Wicked Hearts (Poplar Falls Book 3)

by Amber Kelly

  Copyright © 2020 by Amber Kelly

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative Covers

  Cover Image: Michaela Mangum, Michaela Mangum Photography

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  Proofreader: Judy Zweifel, Judy’s Proofreading

  Formatter: Champagne Book Design

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Other Books

  About the Author

  To my aunts.

  The woman I am is a result of the love, strength, integrity, and faith you all poured into me. When I look in the mirror, I see all your faces reflecting back at me.

  Elowyn

  Three Years Old

  I hold Braxton’s hand tightly as we walk into the living room of the big house full of people. It’s loud, and I’m scared. I don’t know any of them, and I just want to go home.

  They put my mommy and daddy in the ground today. Planted them like flowers. I don’t know how long it will take them to grow back out of the ground, but I sure hope they hurry up. I miss them.

  I tug on Braxton’s sleeve, and he looks down at me.

  “I have to go potty,” I whisper.

  “Okay. Hold it just a minute.”

  He looks around, and when he spots our mommy’s sister, he calls to her, “Aunt Madeline. Elle needs to go to the bathroom. Where is it?”

  She sets the platter she is holding down on the table and heads our way when a soft voice behind us speaks, “I’ll take her, dear. You can finish what you’re doing.”

  I turn to see a lady with white hair and kind, crinkly blue eyes. She bends down to me.

  “Hi, Elowyn. I’m Gram. I’ll show you the way,” she says as she offers me her hand.

  I look up at Braxton in question, and he nods his head, telling me it’s okay to go with her.

  “Go ahead, Elle. I’ll be right here where you left me, I promise.”

  I look back at the lady as I let go of Braxton and take her hand. She smells like chocolate chip cookies, and her hand is warm and soft. She walks me behind the couch, through a hallway, and to a door. She opens it and turns the light on for me.

  “Can you do it by yourself, sweetheart, or do you need help?” she asks.

  “I can do it like a big girl, but Mommy has to help me wipe, sometimes,” I tell her.

  She smiles down at me. “Then, we will do it together this time since you have on that pretty dress and those tights.”

  She helps me go potty, and then she pulls a stool over to the sink, so I can stand on it and wash my hands all by myself.

  We walk back out into the hallway, and I can hear all the loud voices from in the living room. I don’t want to go back in there.

  “Do you want to see your new bedroom?” she asks.

  “My room is at my house. I like it. I don’t want a new one.”

  “Oh, darling girl, you are going to stay here with your aunt Madeline and uncle Jefferson and the rest of us for a while,” she explains.

  I look up at her as my bottom lip starts to tremble. I’m trying to be a big girl, but I don’t understand why I can’t go home.

  Gram pats my head, and she takes my hand and leads me back down the hall to another door.

  When she opens it and turns on the light, I see my bed, rocking horse, and stuffed animals from my house. The covers are strange, and the walls are a different color.

  Why are my things here?

  I start to cry, and she bends down and picks me up.

  “Oh, Elowyn, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Do you not like it?” she asks softly.

  “I want my mommy.” I sniffle into her shoulder.

  “I know, baby girl, but your mommy and daddy are with Jesus in heaven now,” she explains. She rubs circles on my back and sits down on the bed.

  “They planted them in the ground. They’ll grow back.” I hiccup.

  She leans me up and uses her thumbs to wipe the tears from under my eyes. “No, sweetie, that’s not how it works. They are not in those boxes. That’s just something we do to honor them. Their souls have gone to heaven to be with our Lord. And you will see them again one day, but it’s not going to be for a while. Until then, they have loaned you and Braxton to your aunt Madeline and uncle Jefferson and me and Pop too. We are so happy to have you both here with us at Rustic Peak. It’s been a while since we’ve had little ones underfoot on this ranch.”

  “How long will they be?” I ask.

  I don’t want them to stay in heaven.

  “Oh, for a bit, but every time you are outside and you feel the breeze float past you, that’s your mommy wrapping her arms around you and giving you a hug, letting you know that she will always be with you. Every day. Right here,” she says as she taps my chest.

  I raise my finger and tap the same spot. “Right here?”

  “Yes, ma’am, right there in your heart. Your mommy and daddy will always be there.”

  I pull the collar of my dress out and look down at the place she said is my heart. “I don’t see it.”

  “It’s there. You don’t have to see your heart to know you have one. Here, feel this.” She takes my hand and holds it on her chest. “You feel that thump, thump, thump?” she asks.

