Wild Heart Summer

by Jenny B. Jones

  “They have no idea,” Owen says.

  “Well, now, I know. And the Mitchell Crawford Scholarship ends today.”

  “How are you going to cover that insane tuition?” Mitchell asks.

  “I guess I’ll have to quit and go somewhere else.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “And I’ll pay you back for the funeral. Every dime.”

  “That was my daughter.” Mitchell’s voice raises and his cheeks flush red. “And I was her father, and by God, nobody is taking that away from me. Her funeral is not yours to pay for.”

  “You didn’t even show up.”

  Owen decides to jump back in. “Your grandfather—”

  “Just stop,” I say. “Stop making excuses for him.” I can barely speak past the lump in my throat. “You asked me to trust you, and I did. I’ve never let my guard down like I did with you. And this—” I sweep my hands and gesture to them both—“this is where it got me. You owed me this information, Owen.”

  His expression hardens. “It wasn’t mine to tell.”

  “It sure wasn’t yours to keep—and I guess neither am I.” A thought slivers in my head, a black, thorn-covered thought. I turn to my grandfather. “Do you know anything about the French restaurant I was supposed to work at this summer?”

  Mitchell says nothing.

  “You arranged for me to lose that internship, didn’t you?”

  “I’m not proud of that,” Mitchell says, as if that erases it all. “But I don’t regret it. I wanted to spend some time with you. To get to know you.”

  The only words that come to mind are vile, crude things that would only bring me to his level. I take three heavy breaths before I can speak. “I will not be manipulated like my mother. Because that’s not love.” If looks were bullets, each man would be writhing on the ground. “I’ll be off this ranch within the hour. And that’s the last I ever want to see of either one of you.”

  My world crashing around me, I walk out of the barn.

  And out of their lives.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Avery! Avery, stop and talk to me.”

  Owen continues to call my name, but I don’t turn back.

  I can’t. I know if I pause for even a second, my heartbreak will spill over, and I’ll flood this ranch in tears.

  Faithful Dolly Parton seems miles away from me, but I walk like the hounds of hell are nipping at my feet.

  “Avery!”

  Finally, I reach for the vehicle and dive in, the plate of cookies taking a tumble to the floorboards. I turn the key and put the thing into motion, but Owen positions himself right in front of me, arms outstretched, like he’s either offering himself up as a sacrifice or daring me to mow him down.

  “Move it, Owen.” I lay on the horn. “We’re deep enough in the South that I can exercise vigilante justice.”

  “Not without going to prison first.”

  I eye him like road kill. “It might be worth it.”

  “Stop that thing and talk to me.”

  “You’ve had two months to talk to me. Two months to tell me all that crap I just listened to. But you didn’t. And you wouldn’t have if I hadn’t walked in on your conversation.”

  “The one that involved me telling Mitchell to tell you the truth?”

  “Yes, your boss. You know, the guy who pays you and orders your every move.”

  He walks closer and slaps the hood. “You’re making a mistake, Avery.”

  “Coming here was a mistake.” I inch the vehicle forward, and Owen retreats. “And so was falling for you.”

  He rips off his sunglasses. “That’s big talk coming from the girl who’s running away—again.”

  My foot nearly slips off the brake. Blood thunders through my veins. “What did you say?”

  “I said you’re running.” Owen says it loud enough for every rooster, cow, and chicken to hear.

  “Were you even in that conversation in there?”

  “I was.” He plants his hands on Dolly Parton. “You want to tell me what your relationship with Mitchell has anything to do with ours?”

  Dear God, give me patience. Because I’m about to run over one of your most beautiful, but clearly dumbest creations. “Are you insane? It has everything to do with us.”

  “You want to cut Mitchell out of your life, that’s your business. It’s a mistake, but it’s yours to make.”

  “Is this the part where you’re trying to win me over? Because you are miserably failing.”

  “I get it,” he says. “You’re scared.”

