Wild Hearts (4 page)

“Kind of,” I said, handing her cash. It was going to take a little getting used to how everyone knew everyone here. This was the smallest town we had ever lived in.

“Hope you've got a cooler for the milk. It's going to get really warm tomorrow,” she said. “You're one of the few tourists to shop here. Usually, everyone buys water and stuff from the vendor in the town center.”

“Actually, I'm living in Lost Springs for a while,” I said. “My dad has a job here.” I smiled at her. “I'm Brie Carter.”

In our family—even though my parents are married—Mom, Kate, and I are Carters. Mom, on a super-feminist kick when Kate and I were born, had convinced my dad to let us keep her maiden name as our last name.

“I'm Amy Banks,” she said, smiling back. “Your dad is the new ranch hand at McCoys', huh? I heard he was supposed to be moving here soon. I didn't know he had a family.”

I took the bag, holding back a smirk, and shook my head. No one had ever mistaken Michael Brooks for a ranch hand before. Mom would laugh her butt off.

“My dad's here for different business,” I said. “It's him, my mom, and me. I've never heard of the McCoys.”

“Oh, suck,” Amy said, handing me my change. “Not suck that you're moving here!” she added quickly. “I was just disappointed for a friend. His dad is the one waiting for the extra help. It would have taken a lot of responsibility off Logan's shoulders.”

Logan?
Maybe it was a super-common name around here. “I think I met a guy named Logan,” I said casually. “He worked at the WyGas.”

“That was him,” she said. “Logan's always working. He's due here for his shift any minute.”

“Awesome,” I muttered. “So he works
everywhere
.” I said that part louder.

“He has to,” Amy said, leaning closer even though the market was empty. “He works two jobs outside his dad's ranch. The Triple M is pretty big around here. Well,
was
, I guess.”

“Did something happen?” I asked.

“The economy,” Amy said. “They need lots more hands, but they're only able to hire one person right now.”

“Oh.” Now I felt like a brat. My parents didn't spoil me, but I'd never had to go out and get a job. Sure, I worked for my dad, but Mom always said, “School is your job.”

But Logan, who couldn't have been more than a college freshman, was out in the real world with three jobs. I spent my days exploring, doing schoolwork, helping my dad, tak
ing pictures—or, at least, fiddling with my camera—and reading.

“You picked a crazy time to move here,” Amy said.

“Why?” I asked. I put the brown-bagged groceries at my feet.

Amy leaned back against the counter. “I'm guessing you just got here today?”

I nodded.

“Lost Springs is—spoiler alert!—a tiny town,” Amy said.

“No!” I said, laughing a little.

“No one
ever
moves here,” Amy continued. “If someone comes here, they're like a rare species. The locals, especially the old people, go insane trying to meet the new people, bring them baked goods, and ask a ton of questions. You know, normal behavior like that.”

We both laughed.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “I better behave now that the whole town is going to be watching me.”

Amy held up her pointer finger. “Actually, you're in luck. Your family, too. The McCoys' new ranch hand should be here any day now. But . . .” Amy paused, frowning. She folded her arms. “There is a guy moving here that
everyone
is in a frenzy about. He's the biggest jerk on the planet. He's supposed to get here tomorrow.”

All the bubbly niceness had evaporated from Amy. She pressed her lips together in a line, shaking her head.

“How do you know he's a jerk if you haven't met him yet?” I asked. “And the
entire
town doesn't like him?”

My stomach flip-flopped a little. Amy wasn't talking about . . . no, she couldn't be.

“We don't just not like him,” Amy said. “We
hate
him. At last month's town meeting, we all learned that some big shot was coming here to destroy our town.”

“Destroy?”

I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly who Amy was ranting about. My hands clenched and I stood up straighter. I was in flight or fight mode.

“Destroy. He's a land developer or something like that. The mayor had Googled the guy's name before the meeting and we all got flyers with info from this jerk's website.”

“What's his name?” I asked, my tone flat.

“Michael Brooks,” Amy said, practically spitting it out. “I'm
so
glad that you're not with him! I'm sure you're really busy unpacking and everything, but if you want to know more about him, you should look him up online.”

Anger burned in my chest. Not one of these people had ever met my dad. Amy made it sound as if Michael Brooks were a part of the Mexican cartel storming the city with weapons and drugs. I took in a slow breath through my nose.

“I could look him up,” I said. I caught Amy's eye and held it. “Or, better yet, I could ask him. Since he
is
my father.”

Silence.

Amy opened and closed her mouth. Twice.

“I'm going home,” I said. “And the person who is coming to ‘destroy' Lost Springs is there.” I bent down and picked up my grocery bag.

“I'm sorry,” Amy said. “I was a little harsh.”

“A little?”

“Well, your dad
is
coming into town to do something that none of us wants. He's going to clear acres of land. That impacts the wildlife and the quality of life here.”

“Thousands of trees are chopped down every year,” I said. “As for wildlife, give the animals some credit. Birds and squirrels and whatever else will find new homes. We've coexisted with them for a
long
time, haven't we?”

