Page 32 of Total Jane Wreck

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.” I’m still clutching my stupid flower crown, and my voice is thin. “What if you came with me to Wyoming?”

He shakes his head briskly. “Wish I could. There are reasons I can’t get away.”

“Oh. Did you write another list inside your head?”

One corner of Chet’s mouth inches up into a barely-there, crooked grin. There’s that single damn dimple. “Something like that.”

His rejection stings, but I pass it off. “Too bad. I’d love to see you single-handedly save some horses from a grim fate.”

Chet’s laugh is so soft and quick that it almost doesn’t register. “And I’d do just about anything to impress you.”

What the heck? There’s no way he means that. I open my mouth to argue, but, sweet heavens above, Chet’s fingers are threading through my hair. My chin tilts up until our mouths touch, ever so slightly. And—sweet mother of Peggy Sue—his lips press against mine, his tongue gliding into my mouth.

This is no polite little goodbye peck. He lets loose a full-body sigh, kissing me like he’s memorizing something precious. Or if he’s not careful, I’ll slip from his grasp. His lips are soft yet firm, and the kiss turns epic—starting as gentle as a summer breeze but turning hotter than a jalapeño real quick. I clutch his T-shirt, bunching up the overpriced cotton into both fists. My flower crown tumbles to the ground.

We break apart, breathing fast. Our foreheads almost touch.

“You should go,” he says. “Call me when you land.” Chet gives me another quick, crooked smile and then turns on his heel, walking toward his car.

I’m sort of in a trance as I grab my suitcase and step into the belly of the waiting plane. By the time I recover my equilibrium, the jet is already taxiing.

“See ya ’round,” I mutter, realizing I’m just talking to myself. Funny thing—I’m swatting away tears, but at the same time, I’m laughing.

Chet Edwards has a strange effect on me.

Chapter Fifteen

YOU gifted with the power of pleasing him? YOU of importance to him in any way?

Sal, owner of the Jackson Hole dude ranch, is sweet as sugar. There must have been some miscommunication, because he’s overjoyed that we’ll take the geriatric horses off his hands. “Tapioca, Spitfire, and Gatsby are like family,” Sal states, growing a bit tearful. “Just promise you’ll treat them well.”

“You bet.” It’s better, I decide, not to bring up the dog-food factory. Don’t want to insult the man.

Figuring out logistics and then transporting the horses from northern Wyoming to southern Colorado takes a full week. Horses can only go so long riding in a trailer. They need lots of walking breaks, and it’s not like we can just pull over at a highway rest stop to do that. While on the road, I call Chet with updates a couple of times. His tone remains purely professional and perfunctory.

Sorta makes me wonder if he regrets our kiss.

I’m ready to sing hallelujah when Eric (the driver Chet hired) and I pull into Resilience Ranch late on a Wednesday afternoon. First thing I notice is that the blue barn looks different, with a repaired roof, a door that locks shut, and real glass windows, rather than the boarded-up kind from before. Two of those windows have air conditioning units. That must mean they’ve installed electricity.

The second thing I notice is Axel Rose, emerging from the main barn, smiling and ready to greet me. She’s wearing one of her usual outfits: worn black leggings, a white V-neck tee, and an oversized, soft flannel shirt. But there’s something different about her. It’s that the once pink streak in her blond bob is now light blue. Also, she seems more relaxed and less harried than before.

“Jane!” she cries. “Welcome home!”

That’s when I realize just how much Resilience Ranch has come to feel like home. I capture her in a hug. “Good to see you!” I pull on her arm. “Come meet our new horses!”

Axel Rose and I lead Tapioca, Gatsby, and Spitfire out of their trailers and show them around. (They’re much easier to unload than Miss Adele was.) All the while, I’m glancing over my shoulder, wondering if Chet might appear. But he never does.

After Eric-the-driver drinks some iced tea and uses the bathroom, he heads out. I turn to Axel Rose. “What’s with the blue barn?”

She shrugs. “Chet was like a thief in the night, making those renovations. He gave me three days off while you were driving back from Wyoming. And he told the landscapers not to come. When I returned, the blue barn had been redone.”

“But why? What will he use it for?”

“I’ll let him explain that to you.” Axel Rose laughs throatily. “But under no circumstances are we to go over there.”

Strange. Very, very strange. Yet, between helping Tapioca, Gatsby, and Spitfire get acclimated, and convincing Miss Adele, Freckles, Copper Cash, and the rest of the gang to forgive me for abandoning them for a week, I’m too busy to give the matter much thought.

“Seems pretty suspicious to me,” Brontë says during our evening phone conversation. “I hope Chet is worth all the mystery he’s been shrouding himself in.”