“It’s done. Nothing for you to be sorry for.” The color came back into Boomer’s hands as his fingers relaxed. “But wanting the 411 on Pepita is not why you agreed to deliver two hundred bales of hay with me. I’m guessing you want to know about Kurt.”
A pain hit Quinn’s chest as if a corpsman was practicing suture techniques on his left ventricle. “I was Kurt’s best friend, and had no clue.”
Boomer turned onto a narrow gravel road that curved over a grassy hill. Barbed-wire fencing lined either side of the road, white-faced cattle lying down before the storm hit as if the whole herd had been carpet-bombed.
“I’m not sure anyone can see something like this coming. People have a way of hiding their thoughts, their troubles. But Kurt…”
Boomer slowed and turned at the entrance to a ranch. The tires rumbled over the cattle guard, the truck’s suspension pitching and squeaking from the potholes. Quinn grabbed on to the hand rest along the window frame to keep from dislodging his spleen, and waited for Boomer to finish his sentence.
At the wood pole barn, Boomer stopped and shifted into Park. “Kurt… I don’t know. I couldn’t read him. He did his work, mostly, but the longer he was here, the more he stayed away at night. Some of that was for AA or NA meetings for his alcohol and narcotics issues, but I always had a feeling there was something else going on. He was jumpy, a little paranoid. Any time I tried to talk to him, he pushed me away.”
“You think he was using again.”
“The negative drug tests are hard to contest, but as a recovering addict myself, all the signs were there. I should have seen them.”
* * * *
With the heel of his sock-covered foot, Quinn kicked the cabin door closed, stripping his wet clothes off as he padded across the wood plank floor, headed for his second shower of the day.
He let the warm water sluice over his aching muscles and worked his wrist and fingers again to loosen the tendons and ligaments.
When the hot water ran cold, Quinn climbed out of the shower and toweled off. At the knock on the door, he wrapped the towel around his waist. “Hang on.”
He opened the door about a foot, resting one hand on the door frame, the other fisted on the towel at his waist.
Jenna stood on his porch, a full plate and a glass of tea in her hands. Dink scooted between his legs and trotted in. She scanned Quinn’s face, his chest, his…towel. She might have smiled, but she ducked her head so he couldn’t be sure.
“Uh… I didn’t know if Kurt had any food in the fridge, so I brought you some lunch.”
Grilled cheese, chips, and a palm-sized vine of red grapes. He wasn’t in the mood for company, but his stomach bitched and complained until he stepped back and let her in.
He retrieved a change of clothes from his rucksack and headed for the bathroom. “You can leave the food on the table. Then I’d appreciate it if you’d go.”
He didn’t wait for a response. From the bathroom, he heard the clatter of the plate on the table. Then the glass of tea landed with a bang. He turned around. The tea sloshed and spilled onto the floor. A grape fell free, bouncing off the table and rolling under a chair. Dink hopped off Kurt’s bed, mouthed the grape, and spit it out.
Jenna didn’t look as if she noticed, or cared about, the mess.
He was too sore and tired to give two damns. “Is there a problem?”
“I want to help.”
The sincerity in her eyes had him biting back the automatic “no.” When she looked at him like that, he could almost believe that on some level she still cared, but that ship had sailed a long time ago.
Sailed and sunk and now little fishies made houses out of the rotting hull of their relationship.
“Don’t make me beg.” Her voice cracked as she came around the table and stood in front of him.
She removed her cowboy hat and fiddled with a black feather tucked into the band at the crown, her eyes glued to it. “Look, I know you don’t want anything to do with me. I get that. I got that when you refused to take my calls or let me visit you at the hospital after your crash. We’re done. Message received, no stutter, no static.”
“Jenn—”
“Let me finish.” She looked up at him with the greenest, most earnest eyes. “This isn’t about us. This is about finding the truth, about breaking out the shock paddles to try to save a program that’s in its death throes. Kurt, and the veterans lined up to join the program, deserve that.”
When he didn’t say anything, she added, “We don’t have to be friends or even like each other. We just need to work together.”
If the Marines had taught him anything, it was teamwork. If you didn’t like someone in your squadron, you dealt with it. “I’m probably jumping to conclusions by thinking there’s something sinister behind his death. I just can’t stand the idea that he survived the crash only to take his own life.”
“If you’re going to jump, let me jump with you.”
Hank had been right all along. He didn’t deserve her. Not six years ago, not four years ago. Certainly not now.
“Okay.” He knew it was a mistake as the word came out of his mouth. But the worry lines on her forehead smoothed and her shoulders relaxed, and somehow that made him feel better.
“So, what do we do first?” she asked.
“First, I’m going to get dressed. Second, I’m going to have some of that grilled cheese.”
“And third?”
“We’ll have to figure that out as we go along.”
* * * *
Light rain pattered against the cabin’s roof, drowning out Dink’s snores. While Quinn got dressed, Jenna sat on Kurt’s bed with Dink curled up beside her and rummaged through Quinn’s rucksack.
He came out of the bathroom and snatched the bag from her hands. “What are you doing?”
Her hand fell free of one of the pockets, and a four-piece strip of condoms dangled from her fingers.
She raised a brow at him. “Magnum, huh?”
“I didn’t bring… Those were…”
He didn’t bother trying to finish his explanation. He tossed the condoms in the garbage can, the tips of his ears turning a fascinating shade of red.
“You don’t have to throw them away.”
“I’m sure they’re expired.”
Jenna didn’t know why that made her happy. Um, yeah, you do.
“Ever heard of asking for permission before pawing through someone else’s things?”
“I wasn’t pawing. I was looking for a charger that might fit Kurt’s cell phone.”
He reached into a side pocket and came out with a Micro USB cord. She grabbed the phone from the table and plugged it into a socket near the refrigerator.
While it charged, he sat down at the table to eat. She turned the other chair around and sat in it backward, her hands resting on the back of the chair, her chin on her fingers.
He took a bite of the grilled cheese. The bread had gone limp, and the cheese had recongealed, but that didn’t slow him down. He pushed the plate toward her. She plucked a couple of grapes free.
“So,” she said. “We have a cell phone, a business card with a phone number on the back, and a book of matches from”—she picked up the matches and got a closer look at the cover—“Cruisers. I think it’s a biker bar on the outskirts of Murdock.”