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Authors: Paige Warren
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crutches to get into the living room.
Tyson ate quickly, barely tasting his food, swigged his drink, and then threw his trash away and put his plate in the sink. By the time he made it to his recliner, he was exhausted and ready for a nap. Not even bothering to turn on the TV, he put the foot up on his chair and closed his eyes. He dozed off and on for several hours, well into the night. The numbers on the digital display on the cable box mocked him as they blurred, no matter how much he squinted. When they came into focus, he saw it was nearly eleven. Why hadn’t Dacey woken him when she came home?
“Dacey,” he called out.
He put the foot down on his chair and reached for his crutches. Swinging his way through the house, he searched every room for her, but the house lay dark and quiet except for the lamp he had burning in the living room.
“Dacey!”
He peered through the blinds and didn’t see her car in the driveway. What the hell?
Tyson got his phone from the bedroom and called Cuppa Joe. The line rang a dozen times, and no one answered. Unease skirted down his spine as he began to fear genuinely for Dacey’s safety. He put on some workout shorts, a tank, and put a tennis shoe on his good foot. Not giving a shit what anyone thought of his stump, he used his crutches to get to his truck and drove into town.
This late, nearly everything was deserted, except for the Wal-Mart and one fast food joint. Every other business was lights out and blinds drawn. He prowled the streets but didn’t see Dacey’s car anywhere, or Dacey for that matter. On a hunch, he drove by the trailer park. Her car was parked in front of her rusted heap, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. Had he done something to upset her that would cause her to run here after work?
Getting out of the truck and up the trailer’s steps took a bit of finesse, but he managed. He didn’t bother to knock and opened the door, swinging his way into the dingy, bloodstained living room.
Dacey kneeled on the floor, her hand on the dried blood spot.
“Sugar, what are you doing?” he asked softly, not wanting to spook her.
“I nearly died. I should have died.”
What the hell had happened at work? She’d been smiling, laughing, and in a great mood when she’d left him earlier.
“Darlin’, I don’t think I understand. Why would you want to die? Am I not making you happy? Did I do something to upset you?”
She turned toward him, her eyes sad and defeated. “No, it isn’t you, Ty. You’re wonderful.”
“Then what happened?”
“The mayor’s wife came in for coffee today. She saw me working behind the counter, saw my name badge, and threw a fit the likes of which I’ve never seen before. She demanded that Mr. Roberts fire me, or said she’d never step foot in his establishment again, and she’d make sure all her friends boycotted the place too. She threatened to have him shut down before the end of the month.”
He propped his crutches against the wall and did a half-crouch, half-fall onto the floor beside her. Hell if he knew how he’d get up, but right now his woman needed him. Tyson pulled Dacey in his arms, tucking her head under his chin, and lightly rubbed her arm.
“The mayor’s wife is a mean bitch. Always has been, always will be.”
“Mr. Roberts told her that he would rather have ten of me working for him than one of her in his shop.”
Tyson smiled. “Good for him.”
“No” she wailed. “Not good for him! He’s going to lose his business and all because he was nice enough to give me a chance at a normal life. I’m never going to have that here, Ty. I want to stay with you, more than anything, but you belong with Braxton Ranch, and clearly there’s no place for me in this town. They won’t let me rise above who I once was. It doesn’t matter if I clean myself up, get a better education, get a regular job … it’s never going to be good enough.”
“What are you saying, Dacey?” he
Tyson ate quickly, barely tasting his food, swigged his drink, and then threw his trash away and put his plate in the sink. By the time he made it to his recliner, he was exhausted and ready for a nap. Not even bothering to turn on the TV, he put the foot up on his chair and closed his eyes. He dozed off and on for several hours, well into the night. The numbers on the digital display on the cable box mocked him as they blurred, no matter how much he squinted. When they came into focus, he saw it was nearly eleven. Why hadn’t Dacey woken him when she came home?
“Dacey,” he called out.
He put the foot down on his chair and reached for his crutches. Swinging his way through the house, he searched every room for her, but the house lay dark and quiet except for the lamp he had burning in the living room.
“Dacey!”
He peered through the blinds and didn’t see her car in the driveway. What the hell?
Tyson got his phone from the bedroom and called Cuppa Joe. The line rang a dozen times, and no one answered. Unease skirted down his spine as he began to fear genuinely for Dacey’s safety. He put on some workout shorts, a tank, and put a tennis shoe on his good foot. Not giving a shit what anyone thought of his stump, he used his crutches to get to his truck and drove into town.
This late, nearly everything was deserted, except for the Wal-Mart and one fast food joint. Every other business was lights out and blinds drawn. He prowled the streets but didn’t see Dacey’s car anywhere, or Dacey for that matter. On a hunch, he drove by the trailer park. Her car was parked in front of her rusted heap, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. Had he done something to upset her that would cause her to run here after work?
Getting out of the truck and up the trailer’s steps took a bit of finesse, but he managed. He didn’t bother to knock and opened the door, swinging his way into the dingy, bloodstained living room.
Dacey kneeled on the floor, her hand on the dried blood spot.
“Sugar, what are you doing?” he asked softly, not wanting to spook her.
“I nearly died. I should have died.”
What the hell had happened at work? She’d been smiling, laughing, and in a great mood when she’d left him earlier.
“Darlin’, I don’t think I understand. Why would you want to die? Am I not making you happy? Did I do something to upset you?”
She turned toward him, her eyes sad and defeated. “No, it isn’t you, Ty. You’re wonderful.”
“Then what happened?”
“The mayor’s wife came in for coffee today. She saw me working behind the counter, saw my name badge, and threw a fit the likes of which I’ve never seen before. She demanded that Mr. Roberts fire me, or said she’d never step foot in his establishment again, and she’d make sure all her friends boycotted the place too. She threatened to have him shut down before the end of the month.”
He propped his crutches against the wall and did a half-crouch, half-fall onto the floor beside her. Hell if he knew how he’d get up, but right now his woman needed him. Tyson pulled Dacey in his arms, tucking her head under his chin, and lightly rubbed her arm.
“The mayor’s wife is a mean bitch. Always has been, always will be.”
“Mr. Roberts told her that he would rather have ten of me working for him than one of her in his shop.”
Tyson smiled. “Good for him.”
“No” she wailed. “Not good for him! He’s going to lose his business and all because he was nice enough to give me a chance at a normal life. I’m never going to have that here, Ty. I want to stay with you, more than anything, but you belong with Braxton Ranch, and clearly there’s no place for me in this town. They won’t let me rise above who I once was. It doesn’t matter if I clean myself up, get a better education, get a regular job … it’s never going to be good enough.”
“What are you saying, Dacey?” he
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