Love Untamed

by Ra'Chael Ohara

  And the worst question of them all, the one that has emotion clawing my throat, is how did she die? I know she did. Robert’s lawyer told me I’m the only living relative. She died before I ever had a chance to know her, to find out all the answers to the questions I have. The tears should come, but they still don’t. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I fucking shed a single tear?

  After looking through a few more photos, I start to put them back when a white envelope at the bottom of the box catches my eye. I pick it up and read Robert’s name on the front.

  I recognize the handwriting. I don’t get a good feeling. In fact, I get a downright awful feeling. I cautiously open it and what I read makes me sick and makes me understand why Brantley hates me so much.

  It’s not until I read the awful letter three times and spend countless minutes staring at the name at the bottom of the page—My name—that it finally sinks in that my whole life could have been different, that Pearl has not only lied about my adoption, but she went through devastating lengths to keep my blood family from me. I see red.

  My whole life, I did what I was told, dressed how I was ordered, and followed all of Pearl’s rules, always believing she had my best interests at heart, but now I know the truth.

  Before I can think better of it, I’m reaching for my cell phone and dialing Pearl’s number.

  “It’s about time you returned my calls. Honestly, Eva, I know I didn’t raise you to act like such a brat,” Pearl scolds. No ‘hello’ or ‘I’m sorry and have missed you.’”

  “Is it true?” I ask, cutting right to the chase. I know deep down that it is, but part of me is still holding out hope that my whole life hasn’t been a lie, that Pearl isn’t as vindictive as the letter makes her out to be.

  “Is what true, Eva?” Pearl asks in a bored tone.

  “Did my grandpa really send me numerous letters over the years asking to build a relationship with me? Did you really send him that awful letter saying it was from me?” I can barely get the words out without feeling like I’m going to be sick.

  My accusation is followed by a long pause. Then finally, she says in a snippy tone, “Where are you?” All original intentions of keeping my ‘adventure’ a secret fly out the window as the truth flies out of my mouth.

  “I’m in Alaska, visiting the cabin where my grandpa, the only blood relative I had on this earth, used to live before he died without me ever getting a chance to meet him! Now, answer the question, mother. Did you write Robert a letter acting as me? Did you really tell him that I wanted nothing to do with him because he was poor and he disgusted me?”

  After firing all of these questions at her, I’m met once again with silence. “Answer me!” I yell.

  “Yes! Yes, I did.” I suck in a breath at her confession. “I did. I raised you. I’m your mother. I worked my whole life grooming you to be the decent wife you’re going to be to Elliot so we both can live out our lives without having to lift a finger. It was perfect.

  “You had just turned fifteen when that man wrote the first time, claiming he didn’t know you existed. This didn’t surprise me. The state workers told me what a drugged whore your mother was.

  “No matter how hard I tried with you, Eva, you were helpless. I gave you the best of everything, and yet all you wanted to do was read or play with that trailer trash girl you call a friend. I knew that if I showed you the letter from Robert, all the work I had done to secure our future would have been for nothing.

  “So I threw his letter away and never responded, but that didn’t stop him. For the next ten years, his letters would come one after the other. It was when you and Elliot got engaged that I received another letter from him saying he was dying. I knew I had to write back. I saw how unsure you were about the marriage. You would have used any excuse to call the whole thing and run off just like you did, so yes, I told them those things and it worked…until now.”

  Her voice holds no remorse as she tells me all of this. I’m surprised that my phone doesn’t break in half from how hard I’m squeezing it. I’m vibrating with anger, and yet, I’m not surprised. I’m speechless.

  Then I’m not. “How. Could. You? Wait, don’t answer that. I forgot who I was talking to. I’m talking to the same woman who made the only father I had leave because he refused to take a job where he would be unhappy just so you could have more money.

  “Well, Pearl, your plan backfired because I found out. And there is no way I’m marrying Elliot. I don’t want anything to do with you. Do not call me, and do not write. Oh, and one more thing. You were wrong about Robert. You judged him because of where and how he lived. You assumed, because he had a drug addict as a daughter, that he wouldn’t be worthy of our time. If you weren’t so close-minded, you would have learned that Robert was a millionaire. And he left it all to me.” On that parting note, I hit end.

