Shit. “He’s like family to me,” I said. “I’m…let’s just say his daughter and I are very close.”
“How close?”
“If something happened to him like what your father is planning, it would kill her. And I need to make sure that doesn’t happen. I’ll do anything to protect her.”
Her eyes brightened. “So you really need my father to let this go.”
“Understatement.”
She pursed her lips and went silent.
I raised my eyebrows. “Where y’all from?”
“Manhattan.”
I grinned. “What in the hell are y’all doing in Big Bend?”
She giggled. “Daddy’s originally from Texas. He’s an oilman. We’re taking a little vacation after he had some meetings throughout the state.”
Now that makes sense.
She whispered then, so softly I could barely hear her, “That problem I need to get out of? I think you and I can help each other.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “How so?”
She leaned even closer to me and started whispering again. And as I listened, I thought—
Hell, this may actually work.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Macey
“Here’s where you stand,” I instruct Gigi as she lines up next to me at the outdoor range of The Cowherd.
I point at the pyramid of beers I’ve set up. “And there’s where you aim.”
Dye sits calmly inside with Rusty at the closest table to the open door while George stands anxiously next to them.
I ignore George’s look. “Oh, have faith in her. They’re not real bullets. She’ll be fine.”
Gigi does look terrified. Those big eyes and that pouty mouth—no wonder Logan fell for her. I could practically fall in love with her, and I can’t stand her.
“Oh, Macey. I thought I wanted to do this, but guns scare me so much. Logan’s father was talking about the deer he killed last night over dinner, and I just couldn’t believe people still hunt in this modern era!”
I’m stuck on the first part of what she said. “You ate dinner with Logan’s parents? How did that go?”
“Great,” Gigi says immediately. “Why wouldn’t it?”
I shrug. “No reason.”
Until he finally quit alcohol for good, Mr. Wild got drunk at the dinner table and fought with his brother, Blake’s dad. Every single night. Usually, it was about money. Sometimes, it was about business decisions. Sometimes, it was just over the cattle themselves. But they were always fighting. And Mr. Wild wasn’t a sloppy, self-destructive, but otherwise harmless drunk like my daddy.
He was a mean drunk. A violent one, mainly with his sons.
Mrs. Wild coped by sipping from a constantly-replenished jug of wine she kept secretly stashed behind the boxes of macaroni and cheese in the pantry. But until they were old enough and could excuse themselves, Logan and his three brothers had to sit in the middle of the crossfire every single dinner. All ignored by their daddy unless someone dared to speak up or do something, like breathe, the wrong way. Then, they were sworn at. Or hit.
Logan always vowed to be different.
I sigh, wondering if he’ll become a father as soon as he says, “I do.”
George coughs loudly. “Mace? Why don’t you start the lesson, huh?”
I jump. “Right. Sorry. Okay, so where were we? This is a shotgun. They’re not dangerous if you know what you’re doing. And I’m going to teach you safely.”
“Don’t they shoot bullets?” Gigi says. “And the bar’s so close.”
“These aren’t lead bullets. Plus, you’re outside in the middle of nowhere, and that over there is a bulletproof wall. Isn’t that cool?”
I pick up my shotgun and tell Gigi to step back before I unlock, aim, and kill the top beer. I shoot the next row down, then lock the shotgun and tell Gigi it’s her turn.
I show her how to square her body to the target, how to hold the gun, how to aim, and how to unlock the safety. I tell her to never, ever put her finger on the trigger until she’s ready to shoot. “Never. You get it? Not ever. Even if it’s locked. Too risky.”
Gigi nods and flares her nostrils. Normally, this would drive me crazy, but even that looks cute on her. She takes her mark, does everything exactly as I taught her, then pulls the trigger.
And…she hits her target.
“Wow,” I say. “You did it.”
She’s so excited she asks if she can do it again. And she does. She hits the next beer. And the next.
She doesn’t miss for four beers. And that’s only because the fifth can falls off the pyramid before the bullet reaches it.
“Beginner’s luck?” George offers up with a glance at me.
I take the shotgun out of Gigi’s hands and lock it down.
She can do anything. She can nearly outshoot me, even.
Gigi giggles and reminds me that I told her we’d go shopping together before her engagement party.
“Since the party’s coming up soon, how about we go right now?” she suggests.
“Um.” I’m already walking away from her to set up more beers for myself plus a cork on top of each one to increase the level of difficulty. “I guess now would work. You should step back inside the bar, though, while I shoot a round.”
As soon as I return to the spot, I set my feet and bring the butt of the gun into the pocket inside my shoulder and rest my cheek against the stock. I release the safety, slide my finger inside the trigger guard, and slow my breathing down. Then, I start to squeeze the trigger.
I wait until the moment between the beats of my heart, and then I shoot. The bullet hits the leftmost cork straight on. Dye cheers, and I immediately slide back the pump and line up to go for the next target. I don’t stop except to reload until I’ve hit all eleven of the remaining corks.
“Wow, Macey.” George whistles. “You’re definitely gonna win again this year. Nobody in town can shoot like that.”
I better win the Hunt County Target Contest because I’m losing the Logan contest to Gigi by a mile.
