The Tramp (The Bound Chronicles #1) (25 page)

chapter twenty-eight

Candy sped up the mountain road on her bike, worried she might not catch Sam before he had to leave for work, and she desperately needed to talk to him. She didn’t know why she froze up when she saw him in the hallway with John on Tuesday, but she walked away feeling like someone kicked her in the stomach. The feeling had stayed with her all day. Sam ignored her texts all day, too.

Maybe I should have introduced him to John as my boyfriend.
But, it felt stupid even saying it in her mind. She felt like she should have called him something, though she was kind of glad she hadn’t when he blew her off, right in front of John. Sam had seemed pissed off; surely he didn’t think she was anything more than friends with John?

Maybe she should have called him after the music festival.
But then, he didn’t call me. Not even to tell me how it went with Rachel. What was that about? After I got him the job.

Maybe Sam didn’t care as much for her as she hoped he did, but she wouldn’t know until she could get him alone. Candy hadn’t seen him at school at all and she was starting to feel frantic. She squeezed her eyes shut when she sent her last text,
“please meet me at the palace”

She was so relieved to see his reply that her stomach had unknotted for the first time in days.

“ok”

She spotted Rachel’s truck parked just off the road, where the trail to The Palace could be found if you knew where to look. She parked in a hurry and jumped off her bike, left her book bag in the dirt, and breezed in through the door. “Guess the gig with Rachel is paying off royally—”

She halted in her tracks when she saw Amanda Jameson sitting on the edge of the loveseat, her hands clasped primly on her knees. Sam was leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, his face unreadable.

“Oh hey, Candy.” Amanda made a pretense at surprise, but Candy could tell by the calmness in her tone that she had been expecting her. “What are you doing here?”

“Um,” Candy looked at Sam. He watched the ceiling and sighed in exasperation. “That’s actually a good question all around.”

“Oh, us? My brother Tristan dropped me off to see Lindsay. She wasn’t home yet, so I just took a walk and who did I run into but Sam, on his way here? We’re just hangin’ out. Cool place.”

Sam was shaking his head, “No,” and making a slicing motion across his throat. Remaining irritatingly silent.

“You know what?” Candy heard her voice shake with rage. She reached over and grabbed the box of art stuff she had given Sam, then flipped the lid shut, her eyes embers of defiance. “I’m just picking something up.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not interrupting us. You can stay…”

Amanda’s voice trailed away as Candy stormed out, her heart thudding in her ears and her skin prickling all over. She raced to the road and was on her bike in a flash, ripping her keys out of her pocket and stuffing the art box into her backpack. She slung her bag over her shoulders and started the engine.

Sam was right behind her. “Candy, wait.” He grabbed her arm, clutching it so hard that it hurt. “It’s not what you think.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s not!”

“Why did you just stand there and not say anything then?” She felt the tears springing and her throat swelling.

“I didn’t think you’d want someone like that girl knowing your private business, Candy.”

“I don’t.”

“What about you and that blonde guy?”

“John?”

“Yeah. John.”

“John and I grew up together—he’s been my best friend since we were little.”

“So, why didn’t you ever mention him?”

Candy was at a loss for words. Why hadn’t she? Because all she ever thought about when she was with Sam, was Sam. “Please back away. I don’t want to run you over.”

“Don’t leave like this.”

“And what—stay here, with the two of you ‘hangin’ out’? Forget it.”

“Come on. I’ll tell her to leave.”

“No, you know what? I think I’ll bring a friend next time, too.” She gunned the engine. Suddenly, she didn’t care whether she ran over his foot or not. She tore through the woods and made it to the road before Sam could see her stinging tears.

“Stop crying, you baby,” she choked to herself. The engine sputtered. The gas gauge was on empty.
Perfect.

She was so amped up to see Sam that she hadn’t even noticed she was almost out of gas. She made a U-turn, shut off the bike, and coasted towards her dad’s gas station at the bottom of Hemlock Drive.

“Amanda Jameson, that little twit,” she muttered to herself. Her possessive attitude made Candy’s blood boil.
How dare she act possessive over my Sam?

