Page 23 of Heartland
“Watch the thermometer, would you? Keep it off the bottom of the pan.”
“Yes, oh great and wise candymaker.”
She gives me a smile that warms my cold little heart. “I might need a business card that says that.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
“Caramel will always be my favorite. Do you know why?”
I shake my head.
“We didn’t have candy at the Paradise Ranch.”
“Like, none?” She doesn’t talk about that place very often. Neither does Zach, our farmhand, or Leah or Isaac.
“No candy atall. We didn’t celebrate holidays, either. But when I was seventeen years old, I got that job at the Walgreens in town.”
“Yeah. I remember.”
Girls weren’t supposed to have jobs at Paradise Ranch, but she was a special case, because she’d beencompromisedby kissing Zach. As if that makes any sense at all. The place where Chastity and Zach grew up was seriously fucked.
“Mostly I worked the cash register at the drugstore,” she says.
“See? I knew you were quick with numbers.”
She dismisses that idea with a wave of her hand. “Pay attention. So there I am standing in the den of iniquity—Walgreens—and for the first time I’m surrounded by all this stuff I’ve never seen before. Pantyhose. Deodorant. Snickers. Coke. But I don’t have any money. So I sell to strangers all day and just wonder what it’s like to buy those things.”
“You didn’t get paid?”
“My check went straight to my stepfather. I didn’t even have a way to cash it if I’d dared. But I loved the job anyway. Any idiot can scan barcodes and make change. And I was out in the world, eavesdropping on conversations and listening to pop music on the sound system. I wasn’t getting slapped around by my stepfather’s wives or ironing his shirts.”
Christ. That’s a pretty low standard for fun.
“Then, maybe two weeks after I started working there, a kid plunges a Halloween-costume saber into a bag of Rolos. His mom was so mad. She paid for the candy but wouldn’t take it, because she didn’t want to reward his behavior.”
“So you ate Rolos?”
“So. Many. Rolos.” She grins. “I had no self-control. The manager lady thought I was hilarious. She was really nice—Mrs. Cates. The only reason I was finally able to run away was because of her.”
“Really?” I park my butt against the counter because I’ve never heard this part of the story before.
“She was scandalized by the way I had no control over my life. Everyone who works at Walgreens for six months gets a raise, and she paid me the extra money on a Visa gift card. She wanted me to have the money.”
“That’s some sneaky shit right there.”
Chastity’s pretty smile widens. “Do you know how hard it is to hide Visa gift cards in a house where eleven people live, and nobody has locks on their doors? Nowhere is safe. Not the mattress. Not the underwear drawer. I kept them in the potato cellar under a bucket of pickling salt.”
“Oh, please. Daphne learned how to pick the lock on my bedroom door when she was eight years old. All it takes is sliding a credit card into the door jamb. Seriously—when you have a twin sister, you’re literally tempted to hide things in your ass crack.”
“Gross, Dylan!”
We both laugh.
I check the thermometer again. “Time to pour. We’re spiking over two-fifty.”
Chastity turns off the burner. I line up the buttered pan, my mouth watering. “Can I at least lick the spoon when we’re done?”
“Nope. You’re only going to taste the finished product. So you can get the full effect.”
