This was her second time today venturing off the highway. The first attempt had been fruitless; she’d only come across a gas station that had had little to offer. When she’d chanced another exit, she’d found a town, and this Five and Dime.
“Did you just climb out of a mud pit?” Blonde and slim, a teenage girl was eyeing her with obvious distaste. Her two companions, a curvy brunette and a boy wearing a letterman’s jacket, stood nearby, their faces screwed into ugly sneers.
“Poor, dirty little piggy,” the brunette laughed.
Snickering, the boy pushed up his nose and began to snort.
Cheeks burning, Debbie spun away.
“Run away, little piggy!” one of the girls called after her. “Run away!”
While the group howled with laughter, Debbie ducked down the next aisle.
She hated towns for many reasons, but people were the first and foremost. When cities were few and far between, she stuck to the highways and the truck stops and the mom-and-pop shops scattered along the way. Places where people were always coming and going, where she went largely unnoticed.
Having to deal with the occasional judgmental truck stop waitress paled in comparison to the sort of scrutiny she received in towns like this. Typically, the smaller the town was, the worse she was treated.
Plucking a pair of sunglass off a display, she slid them discreetly inside her jacket, latching them onto the torn collar of her T-shirt.
Passing a rack of pretty summer dresses, she reached out to finger the gauzy material. She used to look like those girls. She used to wear things like this. Better than this, even. Her clothing had always been current, her hair always cut in the latest style, her nails manicured. On the outside, Debbie had looked perfect, pristine. Her mother had insisted upon it because, in her mother’s mind, appearance was everything.
Debbie released the dress with an angry sneer. Fuck those girls. And fuck her mother, too.
Her arms full, Debbie started toward the front of the store, had nearly reached the counter when the front door opened with a groan. Debbie halted, her eyes going wide. Tall and broad shouldered, a police officer in full uniform stepped inside. Removing his hat, he flashed a friendly smile at the elderly man managing the cash register.
“Afternoon, Wendell!”
A wave. “Mike! Hello! It’s a hot one today!”
Debbie backtracked, disappearing down an aisle and behind a bin filled with flip-flops. Her heart pounding, her breath shallow, she quickly ticked through her options. Half of her wanted to simply drop everything and leave, while the other half balked at that idea, knowing it could be quite a while before she found another store.
As it was, she’d been shopping for long enough that up and leaving would look suspicious. She already stuck out like a sore thumb. Filthy, her clothing torn, she was wearing a bulky leather jacket several sizes too big for her, in the summer heat, no less. Once that police officer got an eyeful of her…
She swallowed thickly. Sweat trickled down her forehead. She could suddenly feel every stolen item she’d hidden inside the jacket biting uncomfortably into her skin.
Familiar giggles erupted several aisles over, and Debbie recognized the noise as the group from earlier. Peeking over the top of the display, she found the police officer had paused to speak with them.
Debbie’s eyes darted back to the front of the store. What if she could check out before the officer found his way back? The old man behind the counter looked to have one foot in the grave already—she didn’t foresee him giving her much trouble. And what the store lacked in width, it certainly made up for in depth. There was a good chance she could cash out and be halfway up the road before the officer was the wiser.
She took precious seconds to mull it over before deciding she didn’t have any other options that made sense. Hurrying toward the front of the store, she kept her head down as she placed her items on the counter, and the old man behind it regarded her curiously. Pushing his thickly framed glasses up his nose, he folded his arms over his chest.
“You’re not from around here.” It wasn’t a question, therefore Debbie didn’t answer.
“You here for the county fair?” he continued. “My grandson’s pigs are being featured, you know? He’s got the best hogs in the entire county.”
Debbie forced herself to make eye contact and attempted a smile.
“Yes,” she said, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat. “I’ll make sure to check them out.”
With a satisfied nod, the old man finally turned his attention to her items. He spent several long minutes poking through her pile, sorting her things, and five more minutes examining each one.
