Wild Hearts (20 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Better for a man to wear out than rust out.

The sun peeked over Blackheart Mountain and I pedaled down Logan's driveway through the foggy morning. The mist was lifting, though, as the sun rose. It was nearly seven on Sunday and I was decked out in jeans with torn knees, an old pair of shoes, and a T-shirt with mud stains on it from the time I'd slipped into a creek in our Virginia backyard. My hair was in a high ponytail—as if I were channeling my inner cheerleader—and I was makeup free—quite a change from my first-date makeup routine.

My camera bag was slung across my shoulders—Mom had made me promise to take photos. I'd started to ease Logan into conversation over the weekend. I had talked to Mom a little bit more and told her that I was hanging out with Logan. I didn't get to the dating part. Yet. Mom was happy that I had Logan and even though I'd never asked, it was unspoken that Mom wasn't going to speak about him to Dad. I'd never have asked her to keep my boyfriend a secret, but I certainly wasn't going to argue with her
not
to.

That is, if I still had a boyfriend after Logan saw me without makeup.

I parked my bike in weedy grass by Logan's old barn and headed for the orange metal corral that held bleating sheep.
The gray-and-whitish sheep were crammed into the dirt arena and barely had a few feet of moving space. Logan was in a smaller corral with a pair of clippers and boxes and
boxes
of trash bags.

“Hi, gorgeous!” he called when he saw me approaching. I snapped a photo of him smiling and waving against the backdrop of Blackheart Mountain with the sunlight beaming behind him. The light made him look glowy and gauzy—like he was on a soap opera. I sighed quietly to myself that he hadn't run screaming in the opposite direction at the sight of my face free of makeup.

“You started without me,” I said, climbing between the fence boards and stepping inside the small corral.

Logan kissed my cheek and started to pull on his gloves. “Nah, I just got things ready. One by one, I'm going to drive a sheep from the pen through that chute and into this corral. You can help hold while I shear until you see how it's done and then you can try if you want.”

“Okay, that sounds good,” I said. “Are the sheep wild or gentle?”

Logan moved toward the chute and stood by the barrier he would lift so a sheep could enter the corral. “Most are gentle, but a few new ones haven't been sheared as much, so they're a little scared. They won't bite, though.”

“I'll hold you to that.” I was making it my mission to be the best partner he'd ever had. I hung my camera bag on a fence post and took the gloves Logan offered me.

“Can I feel their wool before I put these on?” I asked. “That okay?”

“Sure. Ready?”

“Let's do it.” We smiled at each other and then looked into the corral. Logan pulled on the thick rope and the wooden gate rose. A sheep, seemingly eager to escape its crowded space, lumbered through the narrow chute and stepped into the corral. Logan jogged up to the corral and slid under the fence. He patted the sheep on the back and motioned for me to step up to the animal. I held out a hand to the sheep, and it allowed me to approach.

“Boy or girl?” I asked Logan.

After a quick peek below, he answered, “Boy.” He slipped a thick rope around the sheep's neck and handed it to me. “Put your hand on the rope against his neck and he'll be still. If he starts to move, just tug on the rope and he'll listen. He's older, so he's a pro at this.”

“Hi, boy,” I said to the sheep, taking hold of the rope. I ran my hand across his back and was surprised at the oil that came off on my hands. “Wow, I had no idea they were this oily. What happens next with the wool?”

“Combing and washing,” Logan said, turning on the clippers that buzzed loudly and caused him to raise his voice a notch. “We don't do that. We do the shearing and then send the wool to a farm down the road who takes it from there.” He started at the sheep's neck and glided the clippers down the animal's back. Tufts of cotton-like hair fell from the sheep and landed in a pile on the corral dirt. The sheep stood still and a
minute later, Logan had almost half the wool off the sheep and onto the ground.

“You're fast,” I said, concentrating on holding the now-antsy sheep still. He tugged against the rope and was stronger than I'd thought he could be.

“This is nothing,” he said. “The local record is shearing an entire sheep in forty-five seconds.
That's
fast.”

He sheared off the final puff of wool and helped me take off the rope. He guided the sheep into an empty pen. The animals probably felt naked after losing pounds of wool.

“Let's put this into a bag and we'll do the next one,” Logan said, reaching for a garbage bag. We stuffed the slick wool into the bag, tied it shut, and Logan opened the chute for the next sheep.

“Where's Holden?” I asked, suddenly realizing the little boy wasn't around.

Logan secured the rope around the new sheep's neck. “It's his first day of day camp. He got me up this morning before five, ready to go with his backpack and everything.”

“Aw. What a cutie.”

“He'll do, I guess,” Logan said, smiling.

“Holden's really lucky to have you, you know. He worships you. And your dad.”

“Thanks, babe.” Logan's smile reached his eyes. “He's lucky to have Pam, too.” Logan clicked on the clippers and started on a new sheep. “I do what I can, but Dad and I aren't always there for him. Pam takes him out for a Mother's Day lunch every
year and he began buying her a present each year. I think that helps.”

