Rules

Chapter 12:

The bang is a fist on wood.

"Prez. It's me."

Kael doesn't move for a second. His hand's still on my jaw and his eyes are still on mine and there's something in the air between us that hasn't gone anywhere.

Then he lets go and stands up and the moment folds up like a chair.

"Sheriff's here," he says. "You want to stay, stay. You want to go upstairs, go."

"I'll stay."

He nods. Goes to the door.

The sheriff comes in shaking water off his hat. Same soft old hat from last night, same gray mustache, same tired face. He looks at me and then he looks at the cut on my shoulders and his eyebrows go up about a quarter inch.

"That's yours," he says to Kael.

"It's mine."

"Huh." He puts his hat back on. "Well. That's gonna make for some interesting talk at the diner."

"Sit down, Ellis."

The sheriff sits down. Kael pours him a coffee without asking and sets it in front of him and then sits down on the stool next to mine, and I notice he pulls it closer than he needs to.

"I pulled your boy," the sheriff says. He takes a folded paper out of his jacket. "Marcus Sterling. Thirty-four. No arrests. No charges. No nothing." He slides the paper across. "Which is the interesting part."

"How so?"

"Because a man with money and a temper usually got paper on him. A complaint, a restraining order, a nice settlement with a signature on it. This one's got nothing. Clean as a hospital." The sheriff sips his coffee. "Now. That can mean he's a saint. Or it can mean he's got somebody sweeping up behind him."

Kael reads the paper. His jaw works.

"What's the family?"

"Sterling Holdings. Real estate, mostly. The daddy's dead — five years back, heart attack, very sad. The mother's on every board in three counties. They've got a name you can't say out loud in this part of the state without somebody's uncle getting nervous."

"Any brothers?"

"One. Younger. Dominic." The sheriff tips his head. "That's the one I'd watch. Marcus is the face. Dominic's the one with the mouth."

I look up.

"Dominic's the one who called the shot," I say. "At the wedding. Marcus had a bad week and Dominic came by the house and said —"

Both men look at me.

"Said what," Kael says.

"Said the money doesn't care how a man feels. Said if Marcus wants the company he's got to be stable." My mouth is dry. "Then he looked at me and he said, 'You're the stable part. Don't break.'"

Nobody says anything for a second.

"That's a hell of a thing to say to a bride," the sheriff says.

"That's a hell of a thing to say to a person," Kael says. He folds the paper and taps it on the bar. "Ellis. Anything on a PI? Thin guy, gray suit, works with Sterling?"

"Nobody's filed nothing. Which means he's either not here yet or he's better than he should be." The sheriff stands up. "I'll do what I can, Kael. But I want to say this out loud so nobody can claim they didn't hear me. This town's got one rule. You remember what it is?"

"You cause trouble, you're trouble."

"That's it." He puts his hat back on. "I let her run last night because a bleeding woman deserves to run. That's not the same as me signing up for a war." He looks at me. "Ma'am. If I find out you're a liar? I'll be the first one at that door."

"I'm not a liar," I say.

"I hope not." And then he leaves.

The bell rings. The door shuts. The truck outside starts up and pulls out slow.

Kael doesn't say anything for a long time.

Then he turns on his stool and looks at me.

"Alright," he says. "Rules."

"Rules?"

"You're gonna stay here three days. That means three days of my rules. You don't like 'em, say so now, because I don't do well with surprises."

"Okay."

"One. You don't leave town." He holds up a finger. "Not out of my sight, not past the sign. Blackpine's eight hundred people and I know every one of them. Past the sign I know nobody. Past the sign you're somebody's game."

"That's —"

"Two." Second finger. "You don't talk to strangers. You don't answer questions about where you're from or what your name is or who your husband is. There's already a man in this town taking pictures. Last thing I need is you standing on the sidewalk telling a nice fella with a nice camera your whole life story."

"Kael, I'm not an idiot—"

"Three." Third finger. "You wear the cut whenever you're outside this building. Inside, do whatever you want. Outside, it goes on. That's not me being cute. That's me telling every man in this town, in one look, that if they touch you they got a problem with me."

