Page 5

As I turned the corner toward the base of the mountain, I saw old Mrs. Lytle sitting on the steps of the now-closed post office eating the last of a packaged sandwich. I squinted at her and smiled slightly when her eyes caught mine. My gaze went to the wrapper in her hand, the one that said “Rusty’s Ham and Cheese” with a big red time stamp, dated today. It was the one Kyland Barrett had stolen just ten minutes before. I knew because it’d been the only ham and cheese we had left in the store.

“Evening, Mrs. Lytle,” I said. She tipped her chin, her sad eyes blinking as she took the last bite of the sandwich. Mrs. Lytle was almost part of the landscape at this point, an alcoholic who wandered the streets of the tiny town, mumbling to herself and collecting pocket change from the townies to fund her addiction. She’d lost all three of her grown boys and her husband in the mine accident. I suspected she was hoping to follow them sooner rather than later. “You gonna be okay, tonight, Mrs. Lytle?” I asked, stuffing my hands deeper into my pockets. Not that I could offer her anything if she wasn’t, but I wanted her to know I cared. Maybe that was something.

She nodded, still chewing. “Oh, I think so,” she slurred. “I’ll make my way somewhere after I’m done enjoying this fine show.” She nodded up to the dwindling sunset.

“Okay, then. Good night.”

“Night.”

As I turned onto the road that led up the mountain, someone stepped in front of me, and I let out a startled scream, stopping in my tracks and stepping backward right into a mud puddle. Kyland.

I huffed out a breath. “You scared me!” I stepped out of the mud, feeling the wetness seeping into my socks where my soles were cracked or coming loose. Great. Thanks, Kyland. First my job, now my shoes.

He studied me for a few beats, his jaw tight. “Why’d you do that? Back at the store? Why’d you help me?” His jaw ticked in anger.

He was angry with me? What in the ever-loving hell? “Why’d you give the sandwich to Mrs. Lytle?” I asked. “Why didn’t you eat it yourself? I know you need the food.” My gaze slipped to the ground at the reference to that private moment in the cafeteria when our eyes had met. But then I quickly looked back up.

He didn’t answer me, and we both just stood staring at each other for a few silent moments. Finally he said, “He fired you?”

His face was tense and serious, and I couldn’t help but admire his strong jaw, the straight line of his nose, the fullness of his lips. I sighed. No good would come from those observations. “Yeah, he fired me.”

Kyland stuffed his hands in his pockets, and when I began to walk, he did too, swearing under his breath. “Shit. You needed that job.”

I huffed out a humorless laugh. “You think? No, I just worked sweeping floors because Rusty’s charming disposition is so inspiring. Oh, if only there were more Rustys in the world.” I brought my hand to my heart as if it were overflowing with love and admiration.

If Kyland noted my sarcasm, he didn’t acknowledge it. “That was a really stupid move.”

I stopped and turned to him and he halted too. “A thank-you wouldn’t be out of line. Rusty would have pressed charges in a New York minute. It would have made his day to press charges, maybe even his pathetic life.”

Kyland looked behind me, out to the horizon. He sucked on his full bottom lip and furrowed his brow. “Yeah, I know.” He paused, his eyes moving over my face slowly. I fidgeted under his scrutiny, wondering what he was thinking. “Thank you.”

I took the time to study him too, now that he was up close. He gazed back at me, his gray eyes wary, his eyelashes long and thick. It was hard to really hate someone so good-looking. That was just the unfairness of life. Because I’d have really liked to hate the boy standing in front of me. Instead, I turned away and started walking. He fell in step beside me, and we walked in silence for several minutes.

“You don’t have to walk with me.”

“A young girl walking in the dark by herself is dangerous. I can make sure nothing bad happens to you.”

I snorted. “All evidence to the contrary.” I hefted my backpack up on my shoulder. “Anyway, young girl? I’m as old as you are. Maybe older. I turn eighteen in May.”

“What day?” he challenged, moving ahead of me and walking backward so he could look me in the face.

“May second.”

His eyes widened. “No way. That’s my birthday too.”

I stopped, surprised. “What time were you born?” I asked.