Chapter Text
Just past Victorville Pepper blew a flat. Of course the 2004 Hyundai Accent she had bought used had only a donut for a spare. She had gotten as far as pulling it out and jacking up the car and was scrambling through the glove compartment for the bolt lock when a middle-aged Latino man and his son pulled over and offered their assistance in finishing the job. The father, who introduced himself as Jose, also offered to lead her to a used tire place run by a cousin of his that would stay open late if he called, but it was several miles off the highway to the southwest and Pepper refused to drive even one mile back towards L.A. She assured him she’d take it slow and get the donut switched out the instant she hit Barstow, and he packed her flat back in the trunk for her and told her to be safe.
In Jackson, Wyoming, Pepper ran into a checkpoint that turned her back for her lack of snow chains; she lost half a day to finding a store in town that had chains that fit her tires. Just as she was congratulating herself on navigating that setback one of the chains came loose and she had to pull over to the shoulder to refasten and tighten them again.
But she didn’t truly regret crunching her state-of-the-art iPhone under the heel of her sharpest stiletto until she was driving east on a deserted stretch of highway a few miles past the Wyoming/South Dakota state line. She flicked on her headlights only to find them dim and fading immediately. Then her radio cut out. When she braked to pull to the shoulder, her engine died.
The hazard lights didn’t work either, and the November sunset was failing fast, so after a moment spent banging her forehead against the steering wheel and stringing together her most creative set of curse words, Pepper hopped out to pull the emergency kit from the trunk and set up the reflective triangles. It wasn’t even five o’clock yet, so Pepper decided to stay put and see if she could flag down the next passing car. Her Triple-A membership was good through January, so all she really needed to do was borrow a cell phone.
It took long enough that she was beginning to make pro/con lists for bunking down overnight in the dubious shelter of her backseat versus pulling on as many layers as possible and walking in the cold and dark the four miles back down the highway to Beulah. (Population: 33, and it was toward rather than away from California, but the next town going forward was almost ten miles farther on and Pepper wasn’t an idiot.) The weather report in the motel paper that morning had forecast an overnight low of 24, but it was supposed to be clear, the moon was near full, and Pepper had a reflective windbreaker in the emergency kit. She had just about decided to walk when she spotted headlights coming up the highway from the west.
The headlights belonged to a black F-250 that thankfully flipped on its hazards and pulled over even before Pepper had fully scrambled out to wave her flashlight around. Pepper only got a quick glance of the driver when his cabin lights switched on as he opened his door – a thin Black man, probably a few years older than Pepper herself, wearing a heavy flannel jacket and a cowboy hat – and then he stepped in front of the headlights and became just a silhouette and the sound of booted footsteps on the gravel.
When he got a little closer he flicked on a little LED flashlight hanging from his keychain so that Pepper could see the badge he had pulled from his pocket. “I’m Lieutenant James Rhodes, Spearfish PD. What seems to be the trouble, ma’am?”
For a slightly hysterical moment Pepper considered wailing “Everything,” but she swallowed the impulse. “I really don’t know. I was just driving along when everything died – lights, radio, engine. There wasn’t any smoke or anything, but I haven’t been able to turn anything on since. If you have a phone I can borrow I’ll just call for a tow truck—“
“Eh, we’ll let Mike enjoy his dinner. Sounds like your alternator. We can try giving it a jump, see if we can give your battery enough juice to get you into town if you’d like. I’ve got jumper cables in the back.”
Fifteen minutes later, it was clear that was not going to do the trick. Lieutenant Rhodes slammed the hood and began winding the cables back up. “Well, we’ve got a couple choices. I can call Mike to tow you into town, but it’ll probably be 45 minutes before he can get here with his truck. But if you’re feeling up for a little pushing, I can tow you myself – I just happen to be rigged up with a dolly tonight, and your car’s well under my max towing limit. We could probably have you someplace warm in under half an hour that way.”
Pepper blinked, wishing there was enough light to read the Lieutenant’s expression. But she was cold, and she had switched her sandals for boots while she was waiting for someone to drive by, and men always underestimated her strength, so, “I’ll take the passenger side.”
The Lieutenant maneuvered his truck with ease, and the dolly was low enough that they managed to push her front wheels onto it in one shot, and then Pepper was sitting in the cab of his truck still panting just a bit while he tied her car down and tossed her reflective triangles back into her trunk. When he pulled himself up onto the bench seat Pepper flashed him her most grateful smile, but he seemed distracted, not quite meeting her eyes and tapping his fingers on his steering wheel.
He put the truck in drive and pulled slowly back onto the highway, then pulled out his phone.
Pepper could just hear the ringing over the sound of the engine, and she closed her eyes to better eavesdrop, wondering what the Lieutenant wasn’t telling her.