“Best doughnuts in the whole state, too,” he said, giving her a gummy smile.
Debbie attempted another smile as a fresh layer of sweat formed on her forehead and dampened her armpits. Could he be any slower? She chanced a glance over her shoulder, searching for the whereabouts of the officer. Her inability to locate him through the numerous bulky displays sent her stomach somersaulting. Panicking, she turned halfway around, and as she did, one of the many items stashed inside her jacket’s sleeve slid down her arm, precariously close to the opening at her wrist. Horrified, she cleared her throat and quickly shook her sleeve, sending the stolen item back into hiding.
“$42.95.” The old man pushed a brown paper bag, brimming with her new purchases, across the countertop.
Her heart racing in anticipation—my God she was so hot and uncomfortable—she pulled her money from her pocket, quickly counted out what she needed, and placed it on the counter. As she slowly withdrew her fingers, she heard a shuffle behind her.
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.
The old man slid a nickel across the counter and tapped the coin twice. “Don’t forget about the fair,” he said.
Feeling like she might vomit, Debbie quickly pocketed her change and grabbed her bag full of purchases. She kept her head down as she turned away, hurrying toward the door.
Outside she didn’t dare pause to catch her much-needed breath. Gulping down warm, sticky air, she darted through the small parking lot and jogged across the street. She retraced her steps, stopping once she’d reached the small strip of forest that separated the highway from the town.
Safely ensconced among the trees and tall overgrowth, she quickly shed Preacher’s heavy jacket. Sighing in relief as the warm breeze hit her overheated skin, she sunk to the soft ground on her back. Breathing deeply, her heart rate slowing, she blinked up at the clouds, recalling what the old man had said.
Best doughnuts in the state.
Only six dollars and five cents remained from Preacher’s wallet—only enough for something to eat.
A county fair would definitely draw a good-sized crowd. Lots of people, lots of wallets.
First things first, though.
Sitting up, she rummaged through her purchases, excited to have a toothbrush again and clean clothes to change into. After swapping outfits and freshening up, Debbie settled herself against a tree, flicked open her newly stolen pocketknife, and began sharpening a pencil.
Then she opened her brand-new composition notebook to the first page and closed her eyes. She’d stared at that photograph so often that every line, every curve, had been engraved into her memory.
Her eyes opened.
The first thing she drew was her father’s smile.
Chapter 10
Standing beside his motorcycle puffing on a cigarette, Preacher stared up at the brightly lit entrance to the fairgrounds, wondering how the hell he’d ended up at the Wayne County Fair. He’d jumped off the highway only for cigarettes, fuel, and a bite to eat. Three cups of coffee, a stack of pancakes, two fried eggs, and a bowl full of hash browns later, the sun was setting on the horizon. Which left him with two options—to find a nearby motel or get back on the highway and ride through the night.
Of course he’d chosen neither.
His father’s voice echoed in his head.
As useless as a glass hammer.
Yeah, Preacher was feeling pretty useless. Useless seemed to be how he operated lately, utterly clueless and with no direction.
“When in Rome,” he muttered. Flicking his cigarette away, he pulled on his denim jacket and joined the stream of people heading inside.
Set up on a large stretch of land typically used for public recreation, the Wayne County Fair was filled with rows of colorful vendor booths with front men loudly hawking their wares, and food stands scenting the air with a hundred different flavors of grease. Decorative lights had been strung from tent top to tent top, brightly countering the black night sky. A carousel, bumper cars, a rickety looking roller coaster, and a Ferris wheel were just a few of the rides the fair’s skyline boasted.
Preacher stood in the center of it all, weighing his options. A ways off, a petting zoo had been erected, and past the zoo he could make out a cordoned-off area where stunt men were performing on motorcycles for a cheering crowd. He stepped forward, immediately drawn to the unmistakable roar of hard-working engines, until the farmyard stench had him recoiling.
