Justified (8 page)

“My grandpappy.” He picked up the weighted bag, and we followed him to the front yard. “He used to compete every year in the rattlesnake round-up over in Sweetwater. Sometimes brought in a couple hundred diamondbacks in one weekend.”

I shivered, but neither of them noticed.

“He said I had snake eyes. Since I'm color-blind, I see the varmints easier than most people. Anyway, at twenty-one, I led a hunt on my own.” He gently laid the snakes in the back of JohnScott's truck and winked at me. “After that, I took a short break … But this past March, I went back to the round-up again. Turns out hunting's like riding a bike.”

My pulse slowed as my pride slithered into the grass. “Well … I'm glad you came.”

JohnScott peered at me from behind Clyde's back. He only met my gaze briefly before looking away with a stifled smile, but I thought he might finally have shown that tiny bit of approval I'd been hunting for.

Chapter Eighteen

JohnScott hadn't mentioned taking me to Lubbock to pick up the Chevy, and Saturday morning I half hoped he had forgotten. I poured a glass of milk and unwrapped a strawberry Pop-Tart, but then I saw his truck creeping up the drive.

In a peculiar way, I wanted to see him. I was mortified when I thought about the electric current that shot through me when we were swimming, but the way his eyes twinkled as he snared that rattlesnake made me want to sit and talk to him, get to know him better, discover what made him tick.

Ridiculous.

It took me a minute to open the front door—the lock had been acting up lately—and when I finally got it open, he stood at the bottom of the steps with his hands shoved in his pockets. “Brought you something.”

He brought me a gift?

He stepped to his truck and opened the door. “Come on, boy.”

Nothing happened, so I stuffed the last of my toaster pastry into my mouth and followed him. I peeked into the cab and saw the Picketts' old blue heeler lying on the seat with his head on his paws. The dog's eyebrows lifted when he saw me.

In the seven months I'd stayed with the Picketts, I'd grown accustomed to the black-and-gray cow dog that habitually lay as a permanent rug on Ansel and Velma's back porch, tired and slow.

“You brought Rowdy? But we're going all the way to Lubbock.”

When the coach snapped his fingers, Rowdy raised his head but didn't move. “It'll do him good to be off the porch.” He whistled sharply, and Rowdy stood, picked his way across the seat, and lumbered to the ground, where JohnScott patted his head.

I had never been much of an animal person, but Rowdy held a special place in my heart. When I first moved in with the Picketts, I had been a flurry of tears and panic, and the dog had sat next to me, resting his head on my leg and watching me with his friendly silver eyes.

I squatted next to him and scratched behind his ears.

JohnScott shut the truck door with a snap. “I figured he might stay up here for a while. Keep you company.”

“No way.” Even though I loved Rowdy, I didn't want a dog. “Who would take care of him?”

“It crossed my mind you could.”

“I don't know, JohnScott. I'm not much for taking care of things.”

He stifled a laugh.

“What?”

He studied a red-ant bed four feet away. “Might not hurt to get some practice, ya think?”

“No.” I frowned at the dog. “But thanks anyway.”

“Aw, Fawn.” He removed his cap. “If I take Rowdy home, he'll just hate it.”

I crossed my arms.
He wanted the dog to babysit me.

The coach stepped onto the porch, slapping his hand against his thigh so the dog would follow. “Know what else he hates?”

“I can't imagine.”

“Snakes.” He said the word subtly, like an afterthought.

I glanced toward the corner of the house, around which lay the exposed crawl space and woodpile. Even though the odds of my finding another rattler were small, a canine snake alarm would give me peace like a monitored home-security system.

JohnScott crouched on the raised porch next to the dog, and when he looked at me, our eyes were level. “All right if he stays?” he asked.

Once again I morphed into my sixteen-year-old self, sitting at a student desk while Coach Pickett explained the importance of studying history. “Okay. Thank you.”

He transferred a bag of dog food from his truck to my kitchen, filled a Cool Whip container with water, and patted Rowdy on the head. “Feed him twice a day.”

And that was that. I had become the proud owner of a four-legged senior citizen.

But as we drove away from the shack, I didn't know which made me more uncomfortable—leaving a flea-carrying animal in my house or climbing into the truck with the coach.