  I numbly stand and walk over to the bed, where I collapse face first. I play through everything I just learned. No wonder Brantley hates me.

  Screw that. He doesn’t know anything about me. He did the same thing Pearl did, judged me by the clothes I was wearing, the way my hair was styled, and my manicured nails.

  I’ll show all of them. I don’t need anyone. Those are the last thoughts I had before I promptly fell asleep.

  Chapter Three

  WHERE IS HE?

  The sun is just setting behind the mountains when I wake up. As soon as I throw off the covers that I must have burrowed under in my sleep, I gasp and hastily throw them back over me. It’s friggin’ cold.

  I silently count to three, then jump out of bed. “Oh my God, it’s cold.”

  I throw on an extra pair of socks and my winter coat when I reach the front door and then make my way to the fireplace, where I confirm what I thought. I ran out of wood and the fire is out.

  “Stupid Brantley,” I mumble. If it wasn’t for him, I would have not been distracted from splitting wood. The gorgeous butthole. I look out the window and see that I probably only have forty-five minutes left of daylight, at best. “That’s probably enough time to at least split enough wood for tonight.”

  After tugging on gloves, a scarf, and a hat, I walk outside, only to take ten steps toward the ax, then stop. In front of me, lined up and neatly stacked where all the un-chopped wood used to lay, is now rows of chopped wood.

  “Brantley,” I growl.

  I know it was him. That prick showed up and chopped all my wood while I was asleep. Now, I know this isn’t something I should be mad about. In fact, I should probably be grateful, but I’m not.

  After everything he said to me earlier, and the truth about Pearl, I’ve had enough. How am I supposed to prove that I can be independent and live the life I want if people keep doing crap I never asked them to do?

  I storm back into the cabin and kick off my winter boots. I pace the living room, fuming. It’s not like he did this to be nice. No, he did this just to annoy me.

  That’s when it hits me. “He wants to annoy me. He wants to drive me out of here and prove himself right,” I yell to myself. I will not let that happen.

  With a new determination, I pull on the first shoes I grab, my knee-high boots, and storm to Robert’s old, rusty truck. The engine takes a couple tries before finally turning over and I get lost a couple of times on my way, but eventually I pull into The Tavern, determined to put Brantley Smith in his place.

  I’m so intent on giving Brantley a piece of my mind that I didn’t notice that The Tavern is significantly more packed than usual, and, by that, I mean instead of one customer, there are ten.

  The heavy wooden door once again bangs shut behind me and calls the attention of every patron at the bar. When I look at the bar, I don’t see Brantley anywhere in sight. Instead I see a man that clearly is related to him, if I’m going by his tall, muscular build and forest green eyes, standing behind the bar. He’s almost as good looking as Brantley. Almost, but not quite.

  “Where is he?” I yell to him from my post by the front door. A
t my outburst, the music cuts off and the bartender’s eyes widen in surprise. If I would have been in my right mind and not overcome with the need to punch Brantley’s handsome face, I would have cared more about the impression I was making to the people of this small town. But, like I said, I needed to punch him.

  I storm across the bar, my heels clicking on the wooden floor with every step, and stop when I reach the bar. Placing my hands on top of the bar, I lean over and repeat my question through clenched teeth. “Where. Is. He?”

  I’m trying to be intimidating, but I fear that it’s not working when he grins. “I’m assuming you’re talking about Brantley, but he’s not here right now, darling.” The fact that he isn’t here for me to punch just pisses me off more.

  “He’s a butt!” I blurt.

  To this, the bartender laughs, showing off a magnificent smile. “I agree with you, darling. He’s my brother and I love him, but he’s icky.” He follows his statement with a mock shiver and a look of disgust.

  I find my anger dissipating a little and I crack a smile. “Ahh. Now, that’s a pretty smile. The name is James. As I stated earlier, I’m the butt’s brother. As much as it saddens me to not be able to have a first row seat to you laying into my brother, he really isn’t here. So, how about you sit on down at this bar. I’ll give you a beer and you can tell me what my brother did to piss you off so bad. Yeah?”

