Page 33 of The Banker and the Blue Collar Man

“There’s a laundry,” I said, which surely he already knew. “I could use that.”

“You have two pairs of pants,” he said with mock sternness. “One of them is the jeans you’re wearing right now, which are borrowed. You look like a hobo. Go home. Come back.” He dug into his wallet and held out a crisp ten-dollar bill. “Please?”

There wasn’t anyone anywhere who could resist that smile of his. Not me, for sure. So I stood up. “Fine, fine,” I said. “It’ll take me all morning.”

“Look,” he said, standing up, too. “I made a good start, but most of this has been sitting here for a long while. Making it wait another morning won’t do any damage.”

“You got it,” I said. “I don’t need the ten.”

“Take the fucking ten. Stop at the coffee shop just across from the Mercantile before you head out. We get a discount, and they make a ridiculously good latte. Yes?”

That face, with its slightly pouting expression, was impossible to resist. So I didn’t. I took the ten, stuffed it in my wallet, and checked for my keys as I walked the distance to my car.

On the way, I spotted Cameron and gestured him over. He was carrying a rubber bucket, and I had no idea what he was doing, but I needed to make sure?—

“Hey,” I said. “If you see Jake, can you tell him I’m just running an errand?” Not leaving.

“He’s sweet on you,” Cameron said with a grin, mocking the way only old teenagers know how to do.

“He is not,” I said, feeling like I was back in high school all over again.

“He is.”

I waited for the punchline to this obvious joke, and it came. Only it wasn’t a punchline.

“When you left the dining hall,” Cameron said. “He watched you goooo.”

That last word was drawn out, slow, torturous, like a ghost announcing that the ship was going down. The last train was leaving, and the bridge was out. That it was all over, me trying to protest, because I was sweet on Jake.

I waved away his comment, thanking him, and pretended that what he said didn’t matter. Then I got into my car and drove the ten miles into town.

Parking was easy for the coffee shop, but I had to go inside because there wasn’t a drive-through, which slowed down the process a bit. Not in a bad way.

The barista was cheerful and made my medium latte promptly, but nothing was rushed. The foam on the latte was from real milk, and after the first sip as I walked out to my car, I could agree with Lucas that the drink was crazy good.

The drive to Denver took a little over two hours. Well, just about three, and that was because I was driving slowly. Crawling home, almost as though I didn’t really want to be there.

The hustle on the highway was sharp and constant. The noise levels rose, and the closer I got to my exit and the underground parking at the Belmont Apartments on Grant Street, the slower I went.

I took the elevator up and opened the door. The air was stale and still. I checked the AC and puttered around, making sure the burners were off and that there wasn’t any water running or pipes leaking. Everything was in order.

I grabbed a suitcase and packed clean clothes, shaving foam, and more sunscreen. My charger. My laptop. All the essentials.

Looking in the mirror at my hair gone all astray and the five o’clock shadow that was proudly showing itself midday, on account of the dull disposable razor I’d used, I paused to replace the two battered butterfly bandages with one new regular one, but it didn’t look quite right, sort of lopsided, like a preschooler had put it on. Still, I needed to get going.

I took the suitcase, locked up, and went down in the elevator to the garage. Threw the suitcase in the trunk and headed back to Snow Creek Ranch.

Of course the drive went quickly, because I had my foot on the gas and became one of those asshats on the freeway who changed lanes all the time, getting in front of the other guy like it was going to get me anywhere any faster. It wasn’t until after Fort. Collins that I slowed down any, and it wasn’t until I’d exited onto Highway 287 that I took my first deep breath.

I could finally relax my hands on the steering wheel by the time I pulled up next to bunkhouse four and parked my car. As I stepped out, leaving the keys right there on the driver’s seat for anyone to take, I drew in a deep breath of the warm, pine-scented air and appreciated the breeze. A low dampness, coming from the creek, perhaps. And the sounds of nothing but birdsong and tree branches rustling. I appreciated it all in a way that I didn’t think I had before.

Chapter 13

Dalton

It was past lunchtime, so I threw my suitcase onto my twin bed, changed into my own jeans, t-shirt, and flannel shirt, put Lucas’ cowboy boots back on, and hurried to the office in the staff building.

“You still stink,” Lucas said by way of greeting. “Did you not shower?”