"Hayden?" The jovial tone has disappeared.
"Yes," I say slowly. "Why?"
"Nothing. Nothing. I need to go. Renee is calling me."
"Dad—"
"Bye, Son. Take care." He hangs up. I place my phone back in my pocket. The conversation, or lack thereof, gnaws at me. His reaction must have something to do with my mom, and where she died. So close to Hayden land, practically right on it. I’ve thought of it nearly every time I’ve traveled that road, including when I took Jessie on a date last night, and today when we went to town for groceries. But is there more? Does my dad have a bigger reason to be spooked by the Hayden name?
I stare at my phone, thumb poised to dial him, but movement through the window catches my eyes.
Jessie stands. She tosses her phone down on the chair and strides opposite the house. She walks closer to the trees, bending low. She gathers a handful of dirt and watches it slip through her fingers, then rubs her thumb against two fingers. What is she thinking about?
Jessie stands up straight and looks at the sky with determination, the final rays of sunlight washing over her. She has the spirit of an unbroken horse, but there's also something tender about her. A rawhide exterior hiding silk.
Something about her last name upset my dad. And I'd love to know what the hell that was about.
I call him back. It rings and rings, then goes to voice mail. I hang up.
19
Jessie
When Marlowe callsand demands to know about these rumors she's been hearing in town, I'm not sure what to say.
I tried the truth, but now she's yelling at me. "There is no part of my brain that can comprehend how you allowed him to move in with you."
I've defended it so many times already I'm getting sick of it. To Greta, when I was picking up blueberry muffins yesterday.Yes, it’s okay, I’m old enough to have a man living with me.To Maia, when I was grabbing some items at the Merc.I don’t care that our dads were adversaries.Even old Waylon Guthrie, who, I'd like to point out, was three sheets to the wind when he stumbled up to me asking about me 'living in sin’ with a Bennett.Your alcohol vapors are offensive, don’t breathe on me.Living in a small town can have its disadvantages.
"And," Marlowe continues, "why am I hearing about this from someone other than you? That hurts."
"I know," I whisper, pouring my coffee. The door to Sawyer's room was closed when I passed by a few minutes ago, so I'm assuming he's still asleep. "Hang on," I whisper, dropping my phone in the pocket of my oversized cardigan. I add creamer to my coffee, grab an apple, then go outside.
"I'm back," I tell Marlowe, settling into a chair.
"Great. I can resume yelling at you."
"No, you cannot. The Sierra had a termite problem—"
"I'm aware. They have to tear down and rebuild."
“That’s awful." My heart goes out to the couple who own the place. “Sawyer staying here is temporary. Besides, it was either my cabin or Sleep Here."
"Ew. Go clean out your mouth."
"Exactly."
"How's the sex?"
I tuck my legs up into my chest and use an arm to keep them in place. “We’re not sleeping together."
"Why not? You sound disappointed, by the way.”
“That’s because Iamdisappointed. We haven't even kissed yet.”
“And yet he’s living with you?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
