Wild Hearts (7 page)

“You could have been killed,” he said. “Why didn't you run?”

The bulldozer cab door opened. “You all right?” Brody called. His headphones were around his neck as he started down the cab steps. Three of the guys who had been marking
trees with spray paint were looking in my direction. I waved a hand at them.

“Totally good,” I called.

Dad's eyes were wide. Beads of sweat formed along his hairline. Usually, he was preoccupied with work and he looked through me and on to something else, something more important than me. Our exchange on the way here was a rare thing. Something I missed. Now Dad was actually looking at
me
. He wasn't staring over my head or panicking because he could be missing a phone call. Dad's face slowly changed from pasty white to its normal color.

“The horses would have run me over if I'd moved,” I said, finally answering his question. “I couldn't outrun them.”

“Thank God you weren't hurt,” Dad said as he slung his arm across my shoulder and led me toward the trailer. “I wanted”—he cleared his throat—“to run at them, but I was afraid they'd spook.”

My heart rate started returning to normal, and I almost skipped ahead of Dad. “There was nothing you could have done, Dad. They were beautiful, weren't they?” Exhilaration kicked in as my fear dissipated. I stepped inside the cool, roomy office. I flopped on the gray love seat, and Dad sat in front of his giant Mac screen.

Dad snorted and rolled his black desk chair under the computer table. “Those scraggly menaces aren't getting near the property again. I called the secretary of the BLM, but—”

“Dad!” I said, stopping his tirade. “What are you talking about? What's BLM?”

“Bureau of Land Management. They oversee every aspect of the mustangs, including where the horses live. They assured me that the horses were far from this lot. The last thing I'm going to deal with is horses on a construction site.”

I stood, walked over to Dad's desk, and picked up a stack of papers in what I knew was his “to be filed” tray. I started sticking papers into the giant metal filing box.

“What are you going to do?” I asked him.

He picked up the corded phone and started dialing. “I'll put pressure on them to get the horses moved immediately,” he said, his lips pressed together.

Shrugging, I went back to filing.

In Belize, he'd had to call the local animal control about a nest of parrots. Displacing animals went with the territory—I knew that. I glanced at Dad, then back to the files. That rush of raw power in the middle of the herd had made me feel
something.
I wanted to do something—anything—to feel like that again.

 

CHAPTER SIX

If you come to a fork in the road, take it.

The sun had just peeked over Blackheart Mountain when I climbed out of bed and quietly crept downstairs. Last night, Mom and Dad had decided that Dad would take the morning off to accompany Mom into town. She needed to find a location for her latest photo shoot. One of Mom's editors had called last night, and she wanted Mom to photograph local creeks and rivers to accompany an article in
Traveling Woman.
Dad wanted to go in case Mom ran into any locals who had something to say to Dad.

Things had been quiet since the first protest, though, and I hoped it would stay that way. I opted to get up early and explore on my own. I pulled on well-worn jeans and a graphic tee that had an owl on the front. In case it was cold, I took my jean jacket off the back of my desk chair.

I pulled a scrap of paper from one of the kitchen drawers and scrawled:
Went exploring. Got my cell. Be back later. ~B.
I left the note on the counter. I put on sunglasses and laced up my hiking boots. Grabbing my camera, I eased open the back door and shut it behind me as I stepped onto our wooden deck. The morning was a little chilly. I was glad I'd brought my jacket.

I stood on the porch—feeling dangerously on sensory overload. What had to be miles of woods and mountains surrounded me. The air smelled like fresh honeysuckles. I drew in a deep breath and took the few steps down to the driveway. The only sounds were my boots crunching on the gravel. I could actually hear myself think.

I crossed our bridge and walked along the road. It wasn't long before I heard the whine of an engine in the distance. It grew louder and louder as the vehicle neared me.

A red four-wheeler whizzed toward me and its driver lifted three fingers. Again, that local version of a wave. The ATV halted in my path and I sidestepped it to go around. The driver pulled off his hat and, suddenly, I was looking into Logan McCoy's face.
What the . . .

“Hey,” he said.

His tone was friendly. Not what I expected, since he had just been on the front lines of a protest at my house the day before yesterday.

“Leave me alone,” I said, walking away from the ATV.

The ATV engine silenced. Logan jogged up from behind me, using the four-wheeler's handlebars to push it along.

“What are you doing out here this early?” Logan asked.

“Why do
you
care?” I replied, glaring at him.

“Okay,” Logan said, taking a deep breath. “Do you want to talk about the protest?”

His question completely threw me. It wasn't like I didn't expect to talk about it—I did. I guess I thought it would be
more one-sided—him yelling at me about my father the horse and land killer and me having to defend our way of life.

“I saw you,” I said. “I was behind my dad. You didn't see me, but I watched you. You were shouting along with everyone else. That was a total ambush on my family. I know where you stand and you can probably do the math. Our ideals—our entire ways of living—they don't mesh well. I'm definitely not going to be friends with someone who could show up on my lawn tomorrow with a sign.”

