Ms Demeanor. Danica Winters
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Laura interrupted, as she typed something into her phone.
“My apologies, Ms. Blade,” he said, careful to use the same sharp tone. “It’s just that I don’t... I can’t go back to prison. That wasn’t my gun. Hell, I didn’t even know it was a gun until it was in my hand. You have to believe me, I never want to waste my time behind bars again.”
She stared at him for a long moment, and from the set of her jaw and the look in her eyes, he could tell she was struggling to believe him. He had no idea what else to tell her. No doubt, as a parole officer, she would have learned by now that very few people in this world told the truth—and even fewer who were ex-cons.
He’d long ago given up the idealistic notion that anyone would take anything he had to say at face value ever again. The moment the judge’s gavel hit the block and he’d been delivered the sentence, Rainier had known he’d forever wear a scarlet letter for his crimes. Part of that sentence would be always being thought of as less than and dishonorable—no matter how justified he felt in committing the crime.
“Can’t we just look past this, Ms. Blade?” asked his father. Merle held his hands together almost as if he was silently praying that Laura would honor his request.
Rainier could’ve told him a long time ago that that kind of thing had a way of blowing back on a guy.
“Mr. Fitzgerald, I know your family’s been through a lot in the last month, but that doesn’t mean I can just ignore what’s going on here.” Laura frowned. “I made it very clear to your son that there were certain conditions associated with his parole—conditions he absolutely could not violate. And yet here we are. I can only imagine the kind of trouble he would find himself in if I wasn’t here.”
“I can assure you that my son has always been a good man.”
“Let me guess—he’s just misunderstood?” Her lips puckered as she spat the words out like watermelon seeds.
“I’m not going to make any excuses for my son’s behavior, but you have to know that he wouldn’t intentionally find himself in trouble. Especially not like this.”
Her gaze swung to Rainier and he nodded, hoping that she would listen to both of them.
“Ms. Blade, it’s not like I’m asking for a second chance. I’m just asking for any chance at all.” Rainier hated the note of pleading in his voice. He’d never been one to beg, but he’d never been given his freedom and then had it rescinded on the same day.
“The police are on their way.” Laura pushed her phone into her back pocket. “I won’t tell them about the gun in your hand and the remains at your feet, but you have to promise me that this was just a case of you being at the wrong place at the wrong time and nothing else.”
A sense of relief washed over him, but faded away again as the piercing sound of sirens echoed in the distance. He looked in that direction, but in the bright afternoon light couldn’t make out their source. Hopefully, his brother wasn’t on duty. The last person he needed to see right now was Wyatt.
“Do you promise, Rainier?” Laura pressed.
“Of course,” he said, trying to sound earnest.
“And you won’t find yourself in any more trouble?” she continued.
“You’re welcome to stick around and be my wingman as long as you like, Ms. Blade,” Rainier said, giving her a cheeky smile he hoped would ease some of the tension between them.
The parole officer looked away, making him wonder if his smile had worked, after all.
“Son, it may not be a bad idea for you to go inside and get out of the spotlight,” his father said, motioning toward the house.
On the drive back to the ranch, Rainier had told Laura he wasn’t afraid and that he wouldn’t run away from whatever life would bring him. But now, facing the possibility of seeing his brother after all this time, the urge was strong to tuck tail and run on back to the house. Heck, he could even pretend that when his brother questioned him about the remains and the gun that it was the first he was hearing about the findings. Wyatt would probably think nothing of it, and he certainly wouldn’t jump to conclusions like he would if he arrived and Rainier was standing by disarticulated remains.
His brother had always been like that with him—always thinking the worst. Rainier couldn’t blame him for the trouble he himself got into; he’d always been a little bit of a rebel and the family’s black sheep. But his brother’s condescending attitude certainly didn’t help. It was like every time he screwed up, Wyatt was there to let him know he had seen it coming.
Once, when they had been young boys, their parents had sent them out to collect eggs from the henhouse. Gathering eggs soon turned into Rainier picking up rocks and pitching them to see who could throw the farthest. Colter and Waylon had joined right in, using different size rocks and different throwing techniques until they had found the one that suited them best. But not Wyatt. Wyatt had stood to the side and kept warning them about how much trouble they were going to get into if their parents found them, or if something went wrong.
Of course, the other three didn’t listen, and it wasn’t five minutes before Rainier pitched the perfect pebble straight into the back window of their father’s old Jeep. If he closed his eyes, he was sure he could still hear the crackling sound of the splintering glass, almost like someone stepping on the thin crust of ice on a lake.
Breaking that window had been his first lesson in keeping Wyatt out of his affairs and away from anything fun, as well as how much work it took to raise two hundred dollars to pay for a new window. His father had been understandably angry at the time, but just like now, he’d seemed to understand that sometimes bad things happened. A person could go about living his life between the lines, or as Merle put it, “living between the mustard and the mayonnaise,” but even then couldn’t avoid trouble. Or maybe Rainier wasn’t really the kind who avoided it; maybe he was just as bad and destructive as people expected him to be.
“Rainier, are you listening?” asked Laura.
He hadn’t heard a single thing she said.
“Sorry, what did you say?” he asked, blinking away images of him and his brothers playing around the ranch and causing trouble when they were younger. What he would give to go back to those days, when they’d all still got along and had truly lived for each other.
“Why don’t I walk with you inside—you know, be your wingman?” she repeated, holding out her hand as if he was some kind of wayward toddler.
He was unsure if he should be excited or offended by the way she was treating him, but he had to admit the look she was giving him was far more comforting than the one from a few minutes before, when she had found him holding the gun.
He slipped his hand into hers, and she jerked, almost as if she hadn’t expected him to take her up on her offer. She let go again at once, but not before his father gave him a look of surprise. Rainier was sure his own expression mirrored his dad’s.
This woman continually surprised him. He’d heard so many things about parole officers when he’d been behind bars. From the stories that got filtered down to him, most sounded like real hard asses, but not Laura. Sure, she had a hard edge to her and she was a no-nonsense kind of lady, but there was something equally soft, almost maternal about her. That softness made him wonder if she had a child.
He wasn’t sure if he should ask, especially now that she had agreed to take his side and cover up his role in discovering the remains. He didn’t want to compromise her emotionally any more than necessary. More than that, from the second they had met she had made it clear to him that there was going to be nothing more than professional civility between them.
She walked ahead of him, leading the way back to the house as the sound of the sirens grew louder. As they approached the door, his mother and his brother Wyatt’s fiancée, Gwen, stepped outside.
Rainier glanced down at his mud-covered coat as he tried to wipe the dirt