Wild Hearts (16 page)

“Brie!” Logan said, echoing my tone.

“Put me down,” I said, as we passed an upside-down post office.

“Nope.” He kept walking as if I weighed nothing.

Finally, he plunked me down. He smiled at me. “Look at that—we're here!”

“Funny, I didn't realize I'd walked that far.”

A wooden sign that read
PAM'S TACK SHOP
moved gently in the breeze. A life-size chipped horse, painted grape purple, stood next to the building's entrance.

“I'm happy you're meeting Pam,” Logan said. “She's like a mom to Holden and me. She babysits him when I can't, and he loves her. She helped out a lot when my mom left.”

“She sounds great.” In the short time I'd been here, I'd learned family and community support in Lost Springs was everything.

Pam's shop was a small one-story building with a glass door and two large windows with cowboy and cowgirl mannequins dressed in full-blown Western wear complete with fringed suede chaps.

“I've never seen anyone around here dressed in anything like that,” I said in a whisper, pointing to a red blouse splattered with gold horseshoes. It looked like something from a bad Western movie.

Logan made a face at the shirt. “No one around here buys it, but the out-of-towners love stuff like that. I think Pam has a hard time keeping that shirt in stock over the summer.”

Logan pulled open the door and motioned for me to step in front of him.

“Thank you,” I said.

I walked in front of him and the smell of leather and apple-flavored horse treats filled the air. Racks of Western saddles filled every corner of the tidy shop. Bridles hung on the walls, saddle pads were draped over wooden racks, and buckets were stacked in the far corner of the room.

A few strips of flypaper hung from the ceiling and a petite gray-haired woman was sweeping in the back of the shop.

“Hi, Pam,” Logan called.

“Hey, hon,” Pam said. She stopped sweeping and rested a tanned hand on top of the broom. She looked at me before turning her pale blue eyes to Logan. Pam's silver hair was pulled into a short ponytail and she was dressed in faded jeans and work boots.

Logan walked up to her and hugged her.

“Pam,” Logan said, “this is Brie.”

Pam reached out a hand. She clasped my hand firmly and put her other hand on top of mine.

“I'm so glad to meet you, Brie,” Pam said. “This one has told me a lot about you.”

Logan's face turned pink. “Is that a new brand of fly spray?” Logan asked, hurrying away from Pam and me. He picked up the bottle and read the label, staying away from us.

Pam released my hand and laughed quietly.

“I think you might have embarrassed him just a little bit,” I said, grinning.

“Not quite enough yet,” Pam said, winking at me. “Logan, honey! That's the good old spray. You've been using that same brand since you could walk.”

There was silence from Logan's side of the store.

Pam and I laughed out loud.

“Go ahead and keep hiding,” I said, my tone teasing.

“I'm glad you came in,” Pam said, her eyes on me. “I want you to know that Logan told me where your heart is on the mustang issue.”

Logan's head popped up from a different corner of the store. He walked over and stood behind us, massaging my shoulders.

“It's a really difficult situation,” I said. “No matter what, it's still my dad. I don't like to see him attacked or vilified.”

“I can't imagine being in your place,” Pam said. “Want advice from someone who has lived on this planet many, many years?”

I nodded.

“Whatever you do, try to remember that it's not about picking sides. It's not your father over the horses. Or vice versa. It's what's right over what's wrong. That doesn't automatically mean your father's wrong. Evaluate each situation and decide on how to handle it by trusting your heart.”

“Thank you, Pam,” I said. “I appreciate the advice. I'm so glad you didn't automatically dislike me because of my dad's reputation in town.”

Pam smiled. “I've only just met you, but you've got a good heart—I can tell. I'm glad you and Logan are in each other's lives.”

I looked at Logan over my shoulder and he smiled down at me.

“Thanks for watching Holden last week,” Logan said to Pam. “There was a fence break and some of the cattle got loose and headed for Vann's land. We had to get them before he called another town meeting.” He huffed. Logan had told me stories about Vann—the McCoys' awful neighbor.

