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 lio
ns.”
“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.”
Logan turned the ATV away from me. I swallowed hard.
“Wait,” I said. “I’m not afraid, but you do owe me. So I’ll do you a favor and let you play tour guide.”
Logan kept a straight face, but I could tell he was fighting the urge to laugh. The corners of his mouth twitched.
I slid onto the back of the four-wheeler and tried to keep at least a few inches of space between us. My palms sweated and I stared at his back, knowing I’d be touching him in seconds. I felt awkward leaning forward and encircling his waist. His chest muscles tightened against my interlocked fingers.
He fed gas to the engine and we moved forward. He gave it a little more gas as we zipped down the road.
“You okay?” he asked. “Tell me if I’m going too fast.”
“I’m good,” I said. I almost couldn’t believe that I had my arms around Logan—the guy who had honked his truck horn at me less than seventy-two hours ago.
I realized I didn’t know anything about him, aside from what he’d told me and what little I’d heard from Amy. My image of cowboys was probably skewed with footage from old black-and-white Westerns that Grandpa and I had watched together.
“What do you do, exactly?” I asked. “I heard that you have a ranch or something.”
Logan took a smooth left and headed off the road and into a grassy field. He stopped and got off the four-wheeler.
“My dad and I run it together. I herd the cattle, gentle foals—you know, getting them ready for riders—take care of the livestock, and do whatever needs to be done.” He lifted the wire loop that was placed over a fence post and opened the rusty gate. “Can you drive through?” he asked.
“Sure.” I slid forward and squeezed the gas. I’d driven plenty of ATVs around Dad’s lots. The four-wheeler eased through the gate and I put on the brakes and waited for Logan to close it. Foals. Logan had a hands-on connection with horses. Enough of a connection that he’d protested my dad’s arrival.
“Are we allowed to ride in here?” I asked. Mom and Dad would freak if I got caught trespassing.
Logan grinned, showing his cute dimple again, and took his seat in front of me. “We can ride anywhere as long as we don’t bother the animals or run over any crops. I’ve worked this field before.”
“You work at WyGas, run a ranch, and do other stuff?” I already knew the answer, but I didn’t want him to know that I’d been talking about him.
“Yeah, I work part-time at Watson’s when I can squeeze in some hours around school. I really don’t mind it. Most of my bosses are all family friends, so it’s almost like I’m my own boss.”
He moved the ATV forward over the prickly-looking tall grass and I gingerly wrapped my arms around him again. He smelled like cinnamon and fresh, sweet hay.
“I was definitely wrong about you,” Logan said. “The day we met, I had you pegged for a touristy buckle chaser.”
“A what?”
“Buckle chaser. But it’s no big. I was wrong.”
“No, tell me,” I said. “What does it mean?”
Logan increased the four-wheeler’s speed and we zoomed toward a small hill covered in black rocks. “We call aggressive girls buckle chasers,” he said. “You’re not. I mean, I know we haven’t been hanging out that long, but I can tell.”
“Oh, God.” Just when we had really started to get along, he had to ruin it with that. “You thought—” I started. “But I would never . . . forget it!”
I yanked my arms from around his waist and tried to hold on to the back of the four-wheeler. I thought we’d finished razzing each other from earlier.
“Brie—” Logan started.
“Do you expect every girl here to fall all over you, or what? Sorry if you were disappointed that I didn’t try to make out with you two seconds after we met.”
Minutes ago, we had been talking about man-eating bears and I’d been set to hike solo. Now that Logan had me alone in the middle of nowhere, he decided to tell me what he really thought.
“Put your arms back or you’re going to fall off,” he said. Ignoring him, I just stared at my camera case.
“No,” I said. “If I touch you, watch out, that means I’m a belt chaser!”
“Buckle chaser,” he said, his tone softening. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Really. I was just surprised that you—”
I cut him off. “Didn’t try to hit on you just because we’re sitting like this? Do you think girls who aren’t from around here find all cowboys irresistible?”
“I didn’t say that,” Logan said. “But a lot of tourist girls are the same. They think Lost Springs guys are backwoods idiots who do nothing but ride horses and kiss the visiting girls. People treat this place like Vegas. They get to leave and no one at home knows a thing.”
“Well, I’m not one of those ‘people.’ You didn’t even know me and you lumped me in that category.”