  I nod my head. “I feel it!” I say in astonishment.

  “That’s my heart beating. Yours beats too. You can’t see it, but it’s always there, and your mommy and daddy are always there, too, even though you can’t see them anymore.”

  “Are you my grandma now?”

  “I sure am, and you and I are going to be great friends,” she says with a smile.

  I like her very much.

  “Elle!” Brax
ton’s frantic voice yells down the hallway.

  “We’re in here, Braxton,” Gram responds.

  He busts through the door and flies toward us. “Are you okay? Was she crying?” he asks as he picks me up from her lap and starts to pace the room.

  “She was, but she’s better now. Aren’t you, Elle?”

  I smile at her and nod.

  Braxton pulls me in for a really firm hug, and I can’t breathe.

  I wiggle until he lets go.

  He pulls back and looks down at me. “Don’t be scared, Elle. I promise I’ll always take care of you and keep you safe. Forever and ever. That’s what big brothers are for.”

  I squeeze his neck tight.

  I know he will. He’s going to keep us both safe until we are in heaven with Mommy and Daddy.

  “I love you,” he whispers into my hair as he rocks me back and forth.

  “I love you the mostest,” I whisper back.

  He’s the best big brother ever.

  Elle

  Present

  I read the rejection letter one more time, as if the words on the paper would have somehow changed overnight.

  Dear Ms. Young,

  I regret to inform you that after thoughtfully reviewing your application, our selection committee is unable to offer you admission to the University of Colorado Boulder’s class of 2024. All aspects of your application, both academic and non-academic, were studied carefully and compared to those of the rest of the pool of applicants.

  The most difficult part of my job is writing similar letters to thousands of students like you, whose accomplishments are promising and exciting. I assure you that the selection committee gave your application every consideration, but because of an overwhelming number of outstanding applicants, we have to deny admission to a large majority of the remarkable students who seek admission to CU. Most of our applicants are qualified to successfully pursue a program of study at CU; however, only a relatively small percentage can be admitted.

  We are pleased to have received your application to our university. I am sincerely sorry to disappoint you, yet I trust that you will have other opportunities to attend another very good college. I wish you the best in the future.

  Sincerely,

  William D. Percy

  Dean of Admissions

  Well, there goes that idea.

  Honestly, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure that I wanted to pursue a degree in journalism. My creative writing professor at Poplar Falls Community College had been impressed by a few of my assignments and thought that perhaps journalism was an avenue I should pursue. She even had a few of my articles published in the local newspapers. It was exciting, seeing my work in print, but truth be told, I’d had to pull those papers out of me with a crowbar. The investigation and research elements hadn’t felt natural. The last thing I want to do is pursue a career that doesn’t hold my interest.

  I toss the letter onto my nightstand, slide on a pair of pajama pants, and head out in search of breakfast.

  Aunt Doreen is standing at the sink, rinsing a stack of plates, and she turns to say, “Good morning,” as I enter the kitchen.

  The smile falls from her lips as she takes me in.

  “What’s the matter?” she asks with concern evident in her voice.

  “Oh, not much. I’m just trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life and coming up completely blank; that’s all. Nothing important,” I answer as I plop down in a chair at the table in a dramatic fashion.

  She wipes her hands on her apron, grabs a clean plate from the cupboard, and sets it down in front of me. “Well, such big decisions shouldn’t be contemplated on an empty stomach,” she says as she pats my shoulder and motions toward the platters in the center of the large table.

  I stand and begin to stack my plate with pancakes and bacon while she pours a cup of coffee for us both and sits down opposite me.

  “I just don’t know what’s wrong with me, Aunt Doreen. I graduated high school six years ago. All of my classmates either went away to college or got married and started popping out babies right away. Neither of those options appealed to me at the time. I figured I’d take a little time off and eventually end up in vet tech school or cosmetology school. I tried both of those, and we know how that turned out. Now, I can’t decide if I want to give this writing thing a whirl. And if I do, do I want to be a journalist or a novelist or write jingles for advertisers? All of those are very different pursuits. I mean, I’m twenty-four years old. Shouldn’t I know—truly know—what I want by now?” I explain as she patiently sits tight for me to get it all out.

  I sit back in my seat with a huff, shove a piece of bacon into my mouth, and wait.

  She doesn’t give me an answer. She gives me a question. “What do you think your gift is?”

  “My what?”

  “Your gift. For instance, Sophie’s is drawing, and she spun that into a jewelry design business. Madeline’s is horseback riding, and she turned that into her equine therapy business. If you determine what your gift is, then you can ask yourself how you can turn that into a purpose and a career, and you will have your answer.”

