Wild for You

by Daisy Prescott

My eyes fill with tears because this feels like a break up and I’m certain we were only beginning.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper as I end the call.

  Mara wraps her arms around me from one side and Mae mirrors her pose on the other, sandwiching me between them.

  “He’s gone,” Jesse announces as he joins us by the car.

  Tears roll down my cheeks and get lost in the arms around me.

  I want to scream about Neil, but I’m crying over Justin.

  Chapter 26

  Zoe

  Sunlight pours through the high windows in my little studio at Ashcroft. I’m halfway through my residency and this space feels like home.

  The nightmare of Neil’s reappearance three weeks ago is beginning to fade as I throw myself into the program. He hasn’t reached out again and I haven’t returned any of my mother’s voicemails.

  Studies and inspiration are pinned to an enormous corkboard covering one wall. Pictures of Japanese pottery overflow the designated space, stuck to the walls with blue painter’s tape.

  A country station on Spotify blasts through my Bluetooth speaker and out the open door. In the background, I can hear a mix of music from the other studios. The warm August day encourages open windows.

  Conversation outside ebbs and flows as other artists meander to lunch or over to the kilns. The ranch feels like a mini city, full of life and buzzing energy all focused on creativity.

  Tonight I’m firing the first round of pieces for the final show in Denver. I’ve been creating molds for slip-casting, designing and refining each one until I think my idea will work.

  When I’m not working on the final project, I’ve fallen in love with working on the pottery wheels. Losing myself in the process and being messy, letting my hands create bowls and cups from memory while my mind wanders is good therapy.

  Sage should be here any minute. They arrived home from South Africa the same week I started here. I think we were all relieved the dogs and condo survived. Being the nice guy he is, Lee loaded up his Land Rover with my stuff and helped me move into my mini cabin here.

  All those people with their tiny home obsessions would be jealous of my place. With enough room to sleep, bathe, and read a book, it defines cozy.

  I no longer feel homeless and lost.

  “Knock, knock,” Sage says as she walks into the studio.

  Out of habit, I wipe my hands on the back of my overalls even though I haven’t been working with wet clay this afternoon.

  I give her a big hug, enveloping my sprite-sized bestie whose head comes up to my shoulder.

  Squeezing me back, she says, “I’ve missed you. You’re too far away.”

  “Says the person who left me for a month to go to the other side of the world.”

  “Good point. And that leads me to my brilliant idea I had while driving over here.”

  “Uh oh. I never trust the ideas you get while behind the wheel.”

  “This one’s good. You’re going to rent Lee’s condo. I won the coin flip and we’re moving into mine. There’s no one else I’d rather live next door to than you. We can meet on the front steps for coffee every morning.”

  “Pretty soon it’s going to start snowing. I love you and your crazy, but I’m not sitting in snow with you to drink coffee.”

  She hops up on the workbench next to me. “Fine, we can trade off sitting in each other’s kitchens.”

  “I can’t afford the rent on either of your places.”

  “Pfft. Pay what you paid with … before.” Her nose crinkles with disgust.

  “Neil. We can say his name. Doesn’t give him any power.”

  “I’d prefer not to. I can’t believe we were so wrong about him for so long.”

  “I think he changed. I know I have.” For the better, I hope. “He’s not a terrible person. As far as I know he doesn’t kill small animals or fund hate groups.”

  “As far as you know.” She sounds unconvinced.

  “He’s no Landon. You know, he hit on me when I was buying my sad cake?”

  “Nice change of subject back to the barnacle on my past love life.”

  I give her a grin. “We’ve all made mistakes when it comes to love.”

  Sage presses her lips together and squints at me, but doesn’t speak.

  “What?” I finally ask when I blink and lose the staring contest.

  “You know what. Or who.”

  With a sigh, I ignore her. My glazes and silver powder for the next step in my project require my attention right this very moment. Unfortunately, they’re all perfectly organized.

