Wild Heart Summer

by Jenny B. Jones

  “I’m kind of busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  Owen grips the ends of his towel. “You’re really confusing me here, Avery.”

  “I’ve missed you, okay?” My cheeks go up in flames as I squeeze my eyes closed and pray when I open them, I’ll be back in the main house—where I should’ve stayed.

  But no such luck. I’m still in Owen’s kitchen, and he’s still half-dressed, though now wearing a hint of a smile.

  “Missed me, did you?” He stands on the other side of the small counter, his hip pressing against the black granite.

  “In a friendly sort of way.”

  “It’s a start.”

  “We can be friends though—right?”

  He rubs the back of his neck, eyeing me cautiously. “I’m not getting manis and pedis with you, but yeah, I guess we can.”

  “It’s strange not seeing your face around here, and I haven’t had anyone to talk to the last few days.” And then there was the inconvenient realization that it wasn’t just anyone I wanted to talk to. It was Owen. Sweet, funny, so-gorgeous-I-lose-all-train-of-thought Owen. It had been mere days, and yet I’d found my eyes constantly scanning for him when I stepped outside. My ears stayed alert for his deep laughter in the lodge when I served meals. I’d missed our conversations, his teasing, and his every thoughtful gesture.

  And now finally here he is.

  Oh, my, he smells amazing.

  “If you need someone to talk to, you could always find Mitchell,” Owen says, pulling me from my errant thoughts.

  I leave that alone. “Dinner was a hit tonight.” I smile sheepishly over my own boasting. “I made burgers and snuck in some garlic mashed potatoes. The kids were asking for seconds.” I gesture to his plate. “Sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

  “Let me get a shirt.”

  Additional clothing seems so unnecessary.

  Owen returns, snapping the pearl buttons on his plaid shirt. He scrounges in the fridge for two water bottles and hands one to me. His knee jars mine as he pulls out the other bar stool and sits beside me.

  Owen lifts the tinfoil lid. “You made a steak for me?”

  “Mitchell said you’ve been out in the rain all night looking for the calf. I thought you needed something more than a cheeseburger.” I take a sip of water and watch him cut into his first bite.

  His eyes close for a brief second as he chews. “This is good.”

  I do so admire a man who could appreciate good food. “Did the calf make it?”

  He stabs at a carrot in his salad. “No.”

  I slide my hand across the counter and rest it on his. “I’m sorry.”

  Owen stares at our hands. “It’s just part of it.”

  “That doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “Those animals are important to me. This whole ranch is.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Yes.” His lips curve in a smile. “We can talk about our feelings then maybe read each other’s horoscopes.”

  “Don’t forget the homemade facials while watching Pride and Prejudice.”

  “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “A novel about a witty girl who wears cool dresses and falls hard for this dashing man even though she tries not to.”

  Owen slices another piece of steak, his eyes hot on mine. “She probably should’ve cooked for him. That would’ve gotten her an instant marriage proposal.”

  “You’re not going to drop to one knee over a steak, are you?”

  “I only pop the question if dessert’s included.”

  I reach into my bag and pull out a baggie of chocolate chip cookies. “They’re still warm.”

  Owen laughs, a sound that makes my soul lighten, then wraps his arm around me, hugging me to him. “Thanks, Avery.”

  He begins to move away, back to the safety of his space, but I hold him fast. “Can we just stay like this for a sec?”

  Owen stills. “Is this what friends do?”

  I nod against his chest. “Can we talk about the other night?”

  His hand trails down my arm. “You did bring me cookies.”

  “I just want you to understand. The last few years have been bad.” My resistance for staying away was diminishing by the minute. “And every time I think it’s getting better, the rug gets yanked right out from under me. I like you, Owen. I do.” Way too much, too soon. “But I’m coming off a bad relationship, and we both know I’m leaving next month. My heart can’t take another fracture.”

  “Aw, Avery.” He wraps both arms around me and presses his lips to the top of my head. “Who says I’d break it?”

