Lady Luck

  The middle floor of the house had two bedrooms either side of the stairs, both with their own much smaller baths. Both had small balconies jutting out, made of decking. Neither had anything in them. Nothing. Except for some stuff stored in the closet of one, they were totally empty. At the back of the middle floor sandwiched between the bedrooms was a smaller room that Ty used for an office. It was the only room in the house that was carpeted. He’d furnished it. Big, fantastic desk, big backed, black leather swivel chair but the computer had obviously been purchased prior to his being sent to prison, it was at least five years old, maybe older. Still, it was there and I’d discovered it had internet I just didn’t know the passwords to access it.

  Mental note to ask Ty.

  The bottom floor was all kitchen and living room with a narrow boxed cutout on one side that housed a powder room with a door close to the living room and a big walk-in pantry with a door close to the kitchen. There were floor to ceiling windows at the long, wide deck that jutted out well further than the balconies above them which, with the floor to ceiling windows and the room being open plan, made the deck feel like it was a continuation of the first floor. Since beyond that was uninterrupted nature until the view hit town, this gave that floor the feel that it went on forever.

  Completing this open vibe and sharing of nature and adding tons of light when the sun was up, there were a generous amount of windows all around including a huge picture window over the sink at the back wall that had a great view too, a view into the woods. It wasn’t as phenomenal as the view in the front but it was good enough to make me look forward to doing dishes.

  The open-backed stairs to the upper level cut into the middle of the space, the railing made of beautiful wood that was full of character, the steps carpeted in short-pile cream wool with sparse brown and gray speckles. The stairs were so awesome they were a feature on their own. The view was fabulous but if I got a look at those stairs cutting through the room, I would have said yes to this house. There was another flight of stairs that led down to the utility room that was at the side wall of the garage. These were at the side of that level, leading from the kitchen and surrounded by another railing of the same wood.

  He had a deep-seated, very large, cushiony, black L-shaped sectional, a flat screen TV and a shelving unit that held a top-of-the-line stereo with speakers built into the house giving surround sound even on the upper levels and out on the decks. There was also a stone hearth fireplace. Further, there were four unusual but awesome stools at the lip end of the counter of the massive, square island. Like the rest of the house, there were no rugs and tons of room to add more furniture. The fireplace would look great with some cool candleholders around it. The cream cabinets and black granite countertops in the kitchen would look fabulous with cream KitchenAid standing appliances (Ty only had a blender which was cream so that was why I knew cream would look good and then, of course, there was the coffeemaker, both, seeing as he liked “nice shit” and his friends undoubtedly knew that, were KitchenAid).

  There was a lot you could do with his house. A new wife, a real one, would be in throes of ecstasy if she was carried over the threshold to this place.

  On that not so happy thought, I washed my face, brushed my teeth and headed down to the kitchen.

  No coffee in the coffeemaker. No note on the island. Ty just gone.

  I made coffee and I used his strawberries, bananas and yogurt, cutting up the fruit and covering it with yogurt in the bowl. I poured myself a cup of joe and wandered out to the front deck that also had no furniture.

  I set my coffee down on the railing after taking a sip then shoveled fruit and yogurt in my mouth while staring at the sun shining bright on Carnal, the green pine-covered hills beyond, the purple mountains beyond that.

  I let the warm, morning sun shine down on me and I decided how to start my life.

  Ty’s furniture was way better than mine, mine was cheap and I’d had it for nine years so it wasn’t in the best of shape. But my bed was newer, decent and would fit in one of the rooms on the middle floor. I’d need a bed when this was done. And he had plenty of room, my shit could be stored in his other room. And I’d bought my new computer only three months before. We’d get rid of his and he could get a new one when this was done and I went away.

  I’d call Ella, tell her what to get rid of and what to send. I’d buy new of what I needed when my real life started. She said she was gently nudging Honey to move into my place and take over the lease and Honey was surprisingly considering this. Then again, Ella was not immune to motherly emotional manipulation, so not immune, she’d become a master at it and therefore she was coaxing Honey to cut the apron strings she’d latched onto by using helping me out as incentive. And Honey was sweet; she’d want to help me out. This meant Honey could use my furniture if she wanted to until she got set up.

