Lost & Found

  “Rowen?” he said, like he couldn’t have been anymore dumbfounded. “Holy shit. I knew you were troubled, I just didn’t think this troubled.” He waved his hands up and down my way and shook his head. “I might be able to overlook the hot mess if you’re as freaky in bed as you dress.”

  He wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t heard before, but he’d taken me by surprise. I was always on guard for those kinds of cruel words and nasty names, but I’d let that wall fall sometime recently. Each of his words hit me in a sore spot. Each of them would leave a permanent scar. That was why I didn’t let my walls down. Not even for a second because the moment I did, I was reminded why I’d built them in the first place.

  Making sure those walls were back in place before I replied, I glared at him. “I knew you were a poser, I just didn’t realize how much of one until I saw that sorry excuse for a ride out there.” He might have known where I hid my emotional underbelly, but I guessed where he hid his, too. Rodeo. Winning. Proving he wasn’t a failure. Proving to himself and to everyone else.

  From the expression darkening his face, I knew I’d hit the right spot. “Why don’t you get the hell out of here?” he said before pointing for the exit. “You’re confusing everyone.” He cupped his hand over his mouth and shouted, “No, people! It’s not Halloween! It’s just our resident freak who’s really letting that freak flag fly tonight!”

  Shit. That would have done some damage if those trusty walls of mine weren’t back up. I’d known from the start Garth was one of those troubled, angry souls, but I never guessed he was the cruel, downright nasty type.

  Dropping his hand, he took a sip of his beer. That predatory look in his eyes returned. “You know, when teachers told us not to be afraid to be who we are, you really shouldn’t have listened.”

  The rest of the guys around him chuckled. A few tried to hide their amusement, but the majority didn’t. I hated being laughed at. I hated being seen as a joke. I hated feeling the way I did then. I turned to rush for the exit, when a body plowed past me.

  “Shut the hell up, Garth.” Jesse squared himself a foot in front of Garth and very intentionally looked down at him.

  “And what makes you think I’d listen to anything you say?” Garth replied, his voice and expression lazy and unimpressed.

  Jesse’s fists clenched and unclenched. “Because I know, and you know, I’d have no problem shutting you up if you don’t want to do this the easy way.”

  Those words, or that warning, hung in the air for a moment. The rest of the guys around Garth stepped back a few feet. Maybe to give those two space to duke it out if it came to that, or maybe just because they feared the quivering mass of muscle that was Jesse Walker. Whatever the reason, those guys were ten times smarter than Garth Black. He just stood there, staring back at Jesse and taking swigs of his beer.

  “Go ahead,” Garth said after a solid minute of their silent stare down. “She’s all yours tonight. I’ll take my turn later.” Glancing my way with a look of disgust, he shook his head. “It’s not exactly like she’s shiny and new.”

  “What did you just say?” Jesse fumed, stepping into Garth. They would have been nose to nose if they were the same height. “What did you say, you little piece of shit?”

  It was the first time I’d heard Jesse curse with real emotion. Other than that time in the kitchen, which seemed like the kiddie pool in comparison to what was going down, I hadn’t seen Jesse’s lid about to fly off.

  I had turned him into a seething, cursing, crazed man. I’d been the one to make him lose his cool. Sure, what Garth had said and did really set him off, but my being there, being the target of Garth’s words and being who I was, had set the fire to the flame raging in front of me.

  I wasn’t sure if I’d ever had a less proud moment.

  I’d screwed up enough. I’d done what Rowen Sterling did best and made a shit-storm of everything. Enough for one night. Before the guys said another word, I spun around and rushed the hell away. Maybe once I was gone, they could forgive, forget, shake hands, and share a couple of beers. That’s what guys did, right?

  Once I was outside the fairgrounds, in the dark and quiet, I felt comfortable. Like I could breathe again. As much as I’d tried to fight it, the dark and quiet was home to me. The only place I felt accepted.