 

After thirty minutes, we were halfway to Lubbock, near Slaton, and JohnScott had only spoken once. When I asked about the offensive line during the previous night's homecoming game, he rambled about strategy for five minutes and then settled back into silence.

The scent of hay mingled with coffee reminded me of his parents' house, but I didn't ask about Ansel and Velma. Apparently we needed to clear the air, but if I waited for him to say something about the holding tank, I'd likely be waiting until I was old and gray like Rowdy.

My stomach did a flip. “JohnScott?”

He jumped as though I had woken him from a deep sleep, and then he cleared his throat. “Clyde was helpful the other day, wasn't he?”

I sighed. Right when I found the courage to broach the subject, he started talking about something else. “Oh … yes, I suppose.”

“You don't like him.”

He didn't sound judgmental or condescending, but I suddenly wished my prejudice wasn't so transparent. “I like him all right.” I rubbed my thumb against the rough upholstery.

A smiled played around JohnScott's lips. “Why do you do that?”

I pulled my hand away from the seat. “What?”

“Act all snobby. You're not like that at all, once you let your shield down.”

“My shield?” I wasn't sure where this conversation was going, but it seemed safer than what I'd been about to bring up.

“I guess it's a shield,” he said. “You throw something up in front of yourself when you're around other people. But when you relax, like now, you're a different person. You smile a lot more.”

His evaluation was dead accurate, except for one thing. I was not relaxed at the moment. “It's easier that way,” I said with an offhand tone as I resumed thumbing the seat cushion, wondering if I might wear a hole in it that would match all the others.

“Explain,” he said.

I didn't want to explain. And honestly I never even tried to figure it out. “I'm sort of shy, I guess. Way down deep. And it's easier to be standoffish than risk talking to people and being rejected. Snobbiness generally scares people away.”

He nodded. “Or repels them.”

He said the words softly and yet they sliced through my pride like a scythe. “Well, yes.”

We fell into silence again, JohnScott rubbing his chin and occasionally removing his ball cap, and me wanting to somehow crawl into the floorboard and hide.
I shouldn't have told him that.
This felt worse than bumping into him in a wet T-shirt.

“I'm kind of unsure of myself too,” he blurted. “I probably hide it behind sports talk. If I feel skittish in a group, I bring up football, and then I can pretty much outtalk anyone in the room.”

I smiled, and then the smile turned into a laugh. “JohnScott, you're the least insecure person I've ever met. Seriously.”

The corner of his mouth pulled up, and he looked at me sideways. “Maybe I hide it better than you.”

“Name one thing you're apprehensive about,” I challenged. “But you have to give supporting documentation. I want proof this weakness exists.”

His arm lolled over the steering wheel, and he sighed. He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. “All right,” he finally said. “I'm shaky around women.”

All the giggles that had been building up in my lungs quickly dispersed to my nerve endings, and I clenched my hands tightly in my lap.

“And supporting evidence?” He sounded as though he was smiling, but I couldn't bear to look at him. “I never date. That should be proof enough.”

I forced a chuckle, but it had way too much air involved. “At least you're not a snob.” Such a silly thing to say, but my brain addled.

Apparently my statement caught him off guard, because he laughed loudly. “I like you with your shield down, Fawn.”

Silence swelled in the cab.

It seemed we had simultaneously noticed his reference to
liking me
, and neither of us knew what to say next. Of course, he hadn't meant he liked me in a romantic way, only that he liked me better than the stuck-up version of me he had taught in high school.

I felt sorry for him then, squirming and gripping the steering wheel, and I figured I should do something to let him know I didn't think he liked me … like
that
.

I pinched my bottom lip between my teeth. “I'm sorry about that day at the holding tank.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

I stared out the side window, watching cotton fields blur past the pickup. “I almost bumped into you … trying to get away from Grady.” I straightened the leg of my shorts, smoothing the fabric until it lay flat against my thighs. “I wanted you to know it wasn't deliberate. I have this thing about dirty water, so I didn't open my eyes.” My voice tapered off.

He cocked his ear toward his shoulder, staring down the highway. “I didn't notice anything.”

I felt three inches tall.
I spent days worrying about it when he hadn't even noticed.

“Okay.” He spoke loudly, then corrected his volume. “Maybe I noticed, but I didn't know if you noticed, to tell the truth. I hunkered down because of the splashing and didn't see you coming.”

“I didn't see you, either.”

