Finders Keepers (Lost & Found 3)

“You’re sorry about what exactly?”

Of course that would be her follow-up question. Burrowing deeper into the seat, I cupped my hands over the heaters and planned my words carefully. Think before you speak was something I reserved for times like those. When Josie Gibson was at the wheel, hot on the heels of threatening to knee my dick into the next county. “That I was camped out in my truck—”

“In Arctic temperatures,” she interjected.

I nodded. “In Arctic temperatures. I’m sorry for nearly freezing myself into a popsicle-like state. But, you know, maybe if I was kept frozen, I could come back a few hundred years later and—” Another look of death stopped me mid-word. “I’m sorry for nearly freezing myself into a popsicle-like death. There. Is that better?”

“It’s a start, but you’ve got a lot to be sorry for, Garth Black, so keep going.”

I’d rather eat my boot than apologize to just anyone . . . but Josie wasn’t just anyone, so I sucked it up. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I’d been staying.”

She kept silent and gave me the And? look.

“And I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you and not returning your calls . . . but I knew if you cornered me, you’d figure where I’d been laying my head every night and you’d do something crazy like this.” I twirled my finger around the cab. I’d also been avoiding her because that was the right thing to do and my number one priority in life. Given her current state, I didn’t think it best to go into how I needed to stay away from her for all eternity.

Her only reply was that same expectant look. It seemed And? was the tone of things right then.

“And I’m sorry you had to come out in this weather in the middle of the night to look for me.” I still didn’t know why she had or how long she’d been looking before making it to my truck, but again, that wasn’t the time to clarify. The more apologies I made, the angrier she seemed to get. Either I was missing something, or she was. Like her sanity.

“And I’m sorry you had to dry up an entire oil field from the amount of gas you went through driving from your place to mine?” Yes, my apologies were starting to tip more the smart-ass scale than the genuine one, but I was running out of ideas.

She gripped the steering wheel so hard, her knuckles blanched white. Okay, what was I missing? What kind of an apology was Josie waiting for? Sure, over the span of the fifteen years we’d known each other, I had a whole universe of things to apologize to her for, but right then, what was the apology she was looking for after I’d lied to her about where I was staying?

Ah, yep, that was it. Since my eardrums were still ringing after she’d gone off about being lied to, I had a good idea what she was waiting for. I twisted so I could look her straight on. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Joze.”

Her anger melted off, one layer at a time, until the face of the girl I was used to came back. It took a moment, but when Josie’s eyes flashed to mine, I knew the screaming and glaring was past. At least for my latest offense.

“So? Am I forgiven?” I dropped my hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Even though she had on a cushion of down and fleece, the touch still felt intimate. More intimate than I’d expected, and too intimate for the distance I needed to keep between us. I dropped my hand and made a note not to touch her again if I could help it.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she replied matter-of-factly, making me chuckle.

“Well what more do I need to say or do to get you closer to a decision?”

She gnawed her lip for a few seconds. “Just try to explain, get me to understand why . . . why you’d rather camp out inside your truck than stay with one of your friends. Because that makes no sense to me. None. Actually, as far as sense goes, that makes, like, negative sense.”

Of course it didn’t make sense to Josie. Someone like her, who’d lived right and said and did the right things, wouldn’t have any qualms or guilt about taking a friend up on a generous offer. She would have been invited out of love and respect. Me, on the other hand? I’d been invited only out of obligation. That Jesse, Rowen, and Josie had even thought to extend the invite after Clay’s death wasn’t something I was spitting on—not even close. They’d been the only people to ever offer help, and I’d never forget it. I wasn’t fool enough to believe they’d invited me because they actually hoped I’d move in though. We were friends, but I wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine to be around. They’d issued invitations simply because I didn’t have a home anymore. Therefore, those invitations had come out of obligation.

Putting that whole concept into actual words wasn’t something I wasn’t up to the task of doing, though, so I went with a short, honest answer. “I didn’t want to be a burden to any of you.” That worked. Short and to the point, just how I liked most everything in life. Save for my johnson.

Josie snorted. “Yeah, because worrying me sick about you for months wasn’t a burden. Because driving out there to shake some damn sense into you wasn’t a burden. Because being friends with you, Garth, as hard as you like to make it on me, isn’t a goddamned burden.” She wasn’t back to her former anger levels, but being able to flip a switch like that was a rare trait. “Thank you so much for saving me all of the effort and burden.” She didn’t even attempt to hide her sarcasm.

I couldn’t grasp why she was so upset. Was she mad at herself that I’d pulled one over on her? Maybe. Did she care about me so much the thought of me living out of a truck for months was upsetting? Unlikely. Josie seemed more to tolerate me than actually like me—but what else was there? I couldn’t come up with a whole hell of a lot more.