  Chapter Nine

  The next week passed with the galloping speed of one of Mitchell’s racehorses. I worked from sunup to sundown, and like Owen predicted, my bone-tired exhaustion soon defeated my insomnia. Any evening the weather cooperated, Owen picked me up after my dinner shift, and we’d go back to the hill to talk and watch the stars dazzle above us in the sky.

  Still just friends, as he frequently reminded me.

  But yet my hand occasionally found Owen’s. And his arm sometimes curved around my shoulders. And sometimes I’d catch him looking at me, and my heart swelled like a balloon filled with helium.

  Tonight we have a new group of guests, and an evening temperature low enough that Mitchell ordered an outdoor movie for the families. There are five new families, and as I stir the popcorn in the fancy popper Owen wheeled out, I watch Mitchell stop and chat with each guest. There’s nothing plastic about the way he interacts with them. He’s in no rush to leave, and I know from Owen that Mitchell will know the name of each guest before the night is over.

  “How’s that popcorn coming?” Owen sniffs appreciatively before sticking his hand in the popper and tossing a piece in his mouth.

  “Hey.” I swat him away. “Where has that hand been?”

  “Up a cow’s hind quarters.” I squirm and laugh as Owen wraps his arms around me tightly. “But it’s mostly hygienic.” He releases me and steps back, his teasing grin firmly in place on that handsome face. “The movie starts in a few minutes. Want to make out in the back row?”

  “Is this what you’re offering me in exchange for popcorn?”

  “If you give me extra butter, I’ll make it worth your while.”

  I glance at the rows of seats—hay bales lined up in front of a white barn serving as a projector screen. “I think I’m going to have to pass.”

  “Afraid of getting a little hay in your hair?”

  “And scaring children.”

  “Good evening.” Wearing a cowboy hat and looking every bit the part of rancher, Mitchell joins us. “What’s this about hay?”

  “Just trying to convince your granddaughter to sit with me during the movie,” Owen says, his face as pure as a tent revival.

  Mitchell laughs. “Why don’t you two turn the popcorn over to me and go start the fire for the S’mores? Those are my favorite.”

  “Maybe Avery could stay here and help you with the popcorn,” Owen suggests. “I can grab Elizabeth or a few of the kids.”

  I send Owen warning messages with my eyes, my mind, and my foot lightly mashing onto his. “I’ve never made S’mores, so I’d love to see that.”

  Owen smiles. “I like to work alone.”

  “That’s all right, you two kids go ahead,” Mitchell says. “I’ve got this covered.”

  This is where I should feel badly.

  And I do. It’s hard to be around Mitchell all the time and maintain my bland demeanor.

  “Oh, say, Avery.” Mitchell waves to a family across the way. “There’s a barn warming dance this Friday night at the Pickens’ place. Everyone at the ranch is invited, of course. I figured it would be your first barn warming, and I’d love for you to go. The ranch will provide the food as our gift to them.”

  “Sure,” I say. “So how many people am I catering for?”

  “None.” Mitchell hands me a bag of popcorn. “
It’s already taken care of.”

  “You’re hiring someone? But I can do it.” It would look impressive on my resume and give me a new challenge.

  “I want you to have a good time at the event. Not work.”

  “Don’t you think I can do it?”

  Mitchell straightens. “Of course. But I’ve hired—“

  “Then let me handle it. I’ll cater the dance.”

  Mitchell considers this. “All right. The job is yours.”

  “Thank you.” I turn to Owen. “Why don’t we go see about those marshmallows?”

  “I think you should reconsider catering the barn warming,” Owen says as we walk to the fire pit.

  “Why?” I sidestep two kids playing tag with water guns.

  “Because Mitchell wants to spend time with you. He can’t do that if you’re working the event.”

  “My job this summer is to get as much culinary experience I can. Do you realize my classmates are currently serving in fancy kitchens all over the globe—Paris, Rome, New Orleans. And where am I? On a farm in Arkansas.”

