

“Yes, Miss Turner, but I only filled in at my home congregation and a few other churches in the area. I’ve never preached full-time.”

“Did you have to go to Bible college or something?” I hoped I didn’t sound too interested, but I wanted to figure this guy out.

“No, I just started giving little sermon talks when I was in high school, and it snowballed into summer internships and random speaking gigs.”

“What’s your degree in?” JohnScott asked.

“Mathematics.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “But I changed my mind a million times. Couldn’t decide what I wanted to be when I grew up.”

“So, Coach Pickett,” Grady interrupted. “How’d you land the head coaching job at your age? You can’t be much older than Dodd.”

“Small-town politics.” JohnScott grinned. “I guess you could say I know the right people. All of them.”

“Not to mention he was Trapp’s star kicker, went to Tech on a full-ride, and”—I paused for dramatic effect—“only missed five field goals.”

Grady ducked his head, clearly not impressed but wishing he could be. “Five field goals in four years?”

“No,” I said. “Five field goals in ten years. College, high school, middle school, only five misses.”

I lobbed the remainder of my forgotten cone into a trash barrel three yards away as a honk drew our attention to a black Jeep stopped at the traffic light. Luis Vega leaned his head out the window and yelled, “Party at the elevator, Grady!” Then he squealed his tires and sped away.

Grady pointed after the Jeep, deep in thought, before snapping his fingers. “Luis Vega. Freshman tackle. Works at the United with Ruthie-the-checker-girl. Lives two doors down from the elementary school.” He grinned. “Did he say something about an elevator?”

“The grain elevator on the south edge of town,” JohnScott explained. “It’s where college kids go to drink. Apparently Luis is crashing the party.” He stood and walked to the curb, reminiscing aloud. “I haven’t been down there in years.”

Grady jerked his head and peered at his older brother.

“No.” Dodd said firmly, finishing his milkshake with a slurping rattle.

“But, Dodd, it would be a great place to rub elbows with the community.”

“Grady, the church would never approve of their minister socializing at the town watering trough.”

I stifled a laugh as I pictured holier-than-thou Dodd Cunningham drinking beer with the locals, but my cousin still focused on the blinking-red traffic light, where Luis had called to us. He lifted his ball cap and ran his fingers through his curls. “Maybe it’s time I went down there again.”

“Really?” Grady bounced to his feet. “Can I go with you, Coach?”

“Settle,” Dodd said.

“He’s not going to the elevator,” I insisted. “JohnScott, tell the kid you’re joking. He’s about to bust a gut.”

JohnScott’s expression softened, but his puppy-dog eyes trained on me, not Grady. “Ruthie, Luis is down there, and as his coach, I’ve either got to go keep an eye on him or call his parents.”

A weighted breath caught in my lungs as I realized Luis Vega’s parents wouldn’t care what their son did. “Fine,” I said, “but there’s no way I’m going with you. I’ll walk home.”

“Not with Clyde Felton on the move, you won’t.”

My throat tightened, convincing me to stay put.

“Can I go with you?” Grady repeated in a stage whisper.

JohnScott looked at the preacher and shrugged a shoulder. “What do you say?”

“You’re just getting Luis, then coming straight back?”

“I don’t want to stay down there any longer than I have to.”

Dodd sighed. “All right, Grady, but be good.”

The teenager bounded to the passenger side of the truck, as irritation slapped my patience. Just when JohnScott and I were managing the elephant in the room, our evening was yanked away from us. Luis was obviously responsible, but my dander ruffled against the Cunninghams.

JohnScott motioned for me to get up before he slammed the tailgate. “I’ll be right back, Ruthie.”

Surely he was kidding. “Wait—take me home first.”

He stopped with one leg in the cab. “Ruthie, I need to get on down there. I’ll only be gone a second.” He looked at Dodd. “Can she stay here with you for ten minutes?”

“Of course.”

My throat constricted into a solid mass of petrified wood. “No!”

“Ten minutes, Ruthie, that’s all.”

Before I could protest again, my moronic cousin pulled the door closed and drove away, leaving me alone in the middle of town, short of breath and steaming from disbelief.

With the preacher by my side.