Wild Hearts (6 page)

There wasn't anything special about it, but
it
was special to me. The mug was covered in My Little Pony stickers and “BRIE” was spelled out with alphabet letters on a slant. I'd been almost six when Kate—fourteen—had presented me with the stickers. One day, I put them all over her coffee mug, and instead of being mad, Kate rinsed out the coffee and washed the mug. She filled it with apple juice and gave it to me. The stickers were faded—some gone from one too many times in the dishwasher. The steel had dulled and had a million scratches everywhere. I even had to take off the top and sip from the mug because the seal had worn away years ago. I'd ended up with coffee down my shirt or on my jeans too many times before I'd given up fighting with the lid.

“Coffee for the road,” she said.

I nodded, gratefully taking the mug. “Thanks, Mom.”

I turned to Dad. “Is there going to be enough coffee for us and the guys at the site? Do you have extra in your trailer in case we run out?”

“Oh, my gosh,” Mom said, faking a horrified look with her mouth open and a hand on her heart. “How ever would you go on if you couldn't have afternoon coffee?”

“I wouldn't,” I said through my smile. “I'd be asleep, drooling on Dad's couch.”

The words took me back to the last time I'd been in the trailer. It was almost like a second home to me.

At thirteen, after spending an entire summer working in Dad's cold and boring trailer, I'd
begged
him to remodel it to at least make it more of a comfy work space. For years, Dad had a stuffy, formal office setup inside. Uncomfortable wooden chairs had come well before the couch. Harsh fluorescent lights beamed down on us, giving our skin a greenish look.

I didn't need to walk the new job site to envision the setup. No matter what, Dad always had a silver trailer at the far back left of the lot—a weird superstition—and the rest of the crew shared RVs on the lot. I'd known Dad's work guys since I could walk. His crew of ten had been with Dad from the beginning.

“Is everyone here?” I asked. “Did you tell them about yesterday?”

He nodded, not needing any more explanation to know what I meant. He reached for the sugar bowl. “Brody and the rest of the guys got in last night. They're already at the site doing a preliminary check before we start.”

“The guys are there right now?” Mom asked, leaning against the countertop.

Dad nodded. “No one else is there, hon. The village idiots were smart enough not to bang on the trailer doors of a bunch of guys who would make it hard for them to knock on another door for a
long
time. Don't be nervous.”

“Well, I am anxious,” Mom said.

“Hey,” Dad said. He walked over to Mom and hugged her. He took her hand and led her into the foyer.

“Michael, I don't want . . . my daughter is . . .” Mom's voice was too low for me to hear every word.

When Mom and Dad finally came back into the room, she didn't look happy.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

Dad opened his mouth, then hesitated. “Your mom and I are concerned about what we might be walking into at the lot.”

Mom frowned and put her hands on her hips. “I'm a little more than ‘concerned.'”

“Can you just tell me what's going on?” I asked. “Are there more protestors at the site?”

Dad shook his head. “As of five minutes ago, no. Brie, I should have told you and your mom about the controversy around this job before now. I completely understand if going to work there would make you uncomfortable.”

“I'm not afraid of them,” I said. But my heart rate increased a little. What if Jack McCoy was there and he and Dad started fighting again? I tried to push away the question forming in my brain, but I couldn't stop it. What if
Logan
was there?

“Hon, you don't have to go,” Dad said, looking into my eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Totally,” I said. “After all, I am your secretary and webmistress.” I paused, and grinned. “Plus, I need money.”

Mom and Dad laughed.

“Okay, okay,” Mom said, throwing up her hands. “But you
both
better come home and let the police handle the situation if it's out of control.”

“Promise,” I said, hugging Mom with one arm. “I'll be back for lunch,” I called. Dad had already strapped my bike to the rack. The job site wasn't far from home and I didn't want to work all of Dad's long hours.

After Dad said another good-bye to Mom, we grabbed our stuff and headed for the Explorer.

“You're in
trrroooouble
,” I sang teasingly.