“You didn’t know me and you put me in the ‘crazy horse protestor’ category,” Logan said.
“At least I was accurate!” I said. “Okay, maybe not the ‘crazy’ part, sorry. But you are a protestor. Why? What is it about the horses that makes you feel like you have to protest?”
Logan took a long pause. “The real answer is personal,” he said. “It’s only something that I tell my friends. The easy answer is one you’ll find out if you stay on the ATV with me.”
I sighed. “Okay, okay. Keep your secrets. But know that I would protest for my dad if I needed to.”
“You don’t,” Logan said. “Your father made sure every possible piece of paper was signed before he got here. The Bureau of Land Management already gave him a thumbs-up, so he’s good to go.”
“Then why are you protesting?” I asked, shaking my head. “Just to show you’re upset? What?”
“I don’t know why each person is protesting,” Logan said. “We’re all there for different reasons. Everyone knows that we can’t stop your father. For some of the townspeople, I think they would feel as though they let the horses down if they didn’t at least show their support.”
Logan fell silent. I didn’t speak, either.
“It seems like if we want to make it through this ATV ride, we have to stop talking about our dads,” I said.
“Agreed,” Logan said. He opened up the gas more and we zipped over the long, weed-filled grass.
A few minutes later, he turned off the four-wheeler at the base of the black rocks and got off.
“C’mon,” he said. “I want to show you something.”
I shrugged, hopped off the ATV, and stepped behind him through the dewy grass. If only our entire exchange could float away in the gentle breeze.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When in doubt, let your horse do the thinkin’.
We walked around the base of the gentle hill and the black rocks choked the grass and weeds. Logan knelt down and felt the ground. He brushed aside a few rocks and exposed the rich brown dirt.
“Feel this,” Logan said, motioning for me to bend down.
I stretched my hand forward and felt the spot where he’d touched.
“It’s warm,” I said, feeling the ground again. It was weird touching ground that was actually hot under my hands. It wasn’t just warmed from the sun—it was a different, moist heat.
Logan nodded. “Now, remember what that felt like and come over here.”
“What was that?” I asked, staring at the spot before jogging after Logan as he made his way across the loose rocks.
“You’ll see,” he said. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and watched him for a second. He looked around six foot one or two. In his side pocket, a pair of leather gloves peeked ou
t, and what looked like the top of a pocketknife stuck out of his back pocket. I wondered if he got his arms so chiseled from weights or ranch work. A weird scent hit my nostrils, and I sniffed the air.
“What’s that smell?” I asked. “It smells like rotten eggs. You’re lucky this wasn’t a date, or you would have so bombed.”
Logan laughed. “I don’t smell a thing. Must be you.”
“Ha-ha,” I said, holding my nose. “Really, what is it?”
“That would be sulfur.” He slowed his stride and pushed his hat back on his head. No wonder no one moved to this town. They were gassed out.
“From what?” I asked.
“From this.” He grinned and pointed to a smooth piece of land a few yards ahead that wasn’t covered in rocks. It looked like gray mud from a spa.
We walked up to the patch of mud and I peered down at it.
“What am I supposed to be seeing—Oh!” I jumped. Bubbles popped in the mud. “No way!”
“It’s a mud pot,” Logan said. “Don’t even try to get closer than this. The mud is hot enough to burn skin.”
“That’s what the sulfur smell was, huh?” I leaned a little closer and pulled my camera over my head.
“Yeah, it smells awful, but if you can stand it, it’s amazing to see,” Logan said as he ran his eyes across my face. I could see him taking me in, the way I’d done with him earlier. I clamped my teeth down on the inside of my cheek to keep from blushing.
The mud pots were out in the middle of nowhere. Like a treasure with no map. Behind us, the rocky hill shouldered acres of tall grass and flowers. If I looked straight over the mud pots, I could see the base of Blackheart Mountain.
I adjusted the camera without thinking—it was all like second nature. I pointed the lens toward the bubbles. I leaned in, balancing on my toes.
“Whoa,” Logan said. I felt him move in and place a steadying, strong hand atop each of my hips. “I don’t want to take you to the hospital with third-degree burns. Take your pictures. There’s no rush this time. I don’t have my truck to rev at you.”
I zoomed in on the mud pot and tried to focus myself—not the camera. It was difficult with Logan’s palms and fingers radiating heat through my jeans.
Wild Hearts Page 5