“Yep.” He ran the back of his hand across his mouth. “And then when you popped up next to me, you sort of took me by surprise.”

“Me, too.” I remembered the way his eyebrows softened as his gaze roamed to my lips. He had looked like he wanted to kiss me.

I blinked. Hard. I didn't need to be thinking like that.

“I should be the one apologizing,” he said. “You'd think I'd never been that close to a beautiful girl. And then I just left you there.” His gaze bounced to me, then quickly away. “Please don't think I'm a cad.”

The cogs in my brain began to spin, frantically processing the fact that he had called me beautiful, and I wasn't even sure he realized he had done it. I curled a strand of hair around my finger and gently pulled, harder and harder, until my mind came back to reality. “You're not a cad, Coach Pickett.”

The whiteness around his knuckles disappeared as he eased his grip on the steering wheel. He glanced at me, and his half smile created a series of lines on his right cheek.

No, JohnScott Pickett wasn't a cad. Not at all.

Chapter Nineteen

As streetlamps flickered on, I walked with Tyler down the middle of Main Street, which had been barricaded for the homecoming street dance. My steps naturally synced to the beat of the country-and-western band, and I recognized the lead singer who had graduated from high school with my mother. I said a silent prayer, thanking the Lord my parents always stayed away from this type of civic gathering.

Since our trip to Lubbock that morning, Coach Pickett's smile lines had flashed across my memory, but I shoved the image deep into the back corner of my consciousness, where it belonged.

I was such a hypocrite.

I demanded Tyler behave in such a way as to regain my trust, yet I abused his faith by not only noticing another man but entertaining innocent yet persistent thoughts.

It wasn't as if the coach noticed me back. Not unless I was wet and six inches in front of his nose, which decidedly made him uncomfortable enough to point out that he
did not date
. And it didn't take a genius to realize that if he ever overcame his insecurity and asked someone out, he would not choose a woman with this many complications.

I kept my thoughts deliberately focused on Tyler.

He leaned toward me with his lips at my ear, and I imagined his breath smelled like beer. But he wouldn't be drinking. He had promised me. “You thirsty?” he asked.

“I'd only have to go to the bathroom. I better wait.”

He led me to the stop sign, where I leaned against a red pumper truck from the volunteer fire department. As always, they parked their equipment downtown as a safety measure, as well as to add to the festivities.

I could feel people watching us, some whispering, others talking indiscreetly.

“I knew they'd get back together.”

“Cut from the same mold.”

“She'd be a fool to let him get away.”

Tyler put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed.

A few couples were already dancing on the wide brick boulevard, the old-timers wearing boots and jeans, the younger people in shorts and sandals. I fell somewhere between the two, because I had slipped on a baggy maternity dress, which made me feel like a health-food green girl, while my custom-made Lucchese boots brought back memories of honky-tonk nightclubs.

Tyler rested his foot on the bumper of the truck. “You look pretty tonight.”

“I'm as wide as a barn.”

“Don't say that. There's nothing more beautiful than a pregnant woman.”

He held my gaze while I silently weighed the possibility of him quoting lines he had heard in movies. But he sounded sincere.

Sophie Snodgrass marched toward us and ran her fingers through my hair. “Seen any more split ends, darlin'? I sure hope I got 'em all.” When she grinned at Tyler, she reminded me of a donkey. “How you doing, son? I see the two of you are spending time together again. I suppose the wedding bells will ring soon—”

“No plans to speak of,” I interrupted.

Tyler pointed his finger at her and smiled. “But if we make any rash decisions, you'll be the first to know, Sophie. I promise you that.” He took me by the hand. “Fawn, let's dance a few.”

I didn't really want to dance, because I had never gotten good at it—besides, I couldn't see my feet—but I wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to escape Sophie.

Soon Tyler led me in a clumsy two-step, no better at dancing than I was. “We'll give them something to talk about.”

Clearly he wanted to be seen with me, but I had to admit, I enjoyed being seen with him, too. His tan skin, black hair, and firm muscles drew the attention of most of the females on Main Street, and his bank book drew the attention of the rest of them. But even though his looks and money were appealing, it was the familiar way his arms wrapped around me that settled my worries and calmed my fears.

“Excuse me.” A tap on my shoulder brought me out of my daydreams, and Grady Cunningham grinned at Tyler. “Could I be so bold as to break in and steal your partner?”