“You know, I’ve been working at Willow Springs the entire time, so I’m getting three warm meals, three good warm meals, five to six days a week. I wasn’t starving on my days off, either, so it’s not like I haven’t had a solid meal in three whole months, okay?” I wasn’t sure if explaining my day-to-day life would comfort her or piss her off even more, but I was definitely hoping for the former. “It hasn’t even been all that cold until last night. I had a good sleeping bag, and the cab of my truck is more comfortable than that old egg crate mattress I slept on in the trailer. On the nights Clay actually let me sleep inside instead of out in a lawn chair.”

I glanced over to gauge her reaction. Her face wasn’t drawn up in angry lines, so I supposed we were making progress. “Even if I had the choice, I’d still take the cab of my truck over the inside of that nasty trailer.” That was the truth. A sad one, perhaps, but factual. “Come on, don’t be mad. It wasn’t bad, okay? It wasn’t the Ritz, but it was a far cry from the worst living conditions I’ve been in. A far cry.”

Then a tear slid down Josie’s cheek. I would have expected her to shoot lightning bolts out of her eyes before an honest-to-goodness tear. Something kicked to life inside of me then. Something that needed to say or do whatever it took to make her feel better. To make sure a second tear didn’t follow the first. It was all very . . . unfamiliar to me. “Please, Josie, don’t be upset. I wasn’t fighting for my life in horrific conditions, and when the conditions did turn horrifying enough to freeze my toes off, you swooped in to save the day. Everything’s okay, so please—please—stop crying.” I grimaced, anticipating more tears.

Josie sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I’ve done plenty of it in my lifetime. Crying isn’t going to kill me.”

“But it might kill me.” I wished I could go back in time and clamp my mouth closed before those five words escaped. Not because they weren’t true—they were—but because of the way Josie’s eyes widened with surprise before her whole expression softened. I’d been trying to calm her down, but not so much that she’d get comfortable enough to lower all her defenses against me. I needed her to keep those defenses up, those walls strong, because as much as I wanted to deny it, my walls had a way of crumbling when Josie was close by. My defenses, my actual ones, skipped off to la-la land when I was with her. That’s why I’d fabricated extra-abrasive defenses with her. It was the only way to protect her from the giant mess I was.

“Here we are,” Josie announced.

I had to look out the window to confirm it. That she’d managed to cover miles of country in a handful of minutes seemed humanly impossible. Good thing she had family in the sheriff’s department. Otherwise she’d have enough speeding tickets to wallpaper her bedroom. Gazing at the Gibsons’ barn, I wondered if the cot was still tucked away in the back stall.

In seventh grade, after Clay had landed more hits on me than usual, I’d hitched a ride to the Gibsons’. I was “running away” for good that time. I’d arrived in the middle of the night, thrown some pebbles against Josie’s window until I woke her up, and without a word, she led me into the barn. She set up a cot with blankets and a pillow for me. She even had a plastic container stocked with a flashlight, snacks, and some comic books, like she’d been expecting me. Since it was summer break, no one missed me, most of all Clay. A few mornings later, Mr. Gibson found me, ordered me to leave, and pretty much said he’d be waiting with a shotgun the next time I decided to move into his barn with his teenage daughter a hundred yards away. Josie had cried that day too, but Mr. Gibson wasn’t swayed by her pleas or her tears. I left that day, never returning to Josie’s place until a couple of years ago. That one night . . .

In seventh grade, I hadn’t understood why Mr. Gibson wanted as much space between me and his daughter as his shotgun could create, but I figured it out a few years later. He’d figured out sooner than I had that I was no good for his daughter.

“So”—I glanced out the windshield at the dark house—“your dad?”

Josie opened her door, and a rush of cold air hit me. “He’s asleep. He successfully got his daughter through her teenage years without her getting knocked up, so he sleeps a lot more soundly. He wouldn’t even hear a herd of cattle run through the dining room.”

“Does he still sleep with his shotgun under his pillow?”

Josie smiled at me. “Only when he’s expecting you to show up.”

“Comforting. Thank you.” I smiled back before forcing myself out of the cab. After all of that warmth, the frigid air almost knocked me over. Hurrying toward the barn, I was stopped halfway there.

“Where the hell are you going?” Josie stepped in front of me.

“The barn. Preferably before I freeze my ass off.”

Her whole face except her eyes was covered up, but hell if those eyes weren’t the most expressive things I’d ever seen. “You’re not sleeping in the barn. It’s probably a whole two degrees warmer than your truck.” Grabbing my arm, she turned me around and steered me toward the house.