  I also needed a job. Ty might be able to cover me but I wasn’t going to let him. He lived his life, did his business, I’d do mine.

  So I needed a paper.

  People would expect his new wife would make his house a home. And I was his new wife. And I thought his decks needed flowers and furniture. So I’d see to that. If I had to live here for however long, I was going to enjoy the view and not do it standing at the railing.

  I also had a town to discover. Maggie’s groceries were running out. I needed to do an inventory, toilet paper, cleaning supplies, laundry stuff (the washer and dryer being in a kickass utility room in the garage). He had friends and they’d probably wonder where I was. I couldn’t stay up here forever. That wouldn’t be doing my job.

  I needed to break the seal, go into Carnal, see and be seen.

  And thinking on laundry, I needed to do some. For me. For Ty.

  Another thing to add to the list.

  My plans set, I finished my bowl of breakfast, set it on the railing and stood there, sipping my coffee, staring at the view, having eaten and still feeling hollow.

  I finished my coffee and still wasn’t full up.

  And I knew I could eat a bathtub full of fruit and yogurt and not feel full.

  This was because I was not the kind of girl who ever got to feel full. I knew that. I just had to learn to stop forgetting it.

  I grabbed my bowl and went into the house to find my phone and call Ella.

  I had things to do.

  I had a life to fake starting.

  * * * * *

  Ty

  Ty Walker hit the button on the garage door opener, the door slid open and he saw the Charger parked there. He’d taken an opener with him that day knowing Max would be bringing him the Viper. He’d put one in Lexie’s car and obviously she’d found it.

  The Viper growled into the garage, the sound of the vehicle reverberating in the closed space. He shut her down, opened his door and folded out.

  It wasn’t late. He’d planned to see to some business after work but he often still had a tail. They were sticking close. They hadn’t approached, made their intentions clear, they weren’t watching all the time but they were watching. It was too soon to try and shake them when they were. They’d know he was doing it. They’d be more alert.

  He didn’t need that.

  Still, when they weren’t, he’d made his connection, he’d handed over a fuckload of cash and he hoped like fuck Dewey would be hard at work. Not because of the cash, in normal circumstances Dewey would bolt with the cash, disappear for half a year doing whatever the fuck and whatever the fuck would undoubtedly include sitting a game or five dozen of them and he’d come back broke.

  No, he hoped Dew would be hard at work because he knew Walker would find him if he bolted and when he did, Walker wouldn’t be happy. Dewey knew to avoid that.

  But more, Dewey was a friend, had been since junior high and Walker hoped to God Dewey would fight the urge and do right by Walker.

  So it was just after six. After work, he’d gone to the gym to work out.

  And now he was home.

  And so was
Lexie.

  He started to the door that led to the utility room and the interior stairs. By the door the garbage bins were standing side by side, the top of one having slid partially off. On his way to the door, automatically, he grabbed the handle to secure it but he caught a glance at something familiar inside the bin through the small opening left by the lid. It was familiar enough to capture his attention. He pulled the lid entirely off to see what it was and stopped dead.

  Big bags filled with party trash on bottom. Lexie’s wedding bouquet on top.

  It was looking tired, petals falling off, blooms drooping but she’d carefully carried that thing to the Charger when they left Vegas and made sure the stems were in water the minute she could when they were in Moab. When they got to Carnal, he’d lost track of it. She could have brought it in the house but he didn’t remember seeing it.

  All that care, now it was in the trash. Not precious. Nothing but garbage.

  He slowly lowered the lid to the bin and pressed until it clicked closed. Then he leaned into his hand on the bin and closed his eyes.

  Then he opened his eyes and moved through the door to the utility room.

  The minute he hit the open doorway to the stairs, he smelled it.