Tyler's fingers squeezed my hand. “She's all mine tonight. I'm selfish like that.” Then he danced me away from the college boy, who clutched his chest as though he'd been shot.

“You were never good at sharing your toys,” I said.

“Not a chance.”

I glanced back at Grady as he pulled Ruthie onto the dance area. “Dodd and Ruthie are engaged now.”

“No kidding.”

“They're getting married in Ansel and Velma's backyard.”

We maneuvered awkwardly around a slow-moving elderly couple. “I've never seen the Picketts' place. What's it like?”

“A pasture.”

He chuckled. “I'm guessing that wouldn't be your ideal wedding venue.”

“Not quite.” I fingered his collar, trying to calm the flurry in my stomach.

“Let me guess.” He pressed against the small of my back, pulling me closer to him. “I bet you would choose some fancy outdoor garden or a grand ballroom with chandeliers.” He grinned. “Everyone in West Texas would show up, all with outlandish gifts for you.”

“I don't need gifts, just a roof over my head and food on the table.”

“Well, you'll likely have a lot more than that.” The song ended, and he led me back to the fire truck. “Stay here, and I'll go get you a bottled water.”

He walked away, smiling, and a slight hum of doubt swept through my mind. I wondered if I would ever fully trust him again, but Velma would tell me not to borrow tomorrow's trouble.

When the next song ended, Grady appeared by my side. “Your bodyguard's gone. Dance with me.”

I looked toward the concession stand but didn't see Tyler. “He'll be back any minute.”

His head lolled forward as though in despair.

“Sorry, Grady.”

He wandered away, and soon I saw him dancing with a high school girl whose name I couldn't remember. Three songs later, he scooted past with Ruthie, and she called out to me, “You're not dancing.”

I shrugged. “Waiting for Tyler.”

But obviously Tyler had gotten sidetracked. I walked a wide circle, looking for him, and the longer he stayed gone, the bigger the cavern of concern grew in my heart.

I returned dutifully to my post by the fire truck, determined to wait him out, but Grady bounded to my side again, clicking the heels of his boots together. He held his elbow toward me. “May I have the honor, fair maiden?”

I turned my back on my worries and curtsied. “Thank you, sir.”

He led me to the far end of the street, away from the stage with its loud speakers, and I walked backward in a slow circle as he led me in some sort of homemade dance step.
The preacher's little brother couldn't dance either.

“I'm glad you came.” His unusually sober tone surprised me. “I was afraid you'd stay locked up all alone like you did at Ansel and Velma's. It was like you were punishing yourself for being bad.”

“Maybe I was.”

“Well, you're not a bad person, and you don't need to be in time-out.”

I squinted. “Have you been talking to Coach Pickett?”

“No, why?”

“He says the same thing.” I parroted the coach, “Love the sinner, hate the sin.”

“He knows what he's talking about.”

“But he doesn't have to be so pushy about it.”

“Don't I?”

JohnScott's voice startled me.

He was leaning against a telephone pole, and Grady and I had stumble-danced past him.

“Coach, we're not talking about you,” Grady called.

“I heard you.” He took my hand from Grady. “My turn.”

“I'm not done with her.”

“Sure you are, little mountain boomer.” He curled me under his arm. “Go find some other kids to play with.”

As Grady stuck out his bottom lip, I focused my gaze on my hand, held firmly in JohnScott's.

The coach led me confidently around the dance area while I examined my feelings. I had come to the dance with Tyler and had every intention of finding him again, but a quiver of energy bounded around my lungs and gave off tiny explosions every time I looked at the knuckles of the coach's hand.

His knuckles.

This didn't feel right. I shouldn't be experiencing tiny explosions from anyone other than Tyler. And Tyler would not like me dancing with JohnScott.

A chill went up my spine.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Oh, sure.” I looked over my shoulder, scanning the crowd.

“I saw him down a side street, behind the bounce house.” He looked over my head, lifting his chin in greeting when he caught someone's eye.

“Saw who?”

He looked down at me with an amused smile as though I were a child telling a white lie.

I sighed helplessly. “What was he doing?”

“Does he know you're here?”

“We came together.”

His eyebrows twitched, and he frowned slightly.

“What?”