“Yes, but this is different. Lost Springs is home to—”

I cut Amy off with a wave of my hand. “Whatever. When the hotel is built and it starts bringing money into town, you'll be thanking my dad.”

“I don't think so,” Amy said. “No one wants this. Not one person in town.”

I clenched my jaw. “So what? All twelve residents of this dinky town hate my family? I think we'll survive.”

I walked away from the counter almost feeling fumes of hot anger radiating off my body.

I heard Amy call my name just as the door swung shut. I kicked a rock on the pavement. If that was how it was going to be around here, at least I had a little warning.

In the parking lot, a
very
familiar black Ford was parked next to my bike. The empty truck's windows were down. I could get right inside if I wanted to. Maybe the whole town ran on the honor system.

I walked behind the truck and saw a bumper sticker on the back with three uppercase
M
s in a row. No question about
whose truck this was. In the back window, the red paper was a flyer that looked like it could have been for a candidate running for office. Except it was a picture of my dad with a giant NO sign over it.

I got on my bike, balancing the bag carefully on the handlebars. We hadn't even been here for twenty-four hours and I already wanted to move.

 

CHAPTER FOUR

Horses are only afraid of two things—things that move and things that don't.

“MONSTER!”

I sat up straight in bed, my hands gripping my coffee-colored sheets.
It was just a nightmare
, I told myself.
Everything is totally fine.

Faint light filtered through my blinds. I grabbed my phone off the stack of boxes next to my bed and checked the time. Barely six in the morning.

“MURDERER!”

“Omigod,” I said aloud to no one in my room. I scrambled out of bed and my bare feet slapped against the wooden steps as I went from the second floor to the first. I ran to my parents' bedroom and knocked on their closed door, feeling like I was four or five again and needed my mom and dad after a bad dream.

“Mom, Dad,” I whispered. I cracked open their door. “Dad,” I said louder. “Mom! Wake up.” Part of me felt like I needed to be quiet or whoever was outside would hear me.

“Brie? Honey, what's wrong?” Mom asked. She sat up in bed and reached out an arm to me.

I navigated through the maze of boxes and let Mom wrap her arm around my waist.

My dad hadn't moved. He could sleep through anything.

“I heard voices and thought I was dreaming, but somebody's outside,” I said. My heart thumped hard in my chest. “Someone was screaming—”

“GET OUT OF LOST SPRINGS!”

“Michael!” Mom yanked on the covers and pushed Dad's shoulder. “Michael, wake up. NOW.”

Dad blinked and sat up. “What?” he asked. “What's wrong?”

“Dad, people are outside screaming,” I said. “We have to call the police.”

“WE DON'T WANT YOU HERE, BROOKS!” a man's voice yelled with that weird sound to it that voices get from megaphones.

“Oh, great,” Dad said. “The real-estate agent told me that we'd probably have protestors. I don't know why they had to start so early in the morning.”

Mom gave him the Death Stare. “Why didn't you say anything and why did you just make a mockery of it? By the sound of it, there's more than one person outside protesting my husband's business at
our
home. I wouldn't refer to it with such a laid-back attitude.” Mom's voice kept getting louder with every word. “You told me
nothing
!”

Mom got out of bed and gathered her hair into a messy topknot. I stood beside her, both of us staring at Dad.

Dad dropped his head for a second. “Sorry,” he said. “It was something that I always handed off to Brody. I didn't think anyone would ever really show up.”

“I can't even talk about this right now,” Mom said. She reached behind me and yanked her purple cotton robe off a pile of boxes. “I'm going to call the police.”

“Nicola, we're not calling the cops,” Dad said. He straightened his red T-shirt and black cotton pants while slipping his feet into black Nike sandals. “I'll go outside and handle it.”

“No,” Mom said. I took a slow step backward, not wanting to be caught between them.

Dad and Mom locked eyes.

“Michael,” Mom said. “You don't know any of those people. They're angry with you. What if someone wants to hurt you?”

Dad shook his head and started for the bedroom door. “I'll be fine. They're a bunch of noise.”

He walked out of the bedroom and Mom turned to me. We looked at each other as Dad's flip-flops slapped against the wooden floor. Without a word, Mom and I both hurried out of the bedroom.

Dad was already at the front door, pulling it open. Crisp early morning air hit my bare legs and I shivered—both from fear and cold.

I stopped just behind Dad and peeked around him.

Signs.

Signs were
everywhere
. People stood all over our driveway and some spilled onto the yard. Red, blue, black, green. The colors almost blended together as the signs waved back and forth. The words made me freeze.

A white poster had a red circle with an image of a black horse. Above the image, the text screamed at me,
PLEASE DON'T EAT ME!

Another sign:
SAY NO TO HORSE SLAUGHTER!

SAVE THE MUSTANGS!

Something stirred in my belly as I stared at the signs. Dad's job was endangering mustangs? The horses wouldn't
really
die, would they? Dad wouldn't let that happen no matter what he was building. I paused.
At least I
think
Dad would protect the horses
, I thought.

There had to be at least thirty-something people. Thirty-something
angry
people. Lost Springs wasn't a big town. Most of the population was probably standing in front of me.