  The air was a bit cooler than when I’d arrived, but by the time I’d speed walked a few hundred feet down the road, my body was so warm I rolled up the sleeves of my hoodie. I made a note to remember a flashlight the next time I planned on walking at night. Out in the sticks, there weren’t such things as street lights. If not for the clear sky and almost full moon, I would have been lost in no time.

  The crickets were really chirping, and for the first time since arriving at Willow Springs, I found the sound soothing. I’d kept my windows shut for the past week because those little buggers made a lot of noise, and for a city girl used to being serenaded by car horns and sirens, trying to fall asleep to a cricket chorus was like trying to fall asleep with a fog horn going off a few inches from my ear.

  But I’d grown to like the crickets. In one week’s time, I’d been converted.

  The country was slowly making its way inside me. First the people out there who, other than Garth Black, had to have some of the biggest hearts on the planet, and the crickets. I had a feeling I was on a slippery slope.

  I was maybe a mile down the road and a million miles down my thought-path when I heard a car approaching. Well, a truck approaching.

  The driver dimmed the headlights as they approached. The truck wasn’t familiar to me, so I knew I should probably duck into the field and run, but if the person inside that truck wanted to catch me, they were close enough running wouldn’t matter. Plus, I could qualify as the world’s slowest runner. The clodhopper boots didn’t help.

  The driver’s window whirred down, and a sweet smile greeted me. “If Jesse knew you were out here walking all by yourself, he would bust something,” Josie said, slowing the truck to keep pace with me.

  “He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t need to know,” I replied. “So no need to worry about Jesse busting anything.” My eyes drifted automatically to the bed of her truck, and my stomach twisted. “And didn’t you leave a while ago?”

  “I did. Until I realized I’d left my purse behind.”

  You left your boyfriend behind, too I almost added.

  “Hop on in,” she said with a tilt of her head. “I’ll give you a ride. Willow Springs is on my way.”

  I thought about that for all of a second. I still had a few miles left to go, I was exhausted physically and emotionally, and I knew the rodeo was close to finishing. Jesse and the Walkers would drive down the road soon, and they would pull over the instant they saw me. I didn’t want to be pressed up against Jesse in a car any more than I did earlier.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, already crossing toward the truck.

  “Sure as sure can be,” she replied.

  Josie’s truck was nice. It was shiny red, and even though it didn’t seem to have a lift on it, I had to jump to get into the passenger seat.

  “Thanks,” I said as I snapped my buckle into place. “I wasn’t really thinking when I walked to the rodeo tonight. I guess it slipped my mind I’d have to make a return trip, too.” I glanced down at my boots. I might have ticked off some miles in my day, but ten miles in the span of an evening was a bit ambitious. I already felt a couple blisters on my heels.

  “Lord knows I’ve done plenty of things I didn’t really think about either,” she replied as she hit the gas. The truck was one of those loud ones, too. “Things way worse than not wearing the right shoes to walk in.” It was dark inside the cab, but Josie’s face visibly shadowed.

  Miss Peaches and Cream had secrets, too. She’d made mistakes she regretted. I knew everyone did in theory, but sometimes that theory didn’t seem to apply to people like Josie.

  “Yeah. Me, too.” There was a whole encyclopedia-sized record of the screw up
s and mistakes I’d made in a mere eighteen years of living.

  Another few seconds of silence ticked off before Josie’s face cleared. That smile that seemed as permanently embedded on her face as Jesse’s was on his reformed. As much as I wanted to dislike her, I couldn’t. “Do you have a boyfriend?” she asked.

  I huffed. “Hell, no.”

  “Why not?”

  Might as well be honest with the girl. “I’ve been with so many pieces of shit, I’ve lost count. That’s why.”

  Josie peered over at me. “Sometimes a girl needs to be with a piece of shit—”

  “Or fifty,” I muttered.

  “—so she recognizes when one who isn’t comes along.” She lifted her shoulders. “The more experience you have with P.O.S., the better equipped you are to identify one who isn’t.”

  I nodded as I wondered what those words would look like tattooed across my forehead. It could change a lot of girls’ lives.

  “So what did you think of the rodeo?” Josie moved from one topic to the next so quickly I was about to get whiplash.