Dad sighed and shook his head. “I am most definitely in trouble. Your mom was not happy that I didn't tell her about the protestors before we got here.”

I clicked my seat belt and put my coffee in the cup holder.

“Why didn't you tell us?” I asked. Dad turned on the engine, backed the SUV around a concrete birdbath and eased it over the little bridge, and started down a bumpy, barely paved road toward the site. Bright sunlight streamed through the windows. I reached down to my Fossil messenger bag—a gift from Kate—and found my pair of Dollar General sunglasses. “We always talk about
everything.
”

Outside my window, a giant herd of black cattle grazed calmly. A tangled barbed-wire fence choked with weeds ran along the road. Chunks of the fence were missing, and I wondered why the cattle didn't escape through the fence holes. I kept expecting to see someone either jump out at us with a sign or start following us to the site. But the road was eerily quiet.

“Honestly, hon, the real-estate agent did speak to me about the possibility of all this. But I didn't expect anything to really happen—especially not at our
home.
I just hope you or Mom don't need to deal with that when one of you is home alone.” Dad sighed again. “I'm sorry that you had to wake up to that. I never want you to feel vulnerable in your own space.”

He eased up on the gas pedal as the single-lane road changed from concrete to a black-tarred road. We hadn't passed one car yet.

“I don't,” I said. “They aren't showing up to
hurt
us.”

“I know, but I don't want you around them again. Brie, you have to promise that you
will
go home if that idiot McCoy and his merry men show up at the site,” Dad said. He put the turned-off Bluetooth device in his right ear and pressed it. The light turned from orange to green.

“Okay,” I said. “But, Dad, I would worry.”

He looked over at me, then back at the road. The Explorer eased up just a notch.

“Worry about what?”

“You. What if McCoy and those people get
really
mad? They probably all have guns or bear tranquilizers or something.”

The corner of Dad's mouth curled up and he laughed.

“Um, what's funny?” I asked. “I was talking about people possibly hurting you!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Dad said, his black polo shirt still shaking a little. He reached over and took one of my hands.

“Honey, if someone wants to shoot me with a bear tranquilizer, well, I'm out of luck.”

“Dad!” I yanked my hand free and crossed my arms. But I couldn't stop the smile from forming.

“They'll tranq me, let me stumble around like I've had too much to drink . . .”

Dad and I looked at each other, and we both burst into laughter.

Dad reached over and took my hand again. “I'm happy that you're up for working for your old man again this summer,” he said. “Soon you'll be in college and you'll be doing something way more interesting than this.”

A pang hit my chest. I felt like I'd worked on and off for Dad forever.

“I'll be home on summer breaks,” I said. “And please, as if you could find an intern who would put up with you.”

Dad laughed and nodded. “Touché.” He took a left and veered off the main road onto another dusty path. Three yellow bulldozers, a crane, and a trailer popped into view.

“There's Brody!” I said, straightening in my seat. His burly shoulders and backward red baseball hat were unmistakable. He stood near one of the bulldozers and talked into a radio. Mom had told me how he'd dressed up as Santa for me for three years in a row when I was little.

Dad parked the SUV, and we both got out. “Careful,” he said, touching my arm. “I didn't get a chance yet to read what kinds of snakes are out here.”

“Okay,” I said. I tried not to think of
Anaconda.
“I'm going to say hi to Brody. Then I'll meet you in the trailer.”

I turned, and Dad already had blueprints in one hand and his finger on his earpiece, turning it on.

I stepped through the knee-high grass and made my way over to Brody.

“Long time no see,” I said. I reached out my arms and wrapped them around him.

“I thought you had forgotten all about me,” Brody said, squeezing me, then letting me go. “Doing okay?” he asked, his freckled forehead crinkling.

“Can't complain so far,” I said. “Aside from our friendly neighborhood protestors.”

“I like it here, too. But yeah, I could do without those sign-waving idiots. Honestly, though, even
with
those sign-waving idiots, the conditions here are much better than the sweltering condo lot we did last time. I heard they came to your house. I'm sorry, B.”

