Mercy Kill_ A Mystery - Lori Armstrong [34]
“I didn’t skip out on ranching duties. I was forced out.”
“You? Forced out? Bullshit. No one can take advantage of you without your permission. Unless you’re drunk.”
Heat flared in my cheeks because that was partially true. “You don’t understand. Jake doesn’t want me there.”
“Sounds like whining to me.”
I froze. “What?”
“Snap out of it. Be a rancher. Don’t be a rancher. But don’t sit on the fence about it. Ha-ha. Fence. Get it?”
“And how am I supposed to do that? Beg Jake to show me how to run the place I own?”
“That’s what eats at you, doesn’t it? You can’t order him to fall in line. So instead of accepting that you’re not in control, you slink away like a whipped pup. Put up or shut up, Gunny. Besides, why would you want to bust your ass outside every day anyway when you have someone to do it for you? Especially when you’ve got a sweet and easy gig like tending bar?”
“Bartending is far from easy. It’s a ton of work for slave wages.”
“Sounds like a government job.” She laughed, and I heard her swallow. “Shit hours at a shit job that don’t pay shit? When’d you turn into a martyr? Oh right, you’ve always been one to suffer for the cause.”
“Fuck off, A-Rod.”
“Think about a change of venue, Gunny. Slaughtering is slaughtering, whether it’s in an abandoned oil field or out on the range. My company would hire you in a heartbeat.”
“I know. But that’s not the life I want.”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”
Neither of us pushed our point. I’d never sign on to be a paid killer; she didn’t see a difference between working for a private “protection” company or for Uncle Sam.
“Look, two hot porn stars are waiting to get it on for me, so I’m signing off.”
“You gonna be okay?”
No answer, which was my answer.
The phone went dead.
I stared ahead, tried to process the conversation. Not the parts about J-Hawk, but what Anna had said about how I’d handled the situation with Jake.
Had I misread it?
Had I become what I hated? A quitter? A . . . whiner?
Only one way to find out.
I staggered into the cabin and set the alarm for four a.m. before I let drunken sorrow drop-kick me to la-la land.
EIGHT
The sky was full-on black the next morning. No moon glow or sherbet blush of sunrise.
My brow was damp as I scaled the porch steps. Shoonga greeted me, tail wagging, tongue lolling, rubbing against me like he’d gone feline.
After I started the coffee, I fed Shoonga—outside. I gulped a glass of water, feeling like a stranger in my own house. The floorboards creaked above my head. Since the noise hadn’t been preceded by a baby’s cry, I bet Jake was up. I poured two cups and stifled a yawn.
Jake looked groggy as he entered the kitchen, but not particularly surprised to see me. “Mornin’, Mercy.”
“How’d you know it was me?”
“Unci ain’t about to haul her carcass out of bed this early, so it was either you or a break-in. I doubted a thief would’ve started coffee.” Jake took a big gulp of the steaming liquid and curled his hands around the mug. “What brings you by at o’dark thirty?”
“We need to talk.”
“I figured.”
No need to beat around the bush with Jake. “Was it all bullshit? The speech you gave me last summer about embracing my heritage and us finding a way to work together since we were both tied to the ranch? Or were you feeding me lines so I wouldn’t sell?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
Jake stared into his coffee cup, avoiding looking me in the eye, so I knew what he had to say wouldn’t be easy for either of us to hear.
“A combination of things. I remembered something Wyatt had said to me right before he died. He warned me not to push you too hard and too fast if you returned. Said you’d burn out quickly and be full of resentment that you’d made the wrong decision.”
Not the answer I’d expected, and I couldn’t contain my skepticism. “Really? You just conveniently remembered that while I was gone?”
His cheeks flushed with color.