Wild Hearts

by Jessica Burkhart

  Mazy and LG walked quietly and we reached Pam’s place, where I’d left my bike.

  “Tomorrow then,” I said. I leaned over and kissed him. I dismounted and handed him Mazy’s reins.

  Logan waved and I watched him and the horses disappear back into the field. I’d have to double-check that there wouldn’t be anything going on at the job site tomorrow. But what if we couldn’t find the mustangs? We had very few chances to catch them since they had decided to visit the job site more and more. Our windows of time were small and limited by my dad.

  Once I got home I started making a mental to-do list: contact someone about running a fundraiser, browse websites on taming wild mustangs, and call Amy and let her in on the plan. Everything was going to start happening tomorrow. This was big and risky and dangerous. I would be working side by side with Logan. I knew that as long as I followed his lead, I would be safe.

  I tried to walk off the nerves that settled in my stomach. There were a lot of components to this plan. One of the biggest? Not getting caught even breathing the same air as Logan. Jack was still an “enemy” to Dad, and that meant Dad’s dislike of McCoy men didn’t stop with Jack.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Don’t squat with your spurs on.

  Early the next morning, Logan and I rode Mazy and LG to Pam’s to give the place one last look before heading off to find the horses. Last night, I had casually asked Dad about his plans for today. He didn’t give me much, but I knew he wasn’t going to go to work until late afternoon—if at all—today.

  Logan and I turned the horses away from Pam’s and led them into a slow canter toward the job site. A couple of Pam’s dogs ran behind us.

  “No,” I said to them. “Stay home.”

  “Let them come with us,” Logan said. “They might be helpful.”

  As we got closer, it struck me how soon the hotel popped into view. I guess I hadn’t been paying much attention to how quickly the job had progressed.

  We reached the site within a few minutes and carefully walked down the driveway as we looked for any sign that someone from Dad’s crew was here. But everything was quiet. The trailer was dark, none of the machines were moving, and no vehicles were in sight.

  “All clear,” I said as we craned our necks and started looking for the horses. We rode around the perimeter of the property and didn’t see a horse anywhere.

  “Let’s wait over there,” Logan said, pointing to a spot near the trailer where we could see the entire lot, but were semi-hidden.

  After nearly two hours of waiting, we were sweating from the heat, and LG and Mazy were getting restless. “I don’t think they’re going to show,” I moaned.

  “We’ll try again tomorrow, I guess,” he said. “Ready to go?”

  “Yeah. Let’s come back.” We nudged our horses forward and they had barely taken ten steps before we saw the herd, clumped together, emerging from the woods at an ambling walk. They raised their heads to look at us. LG let out a soft whicker and Logan tugged on the reins to silence him.

  “What now?” I whispered. We couldn’t lose them.

  “Wait until they get into the open and then we’re going to ride behind them and let the dogs help us. We’ll move them the same way we came and if one breaks away from the group, let him go. Just keep your eye on the mass herd and stay on the right side.”

  “Okay. Let’s go!”

  I barely had time to take a deep breath before Mazy surged forward next to LG. This was it! The mustangs had a second lead on us as they galloped toward the opposite side of the lot. Mazy accelerated into an even faster gallop. Pam’s dogs shot out in front of us and barked at the herd as they remained in a tight pack and headed in the right direction. The herd didn’t break apart, but stuck together like they were protecting one another.

  Logan charged around the left side and forced the horses to gallop down the lot driveway and they headed across the street and into the open field. Pam’s border collies moved the rushing horses forward.

  Logan dropped behind the herd and I tried to look at him and guide Mazy at the same time.

  “Am I doing okay?” I shouted to him, hoping he could hear me above what sounded like a patch of moving thunder.

  “You’re good!” Logan yelled back, and then he bolted away again. He cut off a group of horses that were trying to break from the pack.

  Logan guided the horses in the direction of Pam’s house. After galloping for several minutes, the horses slowed to a quick canter. They stayed in a tight group and not one even tried to break away from the herd. I didn’t drop my guard, though, and neither did Mazy. I could feel her muscles tensed beneath me as she was prepared to dart in whatever direction necessary.

