I’d interviewed my classmates, trying to get a sense of how often they bought them and why they didn’t choose something healthier. It was an informative piece. That was all. Instead, it had led to our school principal locking the vending machines up and sending them away. No more junk food on campus.
It’d taken a long time for people to forgive me for that.
Apparently, I still wasn’t completely in the clear.
I turned my pathetic gaze on my friend, not quite sure I was ready for the self-inflicted abuse that would come with her other theory. “And what’s the second reason?”
“Do you even have to ask?” She pointed with the end of her carrot at the pictures of our football players decorating the wall.
Each guy posed in his dark purple jersey, helmet tucked under their flexed arms. They all wore their toughest expression, as if they thought their pictures would intimidate the opposite team.
I knew immediately which one she was talking about. One blond-headed quarterback with a nasty smirk that perfectly showcased his massive ego. “You really think Derek’s part of the problem?”
Hannah smiled disbelievingly at me. “Duh. You’re going head-to-head with his dad. It’s become personal. And not many people around here are willing to cross either of them.”
The truth settled like a hunk of iron in my stomach. The whole reason I was doing this vlog series for my senior project was because of Derek’s dad, Randy Cook. Mr. Cook was pushing the city council to claim an entire three blocks of homes and random small businesses along Cherry Street and turn around to sell them to shiny new companies coming to town. It was called an eminent domain deal. He bragged that it was a huge economic opportunity for all of us. But all I could see was a dozen of my family’s friends being forced out of their homes and the places they worked.
I wanted to be sure the rest of Blue River saw that, too.
Unfortunately, Mr. Cook was one of the big wigs around here—a dentist and ex-football star on the Blue River high school team. Dad had never liked Mr. Cook much. He said he was too ambitious. Too ready to step on others to reach his own goals. The older we got, the more Derek followed in his footsteps. We’d all been in the same class together since kindergarten.
It wasn’t totally surprising that either of them had caught a scent of my current project. Or that they’d intimidated everyone else into backing off.
“That’s just great,” I muttered. My project was crumbling apart in front of my eyes.
Hannah shrugged helplessly, her red curls falling over her shoulders. “Umm...remind me again why you dated him?”
I groaned and refused to answer her question. That was the other thing: Derek and I had dated sophomore year, long before I realized what a tool he really was. Just thinking about it made me cringe. If only I could go back and erase that time in my life.
“How am I going to help these people, Han?” I frowned into my arm, feeling the weight of disappointment heavy on my shoulders. “The city is going to kick them all out of their houses if this proposal goes through next month. And all for the sake of progress? Who needs another fast-food restaurant? Or another office building?”
I glanced over at her. She was watching me with pity in her eyes. Hannah had heard it all before.
But what could I do about it? With no one to run the camera, I was in a tough position. And it wasn’t like this interview project had a guarantee of fixing anything. The city council might not even take the time to watch it. I might find out that no one cared what happened to the people who called Cherry Street their home.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Hannah,” I muttered.
She rubbed my back while taking another bite of her carrot. “You’ll figure it out, Cass. You always do. Think positive.”
I wasn’t sure the power of positive thinking was going to work this time.
A dramatic gasp pulled me from my pity party. I looked up to see Mrs. Paul standing in the doorway, glaring through her tiny square glasses at the carrot in Hannah’s hand.
“Is that food I see in my classroom?” she demanded.
Hannah grinned at me and then shoved the food back into her Bento lunch box. “That’s my cue. See you later, chicka.”
And out the door she fled, probably feeling the flames from Mrs. Paul’s livid glare following her down the hallway. I would’ve laughed, if I hadn’t been feeling so twisted up inside.
My project was dying a slow death, and I couldn’t fix it.
And all of the people depending on me were running out of time.
Chapter Five
Cassidy
The moment I walked through the door, I knew I was in trouble.
Dad sat at the kitchen table, mug of coffee in hand. The newspaper was unfolded neatly beside him. I swore, he was one of the only people left on this planet who actually read a real newspaper anymore. His thick mustache twitched slightly as he looked up at me. He’d showered and combed his wiry brown hair severely to one side, in a way that made him look much older than he actually was. It was always a bit weird to see him out of his uniform. Today, he wore jeans and a green polo shirt, but he still sat rod straight in his chair, as if he were sitting in his office and waiting to address one of his deputies.
“Hey...Dad.” I set my backpack on the ground and eyed him cautiously.
This was a familiar pose. One he only brought out for very serious topics. The first time had been after he’d found the box of feminine pads I’d hidden beneath the bathroom sink. I was twelve at the time and Dad had walked me through an entire presentation about the female body and puberty. His face had been flaming red the whole time and I’d wanted to die, but we both made it through. The second time was when he’d found out I was dating Derek. And then again, when he found out we’d broken up.
I could only guess what was going on now.
I hoped it wasn’t another presentation on bodily functions.
“Have a seat, buttercup.” Dad pointed to the wooden chair across from him.