  “It’s a ranch.”

  “You’re missing the point.”

  “No, Avery.” Owen stops and snags my hand. “You’re the one missing the point. Mitchell’s trying to get to know you, but you go out of your way to avoid him. He wants you to enjoy yourself at the barn warming, and he wants to be able to see that. To maybe even have a conversation with you.”

  “Was I hired for this internship to manage a kitchen or build a relationship with my grandfather?”

  “Can’t it be both?”

  “He screwed up years ago. I can’t fix that for him. I’m not his daughter. I’m not his do-over. And that’s what he wants.”

  “He’s quite aware of the fact that you’re not your mother.”

  I pictured Owen and Mitchell sitting down and talking about this—about me—and I don’t like it. “Stay out of this, Owen. I know you think the world of Mitchell, but you don’t know him like I do.”

  “It’s only fair to both of you that you get to know the man he is now.” Owen gestures to where Mitchell passes out popcorn to a mob of kids. “Does it matter who he was?”

  “Two years ago, I buried my mom by myself,” I say. “It matters.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Elizabeth, I need that jalapeño dip on the table with the pita chips. And see if we need to put out more mini-cheesecakes.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  I ignore my helper’s teasing sass and check the heat beneath the chafing dishes. Some of the food I’d been able to prep days before, but I’d stayed up all last night putting everything together. Mitchell hired a few extra hands, including a few of Elizabeth’s friends, to help set up, serve, and be ready to take any of my commands.

  As I pause long enough to survey the large barn and all the people in it—laughing, dancing, eating—I know it’s all been worth it. The night is a success. Nobody’s throwing away plates full of food. Even the kids are coming back for seconds and thirds.

  A bluegrass band plays from a makeshift stage, and in the spaces not covered by hay bales for eating and talking, people dance, two-by-two.

  “Would you like to dance?”

  I set my platter of spring rolls with my special peanut sauce down and smile at the appearance of Owen. “You look . . .” Gorgeous, beautiful, breath-stealing, heart-stopping, hotter than the Shadow Ranch branding iron. “. . . great.”

  His smile packs more wattage than the hundreds of fairy lights hanging from the rafters above us. Owen takes my hand and spins me around. “And you look beautiful. New dress?”

  “Maybe.” A few days ago I’d been walking in downtown Bentonville, checking out their restaurant scene, when a dress in a shop window caught my eye. A sleeveless cotton dress the color of the raspberries I’d just bought at the farmer’s market, with a flouncy skirt that stopped at my knee. It was a dress made for a Friday night out. Or a waltz across a hay-scattered dirt floor.

  “I like the boots.” Owen maintains his soft hold on my hand.

  I glance at the new cowboy boots on my feet. “They were sitting on my bed when I got back to my room last night. Do you happen to know anything about that?”

  He reaches for a lock of my hair, curled into a loose wave. “Ranch girls needs the right shoes.”

  No gift from Tiffany’s or Rodeo Drive could’ve touched me more. “Thank you.” I lean in and lightly kiss his cheek. “I love them.”

  I forget I have a hundred things to do as Owen captures my hand and brings it to his lips, his blue eyes smoldering. “Save a dance for me?”

  “I . . . ” My heart trills with a song I’m growing powerless to deny. I am crazy about this boy. “I don’t dance.” Wallflower memories use pointy elbows and shove their way past any dreamy thoughts.

  “We can fix that.”

  I don’t know how to dance, and in this barn where every person seems gifted with rhythm and sure-footedness, I definitely don’t want to be the odd cowgirl out.

  Even Mitchell has moves. I watch as he strolls across the dirt floor with Jasmine, one of our ten year old guests, a girl with a blonde wig cut in a flattering bob that looks like it could be her own hair. But those of us at the ranch know it isn’t. Just like we know she loves to dance. And that her single mother is scared. But tonight, with lips curved in joy, Jasmine’s mom watches her daughter standing on Mitchell’s toes and two-stepping to some song about tractors.

