CHAPTER 1
CANE
My cousin’s wife once told me that Astor Callaway was too beautiful for this world. It’s true that there’s no one more arresting, more suited to magazine covers and billboards and the big screen than Astor Callaway. It’s not just her face, either. It’s everything. She’s kind-hearted, a devoted daughter, a steady friend. She loves deeply and fiercely. I would know.
As a teen, she confessed she loved me. I told her it was the worst mistake of her life and that I was going to forget she ever said it. Her response was to slap me—and not just a simple tap on the face, but a full five-fingered crack that reddened my cheeks and turned my head. Astor’s a farm girl. She’s got power in her swing.
Since that day in the field, Astor’s refused to speak to me. At least verbally. She will occasionally send me a glare that should put me on my knees. Those are the good days. Most of the time, she ignores me. I’m no more important to her than the dust that rises from the back of her boots.
I live for the glares. That she has some feeling toward me, even if it’s anger, helps me get up in the morning.
“You sure you want to pay this off? If Astor finds out, she’ll skin you alive. Me, too, for even telling you about this.” Mike Bambino shifts from one foot to the other, holding a service invoice in his hand. Astor’s truck broke down last week, and it needed a new transmission and catalytic converter. What she really needs is a new truck, but that’s not easy to replace without her noticing it.
“Then you best keep your mouth shut. What’d you tell her was wrong with the truck?” I fish out my credit card, which Mike runs through his machine.
“Brakes. What else? I always tell her it’s brakes. She didn’t seem happy about the cost of replacing those, either.”
The brakes were $500, and I’m sure that hurt her pocketbook. Since her dad got injured, Astor’s been running the farm by herself, but one person can’t bring in the kind of revenue they need for a horse farm.
“Thanks for reaching out.” I sign the receipt and hand it back. “I’m always good for Astor’s debts.”
“Yeah, I know. Everyone knows.” Mike stuffs the receipt into his register. “Don’t know why you do all this stuff when she hates your guts. It’s not your fault her dad fell off that horse, and even if it was, you’ve paid that debt a hundred times over.”
“I’ll never be done paying my debts to Astor,” I reply tersely. I tip my hat and walk back to my own truck. Before I can climb in, I feel a small tap on the back of my shoulder. I know it’s Astor before I turn around. It might be her honeyed scent, but I think it’s because I’m tuned into her. Like she has some kind of radio frequency that only I can hear or sense.
“What are you doing here?” she demands. Her dark brows are crunched together, making her look like a fierce and angry angel coming to render some kind of heavenly punishment which I would welcome. Like, Yes, let me get on my knees in front of you and beg for mercy. I’ll take all of my clothes off to make it easier on you as well. “Did you hear me?”
Mike’s garage phone is ringing. I could use that as an excuse and pretend she said nothing, but even a slap in the face from Astor is still a touch from her hand.
“I did, but I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming because you haven’t said more than a dozen words to me in the last few years.”
Her lush mouth tightens. “I want to know why you’re here.” She points to Mike’s garage.
“Paying for auto service.”
“Your truck is new.”
“I’m happy you’re keeping track of my purchases. Yeah, it is new. It’s electric. We’re going green out at the Double J.”
If possible, she becomes more suspicious. “New truck. Electric, which means it doesn’t break down as often, yet you’re here at Mike’s.”
I lean against the car door and hope she can’t see how the back of my neck is turning red. “You caught me. Mike and I have been seeing each other for a while. I’ve tried sneaking out of his place, but apparently I’m not so good at it.”
“Are you paying my bills?” She’s not buying it.
“What bills?” I reply innocently.
“This is the fourth time in two years that Mike has replaced my brakes. Bad brakes do not affect whether the starter engages in a truck. I know this is bullshit.” She waves a crumpled piece of paper in my face.
“I agree. Mike should stop using paper transactions. It’s bad for the environment.” I snatch the papers out of her hands and pretend to read the bill. “Wow. Brakes are five hundred each time? I’d be mad too.”