  “I haven’t spoken to Justin.”

  “How long are you going to pretend you’re fine without him?”

  “As long as it takes for me to prove to myself I don’t need a man to complete me?” I barely meet her eyes, the words sounding silly in my own ears.

  “Don’t let the calf get away because you’re afraid to use your rope,” she says and frowns. “I don’t think that works as a metaphor.”

  “I think you want the one about getting back in the saddle.”

  “I’m not talking about random sex. Although at this point it wouldn’t be random, would it?” Her voice goes soft.

  Stupid tears multiply in my eyes. “No, not random at all. It’s too soon to fall in love with another man.”

  Her laughter fills the room. “Question answered.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Can’t stop, won’t stop.” Grinning, she bobs her head. “Where is the cowboy this week?”

  Justin’s been busy. Or he’s giving me space. Or he’s moved on. If I tell her, I’ll be admitting I’m tracking the rodeo circuit. “Wyoming yesterday.”

  “How long a drive is it?” She swings her slim legs back and forth, letting her feet bump the counter.

  “I’m not going to chase down a cowboy like a horny buckle bunny. I mean, I get the appeal. Who can resist the allure of shiny metal right there?” I point at my crotch, in case Sage has forgotten where a belt buckle would be. “Right there.”

  “Tell that to your rodeo man.” She points behind me.

  I spin around so fast I almost trip. When I see the empty doorway, relief and disappointment mix together.

  “I hate you.”

  “You have your answer.” Hopping off the counter, she grins. “My work here is done. Where’s lunch?”

  Ashcroft’s dining room is open to the public for lunch several times a week and for dinner on Saturday night. A local chef prepares seasonal farm to table food for the artists and visitors. Everything is amazing, because this place is heaven.

  Inside the large, open space, most of the tables are already full of people. Normally, I grab a tray to go through the line and find an empty seat. By now, friendships are beginning to form among the residents.

  “If you want to get your food, I’ll stake out a place to sit,” I tell Sage, already moving into the maze of tables while I scan for empty seats or finished plates of food.

  At a round table in the corner, Emily Mays holds court. Surrounding her, and hanging on her every word, is a group of visitors. Most are middle aged or older, and everyone is nicely dressed in a casual way only money can achieve—unlike the resident artists, who are a hot mess in work clothes covered in the debris of creativity.

  Spotting me, Emily waves me over to her table. “Here’s Zoe Saragossa, one of our most talented artists in residence this summer.”

  Ah, the group is probably donors or patrons, as Emily likes to label them. Deep pockets and a passion for supporting the arts make me being here possible.

  With a friendly smile, I sweep a hand over my messy bun and dirty overalls. I’m definitely not dressed to impress, but I do look the part of crazy artist.

  I greet Emily and nod at the well-preserved faces staring up at me. “I hope you’re having a lovely lunch.”

  A few murmur their appreciation of the food while others observe me like I’m a colorful bird at the zoo.

  “Let me intro
duce you,” Emily says, touching my wrist. She rattles off each name.

  I nod. Smile. Nod. These could be potential collectors of my work, but it’s likely I’ll never see any of them again.

  “And finally, our patron and one of our founders, Felecia Garrison.”

  At the familiar name, my eyes lock on the silver-haired woman in the huge antique Navajo turquoise necklace and crisp, white linen shirt. She’s the most impeccable of all. Deep, soulful eyes like Justin’s stare back at me.

  A man holding a tray of desserts weaves his way over to us. In his dark, fitted collared shirt, I assume he’s a waiter because he’s dressed in the typical uniform.

  “It’s lovely to meet you …” My focus shifts to the waiter with the cake slices. “… BB.”

  Somehow I keep smiling while inside my pulse feels like I’m hiking up Ajax mountain. My breath goes shallow. I press my fingers against the center of my chest before my heart can beat its way through the bones encasing it. He’s not supposed to be here.