  My fingers clench the steering wheel. “Scared of how much of a mess this is gonna make.”

  “You’re not just running from Mitchell, Avery. You’re running from us.”

  “There is no us.”

  “You’re using the fallout with Mitchell to leave me, too. It’s convenient, isn’t it? I mean, you’ve been waiting for me to screw up. That’s what you think all guys do. That’s what they’ve done before.”

  “Owen, you better move yourself out of my path before—”

  But he doesn’t. Owen walks right up to the driver’s side and leans dangerously close. “What I feel for you is real. It’s not anything your grandfather orchestrated. It’s not another lie. I’m sorry I kept things from you, but I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Yes, you did.” I jab my finger toward him. “You could’ve chosen me.”

  “I am. Right now.” Owen puts his hand over mine. “Caring for someone means you don’t leave when it gets rough. You stay and work it out. You’re not the only one who didn’t get that from a parent.” His voice lowers. “You think I’m not scared at how fast this is moving? I’ve never felt anything like this before. But I’m not running away from it.”

  “I’m not hearing this. Don’t make this about me when you botched it all up.”

  “You want to bundle me up with Mitchell, you go ahead. But we both know what’s at the heart of your walking away from me. You’re scared. And instead of staying and fighting this out, it’s just easier for you to take off.”

  “I’m not going to stay for someone I can’t even trust.”

  “I would never intentionally hurt you, and you know it.”

  “Really?” Because I’m surprised I’m not bleeding all over the ground. “I think you hurt me pretty good.” I shake off Owen’s hand and look him in the face one last time. “This whole time, you knew all of that, and you never said a word. That’s not caring for someone.”

  “No? Then what do you call it?”

  “Being Mitchell’s puppet.”

  His expression turns thunderous, and I see those eyes lose all warmth. “Is that all you think I am?”

  “Owen, I don’t really have time to figure out who the real you is.”

  He slaps his hand on the frame above us. “You go ahead and run, Avery. Go back to your big city and your poetry-writing boyfriends. And when all that leaves you cold, you remember what you left. What you were too scared to fight for.”

  “And you go back to Mitchell,” I counter. “He’s the one you really love.”

  I peel away, great puffs of brown dust covering the view behind me like a curtain on the final act.

  I turn around one more time and see Owen standing there, framed by the dust. Watching me leave.

  But there’s no going back, no turning this thing around. I’m getting off this ranch and back to freedom. Back to life before Owen, and way before Mitchell.

  I drive that jaunty vehicle down the miles of dirt road, passing two milk trucks, a Ford, and one very confused man in a Chevy. With one hand on the wheel and one on my phone, I call Elizabeth.

  My friend answers on the third ring. “Hello?”

  I promptly burst into tears. And inhale a bug.

  “Avery? Avery are you okay?”

  “No.” I spit indelicately.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I need—” I sputter on a sob—“a favor.”

  “Anything.�
�

  I wipe away my very last tear. “Take me to the airport.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “What do you mean there are no flights out to New York? What about Newark?” Sitting in a gas station parking lot, I hold the phone to my ear and watch for Elizabeth’s car. Dolly Parton doesn’t come with air conditioning, so sweat trickles down every part of my body like a final insult. “Nothing until tomorrow?” I needlessly repeat the words of the customer service agent in my ear. “But what if—no? Okay, but if you looked for a Red Eye flight to—” I let her interrupt me one more time because her story is the same. There are no flights out of the small local airport today. I slump lower in the seat, taken down by heat, defeat, and an abundance of anger. “No, I don’t need help purchasing a ticket for tomorrow. Thank you.” I click the phone off and stare at the convenience store doors. From the signs posted, the place sells beer, frog legs, and live bait. Perfect for a deep-fried fishing afternoon. Not so great for a complete life meltdown.

  Just as I’m considering going in to trade someone my sob story for a slushie, Elizabeth’s old Ford sedan wheezes and grunts into the parking lot. Even though my friend wears hot pink sunglasses big enough to cover most of her face, I can see her worried frown from here.

