Wild Hearts Page 10

  I glanced at Amy and she grinned at me.

  “What?” I asked, teasing.

  “Somebody got a wave from a cowboy and her name is B-R-I-E!” Amy batted her mascara-coated lashes at me, flirting style.

  I bumped her with my shoulder and we both started cracking up. I said a silent thank-you to Mom for intervening this morning so I could come.

  “Time for Logan McCoy is thirteen seconds!” The crowd roared its approval and I had a feeling the other riders would have trouble beating Logan’s time. Logan took off his hat, bowed, and waved it at the crowd.

  After Logan, five more calf-ropers, including a newly chubby Bobby Farris—according to Amy—rode. None came within five seconds of Logan’s time. I clapped hard while Logan accepted his trophy with a silver cowboy hat. He shook hands with a disgruntled-looking Bobby, who had come in third.

  Amy and I waited by the gate as Logan led LG over. I jogged up to him and threw my arms around him. “You were great!” I said. Oh, my God! What are you doing? I yelled at myself.

  I pulled away from Logan and didn’t look at him when I awkwardly extracted myself from his hug. I stood behind Amy and pretended there was something interesting on the ground.

  “Thank you,” Logan said. Amy traded him a soda for his trophy.

  While he drained his root beer, I tried to get my composure back. But I couldn’t forget how it had felt when we had hugged. His strong arms around me had made me feel safe and, like, for that brief few seconds, I was special and important to him.

  He started talking to Amy and their voices blended together and I didn’t hear them as I took a deep breath. A shift had occurred. Something had happened that suddenly made it easier to breathe when I was around him. Something that made me want to say, Sorry, Dad, but I am falling for this guy. Something that made me regret our missed kiss in the woods near Black Creek.

  We all walked away from the giant tent and back to the trailer.

  “I got lucky Bobby decided to eat his feelings after his girlfriend dumped him,” Logan said.

  “Please,” I said, whacking him gently on the arm. “You could have beaten him this year even without the extra pounds.”

  What was it about this place that was making me touchy-feely?

  Logan removed the saddle from the now-cooler LG and replaced the bridle with a halter. “You guys ready for the show?”

  Amy nodded vigorously. “You’re going to love it, Brie. It’s an old-fashioned shootout slash dinner theater. Wait until you see it.”

  “Will LG be okay?” I asked Logan.

  “He’ll be fine. The trailer is ventilated and it’s shady over here. We’ll just be a couple of hours and then we’ll go.”

  “Okay.” I emptied my soda and tossed the bottle into a recycling bin. There was something . . . liberating about being out of town. There was no more microscope. I wasn’t looking over my shoulder for Dad. No one here knew me as the daughter of the man who was destroying the town. Here, I was nobody. I liked it. “On to the show!”

  Less than ten minutes later, Logan, Amy, and I were seated at a rustic table with an oil lantern at the center. Along with the other diners, we sat inside an old barn that was turned into the meal spot. A wobbly stage had been erected at the front of the barn and everything inside was authentically Western.

  Logan ordered us more root beer. Amy and I traded looks and struggled not to smirk as a cowgirl with huge boobs brought over three tin cups and a pitcher. She bent slowly over Logan’s side of the table. She had stretched her shirt so far that the “Shootout Shack” lettering had cracked.

  “Do you know what you’d like to order?” the waitress asked. The question was addressed to the group, but she hadn’t stop smiling at Logan when she had asked it.

  “I’d like a well-done cheeseburger, please,” I said. “And no tomato.”

  “Same, but keep the tomato,” Amy said.

  “Burger with everything,” Logan said. “Oh, actually, would you mind holding the onions?”

  “Not a problem,” she said, practically purring at him.

  I peeked to make sure the waitress was out of earshot, then gave Amy the okay nod.

  “Did you enjoy your side of boob?” Amy asked Logan.

  Logan shook his head and picked up the pitcher. He poured soda into a cup and slid it to Amy, then did the same for me.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said. “She was perfectly nice.”

  “Perfectly nice with double Fs!” Amy said.

  I laughed.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Logan said. He bumped his shoulder gently against mine.

  “Me, too,” I said. This was our first official time going out. Not in a we’re-together way but truly in a friends-going-out way. “Thank you for inviting me and driving. I’m going to help pay for the gas.”

  “Logan! Manners, manners,” Amy said. “Aren’t you glad that I’m here?”

  He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, pretending to think. “Um, I guess.”

  Minutes later, the waitress set hot plates of food in front of each of us. She scurried off to the next table.

  “I wonder when the show starts,” I said, licking ketchup off my finger as it dripped from my burger.

