Page 77 of The Best Kind of Bad

Marnie

The storm dissipates and we both fall asleep. Dusty’s arms have become my new favorite place, but when I wake, he’s already gone.

I go about my day feeling unsettled. This storm left its mark on the town. Branches bigger around than my waist lay twisted and splintered in the middle of people’s yard. Trash cans lay in opposite ditches and here and there, windows are broken out.

I stop at the post office, wondering if it will be open. But the door swings open and I remember the postman’s pledge.Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail shall keep the postman from their appointed rounds.

I wasn’t sure if they’d be open, but I definitely wasn’t expecting to see Jerry Lind standing at the package and tape kiosk. He’s an interesting guy. Just like the first time we met, there’s this pause when he sees me, like he’s looking at a ghost.

And then, business mode flips on and he’s asking me if he can take me to lunch to discuss the land offer.

Will I sell to Jerry Lind? Incredibly unlikely.

I don’t like his approach. I don’t like the way he patronizes me.

But I get the feeling that he knows more about my mom than he’s letting on. It’s all in his eyes. They give him away.

One thing leads to another, and I find myself sitting across from him at a restaurant in Clark. The Go Around. It’s country chic. And the food is good, if a little artery clogging.

I’m listening politely while Jerry drones on about how big his operation is in case we opted to rent instead.

He wants both fingers in the pie. If I sell, he wants the land. If I rent, he wants the land.

I sit back, only half-listening while he tells me about the latest tech they installed in their fleet of tractors.

Nodding calmly, like I’m absolutely interested in tractor technology, I reach down and pick up my purse. Slipping out an old, wrinkled piece of notebook paper, I gently lay it in the center of the table. “Who’s JL?”

His gaze flicks down, doing a double take when he sees the signature. He sits back, studying me from a new angle. His expression hasn’t hardened, exactly, but gone neutral. Flat. “I guess you have your suspicions if you’re showingmethat.”

“Would you like to read it?” I ask, tilting my head. “It’s rather poetic.”

“What are you up to, Marina? I take it you’re not here to talk about farming.”

I try to hide my surprise at the fact that he knows my name. No one has called me that since the day I was born. I was named after my dad’s great grandma. My mom only agreed if they used the nickname only.

Marina. The name sounds strange. Like it belongs to someone else.

He’s trying to throw me off, and it’s not going to work. “I think you’re JL.”

He crosses his legs, hooking an ankle on his knee. Glancing around the restaurant, he confirms that our side of the dining room is empty. No listening ears. No prying eyes. “There’s plenty of JLs in Silver Bend, Marina. That Larson kid’s dad was a JL.”

I wait, watching.

His gaze returns to the love note, something flickering behind those hard blue eyes. “What do you want?”

“Nothing. I just have questions.”

He frowns. “I can’t promise I’ll answer, but you’re free to ask.”

I sit forward, leaning my elbows on the table. “You’re JL?”

He heaves a sigh. “Yes.”

“Why’d you lie when I asked if you dated my mom?”

“I didn’t lie.”

“Read the note, JL. That looks like a note between boyfriend and girlfriend.”

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