Page 16 of Betrayed

So, cheeks still burning,Iturn to face him.Asnonchalantly asIcan,Islip off undies and throw them in the hamper.UsuallyIwould take a shower, but there’s no time now soIjust step into the fresh pair without trying to hide whatI’mdoing.

I can feel his eyes on me—those pale eyes that aren’t quite gray and aren’t quite blue.Ican’t help remembering how he looked without his shirt.He’sso muscular all over—his muscles have muscles!Seriously, it’s like hugging warm, solid steel whenI’min his arms.

I like his tattoos, too.Hehas one that’s especially interesting on his left biceps.It’sa wolf’s head with the muzzle pointed up—maybe howling at the moon.It’sclear it wasn’t done in a regular tattoo parlor—some of the lines are rough and crude.Butthe tattooist had real talent—it’s like a primitive work of art.

He also has a brand on his left wrist.Mydaddy had one like it, asIrecall.Iwonder if it means anything.WheneverIasked my dad about his, he always said, “That’sfor daddies to know and little girls to find out” and that was all the answerIever got from him.

I think about askingKaneabout his, but what if it’s a scar from prison?Idon’t want to bring back bad memories.

At last,I’mall dressed and ready to go and so is he.

Time for work.IhopeKanelikes it—Iwant him to have a reason to stay.

12

SUNNY

“You know,” he says, afterIfeedMissSassyand we head out the door towardsThePieShop. “IfI’mgoing to stay here,Ineed to get some new clothes.Theseare the only onesIhave.”Henods down at himself.

“Oh,Ican help you with that,”Isay. “Imean,Idon’t have awholelot saved up right now andItry really hard not to live on my credit cards, but?—”

“Hey—no!”Hegives me a horrified look. “I’mnot sayingIwant you tobuyme some clothes—Ihave some money saved up.Infact,I’mgoing to pay you rent whileI’mstaying with you.”

“You will not!”Isay sharply, frowning up at him. “KaneMichaelBlack, you arenotgoing to give me one dime!You’refamily—Iwouldn’t dream of charging you rent!”

He looks taken aback by my vehemence.

“Well…at least let me fix a few things around your house,” he offers at last. “Imean, you’ve got some warping around the front door and some of the windows.Ifyou’d let me replace the wood there, it would be a lot less drafty inside.”

“Hmm,Ilike the sound of that.”Iknow that he worked in the prison’s wood shop for most of his time there.It’san assignment that only the most trusted inmates can get because they have to handle power tools and sharp objects you could use to hurt somebody with.Kanetold me in his letters that they accounted for every tool multiple times a day—just like they counted the inmates all the time, to make sure none of them had escaped.

We get toThePieShopandIlet us in through the back entrance.Mostpeople know we don’t open until seven, but if you turn on the front house lights, people will start showing up regardless of what the sign on the door says.

The kitchen is small, but neat as a pin.Cookiespent some time in the military and he’s a stickler for keeping things clean.ThePieShophas never once failed a health inspection—a fact that we’re all really proud of.AndwhenIsay “we”Imean me andCookieand my best friend,Annabelle, who’s the other full-time waitress.Wehave a few other girls who pick up shifts occasionally and up until last week we had a dishwasher/busboy but he’s gone now—he got a scholarship and moved away for college.

I wishIcould afford to go to college full-time—I’vesaid as much toKanein my letters to him.He’salways very encouraging, telling me he’s sureI’ma great student.Asa matter of fact,Iam, but it’s nice to hear that someone else besides me thinks it.

As soon as we get situated and wash our hands,Iput on an apron.Iput one on my big brother too.

“You sure about this?”Helooks uncertainly down at the frilly pink apron.Ihave to admit, he looks funny—a big, muscular, hardened ex-con in an apron.Buthe has to wear it.

“Yes,I’msure,”Isay firmly. “Youdon’t want to get flour all over yourself—you’re going to help me make pies.”

He looks interested.

“Never made pie before.Mostof the stuffIcooked in prison was freeze-dried and disgusting.”

I know all about the prison food—he wrote about it a lot.That’showIknew he needed a good meal when he showed up yesterday.Thepoor man has been eating slop for the past three years!Well, that ends now.Fromnow on,I’llbe making sure he eats good food.Buthe’s also going to have to learn to make it.

“I have faith in you,”Itell him and go to the walk-in freezer to get out my prepared pie dough.Ifrown whenIsee there isn’t much of it.Iusually make a double batch but this time we used more of it thanIthought.Probablybecause theBlueberryBaconpie was a hit, soIkept on making more.

“CanIhelp with anything?”Kaneasks whenIcome back with an armful of flat dough disks wrapped in plastic.

“Sure—you can help me make more dough—this isn’t nearly enough,”Itell him. “Ineed to drag that big container of flour over to the mixer,”Isay, pointing.

This is one of my least favorite parts of the job.NotthatImind making dough—Icould do it in my sleep.Butthose huge drums of flour areheavy.Andthe metal mixing bowl of the industrial mixer is almost as big asIam—it can be really difficult to deal with.Ican’t lift it, of course.UsuallyIjust scoop out the pie dough untilIget it all out—a time-consuming chore.

But my big brother makes it look easy.Helifts the 55 gallon drum of flour like it weighs nothing at all and brings it over to the mixer.

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