The hum of a boat approaching makes them both turn to look. It’s a ski boat, with a teenage blond at the helm, filled with other teenage girls. The driver of the boat waves to the crowd on the dock like she’s the queen of England.
“Fucking Blair,” Charleigh spits.
“Ah, yes, Nellie’s friend—”
“Nemesis. Little brat.”
Blair lowers the lever on the boat, causing it to speed, sending a powerful wake toward the deck. Lake water tides over the boards, soaking the edge of the deck.
“I hate her.”
“I know you do,” Jackson says. “And I know you secretly hate the woman who spawned her, even though you still insist on hanging out with her, but back to the Waltons.”
Charleigh laughs again. Jackson loves making her laugh.
“I just left without buying any of her bullshit products. Didn’t buy anything from the husband either.”
“Husband?” Jackson lowers his shades, eyes grinning at Charleigh. “Do tell. Details, please.”
Charleigh rolls her shoulders, heaves out a sigh that blows her bangs skyward. “He’s smoking hot. Like ridiculously good-lookin’.” She shakes her head, stirs her drink. “Toogood-lookin’ for that woman, I’ll tell you that.”
Jackson picks up a cheese stick, passes it over to Charleigh. “Eat. At least one.”
“Fine.” Charleigh pulls it apart; hot cheese strings downward over her plate. She devours it. “Guess he makes custom furniture or something.”
“Really?”
“Yep. But I turned him down, too. We don’t wanna have anything to do with that family.”
15
Jane
My leg feels like it’s on fire. I look down, see blood seeping through my jeans.
I grasp the top of my thigh and try to move the whole leg. It hurts, but it obeys. Thank God. Next, I try to bend it. I’m able to do this as well.
Whew.
But when I go to stand, searing pain shoots through it, and I collapse.
In the distance, Cookie’s orange coat is just a blur as she gallops farther and farther away from me.
Shit.
Will she know to turn on Seven Pines? Will she find her way home? Will I ever see her again?
Hot tears cloud my vision, but I blot them away with the back of my hand. I don’t have time to cry. I have to think.
I probably shouldn’t have ridden her bareback; maybe mean old Mom is right.
That damn beamer. I wonder who the hell it was.
Cookie’s never spooked like that before, but then again, no one’s ever driven right up on us.
Cars race past me, but I can’t even think about trying to hitchhike—Pa told me never to do it. Under any circumstance.
But I can’t just sit here, boiling to death.