Sliding my rear into place, I smiled hesitantly at him. He gazed at me intently with his blue eyes—the same blue as my own. We sat in silence for several moments. I knew he was reading my every facial expression. It was something he’d learned after years on the force. Before a guy even opened his mouth, Dad had a good read on him. It was useful for police work, but brutal for a cop’s kid. I smiled innocently back at him and waited until he was ready to start the interrogation.
“Lettie told me last night that me you’re having a hard time finding a new cameraman for your project,” he said suddenly.
Instantly, relief washed over me. Now this was a topic I could talk about. I leaned forward in my chair and drummed my fingernails on the table. “Yeah. Hank’s officially out. We only finished one of the interviews and I’ve got another five lined up. The council isn’t going to listen if I don’t get all of them. I’m starting to think all of this was a mistake. There’s no way anyone would’ve listened to me, anyway.”
His lips pursed slightly and his forehead wrinkled with thought. Dad never voiced his opinion without first carefully considering his words. And once he said it, it was practically written in stone.
“You know that, as the town sheriff, I can’t appear to show partiality to your project,” he said slowly, his frown deepening. “I have to be objective and unbiased.”
I sighed and leaned back into my chair. I knew that. Dad’s job was basically to rise above any town dramas—including his own daughter’s. He was strict about it. And it was what made him such a great sheriff.
“But just between you and me,” he said, his gaze darting suspiciously across the kitchen and then back to me, “people are already starting to talk. With enough public pressure, Aaron Cook and his eminent domain project don’t stand a chance.”
I felt my eyes go wide. “So...you think I should stick with it?”
A single eyebrow arched as he methodically lifted the mug to his lips. “I think your mom would’ve be
en very proud of what you’re trying to accomplish.”
I couldn’t hold back my watery smile. Dad and I hadn’t talked about my project much, but it made my heart grow five sizes to know he thought Mom would’ve been on board, too.
“Okay, I’m gonna do it,” I announced, sitting up straight. “Somehow, I’ll get it done, even if I have to be the cameraman, the sound checker, the interviewer, and the video editor myself.”
“Oh, you won’t be doing everything yourself,” Dad said with a wave of his hand. “I’ve got some help lined up for you. It’s all taken care of.”
“Wait...what?”
He took a long, slow draught of his coffee, his gaze never leaving my face. And when he’d finally finished it, he set it gently back on the table and then folded his newspaper into a neat rectangle.
“Come,” he said, standing from the table and plucking his keys from the countertop. “I’ll introduce you to your new recruit. You guys will have this project done in no time.”
I sat frozen in my chair, watching Dad head toward the door to the outside and stroll right through. He couldn’t have been serious. He found me help? Had he hired someone from the station? It took hearing the sound of his cruiser starting up to make me finally come to my senses and jump to my feet.
Whoever this new recruit was, I could only hope they were good.
I was going to need all the help I could get.
Chapter Six
Graham
I was pretty sure child labor was against the law.
But I guess the ranch hadn’t gotten the memo.
Allowing myself a two-second break from my designated after-school chore, I wiped the back of my hand across my forehead and scanned the horizon. Golden amber fields stretched as far as the eye could see. The hot August sun was already setting, but that didn’t cure the heat. An awful sensation of sweat trickling down the back of my neck, combined with the grittiness of inhaling a mouthful of crop dust, was enough to make me scowl harder.
Most eighteen-year-olds would’ve spent their evenings gaming or hanging with friends. I didn’t have that luxury. This was my reality and break time was over.
Slinging a square bale as hard as I could from the bed of an old Toyota truck, I cursed when it landed just short of the barn door.
“Watch it, Graham.” Matty Dalton took a step out of the barn and glanced around, his body going rigid. His muscular arms were bare from the white cutoff t-shirt he wore. His short, blond hair was hidden by a dirty blue ball cap. “You know the rules.”
The muscles in my jaw contracted with displeasure. Matty was a prisoner of the ranch, just like me and the rest of the boys out here doing chores, but it was always the same with him. Our warden wasn’t even in sight and he still couldn’t let any of us step a toe out of line. It was like he thought he was the boss.
“Yeah, yeah, no cussing,” I growled back, snatching another bale from the truck. “I know the deal.”
1. No cussing.
2. No drugs or alcohol.
3. No talking back.
4. Always do your chores.
5. Never stay out past curfew.
6. Respect.
Those were the strict rules of the ranch. They sounded simple enough, but they were a pain in the rear to follow. And the warden never gave an inch on any of them.
It was one of the millions of reasons I was getting out of here. No one was going to stop me.
“If you already know the deal, then you know that if you get caught, we all get to spend the weekend mucking out the horse stalls,” Matty shot back as he picked up the bale I’d tossed.
I laughed hollowly. Yeah, that was exactly how it went around here. Collective punishment. It was a wonder anybody lasted more than a week. “What you got better to do this weekend, huh, Dalton? Finally got a hot date that I don’t know about?”
There was a definite flushing along Matty’s chiseled jawline as he forced his gaze away from mine. It was easy to know the answer to my question. No girl at Flint Hills High School would’ve come within six feet of an Oakie boy, if she knew what was good for her.
Especially not good girls, like Cassidy Redmond.
