Heartland (True North #7) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,21
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.”
I let out a sad little moan as she moves the sweet-smelling pot past my nose. “Are we equal partners in this venture or not?”
“Sure, but you’re the one who doubted it would work.”
“I was wrong. Very, very wrong.”
“Heat and patience, Dylan. That’s all it takes. So show me some patience.”
She pours the caramel while I try not to look down her shirt. The swells of her breasts are right there, damn it.
But it doesn’t mean I have a “thing” for Chastity. We’re good friends. And I can’t help that I have eyes.
“Find the sea salt?” Chastity suggests. “The first batch needs some love.”
Don’t we all.
I reach for the salt.
Nine
Chastity
I wake up at dawn in my little bed upstairs in Leah and Isaac’s home. I’m wired to wake up early and not because this is a dairy farm. On the Paradise Ranch, sleeping in was the easiest way to earn a punishment. It meant a smack from my stepfather’s paddle or going hungry at lunch.
Old habits die hard. And not just for me. When I walk into Leah’s kitchen at six thirty a.m., she and Isaac and little Maeve are already there, too. Leah and Isaac are standing side by side at the kitchen counter, drinking tea, while Maeve—their preschooler—sits at their feet chattering to her dolls.
Leah and Isaac are the only couple I know of who ran away from Paradise Ranch together. Leah’s father wanted to marry her off to a fifty-five-year-old man with three wives, and Isaac was so in love with her at seventeen that he couldn’t let that happen.
So they left, picking fruit across the Midwest until arriving in Vermont, where they found year-round work. It took them years to save up enough to buy their little farm. But they did it.