Two rings and a female voice answered. “And what can I do for a member of our fine police force this evening?”
“Margie, got a bit of a situation here, hoping you can help me out. Last you checked, there any rooms left in town tonight?”
“Oh, honey, did the wife kick you out? You know you’re always welcome to my couch if you need it, and if you give it a bit of thought I bet there’s even some beds around town you wouldn’t be kicked out of. . .”
Pepper could hear the smile in the Lieutenant’s voice. “Nah, don’t need the room for myself, and I don’t need you spreading any rumors either. Picked up a traveler on the 90E, she looks to be stranded for the weekend and needs someplace to bed down.”
“Oooh, that’s a tough one. You could try checking with Dani, but that’s about it – even the Lodge and the Super 8 are all booked up through Sunday night.”
The Lieutenant huffed. “Of course. Okay, thanks Marge. Tell Bill I’ll be by to pick up the trout sometime tomorrow or Monday.”
“Come Monday, I’ll have a couple jars of apple chutney to toss in the basket too.”
“Looking forward to it.”
The Lieutenant hung up, then sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s Family Weekend at BHSU, and there just aren’t enough hotels and motels here to handle the influx of people. Marge runs the town travel agency, so if she says there’re no rooms, there’re no rooms.”
Pepper decided that the Lieutenant was assuming she had been listening in. “And Dani is. . . ?”
“Dani sometimes rents out her upstairs bedrooms since her kids moved away, but I know for a fact she decided to skip this year’s craziness and is off visiting her grandkids right now.”
“Ah.” In the silence, the Lieutenant’s finger-tapping picked up speed.
Pepper was about to ask how far it was to the next closest town with a motel when the Lieutenant spoke again. “I have a spare bedroom, if you feel safe enough with me. Otherwise, we’ll probably have to go all the way to Sturgis to find a place with a vacancy.”
Pepper bit her lip, thinking. Nothing thus far in their interaction had struck her as worrisome – he’d behaved entirely professionally, and with an understated kindness. He was, apparently, married; he hadn’t hesitated to let the woman on the phone know that Pepper was with him. He was a cop, and speaking of – “May I take a closer look at your badge?”
“Of course.” He handed it over and even turned on the cabin light for her.
The badge looked real, given Pepper’s limited experience with law enforcement in general and complete lack of experience with the police department of Spearfish, South Dakota. And in the glances she stole out of the corner of her eye, the Lieutenant’s face showed nothing but patience for her examination, and there were more laugh lines around his eyes than frown lines around his mouth.
Her gut said she could trust him, that she was safe with him. But her gut had been proven catastrophically wrong before, and Pepper felt her heart beating double-time as she imagined what might happen if she said yes and was wrong yet again.
Then the Lieutenant twisted his mouth wryly. “The bedroom door does lock from the inside, and while I can’t loan you a gun, I’m more than happy to give you a can of mace to keep on the bedside table, if that would help you sleep more soundly.”
Pepper found herself giggling. “All right, fuck it. If you don’t mind putting me up, I won’t make you drive me that far out of your way. You have to let me pay you whatever the going rate for a night is, though.”
The Lieutenant’s teeth flashed white in a surprisingly attractive smile. “That really won’t be necessary, ma’am.”
* * *
They turned off the highway and onto what Pepper assumed was Spearfish’s main drag. There was more activity here, not to mention actual streetlights, but even though it was barely 6:30, most of the town already looked shut down for the night.
A couple turns and the houses started getting further and further apart, and then they were meandering down a narrow drive that ended in a gravel clearing in front of a slightly ramshackle Craftsman-style home. There was a big, wrap-around porch well-lit by lanterns, and more of the windows were lit than not, giving Pepper intriguing glimpses of living and dining rooms on the first floor, bedrooms on the second, and a really impressive number of overflowing bookcases.
“Every light on again, of course…” the Lieutenant muttered under his breath, shaking his head and putting the truck into park. Pepper caught just the hint of a dimple around his mouth, and his voice was fond. She felt a little more of her nervousness abate.
The Lieutenant grabbed Pepper’s suitcase from her trunk and held the front door open for her then led her toward the back of the house, pointing out the kitchen and bathroom on the way. A short walk down a dark hallway and he was pushing the door open on something that felt like a spare bedroom even before he turned on the light – it was still and close, and it had that indefinable air of disuse. But when he flicked the light switch, turning on a mismatched pair of lamps that spilled golden light on a neat bed covered in a patchwork quilt, the room felt surprisingly homey.
He settled Pepper’s suitcase against the door of what looked like a closet, then retreated to the doorway. “I’ll let you get settled. Make yourself at home, and I’ll go see if there’s a plan for dinner already.” And then he was gone.