  James’s warm personality and funny sense of humor has me nodding my head. As soon as my butt hits the bar stool, James sets a drink in front of me. It’s not a beer, but a shot of Tequila.

  When I quirk my eyebrow at him, he laughs and holds up his hand in surrender. “Hey, I grew up with Brant, and I figure whatever he did that’s got you all riled up had to be bad. And for that? We break out the strong stuff.”

  “I like the way you think, James. I like the way you think.”

  ***

  “And then, he chopped all of my wood,” I yell to James and Gilbert drunkenly, then down another shot. I’m not exactly sure when Gilbert joined me. I think it was around the tenth time I told this story.

  Through blurry eyes, I can see matching smiles on Gilbert and James’s face.

  “How dare he?” James declares. My eyes widen. Finally! Someone understands me.

  “I know, right? I’m like, how dare you call me a spoiled little princess and then chop my wood!” I look over at Gilbert. “Who does that?”

  When he doesn’t answer me, I grab his t-shirt. “No, really, I mean who does that?” Gilbert, clearly surprised by me grabbing him, pats my hand soothingly.

  “Maybe he was just trying to help, sweetheart?”

  That was the wrong thing to say. Gilbert learns this when I lean in to where our noses are almost touching. “Are you sticking up for him?” I hiss. Gilbert shakes his head immediately, but I can see through his lies. Did I mention I’m drunk?

  I pull my hands away and groan. “Oh no, Gilbert. You can’t stick up for that gorgeous jackass.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart.” Gilbert chuckles. I look at James, who is also laughing.

  “You know, I think it’s because he’s handsome that he thinks he can be mean. I am not a spoiled princess. We need to stand up for ourselves, James, so gorgeous people like Brantley can’t tear us down.” James nods his head an agreement. I take this as empowerment.

  “I say we key his car! Who’s with me?” I yell and jump out of my stool to face the rest of the bar. It’s empty. Huh, when did that happen?

  “I say we don’t do that,” an annoyingly sexy voice growls from the door to The Tavern.

  There he is, Brantley Smith, wearing a tight black and dark blue plaid shirt and dark wash jeans that hang off his hips perfectly. His hair is in that stupid bun. I’m momentarily struck stupid by his sexiness. Every time I’m in the vicinity of this man, my heart rate spikes up and the air gets sucked out of my lungs.

  I don’t know what it is about him. It’s not just his looks. I’ve seen men just as sexy as him. Lie. When he’s near, I feel this magnetic pull towards him. He’s a jerk, Eva, I remind myself.

  “You.” I snap and point my finger at him. The anger in my voice causes Brantley to raise his eyebrows in shock. “I’m gonna punch you!” I stomp over to him while Gilbert and James laugh from their post at the bar.

  “Me? What did I do?” he asks slowly, like he doesn’t know.

  “You chopped my wood!” I accuse.

  “Not cool, bro,” James adds from behind me.

  “You shut it,” Brantley says to James, then looks at me with a smirk. “I did. What are you gonna do about it…princess?”

  “That’s it. I’m gonna kick your ass,” I yell and put my fist up. Unfortunately this is the moment the room decides to spin. I stagger. “After the room stops spinning.”

  I would have fallen on my ass if Brantley didn’t hook my waist and pull me against him. Suddenly unable to hold my head up, I bury my face in Brantley’s hard chest while he asks James why he let me drink so much.

  Damn, he smells good. I look up when I feel his body shake with laughter. “Thanks, babe. Normally I would say the same for you, but right now you smell like you took a bath in Tequila.” Crap, I said that out loud.

  “I wanna go home,” I groan.

  “Come on, princess,” he mumbles and leads me out to the parking lot.

  “Don’t call me princess, and I can drive myself.” I dig my keys out of my purse, only for Brantley to snatch them from me.

  “Hey!” I screech and stomp my feet. I know. Very mature. “Give those back.”