  It sucked ass.

  “It was . . . interesting,” I settled on. Interesting was a versatile word and my go-to when I didn’t want to admit the truth.

  “Yeah, I’d imagine it’s pretty barbaric seeming if you weren’t raised on rodeo,” she said.

  There were definitely barbaric low points, but they had nothing to do with the actual rodeo.

  I shrugged my reply.

  “Are you going to the big summer dance and barbecue next week?”

  “Since this is the first I’m hearing of it, I don’t think so.” After that night, I would make staying away from the cowboy masses a top priority.

  “You’ve got to go. Everyone’s invited. There’s a ton of good food, some good, old country music,”—I cringed at the “good” part of country music—“cute cowboys, and a really good time. Come. You can hang out with me and the girls. If you don’t want to drive over in the Walker caravan, I could pick you up. Or Jesse could give you a ride in Old Bessie. Although that’s an experience I’m sure you can live without.”

  “Unfortunately, Old Bessie and I are already acquainted,” I said. “But you’re right. That was an experience I could have done without.” The Old Bessie part, not so much the Jesse part.

  “You’ve been in Jesse’s truck?”

  I didn’t miss the subtle nuance there. It was Old Bessie before she learned I’d been a passenger in her boyfriend’s truck. Then it became Jesse’s truck.

  “Eh, yeah,” I said, wondering if it was too early in the ride to stick my foot in my mouth. “Just one time though. When he picked me up at the bus station. I haven’t ridden in it since. I haven’t even seen it.” Jesse in the bed of his truck that night outside the barn jumped to mind. I’d been a cowboy-stalking Peeping Tom that night. Probably not something I should admit to her. “I mean, I haven’t seen his truck running, with him in it, since that first day.”

  Oh, dear God. Strike me mute before I said anything else. Maybe that was why I pushed people away: It was a defense mechanism to keep myself from going on like a blubbering idiot.

  Josie gave me a curious look, but that was it. “No big surprise since Old Bessie isn’t a big fan of running. At least not consistently.” She laughed, and I couldn’t help but join in. If I couldn’t laugh about something like Jesse’s truck, there was no hope for me.

  “So? Are you going to come?” she asked once we’d stopped giggling like a couple of girls.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, grabbing the handle above the window and hanging on for dear life as Josie took a right turn at forty miles per hour. And I’d thought Jesse drove like a maniac. Apparently speed limits and road rules didn’t apply to country kids.

  “What’s there to think about?” she asked as the bed of her truck fishtailed when she punched the gas coming out of the turn. “Music. Barbeque. Dancing. Cute boys in tight jeans. There is nothing about that line up that needs thinking about.”

  I agreed with at least one of the four things there.

  “Yeah . . . well,”—I bit my lip and decided how much to say—“I don’t think I’d fit in very well at that kind of thing.” That summed it up without going into too many details.

  “Says who?” she said instantly.

  “Garth,” I admitted.

  I couldn’t tell if Josie was cringing or shuddering, but if someone could dislike Garth Black as much as I did after tonight, it was Josie. The fact that we weren’t fans of the same guy made me feel some sort of sisterhood with her. Like we were sisters in boy tastes. The more I thought about that, the truer it was. We didn’t just dislike the same guy; we both liked the same guy.

  “What did that asshole do, say, or ruin?” Her voice took on a certain chill. I wouldn’t have guessed Josie had the word “asshole” in her repertoire. We really did share some kind of sisterhood.

  “Just some asshole thing . . .” I started. “About me being a freak. Or dressing like one. I don’t really know. Or care.” I lied. I usually didn’t care about the constant name-calling, but when it came to Garth—a guy I thought liked me—the names cut me more than usual.

  “I’m going to tell you something, Rowen, and I want you to really hear me out. Okay?” Damn. Her hands were almost shaking over the steering wheel. “Don’t let a guy like Garth Black ruin your summer. And don’t let him ruin your life. Guys like that, people past the point of saving, have only one goal—to take as many others down with them as they can. And they’re good at it.”

