Chapters (43)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Epilogue
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Readers Guide
- QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
He had nothing left to lose, and he wasn’t going to stand here and let Bill twist reality to make himself look good. LJ remembered Stacia’s story too well to believe that crap. She used to live in the same trailer park down the highway. She’d pointed it out to LJ once when they’d driven to town together, told him all about Bill giving her a chance before she knew a spatula from a spark plug.
“If I were white and poor,” LJ said hoarsely, “you’d have admired my guts and given me a job even if I burned every grilled cheese for a month. Even if I could barely change the oil in a truck, much less a tractor. But somehow my kind of poor means my ambition scares you instead of impressing you.”
He took a long step forward.
“You think you know me? I begged my neighbors to take care of my mama so I could come after Andra. My uncle’s been driving on bald tires for six months, and I asked him for every cent he could spare so I could get a plane ticket and not risk my truck breaking down on the way. I landed with eight bucks in my pocket, and when that wasn’t enough for a bus ticket to the ranch, I hung my thumb out to strangers.”
He couldn’t look at Andra. It’d taken him two days of mostly walking to get through what would have been a few hours’ drive, because not too many people were keen to pick up a hitchhiker who looked like him. He’d washed the smell of those days off himself with cupped handfuls of sink water in a gas station, and he’d damned well never planned to tell Andra what he’d had to do to get back to her.
“Why didn’t you call me?” she said, her voice so soft it ached in his ears.
He still couldn’t meet her eyes, didn’t want to remind her of the angry words he’d thrown at her before she left New Orleans. Of what she’d said as soon as he got here. He knew if he’d called, she’d have told him to go home, but he’d dared to hope if she saw him in person, he might be able to change her mind.
Andra reached out and took his hand. Her fingers hesitated when she felt the fresh scabs over his knuckles, and then settled even more gently over the top of them.
LJ stopped breathing for a long moment, afraid of everything that might mean. Or might not mean. Without letting go of her, he stared down her father, because this was the truth. If that wasn’t enough to win her over, he had nothing else.