Pepper shed her outer clothes and, after a moment of thought, her boots as well, stowing them neatly in the closet. Nothing in her suitcase needed hanging, so she left it packed for the moment. She flopped down on the bed and stared blankly up at the wood-beamed ceiling, resolutely not thinking about anything the way she hadn’t been thinking about anything since she left L.A.
It took too much willpower, so before doubts and regrets could creep in, she pushed herself back upright and decided to follow the sound of voices back into the main part of the house.
Lieutenant Rhodes was in the kitchen, back to Pepper, head stuck through a further door so he could talk to his wife, presumably. Pepper was just about to clear her throat to let him know she was in the room when he pulled himself back out and spotted her.
He ducked back through the doorway one more time. “Get out here, lemme introduce you to her.”
Pepper heard surprisingly low-pitched grumbling in response, then a man pushed himself through the doorway, ducking under the Lieutenant’s arm to take a look at her.
Pepper knew her surprise showed on her face, so she wasn’t put off when the man narrowed his eyes at her, crossed his arms in front of himself and snuggled defiantly back into Lieutenant Rhodes’s chest. The Lieutenant, meanwhile, had pulled on a deliberately bland expression.
“This is my husband, Tony. Tony, this is. . .” He trailed off, his expression turning embarrassed, and Pepper realized she had never actually introduced herself to him. She shook herself out of her surprise and stepped forward with her hand extended confidently.
“I’m Pepper Potts. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I really can’t thank you enough for putting me up for the night.”
Tony studied her for a moment, then relaxed and took her hand in a firm, warm shake. His hand was rough with calluses and only indifferently cleaned of what looked like engine grease, and Pepper was blindsided by a sense-memory of her father’s big blunt hands patiently taking her through the steps of replacing her broken bike chain when she was twelve.
Dear god she was getting maudlin.
Pepper realized they had been shaking hands for far longer was customary, and she pulled her hand back to her side quickly. Tony grinned knowingly at her, brown eyes twinkling, and pushed himself away from his husband to step into the kitchen proper, striding to the sink to start scrubbing his hands and forearms.
“Not a problem, I never mind taking in Rhodey’s strays.”
Pepper took a deep breath to stop herself from bristling. “Well as I said, I’m very grateful. I’d probably still be sitting on the side of the road if it weren’t for Lieutenant Rhodes.”
Tony made a face, and the Lieutenant spoke from just over Pepper’s shoulder. “Oh, please, call me Jim.” He moved past her to join Tony at the counter. Without any communication Pepper could catch, they began the process of making dinner.
It was fascinating to watch the two men work together. The kitchen wasn’t particularly large, and the space was dominated by an oversized wood island, but they weaved around each other with the subconscious awareness of people who have shared the same space for years, maybe decades. Tony seemed to be in charge of the stove, getting a big pasta pot heating over a high flame, then doctoring a jar of tomato sauce with what seemed like an endless array of dried herbs and spices; Jim wielded a chef’s knife like a pro, dicing neat piles of vegetables first to add to the sauce, then to add to a bag of lettuce for a tossed salad.
Pepper hovered on the other side of the island, running her fingers over the chipped tile of the countertop, and cast about for some way to help. Eyes settling on the dining table in the next room, she asked “What cabinet do you keep your plates in?”
Jim turned quickly, hands still gripping both knife and cucumber. “Oh, that isn’t necessary, you should go relax on the sof—“
“Top cabinet, left of the sink,” Tony interrupted, and Pepper gladly set to work. When she came back from laying out three plates, Tony stretched to tap a particular drawer pull, and inside she found the silverware. The napkins she spotted for herself, stuffed into some welded-together metal brackets serving admirably as a holder, and she was just going to ask where the cups were when Tony stepped in front of her abruptly.
“You any good at wine pairings?”
Pepper felt unaccountably nettled, and lifted her chin challengingly. “Try me.”
Tony flashed her that quicksilver grin again, and turned Pepper to face a low doorway she hadn’t quite noticed before. “Wine cellar’s down there. Sauce’ll be kind of spicy, not a real arrabiata, but definitely hotter than your usual marinara.”
The doorway led to a narrow staircase heading down into pitch black. Pepper reached out to tug the chain hanging from a bare bulb, illuminating shallow wood steps and uneven walls.
As the door swung shut behind her, she heard Jim say exasperatedly, “Really, Tony, can’t you even try to be civil…”
At the bottom of the staircase was a fairly small unfinished basement. Pepper stepped past a deep freezer chest and several shelves stuffed full of a wide selection of jarred and canned goods, and then she spotted the wine racks.
It was a far more impressive selection than Pepper expected, and she had the distinct impression she was being tested. So she took her time, trying to get a sense for the men above her through their taste in alcohol.