  A man in a black cowboy hat ran into the barn and zigzagged around the tables. A blue bandanna covered his mouth and nose, and he waved a pistol in the air. “This is a holdup!” he yelled, and for a second, I almost believed him. Then I saw the orange tip on his fake gun.

  “Oh Lord, help!” a waitress shrieked with pretend fear. The outlaw hid behind tables, rolled on the ground, and crawled on his hands and knees as he sneaked toward the stage, pretending as if he was hiding from the audience. Tables of people erupted with laughter as he tripped going up the stairs.

  “I’ll take you all hostage if you laugh at me,” he joked with the crowd, breaking character for a moment. His heavy boots thudded on the wooden stage.

  As we enjoyed our food, an old-fashioned shootout happened on stage. A wispy belle in a large, puffy yellow dress was kidnapped, men with guns dueled over the girl. The outlaw ended up choking out his last breath on stage. We were served homemade ice cream, and the actors left the stage to loud applause.

  “I’m going to pee,” Amy said. “Don’t leave without me!”

  I turned slightly toward Logan.

  “Thanks again for asking me,” I said. “This is one of the coolest things I’ve ever done.”

  “I’m really glad you came, Brie,” Logan said. He reached a hand forward and placed warm fingers atop mine. “I’ve been going a little crazy since you found Holden and me in the woods.”

  “Crazy? Why?”

  “Because I’ve been waiting for a chance to do this.”

  Logan leaned forward and touched his lips to mine. They were soft, like I had expected. He placed a hand on either side of my face. I kissed him back harder, wanting to take advantage of this moment.

  We pulled apart and I was breathless. I dipped my head down, trying to recover. Logan cupped my chin underneath with his hand and raised my head until we were eye to eye.

  “I know what you’re going to do, what you’ll think later,” Logan said. “Don’t.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ll go home and convince yourself that this was a mistake. That because you move every year or every six months—whatever—that you don’t want to risk it.”

  “Risk what?” I asked softly.

  “Falling for me. But you’re too late.” Logan kissed my lips with a featherweight touch. “You already have. Just like I’ve fallen for you.”

  I was speechless. I thought that this sort of thing only happened during cliché moments in rom-coms. But no. It was happening to me now.

  “Sorry I took so long,” Amy said, sliding back into her seat. She looked back and forth between Logan and me. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  I smiled. Under the table, I took Logan’s hands, threading our f
ingers together. “Totally,” I said, finding my voice.

  “Let’s beat the rush and get out of here,” Logan said.

  We stood and started weaving our way through the crowd. Amy reached for one of my hands and Logan held on to my other hand like he was afraid to lose me.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  You won’t criticize a man after you’ve walked a mile in his boots.

  It had been a week since the rodeo and my first kiss with Logan. Since then, we had hung out as much as we could.

  I used the time when my friends were at work to log hours for Dad. Logan, who got up at three in the morning (he promised that was what he did every year—he wasn’t just getting up early for me) usually finished work around three or four every day, sometimes a little later, since it was prime planting time. Luckily for me, I didn’t have set hours at the job site. I just had to stay long enough to finish whatever Dad needed done that day and then make headway on any long-term projects.

  Every day this week, when the work day was over, I had hurried away before my dad could ask me where I was going. Anything to avoid lying to his face if I could help it. I could tell that Dad had been frustrated when my lunch break had lasted over two hours a couple of times last week, so I was forcing myself to limit Logan-time to after work. Well, after Logan’s first job.

  Our late afternoons and evenings were spent together talking, laughing, and making out at WyGas.

  But today was Saturday, which meant no work for me. Logan and Jack traded days in the fields and it wasn’t Logan’s turn until tonight.

  I’d met him a couple of hours ago, at nine, in the WyGas parking lot.

  “So, you really like this?” Logan questioned, cocking his head and raising an eyebrow.

  “I do,” I said, taking a large sip of the suicide drink Logan had mixed for me. He’d made me turn away from him when he had filled a large plastic cup with various sodas. He’d stuffed them in a paper bag as he’d selected them from the fridge and had made me turn around when he popped the tops.

  “Okay, so, it’s WyGas tradition,” Logan said. “If you can guess all the kinds of pop in the cup, you get them free for life.”

  “For life, huh,” I said. “Wow. Okay.” I took another sip.

  “Definitely root beer,” I said.

  “That’s one,” Logan affirmed.

  “Cream soda,” I said.

  Logan grinned and nodded. “Two for two!”

  I took a couple of sips. The first two had been easy.

  “Seven Up?” I asked.

  Logan hung his head. “Oh, Brie Carter. Nooo free pop for you!”