Our reputations spoke for themselves. We were teens heading nowhere in life. Not even golden-boy Matty Dalton could rise above their total lack of expectations for any of us.
“Thought so,” I grumbled into the silence.
Normally, I wasn’t so hard on Matty, but today’s run-in with Cassidy had already left me in a sour mood. Add in the letter that had arrived this afternoon from the state, and I was fixing to start a fight with anybody in swinging range. The state’s letter was crumpled in the back pocket of my worn Levi’s; a notification telling me that my court case had been rescheduled. Again. Mom was living in a new apartment in Kansas City with a new job. She’d promised me and my brother that we’d be home within a few months.
That had been a year and a half ago. Since then, I’d been dumped here, and my twin brother had ended up in some crappy home a hundred miles away. And the state had put our case on ice.
If I left it up to them, I’d never get back home.
My family was waiting for me.
“Ken’s back,” Matty said suddenly, dropping his bale. He tore off his cap and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Looks like he’s got a live one. Might even be yours...”
I turned to see a white Ford pickup kicking up a load of dust as it came down the gravel road toward the ranch. Hitched behind it was a silver trailer carrying who knew what? But right away, distrust filled my head. The warden of the ranch sat in the driver’s seat, wearing his typical flannel shirt rolled up to the elbows and a red bandana tied around his neck. He had a head full of shockingly white hair and weathered, sun-kissed skin.
My gut jolted with nerves the moment Ken flung open the driver’s door and his brown boots with the steel toe hit the ground. It was the first time I’d seen him since I’d snuck out last night and I couldn’t help but feel like he could read the guilt all over my face. Ken had a way of sniffing out secrets, like a sixth sense.
He’d nearly caught me when I’d snuck out two months ago for a midnight walk through Blue River, a spray can in hand and the need to leave my mark somewhere on this earth. Somehow, I’d avoided him, and the town got to enjoy my artwork on the old Mason bridge for three weeks before someone power-washed it off. But even then, the way Ken looked at me sometimes with those dark eyes, I wondered if he still suspected me.
“Boys.” Ken greeted us in a low, gravelly tone. He nodded curtly and shut the door behind him. Rounding the back of the trailer, he patted the side of it with one of his massive hands and frowned at me. “Got a good one for ya’, Graham. She’s a beauty.”
A shuffling noise came from inside the trailer, then short bursts of an angry snort. That was followed by a high-pitched cry that sounded both desperate and frightening. It was a noise that made your gut churn. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see what was inside, or have anything to do with it. But Matty had already dropped what he was doing and I definitely didn’t want him to think that I was some kind of chicken, so I joined him in following Ken around to the back of the trailer and waited for him to reveal what was inside.
“They found her on an acreage outside of Wichita,” he explained, steadily undoing the bolted door. “Another one of those failed hobby farms. I swear, someday people are going to understand there’s more to taking care of a horse than feeding it carrots all day.”
The door swung wide open to reveal a horse occupying one of the stalls, her head held up in fear and the whites of her eyes showing. At first glance, she appeared to be a ruddy brown color, but then I realized that was probably because of the thick layer of mud that had encrusted on her coat. She whinnied and then flared her nostrils, trying to pull away from the ropes holding her halter in place.
“She can’t be more than three years old,” Matty said, stepping into the trailer to get a better look. “Is she still green? Will she take a saddle?”
>
“Not sure.” Ken rubbed a hand over his head, his prominent nose wrinkling in disgust. “I’m thinking her previous owners thought it would be cute to purchase a young mare from some online service and didn’t know they’d have to break her themselves. Fools.”
Matty reached for her halter. “Let’s get her out of there and see what we’ve got.”
I stood back as they urged her down the ramp toward the dusty ground. The mare danced nervously about, her wild eyes taking in the massive red barn, the white farmhouse with the neatly trimmed yard, and the fields beyond. She peeled back her velvety lips to reveal yellowed teeth and then nickered her disapproval. Even through the thick coat of mud, I could see her ribs protruding and the sharpened features of her thin legs. Someone had definitely mistreated this horse. She was a sorry looking thing. It was miracle she hadn’t been sent south of the border before Ken could get to her.
“She’s your responsibility now,” Ken said, patting her on the neck. His dark gaze captured mine and he pursed his lips slightly. “You know how this goes. Treat her good and she’ll come around.”
All of the boys at Sweet Oak eventually got assigned a horse. It was like some weird trust building activity that Ken and his wife thought would teach us boys some responsibility. Probably something they read out of the Farmer’s Almanac or something. Or maybe it was just another way to make us do work. I’d been here long enough that I thought they’d forgotten about me, but apparently Ken was just waiting for the most pathetic beast he could find. This skinny little mare wasn’t going to come around for anything. Not with that fearful look in her eyes or the nervous way she stomped one of her hooves.
“Think she’ll ride?” I asked, holding out my hand for her.
The mare raised her head distrustfully, her dark forelock draping over her eyes.
Cowboy Crush : A Small Town, Enemies-to-Lovers YA Romance (Sweet Oak Teen Ranch Book 1) Page 4