He twirled me then, making the move seem effortless as we temporarily separated. When we came back together, he kept his eyes above my head. “Let's dance a few songs. You deserve to have a good time since you got all gussied up.” He released my waist and held me at arm's length, his gaze wandering across my dress.

How did he do that? How did he look at me without that drooling animal expression other men had? “One more song.”

He nodded. “How's Rowdy?”

“He's keeping an eye on me.”

He twirled me again, and as I spun beneath his hand, I wondered if he were watching me, but when he pulled me back into the crook of his elbow, he seemed to be looking everywhere else.

I stared at his shoulder, disgusted with myself. Of course he hadn't been watching me. This was JohnScott Pickett, for heaven's sake.

But since he determinedly avoided looking at me, I took advantage of the opportunity to inspect him. Something seemed different, but I couldn't quite place it. His fingers pressed into my side, signaling me to veer to the left around a slower couple, and as we did, a horsefly landed on his temple. He shook his head and released my hand to swat it away, then resumed his previous control.

“You got a haircut,” I challenged.

“I cut a heck of a lot more than one.”

When I shook my head at his corny humor, he smiled, almost apologetically.

His hair was still long enough to curl, but now the curls seemed in a controlled formation. “I like it.” I fought the urge to touch his hair, to feel the texture, to see what would happen if I ran my fingers through it.

He cleared his throat. “There goes Tyler.”

Without thinking, I dropped my arms to my sides and took a step back.

The coach's eyes widened, and for a split second, he stood with his arms suspended as though I had vanished into midair.

I imagined a hint of hurt in his eyes, and I took a shallow breath and looked at the ground.

“I'll show you where I saw him,” JohnScott said. “But let's snatch you a bottle of water first. You look warm.”

As soon as he mentioned water, my thirst exploded, and I followed him dutifully through the crowd. I uncapped the bottle, and as he craned his neck to find Tyler again, I downed the entire sixteen ounces without once lowering the bottle from my lips. I tossed it in a nearby trash barrel as JohnScott laughed. “Need another one?”

“No, I'm good.”

“There he is.” JohnScott turned his back to me and walked toward the post office, his long strides leaving me running to catch up.

Tyler didn't notice me at first. “Wassup,
Coach
?”

I grimaced. Tyler habitually called JohnScott
Coach
behind his back. A slam. JohnScott had never been his coach, and Tyler wouldn't respect him even if he had.

“Bringing Fawn back to you,” JohnScott said. “You seem to have misplaced her.”

I studied a string of vehicles parked along a side street.

“Shoot, she always finds her way back.” Tyler belched. “She's like that. Low maintenance.”

My vanity splattered across the asphalt parking lot, and I wanted to lock myself in my little house and never come out. I should have known Tyler's drinking was out of control. I should have known he didn't love me enough to change. I should have known it was too good to be true. My friends had told me as much.

But my friends didn't understand the pull.

Tyler hooked his arm around my neck. “Time for us to go.”

I tried to push him away, but his arm lay too heavy on my shoulders. “You're drunk.”

“And I bet you're gonna start whining about it any minute.” He raised the pitch of his voice to an annoying falsetto. “Tyler, I'm so
disappointed
in you.”

I ducked out from under his arm. “Get away from me.”

He gripped my forearm, and his fingers dug into my skin. “Now … that's no way to talk to your baby daddy.”

I felt sick. People as far away as the stage were turning toward the commotion, and I only wanted to get away from Tyler, away from Trapp, away from all of them. I wanted to go somewhere far away where people didn't know me, where boyfriends didn't drink and fathers didn't abandon their children.

“You're scaring her,” JohnScott said calmly.

Tyler blew a puff of air through his lips, spraying me with spittle. “You don't know much about women,
Coach
.”

For an instant I thought of JohnScott when he admitted his fear of dating. The nausea building in my stomach morphed into anger, and I growled, “Shut up. JohnScott's twice the man you are.”

Tyler's palm popped loudly against my cheek, knocking me off balance as pain splintered from my jaw to my ear. My shoulder slammed into JohnScott's chest, and his arms steadied me. But once I gained my footing, he gently pushed me away.

“Coach Pickett …” Tyler's voice sounded surprisingly clear for someone so drunk, and since the band just finished a song, his words rang loud through the downtown area, gaining the attention of the few remaining citizens who weren't already watching. “Get your hands off my woman.”