  I giggled, putting down the cup, and Logan lifted me onto the checkout counter. He stood between my knees, playing with my hair. It was down and around my shoulders.

  “What else was in the drink?” I asked.

  “Sprite and Coke.”

  “So close,” I said.

  “I don’t know about that,” Logan said. “But you get a gold star for effort.”

  I rolled my eyes. “A gold star. Lucky me.”

  He kissed me, then looked into my eyes. “Feel any better?”

  I let out a sigh. “A little bit.”

  Logan kissed me again and this time the kiss deepened.

  He stopped, looking back at my face. “How about now?”

  “I think a few more times and I’ll be okay,” I said.

  I ran my hands up his soft gray cotton tee and put a hand on either side of his face. The door jangled and an older woman stepped inside. I hopped off the counter and I knew my cheeks were pink. The same color they surely had been when I had told Amy about our kiss.

  She had squealed loud enough for every person in the entire state to hear. Telling her had almost been a surreal experience. I had never been that girl. The kind who kissed a boy and had a friend who freaked out and wanted to hear every detail down to an almost re-creation of the scene. It actually felt pretty amazing.

  Logan wasn’t my first kiss. I’d been to parties before and had made out with a couple of randoms. But Logan was the first guy that I’d ever kissed who had meant something. Kissing him made me feel like all the girls in the movies that I had always rolled my eyes at, thinking there was no way being into another person was that amazing.

  But it was. Logan and I could spend hours and hours just talking and telling each other about our pasts, presents, and what we hoped would be our futures. Even though we had only been together a week and neither of us had uttered the labels of “boyfriend” or “girlfriend,” it felt to me like we were so much more than that.

  The only weird part was that my dad knew nothing about things between Logan and me. Up until the rodeo, my parents had known almost everything going on in my life. Now there was this whole other world with Logan between us. I hadn’t decided how and when I was going to bring them together.

  Plus, the mustangs had been quiet for a while now, so things had been okay for Dad at work. That issue was tabled for the moment and it felt like a huge weight off my and Logan’s shoulders. Logan had told me that the horses had left the plain behind for shade from the sun and cooler temperatures farther up the mountain. The horses weren’t on Dad’s time clock, though, and Logan estimated they wouldn’t be on the mountain much longer.

  “What time do you have to be at Watson’s?” I asked.

  Logan smiled and put the last travel bag of cheese curls on a rack facing the door. “I’m done after this,” he said. He glanced up at the large wall clock. “I’m heading out in five.”

  “You are? You never skip work.” This was usually the point where I planned to meet him back here tomorrow. I’d go hang out with Amy if she wasn’t working or, if she was busy, I’d bike home.

  “I decided to take the day off and go do something.”

  He had plans. And not with me.

  “Oh,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed. He was allowed to have a life. “Okay, I guess I’ll head home.”

  “You could, but it would be cool if you came with me.”

  “Really?” I perked up. “Where?”

  “You’ve been here, what? A month for sure.”

  I nodded. “I think almost exactly.”

  He leaned forward. He was close enough that I could smell that familiar Logan scent: cinnamon and sweet hay. “So, do you notice something practically everyone has that you don’t?”

  I frowned and thought about it. “Cattle?”

  Logan laughed and took off his hat and placed it on my head. “True, but not what I was thinking. You don’t have a cowboy hat.”

  “I don’t, do I?” I reached up to touch his hat on my head. I felt proud to wear his hat. I wondered if this was how girls felt when they wore their boyfriends’ letterman jackets. Not that Logan was my boyfriend.

  “Let’s go to the tack store and pick one out. I’ll show you how to mold it so you don’t look like a dude.”

  I helped him clear the counter and we greeted Jerry when he arrived for his shift. We headed for the tack shop. The sun warmed my back and I gently brushed my shoulder against Logan’s. We grinned at each other. This felt so easy.

  “I can’t believe you’ve let me go all this time without a hat,” I said, kicking a rock as we passed Watson’s and headed down to the town’s center. I looked both ways—always on the lookout for our Explorer.

  “I know,” he said, hanging his head. “I’ve done a horrible job introducing you to local culture.”

  I pushed his arm and he pushed me back.

  “Oh, you did not just do that!” I barely got out the words before dissolving into laughter. I made a halfhearted swipe at him but only managed to touch my fingertips to his arm as he wriggled just out of my reach.

  I stopped in the middle of the road—there wasn’t a car to be seen—and stared at him. He charged at me from the side and grabbed me, throwing me over his shoulder.

  “Logan!” I said through my laughter.

  “Brie!” Logan said, echoing my tone.

&n
bsp; “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.