  “Why are you pretending to be a waiter?” I try to make sense of his appearance. “Wait, are you really a waiter and not a cowboy?”

  The ladies at the table titter at my mistake. One of them asks, “Who’s BB?”

  “Me.” Justin’s warm, brown eyes spark with amusement and his full lips curve into a small smile. “I’m having lunch with my grandmother.”

  My attention settles on the older woman. Definitely the same eyes and the same warmth behind them.

  Justin hands me a plate. “Did you sense the cake? You can have mine.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t.” We both know I could and would if I weren’t standing in front of the director and patrons.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, too, Zoe.” Mrs. Garrison’s voice breaks my cake and cowboy haze. “I look forward to seeing your work. Emily’s had nothing but wonderful things to say about the project. You’re using kintsugi techniques?”

  To compose myself enough to speak coherently, I force air deep into my lungs. “Thank you. I’m going to be firing several pieces tonight. Wish me luck.”

  Justin’s grandmother’s gaze shifts between him and me, her clever eyes observing us carefully.

  “Something tells me you don’t need luck when it comes to going after what you want.”

  Her words click, and suddenly my being here doesn’t feel as serendipitous as a last minute cancelation. Justin being related to one of the founders can’t be coincidence. Interesting how he left off that part when I mentioned Ashcroft over dinner.

  My hands dampen. I have the same feeling as I did in the fourth grade spelling bee when I knew I misspelled conspiracy.

  How did I miss this connection? And why didn’t Justin tell me?

  “Care to join us? Apparently, we have enough cake for everyone.” Emily nods at Justin, who stands close to me.

  “Thank you for the invitation. I’m here with a friend and we’ve just arrived.” I set down the tainted cake. Rejecting cake goes against my fundamental beliefs. I fake a smile at the important people. “My door is open this afternoon if anyone would like to stop by. I’m always happy to talk about my project.”

  Emily gives me a look of motherly approval while Felecia Garrison studies her grandson.

  After saying good-bye, I step away from the table, already searching for Sage in the buffet line. I think we should skip lunch.

  “I’ll be right back,” Justin tells the table behind me. “Need to return the tray.”

  I speed up, almost racing through the large round tables in my own version of a barrel race.

  “Zoe, wait.” His scent of fresh cut grass and leather wraps around me like a lasso.

  “Not here,” I whisper through my teeth. Spotting Sage, I point behind me and then out the door while making a drinking gesture. I hope she understands crazy charades.

  Once we’re outside, Justin catches up and matches his stride to mine.

  “It’s good to see you.” From the corner of my eye, I see his happy smile.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I’m an idiot. What did you have to do to get me a spot here? Donate money? Promise to give them all ponies?” I continue stomping in the direction of my studio. “I feel like the biggest fool.”

  Flinging open my screen door, I dash inside before it slams behind me. The satisfying smack of wood against the frame doesn’t come. Because Justin stands in the doorway.

  “I should’ve told you. I’d planned to come clean on the trail ride. Before you started here.” He steps inside and softly closes the door, then leans his back against the wall with his arms folded

  He’s smart to stay over there. I need space. Right now, I don’t know if I want to cry or break things. I pick up a small sculpture and throw it at the wall. The piece creates a satisfying crack at impact. Three pieces now exist where there was one.

  Tears fill my eyes and my chin wobbles. “I didn’t earn my spot. I felt like an imposter standing in front of Emily and the donors. I need to resign.”

  “Hold on one damn second.” He lifts his hands, palms facing me. “You’re making a big leap based on assumptions, assigning blame where there’s only correlation.”

  Crossing my arms, I lean against my workbench.

  “Yes, I thought about making a call. But I didn’t. No, I didn’t pull strings to get you a spot here. Nor did I beg or force Emily to extend an invitation. And if you think I bribed someone to drop out, I didn’t do that either. You earned this position with your talent and perseverance. People who know more about contemporary art recognize your talent.”