  We reached Pam’s driveway in a few minutes and the horses surged through the open gate. Pam’s dogs knew exactly what to do: one was stationed on either corner of the gate.

  The horses all rushed at once and there was a chorus of angry squeals and a few horses threw back their heads, teeth bared and nipping at the closest horse to them. Logan took the coiled red cotton lead rope from around his saddle’s horn and waved it in the air at them and they jolted forward again. I held my breath until the final horse made it into the pasture and Logan trotted LG to the gate and closed it with a satisfying clank.

  I dismounted and dropped Mazy’s reins to the ground and ran on shaky legs toward Logan, who had just dismounted and was loosening LG’s girth.

  I threw my arms around him and he spun me around. Laughing, we collapsed in the grass and lay on our backs.

  “I can’t believe that just happened,” I said. “We really did it!”

  “That we did, cowgirl,” Logan said. He sat up and scooted over, lifting up my head and then lowering it into his lap. He took off my cowboy hat and ran his hand through my hair.

  My eyes closed as Logan gently massaged my head. It may have been a small gesture to some, but it seemed intimate and so sweet to me. He did it without me even asking and I loved him for it. It was all the little pieces like that that made up Logan McCoy. The guy that I was in love with.

  I put my hands over his, squeezed them for a moment, and then let go. I sat up and looked into his eyes.

  “I love you, Logan.”

  “I love you, Brie,” Logan said. He leaned forward and touched his lips to mine.

  It felt as though I was on a Tilt-A-Whirl. The grass seemed to be spinning beneath me and the only solid thing to hold on to was Logan.

  So I did. I wrapped my arms around him after we had stopped kissing and rested my head on his chest. The sun warmed my back and the light breeze kept it from being too hot. This moment was perfect. Finally, I let go of Logan and we stood, trying to see any of the horses.

  “It was such a crazy melee that I forgot about the part where we were supposed to grab a few of the younger horses,” I said.

  “I did think about it, but then I decided getting the horses onto Pam’s property was the most important thing.”

  “Agreed,” I said. “We can track the herd anytime to get a few colts and fillies.”

  “That is going to be when the real work begins,” Logan said, shifting his hat.

  “I know.” I slipped an arm around his waist. “We can do this.” I’d have to read the dozen books about working with wild horses that I had ordered from Barnes & Noble last night. I’d made sure no bill for my e-books would go to my parents.

  “Are you worried about your parents wanting to know where you are?” Logan asked as we straddled the wooden fence to watch the horses.

  “Yes, but I’ve got Amy as a cover. The best thing, though, is that my older sister is coming home soon.”

  “Will she be here for our fundraiser?” Logan asked. “I mean, as long as the town council gives us permission.”

  “Not for the fundraiser, but she should be here a week or so before. As long as she doesn’t change her schedule.”

  “We’ll make this work,” Logan said, kissing the top of my head. “We came this
far.”

  “It’s going to be tight to get everything done, isn’t it?” I asked him.

  He nodded. “We should start stockpiling coffee now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Every jackass thinks he’s got horse sense.

  “It’s so bad to say,” I said to Logan, “but lying does get easier. I mean, I’ve been a model daughter. I’m doing chores, putting in hours at Dad’s work site, keeping my room clean, and helping with dinner. Plus, they are both slammed with work, so they aren’t paying much attention to me.”

  I was on my cell by the end of Dad’s on-site trailer and I peeked around the corner to make sure he hadn’t cracked open the door.

  “That’s good,” Logan said. “Keep it that way—stay off his radar. That’s pretty much what I’m doing at home.”

  “I really wish I could tell my dad and know that he would be fine with it,” I said. “But he won’t be. He won’t look at it like, ‘Oh, great. That problem was taken care of. Thank you!’ No, that will not be the case. It will be all about how I lied this entire time about where I’ve been.” I shook my head, frustrated. It drove me insane that Dad kind of did the whole cutting-off-his-nose-to-spite-his-face thing because he always had to be in control of everything.