Mud and manure didn’t smell much better than a New York City alleyway, yet Preacher preferred the devil he knew. The open road made for a good mistress, but the city held his heart. If it didn’t smell like exhaust and someone wasn’t trying to steal it, Preacher wouldn’t be staying long.
Forgoing the trek through the farm animals, he headed for the vendors instead.
Walking idly through the aisles, browsing without actually seeing any of it, Preacher lit cigarette after cigarette, content to just soak up the atmosphere. Every now and then a pair of nicely tanned legs or a smooth, bare midriff would catch his eye, but nothing that warranted more than a brief, appreciative glance.
At a food booth, Preacher paused to order a burger. Leaning against the makeshift counter, waiting for his order, he surveyed the crowd. It had been a while since he’d been surrounded by so many people at once, the hum of too many voices. In a way, it reminded him of home.
His languid stare snagged on a passing pair of bare legs, sleek and muscular, and then on a familiar scrap of leather tied around the waist above. He blinked and his eyes widened. That was his jacket—he’d recognize that jacket in the middle of a snowstorm, blindfolded. And wearing it was most definitely Debbie Reynolds—those gorgeous legs were proof enough. A crisp new bag hung from her back; her clothing was clean, also new. His eyes narrowed, knowing he’d paid for all of it.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, pushing away from the counter. Forgetting his food, he hurried after her.
He entertained the idea of grabbing her from behind, yanking her between vendors, and demanding that she return his things. Only as he drew closer, his anger began to wane.
She was working. And Debbie “Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire” Reynolds was quite a sight to behold.
Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Preacher slowed his gait, allowing more space to build between them.
It only took a few moments of observing her to identify her preferred marks—young couples with children. She’d wait until the parents were distracted by their kids, then strike and quickly slip away.
She made the act seem effortless, though Preacher knew otherwise. It took quite a bit of skill to lift something off the body of another without them noticing anything. But Debbie was pulling it off. No one who wasn’t actively looking at her, studying her every movement as Preacher was, would be the wiser.
She was so damn good at what she did, watching her in action felt like live entertainment.
If he hadn’t been accustomed to watching his back for even the smallest of threats, she would have gotten the drop on him back at the truck stop. He never would have noticed her; his wallet would have simply vanished, leaving him wondering what the hell had happened to it.
He continued after her, even as she wandered into the petting zoo, full of braying mules and bleating goats and stinking to high heaven. Preacher hardly noticed the stench; he was too busy enjoying Debbie, his grin growing with each theft.
Something soft squished beneath his boot, and Preacher glanced down to find his right foot half submerged in mud. When he looked up again, Debbie had disappeared. Cursing, he rushed forward, his eyes darting in every direction, scanning the clusters of people milling about.
He lurched to a stop only minutes later and burst out laughing. Debbie was standing in line for the Ferris wheel. With his jacket tied around her waist, her new clothes clean and fitted, her hair pulled neatly away from her face, she appeared utterly innocuous, every bit an average teenage girl. Not at all like the lying, thieving little minx she really was.
As the line began to move and Debbie ascended the small set of stairs, Preacher moved forward, an impromptu plan forming. He cut several people in line, jumped up the stairs and onto the platform, slapped a ten-dollar bill across the chest of the teenage boy manning the ride, and darted quickly across.
He slid into the swaying cart just as Debbie was sitting down. Her head jerked up, her eyes going wide as he sat down on the bench across from her. She glanced toward the exit, and Preacher swiftly lifted his legs, placing his muddy, booted feet up on the empty seat beside her, effectively caging her in.
“Shit.” A breathless declaration of defeat.
The cart lurched, groaned, and then the Ferris wheel began to turn. Like a cat cornered by a bulldog, Debbie scrambled backward, her hackles raised.
And Preacher grinned.
• • •
Frozen in the corner of her seat, Debbie gaped at Preacher. The sounds of groaning metal, whirring motors, and shrieking people winked out of existence, leaving behind only the furious rhythm of blood pounding in her ears.