  “What happened?” She hops out of her car and approaches Dolly Parton and me. “You look like death.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You got mascara running down your cheeks like leaky marker and—” She waves her hands in my general direction— “you’re covered in sweat.”

  “You took your sweet time getting here.”

  “It’s happy hour at the dairy barn. Had to stop for a half-priced shake. I bought one for you, but then I ran into the captain of the football team and—”

  “Can we please get out of here?” My bottom lip quivers, my throat tightens, and I know I’m not through with the water works after all.

  Elizabeth pushes her glasses on top of her head. “How about we start with you telling me why you’re going to the airport.”

  “Because everything fell apart. My whole life is a lie.”

  Her head tilts with pity. “Last time I heard that my cousin James asked to be called Juanita.”

  “I walked in on Mitchell and Owen talking in the barn.” I fill her in, stopping long enough to wipe my drippy nose and swat away two mosquitos.

  At the end of my story, Elizabeth’s face is grim. “That moron.”

  “I know.” I don’t know if she’s referring to Mitchell or Owen, but either way she’s spot on. “I can’t get a flight out until tomorrow morning. Unless you want to drive me to Dallas.”

  Elizabeth glances back at her rusted car. “Not unless you want to push us all the way there.” She envelopes me in a quick hug. “Get in the car. I’m taking you to my house. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  “Someone with a jet?”

  “No,” she says. “But he does have wheels.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Storm clouds begin to move in and follow us, as if my horrible day conjured them into existence. Elizabeth drives us through Sugar Creek, winding through a neighborhood of ranch-style homes that probably saw their better days when Reagan occupied the Oval Office and hair bands ruled the FM airwaves. She pulls into a cracked driveway leading to a red brick home. The yard needs a good mow, but otherwise the house is tidy and ready for its closeup with freshly painted shutters, landscaping that lines the front walk, and a pristine, white mailbox bearing Elizabeth’s last name.

  “Come on in inside,” she says.

  I schlep behind her as we step into a living room with sunny yellow walls and a giant TV blasting a soap opera.

  A man sits in a wheelchair, his frame thin, his posture bowed. “Hey, Lizzie, girl.”

  Elizabeth leans down for his kiss on her cheek. “Brought you a chocolate shake.”

  “Extra chocolate?”

  “You know it.” She fusses with the sparse hair on top of his head. “Avery, this is my dad, Ben.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I stick my hand out, but find he’s not reciprocating.

  “My arms are a little numb today,” he says. “But it’s nice to put a face to the name. Elizabeth’s told me all about you. Our meals around here were good, but they’ve sure improved since she’s been working with you.”

  My first ray of sunshine today. “Thank you.”

  “She says you’re dating our Owen.”

  “I’m actually going back to Manhattan tomorrow.” I’ll spare Ben the gory details. “So I don’t think Owen and I will be seeing each other again.” This seems more polite than saying, “I want to claw Owen’s eyes out, forget Mitchell exists, and walk all the way back to New York.”

  “Well.” Ben gives his daughter a none-too-subtle side-eye. “I’m sure everyone on the ranch will miss you. I know Elizabeth will.”

  “Speaking of Owen,” Elizabeth says to her father, “he said to tell you he’ll be by to mow tomorrow on his day off.”

  “That boy takes good care of us,” Ben says.

  Elizabeth gestures toward the TV. “What’s the latest with Anna and Rafe today, Dad?”

  He sighs. “Anna’s demon-possessed evil twin is back, and Rafe just found out he accidentally fathered those two kidnapped children.”

  “This love stuff.” I plop my body onto the couch. “It’s just never easy, is it?”

  We finish watching Malibu Longings with her father, then Elizabeth pulls me back to her bedroom.

  “You and your dad seem really close.” I settle into a chair by her desk.