  I certainly hadn’t expected to get a sermon from Josie on the evil ways of Garth Black when I’d jumped into her truck, but I was kinda digging it.

  “Okay, Rowen? Steer clear of Garth, and if he gives you a hard time, let Jesse know. He’ll take care of it.” She looked over at me and lifted her eyebrows. She was obviously waiting for a response.

  “O. Kay,” I said dramatically, giving her a salute. After what he’s said, I’d dodge Garth as much as Willow Springs would allow. Speaking of Willow Springs . . .

  We pulled into the driveway. The house was dark except for the porch lights and that lone lamp shining in the window. We’d beat the Walkers home, so all I had to do was rush upstairs and lock myself in my room before they got back. I wasn’t in the mood to recap the night, and I really wasn’t in the mood to see Jesse.

  “Thanks again for the ride, Josie,” I said before leaping out of the truck.

  “Anytime.” She inspected the Walkers’ house. When her eyes drifted up to my second floor bedroom window, her expression fell. I only hoped it wasn’t because she was clairvoyant and knew I’d checked her guy out from that window. “If I don’t see you before, I expect to see you at that dance or else I’ll come and drag you there.”

  It was a full week away. An eternity. So I shrugged and said, “I’ll make sure to wear my non-freak wear.”

  “Wear whatever the hell you want,” she replied.

  Flashing her a wave, I closed the door and headed up the porch. The girl reversed out of the driveway as fast as she drove forward down it.

  Once I was inside, I was up the stairs and in my room as fast as my booted and blistered feet could carry me. It was late, I was tired, and all I wanted to do was get into bed and put the day in the delete folder. But first, I needed pajamas.

  Unfortunately, I hadn’t listened to Rose when she’d reminded me to bring my laundry down. In the midst of the sunrise-to-sunset work, doing one more chore at the end of the day just hadn’t been a priority. As I pawed through my drawers, unable to find one article of clothing that could work as sleepwear, I realized I should have made personal laundry duty a priority.

  Live and learn.

  Desperate, I slid open the bottom drawer. I knew it would be empty—the top drawers had enough space to hold my clothes—but I had to check.

  And the heavens opened and rained down pajama shirts.

  It wasn’t mine, but one folded white undershirt was in the back
corner of the drawer. I pulled it out and gave it a whiff. It was fresh.

  I lifted it and let it unfold in front of me. Clean, too.

  My pajama dilemma was solved.

  Sliding out of my freak-wear, according to Garth Black, I slipped into the white tee. It went down to my knees, and I was pretty sure I could fit two more Rowens inside of it, but I wasn’t complaining.

  I couldn’t crawl into bed fast enough, and after a couple of minutes, I was out.

  I FELL ASLEEP fast no problem. The staying asleep, not so much. I didn’t know what time it was, but it was still dark and the house was quiet. Sneaking a peek at my phone, I saw it was just past midnight. I’d barely slept for two whole hours, and from the way I felt, I doubted I could fall asleep again anytime soon.

  I threw the covers off and headed for the window. Maybe the crickets would lull me back to sleep.

  A rush of cool air burst inside my room, instantly filling it with the scent of grass and the sound of those crickets. I stood at the window and breathed in a few slow breaths. The Walkers’ Suburban was in its usual spot, and from the looks of the bunkhouse, everyone was asleep. Except for me.

  I crawled back into bed, closed my eyes, and tried to fall back asleep. Try being the operative word. I was about two minutes into failing to sleep when strange, creaking sounds started outside my window. Not even a second later, something crawled inside said window.

  Well, someone crawled inside.

  Instead of screaming bloody murder, I rolled across the bed, grabbed one of my boots, and took aim. The boot circled through the air and couldn’t have landed in a better spot: right in the side of the person’s face.

  The dark shadow huffed in surprise, or maybe pain, and rose to a full stand. I’d picked a Goliath-sized monster to pick a fight with. Not my finest moment.

  I was just readying those vocal chords for what I should have done instead of reaching for my boot when the figure came closer.