Age of Aquarius Page 13

  “Hungry, are we?”

  At the sound of the voice, I jumped a mile, bumping my knee against the still-open fridge door in the process and letting out a screech of alarm. Outside in the main barn, the cows began to moo, taking up the chorus of complaint at being disturbed.

  The man who stood in the doorway didn’t look like any of my previous pursuers. He was probably a few years older than me, I thought. He was dressed in jeans that looked like they predated the century—the twentieth century, that is—and his boots were just a little younger. His flannel shirt was the only thing that looked like he’d bought it within his own lifetime.

  But the face above the collar, while completely and utterly hot, was also clearly very pissed off.

  “Uh . . .” I crumbled the wrapper of the last granola bar in my fist. “I . . . I’m guessing you’re the owner of this fine establishment?”

  My attempt at humor was obviously lost on the guy in front of me. “Who are you, and what the fucking hell are you doing in my barn?”

  “Uh . . .” Having no ready cover story, I decided to stick with as much of the truth as I could. “I’m on the run. Sort of, I guess. There’s a man—or a group of men—who’re after me, and this afternoon, I hid from two of them in your cow pasture. I was afraid to move too soon, and by the time I did, your cows were heading in here. I followed them, and I . . . I didn’t know what to do. I’m tired, and yeah, I’m hungry, and I just wanted someplace to sleep tonight without having to look over my shoulder or worry that I’ll get eaten by some wild animal.” I ran out of breath. “I’m sorry that I broke into your barn, and I’m sorry that I ate some of your little snacks here.” Standing up, I dug into the pocket of my jeans. “Here. I have some money. Take . . . whatever you think is the right price for a bottle of water, an apple and two granola bars.” I tossed a few bills onto the desk.

  “I don’t want your money.” Farmer Whoever the Heck scowled at me. “And how am I supposed to know if you’re telling me the truth or if you’re some grifter whose partners are going to jump me tonight while I’m sleeping?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Grifter? Seriously? Do I look like a grifter?” I looked down at myself, at the filthy clothes, my hands still stained from the visit to the cow pasture and my hair stringy and unwashed. “At worst, I look like someone who lives on the streets. If I were trying to insinuate myself into your home so that my so-called partners could rob you, I think I’d dress better.” I made a face. “And smell better, too.”

  “Do you have ID? A driver’s license? Anything at all to prove who you are?” He was still glowering at me.

  “Sorry, you caught me without my purse. I had to leave it when I was forced to run for my life.” I braced my hands on my hips. “And anyway, you’re just as suspect to me as I am to you. I don’t know if you’re one of the people out to get me.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What, was I just sitting here waiting for you, hoping you’d stumble across my out-of-the-way farm so I could capture you? Why are people after you, anyway? Did you do something wrong?”

  “No, I didn’t do anything wrong. It’s a complicated situation, and you probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I kicked the fridge shut with my foot and took a step away from the desk. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just get out of your barn and you can forget you ever saw me.”

  His brow furrowed. “Wait a minute. Just—just wait.” He ran one hand through his dark brown hair. “Are you legit? Because if you are, I can’t let you just go walking out of here into the dark. In case you didn’t notice, we’re way the hell out in the middle of nowhere, and it’s not like there are cabs or car services out here. The buses don’t run on these roads. What are you planning to do? Just keeping walking?”

  “What do you care?” I tried to sidestep him. “Just let me go.”

  “I care because if I just let you leave and something happened to you, I’d never be able to live with myself. Also, my mother and my grandmother would probably both hunt me down and kill me if they found out I turned away a stranger who needed shelter.”

  I sniffed. “Nice to know someone has some charity and kindness around here.”

  “Oh, they’re not around here. They both retired to Florida. But they’d find out, eventually.” He muttered something under his breath and turned, leaning against the door. “Okay. Come inside with me.”

  “What?” I stopped, frowning up at him. “Inside the house?”

  “Yeah.” He pushed himself forward. “Come on. Let’s go.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the office toward the barn door.