"And four?"

"There ain't no four."

"There's always a four."

Kael's mouth twitches. "Four. If something happens — if you see a car you don't know, if somebody knocks on that door, if a man looks at you twice — you come find me. You don't handle it. You don't be brave. You come find me."

"And if you're not here?"

"I'm always here."

"Kael."

He stops.

"You're a person," I say. "You sleep. You shower. You go somewhere and do whatever it is you do. So what happens if you're not here?"

He looks at me for a second. Then he says, "You call Jax."

"You can't be serious."

"Jax is the second-best man in this town and he's meaner than me when he's mad."

"Jax told me he was a bartender."

"Jax did eight years in the state penitentiary." Kael picks up his coffee. "For a thing he didn't do. Which he'll tell you about, at length, if you let him."

I stare at him.

"This town is insane," I say.

"This town is fine. You're the one who ran through it barefoot at midnight."

I laugh.

It comes out of me so sudden I almost don't recognize the sound. It's rusty. It's like a door that hasn't opened in years. But it's a laugh, a real one, and Kael's eyebrows go up when he hears it.

"There it is," he says.

"What?"

"Nothing." He drinks his coffee. "Eat something. Then we're going out."

"Out where?"

"I got a laundry room full of nothing and a woman with one dress. We're going to the store."

"Blackpine's got a store?"

"Blackpine's got a store, a diner, a church that lost two letters, and a gas station with no pumps. It's not Paris." He stands up. "Go on. Bathroom's upstairs, and I put a thing on the counter for you."

"What thing?"

"Go look."

I go look.

On the bathroom counter there's a paper bag. Inside is a toothbrush — the green one, the one from the gas station — and a hairbrush, and a tube of something for bruises, and a bar of soap that smells like lavender.

And a t-shirt. Gray, soft, washed a hundred times, with a wolf on the front and IRON VIPERS under it.

I stand there holding a gray t-shirt and I have to put my hand on the wall.

Because he went out. At some point in the last twelve hours, in the middle of a lawyer in the rain and a car at the town line and a sheriff with a file, Kael Vance went out and got a hairbrush. And a tube of something for bruises. And a soap that smells like lavender.

And nobody's ever done that. Nobody in two years has ever gone out and come back with a thing for me.

I put the shirt on over the dress. It comes down to my thighs and the sleeves hang past my hands and it's so soft I want to lie down in it.

When I come down, Kael's at the door holding the cut out.

"Forget something?" he says.

I put it on.

The store is a store. It's called BLACKPINE GENERAL and it's got a bell and a floor that creaks and two aisles. The woman behind the counter is about seventy and takes one look at Kael and one look at me and one look at the cut and just says, "Well."

"Morning, Miss Ada."

"Morning, Kael. That's your jacket."

"Yes ma'am."

"On a girl."

"Yes ma'am."

Miss Ada comes around the counter and looks at me. Just looks. Old eyes. Seen everything.

"You need underwear," she says.

"Oh — no, I —"

"You need underwear and a couple of shirts and a pair of jeans that fit you. Those are the things you need. Come on."

She takes me by the arm and marches me down the aisle and Kael's left standing by the door with his hands in his pockets, and when I look back at him, he's smiling.

Not the thin mean one. A real one.

We leave the store with two paper bags. Miss Ada doesn't charge me. She charges Kael, and she writes it down in a book with a pencil, and she says, "I'll take it out of the town fund," and Kael says, "There ain't no town fund," and Miss Ada says, "There is now."

We're walking back up the street in the rain. Me with a bag, him with a bag, my new boots squeaking.

And then he stops.

Just stops, dead, in the middle of the sidewalk.

"What," I say.

He's looking past me. Down the street. Past the sign.

There's a car rolling through town.

Slow. Slow as a man walking. Dark blue. Not the black one.

And on the back of it, plain as day, a license plate that isn't from around here. It's from three states over. I know, because Marcus has a car with that plate.

I know that plate.

It's one of his.

Chapter 12 Ends.