  Owen sees it, too. “Mitchell wants to give the families chances to forget about all the bad stuff,” he says, still holding my hand. “Just a week where there’s no concerns about bills, diagnosis, doctors, and what-ifs.”

  “It’s a nice thing to do.” My compliment is about as generous as reaching past the twenty to drop a quarter in the church offering plate. What Mitchell was doing was more than nice.

  “You’re trying so hard not to like him. But admit it, Mitchell’s winning you over.”

  “He’s really not.” Though I have taken to serving his table every meal myself. Just to be polite and get in my daily hellos. “I’m glad you think he’s a changed man, and I hope you’re right. But it doesn’t really matter. I’ll be gone soon, and Mitchell and I will go back to being absent in each other’s lives.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way,” Owen says. “And you’re his only heir. You could be a part of it.”

  “Whoa, slow down.” Like I would want anything from Mitchell. Does Owen think any of my grandfather’s assets are important to me? “I don’t want his property or his money. Why would you even suggest—”

  “Don’t you two make a fine pair.” As if conjured by my shrewish tone alone, Mitchell walks to us. Like most of the men here, he wears his cowboy hat, casting his face in a slight shadow. “Avery, the food is wonderful. No catering company could’ve compared. Thank you.”

  “Glad to do it,” I say lamely. But, in truth, his compliment is sunshine to my heart. It matters what Mitchell thinks. Whether we have a relationship or not, I want him to be proud.

  “Tell me how you made those puffy crab things. And there’s something special in those sausage rolls, isn’t there? Some rogue ingredient.” Brows raised, eyes bright, Mitchell looks as interested as he does when talking cattle.

  I can’t ignore a fellow foodie. “Special olives are my secret for the rolls.” Minutes pass, and I realize I’m still talking, my hand rests on Mitchell’s arm, and Owen is watching it all with a gentle smile on his face.

  “I guess I’ve rambled on.” I have food to monitor. People to serve. “I need to get back to work.”

  “There’s enough help here,” Mitchell says. “The hard work is done, and now it’s time to let your hired help do their thing.”

  “But I really need to oversee the—”

  “I insist.” Mitchell uses the same voice he employs with unruly horses. “You’re officially off the clock.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue with the boss.” Owen is clear
ly on Mitchell’s side in this.

  “How about you take a spin across the floor with an old man?” Mitchell holds out a hand. “What do you say? Then I’ll return to you to this fine fellow here.”

  “I . . .” I don’t know what to say. My mother would not approve. She wanted nothing to do with Mitchell. She definitely wanted me to have nothing to do with him.

  But my mother isn’t here.

  Panic is a kick drum in my head. I can’t dance. I don’t like to dance. People will be watching. And then there’s Mitchell. Who will expect me to talk. Or worse—listen.

  “Oh, shoot.” Mitchell makes a grab for the chirping cell phone in his denim pocket and reads his text. “I need to take a rain check on that dance. Got an issue at one of the corrals that’s gonna require a vet.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Owen says.

  “No, son.” Mitchell claps him on the shoulder. “Your orders are to stay here and make sure my granddaughter has a good time and see her safely home. I’ll take care of the ranch.” He looks to me. “No more work. It’s covered, you got it?”

  “Yes, sir. Good night.”

  I watch Mitchell walk away, a slow process, as he speaks to everyone he passes.

  Owen slides his arm around my shoulders. “You weren’t going to dance with your grandfather, were you?”

  I consider telling him a pretty lie. “No. I wasn’t.” It’s a mix of pity and disappointment that looks back at me. “I’ve only known him for three weeks, Owen.”

  “Three weeks?” His eyes soften as he strokes a hand down my arm. “I think that’s plenty enough time to care for someone.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Be still my heart and every other fluttery part of me.

  Owen slips his hand to the nape of my neck where my hair covers the goose bumps on my flesh. My skin warms beneath his caress.