The contest isn’t between you and Gigi, Macey. It’s between two couples that have nothing—nothing—to do with you.
I turn to Gigi with the fake smile God surely gave me so I could get through this summer. “Ready for the mall?”
I lead Gigi through the mall in San Antonio, but after two hours of looking with no luck, I’m worn out. I’ve learned far more about Logan’s fiancée than I ever cared to, and it’s all made me feel like shit. She’s fluent in French, she went to a private all-girls school since the third grade, she’s in a sorority, blah, blah, blah.
And she’s so much pickier about this gift than I’d anticipated. I pick up a gift for the two of them while Gigi’s in the restroom—a salt and pepper set that I know Logan will hate, but I figure Gigi will like.
As we wander through the last section of the mall, she complains that there’s nothing here that’s right. And then, she sits down on a bench and starts to cry. I sit down next to her and pat her leg uncomfortably.
“I’m sorry we haven’t found anything,” I say. “But it’s okay to wait. Logan will understand.”
“I just want to thank him,” she says.
“For what?” I say.
Her face freezes. “Oh.” She waves her hand in the air. “You know, for putting up with me.”
I clench and unclench my hands.
“Macey, I’m just so stressed about it.”
I don’t know how to help her, so I invite her over for a cup of tea.
As we step into my duplex, I apologize for the mess. “I didn’t plan to have a guest over. Not that that’s an excuse for a messy home. But I’ve never been the tidiest person and I’ve had so much on my mind lately…”
But Gigi’s not even looking at my place. She’s staring at the quilt on my couch. “Oh, how lovely. It matches Logan’s tattoo. What a perfect engagement gift.”
My stomach drops, and I shake my head no, but she’s t
oo entranced by the quilt to see me.
The blanket did come out beautifully. The colors are as vibrant as I’d envisioned, and the red raindrop in the center stands out perfectly against the dark blue and purple hues of the rest of the covering. I always planned to give it to Logan, but I couldn’t decide on a good time. Once he got engaged, nothing seemed appropriate.
“It’s so gorgeous!” Gigi says. “Handspun and everything. And I just love the giant red raindrop in the center balanced by all those smaller raindrops and the sun peeking out from the topmost corner.” She walks over to the quilt and holds it up. “And it’s so soft! Wherever did you find this, Macey? It must have cost a fortune.”
I manage a nod. “It didn’t come without a price, that’s for sure.”
“Well, how much?” She reaches into her purse. “Darn, I only have credit cards on me today. I’ll get you cash first thing tomorrow and bring it by The Cowherd. It’s just the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on!”
I start to say it’s not for sale, but Gigi starts to cry again. “I don’t want Logan to think I don’t appreciate him. I don’t really get why he chose a raindrop for a tattoo, but I can tell it means very much to him.”
I bite my tongue rather than answer her.
“And Logan said the tattoo has some link to his scar. You know, from when he was nearly gored by that mean bull.”
I raise my eyebrows. Well, that’s an interesting parable Logan used to keep her off the truth without completely lying.
Though I can’t blame him for keeping the truth private.
Logan’s daddy was the bull of the family, that’s for sure. And that day, when Logan was sixteen and stood up to his father in the barn while I hid up in the loft and listened in terror, I was certain he’d be gored.
Mr. Wild had found Logan’s paintings. He’d seen them lying around before in the barn, but he’d never seen them while he was drunk.
And he was drunk that day. So drunk he swayed in front of Logan as he demanded that he tear his paintings in half right now or he’d whip him silly.
Logan said no. Mr. Wild said he would do it for him then, and he grabbed the first one in his hands. The paint hadn’t quite dried on the image of Logan and me sitting by the lake with the red sun lighting up the huge sky and Logan’s arm around me. We sat by the lake whenever we needed to get away from our families, whenever we needed space, and whenever we needed each other.
The canvas wouldn’t tear at first try.
But I screamed anyway. I ran down from the loft and shouted at his father to stop.
I needn’t have worried. Logan had already taken the first strike. He pushed his father backward just hard enough to get him to release the canvas in his hands. I picked up the painting and scurried off to safety behind the hay bails. But before Logan could step away, his father rose up, pulled his heavy crucifix off his neck and slapped Logan across the face with it.
I could hear the sound of metal on bone in my head for days.
Logan went to the ground, and blood was everywhere. Everywhere. His father knelt to the barn floor and wept, begging for his son to forgive him.
I stayed where I was and called 911.
And when Logan came home from the hospital with twenty stitches on his face, I brought him a present.
“The bull ring you got out of the gumball machine at the County Fair.” He winced as he grinned at me.
I looked back at him. “Because one day you’ll be the undisputed bull of your family, Logan, and you’ll never treat anyone the way your father treated all of y’all. You’ll be the best bull ever because of what you went through and how you learned to protect what you love.”
Logan pulled me close to him in a hug. “And you’re getting the painting of us by the lake,” he said into my ear. “For standing by me when my father tried to take it.”
“No,” I said firmly. “That painting should stay with you, Logan. I won’t accept it. Because it belongs to you.”
“Okay,” he said. “But someday, I’ll make it up to you.”