  “I’ll let you go,” Logan said. “Don’t want you getting in trouble.”

  “Okay. See you in a little bit.”

  I hung up, putting my phone in the pocket of my jean cutoff shorts and heading toward the trailer steps. Whoa.

  Um, when did the complex get exit signs put on each floor? I stared at the building—really stared at it. I knew the blueprint by heart. Four floors. Three residences per floor. One apartment for a live-in supervisor. An office for the manager. A front desk and welcome area. From the second floor up, each residence had a sliding glass door and a small balcony that could hold two chairs and a decent-size table. I knew the drill well enough—soon a decorator would come and furnish all the rooms. Dad’s goal with extended-stay hotels was to make them feel like apartments to the guests. Next to the back of the building was a sauna, hot tub, and pool. The guys had almost finished the last piece of the complex—a quiet room with a fireplace, couches, and coffee and tea machines. It was meant to feel like a giant living room. I couldn’t help but shake my head at the irony. Dad loved designing the quiet rooms, but was never able to stay in one for more than a few minutes before leaving to call someone.

  A wave of panic hit my chest. What if Dad is done early? I asked myself. I took a few breaths. It’s not like you’ve been inside the building, I reminded myself. There’s definitely a ton of work left to do inside. There’s no way they could finish a complex this fast. I shook my head at my irrational, panicky side. I went back into the cool trailer and sat behind one of the business laptops.

  This morning, like every other morning for the past few weeks, I had gotten up at 4:45. I usually worked on stuff for Dad from then until 7:30 a.m., when he and I left to drive to the site. I’d gotten into a comfortable routine of doing as much of Dad’s work in the morning as possible and then spending the time when I was on-site researching new articles about gentling and training of mustangs. Of course, I erased the computer’s history every time I logged off. As far as I was concerned, it benefited both of us: Dad’s work was always done on time and I got to use the super-fast Internet. While I was “working,” I often texted Amy if she was home. If she was working at Watson’s, then she texted me on her break. June was speeding by.

  Amy had done lots of research about raising money, so I’d asked her to help me learn everything we needed to know about presenting a case to a town council and throwing a successful fundraiser in July.

  “All done, Dad,” I said from my spot at the mobile desk. It was just after noon.

  His forehead wrinkled as he looked at me. “Hon, did you miss a few pages? I gave you a lot of changes to make.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. I started paging through the papers just to pacify him. “The website was uploaded with content from this morning. Maybe check and see that it’s all there?”

  “Okay, give me a second.” Dad typed a few words and then started scanning the screen.

  His eyes scanned the site. Again. And again. And again.

  “It’s all there,” he said, with a hint of gruffness in his tone. He smiled and pointed a pen at me. “What coffee are you drinking? I need a cup of that!”

  “I’m not—” I started. “I mean, yeah, you have to try a cup. Beans added a secret recipe something or other coffee to their menu.” I stood, slinging my orange cross-body bag over my head. “I’ll grab you one on the way back from lunch. Oh, wait.” I paused. “I finished the changes for the website.” I put a finger to my temple. “I think that’s all you told me to do today.”

  Smiling, I looked up at Dad. “The site looks great, Brie, thank you. Go have a good lunch.” He smiled at me and turned his gaze back to the computer monitor.

  “If you have more stuff for me to do, I don’t want to waste time by going out for lunch,” I said. I went through the motions of putting my purse back on the entryway card table and sitting back down, hand on the closed laptop lid. “Are you going to e-mail me a to-do list?” I asked Dad.

  His mouth opened, then quickly shut. “Um, well,” Dad started. The tips of his ears turned red like they always did when he was embarrassed. “You know what? I’m going to handle things for the rest of the day. You worked so hard, honey, to get all that stuff done so fast. You and I will get that amazing coffee from Beans tomorrow morning before we come to work.”

  “Thanks, Dad!” I said. “I’m off to Watson’s.” I was up and out the door before he could even think about changing his mind.