“Hey, two degrees can mean the difference between losing and keeping one’s toes.”

o;You’re sorry about what exactly?”

Of course that would be her follow-up question. Burrowing deeper into the seat, I cupped my hands over the heaters and planned my words carefully. Think before you speak was something I reserved for times like those. When Josie Gibson was at the wheel, hot on the heels of threatening to knee my dick into the next county. “That I was camped out in my truck—”

“In Arctic temperatures,” she interjected.

I nodded. “In Arctic temperatures. I’m sorry for nearly freezing myself into a popsicle-like state. But, you know, maybe if I was kept frozen, I could come back a few hundred years later and—” Another look of death stopped me mid-word. “I’m sorry for nearly freezing myself into a popsicle-like death. There. Is that better?”

“It’s a start, but you’ve got a lot to be sorry for, Garth Black, so keep going.”

I’d rather eat my boot than apologize to just anyone . . . but Josie wasn’t just anyone, so I sucked it up. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I’d been staying.”

She kept silent and gave me the And? look.

“And I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you and not returning your calls . . . but I knew if you cornered me, you’d figure where I’d been laying my head every night and you’d do something crazy like this.” I twirled my finger around the cab. I’d also been avoiding her because that was the right thing to do and my number one priority in life. Given her current state, I didn’t think it best to go into how I needed to stay away from her for all eternity.

Her only reply was that same expectant look. It seemed And? was the tone of things right then.

“And I’m sorry you had to come out in this weather in the middle of the night to look for me.” I still didn’t know why she had or how long she’d been looking before making it to my truck, but again, that wasn’t the time to clarify. The more apologies I made, the angrier she seemed to get. Either I was missing something, or she was. Like her sanity.

“And I’m sorry you had to dry up an entire oil field from the amount of gas you went through driving from your place to mine?” Yes, my apologies were starting to tip more the smart-ass scale than the genuine one, but I was running out of ideas.

She gripped the steering wheel so hard, her knuckles blanched white. Okay, what was I missing? What kind of an apology was Josie waiting for? Sure, over the span of the fifteen years we’d known each other, I had a whole universe of things to apologize to her for, but right then, what was the apology she was looking for after I’d lied to her about where I was staying?

Ah, yep, that was it. Since my eardrums were still ringing after she’d gone off about being lied to, I had a good idea what she was waiting for. I twisted so I could look her straight on. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Joze.”

Her anger melted off, one layer at a time, until the face of the girl I was used to came back. It took a moment, but when Josie’s eyes flashed to mine, I knew the screaming and glaring was past. At least for my latest offense.

“So? Am I forgiven?” I dropped my hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Even though she had on a cushion of down and fleece, the touch still felt intimate. More intimate than I’d expected, and too intimate for the distance I needed to keep between us. I dropped my hand and made a note not to touch her again if I could help it.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she replied matter-of-factly, making me chuckle.

“Well what more do I need to say or do to get you closer to a decision?”

She gnawed her lip for a few seconds. “Just try to explain, get me to understand why . . . why you’d rather camp out inside your truck than stay with one of your friends. Because that makes no sense to me. None. Actually, as far as sense goes, that makes, like, negative sense.”

Of course it didn’t make sense to Josie. Someone like her, who’d lived right and said and did the right things, wouldn’t have any qualms or guilt about taking a friend up on a generous offer. She would have been invited out of love and respect. Me, on the other hand? I’d been invited only out of obligation. That Jesse, Rowen, and Josie had even thought to extend the invite after Clay’s death wasn’t something I was spitting on—not even close. They’d been the only people to ever offer help, and I’d never forget it. I wasn’t fool enough to believe they’d invited me because they actually hoped I’d move in though. We were friends, but I wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine to be around. They’d issued invitations simply because I didn’t have a home anymore. Therefore, those invitations had come out of obligation.

Putting that whole concept into actual words wasn’t something I wasn’t up to the task of doing, though, so I went with a short, honest answer. “I didn’t want to be a burden to any of you.” That worked. Short and to the point, just how I liked most everything in life. Save for my johnson.

Josie snorted. “Yeah, because worrying me sick about you for months wasn’t a burden. Because driving out there to shake some damn sense into you wasn’t a burden. Because being friends with you, Garth, as hard as you like to make it on me, isn’t a goddamned burden.” She wasn’t back to her former anger levels, but being able to flip a switch like that was a rare trait. “Thank you so much for saving me all of the effort and burden.” She didn’t even attempt to hide her sarcasm.

I couldn’t grasp why she was so upset. Was she mad at herself that I’d pulled one over on her? Maybe. Did she care about me so much the thought of me living out of a truck for months was upsetting? Unlikely. Josie seemed more to tolerate me than actually like me—but what else was there? I couldn’t come up with a whole hell of a lot more.

