River Wild Page 3

  On my long journey here, using my new phone, I started looking online at available rentals in Canyon Lake. It was slim pickings. There wasn’t a lot to choose from. They were all either one-bed apartments or three-bed houses, and I need two bedrooms for the baby and me. I would rather not have to take a one-bed if possible, as it would mean having to move again when the baby started to grow.

  So, it felt like fate when I stumbled across a two-bedroom, fully furnished house. The details said that it sat on a quiet residential street and that the house backed onto open forestland, which led through to the Guadalupe River.

  There weren’t any pictures of the house, but I’m not worried about that. It could be a shack, and I wouldn’t care. So long as it’s mine.

  I called the number listed and spoke to the realtor, a pleasant-sounding woman called Marla. She said the house had literally just gone on the rental market, and that was why there weren’t any pictures online yet.

  That was when I knew it was meant to be.

  For a moment, I felt like it was all too easy. Getting away from Neil. Finding this house.

  But then I figured that I hadn’t had it easy for most of my life and especially not the last seven years, so I was owed.

  I asked Marla if I could view the house today, and she said that would be no problem. I did think it’d be best to be honest, so as not to waste my time or hers, and I told her that I didn’t have references, but I could pay cash up-front, which she seemed more than happy with.

  So, my appointment to meet her at the house is at one thirty. The bus was due to arrive here at one, which would give me a chance to get to the house. I pull out my phone to search for the address on Google Maps and see the time on my phone display—1:27.

  Fudge knuckles.

  I didn’t realize the bus was even running late.

  I quickly type the address into Google Maps to see how long it’ll take me to walk there.

  Fifteen minutes.

  I fire off a quick text to the realtor, letting her know that I’m running a little late, and then, hooking my duffel higher on my shoulder, I start walking.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m walking down a beautiful tree-lined street. It’s so peaceful down here. The only sound is from the birds.

  The map tells me the house I’m looking for is near the end of the dead-end street.

  A minute later, I spot the rental sign and the house that sits just beyond that.

  It’s love at first sight.

  It’s an old house, and I love old houses. It’s a little weathered, like myself, but nothing a lick of paint won’t fix.

  It’s single-story, which will be ideal for when the baby is here and crawling around—no stairs to worry about.

  It has a front yard, and after a little gardening, which I enjoy doing, it will be great. I can imagine sitting out here in the front yard with the baby, maybe even chatting with neighbors as they pass.

  I walk up the path toward the front door, and the door opens up just before I reach it.

  “Miss Ford?” an attractive forty-something blonde lady greets me with a glossy-red-lipstick smile.

  I see the moment her eyes catch sight of the now-black bruise on my cheek because her smile falters.

  Shame curdles in my gut. I tilt my head down, letting my hair fall over my face, covering it. “Yes. But call me An—” I catch myself. “Carrie,” I say clearly, scolding myself internally.

  I really need to get used to calling myself Carrie.

  Her smile comes back full force. “It’s nice to meet you, Carrie.” She reaches a hand out, and we shake hands. “I’m Marla. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Would you like to come in and have a look around?” She gestures me inside to the small hallway and closes the door behind us. “Right then, follow me, and I’ll give you the tour.”

  I follow her around the house, a smile on my face the whole time. I probably look like a crazy person, but I don’t care. I’m just so happy to be here.

  The house is perfect.

  There’s a large master that has its own bathroom, and the second bedroom, which will be the nursery, is also a good size and is right across the hall. And the main bathroom is right next door to it. The baby’s room also looks out onto the back garden.

  The house is fully furnished, which means I don’t have to worry about furniture, only a crib for the nursery. And I just need to get some bedsheets for my bed and towels for the bathroom.

  I have a really good feeling about this house. It feels … safe.

  It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

  A home.

  I’m finally home.

  “So, what do you think?” Marla asks me, stopping in the living room, back to where we started.

  “I’ll take it,” I tell her without hesitation.

  She smiles widely, showing me a full set of cosmetically enhanced pearly-white teeth. “Wonderful.” She claps her hands together. “So, I will need at least six months rent up-front, with you not having any references.”

  “That’s no problem,” I tell her.

  “Great. Well, I’ll just go get the paperwork out of my car.”

  While she’s gone, I count out the money that I’ll need to cover six months rent.

  Half an hour later, I’ve signed the lease, and I’m watching Marla as she pulls away in her shiny Audi.

  I step back inside the house and close the door. Locking it behind me.

  Then, I rest my forehead against the door and just breathe for a minute.

  You did it, Annie. You got away from him. Your life starts now.

  I take one last deep breath in before moving away from the door. I go and retrieve my duffel bag and then take it into the master bedroom with me.

  I take out my clothes and toiletries and dump them on the bed. I take a few hundred dollars out and leave the rest of the money in there along with the ID card and birth certificate. I carry the bag over to the small walk-in-closet. I open up the largest drawer in the closet and stuff the duffel in there. I’ll figure out a safer place to keep the money once I’ve familiarized myself with the house.