Two days after being stuck in a jail cell until he sobered up, Mr. Wild went off to rehab and was there for three months.
He never touched his lips to alcohol again.
And he never struck any of his sons again.
However, until this past spring when Logan drove out West, Mr. Wild kept fighting him to quit on his painting dream.
Remembering all this makes me realize: Logan never will quit on himself. So, maybe it’s time I stop thinking I need to protect him.
Maybe it’s time I let him go so he and Gigi can be happy together.
I refocus my eyes on the duplex and on Gigi in front of me. She’s holding my present. But she’s Logan’s future. I’m his past.
“Gigi,” I say quietly. “Why don’t you just take the quilt? Free of charge.”
I’d have thought I’d be upset, but I want to get away from her so badly I don’t much care at the moment. The pain will come later.
“Oh, thank you, Macey—you’re the bestest!” She leans in and kisses my cheek. Twice—both cheeks, even though I’d told her no before.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gigi leaves my place with a huge smile on her face.
I wait until she’s gone before I slump down against my front door and call George.
He’s known me for years, and he kindly offers to stay at The Cowherd for the next couple of hours so I can take some time for myself. So I do.
My hands are shaking as I sink onto my couch and open up my diary. I have no idea what I’m looking for, but Ginny told me I needed to purge my past. And this is the only constructive thing I can come up with.
I skim through the numerous break-ups and make-ups of my parents until I reach my thirteenth birthday.
After Mama and Daddy renewed their marriage vows in January, the rumor spread that my parents were the soul mates to unlock Jane Austen’s cell door. I have a strong suspicion my mother herself whispered it into the ear of Lindsay Luney. Everyone knows you don’t tell Lindsay anything you don’t want the whole world to know within a half hour, but Mama’s been fantasizing about her and Daddy having the power together to move mountains and “open locked doors.”
Then Daddy started drinking too much again; what else is new. And Mama was a mess. The mess became worse when Daddy got into a fight with one of the bar patrons, so the mayor took away our liquor license. Without any liquor, our number of customers dwindled down to just a handful, and last month, the bank put a lien on our house because we couldn’t pay the mortgage. So we’re all living in The Cowherd now.
Daddy sleeps on one pew in the chapel and Mama on another. My siblings and I stay in the liquor room—Mama set up some old Army cots she got from her brother. The mayor told Daddy he won’t say anything about us using the bar for a residence as long as Daddy can prove by the fall that he is fit to run The Cowherd again the way it’s meant to be run—serving alcohol. So Daddy’s doing part-time rehab, whatever that means, and staying with us at night. At least he can’t be tempted while he’s at the bar because we’re dry.
My breath catches in my throat when I read what I wrote next—
The night after we moved into the bar, once I made sure my three siblings were asleep and my parents sufficiently de-stressed for the evening, I snuck out of The Cowherd at one a.m. to see Logan. He got me a box of tissues as soon as he saw my face, and then he took me to the barn. He said he wanted to sleep out there anyway, to stay safe from his father, who was in a particularly angry mood. We sat in the loft all night, and Logan held me in his arms and ran his fingers through my hair while I cried. He said I was stronger than my parents, and that even though they haven’t been able to make it doesn’t mean I won’t.
I left at dawn to run back to the bar before Mama woke up.
Right as I was leaving, Logan gave me the kiss of my life. With tongue and everything. He leaned down while I was tying my shoes and lifted my head up. Then, he covered my mouth with his. And
this time I finally kissed him back.
And let me tell you, that kiss was worth the wait. It was even worth all the tears I’d cried. I’ve remembered that kiss every night since, whenever I get down.
I slam the diary shut.
The thing about good memories is—you don’t necessarily want to forget them.
So how do I move on when my times with Logan were the best parts of my life?
I reach for my laptop.
I’ll put them into my novel.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Hey, Mace.”
“Hi, Gin.” I put her on speaker phone as I stare into my bathroom mirror and attempt to fix my hair, which has been frizzy all day from the unusually high humidity outside. “Are you coming to The Cowherd tonight? My father has requested your presence. He wants all four contestants to make an appearance on our busiest night of the week.”
“Mama told me. I’ll be there. So will Dave,” she says. “But are you ready for Logan and Gigi’s engagement party tomorrow?”
No.
“I’m trying,” I say.
“We’ll hang out together,” she says reassuringly. “See you soon.”
When I walk into The Cowherd an hour later, the bar is packed. I’m talking wall-to-wall patrons, including my entire family.
I rush over to the bar, pushing Free and Riley aside. “Daddy! You know you’re not allowed near the bar, especially when it’s this crowded and I can’t keep an eye on you.”
“Evan’s here.” Daddy waves to his sober companion standing discreetly between the taps and my father’s stool. “He’s taking care of me. Don’t worry.”
Evan gives me a thumbs-up, and I nod to him in relief.
“Baby, I love your print top.” Mama nods approvingly at my light orange and red spaghetti-strap shirt. “Where did you get it?”
“San Antonio,” I tell her. “This really amazing store that sells all handmade items from Mexico.”
Warrior Girl: A Cowboy Romance (Wild Men Texas Book 2) Page 10