Logan put on his cowboy hat. He looked up at me. “It's not personal—”

“Not personal? Are you kidding me?” I laughed. “You're being ridiculous. It has everything to do with my family and me. You and your posse protested my father's business. That business is something my dad built. He loves it and so does the rest of my family. So don't ever think again that it's not personal.”

I turned on my heels, ready to bolt.

“Just one more thing and if you say no, I'll leave you alone,” Logan said. “Would you at least listen to our side of things? I promise I'm not going to attack your dad or sound like some infomercial.”

I didn't think. I just turned around. “Okay,” I said, my voice less edgy. “I can at least listen.”

“Do you have some spare time?” Logan asked. “I'd like to show you a couple of really cool things in Lost Springs.”

“I don't know, I thought we were just going to—”

“It's much better if I show you. I won't keep you. Promise.” Logan smiled.

“As long as we're not gone for more than an hour,” I said, finally. “What were you doing around here, anyway?”

He grinned. Logan kind of looked like a modern cowboy with an ATV instead of a horse.

“I live on the other side of town, but I four-wheel out here because it has the best trails.”

“I understand that,” I said. “I'm super into hiking. I did a little mountain climbing, too, when we lived in Virginia. When it was off season, I started indoor rock climbing at a gym.”

Logan toyed with the key chain and looked back at me. “Maybe I can take a few extra minutes to point out the best hiking spots. Plus, we've got trails for riding, for exploring the creeks and waterfalls, and for climbing the mountain base.”

I can't believe you are having a conversation with the guy that's part of a mob to bring down your dad!
I yelled at myself.

Blinking fast, I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at Logan. His brown eyes stared into mine. He held my gaze. Finally, I lowered my eyes to the ground. I felt the heat already building in my cheeks. It had felt like he had been searching my eyes for something else. Or something more. I didn't know.

“What?” I asked. “Why are you staring at me?”

“I was just thinking that I should warn you . . . when you do try these trails, it's not going to be like rock climbing at your
old local gym or jogging on the school track. You're a city girl, right?”

“City girl? You don't even know me,” I said, my voice rising. “I'm hardly a city girl. I've lived everywhere.”

This guy had been nothing but a judgmental jerk from the second we'd met. No way was I wasting my time with him. I mean, he'd been nice at WyGas, but that was erased the moment he had protested against Dad.

“Really?” He smiled and adjusted his hat.

“Really,” I confirmed as I started to walk away from him. He could go ATV-ing all by himself.

“Hey,” he called after me. “I still owe you.”

“Don't worry about it. I'll write Santa and tell him that Logan McCoy was good this year,” I said as I continued to walk and adjusted the camera hanging around my neck. “I'll be fine hiking alone, thanks.”

“Alone?” he asked, following me. The engine rumbled as he got back on his ATV and rode it alongside me.

“Yeah, a girl going off alone into the woods,” I said. Now he was pissing me off. “Does that violate cowboy rule one oh one? Do you think I should be at home baking or sewing?”

Logan gunned the four-wheeler and skidded to a stop in front of me. “You thought
I
was judging you? Not every guy who wears a cowboy hat is somebody with three kids and a wife at home.”

His smile was gone. I knew exactly what I was doing. My subconscious never let me form bonds with anyone because
of all the moving. Even though I would
never
be friends with Logan, I was going out of my way to tick him off.

The sun was in my face and I looked down at his leather boots. “I'm sorry,” I said, sighing. “That was bitchy. It's just . . .” I paused. “Like I said, I saw you at the protest at my house. Is it like my family came to town and brought a giant wrecking ball with it?”

“No, it's more like your dad is tearing up a great piece of land that local mustangs use for grazing and accessing the local streams and rivers.”

“But it's just a
tiny
piece of land,” I said. I waved my arm, palm up. “You have all that room. Won't the horses be fine if they're relocated?”

Logan stared at me. “How much do
you
like relocating?”

I clenched my teeth to stop my jaw from dropping. “I like moving!” I said. “Actually, I love it because the next move will be somewhere without you.”

I waited while Logan spun the ATV away from me and sent a dust cloud my way. I
did
like moving. Not the packing or unpacking parts, but living in a new place was always exciting. The tangle of horses that had run around me flashed through my mind.

“I'm glad you like moving so much,” Logan said. “But the horses don't. Take a quick detour with me, and then I'll bring you back here.”

I shook my head. “I'm good, thanks. Anyway, the mustangs
are
animals. They'll probably forget that they've moved a day later.”

“C'mon, Brie,” he said. “Can we start over? We'll stop talking about horses. Let me give you a ride,” Logan said. “You can
cover twice as much ground on a four-wheeler. Let me show you just a few hiking trails.” His tone was light.

“That's okay,” I said. “I'll find my way around.”

“There
are
bobcats and bears,” he said. That made me turn and look at him. He wiggled both eyebrows. “And mountain lions.”

“Oh.” It came out in a whisper. “I'm not, um, afraid.”

My body flashed hot and cold at the thought of running into one of those animals. Unlike the horses, I didn't think a bear would just pass on by.

“Okay,” Logan said. “Long as you're cool out here. Make sure you have pepper spray.”