by Stasia Black
“No!” she exclaimed and for once she sounded genuine. “I wouldn’t want any of these other bitches getting a hold of you. Besides,” her voice softened. “I know what it’s like to be rich when everyone around you is poor. Daddy owns half the land in this county and people have been jealous of me my whole life. But I knew you’d understand me completely. It was like,” she shook her head, “like fate brought you to me.”
“What a crock of shite.” Liam glared at her. “I didn’t come halfway around the world just to pick me up another damn stalker. This,” he waved between them, “is never happenin’.”
With that he pushed past her and headed for the door. He unlocked it and swung it open, zipping up his fly as he went.
Only to find a thin lad standing on the other side reaching for the handle, a surprised look on his face when he saw Liam. Coming out of the women’s restroom.
Then again, he was a dude reaching for the ladies, so he was obviously confused in general.
“Hey man, wrong bathroom. This is the ladies.”
The lad just stared at Liam. He was wearing a thick flannel shirt underneath overalls and a dirty trucker’s hat. Liam had seen him at the bar a few times. One of the sad little ranchers who lived around here. When he just kept standing there without saying anything, Liam wondered if he was slow. Jaysus, sometimes this little backwoods town was depressing as fuck.
“Ladies bathroom,” Liam said slower, pointing to the stick figure with a skirt on the door.
“I am a lady. Um, a woman, I mean.”
Oh. Shite. Liam’s eyes immediately dropped to her chest but the flannel was too bulky to make out if there were any breasts hiding underneath. “Sorry.”
When he looked up at her face, he could see that though her features were angular, if he tilted his head just right… yeah, she was female. Especially considering the way her cheeks were turning pink.
“Do you mind?” She glared at him.
Liam held up his hands. “Sorry. Sorry.” He moved out of the way. She shoved the bathroom door the rest of the way open and disappeared inside.
Liam ran his hands through his hair. Way to feckin’ step in it. He headed for the bar. He needed another drink. Or ten.
3
CALLA
Having her crush think she was a man was just the last in a long line of shitty things that had happened to Calla that day.
But nope. The universe wasn’t done screwing her over. Because as soon as she got in the bathroom she saw Bethany Cunningham doubled over laughing and pointing a finger at her.
Calla’s eyes shot back to the door. So that was why Liam had been coming out of the women’s restroom. He’d been in here with Bethany. She thought of how his hair had been mussed and he’d been buttoning his fly.
“He thought you were a guy!” Bethany laughed even harder.
Great. So Bethany had heard the whole thing. The one person in the world who could make that humiliating experience even worse.
Calla knew how stupid it was to have a crush on a guy she barely knew. Lord, even the word crush made her cringe, but she didn’t know what else to call it. She’d talked to Liam a couple times when he and the other guys from Mel’s ranch came out to Bubba’s. Granted, he’d been very drunk both times.
But she was done for the first time he’d flashed that gorgeous smile of his. Dimples. It wasn’t fair. That accent plus dimples? Come on, God, couldn’t you be a little fairer when you’re distributing things? Why was it always people like Bethany who got the looks and the money? And the guy.
“You’ve really lived up to your potential. Weren’t you voted ‘Least Likely to Ever Get Boobs’ in high school?” Bethany cracked up like it was the best joke she’d ever heard, wiping at her eyes. At least Calla had managed to make her smudge her perfect make-up. Bethany had little black mascara tracks running down her cheeks.
It was on the tip of Calla’s tongue to shoot back: weren’t you the bitch on the yearbook staff who gave me that name?
She and Bethany had hated each other ever since they started facing off in barrel racing competitions throughout high school. Bethany couldn’t stand the fact that a nobody like Calla could wipe the floor with her in the arena. Out of all the times they went head to head, Bethany only beat Calla once. And even then, the bitch had done it by cheating.