  A short while later, I arrived at Pam’s. Logan had managed to separate two horses from the herd last night. The young animals paced back and forth along the round steel pen’s sides. They had worn tracks into the dirt from pacing.

  “I feel so bad for them,” I said, looking from the horses to Logan. “Should we let them go back to their moms? They’re really little!”

  “I know it’s sad,” Logan said. He whisked dust off LG’s shoulder with a well-worn blue bristle brush. “It’s all part of the process, though. They’re both old enough to be weaned. They will stop pacing soon and before you know it, they’ll be romping around and playing with each other.”

  I smiled and reached forward to run a hand down LG’s cheek. “I hope that happens sooner rather than later.”

  “You have the kindest heart of anyone that I’ve ever met.” Logan stepped in front of me, dropped the brush into the tack box, and wrapped his arms around me.

  “You have the most passion of anyone that I’ve ever met.” I stood on my tiptoes to touch my lips against his. His lips were soft and warm. I kissed him deeply and he pulled me closer.

  I broke our lip-to-lip contact, giggling, thanks to LG. Logan turned around to face his horse.

  “Really? That was the most enormous sigh that I’ve ever heard from you,” Logan said, trying to sound stern but not able to keep a grin off his face. “Now, shh.” Logan had his pointer finger pressed to his lips when he turned to me.

  “Do-over?” I asked.

  “Definitely.”

  After a brief make-out session, Logan and I turned our attention to the two young mustangs in the corral.

  Logan had paired me with the stockier filly of the two—a chestnut. I moved a rubber currycomb in circles along her withers. Logan, a few yards away, spoke softly to the pretty paint filly that he was working with. She was backing up away from the fence, pulling on her blue lead rope. Logan tugged twice on the rope and the filly shook her head but stood still.

  I concentrated on rubbing my filly’s withers with the currycomb and watched over her shoulder as Logan continued to talk to his filly and grin as she listened to his commands. She was feisty and one of Logan’s favorites. A week ago, she had almost kicked Logan when he’d tried to brush her flank. Now she got ex
cited when Logan brought the brushes into the pasture. She was one of the first horses to trot up to us. I released my groomed filly into a side corral and helped Logan pick a few burrs out of his horse’s tail.

  My favorite, whom I had named Frogger, looked at me from across the pasture, pricked his ears toward me, and pawed the grass. He was just a bit older than the weanling fillies, and his bay coat shone brilliantly in the sun. He made me smile and he knew it. Frogger took two steps in my direction and let out a shrill neigh. That was one technique he used to get my attention. Another was pacing along the fence line and following my every move with his giant brown eyes.

  “Hi to you, too!” I called to the colt. “See you later.” Logan and I laughed when Frogger shook his head, sending his mane flying. “Sorry if you don’t like it,” I told him. “Go eat!” Frogger stood still and watched me work on the filly for a few more minutes before he lowered his head and went back to grazing.

  A car roared up the driveway. I squinted to look past the barn and then I saw it. Black. SUV. Our Explorer. For a second, I thought that I was about to drop to the ground. I carefully untied the filly and slipped the breakaway halter off her head. She shook out her mane and lowered her head, taking a giant mouthful of grass.

  Part of me wanted to hide. I looked around and it was too late. I was in the tiny corral just off to the front of the stable. The Explorer slammed to a halt, the driver’s door opened and slammed shut so hard that I thought it rattled my teeth. Dad’s face was already crimson as his shoes pounded against Pam’s driveway.

  “Brie,” Logan said, jogging up to me. “Let me go talk to him. I’ll explain what we’ve been doing.”

  “No,” I said. Then Dad would yell at Logan. “I’ll do it.”

  Dad marched up to me and gripped the wooden fence with his hands. “What the hell is going on? I went to Watson’s and Amy was working,” he shouted. The vein in the center of his forehead pulsed. “I was about to get her fired when she finally told me where I could find you. This place is far from Watson’s—where you said you were going to be.”