  I peel my days-old clothes off, turn the shower on hot, and climb in, enjoying the feel of the almost burn on my skin. Washing away my past. The water runs pale red—the remnants of the dye in my hair that I didn’t properly wash out in my rest-stop dye job.

  I’m free.

  Tears join the water, and I watch my past go down the drain.

  I turn the shower off and grab the ratty old towel hanging on the rail.

  I’ll buy some new ones when I go to the store.

  I dry off and brush my hair, leaving it down. I dress in jeans and a T-shirt. I’m going to need some clothes. Preferably shorts, tanks, and cotton dresses.

  I go into the kitchen and make myself herbal tea, using a tea sachet that I got at one of the rest stops. I fill the kettle with water and turn it on, and then I locate the cups while it boils.

  I make my tea, and carrying it out back, I stand on the porch. I rest my elbows on the railing.

  I could do with a chair out here, so I could sit down and enjoy the solitude. But, for now, I’ll stand and enjoy what I have.

  It’s so quiet. I’ve never known peace like it.

  It’s a soothing kind of silence. The kind that wraps you up and cocoons you.

  It’s perfect.

  It’s everything.

  I take a sip of my tea, and then I hear Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” start to play from the neighboring house on my right.

  I love this song. I don’t even care that it’s infiltrated my peace. If anything, it makes me smile.

  My new neighbor has great taste in music.

  Softly singing along to the lyrics, I glance over at my neighbor’s place. I noticed the house earlier. It’s hard not to. It’s huge. It takes up most of the end of the street. It’s a big, old colonial-style house. Without a doubt, it’s the largest house on the street. It has
one of those gorgeous wraparound porches, and the back part of the porch is visible from where I’m standing. I can see into the garden, too, and there’s a pool out there. The garden is about twenty times the size of this one. There’s a brick building, too. Probably a garage or work shed.

  I wonder who lives there.

  A house that size with a swimming pool, they’re definitely wealthy. Maybe they’ve got kids. Young kids would be great because the baby would have someone to play with when it got a bit older.

  Happiness warms my stomach at the thought that I could—no, that I will be here in years, watching my child grow, free of the past, and the baby will never know what my life was like before here.

  I start humming along with Queen.

  Then, I hear a screen door slam shut, and I bring my eyes to the sound.

  There’s a guy out on the back porch of the house. He’s really tall from what I can tell. He has a head full of wavy, dark hair. I catch a glimpse of copper in it when he moves, the sunlight catching and highlighting the russet strands. It’s shaved on the sides and long on the top. His chin is covered in what looks to be a good few days’ worth of stubble.

  Neil would never have stubble. He said it looked scruffy.

  I like stubble and beards. I never told Neil that though. Opinions weren’t something I was allowed to have.

  One of my foster dads, Henry, had a beard. He was my favorite foster dad. A genuinely nice man. His beard was white though. Reminded me of Santa’s beard.

  He died though. He was old, to be fair. After he passed away, I continued living with Sandra, his wife. But then she followed him a year later.

  I think her heart broke the day he died, and it never recovered.

  I was moved to a new foster family.

  So, yeah, beards give me a warm feeling inside.

  From here, I can’t tell how old my new neighbor is. I’d say, definitely under thirty. He has tattoos. Both arms are covered in them. His black T-shirt shows them off nicely.

  Neil didn’t like tattoos either.

  He said tattoos and criminality went together hand in hand.

  Neil still lived in the 1950s.

  As Neil would say, my new neighbor looks like the kind of guy he puts in jail every day.

  That means, he’s probably nicer than my husband.

  Sorry, my ex-husband.

  Wow. That feels freeing, calling him that.

  Not that I’ll ever be able to divorce him. Not without alerting him to where I am, which I will never do. But I’m away from him, and that’s all that matters.

  I’m here, in my new home, starting my new life.

  And my new neighbor is a walking version of everything that Neil doesn’t like.

  It makes me like him instantly.

  My eyes move down to his hands, and I see a book in one and a glass of something in the other. He has what appears to be a cigar case tucked under his arm.

  I watch as he puts the glass and cigar case down on the table. Then, he gets something out from one of his front pockets of his black jeans and tosses it onto the table—probably a lighter.

  Then, without warning, he turns in my direction, catching me staring.

  Fudgesicles.

  I feel my face start to heat.

  I’m going to have to say something; otherwise, I’m just going to look like a creeper.

  I straighten up and lift my hand in greeting. “Hi.” I smile.

  He doesn’t respond. Maybe he didn’t hear me.

  I speak louder this time, “I’m your new neighbor, An—” Fudge. “Carrie. My name is Carrie.”

  I get nothing.

  He’s just standing there, staring at me.

  His eyes are dark and intense.

  And hard.

  Cold.

  A chill slithers through me, all the warmth I was feeling a moment ago disappearing.

  I shift on my bare feet. I don’t know what to do. Do I just go back inside? But that would be rude.

  But he’s being rude, ignoring me.

  Maybe he isn’t actually ignoring me, and he really just can’t hear me from all the way over there.

  I decide to try one last time and yell over, “My name is Carrie. I just—”

  The words die on my tongue when he abruptly turns around and stalks back inside his house.