  “Can you please hold on one second? This is crazy. First, you accuse me of trying to con you, and then you’re dragging me into your house caveman style?”

  “I invited you in. I’m not dragging you.” He dropped my arm. “Okay, listen. Would it make you feel better if we did this the right way, and I introduced myself?”

  I shrugged. “It might be a start.”

  “Fine.” He executed an exaggerated, sweeping bow. “I’m Colby Matthews, owner of this farm, and your host for this evening. Welcome to my humble abode.” His voice was filled with so much sarcasm that it took away from the polite words.

  Colby. He kind of looked like a Colby. And now that he wasn’t wearing that thunderous expression—okay, maybe not quite as thunderous, anyway—he was really pretty cute.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Matthews.” I spoke primly.

  “Now you introduce yourself. Just to keep things equal, you know.” He cocked his head, waiting.

  I exhaled a long breath. “I’m Joy Navire. I’m originally from Wisconsin, but lately, I’m a resident of the road. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Joy.” He sounded as though he was trying out the taste of my name on his lips. “Are you still hungry, or did that granola bar fill you up?”

  I grimaced. “I’m pregnant. I’m always hungry, all the time, now that the puking seems to have ended.”

  If I’d told Colby that I was the Blessed Virgin, come down to bless his farm, he probably wouldn’t have appeared so surprised.

  “Pregnant? You are?” He backed up as though it might be contagious.

  “Yup. Don’t worry, though. It’s not yours.” I cracked up at my own joke. Inappropriate and gallows humor had become my favorites over the last weeks.

  “But—but you don’t look like you’re—you know.” The guy was completely freaking out.

  I rolled my eyes. “Pregnant. It’s not a dirty word, buddy. I’m having a baby. And if I take off all my clothes, I promise that you could tell that I am.” I heard what I’d just said and hurried to add, “Not that you’re going to see me with all of my clothes off. Or any of my clothes off. I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “So you’re—pregnant. Where’s the, uh, the dad?” Colby looked even more uncomfortable than before.

  “The baby’s dad, you mean?” I had a sudden and unexpected flash of Tom, his loopy grin, how his eyes would crinkle when he teased me, the intensity on his face the night we’d conceived the kid currently along for ride as I ran for my life . . . and then worst of all, his staring, glassy gaze that last night, when he’d been lying bloody on the floor with his sister.

  A sob caught me by surprise, and I hiccupped a little, trying to choke it back. Colby ventured closer, almost as if he couldn’t help it, and wrapped one arm gingerly around my shoulder.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. None of my business, right? Please don’t cry. Seriously. Come on inside, and I’ll make you something to eat. Please.”

  All at once I was numb and even more fatigued than I had realized. I didn’t have the energy to argue, to be quippy or to try to fight off this guy, no matter how dangerous he might be . . . although I didn’t think he really was. I let him lead me out of the barn, through the darkness of the small yard that separated it from the house, and up into a kitchen that looked like it had time-warped here straight from the 1
940’s.

  “Here, sit down.” Colby dragged out a chair from beneath an endlessly long kitchen table and pointed to it. “I’ll make some . . .” His voice trailed off as he regarded me. “You know, you might enjoy your dinner a little more if you were, uh, clean? I could show you where the bathroom is, and you could wash up.”

  I was at that point of exhaustion where I honestly could not have made a decision about what to do first, but the idea of a shower—a real, honest-to-goodness, hot shower—perked me up a little.

  “That would be heavenly.” I trailed him out of the kitchen, down a hallway to a set of stairs. “And you know, I don’t want to be asky, but would you happen to have some clothes I could put on after? Like sweatpants or something like that?” I was sick to death of these jeans that didn’t zip up anymore, let alone button, and the cute little T-shirt that had seemed like such a good idea to wear on a bright and shiny morning forty-seven days before.

  Colby shot me a glance over his shoulder. “My sister left some clothes here when she moved out. They’re still in her closet.”