The wind blew her hair back and she sucked in a few cleansing breaths. Sam was right, of course. She didn’t want Amanda Jameson to know her business and then blab it to the world. What had she wanted Sam to do, exactly? She wasn’t sure, but she knew she hated the way it all went down. She just saw red sometimes, like her blood was raging in her skull, and once it started it was hard to stop.

Now, Sam’s seen the real me—just a touch of my temper. What’s he gonna think?

She swallowed hard and wished more than anything that she could back up and erase the last few minutes. She rounded the last curve and spotted her dad in the parking lot of the station. He was chatting with John.
Crap!

Candy struggled to rearrange her face and thought she painted on a pretty good mask of nonchalance, before her tires crunched in the gravel parking lot and her dad spotted her.

“What happened, Sugar Booger? Forget you need gas to run that thing?”

John turned towards her and waved, “Hey Candy.”

John leaned against the side of his car in a jersey tank and sweat pants, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He had just filled up, by the look of it, and her dad was in the middle of one of his monologues. They had taken the top of the “new” Mustang down and popped the hood. She could hear her dad’s expert suggestions on how to spiff up an old classic. Dad rocked back on his heels and took a last gander at John’s car. “Well, I’ll let you get back to business, but think about that tune-up. I’m sure she needs it, and I’d love to really check her out.”

“Tomorrow after school is good—we’ve got nighttime practice on Thursdays. I’ll drop by.” John shook his hand to seal the deal.

“Good to see you again, son.”

“Good to be back, sir. Oh, and you’ll be at the party Saturday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Candy, you staying?” her dad asked, hesitating in the doorway to the store. “Or just fillin’ up and firing out?”

She wished he’d stop peering at her face, terrified another tear would roll from under her sunglasses any second.
Why does his nice-guy voice always send me over the edge?
“I’ve got lots of stuff to do, Dad.”

“Alright, see you kids later.”

He waved and headed inside, and Candy started breathing again. “Wow, I can’t believe he let us off the hook so fast.” She could usually expect her dad to linger, talking well past the point that everyone else was fidgeting. Her dad never heard finishing clues like, “Okay, well I’ll let you go, then,” or “Well, it was good talking with you.” She often thought maybe he never heard much of what anyone else said.

“He kept mentioning some lady he had waiting inside that was in the middle of a transaction,” John kept his voice low, and raised his hands, palms up, in helplessness. “I was wondering how long she would wait, until she just took off.”

“You gotta admire my dad for being in ownership of all the time in the world. What party?”

“They’re having a welcome dinner for Antonio at the restaurant. An Italian theme, if you can believe it.”

“Whoa, exotic. Real Eye-talian?”

“Yeah, I know. Hey, what are you doing now? I’m picking up Antonio for practice, but we don’t have to be there until 3:00. Got some time.”

“Yeah, early release on Wednesdays is nice, huh?”

“Want to hang out for a while?”

I guess everyone’s “hangin’ out” today,
she thought, her anger simmering just below the surface. “Sure, why not?”

“Hop in. I’ll drop you back by here to get your bike, on our way out,” John said, moving around the car to open her door.

“He’s living at the Walsh’s right?”

“Yeah, and apparently he has the whole guesthouse to himself. I guess they weren’t prepared for hosting him, so he has the bed and breakfast suite until his room in the big house is ready. Sounds like it’s pretty nice.” He closed her door and slammed the hood shut on his way around to the driver side. Without bothering to open his own door, he slid over and in with a practiced slide.

“So Dukes of Hazzard.”

“You like that?” The car roared to life. He gave it some gas and raised his eyebrows in time to the engine.

“Very nice,” she laughed. Laughter was exactly what she needed; she felt her heart rate normalize and her breathing slow almost instantly.

Just before leaving the parking lot, though, John pulled his sunglasses down and frowned.

Oh great. Tear tracks, right?

“You okay?”

“Ugh. Fine,” she said, sniffing and pulling off her sunglasses to wipe at her eyes. He let the car idle, and waited for her to say more. She met his gaze, steady and silent.

“Uh-huh.” He put the car in first gear, pulled out of the station, and started climbing into the mountains. After a few minutes, he asked, “It’s that Sam guy, right? He’s your boyfriend?”

