“I’m still here.” I reach up on tiptoe to place a sweatshirt on the top shelf of the closet. “And stop making that face.”
“I’m not making a face.”
“You are most definitely squeezing your eyebrows together.”
She exhales laughter. “You’re good.”
“So, how about that drink and I’ll tell you everything? I’m free tonight.” Actually, I’m free every night for the foreseeable future.
“How about the Bar N?"
I wrinkle my nose. I'm surprised she has suggested it. Sierra Grande has better to offer than the ramshackle barn someone had the bright idea to convert into a bar. Apparently the conversion used up their entire store of creativity, because the best name they could come up with is as unimaginative as it comes. It's like naming a dogDog.
"Why there?" I ask, not wanting to offend my best friend since we were twelve. "How about The Chute?"
"I went there last weekend."
"Well, I've never been. I turned twenty-one last month, and this is the first time I’ve been back.” Not that I didn't try my fake ID out at the busiest bar in town. The bartenders were strict, and after they told Wyatt about me trying to get in, I decided not to push my luck.
We make a plan and I hang up. Drinks at Bar N, and more drinks and food at the Chute. Before I get ready to meet Marlowe, I go for a walk. The first thing I see when I step out the front door is Wyatt's old cabin. It's a quarter mile away, and empty. He moved out to Wildflower to help Jo run the place. I'm happy as hell for him. If anybody deserved to find their true love, it was him. He waited years to feel as good as he does with Jo.
I look up as I walk, studying the swaying pines, the wind whispering through them. They are skinny, and so tall. In one, I see a mess of twigs, a female cardinal sitting in the center. It reminds me of Sawyer Bennett. I’d like to see him again soon, but I’m not sure how to make that happen.
As I watch, a scarlet male cardinal flies in, settling on the rim of the nest. Chirping begins, the female welcoming him home. I watch for another moment, then turn back and go to my new home so I can get ready to see Marlowe.
I've left early enoughto pick up Marlowe's favorite flowers. Her love language is gifts, and getting flowers makes her happy. It doesn't matter who they're from. I'm more of an acts-of-service person. I once told Marlowe,You can skip buying me a birthday present, but I expect you to help me bury a body. She reminded me that she's the mayor's daughter and has to keep her hands clean.No worries, I told her,because I have three brothers and a dad who know places a body will never be found.
Again,kidding. But also, not really. Marlowe looked terrified.
I check my makeup in the rearview, running the tip of my finger just under my lower lip to wipe a lip gloss smudge. I look back at the road and slow for a curve. Once I’m around the bend, I spot a truck ahead. It’s parked in the road, a jack placed under the underside to keep it upright. There are two men, one putting on a new tire while the other one rolls the presumably flat tire and tosses it in the truck bed. There isn't room in the road for me to pass them, because they decided to change their tire in the middle of the road. I slow to a crawl as I reach them, and through the front windshield, I spy a gun rack in the back window. And two guns in the rack. Not hugely shocking, considering they are both wearing camouflage shirts.
I stop. Their eyes are trained on me, and it feels like I'm supposed to greet them in some way. Everything about them screams they’re preparing to hunt on my land, and I know for damn sure they weren't headed to the HCC for a social call.
I roll down my window. "How's it going?" I'm very careful to keep my voice even. Strong. No trace of feminine lilt. It's an epic shame I feel the need to do this.
"Almost finished," the tire changer says, eyeing me. "What are you doing out here?"
"Probably not the same thing as you."
He guffaws. "Not unless you're hunting." His eyes travel as low as they can go, which isn't too far because I'm sitting in a fucking car, but his intention is made clear, and isn't that all he really wanted? “I'm starting to wish you were the game."
My skin prickles. Every cell in my body works together to restrain my sharp tongue. "This is private property. You can't hunt here."
"I'm sure it's fine, sweetheart." It's the other one talking. He looks exactly like the tire changer. Mediocre.
"It's not fine. This is my land. You need to get off it."
Both men give me slow, lazy looks. The tire changer steps on the jack and lets down the truck. "Did you hear that?" He glances at his friend. "This is her land."
His friend laughs. "What are you going to do about it? Get out of that car and kick our asses?"
Clearly they both know I'm not getting out of my car. I might be impulsive and impetuous, but I have a strong sense of self-preservation. I reach for my phone and bring up my contacts, then press the phone to my ear.
"Hi, Sheriff Monroe. This is Jessie Hayden. Two hunters are trespassing on the HCC about three miles up the turnoff from town, and they refuse to leave." I pause, keeping my gaze trained on the men who are now gaping at me. "Great. See you soon."
I hang up, but I keep my phone in my hand. Just in case. "He's on his way. Feel free to stick around if you'd like an introduction."
It happens so fast. The tire changer sprints toward me, and I fumble for the button to roll up the window. Time slows down, each millisecond quantifiable as the sound of the window rolling up becomes deafening. He reaches me, raising a hand as if to backhand me, but there is too much glass between us now. "Cunt," he spits at me, before he gets in his truck and charges around me, spinning and creating a circle of dust. My fists ball and my heart pounds as I wait for the dusty cloud to settle, praying to God they won't be there when it clears.
