Chapter Fourteen

On Saturday morning, Dodd Cunningham hunkered down in the driver’s seat of his El Camino, examining the grocery store while he tried to think of something to buy. A reason to go in.

An old woman hobbled out, and Ruthie crept behind her pushing a grocery cart. The woman talked as she unlocked her trunk, and Ruthie leaned in to hear her soft words. As Ruthie placed the bags in the trunk, Dodd heard the tones of their laughter floating across the lot in the morning air. Ruthie shut the trunk with a gentle snap and rested her elbows on the cart as the woman poked her shoulder. Ruthie opened the driver’s door and waited while the woman lumbered in, and then she pressed the door closed and fluttered her hand in a wave.

Only then did Ruthie hurry, shoving the cart toward the entrance and jogging a few steps before settling into a steady pace. As she neared the building, she moved in front of the cart, walking backward to pull it through the doors, and just as she stepped into the store and out of view, she glanced at Dodd.

His insides tightened as if he’d been punched.

What had he been thinking? Of course she would notice him. Most likely he drove the only El Camino within a fifty-mile radius.

He grabbed the car door handle and jerked so hard it snapped off in his hand. With a grumble, he tossed the mangled metal onto the floorboard and rolled down the window noisily, reaching outside to free himself.

Ruthie didn’t pause when he entered the store but continued with her work, swishing a broom around the registers.

“Good morning, Miss Turn—Ruthie.”

She lifted her chin in greeting but didn’t look at him. He wasn’t surprised. She’d been giving him the cold shoulder ever since the unfortunate incident with his cell phone last week.

“Have you seen JohnScott yet?” he asked.

“He sat in the emergency room half the night. He’s probably sleeping in.” She worked her way across the front of the store, sweeping dust into a pile while Dodd pretended to study the magazine display. He had seen her mother sweeping the floor at the diner, and their similarities were remarkable. Petite with dark eyes and long hair. Same smile.

Dodd shoved his hands into his pockets. “I hope JohnScott makes practice next week.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Luis sauntered toward them and sprawled on the counter. “The players make the team, not the coach.”

Ruthie jerked upright. “Then why have the Panthers improved every year since JohnScott’s been here?”

“Well, yeah. There’s always that point of view,” Luis said, dodging the question. “But I don’t see why he can’t come to practice.”

Dodd squinted. “Most likely he’ll be back at practice on Monday, but because of the concussion, he’s got to take things easy.”

“What about the broken ribs?” Ruthie stored the broom behind the Coke machine. “Think if he got hit again.”

“Broken ribs are no big deal.” Luis pulled himself up from the counter, evidently tired of the conversation. He stalked away from them, calling over his shoulder. “They don’t even put a cast on them.”

Dodd cringed at the thought of JohnScott taking another hit. His friend had given everyone a scare the night before. After the final touchdown, the opposing team’s frustration got the best of them, and they began taking shots at the Panthers. JohnScott attempted to stop the fight and got smashed between two players in full pads. The medic revived him within seconds, but because he was disoriented, an ambulance whisked him away to the emergency room in Lubbock.

The door slapped open, and a pigtailed girl ran in. “Ruthie, Ruthie!”

“Hey there, Bethany.”

“I got new shoes.” The girl stomped her feet, and lights blinked near her soles.

“Well, they’re precious, aren’t they?” Ruthie placed a quick kiss on top of Bethany’s head as her mother called her away.

“You like kids?” Dodd asked.

Ruthie took a deep breath and blew it out with a huff before looking him straight in the eye. She only made eye contact for a fraction of a heartbeat, but it still caused Dodd’s stomach to do a somersault—even though he suspected she gritted her teeth.

She was so much like her mother. Whenever Lynda waited on him at the diner, she had the same disdainful attitude as Ruthie. Dodd had a feeling it had something to do with the Blaylocks, and he sensed Lynda’s animosity transferred to his own family by association. Ruthie’s mother didn’t even attempt to hide her enmity, and Ruthie barely did.

Ruthie removed an empty Snickers display box from a display on the front wall, then stretched for a replacement carton on the top shelf, standing on tiptoes to nudge the corner.

Dodd reached above her head and handed her the box, noticing her hair smelled of strawberry shampoo. “So, about JohnScott … You guys are pretty close, right?” He hated himself for asking. Hated himself for wanting to know. His plan had been to stay away from Coach Pickett’s girlfriend. Some plan. He hadn’t figured on Ruthie’s strawberry-scented hair … or her defiantly masked fragility.

He might as well find out how things stood between her and JohnScott. Find out if he even had a chance. He glanced at the ponytail falling down the back of her United shirt and held his breath as he waited for her answer.

He didn’t get one. They were interrupted by the coach himself, pushing through the glass door, and Dodd wondered for the hundredth time why he didn’t simply ask his friend. Maybe he feared losing him. Maybe he feared the answer. Definitely he feared exposing himself.

Ruthie gasped when she saw JohnScott hunched forward, protecting his rib cage with his left hand.

It hurt to look at him.

She crept forward, placing one of her delicate hands on each side of JohnScott’s battered face. “You have not been a good boy, JohnScott Pickett.”

He glanced at Dodd. “She’s such a mother hen. Let’s call her Henny Penny, shall we?” And then in falsetto, he drawled, “I am going to bake some bread. Will Ducky Lucky help me?”

When he put his hands in his armpits and flapped like a chicken, Ruthie slapped him gently on the shoulder.

“Hey, woman.” JohnScott’s mouth hung open in feigned shock. “How dare you hit an injured man—and in front of a witness, too.” He turned to Dodd. “Sir, may I call you to testify in my defense?”

“I am forever at your service.” Dodd waved an arm in the air and bowed.

“Don’t encourage him.” Ruthie’s gaze bounced between the two of them before her smile melted.

Dodd got the impression Ruthie disapproved of JohnScott’s friendship with him, but he didn’t understand why. What did she have against him?

JohnScott leaned against the counter next to her. That should have been answer enough to Dodd’s question. He suddenly felt intrusive. “I’d better be going.”

“See you Monday,” the coach said.

Five minutes later, Dodd found himself in the El Camino, fingering the rough nub of handle left on the door and contemplating the Ten Commandments. When he learned them as a child, the tenth commandment, do not covet, had always meant he shouldn’t want his friends’ Hot Wheels cars. At twenty-six, it meant he shouldn’t want their real cars. And he didn’t. He took pride in being content with what he had, but as he peered through the plate-glass windows of the United grocery, where Ruthie laughed at something JohnScott said, the tenth commandment took on a whole new meaning, and he felt as guilty as any convicted felon.

He coveted something belonging to JohnScott Pickett.