“They were so angry and just . . . ahh!” I said, tossing up my hands. Logan's face popped into view as I visualized the protestors again. I was starting to annoy
myself
with the Logan visuals.

I looked around at the plain sprinkled with tall, thick trees. Most of the lot was already empty and the land was barren, but it was also uneven and would need serious leveling before any work started.

“Brie!” Dad yelled from the trailer across the space. “Can you come here?”

“Yeah!” I had to go or he'd keep calling for me. Patience wasn't in the Brooks blood.

“Bye,” I said.

Brody nodded and climbed into the cab of a bulldozer. He had told me once that he liked to sit in there and work out plans before he actually started bulldozing. But we both knew it was more about getting peace and quiet from Dad. We joked that Dad knew it, too.

Leaving Brody, I ambled across the field. I took my time stepping around the pink and orange spring flowers intertwined in the grass. A smooth stone gleamed in the sun, and I leaned down to pick it up.

Collecting little representations of where we lived was something Mom and I had started doing years ago. Some of my favorite things were white sand from my favorite beach in Belize, a conch shell from Miami, Florida, and a lighthouse replica from Maine.

As I started to stand, the ground rumbled beneath my feet. It started to shake slightly and then harder. My feet didn't want to move, and I heard blood rushing in my ears.

I looked back for Brody. He was still in the bulldozer's cab, and large black headphones were around his ears. The trailer was halfway across the lot. Adrenaline pushed me forward and I kept my eyes locked on the trailer.

Wyoming didn't get earthquakes, did it? Maybe there were geysers around here.

The ground rumbled harder and a low
hum
came from the woods. I broke into a run, sprinting toward the silver trailer.

“Dad?” I yelled. “Dad!”

My flip-flop caught on something, and I fell on my knees. I pushed myself up, and a large blur appeared at the wood's edge.
Bear. It has to be a bear!
Despite my heart hammering in my chest, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the trees.

Horses burst out of the line of trees and galloped toward me. I'd ridden horses before, and had taken lessons over the years, but these didn't look like stable horses. Instead of shining, brushed coats and neatly trimmed manes, these horses were fuzzy. Some had mud caked on their bodies. The horses—mustangs—matched the photos of wild horses that I'd looked up on my phone last night.

The fluidity of the herd of at least fifteen was mesmerizing. Mostly sorrels and paints rushed at me. Everything inside me screamed to run. But I knew I couldn't outrun them. I'd be trampled by the thousand-pound animals that barreled in my direction.

Dad's office door flew open, banging against the trailer's side. Dad looked toward the sound and then he saw me.

“Brie! Run, for Christ's sake!” he yelled. His voice was barely audible over the thunder of hooves. He gripped the railing on the trailer steps and he froze.

I hugged myself. Horses were smart. I knew enough about them to know they wouldn't run into a solid object on purpose. I had to be still. I shivered and my teeth chattered as if the temperature had dropped below zero.

The first horse, a dusty sorrel, galloped by and the sea of horses enveloped me. I couldn't see anything but blurs—backs, manes, and tails flashed in the sun. The horses almost
brushed me as they ran. A few coarse tails stung my face. For the briefest of seconds, I wondered if they were headed for the field on the other side of the lot. I couldn't breathe. The horses didn't look afraid or angry. They were simply running.

More horses swerved around me and the rumble of hooves disappeared almost as fast as it began. I gasped, as if I hadn't taken a breath during the rush of horses. My heart beat almost as fast as they had galloped by. Fear melted into awe as I turned my head in the direction of the horses' destination. I had never known what true freedom really looked like until seconds ago.

I waved to Dad. His shoulders sagged in visible relief, and he ran across the field.

“I'm fine!” I called as he reached me and grabbed me in a tight hug. I could almost hear Dad's heart—it was beating so loud and fast. He kept me in the hug, squeezing me before letting me go. His heart pounded fast against my chest, and his jagged breath whooshed against the back of my neck.