“She's amazing,” I said. “Does she have kids of her own?”

He wiped his forehead with his dirt-streaked wrist. “No, her only son died in a car accident about seven years ago. She was a single mom and the grief almost killed her.”

“That's terrible,” I said. “I couldn't even begin to imagine how she survived that.”

“It has to be especially hard because the accident was just down the road. Her kid's truck spun out on black ice.”

I shook my head, blinking fast so that I wouldn't get teary.

“I heard that Pam was going to leave Lost Springs because she couldn't stand to be here, but when my mom left, she started helping my dad with me and Holden.”

“I've never met a woman like Pam,” I said. “How could you lose a son and then sort of raise a thirteen-year-old and a five-year-old?”

“I have no idea,” Logan said. “She's just always been there for us.”

He pulled stuck wool out of the clipper blades. His smile peeked at me from under his cowboy hat. “Want to try?”

I reached out my hand and took the clippers. “Sure.” Leaning over the sheep, I gently pressed the clippers to its head. Fuzz came right off as I made a stripe down its back, imitating the pattern that Logan had done with the other sheep. It took me ten times as long as it did Logan to shear the sheep, but he told me to do another one. I was determined to beat my time and soon, five sheep later, I got into a rhythm.

It was almost seven before I dragged my tired body through my back door. I was covered in dirt, oil, and tiny bits of wool. Logan and I had successfully sheared all five hundred sheep and when I got tired of holding the sheep still, we switched places. I turned out to be a whiz with the shears and Logan seemed impressed with my previously nonexistent shearing skills. We took a break around noon for lunch and Logan cooked a dozen ears of sweet corn and made turkey sandwiches. We laughed when butter ran down our arms, and the conversation flowed throughout lunch. We finished shearing and Logan tossed my bike into the back of his truck and drove me home. I'd protested that biking home would be fine, but he'd refused.

“Bye,” I said, leaning into the driver's-side window and kissing him one more time.

“Bye,” he replied, smiling. I hopped on my bike and he let the truck out of park. I biked up the driveway and all my muscles protested when I hopped off and walked it to the shed.

The second I stepped inside the house, I knew something was wrong. It was too quiet. “Mom?” I called. “Dad?” No TV was on and I didn't hear anyone. I walked upstairs and found Mom on my balcony. The door was partially open and a light wind blew into my bedroom.

“Mom? What's wrong? Are you okay?” I asked. My heart thumped like a jack rabbit. It was pounding so hard that I felt dizzy. I slid the door back more and stepped outside.

“I'm fine,” she said, but the lines in her forehead said something else. She let out a big sigh and patted the wicker chair next to her. “Sit.”

“Is Dad okay? Where is he?”

“He's fine,” she said quickly. “But there's something you need to know.”

“What?”

She pressed her lips together and reached for my hand. “Honey, how close are you and Logan?”

“Logan? What? Why?” I sputtered the questions.

She squeezed my hand. “Sweetie, your dad had someone show up at work again and bother him.”

“Is he calling the cops? Is this guy dangerous, Mom?”

“Dad is going to file a restraining order, but that's not what I want to talk about. Brie, he just told me the name of the man who's been harassing him, and I think you should know . . .” Mom tilted her head and ran her fingers over her messy bun.

“No,” I said, barely recognizing my own voice. “No. You're wrong! Dad's wrong!” A wave of nausea rolled over me.

“Honey, I'm sorry. But Jack McCoy has been bothering Dad since the job started. He knows there's nothing he can do to stop the development. But he's upset that the land is being taken away from the horses, so he's taking out his frustration on your dad.”

“There's no way Logan knew about this,” I said. “He would have stopped it. I just—we just—” I shook my head.

“I'm sorry, Brie.” Mom reached over and hugged me. “Do you want to be alone for a little bit?”

I nodded. “Mom?” I asked before she walked away. “Where
is
Dad?”

“With Brody and the crew,” she said. “There's no trouble right now.” Mom reached over and put a hand on my knee. “The only reason I'm keeping the fact secret that you and Logan have been hanging out is that it will add to your father's stress.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Mom. Sorry that I put you in this position.”

Mom's eyes were gentle as she gave me a half smile.

I let her leave and I drew my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I didn't believe for a second that Logan knew anything about this. He wouldn't have let me sit across the table from his dad while knowing what was going on with
my
dad.

But what if he knew?
The thought of Logan knowing and not being honest made me want to throw up. I had opened my heart to him. He was the first guy—the first person—I'd ever let get to know me this intimately. Almost everything in my heart screamed to call Logan and tell him what was going on. But the tiniest part of me said to pull back a bit. This wasn't my fight, but I felt like a traitor for having dessert with
the person who had been making Dad's life hell. The great memory of that night turned sour.

I spent a long time on the balcony before going into my room, taking off my clothes, and hopping into a hot shower. Then I buried myself under the covers.

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN