Page 10 of Total Jane Wreck

Chet’s mouth quirks up in disbelief. “That horse just loves embarrassing me. Serves me right, I suppose.”

“Could be worse. At least he’s not coming home with piercings and tattoos, claiming that he’s a socialist.”

“Mmm.” Chet steps forward, leans one hand on my shoulder—the weight on my collarbone just enough to say he’s still in pain—and grabs Copper Cash’s reins. I’m suddenly aware that I’ve got puke breath. With a grunt that could shatter glass, Chet swings into the saddle, wincing at his sprained ankle.

“Thanks,” he manages, as if the word could tip his pride over the edge. Then he flicks the reins. “Now go home. And stay there.”

Chet and Copper Cash fade into the moonlit pines, hoofbeats echoing away. I stand in the clearing, chest tight, wondering if that introduction could have gone any worse.

Have I already made an enemy of Chet Edwards?

Chapter Five

I thought unaccountably of fairytales, and had half a mind to demand whether you had bewitched my horse.

When I get back to the ranch, there’s Chet, sitting by his fire pit. Next to him is a small table that holds a lantern; he’s using its light to read a book. The flames dance while he nurses a drink—one huge ice cube with two fingers’ worth of brown liquor.

Probably bourbon. Reminds me of home.

As I approach, Chet doesn’t look up. His left foot rests on an upturned log, elevated with an ice pack pressed against his ankle.

I clear my throat. “Hey. Mind if I join you?”

He doesn’t answer. I take that as tacit consent. Hovering near the edge of the fire pit, I extend my hands to the warmth. Chet casts a glance at my face, then places his book face down on his thigh, open to the page where he left off.

I spot the cover. Amazingly, it’s Escape from the Springs.

Okay. Perhaps it’s not so amazing. Around here, Marigold Sanders is a local author.

Years ago, I read an article that explained how she became famous with her salacious, Nora Roberts–like storytelling, always using a fictionalized version of Sugar Pine Springs as her setting. But her second book is different from the rest. It’s written in first person, and there’s both mystery and controversy. Some believe the book is actually by Marigold’s first husband, James; that he wrote it before hiking up the mountain that sets Sugar Pine Springs in shadow most of the day. After he disappeared, they sent out massive search parties. But he was never seen again.

“Didn’t I tell you to go home?” Chet stares at the fire while speaking to me, his voice a mixture of fatigue and anger. “Are you incapable of following instructions?”

“Funny you should ask . . .” I stand up straight, spine long, trying to make the most of my short stature. “Thing is,” I begin, “I already know y’all here at Resilience Ranch, and—”

“Where are you from?” Chet interrupts. “Not from Sugar Pine, right?”

“I’m from Lexington, Kentucky.”

“Ah.” Chet’s smirk (I was right that it’s his go-to facial expression) deepens into a scowl. “Far from home, then. What in God’s name are you doing at Resilience Ranch?”

“I’m your employee,” I state, trying to meet his gaze. “My home is that trailer over there, cuz I was hired to care for your horses.”

“Nah, that’s impossible. Never even heard of you.”

“Axel Rose didn’t mention me?”

“Nope.” His answer plunks like a stone dropped into a pond.

Heart pounding, I silently weigh my options. Because in about twenty seconds (give or take), Chet will most likely send me packing. Then where will I go?

“Well . . .” I gulp. Feigning confidence, I sit myself down on a stump that can serve as a chair. “I got here yesterday, same time as Miss Adele. I kept her calm while she adjusted to her new digs. Let me tell you, that horse is a peach. I can only just imagine what her previous owners did to make her so world-weary, and at such a young age. They’d better hope not to ever meet me in a dark alley.”

Chet gives me a sideways glance. “Why? Would you start a rumble? Or would you just skip straight to puking on their shoes?”

“A rumble? What, are we in West Side Story?”

“Either that or The Exorcist,” he retorts. “Back in the woods I thought your head might spin a full 360 degrees.”