But did Calla confront her or kick her teeth in like she wanted to after finding her horse overfeeding on an extra hay sack drenched in applejuice? This on top of the year when she was a freshman, all courtesy of Bethany starting rumors about Calla and the English teacher being in a lesbian love affair.
No. Calla had been an adult about it. Always. She’d turned the other cheek and gone on to compete as well as she could with her hay-heavy horse. Bethany’s smile had been vicious as she claimed her blue ribbon.
Calla wished she was the kind of person who could face down the town bully. But she hated confrontation. She had ever since she was a little kid and would hide under the bed when her parents had screaming matches. Then Mama left when Dad got sick. Not before that one last fight, though, where she shouted about how she was still young and there was no reason to let Dad’s illness ruin two lives.
“What about Calla?” her dad asked. “What about your daughter?”
Silence. Then, “I couldn’t bear watching her get sick too.”
“There’s only a fifty percent chance she has it. It’s just as likely that she’s perfectly fine.”
“And you expect me to live like that? Hoping on a coin toss? No. It’s better if I leave now.”
“Better for who?” Calla had never heard her dad’s voice so bitter.
Another long silence. “I know I’m a coward. I don’t expect your forgiveness. But I’m just not strong enough for this. Goodbye Edward.”
Then she left. The house got real quiet after that. Years and years of quiet, her dad only talking to her when there was something to be done around the ranch.
All of this meant Calla didn’t say a word to Bethany as she turned to slam back out the door.
“Just admit it,” Bethany straightened up. “Your dad raised you like the son he always wanted. You couldn’t even get that right. You lost him his ranch. Now what are you going to do? No man is ever going to want you.”
Calla froze at the door, an alien fury burning in her chest.
Too far.
Too much.
She’d woken up that morning only to say goodbye to the only home she’d ever known.
All the land that had been in her family for three generations was officially sold to none other than Bethany’s father, Ned. He’d been trying to buy them out for years. Dad always swore he’d never sell his land to a Cunningham. Turned out that between the failing economy, a few years of serious mismanagement, and Dad’s worsening illness, the choice was made for them.
Not that Dad saw it that way. Last time she went to visit him at the home, he’d refused to even see her. If he’d had his way, they would have fought till the day the bank came and foreclosed on the place. And then Ned Cunningham would get the property anyway—at the bank auction.
Screw it. Calla was tired of keeping quiet and not causing waves. She swung back around to the blonde little Barbie wannabe.
“Well if being a woman means being a vindictive bitch like you, guess I’m happy the way I am. Besides, I don’t need a man to validate my existence.”
Bethany’s mouth dropped open before she scrambled for a comeback. “Good, because the only man who’d want to fuck you would be a gay dude.”
“Well at least I know I deserve better than a drunken hookup in the bathroom of a bar.”
Bethany looked like she was about to spit fire. “Liam and me are meant to be. Not that I expect some he-she freak like you to understand. No one will ever want you. You’ll die old and alone.”
Enough. Calla’s entire body was shaking as she shoved the bathroom door open. She refused to let Bethany know how well her words hit target.
Call
a held her head high as she walked through the bar to the counter. Hey look, God answered some prayers. Liam was nowhere in sight as she walked over to her still mostly full beer mug.
“Hey Bubba,” she said when she got to her stool, “I’m gonna cash out my tab.” She pulled out her phone and clicked on the Uber app. Hawthorne had a total of two Uber drivers, but Wayne only drove on weekends. Tonight there’d only be Carl and he liked to be in bed by eleven. It was ten-thirty, so she was pushing it.
She clicked through the app. Okay, Carl was ten minutes out.
“Heading home so soon?” Bubba ran his hand down his long Santa like beard in the habitual way he had that Calla was sure violated some health code.
She smirked. “Been warming this stool since dinnertime.”
Bubba leaned his elbows on the bar. “Prettiest face gracing my counter tonight.”
Calla rolled her eyes. Bubba sure could tell a whopper with a straight face. “My tab?”
“All right, all right, if you’re in a hip and a hurry.” He pushed off the bar.