  She makes it sound so simple.

  “Maybe I don’t have a gift.” I shrug.

  “Of course you do. God gives us all a gift. It’s that thing inside of you that you do with the least amount of exertion. Ria has the gift of a green thumb. She can make anything grow and produce an abundance. And she enjoys it. She could tool around in that garden all day long. It brings her joy. Now, me, on the other hand, I can barely keep houseplants alive. I’ve tried to plant flowers and vegetables, and everything I sow dies a miserable death. I just don’t have the gift your aunt Ria does, so I don’t waste my time trying anymore. I leave that up to her,” she clarifies.

  How do I know what my gift is? I love animals and thought that was it, but when I started vet tech school, I realized that I didn’t have the heart to take care of sick ones. I just cried every single time one was brought in and diagnosed with cancer or diabetes. I got so freaked out when Mrs. Baker’s cat had a seizure that I had to run from the room. Then, I thought about beauty school because I loved everything about hair and makeup and fashion, but a couple of weeks of working at Janelle’s Big Hair Beauty Salon as her hair-wash girl, and I realized that I didn’t like being that up close and personal with other people.

  Besides, I don’t know how Janelle puts up with all the griping and fussing of dissatisfied customers. It’s the truth. The day I told one of our customers, Tina Massey, that Janelle was a hairdresser, not a magician, was the day Janelle and I both decided that beauty school was probably not the best choice for me.

  “You think maybe you could ask God what my gift is because I’m clueless?” I muse.

  She sighs. “God never made a biscuit,” is her confusing answer.

  “Huh?”

  “You don’t go asking God to do things you can do for yourself. He wants you to put in some effort. He’s not a genie. You want biscuits? Well, he made fields of wheat and he made cows that supply milk and he gave you two hands. It’s up to us to take the resources he created, use a little elbow grease, and make the dough. He will not do for you what you can do for yourself.”

  “I think I’m a dud, Aunt Doe. I don’t have any idea what my gift is,” I confess.

  “You’ll know when you know. Don’t be in a hurry and rush into something you’ll regret. Waking up every morning and dreading the alarm clock going off because of what you have to get up to do is a miserable way to live, and there are a lot of miserable people walking around because they’ve chosen a life they weren’t supposed to be living in the first place. You have time to figure it out.” She pats my hand and gets up to finish the dishes.

  I suppose she’s right, but I’m getting restless. I want to live my dream. I just don’t know what that dream is exactly, and I don’t know where to start or how to go about determining where to go from here.

  Aunt Madeline walks in, carryi
ng a notebook and looking a bit frantic. “Elle, honey, do you think you could help me for a bit this afternoon?” she asks.

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I have three siblings coming in for riding lessons, and Chloe called in sick. I can’t do all three alone because the youngest two have never ridden before, and the baby is special needs. I’ll have to be one-on-one with him.”

  Chloe is married to Silas, one of Rustic Peak’s ranch hands, and she works full-time for Aunt Madeline.

  “What time will they get here?” I ask.

  “They should arrive at one.”

  I look at the clock above the stove. “I’ll take a quick shower and meet you down at the stables by twelve thirty to get everything ready.”

  She sighs in relief. “Thank you, sweetheart. I was panicking.”

  “No problem at all,” I reassure her.

  I finish my breakfast and head to dress for the day. Spending the afternoon helping Aunt Madeline is exactly what the doctor ordered to get me out of my funk and my mind off of my lack of direction in life.

  I pull on my riding boots and head out to the stables. When I walk into the barn, I find my big brother, Braxton, and Walker, the ranch’s head wrangler, helping Aunt Madeline saddle up a couple of older, retired ranch ponies.

  “Hey, Elle,” Braxton greets me as he leans over and plants a kiss on my cheek.

  “Hey. Looks like you two got roped into helping out too,” I surmise.

  “Yep, just helping get these girls saddled up before we head to the house for lunch,” he answers before looking over to Walker. “I have this one ready. I’m going to take her out to the corral,” he says before leading the horse out.

  I walk over and pet the long nose of the soft gray mare that Walker is throwing a saddle blanket over.

  The animal whinnies and nuzzles into my touch.

  “She likes you,” Walker says as he turns to grab the saddle and hoists it up over her back.

  “The feeling is mutual,” I say to the horse as I lay my forehead against her muzzle.

  After a few seconds, I look up to see Walker watching me.