Page 18 of Pretty Wild

Making sure he’s behind me, I go to the kitchen and retrieve a bowl, filling it with tap water. I place it on the floor and stand back, waiting. The dog watches me for several seconds before slowly making his way to the bowl and drinking. “Good boy,” I tell him, holding still so I don’t scare him.

When he drinks half the bowl, I carefully move to the fridge. I don’t have a lot of options, but I do have a few chicken breasts leftover from the other night. Pulling out the container, I retrieve one fillet and place it on a plate. I cut up the meat, scraping off the seasoning where I can. When it’s all chopped into bite-sized pieces, I glance down. The dog is sitting right beside my left foot, watching me. He licks his lips, as if understanding what’s to come. Not wanting to make him wait any longer, I place the plate on the floor beside the bowl of water and watch as he goes to town. He chews happily, his eyes bouncing between the food and me.

I’ve always loved dogs, but never felt like I was in a place where I could get one. My work hours are crazy, but I don’t know, something about this guy calls to me. Maybe it’s the fact he was abandoned, like me, and reliant on someone compassionate and loving to care for him.

Of course, maybe he’s not a stray, but someone’s pet. There might be a child out looking for him right now, though by the looks of this guy, he’s been left on his own for a while. I guess I should probably start by talking to a vet and going from there.

I run my hand across his head. “You’re gonna be okay, boy. I promise.”

6

RYAN

Ishouldn’t go.

The more I’m out and under the public’s watchful eye, the more chances I’m taking at being recognized, and the last thing I want is to have my little world inundated by the press once more.

It’s Sunday, only two days since I left LA and flew to Wisconsin, but I’m enjoying this private little bubble I’m in. Of course, at any moment, that bubble could pop. It almost happened on day two yesterday with that group of high school girls, but I was able to convince them I wasn’t Ryan. I’m not sure it will be as easy next time, especially if I keep dressing like myself.

My eyes move to the two ball caps sitting on the kitchen table. One dark blue and the other red, both with the same wrench and gear logo with the name Wright Auto printed across it. Beneath the business name is a phone number and the words auto repair, tow truck, and snow removal. It has to be Marcus’s business. How else would you explain two ball caps appearing at my front door less than an hour after I asked Marcus about where to purchase one?

Is that his last name? Wright?

I find myself reaching for my phone and doing what I’d normally do when I want information. I Google.

Immediately, I’m inundated with info on Marcus Wright, but with just a quick scroll, I can tell none of them are the Marcus I know. Of course, maybe that’s not even his last name. Deciding to try narrowing down my options, I add the town and state behind the name. Instantly, an article from a little more than three years ago in the local newspaper appears on the screen, so I click the link and start reading.

There’s a picture at the top of a younger Marcus standing beside an older man, their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders. The caption confirms my suspicions of it being his grandfather. The article explains how the business originally started in the fifties with Michael and his wife, Nina, building the small auto repair shop. It doesn’t talk about Marcus’s parents, just mentions the young boy always helping and being eager to learn from his grandpa and long-time employee, Dale Christian.

Dale.

I read the rest of the article, talking about Marcus purchasing the business from his grandfather before he passed away from pancreatic cancer around the time the article was published. Nina had passed away almost twenty years ago. Over the last several decades, the business grew to what it is now, adding the towing service and snow removal along the way.

There’s also a black-and-white photo of the original building, Nina and Michael standing in front of it with wide smiles on their faces. I take in the younger Michael and can definitely see Marcus in him. Was Marcus’s mom or dad the connection between grandfather and grandson? I don’t know why I’m so interested in learning more about him, especially since he’s been less than cordial since I arrived in town.

But even with his grumpy demeanor, I do admit, he’s appealing to the female eye. I can see why ladies might lose their minds—and maybe their panties—over a man like him. He’s nothing—and I do mean nothing—like the men I’ve always dated, but I contribute that to the difference in our social circles. He’s a small-town country boy and I’m a big-city rich girl.

We’d never work.

I pick up the red ball cap and place it on my head. It takes a few tries to tighten the strap to make it fit, and the moment I have it right, I go to the bathroom to check my reflection. My hair is down in beach waves, and I have to admit, I kind of like this look. I’ve seen it online, but I’ve never added the trucker or ball cap to my wardrobe. Can you imagine me wearing one while shopping on Rodeo Drive or at the Americana at Brand? Or in Milan and Paris? The internet would explode with gossip, comments, and opinions, and while they say bad publicity is still good publicity, my current situation doesn’t necessarily agree.

I toss the ball cap onto the counter and pull my hair back into a ponytail. When it’s secured with a band, I replace the hat, slipping the ponytail through the hole in back and smile. The hat definitely helps camouflage my appearance. It creates a shadow over the top half of my head, hooding my dark eyes and generating a touch of mystery.

“This’ll have to work,” I tell myself, reaching for my trademark pink lip gloss. Before I swipe it over my lips, I pause and replace the tube on the counter. If I’m looking to blend in a little more, I need to change the things that make Ryan Marcotte stand out.

I take in my cutoff jean shorts and red-and-white striped tank top. I brought a couple of basic fitted tanks for sleeping, so they’ll have to do until I can get to a department or big box store and buy some more basic, plain tops.

Nodding in approval of my appearance, I head to the kitchen to figure out what I’m going to take. Apparently, I’ve just decided to attend the cookout I was invited to, the one where I’ll know exactly two people there, including myself, and I can’t show up empty-handed. It’s not like I can cook more than anything basic, and I don’t foresee any restaurant having roasted bacon Brussels sprouts or balsamic asparagus salad I can grab on my way by.

But the moment I open my fridge, I spot a few things I can use. I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever been to a cookout like this, but I assume fruit would be acceptable. Pulling the grapes, strawberries, kiwi, and oranges out, I set out to slicing them up. I find a large bowl in one of the cabinets and start adding the sliced fruit. It only fills about half the bowl, but at least it’s something.

I sigh, looking at the contents. I should just stop by the market and grab a bottle of wine or something. Closing my eyes, I take a few deep, calming breaths. This feels right. I’ll take the fruit with me and if no one eats it, then so be it.I’ll bring it home and eat it myself over the next couple of days. Thatiswhy I bought all the fruit. They have a higher sugar content, but I’ve always been a fruit lover and would do extra yoga or Pilates to work it off.

Reaching for my purse, I slip a pair of brown leather sandals on my feet, grab the fruit bowl, and head for the door. As soon as I climb inside my rental, I pull up the address on my phone and plug it into the GPS in the vehicle. Instantly, it starts telling me how to get to the cabin where the cookout is being held.

Fortunately, it’s not too far away. It’s about a mile and a half up the road, but I’ll be heading farther into the national park. The sun is still shining brightly in the sky, reflecting off the water. Boats dot the massive lake, kids swim or float on rafts, and the beach is lined with families. I have to admit, this placelooks like a great spot to vacation, and maybe if I were in a better mental place, I’d be able to enjoy it more.

Pushing those dark thoughts out of my head, I follow the last two hundred feet until I’m instructed to turn right at my destination. The moment I pull into the driveway, I spot several vehicles, none of them familiar. It’s a reminder I don’t know anyone here. Ellie might be the nicest person on earth, but that doesn’t mean all her friends are. Or what if it’s just an act? Maybe she’s the sweet, innocent one, who lures helpless woman to a cabin in the woods and does diabolical things to them.

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