  I sighed. “I guess it’s too much to ask that your sister was pregnant and left maternity clothes? Or even that she’s a little bit bigger than me?” I waved a hand in the vague vicinity of my stomach. “I might have trouble fitting in regular girl clothes.”

  “She probably has something in there that’ll work. She has workout clothes and . . . I don’t know. There’s got to be something, right?” As we reached the top of the stairs, I heard him mutter, “We’ll figure something out.”

  He pointed me to the bathroom, showed me his sister’s bedroom and gave me carte blanche to take anything I needed.

  “She hasn’t been back home in a year, and I don’t think she even remembers what she left. So help yourself.” He hesitated a minute, lingering at the top of the steps. “Uh, so I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen. Cooking. Do you like fried chicken?”

  My mouth began to water, and my knees went weak. “I would kill a man for fried chicken right now.” When Colby’s eyes went big again, I added, “But not you, clearly, since you’re the one making me the fried chicken. Oh, forget it. Yes, yes, I love fried chicken.”

  “Great. I’ll get to work on that.” He fled downstairs, probably pausing to grab a big knife to keep on hand before I came back down. Chuckling to myself in spite of everything, I delved into the sister’s dresser, where, praise sweet baby Jesus, I found a pair of soft cotton sweat pants a size up from what I usually wore and a huge oversized hoodie. After that, I took a deep breath and raided her underwear drawer. I didn’t like the idea of putting on some other chick’s unmentionables, but this was a desperate situation.

  Unfortunately, I was pretty sure a bra wasn’t going to be in the works, thanks to the size of my big old pregnancy boobs. And then lo and behold, I came up with a sports bra that I thought would work. I added a pair of socks to my loot and trudged into the bathroom to clean my disgusting self so I could get down to the kitchen and devour the food that I was beginning to smell.

  “Whoever’s up there looking out for me. . . Seth, or God, or whatever . . . thanks. Today didn’t suck as much as it might have. And also, fried chicken.” I nodded as my amen and turned the blessed hot water on full-steam.

  Heaven.

  “Ah.” I dropped my fork onto the plate and leaned back in the chair, rubbing my small, firm baby bump. “So dang good.” I slid Colby a sideways glance. “You did something magic there, didn’t you? With that chicken? It was the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  He shifted in his chair and shook his head. “Nothing magic. Just chicken, milk and flour, all fried up in lard. Regular old fried chicken, like my mom and my grandma made every Sunday of my entire life.”

  “No, there was something different about it. I’ve been enjoying fried chicken a long time, too, but nothing like that. Did you add something different? A spice or something like that? A proprietary blend of seasonings?”

  For the first time since I’d met him, Colby’s face relaxed into a grin. “Okay, you caught me. I actually do add a little bit of garlic power and onion powder to the flour. It zips up the flavor a little.” He winked at me. “But don’t tell Ma or Gram, okay? They’d flip out.”

  “My lips are sealed.” I broke off a piece of the biscuit that remained on my plate. “Isn’t it funny how our priorities change with circumstances? If you had asked me what I most wished for, say . . .” I cast my eyes up to the ceiling of the old kitchen. “Oh, five months ago, I probably would’ve said enough money to pay for the rest of my college career without working two jobs. Or maybe that I’d known my parents or any of my biological family.” At his questioning frown, I explained, “I was orphaned at birth and raised in a foster family. As far as anyone knew, I had no living blood relatives.”

  “Damn.” Colby looked pained. “I can’t imagine that. I’ve always had so much family, I’d be happy to loan some of them out.”

  “Hmmm.” I sighed. “You don’t know what you’ve got until you don’t have it, right? Anyway, if you’d ask me forty-seven days ago what I’d wish for, it would have been the courage to tell my best friend’s younger brother that the no-strings hook-up we’d had a couple of months back had knocked me up. And maybe that I’d stop throwing up, too. But now, tonight, a hot shower, clothes that aren’t falling-off-me filthy and a good hot meal are all I could ever want.”

  “Your best friend’s little brother?” Apparently, he’d stopped listening to my little speech after that admission. If I’d won some sympathy from this guy with the revelation of my orphan status, I’d just lost it by admitting I was cradle-robbing skank.