“Yeah, well,” Pam said, picking up the broom. “Vann needs to act more like a neighbor and less like a dictator. His goats ravaged your dad's corn crop last year and Jack didn't threaten to have him fined for property destruction, now, did he?”

“Dad knew it was an accident, but Vann's still upset he didn't get the permit for the new barn he wanted to build,” Logan said and shrugged. “I think he's plowed enough ground by now. He's ruined half of the forest behind his place anyway.

“I might call you in the next couple of days to give vaccinations to LG and some of the other horses if Dr. Dorsett isn't available,” Logan said. He looked down at me. “Pam's a retired vet,” he told me. “But she works more than she rests.”

Pam smiled. “If I'm not birthing a calf out in the field or deworming the new goat herd, you'll find me here.”

“She does it all,” Logan said. “We've got a new vet, Dr. Dorsett, but he's not the most reliable guy. He's always on an ‘emergency' call somewhere else.”

Pam huffed. “That's the truth. So, aside from bringing Brie in for introductions, what are you both up to?” Pam asked.

“Brie doesn't have a cowboy hat,” Logan said.

“Well, that's not acceptable!” Pam exclaimed with a wave of her hand. She pointed to the far left side of the store. “Have at it and make sure Logan breaks it in so you don't look like a dude.”

I laughed. “That's what Logan said earlier!”

“We can't have new residents walking around looking like greenhorns,” Pam said. “Especially the gals hanging out with the eligible bachelors of Lost Springs.” She winked at Logan and the tips of his ears went red. It was beyond adorable.

“Let's go look,” Logan said, leading me away from Pam.

“Aw, she didn't embarrass you, did she?” I pushed his arm with my hand.

Logan rolled his eyes and grinned. “No comment.”

We stepped up to the rows of hats. Beige, black, white, navy. Tassels, feathers, beads. Every hat looked like the exact
opposite of its neighbor, but I didn't see why picking one was such a big deal.

“How about that one?” I asked. There was a nice black hat on the rack in front of me.

“Black? No way,” Logan said. “You want people to think you're an outlaw?”

“Umm . . . no?”

“Villains wore black hats in old movies. Now it's usually reserved for ranch owners and bosses. The top dogs wear black.”

“Oh,” I said. “No black, then.” I didn't know a hat could say something like that. “How about you choose,” I offered. “I don't want to accidentally choose a hat that says ‘tourist' or ‘boring.'”

Logan stepped up to the hat rack and stared carefully at the choices. He picked up a tan hat with a round top. “That doesn't look like yours,” I said, looking at Logan's own hat. His hat had dents and creases in the top.

“This is an open crown hat,” he explained. “It hasn't been shaped yet.” He placed the hat gently on my head.
Focus, Brie!
I told myself.
You're just buying a hat!
It was hard to concentrate on anything but Logan. He was inches away from me and I wanted to take my hands and touch the washboard abs that I knew existed under his loose T-shirt.

I peered at him from underneath the brim and our eyes met. I bit on the inside of my cheek—anything to keep back the cartoon hearts that I envisioned floating around my head when he got this close to me.

“I like this one,” I said, glancing in the semi-warped mirror. The crown was rounded like a dome and the brim was straight.

“We have to shape it before you wear it in public,” Logan said. His lips formed a small smirk.

I giggled. “I look like a Canadian Mountie!”

“We can fix it up if you want to come over to my house now,” Logan said.

“Sure,” I said slowly, trying to imagine what Logan's house was like. “Let me call home and check in.”

“Okay,” he said, taking my hat and heading for the front of the store. “I'm going to get this and then we'll go if you can.”

“You're not paying for that,” I said, shoving my hand in my pocket and feeling around for bills. “It's way too much.”

Logan put his hand on my wrist and drew my hand out of my pocket. “I want to. It's only a hat.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. His hand on my wrist left a lingering feeling like jumping into a cold pool and then slowly getting used to the water temperature.

“I'm
very
sure,” he said.

I let Logan buy me the hat and I called home. Mom thanked me for checking in and told me to be home for dinner.