“You know, I’ve been working at Willow Springs the entire time, so I’m getting three warm meals, three good warm meals, five to six days a week. I wasn’t starving on my days off, either, so it’s not like I haven’t had a solid meal in three whole months, okay?” I wasn’t sure if explaining my day-to-day life would comfort her or piss her off even more, but I was definitely hoping for the former. “It hasn’t even been all that cold until last night. I had a good sleeping bag, and the cab of my truck is more comfortable than that old egg crate mattress I slept on in the trailer. On the nights Clay actually let me sleep inside instead of out in a lawn chair.”

I glanced over to gauge her reaction. Her face wasn’t drawn up in angry lines, so I supposed we were making progress. “Even if I had the choice, I’d still take the cab of my truck over the inside of that nasty trailer.” That was the truth. A sad one, perhaps, but factual. “Come on, don’t be mad. It wasn’t bad, okay? It wasn’t the Ritz, but it was a far cry from the worst living conditions I’ve been in. A far cry.”

Then a tear slid down Josie’s cheek. I would have expected her to shoot lightning bolts out of her eyes before an honest-to-goodness tear. Something kicked to life inside of me then. Something that needed to say or do whatever it took to make her feel better. To make sure a second tear didn’t follow the first. It was all very . . . unfamiliar to me. “Please, Josie, don’t be upset. I wasn’t fighting for my life in horrific conditions, and when the conditions did turn horrifying enough to freeze my toes off, you swooped in to save the day. Everything’s okay, so please—please—stop crying.” I grimaced, anticipating more tears.

Josie sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I’ve done plenty of it in my lifetime. Crying isn’t going to kill me.”

“But it might kill me.” I wished I could go back in time and clamp my mouth closed before those five words escaped. Not because they weren’t true—they were—but because of the way Josie’s eyes widened with surprise before her whole expression softened. I’d been trying to calm her down, but not so much that she’d get comfortable enough to lower all her defenses against me. I needed her to keep those defenses up, those walls strong, because as much as I wanted to deny it, my walls had a way of crumbling when Josie was close by. My defenses, my actual ones, skipped off to la-la land when I was with her. That’s why I’d fabricated extra-abrasive defenses with her. It was the only way to protect her from the giant mess I was.

“Here we are,” Josie announced.

I had to look out the window to confirm it. That she’d managed to cover miles of country in a handful of minutes seemed humanly impossible. Good thing she had family in the sheriff’s department. Otherwise she’d have enough speeding tickets to wallpaper her bedroom. Gazing at the Gibsons’ barn, I wondered if the cot was still tucked away in the back stall.

In seventh grade, after Clay had landed more hits on me than usual, I’d hitched a ride to the Gibsons’. I was “running away” for good that time. I’d arrived in the middle of the night, thrown some pebbles against Josie’s window until I woke her up, and without a word, she led me into the barn. She set up a cot with blankets and a pillow for me. She even had a plastic container stocked with a flashlight, snacks, and some comic books, like she’d been expecting me. Since it was summer break, no one missed me, most of all Clay. A few mornings later, Mr. Gibson found me, ordered me to leave, and pretty much said he’d be waiting with a shotgun the next time I decided to move into his barn with his teenage daughter a hundred yards away. Josie had cried that day too, but Mr. Gibson wasn’t swayed by her pleas or her tears. I left that day, never returning to Josie’s place until a couple of years ago. That one night . . .

In seventh grade, I hadn’t understood why Mr. Gibson wanted as much space between me and his daughter as his shotgun could create, but I figured it out a few years later. He’d figured out sooner than I had that I was no good for his daughter.

“So”—I glanced out the windshield at the dark house—“your dad?”

Josie opened her door, and a rush of cold air hit me. “He’s asleep. He successfully got his daughter through her teenage years without her getting knocked up, so he sleeps a lot more soundly. He wouldn’t even hear a herd of cattle run through the dining room.”

“Does he still sleep with his shotgun under his pillow?”

Josie smiled at me. “Only when he’s expecting you to show up.”

“Comforting. Thank you.” I smiled back before forcing myself out of the cab. After all of that warmth, the frigid air almost knocked me over. Hurrying toward the barn, I was stopped halfway there.

“Where the hell are you going?” Josie stepped in front of me.

“The barn. Preferably before I freeze my ass off.”

Her whole face except her eyes was covered up, but hell if those eyes weren’t the most expressive things I’d ever seen. “You’re not sleeping in the barn. It’s probably a whole two degrees warmer than your truck.” Grabbing my arm, she turned me around and steered me toward the house.

“Hey, two degrees can mean the difference between losing and keeping one’s toes.”