The selection definitely skewed Italian, which was unfortunate, because Pepper’s knowledge was deepest in French wines. There was more red than white, and while there were very few bottles that Pepper would have considered expensive, every bottle Pepper recognized displayed a pretty wide-ranging and discerning palate.
Eventually she settled on a fairly inexpensive Sangiovese from a winery she remembered being consistently good, and headed back upstairs.
Tony didn’t go so far as to praise her choice, but he did soften a bit further around the eyes. “Opener and decanter are in the sideboard in the dining room. That one’ll appreciate some time to breathe.” Pepper decided she had passed.
After decanting the bottle, Pepper fiddled with her place settings a bit more, getting everything lined up neatly and evenly spaced, and then Jim and Tony were bringing out the food. At some point Tony must have dropped some meatballs in the sauce, and the pasta and salad were both already tossed and very appetizing against brightly colored ceramic serving bowls. Pepper felt her stomach rumble, and realized she hadn’t bothered to stop for lunch so the last thing she ate was a McMuffin sometime around mid-morning.
Jim must’ve had the ears of a bat, because he clearly heard her stomach’s complaint and smiled down at the bowl he was carrying in response.
“All right, let’s dig in,” was all the grace anybody said, to Pepper’s gratitude.
Nobody said anything for a few minutes, too busy loading their plates and taking their first bites. Then there were the usual pleasantries – “The sauce is delicious” – “The wine really does hold up well against it, good choice” – “Is this vinaigrette homemade?” – but the first real bit of conversation came from Tony.
“So how do you end up being named something like ‘Pepper,’ anyway?”
This was a complication from her unthinking introduction Pepper hadn’t adequately anticipated. Best to go with the truth then. “I was named after my grandmother, but everyone agreed early on that it didn’t suit, and after several other nicknames, Pepper just stuck.”
“But why ‘Pepper’? And is it the spice? The vegetable? Something even more inexplicable?”
Pepper felt an old combativeness well up, but Tony seemed genuinely curious now, not baiting her, so she answered him truthfully again. “I’m afraid I had something of a temper when I was small.”
“The spice then,” and he nodded, satisfied. “To be expected I suppose. You’re a redhead under that high-end dye job, aren’t you?”
Jim was shaking his head helplessly. “Anthony Edward, for fuck’s sake. . .” he muttered half under his breath, then decisively changed the subject. “So where were you headed, when you broke down?”
No reason not to give the truth here, either. “Manitowoc, Wisconsin.”
Tony blinked, shaping the word soundlessly. His face was baffled and maybe slightly appalled. “Why?”
Pepper decided she was going to be amused by Tony. “Why not? Why anywhere? Why Spearfish, South Dakota?”
Tony waved that off, then pointed at her with the hand holding his fork. “I fit here, well enough at least. But you have clearly left places like Manitowoc Wisconsin far behind you.”
Pepper took a long swallow from her wineglass. “No one ever really leaves their hometown behind.”
Jim broke in again. “Do you need to call anyone to let them know you’ve been delayed?”
Pepper smiled at him gratefully. “No, no one’s expecting me.” Then she decided to go on the offensive with Tony. “You may kind of fit here now, but there’s no way you’re from here. So how’d you get here, and where’d you come from?”
Tony waved her question away. “I teach at Black Hills State. You know, you shouldn’t tell complete strangers that no one would notice if you disappeared. I could be an axe murderer.”
Jim had his head in his hands, shoulders shaking slightly with what Pepper suspected was laughter. Pepper just smiled slowly. “I can take you. Your husband promised me a can of mace for just that purpose.”
Tony screwed his face up into a caricature of shocked affront, and he turned to punch Jim in the arm. “Traitor! Betrayal! I cannot believe I have been harboring a snake all these years. . .”
Jim lifted his head and pulled his face into solemn, earnest lines. “I’m sorry, Tony, but your habit is getting out of control. With the ground starting to freeze and all the softer patches in the garden already filled, I’m just not willing to bury another body until next May.”
Tony subsided into grumbling, mouth turned up at the corner, and the rest of the conversation over dinner was light and easy, the sort of inane pleasantries Pepper could engage in in her sleep.
Jim did the washing up and Pepper insisted on drying, so Tony disappeared back into the room he had been in when Pepper and Jim arrived, which looked like a workshop of some sort in the glimpse Pepper caught before he closed the door.
Once the kitchen was clean, Pepper made some vague motions towards being tired, and excused herself to shower and prepare for bed. When she got out of the bathroom, the first floor was dark, and she slipped into the spare bedroom grateful for the release from any further duties as guest.
On the bedside table, positioned directly under the pool of lamplight, was a brand-new can of mace, still in its packaging, with a note written in confident black lines: “Can’t make a liar out of my husband, can I?”