Wild Hearts (14 page)

“You
are
the eBay queen,” I said.

“You ready to go?” Logan asked, smiling at me. He looked
good
in a mustard-colored long-sleeve shirt that was just tight enough for me to make out his chiseled arms and abs.

“Ready!” I said.

Amy hopped into the cab, humming.

“I don't think she's excited at all,” I said to Logan.

“Agreed,” he said. “She's totally bummed.”

I peered inside the trailer and LG was sleeping, his dark brown head down.

“I like your hair,” Logan said. I looked away from the trailer and he was smiling at me.

“Thanks,” I said, smiling.

We went around separate sides of the trailer—me to the passenger side and him to the driver's seat. I touched my ponytail and grinned. I climbed into the cab and sat next to Amy. There was a bag of candy on Amy's lap and she'd opened a can of root beer.

“Thanks for waiting, guys,” I said. “Parental interrogation before I left.”

“No way were Amy and I leaving without you,” Logan said.

“We're seriously excited to take you to your first Western Outlaw Festival,” Amy said, grinning.

“Wait, wait. A
what
?” I asked.

Logan and Amy laughed.

“I guess I didn't tell you
everything
about it,” Logan said. He started the truck and eased it out of the lot. “It is a cruelty-free rodeo like I said, but it's also an 1800s Western Outlaw Festival.”

“We go every year,” Amy said. “I only missed one. I was six and had the chicken pox.”

“Wow, that's dedication,” I said, laughing.

“There's a steamboat, an old-fashioned shootout, and a rodeo,” Amy said. “You're going to have so much fun.”

“I can't wait,” I said. “How far away is it?”

“Just fifteen minutes,” Logan said. “I raided WyGas for candy and pop.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Are you going to win at calf roping?”

“Of course,” he said. “I can't lose when it's your first time watching.”

Amy elbowed me in the ribs, smirking. I shot her a what-are-you-doing-stop-it-now look back. Amy had told me more than a handful of times that she knew Logan liked me. I just kept responding that it didn't even matter if he did—I still felt weird about how attracted to him I was, even after my talk with Mom at the falls.

The ride to the fairgrounds went by fast. We laughed and sang along to the pop station the entire ride. Sun streamed inside the windshield and relaxed me even more.

I jumped out of Logan's truck when we reached the festival's parking lot. Trucks and trailers were parked at all angles and people were unloading horses and a couple had cattle in their trailers.

“Are all the horses here for the competition?” I asked Amy.

“Mostly,” she said, tugging on a skinny red headband that held back her black bangs. “Some are going to be up for auction.”

Amy stood on her tiptoes, shading her eyes against the sun.

“Logan,” she said, “I think Bobby Farris just got here.”

Logan grunted, muttering something I couldn't hear.

Amy grinned. “Aw, it's okay, Logan!”

“What's going on?” I asked.

“Logan's the calf-roping champ,” Amy said. She patted Logan's back. “Three years in a row until he lost to Bobby Farris last year.”

“Ouch,” he said, faking hurt. “I think he cheated.”

“How?” I asked, laughing.

“There were rumblings around the circuit that he knew the guy who owned the calves and he had them give his calf a little tranquilizer to slow him down,” Logan said.

Amy snorted and rolled her eyes.
No way,
she mouthed to me.

“Do you need help?” she asked Logan.

“Nope,” Logan said with a head shake. “I've got to register, get LG saddled, and warm him up. I ride in an hour.”

Amy turned to me. “Want to go look around and then come back for Logan's ride?”

“Sure. Let's go.” We waved to Logan and linked arms. Amy and I headed out of the parking lot and walked across the grassy field. Half a dozen red-and-white circus tents formed a backdrop for what looked like an 1800s Western town. Cowboys and cowgirls dressed in authentic outfits wandered the area and entered tents labeled
saloons
and other old-fashioned shops. Chuck wagons were parked around the lot and signs for pony rides, shootout reenactments, and horseshoe toss were stuck everywhere.

“Wow,” I said. “This is great!”

“It's pretty cool,” Amy agreed, dragging me toward a chuck wagon. “We need snacks and drinks for Logan's competition.”

“Yeah, we kind of did blow through all the sodas and stuff that were supposed to be for the event on the way here.”

A tall guy a few years older than us rubbed his hand over his whiskered face as he offered us a plate. “Want to try the jerky?” he asked us.

“Sure!” we said as we each took a small strip of the heavily peppered beef jerky off the plate and chewed for a second.

“We'll take some,” Amy said. “And we need pop. Root beer okay with you, Brie?”

“Definitely,” I said.

Amy got three glass-bottled root beers. We left the chuck wagon and swerved to the side as four horses pulling a stagecoach trotted through the street. People flooded into the tent with a canvas sign spray-painted with
RIDE 'EM, ROPERS
on the front.

Amy and I headed inside the dirt-floored tent and climbed up the metal bleachers to find empty seats. I looked around for Logan and spotted him smiling and laughing with a few guys. They stood by the side of the arena. Logan looked so comfortable and happy. Amy tugged on my arm and we sat on the bleachers. It was almost chilly in the shade.

We uncapped our sodas and touched them together.

“Cheers!” I said.

We took long drinks.

“Did you and Logan already make out?” Amy asked, turning slightly toward me. “Or is it only a matter of time?”

