Page 17 of Total Jane Wreck

He laughs in answer, but Chet doesn’t need false bravado. Not like me.

I climb onto Miss Adele. Then, we all clop out together, Copper Cash and Chet in front, his back straight as a wall stud, Miss Adele and me tailing. Chet guides us through the maze of paddocks and out past the pond, where a heron dips into the reeds. At the edge of the hayfield, he pulls up and lets Copper Cash snatch a mouthful of alfalfa.

“This was the old quarter-mile track, back when this ranch was the county fair site,” Chet says, pointing with his chin at the broad, golden strip of open space running to the barn. “Bet you didn’t know that.”

“Nope.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “But I’ll take your word for it.”

Chet swings around, eyes sparking in the soft dusk. “Let’s see if your girl has enough under the hood. First one to the fence line gets bragging rights for a week.”

I start to remind Chet that Miss Adele’s never galloped outside a round pen, and it’s a minor miracle that so far, she hasn’t dumped me on my ass. But Chet’s dare tugs at my brain—the stupid part that craves a little risk. Miss Adele must feel the same way, because she pins her ears and points her whole body straight down the makeshift track.

“You’re on!” I shift my weight and squeeze my legs, letting her know it’s time. She erupts under me. First a jolt, then a full-throttle takeoff that almost snaps my head back. The wind rips through my hair; the world narrows to an alley of light and air and the thunderclap of hooves. Chet shouts, and Copper Cash’s red-gold body surges up beside me like a four-legged tsunami. Our horses match stride for stride, necks stretched, manes dancing like flames in the gloaming.

At first, Miss Adele holds level with Copper Cash, even nudges her muzzle a whisker past him. My lungs expand and my vision blurs with tears. Every stride is a gamble. Miss Adele’s muscles coil and shudder under my saddle, the rhythm pure exultation. We blast down the field.

But just as we pass the halfway tree, Copper Cash finds another gear. He shoots past, hooves and thunder, and Miss Adele gives a little extra wiggle of her ears; she’s as surprised as me.

But it doesn’t matter, because this is fun. It’s more than fun. Somehow, I can almost glimpse my future. And it’s raw and bright, like it could peel my eyeballs, but in a good way. Which is to say, Miss Adele and I keep at it, stubbornly increasing our speed as we finish. We lose, but not by much.

I haul Miss Adele up at the fence line, clutching her mane. She stands proud, practically vibrating with happiness. My own heart hammers so fast it’s like a hummingbird. I’m laughing and whooping and, God help me, for a split second I want to cry because this is the freest I’ve felt in years.

Chet pulls up beside me, grinning wide. “Damn, Kentucky Jane. That was . . . something.” He tosses his head. “You and Miss Adele nearly had us for breakfast. You know that, right?”

I can’t stop smiling. “Of course I do.”

We turn back, the horses walking side by side. The sky’s gone bruised and electric, fireflies lighting up the dusk.

Chet’s gaze is fixed in front of us and not on me. “Well, now you also know what it’s like racing on an abandoned Colorado fairground.”

“True,” I answer. “Guess there’s a first time for everything.”

His laughter is unguarded. Glancing at him, for a minute I see the boy he must’ve been before he found e-commerce, before he had an influencer girlfriend fighting cancer, and before piles of money began weighing him down.

Then his face goes serious. Like some serious, intrusive thought just destroyed his moment of happiness.

“Are the sunsets here always so beautiful?” I ask, hoping he’ll smile again.

“Pretty much,” Chet answers. But he seems far away.

We maintain a cooldown pace, the horses trotting at a congenial speed. There’s this lazy, gold dusk slanting over the field, and the bugs make halos around the horses’ heads. Blue mountains in the distance, barns hunkered down in the shadow. It all looks so romantic, like the closing shot of a Western—Chet and I are just two souls riding off into the sunset.

Except, he doesn’t say more than two words to me for the rest of the evening. I’m left wondering if somehow I offended him. But that can’t be—no, the change happened inside his own head.

What is going on with Chet Edwards?

Chapter Nine

It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquility: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it.

It’s late Friday afternoon when my cell phone’s screen lights up with a name.

Reed.

My stomach drops straight through the barn floor. Something’s gotta be wrong. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be calling.

“Hi, Reed,” I chirp, hating how tinny my voice must sound. “What’s up?”

Reed skips saying hello. Instead, he barks at me. “Why didn’t you tell me about Jackson and Melissa?” A pause, loaded and deliberate. “Do you really hate me that much?”