Chapter 3: Who the h*ll is Paul Bunyan?

Luke took a long time to come out. He’d probably taken the old man back to bed. When he finally walked outside, I was calm and collected but shivering violently from the cold.

The dog trotted beside him excitedly.

“No, Blue, you’re stayin’ here.” He gave the dog a friendly pat and it laid down sulkily.

He walked past me without looking in my direction and opened the passenger door, then tossed my luggage in the truck bed and walked around to the driver's side.

Luke climbed in and started the engine, and though his anger was palpable, he cranked up the heater and pointed the vents in my direction—a surprisingly thoughtful thing to do.

“Thank you,” I said.

He didn’t respond. We rode in silence for a long time.

“I’m really sorry for the hassle,” I said finally. “But to be fair, on the phone, you were the one who talked me out of staying in Sun Valley and driving here on my own.”

He looked at me and I gave him my best apologetic smile.

“You seemed like a much nicer person over the phone,” he said, looking back at the road.

Ouch! Little did he know that it was, in fact, a much nicer person he’d been talking to on the phone.

He’d been talking to Marcia, my once nanny turned surrogate mother of sorts. When I told her that I’d learned about William, she wouldn’t leave it alone.

She had called and pretended to be me because I refused to reach out to him.

She was the one who had talked me into this whole damn mess. But that was beside the point…

“What the h*ll is that supposed to mean? How am I the bad person in this situation?”

“What you said to him in there… it broke him.” Luke’s voice was shaky and angry.

“Did you fail to hear the part where he clearly knew that he was my father and chose to have nothing to do with me?”

“That’s none of my business,” he replied.

“Well, that’s convenient!” I snorted.

“That man is a good man, and you have no right to walk in there and act like that,” he said, his voice growing angrier.

“Oh, my God! Stop saying that! You have no right to call a deadbeat father a good man!” I yelled.

“I guarantee there's more to the story than that,” he said. “But you’ll never know because you're too damn busy being angry.”

“So, let me get this straight… I’m the bad guy for being angry that an allegedly ‘good man’ had nothing to do with his own kid?” I scoffed.

“Whatever. You know, you are your own worst enemy with that uppity ‘I’m better than you’ attitude you walk around with,” he said.

“What does that have to do with anything? You don't even know me!” I wanted to jump out of that stupid truck.

“I don’t need to, you can see that big *ss chip on your shoulder from a mile away.”

“You know what? You're right, it really is none of your fucking business!” I huffed and turned away from him. Big *ss chip on my shoulder, I thought. Screw him. He doesn’t know sh*t.

Luke turned on the stereo and we rode to town in silence as the speakers played song after song of country music I’d never heard before. It was past 4 pm when we finally pulled into the outskirts of the small town. Luke climbed out of the truck and tossed me the keys.

“You’ll freeze just sitting in here. There’s a diner about half a mile north. Go grab some food and stay warm, I’ll be done in an hour.”

I hadn't eaten anything all day. But I wasn’t hungry. Just eager to get out of that godforsaken town.

“I’m good. Thanks,” I said, staring ahead.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged and walked towards an old white building, disappearing inside.

It was quite chilly, but nothing compared to winter in Chicago. Regardless, I didn’t know how to drive a manual, so I sat shivering, kicking myself for leaving my coat on the plane and for not flying into Sun Valley in the first place.

My phone dinged. I checked it for a signal. Finally, a bar! My lawyer had left a voicemail. She was probably calling to go over the details for my mother’s estate. I’d call her back tomorrow when I was home.

I tried to look at flights but couldn’t get anything to load. I did, however, seem to be able to make phone calls. Maybe Marcia could look up flights for me. Also, I should probably let her know that I was still alive…

“D*mnit!” I said when my call went straight to voicemail. “Hi, I just wanted to let you know that I’m here. But not for long. It didn’t go great. Trying to catch a flight home tonight. My service is terrible here. But try to call me back if you can anyway. Love you.”

I thought about calling my boyfriend, Owen, as well, but quickly dismissed the idea. While the sex was pretty good, the relationship wasn’t. We had an arrangement of sorts. He used me for my lifestyle and I kept him around for company and sex.

As of late, both his company and the sex had left me wanting. Also, he’d become a little too comfortable asking me for money or to “borrow” my credit card. What kind of grown-*ss man asks for money?

I definitely needed to cut him loose. Surely, I was destined to die an old maid. But watching my mother’s miserable marriage all those years definitely made being a spinster more enticing.

This made me wonder why Bill had never married. Maybe it was in my genes.

When Luke returned, I was standing in the bed of the truck digging through my luggage for a sweater or anything to warm me up.

“Did you eat? he asked.

“I can’t drive a stick.” I shrugged.

“Well, you coulda walked.”

“I couldn’t leave my luggage, and I wasn’t hungry.”

He shook his head.

“Well, I am. Mind if we eat before we hit the road?”

I looked at my watch. Almost 5:30 pm, I felt doomed to stay there forever.

But perhaps I could look at flights and let my fingers defrost a bit.

“Sure,” I said, pulling a sweater over my head. “I could eat, I guess.”

I jumped down from the truck and lost my balance, bumping into Luke’s chest. He placed his hands on my shoulders to steady me.

“Sorry, I’m not usually such a klutz,” I said, holding up his keys, keenly aware of his hands still on my shoulders. My teeth chattered loudly from the cold.

“What windy city girl travels without a coat?” he teased. I wasn’t fond of being laughed at. But I was glad he wasn't angry anymore.

“I left it on the plane,” I answered, sheepishly.

Luke rubbed his hands rapidly back and forth on my shoulders to generate some heat, then opened my door and reached behind the seat. He held up what looked like a flannel blanket.

“This should help warm you up,” he said.

I stared, trying to figure out what it was exactly.

“Don’t worry, it’s my dress shirt, I keep it there for special occasions only, so it hasn’t been worn much.”

“A flannel for a dress shirt?” I thought aloud.

“Just like Paul Bunyan…” Luke laughed.

“Okay, I give in. Who the hell is Paul Bunyan?” I relented.

“What!? That is just un-American! From the tall tale!?” he asked, trying to ring a bell that did not exist in my memory bank.

“The tall tale? That sounds about right,” I said mockingly but accepted the shirt gladly all the same.

Even over my thick sweater, the shirt fit me like an oversized robe. I rolled the sleeves up several times and wrapped it around me tightly. It actually smelled quite pleasant, like a cigar shop or fresh chopped wood, and I found myself sneaking an occasional sniff from the collar.