Page 11 of You Shouldn't Have Come Here

“Probably not too safe without wearing a beekeeping suit.” I craned my neck toward her. “You like bees or something?”

“Yeah. They’re fascinating.” She looked up at me, our eyes meeting. “When a honeybee stings, their stinger gets lodged in skin, so they have toself-amputatetheir digestive tract, muscles, and nerves. They literally die protecting themselves.”

“Sounds like a gruesome death.”

“It is. Sorry, I watch a lot of Discovery channel,” Grace said with a laugh.

“Nothing wrong with knowing interesting facts. Did you know honey never goes bad?”

Her plump lips curved into a grin. I could have kissed them right then and there, but I broke eye contact, looking at my feet instead. Grace made me nervous, real nervous. I think she probably had that effect on a lot of people. I had forgotten what nerves felt like—them little tingles on the skin and that whoosh of butterflies in my belly. I couldn’t remember the last time I had that feeling. Well, actually, I could and it didn’t end well.

Grace walked in step beside me. “I think I read that somewhere. But my brussels sprouts recipe calls for honey, so I can use up a little bit of your collection.”

“Kismet.”

“Indeed,” she said with a nod.

I pointed up ahead at Wind River. “I get some good fishing out of there and some good swimming too.”

We stood at the edge of the water. It babbled in some parts where it brushed over large rocks. In other parts it sounded like awhoosh, like water coming too quick out of a faucet. Beyond it was the woods—thick, twisting, and dark. My father always used to say: Anything goes in the woods. It’s like Vegas for wildlife. Has its own boundaries, its own cover, and the plants and animals do whatever it takes to survive in there.

Past that were the mountains. They served as a reminder of how small and insignificant we all were. I liked looking at them when I felt frustrated with my own life. The tops were white from snow that wouldn’t touch the ground we stood on for another few months.

“What do you catch?” Grace looked at me and then back at the water.

I slid my hands into my pockets. “Most everything. Walleye, perch, largemouth bass, but my favorite is golden trout.”

We stood in silence for a few moments, taking it all in.

“I’m going to assume you ain’t ever fished.” I glanced over at her.

She cocked her head. “You know what they say about assuming.”

“So, you have?”

“No, I haven’t.” Grace laughed.

“Now you’re just yanking my chain, Grace Evans, aren’t you?” I smirked, tipping my head toward her.

She playfully bumped her shoulder into me. “I could have fished. I just don’t know how to.”

The sun reflected off of her eyes. I could get real used to looking at them blue, blue eyes.

“I can teach ya if ya want.” I smiled.

She nodded. “I’d love that, Calvin Wells.”

There she went again, using my full name, making my stomach get all turned upside down. I missed that feeling, but I wasn’t ready for a girl like her. She was going to make resisting her the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But deep down, I already knew I’d fail at that.

7.

Grace

I put the car in park right in front of Betty’s Boutique, a local clothing shop that offeredwestern-stylewomen’s clothing. From what I had seen, downtown Dubois was the whole town, one street full of local businesses and angled parking on both sides. It felt like I had walked into the 1950s. There wasn’t a chain store or restaurant in sight, and everyone seemed to know one another—well, except me. I got out of the car and flung my purse over my shoulder. This is where Calvin had said I could get myself some proper “Wyoming wear,” as he put it. He had more work to tend to on the ranch, so I figured if I was going to fish and ride horses, I may as well look the part. A woman walked by, delivering a friendly smile and a hello. I nodded back. She gave me an odd look, and I couldn’t tell if it was from my curt acknowledgment or because I was a stranger, both oddities around here.

I went inside the store and before I even got the chance to look around, I was greeted by a plump woman with short graying hair, a round face, and rosy cheeks. She walked right up to me from behind the counter, wearing a floral dress that had no shape to it.

“Welcome to Betty’s Boutique,” she said. “What brings you in today?” I could have fit a pencil sideways in her mouth, that’s how wide her smile was.

---