  “We’ve had to rely on each other.” She sits on her quilted bed and pulls her legs beneath her. “He has MS. We have lots of good days, but occasionally we have a bad one. We couldn’t make it without the help of our friends.”

  “Like Owen mowing the yard.”

  “Like that,” she says. “How are you going to get your stuff from the ranch?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t really think that through when I drove off in an ATV named after a busty country star.” I scroll through my phone searching for tomorrow’s flight. “I just know I want to go home.” The very word home clangs in my spirit like a penny hitting the bottom of an empty well. “Are you sure you’re okay with me sleeping here tonight?”

  “You can stay as long as you want. But I really think you should talk to Owen.” She holds up her phone. “He’s texted me nonstop for the last hour.”

  He and Mitchell had both attacked my number with calls and texts too. “I’m through talking to them. The day I arrived in Sugar Creek, I told myself to keep my distance. I should’ve gone with that instinct.”

  “Owen’s got it bad for you, you know.”

  “It’s over. And it’s time for me to get back to my life.” I flick off a small bug stuck to the dried sweat on my arm. “But first, I need to take a shower. Can I borrow some clothes?”

  Elizabeth rises from the bed and helps me pick out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. “The bathroom’s the second door on the left down the hall.”

  “Thanks, Elizabeth.” I hug my friend tightly. “You saved me today.”

  “Okay.” She gives me a small pat. “You stink.”

  I muster the energy to smile and, with my change of clothes under my arm, I reach for the doorknob.

  And my world teeters and tilts.

  My hand drops as I move closer to the bulletin board hanging on the wall before me. It’s decorated with photos spanning years and generations. I stare at the faces smiling back at me from their frozen tableaus.

  “That’s my mom.” Elizabeth stands next to me and points to a faded picture. “She and my dad never married. She lives in Los Angeles.”

  “Do you ever see her?” The words are automatic, polite. Because I’m too focused on the other photos to even hear her answer.

  “Nah. She started a new life in California. I’ve only seen her twice.”

  Now it’s my turn to point at a photo. “This is your dad.” The you
ng man stands tall without the assistance of a wheelchair, his smile beaming. “And this looks like—”

  “Owen,” Elizabeth says. “The one-year-old my dad is holding is me. The lady in the wedding dress holding the bouquet is Owen’s mom.”

  “Owen’s your stepbrother? I’ve been on the ranch all this time and nobody thought to mention this?”

  “Former stepbrother. Our parents married when Owen was seven, but it only lasted three years. When my dad started getting sick, Maria took off. I don’t think anyone even knows where she is now. Owen’s dad was never in the picture, so he went to live with his grandpa after that.”

  My battered heart ached for Owen, even though I was still furious with the boy. “And then he started working at the ranch.”

  “Been there since he was twelve. That’s about the time we started finding cash under our welcome mat on the first Friday of every month. My dad says when it started, it was just a few dollars. But as the years went on, the amount got big enough that it would come in a cashier’s check from the bank.”

  “The money was from Owen?”

  Elizabeth nodded with a wry grin. “I finally caught him when I was about ten. Owen doesn’t just send us money though. He comes by all the time to check on my dad, bring us meat from the ranch, or to see if the house needs any repairs. Last week he fixed a leaky faucet.” Her pink nail taps another picture. “This one’s the day we got our house about six years ago. My dad couldn’t work, but he kept getting denied for disability. We’d been living in this one room apartment over someone’s garage.”

  “Owen bought the house?” What kind of money was he making on that ranch?

  Elizabeth laughs. “No, take another guess. He refused to get in the photo with us, but he was there.”

  “Mitchell.”

  “One day this fancy white Cadillac pulled into the driveway. Out steps Owen and this man in a cowboy hat. Mitchell’s pretty much a celebrity around here, so I knew instantly who it was. They came into our apartment, sat down on our ratty couch, and Mitchell told my dad he’d hired an attorney to pursue his disability. Then Mitchell said he had a rent house that was just sitting empty, and he needed someone to occupy it until he found some good renters.”