"I don't know," Jo wails.
"Try to stay calm, Jo. Where are you?"
She tells me she's at Wildflower, and I tell her I'll be right there.
"What's wrong?" my dad asks as soon as I hang up.
"Jo's little brother accidentally lit a field on fire with firecrackers and now the town's holding an emergency meeting. Apparently people are starting to think her ranch will bring trouble to the town."
He nods. "People have been talking. That shooting down in—"
"That shooting didn't happen here," I cut him off. "Someone probably got mugged in a big city yesterday on their way to get coffee. Didn't stop everybody in the country from getting coffee this morning. This is bullshit."
He considers me for a long moment, then steps aside. "You better get going to her then. She sounded pretty upset."
I move past him, forgetting our entire conversation. For the moment, I'm putting aside the Marks brothers, too. As long as they can keep going toward what they're trying to accomplish, they won't bother anybody. As much as I despise it, I'll have to let them continue on with their plans for a little while, until I can form a plan of my own.
Jo is my focus right now.
Workers are still here,finishing up installation of the barn doors leading into the laundry room. I nod my hello and cut across the house, to Jo's bedroom. I knock twice and let myself in. She's sitting cross-legged on top of her made bed, hands folded in her lap and staring out her window.
"Hey," I say softly, rounding the bed. I settle beside her, but she doesn't look up. She looks so… sad. Her eyelashes are wet, evidence of recent tears.
"I've come so far," she whispers. Her lips quiver. "How can it all disappear now?"
"It won't," I insist, though I don't know what I'm talking about. I have no idea if a town can stop a project. Especially one as far along as this. The outbuildings are finished. The main house is livable. All that's left are the finishing touches.
"Maybe I can switch the focus. Make it more of a traditional camp. Maybe—"
"Is that what you want?"
"No."
"Then fuck that," I say. "Don't settle. You're going to attend that meeting, and you're going to walk in there like you're not scared, even if you're terrified. You're going to tell them what this camp is about and what you stand for. Nobody is going to tell you what you can and can't do."
Using the pointer finger on her right hand, she drags her fingertip up and down each finger on her left hand. "What if they're right? What if I can't take care of these kids?"
"They're not right, Jo. Nobody gets to tell you whether or not you are capable of this."
Finally, she looks at me, her cheeks flushed with her distress, arcs of sunlight streaming through the window and illuminating her. Her eyes widen, a look of horror on her face. "What the hell happened to your face?"
For a brief second, I'm confused, and then I remember. So much has happened since this morning that I'd already pushed the Marks brothers from my mind. In an effort to avoid adding to Jo's worry, I tell her I had words with Mrs. Calhoun's grandsons but leave out the fact they're not actually her grandsons.
Jo feathers a caress over my hairline, taking care not to touch my wounds. "What did you argue about?"
"It doesn't matter." I shake my head, and it makes my face throb. I need a cold compress, but I highly doubt Jo has those stocked in her freezer. "Tell me what happened with Travis. How did he get his hands on fireworks?"
"We went into town for some supplies. He wanted to wander around, so I told him he could meet me at the park in an hour. I was at the Merc when I saw smoke. Maia and I ran outside, at the same time Travis was running toward me with two police officers chasing him. They grabbed him and pushed him against the wall, and I kept shouting, 'He's a child'."
She starts crying again. "They took him to the station, and I followed. Sheriff Monroe said they couldn't release him to me because I'm not his parent. So I raced back here, grabbed a document, and took it to the police station. And they released him to me."
"What document?"
Jo reaches over to her nightstand, where a trifold piece of paper lies. She opens it, her eyes roaming the page, and passes it to me. Suddenly it feels like all the air is gone from the room.
Travis's birth certificate.
Father's name left blank.
