For a moment, an initial flicker of nerves, he thought to reach for the gun he’d hidden in the shaft of his boot. Calculated how long it would take to draw and fire, wondering if the intruder was armed and could beat him to the punch.
But the shadow said, “Hey, it’s just me,” and revealed itself to be Jake, from the garage.
Rooster’s heart pounded painfully, and his fingers twitched, but he nodded. “Hey.”
Jake shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped carefully onto the little square of tile just inside the door, which put him closer than Rooster was comfortable with. “Place is starting to look a lot better.”
“Haven’t done much yet.”
“Still. Those floors were awful.”
“Yeah. Had to replace most of the boards.”
It was awkward. The kind of awkward so oppressive it would have been a relief to turn and take a swing at the guy.
“Okay,” Jake said. “This is awkward.”
“No shit.”
He took a step back and leaned a shoulder in the doorway, which put a few more precious inches between them. “Okay, I was gonna try to come at this a little more gracefully, but I don’t think that’s gonna work. So I’ll just say it.”
Rooster sent him an unimpressed look.
“I’m guessing you know about the VA bake sale tomorrow.”
He gave a sharp nod. “Ruby wants to go.”
“I figured she would if she’s in there helping Vicki.” He chuckled. “I walked through the kitchen on my way out here and got diabetes just being the room with that many cookies.” When Rooster continued to stare at him, he pressed on. “Some of us at the VA are gonna help work the event.”
“Us?”
“I go to meetings.” Jake shrugged. “It’s been a help. Even though I didn’t think it would be.” He lifted his brows, and suddenly Rooster knew what he was getting at. “I used to run a place in Cody, and I just transferred here a week or so again, took over for my uncle. Moving around like that, being displaced…” Another shrug.
Rooster frowned. “Look, I don’t need–”
“There’s a meeting after the sale,” Jake said. “We’d be happy to have you if you felt like it. Just. Think it over, yeah?”
Rooster snorted and glanced away.
“You’re not the only one who got blown up,” Jake tacked on quiet. When Rooster snapped toward him, prepared to see derision, defiance, he found only a soft sort of melancholy. And something truer that he didn’t want to examine too closely. “There’s no shame in talking to others about it.” He turned to go.
“What happened to you?” Rooster asked, and wasn’t sure why.
Jake hesitated, one hand on the doorframe, but thankfully didn’t turn around. He gazed out across the yard, its dappled shadows and willow limbs swaying in the breeze. “Head injury,” he said, flat, like he was reading it off a file. “What about you?”
Rooster didn’t answer, and eventually Jake ducked his head and walked off into the evening.
~*~
Vicki sent them home – well, back to the motel – with a sack dinner for the two of them. Red unpacked it on top of the desk and found roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and broccoli cooked with garlic, butter, and caramelized onions.
“Jesus,” Rooster said, taking a bite of a yeast roll that was still warm. “Why doesn’t she open her own restaurant?”
Red chuckled and laid out the paper plates, napkins, and silverware Vicki had sent along. “I asked her the same thing. She said her knees would be the death of her if she was on her feet that long every day.”
“I hear that.”
The sat down on the end of her bed and ate in front ofDiners, Drive-ins, and Dives. For once, the food they were eating tasted as good as the food on TV looked.
