“Fine,” she says, shutting her laptop with a decisive click. “Give us ten minutes to change.”
I nod and they leave. What the hell am I doing? The last thing I want is to play tour guide to the half-sister I never asked for. Yet, forty minutes later, three ATVs are parked on the side driveway. The clouds have lifted slightly, though the air remains heavy with moisture. Puddles dot the drive and sprawling lawn, reflecting the gray sky.
Madison stands a few feet away, her neck twisting slowly, taking in the sprawling property. She squints at the horizon, then studies the ATVs. I can see my father in the analytical way she takes everything in, calculating its value. It sets my teeth on edge.
"You can use that one," I tell Madison, pointing to the smaller vehicle. "Helmet's on the shelf."
She approaches it tentatively. “Why do you have three?”
“The one you’re using belongs to Patricia’s ten-year-old daughter. I let them keep it here.”
“Did you ask if we could use it?”
I dip my chin and look at her. “Oh, now, you’re worried about stepping on people’s toes?” Before she can retort, I tell her, “It was a gift from me, but yes, I asked.”
I give them a perfunctory overview of the controls, keeping my instructions clipped and businesslike. Madison listens with obvious reluctance, while Ivy pays attention with the same focus she probably gives legal briefs.
“When we reach the trees, stay on the marked trails,” I tell them. “If you get lost, which would be difficult to do since the entire property is fenced, follow any trail downhill and you'll eventually reach the main house. Any questions?”
Madison raises her hand like she’s in school. “What if it starts raining harder?”
“Then you’ll get wet,” I deadpan.
She glares at me. “You’re kind of a jerk, you know that?”
“Never said I wasn’t, kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” she shoots back.
“Could have fooled me with the dramatic sighing and pouting.”
Ivy steps between us. “Alright, enough. Are we doing this or not?”
I turn my attention to her. Ivy’s jaw is set, nostrils slightly flared, and there’s a dangerous spark in her eyes that sends an unexpected and unwanted heat through my chest.
Damn it. Why can't she be like the others, my interest fading as soon as the sweat cools from our skin?
“Follow me if you can keep up. Or don’t. I’ll be back in an hour.” I put on my helmet, turn the key and hit the ignition, the engine roaring to life. I take off, mud spraying behind me.
In my side mirror, I see Madison hastily jam on her helmet before following, clearly determined not to be left behind. Ivy brings up the rear, her caution evident in her slower start.
The trail winds through the woods at the edge of my property, a route I know by heart. The recent rain has turned parts of it into a slick obstacle course, adding a level of difficulty I welcome. Anything to burn off the restless energy that’s been building since my father’s death brought me back to this place.
Three years in Quebec bought me distance. One car accident dragged me right back into the Kentucky mud I'd escaped.
So why am I literally playing in it and enjoying myself?
I take the first steep hill at full throttle, the ATV catching air slightly as I crest it. Madison, I note with reluctant admiration, doesn’t hesitate to follow. Ivy’s right behind Madison, and my chest tightens. Gone is the buttoned-up lawyer. This womanleans into curves with ease, her body moving in perfect rhythm with the machine. The fearless stranger I met on the train, before complications, before surnames mattered, is on that ATV.
I slow down at the next turn, allowing them to catch up. When they do, Madison’s face is flushed with exhilaration, visible even through the mud spatters on her helmet visor.
“This is cool,” she admits, sounding like an actual kid.
I don’t acknowledge the comment, and I nod toward a fork in the trail ahead. “That way leads back to the house. This way,” I gesture to the right, “goes to the ridge.”
“The ridge?” Ivy asks.
“Best view of the property,” I say. I didn’t come out here to play tour guide, but the idea of going back holds no appeal, so I let them pick. “Your choice. Back to the house or continue on?”
