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Page 24 of Small Town Hero

He didn’t look at people who did questionable things and try to understand them.

Gunnar did, though. He wanted to know what had brought someone to that point.

And in the case of Birdie, it was pretty clear to him that she had been dealt a bad hand.

But she had a great attitude. She was sharp and funny; she was resilient. She was living in tragic circumstances, and yet there was never a note of self-pity in her voice.

She was buoyant in a way he had never seen before.

Yeah, his dad had been good. And he had also been absolutely wrecked by his circumstances.

Not that losing a wife and a child was the same as growing up with a generally bad father, but . . .

“Thanks so much for the food,” she said. “It’s been slim pickings lately.”

“Yeah?”

“The thing is, I keep trying new ventures, and then they fall apart. I’ve invested in different businesses, different friendships, different relationships, and when they fall apart, there’s nothing left.

The most recent implosion was me working for a dispatch company, helping arrange freight loads for truckers.

I was subcontracted to do the work, and then my boss .

. . He started asking for sexual favors.

Like I said, I don’t really mind . . . I don’t know, I’ve lived with guys before, and I knew I wasn’t in love with them, and I knew it wasn’t going to be forever.

But I’m not flat out paying to keep a job by sucking some guy’s dick.

He was married and everything . . . And I don’t like that. The thing is, I don’t like liars.”

“You lied to me when I caught you stealing my horse,” he said, barely managing to get the words past the rage that was burning in his chest. Not at her, but at the guy that would take advantage of someone like her.

“Well yeah, but that’s different. He had everything—a house, somebody who loved him, someone who married him, had kids with him.

I don’t . . . I don’t understand how he could act that way.

You know? I think maybe that’s why I respect you.

Because the truth is, you have a lot of good things, but you seem to do your best to treat everybody with respect.

If all you have is garbage, and you roll it downhill, I guess I can understand that.

But if you got good things, and you’re still rolling garbage downhill . . .”

“That’s a good point,” he said.

“Well, it’s just how I see it. That’s all.”

“I think my dad was kind of an alcoholic,” he said.

“But he only hurt himself. And I never would’ve said he was an alcoholic.

But then he died of liver failure. And it was clear that I had missed a lot.

He was just so functional. He always did good things.

He wasn’t someone who was stealing from people in the middle of an addiction or anything like that.

He was just stoic, always. And I remember at night I would see him drink his whiskey, but I wasn’t keeping track of how much. I wonder if I failed him.”

“Well, that’s just not fair,” Birdie said. “Because my dad is positively pickled in alcohol, and you would think it would’ve killed him by now. He’s a notorious drunk. And he’s no good to anybody. It’s not fair that drink killed your dad before it killed mine.”

“Well. Thanks. But I think that’s probably just . . . life. It wasn’t really fair that my mom and my sister died when they did. And in the end, my dad died because of that car crash too, just twenty-four years later.”

She blinked. “Yeah. I guess so. That’s one way of looking at it.”

“It is.”

“Your sister would have been my age.”

“Yeah. I guess she was.”

“I wonder if we would’ve been friends.”

“I don’t think so. My dad probably wouldn’t have let her.”

Birdie nodded. “Yeah. I guess so, but I’m pretty persistent. And I probably would have been sneaky. I think I would’ve liked playing with her.”

Her eyes shimmered with tears, and the sight shocked him. Because she didn’t seem like a very emotional person, and yet there she was, nearly crying at the memory of his sister, which he couldn’t even do.

“There’s just so much that’s not fair, and I don’t usually waste my time thinking about it,” she said.

“Because what can you do? You can’t do a damn thing, can you?

Life just isn’t fair. And so you go on. But I got to live.

All these years. And your sister didn’t.

There’s a whole lot of unfair that I’m used to, but not that.

I never even thought about it. I just always thought about how you had it so much better than me.

And you didn’t. It was hard over here too. ”

“My dad was a good man,” he said. “He was good to me.”

“No, I know that. But it’s easy to let yourself think that because somebody is comfortable, physically, they don’t know the kind of pain you know.

I just thought . . . I just thought you could afford to worry about all these little things, like trespassing, because you had stuff. Because you had a good dad.”

“It’s not a competition, actually. My dad and I went through some loss. But it doesn’t mean your life wasn’t hard.”

She sniffed. “Well, I’m just sorry.”

“That means a lot. Especially coming from you.” He meant it.

The two of them had never connected on a personal level. Now suddenly it seemed . . . very personal.

“Why were you upset about your socks?”

It was an off-topic question, but something he’d been thinking of since he had snagged her off the road.

“What you mean?”

“I just mean . . . you were really specifically upset about your socks.”

“They were gritty,” she said, “because I ran to the field barefoot, because I didn’t want to make any noise, but in the stable they got full of hay.

And I really hate that feeling. Honestly, I can be uncomfortable in so many ways, but trapped dirt and grit drives me crazy.

Sand in your sleeping bag, gritty stuff in your shoes—I can’t take it. ”

He had never really heard her complain. And this was a full-throated complaint. “That seems like a small thing to be so furious about.”

“Sometimes you have to sweat the small things. Or the big things overwhelm you.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“It’s very true. It’s sort of therapeutic. You let yourself get really annoyed by something that is the opposite of world ending, and then when the big things come your way, you can cope.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

She took a second steak. “This is great.”

He didn’t quite know what to make of this woman. This woman who was half feral and all fascinating.

This woman who had been treated so roughly by the world.

Who would she have been if life had treated her a little bit softer?

His dad never would’ve asked that question, but maybe he should have. Because Gunnar wondered who his dad would’ve been if he hadn’t lost the love of his life. If he hadn’t lost his little girl. Who would he have been? Would he have been able to express his feelings? Would he have drunk so much?

Could something have stopped his drinking? That was what really haunted Gunnar.

It seemed to him that Birdie was trying to change gears. That she was trying to remedy some of the crap put on her by her dad. Good for her.

“Well, one of the benefits of your new job is clean socks.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t deliver on.” She attacked that second steak with relish and cleared the plate in only a few bites.

“This isn’t some empty promise. It’s a guarantee.”

“No one’s ever made me a guarantee before. Well, not one that I trusted.”

“I’ve never had anyone to make one to.”

“Well, I’m going to hold you to it. I expect a package of new socks by the end of the week.”

“Great. Make sure you’re at the house tomorrow by seven for coffee and breakfast. I don’t want you fainting in the field.”

“I don’t faint. That’s for mere mortals. I transcend.”

With that, she swallowed the rest of her beer, stood up from the table, turned around and walked off.

It was going to be interesting working with her.

And he had a feeling the interesting part was only just starting.