Ransom Canyon. Jodi Thomas
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rushed alone down the emptying hallway, feeling proud that he’d managed to stay out of any cliques. He saw no point to them. High school was only a passageway to what he wanted in life, nothing more.
To his surprise, Lauren caught up to him and fell into step beside him. For several seconds they just walked, but he slowed his pace a bit to match hers.
“I want to talk to you,” she finally said without looking at him. “The story of what happened Saturday night has changed so much I don’t even think I was there. Now Reid Collins claims Tim was hanging on by a thread, and we could all hear the ghosts whispering. I would have probably broken both legs in the fall from the window if he hadn’t caught me. And—”
“I know,” Lucas interrupted her. “According to Reid, I wasn’t even there. Which is fine with me.”
She stopped and turned to him. “But you were there. You saved my life. Reid can lie all he wants to, but I’ll never forget. I owe you a blood debt.”
“Let Reid’s legend live, querida. You and I will remember and that is enough.”
“Like the kiss at the hospital. Between you and me, right?”
“Right.” He smiled, remembering.
“It was the best kiss I ever had.” She laughed.
“It was the only one you’ve ever had,” he teased. “When I find you in a few years, I’ll ask you again how I compare and see where I stand then.”
She blushed and ran ahead of him into her class.
Lucas stood watching her disappear, knowing they were both late but not caring. She’d forget about him, but he’d remember Lauren. She’d be the only girl he’d ever call darling in any language. Funny thing was, Lauren would probably never know just how special she was.
“Reyes?” Mr. Paris, his math teacher, snapped. “Are you planning on joining us this afternoon?”
“Of course,” Lucas answered. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
He wasn’t sorry at all, but Mr. Paris didn’t need to know that. Being late because he was talking to a girl didn’t compute in the old guy’s world.
Yancy
YANCY GREY HAD worked ten days straight at the Evening Shadows Retirement Community and loved every minute. The first few evenings he’d cleaned out an old office that stood apart from the rest of the bungalows. The front of the building was lined with dirty windows with a long counter separating the lobby area from the back storage and living quarters. A tiny, windowless bedroom and bath ran across part of the back. The living quarters were barely wide enough to fit a full bed, but it was bigger than his cell had been.
Originally, in the ’50s, this place had been a motel, boasting that every cabin had a kitchen, bath and sun porch. Eventually, the sun porches had been enclosed to make living rooms, and the bungalows had been rented by the month. Oil field workers and seasonal farmhands had taken over the place, but the owner had never bothered repairing any of the buildings. Finally, he’d let them sell to pay his back taxes.
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