Page 30 of Total Jane Wreck

“Are you okay?” Emma peers at me.

I silently nod, trying to quell my rising panic. Mentioning Adkins and Son Stables reminds me that I’ll probably lose Betty. “Yeah,” I answer. “Today is about positive energy, and I just want to be present in this moment.”

“Of course,” Fiona says. “Thank you, Jane.”

The last few people in the circle share, and then we get into the yoga portion. As Fiona leads us through stretches and focused breathing, I actually hold my own. There’s a lot of sun-worshippy arm things. One pose seems to require a second set of knees. But I rather enjoy the warrior pose, where we expand our chests. It makes me feel strong.

Later, we soak in the hot springs with the intent to “release and receive,” which mostly just means relaxing and enjoying the view. I didn’t expect any Earth-shattering effects, but something inside me unspools.

Later, Emma and I hike back to our cars together. After waving goodbye, I climb into my car and retrieve my cell phone from the glove compartment. Emma had warned me that cell phones—for obvious reasons—are strictly prohibited from solstice events. It’s just a little before 9:00 a.m., and Axel Rose is aware I’m starting late this morning.

So I’m unprepared for the string of frantic texts that pop up when I unlock my phone. Not from Axel Rose, but from Chet.

5:37 a.m.: “Where R U? Just knocked on trailer door. Need to talk.”

6:18: “Checked stables. Horses all here. R U hiking with River?”

6:49: “Dammit, Jane. Ur job is to be accessible. Where R U?”

7:24: “This isn’t okay. CALL ME. Better yet, haul ass back to Resilience Ranch.”

7:52: “Scratch that. Haul ass to Sugar Pine airport. U R going on a trip. Already packed for U.”

8:01: “U’d better be in the middle of an emergency. This is ridiculous.”

8:40: “Jane?!!”

What in tarnation is going on? Gripping the steering wheel, I speed toward Resilience Ranch. Good thing there aren’t other cars around, cuz when I reach the Sugar Pine Springs airport (basically a small metal building, a control booth, and an open field), I’m driving so fast that I pass it. I slam the brakes, and my car spins and sprays gravel. I make a U-turn in the middle of the country road, blinking to make sure I didn’t just hallucinate.

Nope. A plane’s gearing up for flight. Chet stands in front of it, wearing shades and a no-nonsense expression. He’s talking on his cell phone.

When he sees me approach, he ends his call. “Jane!” Chet’s voice sounds like a saw cutting through metal. “Where the hell have you been? And why’d you ignore all my texts?”

Since our near-miss by the firepit, Chet and I haven’t spoken. Unless you count work chat, always in the presence of Axel Rose, River, or one of the other landscapers. Perhaps Chet’s anger should faze me. Instead, my temper flares. “News flash—I exist outside this job. It’s none of your damn business where I was.”

He reels back. “Of course it’s my business. Something came up. I needed you hours ago.”

“Too bad. Being at your beck and call is not in my job description.” Chet’s mouth drops open, but I don’t let him respond. “You believe you have the right to order me around? Because you’re older, richer, and more experienced, that you’re somehow superior?” I point a finger at his chest. “You’re nothing but a rooster crowing during the eclipse.”

Chet scrunches up his face. “Is that another Kentucky colloquialism? Because it doesn’t make sense. Roosters crow when the sun rises, not when it—”

“Fine!” I throw out my arms. “You’re like a rooster who crows after an eclipse. I used the wrong preposition! Forgive me!”

“Okay. You’re forgiven.” Chet takes a deep breath. When he exhales, he deflates a little. His eyes scan me up and down. “But only if you explain why you’re dressed like an out-of-season homecoming queen.”

Shoot. I’d forgotten about my flower crown. I reach up, snatch it off my head, and shove it behind my back. Stray blossoms rain onto the pavement as my dignity falls away.

I square my shoulders. “Again, not that it’s any of your business, but I was at a summer solstice yoga thingy. Also—in Kentucky at least, homecoming queens don’t wear hippie-dippie flower crowns. They’re cheerleaders who enjoy football, big trucks, and taffeta.”

He looks like he’s suppressing laughter. “Understood. Anything else you care to educate me on?”

“Not at the moment. But keep talking—I’m sure you’ll say something stupid in no time.” There’s a pebble in my shoe. Pressing my foot into the pavement, I exacerbate the discomfort. It feels better than meeting his eyes would.

Chet clears his throat. “Look, Jane—I’m your boss and—”

“I realize you’re my boss, Chet, but—”

“Which makes ordering you around my right,” he says, talking over me.