How had he found her here? Had he been following her? Or was this simply an unlucky case of wrong place, wrong time? Debbie swallowed several times, an attempt to calm her racing heart.
“You know,” Preacher drawled. Head tipped to one side, arms draped over the back of the cart, he studied her intently. “Debbie don’t really suit you. Debbie’s a nice girl’s name, and you really ain’t so nice. You’re more of a…” Preacher trailed off.
He snapped his fingers. “Hell on Wheels! That’s what I’m gonna call you. Wheels for short!”
Still stunned by his appearance, Debbie only continued to stare.
“I woulda given you a ride, you know.” The humor in Preacher’s expression vanished. “Some cash, too. You didn’t have to steal my shit.” He was frowning at her now, and while Debbie’s outward appearance remained frozen, she was shrinking inside.
Although her pride told her she’d owed this man nothing—that in this life everything was up for grabs, no matter how kind you were—her guilt was screaming the opposite. She could feel his heavy leather jacket wrapped around her waist, a weighty reminder of what she’d done.
But it was neither her pride nor her guilt that had her untying his jacket from her waist. It was common sense. Regardless of how she felt, she knew she was no match for this man physically, and in her current situation, dangling from a Ferris wheel, she had nowhere to run.
Pulling the leather from her waist, she leaned forward in her seat and held it out in offering. Preacher eyed her shrewdly a moment before quickly snatching it away. He was patting down his coat when his eyes flashed with surprise.
His booted feet hit the floor with a thud, sending the cart rocking. He pulled his wallet from the coat’s inner pocket. “You didn’t toss it.”
She shrugged. She’d meant to chuck it; she’d never kept a stolen wallet before, only the cash inside.
“I’m guessin’ it’s empty?” His smirk returned.
Debbie worried her bottom lip, unsure of what to do should he ask for his money back. His money was long gone, though she’d since stolen more than enough to pay him back.
But he never asked for it. He only continued to watch her with an infuriating all-knowing look on his obnoxiously handsome face, leaving her feeling as
if he could see straight through her.
He didn’t look away until their cart came to a rocking stop.
They both turned, peering out over the fairgrounds. They were nearly on top of the wheel, giving them a spectacular view of everything below. Debbie could see the entirety of the fair and beyond, patches of forest and quaint little neighborhoods. Streets lined with glittering street lamps and rows of homes, their lit windows letting off a soft golden glow.
Debbie’s chest expanded, drinking in the sweet air. The higher she was, the more untouchable she felt. Nothing could reach her up here. She was a goddess among men. As opposed to what she really was. A speck of mortal nothing. A thing to use. Forsaken.
When the Ferris wheel began to move again, she turned back to Preacher. He’d since traded his denim jacket for his leather and was currently transferring the contents of his pockets. Balling up the faded blue denim, he tossed it onto Debbie’s lap without warning.
Startled, she only half caught it and glanced up at Preacher, puzzled.
“Keep it,” he said, nodding at the jacket in her clutches.
She stared at him, a hundred questions burning on the tip of her tongue. Why was he still helping her? Especially after what she’d done?
“Are you sure?” Unable to look him in the eye, she posed the question to the stretch of starlit sky over his shoulder.
“You need it more than me.”
Debbie’s attack of conscience intensified. No one, literally no one, had ever been this kind to her. Her guilt flamed hot once again, Preacher’s continued generosity making her petty thievery feel a thousand times worse than ever before.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted suddenly, finally facing him. “For, um, taking your stuff, and—”
Preacher laughed outright. “Liar.” He laughed again, shaking his head.
Cheeks heating, Debbie clamped her mouth shut. Her guilt evaporated, replaced by indignant embarrassment. If she didn’t need his jacket so badly, she would have thrown it in his laughing face.
If Preacher noticed her shift in mood, he didn’t appear bothered by it. Still smirking, he placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “Speakin’ of. How’d a girl like you get so good at pickin’ pockets?”