Page 23 of Total Jane Wreck

“I will soon,” I tell her. “But Miss Adele needs—”

“No!”

I reel back, surprised by her vehemence.

“You’ve been working nonstop,” she says, “not just last night, but for the last three weeks. Go get some sleep. And when you get up, you’ll go somewhere.”

“I will?”

“Yes,” Axel Rose answers.

I scratch my head. “Where?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Axel Rose throws her hands to the side. “Just leave Resilience Ranch for a couple of hours. Long enough to remind yourself that an entire world exists outside of here. And that while the horses and I love you to bits, we’ll survive for a day without you.”

I start to protest, but then Chet’s by my side. “Axel Rose is right,” he says.

Chet’s more imposing than I’ve ever seen him, blue-black eyes glaring at me as if I’ve done something wrong. “I insist that you take some time off. No arguments, Jane. Now, go.”

Wordlessly, I nod and turn on my heel, heading off to my trailer. There, I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep for several hours. I’m woken when my phone vibrates with a text.

It’s River: “The backpacking group is meeting for drinks tonight. You should come.”

Chapter Eleven

I was tormented by the contrast between my idea and my handiwork…I had imagined something which I was quite powerless to realize.

I venture into town and find River and his buddies at Oskar Blues, one of the more popular watering holes in Sugar Pine. They’re sitting around a fire table, drinking beer from mugs that sweat in the evening light. The place is crowded, seemingly with a mix of locals, tourists, and students. The servers, many of whom are in various phases of tattoo sleeves and turquoise hair dye, are harried. I smooth out my blue jersey sundress. It’s the only item of clothing I packed that isn’t jeans, cutoffs, flannel, or an art museum T-shirt.

“Jane! Over here!” River waves me over with a wild, enthusiastic energy. He introduces me to the group of five individuals. Two of them are also students at Sugar Pine University. But there’s also a married couple who look maybe a couple years older than me. And there’s a woman named Jocelynn, who works as a nurse at the local hospital. Of course I don’t ask her age—that would be rude—but she’s thirty-five if she’s a day.

“Last time we went backpacking,” River says, “Cam got bitten by a western hognose. Thank God Jocelynn was along. She knew how to administer first aid.”

I gasp and look at Cam, the male half of the married couple. “You were bitten by a . . . western hognose? That sounds awful!”

Everyone laughs. “A western hognose is a nonvenomous snake that likes to play dead,” Cam tells me. “I accidentally stepped on one and got bit. It was kind of like a bee sting. But Jocelynn here fixed me up.”

Jocelynn waves her hand dismissively. “It was nothing,” she says to him, before turning to me. “Jane, you should come on our next trip. It’s just for two days.”

“Hell yes, you should!” River exclaims. “We’re going up Vallecito Creek Trail, making it up to Johnson Creek Junction before heading back.”

“Sounds like fun,” I say.

“Oh, it will be,” says Mal, one of River’s friends from school—the one who makes horse art. “And for you, it’ll be a great intro to backpacking. Then you can decide if you’re up for our month-long trip in August, when we go along the Colorado Trail.”

“A month-long trip?” Curious, I lean forward. Not that there’s any way I could be gone for so long, but still. It sounds like something out of Escape from the Springs.

***

The next day, Chet and Axel Rose again insist that I take it easy. But I’m allowed to stay on the ranch. Problem is, too much time on my hands just makes me worry about Betty. So I unpack the last of my boxes, the one with my art supplies. The paintbrushes show their age, and this canvas from Michaels was definitely on the clearance rack. But soon I’m all set up, painting Miss Adele with those gorgeous San Juan Mountains behind her. It’s like a shot of narcotics into my heart. Nothing heals like horses and horizons.

Until my inner critic gets all loud and bitchy.

“Talentless hack,” I mutter to myself. “Never seen such piddlin’ work.”

The sun is beating down, and my fingers tighten on the brush as I desperately try to suggest both the shadow and sun on Miss Adele’s back. Instead, I’ve painted a browned banana with legs.

From behind me, there’s a muffled crunch. Chet walks into my patch of shade, standing close enough to see everything on my makeshift easel. “Who are you talking to?” He scowls. “And why are you being so mean?”