He came back with her credit card and a receipt to sign. She signed it and gave a generous tip. She couldn’t afford it, or the drink for that matter, but what the hell. Bubba had been great company while they watched the game he had on. She’d almost been distracted from her shit life for awhile and that was worth throwing away a little money she didn’t have to spend, right?
“Don’t forget to get your fortune,” Bubba said, fishing a fortune cookie out of the large jar he had set up beside his cash register.
Calla lifted an eyebrow. “You do realize this joint isn’t a Chinese restaurant, right?”
“What? My Susie loves reading her horoscope every morning. And I’m always looking for little ways to jazz things up around here.” He grinned, his ruddy cheeks pink and his coffee-stained teeth shining.
“Hey, I’ll take all the luck I can get,” Calla took the fortune cookie from him.
“Have a good night, gorgeous.”
Calla rolled her eyes again. She heard a loud laugh from the far end of the bar that sounded a lot like Liam’s—a fact she hated that she knew, and decided to wait for Carl outside. It wasn’t just Liam. All night everyone had been flashing her pitying looks. Town the size of Hawthorne, everyone knew everyone else’s business. She was sure she and Daddy had been a hot gossip topic lately.
She shoved the fortune cookie in her pocket and headed for the door.
“Night, Cal,” a couple people called out as she walked by. She just nodded, avoiding everyone’s eyes.
She kept her back straight, chin up until she was out of the bar. Once she was out of sight of everyone, though, she collapsed back against the brick wall. She squeezed her eyes shut as the events of earlier that morning flashed for the hundredth time.
Today was the hardest since she’d moved Dad into the nursing home six months ago. The ranch was so in debt they’d barely come out of the deal with enough to secure his long-term care. Huntington’s Disease was degenerative and he only got worse as the years passed. But being so cash-strapped also meant that in addition to her truck, she’d had to sell her horse.
She’d taken Prissy out for one last ride before Chris Mendoza, a local trainer she’d sold him to, came to pick her up.
“Okay, girl.” Calla had scratched down Prissy’s long nose. “One last ride.”
It was a warm June afternoon but Calla felt cold through and through. She smiled though, not wanting Prissy to pick up on her mood.
Prissy snorted and nudged Calla with her nose. Calla wasn’t fooling her. Prissy knew something was off.
“Can’t get anything past you, can I, Priss?”
Calla ran her hands along Prissy’s sleek shoulder and flank, not wanting to lose a single second of contact during the short time she had left with her beloved mare. Her best friend.
Calla lifted a foot in the stirrups and then hiked herself up. Prissy neighed, throwing her head and stepping forward. Calla shifted her weight and got her seat right in time.
“Whoa, whoa, girl. What is it?”
But as Calla looked down the long road that led to her dad’s ranch, her stomach sank.
No. Not Dad’s ranch anymore.
She’d signed the papers just yesterday finalizing the sale. Ned Cunningham hadn’t made any bones about the fact that he expected Calla off the property within twenty-four hours and that anything she left behind was forfeit.
Calla swallowed as she watched the progress of the truck and trailer rig. At least the Cunninghams weren’t getting Prissy. The thought of Bethany owning Prissy was more than Calla could take. So she’d made arrangements with Chris, who was always looking for good barrel racing horses. Since Prissy was getting older, Calla had taken a loss on her. But it was better than that witch Bethany getting her.
The approaching truck kicked up dust and dirt as it rumbled closer. Calla’s jaw clenched and she clicked her teeth. Prissy came to attention underneath her. When Calla squeezed her thighs, Prissy responded.
The movements were almost unconscious at this point. She and Prissy had been together so long, the horse was more like an extension of Calla herself. So it was barely a thought in her head before Prissy took off at a canter that quickly became a full gallop around the side of the house to the practice paddock.
The gate was open and Calla leaned back in the saddle as they sped toward one of the barrels that was still set up in a cloverleaf pattern. She pulled on the left rein and Prissy turned on a dime to circle the first barrel.
