Page 2 of Wild Heart
“It’s done.”
“But my lashes, my nails… my life?” I hear the drop in my tone to an unflattering manly rasp when my shoulders sag.
“Earn it for yourself. Then we’ll see how willing you are to part with money.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus.” Please wake up. Please be a bad dream.
Mother’s hair whips around her shoulders when she turns away from me. “I’ve given you too many chances, Summer. We’re doing this because we love you. Pack your bags. You’re flying to Dallas, Texas in the morning. Papa Sawyer will collect you at arrivals.”
My gulp is louder than her soft steps that take her away with a swoosh of floral silk.
Ugh! My sweet life is doomed.
2
I tipmy Stetson to block out the low sun setting over the green pastures at the front of our ranch. Linear fences stretch as far as the eye can see. This is home, a ninety-three-acre plot with prime cattle producing the best damn beef in North Texas.
“Clay, I’m gonna need you to come out to the ranch. One of the broodmares is lame.” I call my buddy Clay for the fourth time this month, and it ain’t to do with women or booze this time.
Damn mares. They’re always moody, broody and problematic. Just like women. Or I should say, just like Kelsey, my ex. One minute she was biting my head off, and the next, she was ripping my shirt off. I haven’t got time for that psycho shit. My dad, however, isn’t put off by the crazy. This evening he’s playing footsie with Verlyne from the bookstore. And no, he doesn’t visit her shop to brush up on fancy novels, he just meets her in the cafe and talks real dirty to her. She loves it, apparently. They’ve been at it for a month now.
I’m more than capable of running the ranch in his absence. It’s what I was born to do. Rearing livestock is in my blood. A little help around the house wouldn’t go amiss though. So when my dad told me old man Sawyer had a relative wanting to clean for a few dollars each week, I jumped at the offer.
Apparently, there is some young girl flying over from Ireland to stay with him for a few weeks. He told my dad, ‘The kid needs a good dose of discipline and an extra helpin’ of good ole Texan country life’. I feel sorry for the kid. Old man Sawyer isn’t exactly the hospitable type.
“I’ll come by the ranch first thing in the morning, Hayden. Round up your mare and leave her in the pen out front.” Barking dogs and rattling wire cages in the background almost drown out his voice. “You coming to Jackson’s on Friday night?” Clay asks, even though my answer is always the same.
Every Friday evening, after all our chores are done, the guys and I hang out at the local bar in Heartville. It’s been that way since we were teens. Clay is Heartville’s local vet and always on call, even on holidays, but on Friday nights he’s all ours. He was a year ahead of me in school, but we became friends after he knocked out some asshole who took a swing at our buddy, Jace. Even though he is the smart, educated one of the bunch, Clay is just as beer hungry as the rest of us.
“As long as my dad can keep his dick in his pants for the night.”
Clay chuckles. “Is Hank still chasing Verlyne?”
My long steady sigh says it all. “Yeah. Loves like a young dream in a pickup truck.”
“That pickup truck is ready for scrap.” Clay’s voice sounds muffled, like he is holding the receiver with his shoulder and wrestling an unruly animal.
I know it, Clay knows it, heck, the whole town knows it, but that darn dirty red truck is the first thing my dad bought with his own savings. When we were kids, he always told the same tale of how he rolled up to my mother's family home, parked out front and waited for her to come outside to kiss him. Red was her favorite color. Now, the wheels will have to fall off and the engine explode before he even considers buying another one. It isn’t just a truck; it is memories of her.
“I’ll not keep ya, buddy. See you in the morning.” I have my own jobs to oversee and a kitchen to tidy before the new kid arrives.
“That’ll do. I’ll catch you on the sunrise.”
After finishing up at the stables, I kick off my dirty boots at the front door and toss them into the mud room on my way to the kitchen. We have everything we need. A coffee maker, a fridge packed with beer and an oven. Although, these days, we cook more on the grill out on the deck. Who needs fancy dinners?
I grab a cold beer and saunter out onto the porch. The evening air has cooled to a more tolerable temperature. A balmy breeze rocks the swinging seat, until I sit down, and the hanging bench pushes back. The chains creak under my weight, but I know it’s secured to beams with sturdy nuts and bolts.
This is home, and I’m content with everything it has. What more could I possibly need? Aside from the touch of a hot woman every so often, on my terms, of course.
3
Hazy heat hitsmy face as it shines bright through the large windows when I step out of the aerobridge from the plane into the airport. It feels so good to have the sun warm my skin, rather than cold drizzle dampen my spirits. Maybe this trip to Heartville won’t be so bad after all.
I collect my five suitcases from the conveyer belt in the arrivals terminal and ask a passing member of staff to help me lug them onto a trolley.
“What the heck have you got in there?” the willowy lady in a pale pink shirt asks.
Pointing at the gold travel bag, I smile with contentment. “Those are my shoes. Well, only twelve pairs. I couldn’t fit the rest in, or I’d have needed to bring someone with me to carry my luggage.”