“Yes, it is Sam. And no, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Okay…” Doubtful.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright.” John let the wind fill in, as they drove past increasingly taller trees in the thickening forest of beech, maple, oak and hemlock. They turned onto Forest Lane, and the shade deepened, the air cooler with a faint smell of mossy undergrowth. The trees cleared for a small waterfall and the mist kissed their faces as they passed. “Well, if you do want to talk, I’m a good listener.”

“I know.”
Too good.
Candy squeezed his hand on the gear shifter. “Thanks.”

Before long, they neared the turn-off for the Walsh’s place, which sat back from the road amidst a spacious woodland property. Candy was surprised to see an emerald-green Thunderbird convertible coming toward them down the driveway. To pass, both cars were forced to leave the drive for the relative safety of the grass on either side. Candy peered at the woman in the other car, who raised her gloved hand in a Jackie-O wave. Her hair was protected by a white kerchief, and most of her face was covered by oversized black sunglasses. Candy turned around and watched her disappear around a bend in the driveway. “Was that Charlotte Finley?”

“Who’s Charlotte Finley?”

“Well…I only know her slightly. She’s a cousin from Grandma Catherine’s family—extended family. But, she’s weird. Well, I mean really into that whole Moonshine Mafia thing.”

“Is there a ‘Moonshine Mafia’ in Shirley County?” John parked in front of the guesthouse and pulled the emergency brake. “I’ve been away for too long.”

“I assure you, it’s been going on since way before we were born.” The Finley-Watts story was one she had grown up with, and though it was scandalous and highly gossip-friendly, she enjoyed holding John’s ignorance over his head. John ignorant about anything was such a novelty. “I guess Grandma Pearl never told you that particular bit of town history.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“She isn’t much of a drinker, true. Well, it’s kind of adult information and you haven’t really been back since we were twelve or thirteen. Not for more than a week anyway.”

“Please. Acquaint me.” John was spellbound. He turned off the car and faced her, life’s other trifles forgotten. He leaned forward like a lion ready to pounce.

“I can’t tell you the whole story right now,” Candy bent closer, glancing toward the guesthouse to make sure they were speaking privately. “But, suffice it to say, there are dirty bloodlines galore, crossed and uncrossed by more ties and treacheries than you can imagine. Whiskey has always bought plenty of profit for the backwoods boys, and now there’s much more than whiskey involved.”

John waited for more, but Candy just smiled and opened her door. He sat back against his seat. “Hmph.”

She didn’t miss the light in his eyes, the clinking of the keys John twiddled in his lap. She loved it.
The game is afoot, isn’t it, Sherlock?
“Come on, let’s go in.”

“Yeah, okay.” He narrowed his eyes at the empty rearview mirror—oh, how Candy loved investigative John. He’d probably be scouring the internet later, but for the time being, he shook himself out of it. “Let’s go.”

The door of the guesthouse was painted a deep forest green and set into a wooden log frame, recently stained and lacquered. John rapped on the door and waited. After several moments, Antonio’s muffled voice sounded from inside and he pulled open the door. His friendly smile spread when he realized John wasn’t alone. Before Candy could react, he leaned over and gave her a kiss on each cheek, then a body squeeze. She saw John stifle a laugh at her discomfort over Antonio’s shoulder and she helped stymie it with a glacial scowl.

He gave John a high-five. “Welcome to my house.”

“Uh, could you put a shirt on?” Candy asked, averting her eyes. Antonio was shirtless and barefooted, with jeans that were unbuttoned at the top. He was slim but muscular, and Candy was annoyed to feel a blush blooming up her neck at the sight of the happy trail creeping up his abdomen.

“Sorry, honey,” he said, flirtation personified. “I was not expecting a lady.”

Candy snorted, hoping to sound as unladylike as possible. “Oh, really? Who was that lady we just saw leaving?”

“From Rotary Club,” his voice trailed away, as he went to retrieve his shirt from the bathroom.

John and Candy followed him inside, wandering and snooping. The guesthouse was well-appointed, with a small seating area, a flat screen television and a kitchenette. Looking through the French doors leading to the back deck, Candy could see a wicker table and chair set, with an umbrella, a surrounding garden, and a lovely view of a meadow and the woods beyond. “Boy, did he luck out with this host family. The Walsh place is nice,” she whispered to John.