  He pushes off the wall and slowly stalks toward me. The pure masculine energy rolling off of him reminds me of a bull. I’m the bullfighter. He steps closer and I press against the bench, no place to escape unless I dash across the room.

  “I’m giving you space and time, but I’m not going to allow you to invent reasons to push me away. Your face lit up when you spoke about Ashcroft. This is where you’re supposed to be. Now you’re vibrating with happiness. Or at least you were until you spotted me.” He stops within a few feet of me. “You can be mad at me. You can tell me you don’t ever want to see me again, but there’s no chance I’m going to watch you throw away your dreams because you don’t like having a fairy godmother. Or in my case, a fairy cowboy.”

  My mouth twists into a smile.

  He rolls his eyes. “That’s a horrible description, but I stand by my point. Supporting your dreams makes me happy. Your happiness matters to me.”

  “Thank you,” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

  His brows lower for a second before he flattens his expression. “You’re welcome.”

  Commence the awkward staring contest.

  “That’s it?” he lowers his voice and the crease reappears on his forehead.

  I stall for time. “I’m processing.”

  “Mind if I look around while you decide I’m not an asshole? I’ve been curious to see what comes out of that mind of yours. Promise you won’t throw anything at my head?”

  “Go ahead.” I sweep my arm around the space. “I guess I owe you.”

  He takes another step closer to me. “You owe me nothing. You earned this.”

  My skin pebbles in the wake of his touch on my arm.

  “There is something I want.” His eyes hold an unexpected nervousness.

  “What?” My voice is nothing more than a breath.

  “I want a chance with you.”

  When I try to inhale, my breath sticks in my throat.

  “If you’re not ready, I’ll wait. But you should know, I’m not a patient man. Not in my nature to not go after what I want. However, if you say no, I’ll respect that, and walk away.”

  “Who are you?” I’m not sure what I’m asking, but once again, I can’t believe he’s real.

  “Simple cowboy who really likes this super cool artist who’s also one of the most beautiful and strong women I’ve ever met.”

  “Thank you for the compliment.�
�� I dip my chin and stare at him. “That’s about me. Tell me who you are.”

  “I forgot feisty.” He leans against the work table across from me. “Okay, I’m a son without a father, a brother to sisters, a grandson to a matriarch. I’m competitive and stubborn. Most of the time I don’t like people and prefer my own company.

  “Let’s see.” He runs an index finger over his chin in the dip below his bottom lip. “If you want my résumé, I studied finance at CU and have an MBA from Stanford. I manage the Garrison family trust, as well as the day-to-day operations of the ranch.”

  “Finance? MBA?” I definitely wasn’t expecting that.

  “I know. I don’t seem the type. But I’ll show you the diplomas if you want.”

  “I believe you.” Uncrossing my arms, I rest my hands next to my hips. “Anything else?”

  “I have a pretty nice condo in Denver, but I rarely stay there. My family uses it more than I do.”

  “So not just a country mouse after all?”

  “The city has some good things. In small doses.”

  “I agree.”

  “See? Another thing we have in common.” I like the way his shy smile feels like a secret he shares only with me.

  “Am I forgiven for meddling? I promise I’m not trying to control your life like some weird puppet master.”

  What life?

  “Earlier this year, I was on cruise control. In the small span of time I’ve known you, I don’t feel like I’m an observer anymore. For the first time in a long time, I feel alive. Because of you. I’m not mad about your involvement in Ashcroft, I’m stunned. You barely know me.”

  He closes the space between us. “Time doesn’t determine how well we know a person. We can spend years working with someone and barely scratch deeper than the superficial bullshit we all present to the world. Or we can meet someone and see a spark in them that makes us want to know more. To know everything.”

  He’s a cowboy philosopher-business-whiz-buckle-hoarding fantasy come to life.

  “And what do you want?” Please say me.

  He stares at my mouth for a beat before answering. “I’m dying to kiss you.”