Calla urged her on with her legs and then they were flying toward the second barrel. She felt her hat flip off at the speed but she pushed even harder. Wind beat at her face as she leaned back and pulled on the opposite rein to circle the second barrel. Prissy made an even tighter turn than the first and then dirt flew as they went hell for leather toward the third and then fourth barrel.
Both Calla and her mare were breathing hard when Calla finally pulled the reins to bring Prissy to a halt right beside the paddock fence.
Calla leaned over and breathed in Prissy’s familiar horsey smell as she clapped her on the neck. “That’s right, my strong girl. You did so good. You never let me down. Not once in my whole life.”
Calla got Prissy when the mare was just two years old. Calla was eleven and more often than not in the past fourteen years, Prissy felt like the only true friend Calla had in the world. And now she had to say goodbye.
A loud clapping shook her out of her thoughts. Calla swung around to see Chris standing by the gate. She’d arranged to sell Prissy to him a few weeks ago. Just a few years older than her, Calla knew Chris in the same way she did most people in Hawthorne—he was a friendly acquaintance she’d known forever.
Growing up, she told herself the reason she didn’t have any close friends was just because there’d always been too much work to be done around the ranch. There was no time for socializing when you had to run home after school to see to the calving, or check the irrigation lines, or to help bring in the hay.
Dad started showing symptoms for Huntington’s when she was twelve and she’d had to take on more and more of the physical tasks around the ranch every year as he got worse.
It wasn’t until she got to college that she finally realized the real reason she didn’t get close to people. Every year she watched her dad’s health decline, she knew the same could be in store for her. Would likely be in store for her. She was a dead ringer for her dad—she’d looked at pictures of him when he was her age and they could have been twins.
She couldn’t get the test to find out if she had the mutated gene that brought on the disease until she was eighteen. And by then she’d made such a habit of keeping folks at a distance that it was a way of life.
As for the test? Now twenty-four, she still hadn’t taken it. Because even though she fully expected to test positive for the gene, there was some foolish little part of her that thought, you never know. Maybe you don’t have it. Stupid as it was, she hadn’t
wanted to give up that hope by testing and learning for certain.
“If I wasn’t already sold on her, that run would have convinced me.” Chris looked admiringly at Prissy. “How fast was that? Seventeen seconds? Less?”
Calla swallowed hard, her throat thick. “Don’t know. Just wanted one last run.”
Chris’s expression changed from impressed to sympathetic. Pitying. It was the same look everyone had been flashing her around town since news of the deal with Cunningham had been announced in the local paper.
Calla swung off of Prissy, her back to Chris. She took a moment to compose herself and then turned around to face him again. “She should make for a great training horse.”
“Don’t I know it.” His admiring gaze was on Prissy before he looked back to Calla. “You can come visit her anytime you want.”
Calla controlled her features. It might about kill her to have to go visit her beloved horse and then turn her back over for someone else to stable. She could only handle so goddamned much. “Maybe I will,” she lied.
She turned away to unbuckle the cinch straps that secured the saddle. She ran her hand down Prissy’s flank and gave her one last pat before tying the cinch and sliding the saddle off.
“Let me get that,” Chris said, stepping forward.
Calla wanted to yank back from him. But he was about to own the saddle along with Prissy, so that was stupid. She handed over the heavy tack and he took it without complaint.
“I’ll help you load her up.” Calla made a clicking noise and Prissy fell into step behind her as she led her toward Chris’s trailer.
After she got Prissy trailered, Chris pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and handed her a check. Calla wanted to shove it back at him the second her fingers closed around it.
Prissy let out an anxious, high-pitched neigh and shifted in the trailer, ears flicking back and forth. She knew something was wrong.
Calla’s mouth went dry as she stared down at the check in her hands. Five-thousand dollars. Was she really going to sell her best friend, even for so much money?