  Garlic.

  She was cooking.

  He climbed the stairs, rounded the railing and saw her in the kitchen.

  She didn’t know he was there. She had her iPod earphones in and was standing at the back counter doing something.

  She was wearing a tight yellow tank and her army green short-shorts.

  She was not swaying, kitchen dancing or singing.

  And that was when he knew that Lexie, who could throw bright even when she was asleep, had shut out the light.

  Fuck.

  Fuck!

  She turned, moving to the stove at the side wall, she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision, her body did a small jerk then her head turned and her hand came up to pop out an earphone.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey,” he returned, walking in and dumping his workout bag on the opposite side of the island from where she was.

  She watched him do this then she turned her back on him, picked up a wooden spoon and started to stir something in a skillet.

  “I did some laundry today,” she told the skillet. “If you’ve got anything you want cleaned, just dump it in the utility room on your way to work tomorrow.”

  He didn’t respond. Instead he leaned a hand on the counter of the island and watched her.

  “I’m making spaghetti if you don’t want one of your shakes.”

  “I’ll do both,” he told her.

  “All right,” she replied, put the spoon down and reached to a box of spaghetti that was sitting beside the stove on the counter.

  “You go grocery shoppin’?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she answered, dumping spaghetti into a big pot. “You need anything, write it down and leave it for me. I’ll go into town and get it.”

  Walker again didn’t respond.

  He didn’t respond because he’d fucked up and he didn’t know how to fix it.

  Days before, seconds after she told him she wanted to have breakfast with her husband and he liked hearing her say that, he liked it too fucking much, he fucked up. Then he kept fucking up. Then he kept fucking doing it. He knew it and he couldn’t stop.

  Then, the instant she pressed her mouth to his, her soft body in his lap, overwhelmed with emotion and sharing that with him, he lost control and he knew he couldn’t do that. And the only way he could manage to keep control was to stay the fuck away from her, her sweet smiles, her soft voice, her brightness, that fantastic fucking body. He couldn’t hold up. So he stayed the fuck away from her and spent a lot of time thinking about how to encourage her to stay the fuck away from him.

  Then, putting that plan into action last night, he’d really fucked up.

  “Lexie –” he started but she moved quickly, not looking at him and heading toward the stairs while talking.

  “Do me a favor and don’t let that boil over. I gotta go check the dryer.”

  Then she was rounding the stairs and she didn’t even give him her face when she went down but kept her eyes on her feet.

  When he lost sight of her thick, shining hair, he dropped his head and stared at his hand in the counter. Then he moved, mixing some protein powder with water, he drank it keeping an eye to the stove making sure the pot didn’t boil over. She came back up the stairs with her arms full of folded clothes, went to the stove, checked on things then walked to the stairs and up them.

  She didn’t look at him. She didn’t speak to him.

  Walker downed the rest of his drink then stared at the cup while expending a goodly amount of effort in stopping himself from hurling it across the room.

  Then he put it in the sink, went to the stove, turned everything to low and walked up the stairs.

  She was closing a drawer when he got to their room.

  “Le –” he started but she didn’t even let him get her name out.

  Without looking at him she headed toward him, eyes on the stairs, interrupting him by asking, “You gonna have a shower first? I can keep your meal warm.”

  “You think you can worry about dinner in a minute and maybe look at me?” he asked back, she stopped dead and her head tilted to look at him.

  He looked in her blue-gray eyes and there it was. Or, more to the point, there it wasn’t.

  The light was out.

  He sucked in breath.

  Then he gave it to her. “I was an asshole last night. I got a lotta shit on my mind but that wasn’t cool.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she replied instantly.

  He felt his throat start to burn.

  “You were right last night,” he told her. “We need to talk.”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s good. It’s all good, Ty. I have a plan. I’ve got everything sorted out with Ella. Margot fixed things for me at work. Ella’s already sent some of my stuff, it’ll be here soon, maybe even tomorrow. I’m going to get a job, don’t know what, something. I bought a paper today. I’ll have a look. Ella is going to have moving quotes tomorrow. I’ll let you know. It’s all happening. It’s all good. So you can get on with…” she paused, “whatever you need to get on with.”