  The screen door slams so hard behind him that it bounces off the frame, making a loud cracking sound.

  A few seconds later, the music stops playing, leaving me in total silence.

  And this silence doesn’t feel quite so welcoming.

  Carrie

  After my not-so-nice, awkward encounter with my rude neighbor, I decide to take a walk into town to find a grocery store and somewhere that sells bath towels and bed linens. I don’t need to worry about buying a duvet with how warm I am at the moment, which I don’t see changing anytime soon and which will only get worse the more pregnant I become.

  So, I just need sheets, pillows, and pillowcases. And sunscreen. Because I’ll fry like a piece of bacon if I don’t wear it.

  I should get some cover-up for my face, too.

  Maybe that’s why he was rude to me. Maybe he saw this bruise on my face and thought I was some kind of trouble. That I would bring trouble to the neighborhood.

  Well, there’s not much I can do about covering it up now. So, I do the only thing I can. I grab my hairbrush and part my hair over to the side, so it drapes over my eye and covers my cheek.

  Using Google Maps, I start walking in the direction of where it says the closest grocery store is because my feet are my current mode of transport. Hopefully, I can get everything I need from there.

  Maybe I should think about getting a car.

  But that would mean spending more of Neil’s dirty money than necessary.

  No, thanks.

  Get a job first. Then, maybe a car.

  The walk to the supermarket is nice. Canyon Lake is a pretty place.

  It’s leafier than I would have expected for Texas.

  As I near the town center, I spot a diner across the street. Sadie’s Diner, the sign above the storefront says.

  It’s been a while since I last ate, so maybe I should grab some food here before going to the supermarket.

  As I near the diner, I see a sign in the window that says they serve the best pies this side of Texas. I also see another sign in the window that makes my heart lift—Help Wanted: Part-time waitress. Experience preferred but not essential. Smile is a must though. Apply within.

  Okay, so I’ll grab some food here and a job, too, if I’m lucky.

  I pull open the door and step inside the diner. Music is playing in the background. There are a few customers seated at the tables and booths.

  Sweet Lord, it smells like heaven in here. Coffee scent fills the air, but it’s the cherry-pie smell that captures my attention.

  My stomach rumbles its enthusiasm.

  Taking a seat on a stool at the counter, I try to think of the last time I ate out. And I can’t remember.

  We always ate at home. Neil really didn’t like to eat out. He had a thing about different people touching his food.

  I always cooked. Sometimes to his satisfaction. Sometimes not.

  “Order up for table eight,” a male voice calls from the kitchen behind the counter.

  He appears a second later, putting two plates on the serving counter. He looks Latino. His hair is buzzed short. Angular, handsome face. Clean-shaven.

  A waitress comes breezing past me and grabs the plates that the Latino guy, who I’m assuming is the cook, just put on the serving counter. She picks them up, smiling at me as she passes. “I’ll be with you in a minute, hon.”

  “No rush,” I tell her. Picking up a menu from the counter, I start to read it.

  There’s a smile on my face. And that’s because I like it in here. It has a really warm, happy vibe to it.

  The waitress appears back in front of me a few minutes later. “You ready to order?” she cheeri
ly asks me.

  I lift my head from the menu to look at her.

  She has an order pad and pencil in her hand. Her name badge says Sadie. The diner is called Sadie’s. I’m guessing she’s the owner.

  She’s really pretty. About my height, five-six. Older than me. I’d say maybe early thirties. Light-brown hair, which is pinned up. A bright smile on her face.

  That seems to dim when it flickers over my face.

  The bruise.

  Self-consciously, I tilt my head to the side, covering my cheek with my hair. The smile I was wearing just before, gone.

  “Could I get a piece of cherry pie, please?” I was sold the second I smelled it when I walked in. “And a decaf tea, if possible.”

  “Sure. Anything with the pie—cream, ice cream?”

  “Just the pie,” I tell her.

  “You got it.” She smiles again. Not writing down my order. She puts her pad and pencil on the counter.

  I watch as she moves around behind the counter, getting a plate, putting a piece of cherry pie on it for me, and putting it down in front of me along with fresh cutlery.

  “Any sweetener or creamer for your tea?” she asks me as she grabs a cup and makes my tea, using the machine.

  “No, thank you.”

  She puts a teapot, cup, and saucer down next to my pie. “You on vacation?” she congenially asks me.

  I can tell she’s trying not to look at my bruise, and I appreciate that, but honestly, in this moment, I feel tired of hiding it.

  I lift my head, letting my hair fall back. “No, I just moved here,” I tell her.

  “We don’t get many new people round here but plenty of tourists,” she tells me.

  “I can see why. It’s a beautiful place.”

  “Yeah, it is. So, what brought you here? Family? I probably know them. It’s hard not to know everybody in a town like this.”

  I shake my head, cutting a piece of pie. I put it in my mouth and chew, delaying my response. “No family. Just wanted a change of scenery.”

  “Oh. Sure.” She nods, her eyes flickering to my mouth—the cut there—and back to my cheek before meeting my eyes. “It’s a good place to move to. I came here ten years ago for a fresh start.” She pauses, contemplating something.