Page 2 of Total Jane Wreck

Betty dips her snout as if to say, “Duh. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Horses are intuitive. They can sense a human’s emotional state and read nonverbal cues, reflecting them back with empathy. Betty’s soul is even kinder than most. She nuzzles me, understanding my mood so well.

But after a while, Betty grows restless and confused. She doesn’t get why we’re not going for a ride. “Sorry,” I tell her. “I wish we could, but not today.”

So, I duck into an empty stall, sit against a block of hay, and open my book. It’s about this guy who gives up everything to go on an epically long hike. Even though the story’s told from a middle-aged man’s point of view, I connect with the wanderlust. That longing for deep red sunsets over mountain peaks? It gets to me over and over, every time I read it.

I’m deep into chapter three, reading one of the very best passages: Safety is our toxic devotion. We cling to it, making ourselves slaves to routine. Then, before we know it, life is over, and we’ve never truly taken a risk.

Two voices startle me. They belong to Jackson and Reed’s wife, Melissa.

“You can’t be serious,” Melissa stage-whispers, her consonants sharp. “Out here? Now?”

Jackson shushes her, more urgent than playful. “I’ve just gotta have you, babe.”

I freeze, book open in my lap. They’re less than ten feet away, on the far side of Betty’s stall. My stomach sinks like a brick in a bucket.

“Reed’ll lose his shit if he finds out,” Melissa says, breathless.

Jackson’s laugh floats through the air, a low purr I know too well. “Reed doesn’t deserve you.”

God. I should clear my throat. Or scream. Or fly at them like a ninja. Instead, I’m paralyzed by morbid curiosity. Jackson’s voice turns muffled, cajoling. Melissa sighs in pleasure. There’s the shuffle of expensive loafers on straw, a zipper, a button’s pop.

This can’t be happening.

I stare at the battered copy of Escape from the Springs, its creased spine, the words blurring. The urge to crane my neck and watch tickles at the base of my brain.

Meanwhile, Betty has a front-row seat. Her head is up, nostrils flaring in confusion and annoyance. She hates sudden noises or when anyone other than Mom or me gets too close. Jackson and Melissa’s giggles grow louder and more frantic, and Betty throws her weight hard against the stall door. The iron latch rattles. Both Jackson and Melissa shriek, startled. Then they burst out laughing.

“Shhh, you’re gonna spook her again,” Melissa says.

Jackson makes a clucking sound. “She’s a horse, Mel. She’ll get over it.” Another bang, as Melissa tries to scramble onto the ledge. Her shoe slips, her heel digging into Betty’s side.

When Betty neighs in protest, it’s like a switch flips in my chest. I throw my battered paperback to the ground and stomp into the aisle.

“Get the fuck away from her!” I shout.

Jackson and Melissa spring apart. For a moment, nobody moves. Then Jackson finds his grin—that slow, perfectly symmetrical thing I used to find charming. “Jane. Hey, babe. Didn’t even see you there.”

Melissa’s hands fly to her hair, which doesn’t move. Too much hairspray. “We were just checking on the horses.”

I look at her for a long moment. “Sure.”

Jackson’s eyes slide sideways. “Babe, she came onto me. I’m weak-willed—you know that.” He tells me this like it’s a character quirk—the same as being bad at parallel parking.

Then, I remember. Two summers ago, us at the country club pool, his hands on my shoulders, working in the sunscreen, voice hot against my neck. “You’re beautiful, Jane. And I can’t resist a beautiful woman.”

Bending to his touch, I couldn’t believe my luck—one of Lexington’s most eligible bachelors found me beautiful. That was new. Sure, I had some non-threatening, girl-next-door vibes—short and slim, with brown hair, blue eyes, and a freckled nose. Not the type to drive a man to distraction.

But Jackson found me beautiful. Except, apparently, he finds most women beautiful.

God, I was an idiot.

“Do you even want to marry me?” I ask him now.

“Of course.”

“Why?”