Page 25 of Fractured Hearts

“Meet us at the clinic in, say . . . two hours?” Martha looks at Darren, who nods. “Two hours. That gives me time to run home and get that aloe for you.”

I watch them both race off toward a bright yellow SUV. My shoulders relax with each step they take away from my truck.

“The lack of color in your house doesn’t make any sense if it came from that woman,” Jo says, making me bark out a laugh. Silence follows. Neither of us is used to that sound. There isn’t exactly a lot to laugh about right now.

Clearing my throat, I say, “I’ll head inside. Make a list of clothes and sizes. I got blood on the list you made at the house. I’ll grab those next.” I hand her an old receipt and a pen. “It’s still warm enough in the house to wear shorts if you want to keep fabric off your burns.” Jo nods, staring out at the store, probably avoiding looking at me. I get out of the truck, and the only reason I don’t slam the door behind me is to avoid any more attention.

By the time I have the groceries unpacked and Jo set up on the couch with an ice pack on her ankle, it’s already getting dark. We spent more time at the clinic than I had expected. I’m just glad the fall weather made it cool enough to keep the groceries from spoiling in the truck.

Jo forced Darren to look at where she had stabbed me. Now I have six stitches and a headache from Martha lecturing me on good communication skills as her husband sewed my skin back together.

“Did you have to give Martha every detail about what happened this morning?” I ask Jo. She looks up from the book she’s reading. We had to stop at the bookstore when she spotted it. Which is another reason we’re back so late. I offered to try to get her an e-reader, but she said she prefers the smell of real books. Whatever the fuck that means.

Jo glares at me and swipes my beer from my hand, downing half of it in one go. “Yes.”

I glare at her before pulling the second bottle out of my back pocket. The side of her mouth twitches as she tries to suppress a smile. We’ve come to some weird silent truce today. I guess all it took was letting her stab me. We’ll see how long this lasts before I need medical attention again.

“I’m not an idiot,” she says, picking at the label on the beer bottle.

“Never said you were.”

“Martha and Darren seem like the people in town that everyone else turns to. Is that correct?”

I think for a moment. I spent enough time here when I was buying the house and during the renovations to get to know the town and the people. Not well, but well enough.

“I’d agree with that.”

“So it makes sense to endear them to you so that if or when someone from out-of-town comes asking questions, they won’t give you up.”

I stare at her in shock. “I honestly thought you told Martha you stabbed me just to get some sick pleasure out of her laying into me.”

Jo throws her head back and laughs. The sound is almost musical and in such contradiction to her rough exterior. “It was a lovely bonus. I won’t deny it.”

“It’s why you implied you’re running from an abusive relationship,” I say, just now realizing how smart and clever this woman really is.

“It’s a gamble, but I’m hoping that if Patrick comes looking for us, Martha will make sure no one gives us up. What monsters give a victim up to their abuser?” Jo just shrugs like it’s normal to have thought that far ahead after being startled by a stranger knocking on the window of your car. Most people barely think past what pair of pants they’re going to put on when they get dressed in the morning.

No wonder Maverick fell for her.

Nope.

Don’t go there, Ezra. You’re getting along for once.

“Smart gamble,” I admit, begrudgingly.

Jo laughs again, then turns back to her book, effectively ending the conversation.

It’s been one day with this woman, and I’m more confused about her than ever. It would be so much easier to just hate her. Except I’m starting to think that’s not possible.

twenty-three

JO

Ezra and I have worked out a routine in the few days we’ve been here. I read my books or call Harlow while he putters around like an anxious housewife, and I pretend not to notice. He at least warns me if he’s going to be outside messing with windows or whatever he’s checking so he doesn’t get stabbed again. It also hasn’t escaped my attention that the moment I decide to sit on one of the chairs outside, he suddenly has things he needs to do inside.

Whatever. I’m an only child of career-focused parents. I learned to entertain myself before I learned to walk. I’m going to need more books if I’m stuck here much longer, though. I’ve already finished half of the stack I made Ezra buy me on the first day here.

“Here,” Ezra says, dropping a box onto my lap and continuing past me into the kitchen. I still have my ankle propped up, but the swelling is pretty much gone, and I’ve been able to walk without the crutches. Darren told me to keep the brace on for at least another week, but I was healing well. The burns are what really suck right now. They blistered, and some popped while I was sleeping. It’s painful and gross.