Besides Allie and my grandpa McKay, there was only Hal, the groundskeeper for the Little League fields next to the trailer park. I snuck over and watched games during baseball season. When there weren’t games, Hal mowed the grass or dragged the infield on his quad. He let me ride on it with him when I was really young. Once I got big enough to reach the pedals, he let me drive the mower while he dragged the field. Eventually, he paid me for my time. It wasn’t much, and the older I got, the more I realized he probably couldn’t affordto do it. So I quit showing up. That’s how I wound up working for Russell “Rusty” Bennick on his property, mucking stalls, weed eating, whatever he told me to do. He needed a ranch hand, and I needed the job. That was how I met Taya.
Chapter 8
Julian
Seven Years Ago
“Hey, pretty girl. Yeah, you love ear scratches, don’t you?”
“That’s Sugar. She’s a flirt, especially with guys.”
My hand freezes, and I turn at the sound of her voice. The girl it belongs to walks through the barn doors as she speaks, backlit by the sun, and all I can think isshe looks like sugar. Warm, sunbaked sugar. Her golden hair looks like it’s been set on fire. Her frame is slight but tall for a girl. Her jeans scrunch at the bottom, pooling around her boots that kick up dust as she walks.
“I’m Taya. You must be the new hand my dad hired.”
“Yeah, Jayce.” I hold my hand out to shake hers.
She looks down at it, brow arched and swats the back of it like a backwards high five and giggles. “Okay, Jayce. Don’t let Sugar sweet-talk you into more oats, because she’ll try. She can be verypersuasive.” She strolls past me as she adds, “And she usually gets what she wants.”
My head spins a little as I watch her breeze past me and out into the corral.Is she talking about the horse?I’m barely fifteen and don’t know much—or anything—about girls, but it seems like her words mean more than what she’s saying. My father was like that. His words wouldn’t match his meaning, but it usually meant I was about to get my ass kicked. I learned to read people early to avoid things like that. I can’t get a read on her though.
She treks through the stable corridor, and as the sun moves down her body, her hair changes from glowing to sandy blonde, swaying against her belt loops with her strides. Once outside the barn and in the corral, she calls to the other horse with kissing and clucking noises. “Cookie!”
Sugar and Cookie. That’s what she reminds me of, a sugar cookie. Golden skin, sparkling sun-kissed hair. My mouth waters and my jeans feel tighter. Embarrassed by my reaction, I adjust myself discreetly and turn my back on the corral to focus on Sugar. She’s nuzzling the hand I left dangling on the stall gate. The one Taya slapped but didn’t shake. I give Sugar a few more scratches, then grab the rake to muck out the rest of the stalls. As animal crap goes, horse is the least offensive. I don’t mind the work. It feels good to use my muscles and work outdoors.
Working for Mr. Bennick will make me stronger. My arms, back and legs ache already, but in a good way. And his property is close enough that I can ride my bike to and from work. The curvy highway between the trailer park and his ranch isn’t the safest road for a bike, but South Point doesn’t have sidewalks or bike lanes. Most roads barely have shoulders, but I’d make it work. When I told himI couldn’t ask my parents, Bennick offered to pay me in cash so I didn’t need my parents’ permission or a work permit. If I could save up enough, I could buy something better than a bicycle—maybe a motorcycle—when I turned sixteen. I don’t know how to ride one, but I know they’re cheaper than cars.
The sooner I have my own transportation the better.
Whinnying has me lifting my head from the stall I’m mucking in time to watch Taya fly through the center of the barn riding Cookie.
Dust and hay dance in her wake, her hair flying behind her like glowing ribbons of gold. Sugar tosses her head, snorts and dances in her stall as Cookie gallops past her.
I clamp my hand onto the top of my head to anchor my ball cap in place and duck my head against the gust of dirt and debris whipping through the barn. I turn my back to it and face Sugar as Taya and Cookie streak down the dirt road and up into the rolling foothills of the pasture. “Shhh, pretty girl. I got you. I know. They left you behind.”
She bumps her muzzle against my hand and ducks her head over the gate.
I rub my hand absently up and down the white streak on her nose and watch the image of horse and girl grow smaller with distance. I flip my ball cap backwards and touch my forehead to her soft muzzle. I’ve never been around horses before, but I like this one. And I like the smell of the barn too. I don’t understand the tightness gripping my chest. I feel the same way when my parents start screaming at each other and breaking stuff, trapped in the compact spare bedroom of our trailer, hoping their drama didn’t find its way down the hall. Knowing I couldn’t make it through the front door, the only door,without drawing attention to myself, I stay as quiet as possible and wait for the chaos to stop.
Watching Taya and Cookie fly across the ground and disappear within minutes looked freeing. I think I want to know that feeling—the wind slapping against my face while the thunder of hooves carries me away far and fast from the reminders of my shitty life. I decide to busy myself on the property until she comes back. Then I’d ask her to teach me to ride. I’m not sure if I’m allowed to do that, but something tells me she’ll let me know if not. It doesn’t hurt to ask. And she doesn’t come off like she’d be afraid to tell some hired hand no.
An old wooden picnic table I discovered just outside the barn has seen better days, so I’ll sand it down, make it look nice and possibly give it new life. It will be perfect for eating lunch or taking breaks. And fixing it up means I’ll avoid the splinters it would surely give me otherwise. I find some sandpaper in the toolbox inside the tack room. It’s not on my to-do list or even a priority, but since my regular chores are done and I want to wait for Taya to return, it’s a good way to pass the time and look busy while I wait. Plus, I can sit down while I do it. My legs and back ache from all the bending and scooping. I hope the small pieces of sandpaper I found hold out until she shows. I’ll buy more tomorrow to finish the project. Some stain too.
The sun has just begun to dip low behind the foothills when I hear the clomp of horse hooves. Then Sugar whinnies from her stall, greeting her friend. I look up, watch Taya rock and sway in the saddle as Cookie plods into the barn. Just as I convinced myself she either didn’t see me just to the side of the structure or she was ignoring me,she stops before entering the barn and pins me with her sage-green gaze.
“You trying to make something out of that heap of kindling?”
“Maybe. I like it.” I look down at my handiwork as I answer.
“Suit yourself, but if you decide it’s not worth it, it’ll make a great bonfire starter.”
I stand on ever-stiffening legs and follow her into the barn. As I come around the corner and through the sliding doors, she rolls out of her saddle like it’s part of her. She starts to unhook the saddle, and I rush to help.
“I can manage, thanks.” She sounds almost annoyed.
“I don’t mind helping. I was . . . I wanted to ask . . .”
“Spit it out.” Yep. Clearly annoyed. Now I’m sweating.
