Page 7 of Nicks and Cuts

Shannon gave a half-laugh. “That too. I know my job can be a lot, and people do burn out and leave, but I like it. I like helping people.” There were times when he couldn’t do more than hold their hand. His voice softened. “Obviously, I can’t do miracles.”

Dante grabbed a broom and started sweeping the workshop. “So you ditched the ex and ran away from LA. Don’t most people run towards LA?”

“Sure, they turn up hopeful and then wait, tables or wash dishes for years, maybe get a few commercials, or roles as extras, before realizing the business is brutal.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Oh hell no…I was born there because my grandparents went to LA with a dream. I come from a long line of people looking for their lucky break. As soon as I was old enough to tell my parents that I didn’t want to do any more auditions, that was it.”

Dante swept toward him. “So you are a little famous then?”

Shannon gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Over twenty years ago I was in a few print ads, and I was an extra in a few things. No big break.”

His parents had done the right thing and set the money aside for him, which had helped him be able to afford the courses he needed to become a paramedic, not that they’d approved. He also knew people whose parents had not done the right thing.

Of course he’d probably loaned his parents more than that amount over the ensuing years and doubted that he would ever see much of it again. He couldn’t say that his family sucked, because they didn’t, but they certainly did not have their shit together in any capacity. They made him look organized and efficient.

“Practically a celebrity.” Dante managed to crack a smile.

“And what about you?” Since they were trading stories. “How did a soldier end up here?”

“This is my family home.” Dante focused on finishing the sweeping. “I came home after getting injured.”

There was a whole lot of that story missing. Shannon remained silent, giving him the opportunity to expand on that statement. It soon became clear that wasn’t going to happen.

“And what happened after that because clearly it’s no longer a horse-riding school?” Had Dante’s parents retired and gone somewhere else? Did he have any siblings?

Dante swept up the pile of dirt and wood and metal. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard the gossip.”

“I don’t think anyone knows me well enough to trust me with any gossip.” He was the newcomer. The one they were silently weighing to see if he would fit in and stay or if he was going to tuck his tail and go back to LA. He would rather move across the country than return to LA and prove the naysayers right.

“Or you haven’t been talking to the right people.”

“True.” He hadn’t spoken to anyone outside of work, and they were more interested in what he’d seen and done on the job than telling him about the town. He’d been lucky that the HR person had pointed him to the noticeboard where there were business cards for real estate agents and the numbers for a couple of people who rented rooms. She’d been the one to tell him to try Dante first out at the horse-riding school. If she’d mentioned the knives, he’d never have texted. “I haven’t got out much this week.”

Though he had discovered ‘Knots and Pies’ and ‘Don’t go Bakin’ My Heart’, which both made delicious things to eat like pies and cakes and cookies.

“You didn’t arrive early to give yourself time to settle in.”

“I was supposed to have the Pride weekend to myself, but someone was sick, and apparently, I was the only one available.” He hadn’t wanted to make a bad impression by refusing. Not only that, but an extra day’s worth of pay always came in handy. “Nice change of topic by the way.”

Dante grunted and started pulling things off the shelf and setting them on the other workbench. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“I’m pretty observant when it comes to people. It’s part of the job.” It didn’t help that people often tried to lie about what had happened before he turned up. Sometimes they were trying to hide alcohol or drug use, or that they’d skipped taking their medication. Or worse, taking the entire bottle.

“My mother and sister were competing in a horse show; Dad went with them the way he always did. She was younger than me, and I hated being dragged to those shows growing up. I’d give anything to go to one now.”

Shannon knew exactly where the story was going. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dug.”

“You would’ve heard it sooner or later. They were killed by a drunk driver on their way home. He also died at the scene. I was still in hospital. The last time I spoke to them, I was telling them I didn’t know if I’d be sent home or sent back to the sandbox. I was sent home in time for the funerals, then I was medically discharged.

“It’s been five years, and people still refer to this place as the horse-riding school, not ‘Nicks and Cuts’. And I don’t know if I like the way they keep the memory alive or hate the fact that they won’t let me move on. So when you say you’re staying here, I’m sure you’ll hear all about the wounded vet living all on his lonesome on the family property…” He placed the block of wood a little too firmly on the table.

“I’m glad I heard the truth from you. Otherwise, I might’ve stood there and wondered what the hell they were talking about.”

“You could always plead ignorance and see what they say.”

He was now curious about the gossip. “I like that idea. Then I can tell you, if you want to know.”