  “No can do, princess. You’re wasted.” Like I don’t know that. The vomit threatening my stomach is a testament to that. I can’t take him calling me princess anymore.

  It’s bad enough to know what he really thinks of me. Every time he calls me princess, it’s like a slap in the face. “Stop. Calling. Me. That,” I hiss.

  I step back when Brantley gets in my face.

  “Why? That’s what you are. A spoiled little princess,” he taunts.

  Shoving him away, I scream, “Yeah, because you know so much about me, don’t you, Brantley? Rich Eva couldn’t give two shits about her grandpa, left him in this godforsaken town to die alone. Only coming up here to sell his land and get her greedy paws on his money, right? Wrong.

  “I didn’t even know I had a grandpa until after he died. I went my whole fucking life with a controlling, vindictive bitch of a mother who thought it would be in her best interest to keep that little tidbit to herself.” I see surprise, then remorse flash across Brantley’s face, but I don’t let that stop me. I’m on a roll.

  I didn’t scream like I should have at Tara and Elliot when I found them having sex. I didn’t give Pearl half as much crap as I should have, but now that I’m finally yelling, finally feeling some kind of emotion other than numbness, I can’t stop. It’s unfortunate that Brantley is the one who has to bear the brunt of it.

  “Eva, sit up straight. Eva, a lady should never cuss. Eva, you can’t play with that girl, she’s trash. Eva, you have to marry Elliot, he’s perfect for you,” I say in my best Pearl shrill. “That’s all I heard my whole life from my mom. Do you know how many times I wanted to just leave my damn legs hairy? But you can’t! How are you ever going to find a wealthy and respectable man if you’re hairy?”

  See, if I wasn’t drunk, I would have stopped at that embarrassing statement, but alas, I continued. “I didn’t want any of that, Brant. I didn’t want the money, the fiancé, or the clothes. I wanted a mom who cared and a man to love me. I wanted to live someplace beautiful, like Alaska, and take pictures. I just wa—” My breath hitches, but I hold my emotions in check. “I just want to belong.”

  I look at the ground, willing my emotions and the vomit to stay back. If I thought the bar was spinning before, that was nothing compared to what the parking lot is doing right now.

  “Fuck, Eva. I-I’m—” He doesn’t finish because I can’t hold my puke back any longer. I retch all over his boots. I
heave so badly, tears unwillingly begin to fall.

  I feel Brantley hold my hair back and rub my back while whispering calming things. Once I’m sure I’m done, I croak, “Take me home, please?”

  “All right, baby,” he whispers back. That’s the last thing I remember.

  Chapter Four

  I AM NEVER DRINKING TEQUILA AGAIN

  I thank the lady at the cash register and make my way out of the Stop and Go with the food I bought. After I woke up this morning and remembered the horribly embarrassing stuff I did and said last night, I came to a couple of conclusions.

  One: I am never drinking Tequila again.

  Two: I must avoid Brantley at all costs.

  I don’t remember everything I said to him, but I remember enough. I also remember the tender look in his eyes when he helped me into bed and the soft kiss he placed on my forehead after he said good night.

  Those memories from last night have been with me all day. It doesn’t matter how many times I remind myself that catching feelings for a man who doesn’t want me, a man who has made it clear that he doesn’t want me here, isn’t what I should be doing. I can’t help myself.

  While walking around Robert’s property with all of that playing through my mind, I decided I was going to take this day to do what I’ve wanted to do since the moment I saw Alaska’s beauty—capture it with my camera.

  I found a trail starting at the back of the property leading into the woods, so I figured packing a lunch and taking a hike, literally, would be the best way to capture Alaska’s beauty and take my mind off of Brantley.

  “Good morning, Eva. You’re looking better this morning.” I jump when I hear James’s voice from behind. Crap, I was hoping I’d be able to get out of here before anyone saw me.

  I turn around to see James gracing me with an amused smile. “Hi, James,” I reply, then duck my head.

  “Don’t do that, darling. No need to be embarrassed. You were a fuck of a lot of fun last night.”