  “It wasn’t . . .” I groaned, closing my eyes. “We didn’t plan it. That night just happened, and we were careful and all, but sometimes even the best protection isn’t a hundred percent effective. Anyway, he was a good guy.” I swallowed over a lump in my throat and willed the images away.

  “Was? What happened to him?” Colby asked.

  “He’s dead.” I opened my eyes and met his steady gaze. It was easier to just say it than to beat around the bush. “That’s how all of this started.”

  “Did you . . . did you kill him?” To his credit, Colby didn’t ease farther away from me.

  “Of course, I didn’t. He and Norrie—his sister—were all I had left in the world, and I loved them both.” Tears welled in my eyes. “They were killed by whoever or whatever is after me now.”

  He stared at me, unblinking. “What’s going on, Joy? I know maybe it’s none of my business, but maybe . . . maybe I can help.”

  I nibbled on my bottom lip. “I wouldn’t say it’s none of your business, because you opened up your home to me. Whether you like it or not, you’re kind of involved now.” I paused. “I’ll explain it all, but first I need to warn you. I’m going to sound bat-crap crazy. Please don’t drive me to the mental ward without hearing me out, okay? I’m not insane. I wish I were. It would make my life a lot easier.”

  Colby smiled. “I have a pretty open mind, all evidence to the contrary. I promise, I’ll listen without judgement.”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay. Well, it all started forty-seven days ago . . .” I gave him the Readers’ Digest version of my plans to tell Tom and Norrie about my pregnancy before I got home and found them murdered.

  “I was standing in that dark bedroom, in shock, I think, and not sure what to do next. And then I realized I wasn’t alone, and that the person who’d killed them was probably still there and was more than likely waiting for me. I couldn’t see any way out of it, other than fighting, which of course I was going to do. But then suddenly Seth was there.”

  “Seth?” Colby cocked his head. “Who’s Seth?”

  This was the trickier part. “I’d met him earlier that day at the diner where I worked. I thought there was something a little odd about him, but not bad odd, you know? Just . . . odd.” I hesitated. “But when I thought I was going to die, Seth appeared in the hallway outside the room where I was
standing. He put himself between me and the . . . thing that was threatening me. He saved my life, and he told me to run. He handed me a fist full of money, and he said I was in great danger. He said he’d find me at some point and explain everything.”

  “And did he?” Colby sounded cautiously interested but not quite skeptical. That was a good sign.

  “Not yet. But today, I had a sign from him. I think, anyway.” I told him about napping outside the church and the directive to go west. “That’s how I happened to end up in your cow pasture and then in your barn.”

  “Okay.” Colby stared down at his empty plate. “Let’s operate under the assumption that everything you’re telling me is on the level, and that everything you described happened as you said. What exactly do you think is after you? And this Seth . . . do you think he’s a good guy?”

  I shrugged. “Your guess on any of this is as good as mine. I’ve had a lot of time to consider it all, though. Laugh if you want, but I think Seth might be an angel. He had that vibe.”

  “The vibe.” Colby nodded. “Angels have a vibe, huh?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Look, you wanted to know. I would’ve been happy to just let you stay ignorant of the whole thing. I really appreciate that you’re letting me stay here tonight, and I’ll be happy to leave tomorrow morning, if I make you uncomfortable.” I’d hope for at least a day or two to recover, but I’d take what I could get.

  “I didn’t say that. I’m just trying to make sense of everything. Because maybe you misread a situation, and in the shock of seeing your friends were dead, you hallucinated whatever happened next.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sure. That’s what I did. And I also imagined the man looking for me in the diner, and all the other times I’ve been forced to keep running over the last seven weeks. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Colby heaved a sigh. “Look, Joy, I don’t mean to offend you—”

  A pounding at the kitchen door interrupted whatever nonsense Farmer Matthews was about to spout. He scowled at me, as though I’d called down whatever fresh hell waited for him behind the door.