  Then she started to move by him but he caught her, wrapping his fingers around her bicep, she stopped and her head tipped back again.

  “We got more shit to talk about,” he said quietly.

  She shook her head again. “No we don’t.”

  “You know we do.”

  Suddenly she was nodding her head. “You’re right, we do. I need to ask if it’s okay if I use one of your rooms downstairs to store some stuff and if I can set up my bed in the other one. Oh… and if I can switch out my computer with yours. I bought mine three months ago. It’s a good one.”

  That burn in his throat got hotter but he forced through it, “Do whatever you gotta do. I don’t care. Now, we –”

  She twisted her arm out of his hand and quickly moved around him, jogging down the stairs, muttering, “I have to check the spaghetti.”

  He took in a deep breath. Then he took in another one.

  Then he hissed, “Fuck!” and followed her.

  She was dumping spaghetti into a colander in sink. He got close to her back and started to say her name again when suddenly the pot hit the countertop with a clatter, she whirled and took two steps back, lifting a finger and pointing it at him.

  “Don’t!” she snapped. “Don’t you fucking come home and think you can give me a different Ty. Do not think you can fucking play me like that. I don’t know what the fuck you’re dealing with and I don’t care. I asked, you wouldn’t tell me. I tried everything I knew to get you to let me in there,” she jabbed her finger at his chest, “and you didn’t let me in and now, Ty, I don’t fucking care. You can ride the wave of whatever’s controlling you but don’t drag me along on that trip.” She s
wung her arm out to the side. “Out there, I’ll be what you’re paying me to be.” Then she pointed to the floor. “In here, it would be good if we could be civil to each other and you don’t give me any of that pussy bullshit of yours. And that’s all for in here, Ty. Tonight, I sleep on the couch and I keep doing it until my bed gets here and then I’ll move to it. You wanted to talk, there it is. I’m laying it out. You don’t like that, you get your bling back and I walk. Think about it and enjoy the spaghetti, I’m going for a drive.”

  Then she turned, snatched her keys off the island and ran to and down the stairs.

  Walker stared at the space where he last saw her and he did it for a long time waiting for the burn to fade from his throat.

  This took awhile.

  Then he turned off the burner under the stove, the oven where the garlic bread was baking, walked upstairs and took a shower.

  * * * * *

  When Lexie got home at ten to eleven, Walker was flat out on the couch, eyes to the TV.

  He didn’t move when he heard her hit the room.

  But he did speak.

  “I’m takin’ the couch, you take the bed.”

  No sound, no movement.

  Then, “Fine.”

  Then he heard her go up the stairs.

  He stared at the TV for a long time not seeing it. Then he lifted up his hands and rubbed his face. Then he turned the TV off and tried to find sleep.

  This took awhile.

  Chapter Eight

  Got a Wife Who Knows My Every Move

  Ty

  Walker jogged up the outside steps after his morning run. It had been over five years since he’d run in Colorado. He wasn’t used to it and the altitude had kicked his ass.

  But it had also been over five years since he’d run free, alone, wherever he wanted his feet to take him, the road open for him to decide where he wanted to go, not caged, not limited, not with eyes tracking his every move so he didn’t give a fuck the altitude kicked his ass.

  He opened the door and instantly saw Lexie at the island, dressed, hair done, makeup on, coffee cup halfway to her lips. Her boxes had come, her wardrobe selection increased and she’d wasted no time unpacking her shit and taking advantage of it and the results were right there. Thin, tank-like tee the color of the inside of a honeydew melon with ragged, torn-looking straps, one falling off her shoulder, what he was sure were dark brown short-shorts even though he couldn’t see her legs but that was all she wore, thick, dark brown leather belt with something stamped on the leather and a heavy silver buckle and he knew by her height she was wearing heels.