After good-byes to Pam, we headed back to WyGas to get Logan's pickup truck. I half wished Mom had said she'd needed me to come home. It would have stopped me from getting more invested in Logan. My stomach was in knots during the drive. I'd made similar mistakes before with girls that I'd befriended. I went to their houses, met their parents,
played with their pets, and then real feelings of friendship developed. The closer I became to them, the harder it got to keep up a wall. Finally, when I ended up moving, it hurt so much that I swore to myself to never make friends again. That level of pain came from
friendships.
I couldn't imagine what leaving a potential relationship behind was going to feel like. Maybe that was why the only person in my phone's contacts list, aside from a few random Internet friends, was Kate.

Now we were headed down a bumpy road and I gripped the door handle for support.

“Sorry,” Logan said when we bounced over a pothole. “If I go too slow, I'll get stuck.” He gripped the steering wheel with both hands.

The road was muddy from day-old rain, and mud spurted up the truck's windows. On one side of the road, a green tractor was going down a defined row.

“What are they planting?” I asked, pointing out my window.

“Barley or oats,” Logan said.

The truck hit another pothole and felt as though the tires were getting sucked into a deep mud puddle, and the truck strained to fight through the mud.

“Do you ever have trouble getting home?” I asked. It looked like the wrecked road would wash out after a decent storm.

Logan turned into a deep gravel driveway and glanced at me for a second. “Last year, we had a real gully washer.”

“Pause. Define this ‘gully washer.'” I grinned and made air quotes.

Logan laughed. “Sorry. It just means a ton of rain. When that happened, my dad had to drive through our neighbor's field, park the truck, and wade through knee-high water to get home.”

“Something kind of like that happened to us in Belize,” I said.

“Really?” Logan asked. “Tell me about it.”

“You sure? I've told you so many stories about where I've lived. Aren't you sick of them by now?”

Logan leaned over and took my left hand. He squeezed it for a few seconds in his own warm, bigger palm. “I asked, didn't I? I promise that if I ever get bored with your stories, I won't ask you to share them.”

I looked at him and wished I could pull out my phone and jot down every word he'd just said. Then again, I wasn't likely to forget.

“Okay,” I said, smiling. “Well, my dad booked our first night there in a tourist resort. It was supposed to be this cutesy little place right off the main road in town. We got into town, asked for directions, and some old guy looked at us like we were nuts. We thought he just didn't understand where we wanted to go.”

“Uh-oh,” Logan said. “I can tell this is headed for trouble.”

“Finally, we thanked the guy in
very
bad Spanish and started driving around. We found a sign for the resort that said ‘welcome and park here' so we did and we followed signs that directed us to walk to the resort. The signs were wooden with words scribbled on them in, like, Sharpie. They kept popping up and said ‘almost there' and ‘keep going.' After ten of these
signs we had walked at least a mile down a sticky jungle path before we found a bunch of canoes.”

Logan shook his head. “Such a good kickoff to your stay.”

“We had to take the canoes across a river and then we
finally
hit the resort ground. I was all sweaty and covered in bug bites. Plus, we had to trek back down to get to our car the next day.” I stopped talking as a roof popped into view.

I looked through Logan's cracked windshield as we passed under a wooden sign straddling the driveway that said
TRIPLE M RANCH
. Horses, cattle, and sheep dotted the grassy knolls around a ranch house nestled in front of a weathered tall red barn.

“Logan, your ranch is beautiful!” I said.

“Thanks,” he said. He kissed my hand and let it go. “I'm glad that you were able to come over.”

An excited border collie appeared beside my window and barked at the truck. “Who's this?” I asked Logan, peering down at the dog.

“That's Squirrel,” Logan said. “We got her as a pup and she's Holden's dog. Are you okay with dogs? I should have thought to ask. All our dogs are really friendly.”

“I love dogs,” I said. “I've only been wanting one for sixteen years.” I grinned as Squirrel bounded up ahead. I didn't know where to look. There was
so
much land. “How'd she get her name?”