“Amy!” I said. “I need more sugar to answer that.”

I took a long sip of root beer.

“Omigod!” she said. “You already did!”

“No. We haven't done anything. Not even one kiss. Almost, but we got interrupted.”

In the arena in front of us, a couple of riders were working to guide a black bull into a smaller corral.

“Do you
want
to kiss him?” Amy asked.

I paused. “Yes. No. You know why that would be a problem.”

“But maybe try to take moving out of the equation?” Amy offered. “And the McCoy versus Brooks thing.”

I cocked my head, giving her a no-way-ever look.

“Okay, okay!” Amy said, putting up a hand. “Just go with me on this. Forget
everything
except for you and Logan. That's it. Would it make you happy right now to kiss him?”

“Yes,” I said. The word sounded strange. “Yes,” I said again.

Amy squealed and grabbed my arm. “Then maybe you should forget about the future,” Amy said. “I know it's easier said than done. I know that. But you deserve to be happy
now.
”

I nodded. “Maybe. But it would be at the expense of making my dad
unhappy.
We've always been pretty close. He wouldn't get over it if I told him that Logan and I were friends.”

Amy leaned over, reached behind me, and draped an arm across my shoulders. She squeezed and let me go. Her hug was so sweet—it reminded me of Kate. I got out my phone, ready to take a million pics to send to her.

“All right, colts and fillies!” A loudspeaker crackled and static filled the tent. “Calf-roping is starting in this tent right
now! Stay in your seats for half an hour of wild roping fun! Up first is Grady Harrison.”

Amy and I looked at each other, then giggled. We sat tall in our seats so we could see every corner of the arena. The first cowboy loaded his horse into the chute and he waited for the signal. The rider nodded, and a brown-and-white calf shot out of the narrow enclosure and took off at a dead run down the arena. A cowboy in a red shirt broke out of the corral on a black horse and tore off after the calf. The calf zigzagged down the arena and tried to escape the cowboy's lasso.

“That calf is fast!” I said to Amy. No way would the cowboy be able to wrangle that one.

“Just watch!” Amy said, not taking her eyes off the arena.

The cowboy raised his lasso and swirled it above his head in several tight circles before letting it fly out of his hand. The rope sailed through the air and landed snugly over the calf's head. Before his horse had even stopped, the guy jumped to the ground and ran toward the calf. The horse halted and started slowly backing up as the guy wrestled the calf to the ground and took a thin short rope out of his mouth. He furiously wrapped the rope around the calf's hooves and then stood, raising his arms in victory.

“Time for Grady Harrison is twenty seconds,” the announcer's voice boomed.

“Slow,” Amy said, taking a sip of her root beer. “Logan's done better.”

The cowboy released the calf, mounted his horse, and rode out of the arena.

“Next up is former champ Logan McCoy. Put your hands together, folks!”

I stood, clapping so hard my hands stung.

“Is Bobby Farris competing this year?” I asked Amy.

“I think so,” she said.

I glued my eyes to the chute and watched Logan shift his weight in the saddle. He concentrated on the calf squirming in the chute next to him. The calf's gate was yanked open again and, like the one before it, the black calf zoomed out and raced forward. Logan and LG sped behind it. The calf didn't make it halfway down the arena before Logan's lasso had landed around its neck. Jumping to the ground, Logan raced toward the squirming animal and pulled it down. His hands moved so fast I couldn't see him tie the calf's four hooves together.

“Go, Logan!” I yelled as Amy clapped beside me.

Logan jumped to his feet and his eyes scanned the crowd. I waved and Logan saw me. He waved back, smiling.

I glanced at Amy and she grinned at me.

“What?” I asked, teasing.

“Somebody got a wave from a cowboy and her name is B-R-I-E!” Amy batted her mascara-coated lashes at me, flirting style.

I bumped her with my shoulder and we both started cracking up. I said a silent thank-you to Mom for intervening this morning so I could come.

“Time for Logan McCoy is thirteen seconds!” The crowd roared its approval and I had a feeling the other riders would
have trouble beating Logan's time. Logan took off his hat, bowed, and waved it at the crowd.

After Logan, five more calf-ropers, including a newly chubby Bobby Farris—according to Amy—rode. None came within five seconds of Logan's time. I clapped hard while Logan accepted his trophy with a silver cowboy hat. He shook hands with a disgruntled-looking Bobby, who had come in third.

Amy and I waited by the gate as Logan led LG over. I jogged up to him and threw my arms around him. “You were great!” I said.
Oh, my God! What are you doing?
I yelled at myself.

I pulled away from Logan and didn't look at him when I awkwardly extracted myself from his hug. I stood behind Amy and pretended there was something interesting on the ground.

“Thank you,” Logan said. Amy traded him a soda for his trophy.

While he drained his root beer, I tried to get my composure back. But I couldn't forget how it had felt when we had hugged. His strong arms around me had made me feel safe and, like, for that brief few seconds, I was special and important to him.

He started talking to Amy and their voices blended together and I didn't hear them as I took a deep breath. A shift had occurred. Something had happened that suddenly made it easier to breathe when I was around him. Something that made me want to say,
Sorry, Dad, but I am falling for this guy
.
Something that made me regret our missed kiss in the woods near Black Creek.

We all walked away from the giant tent and back to the trailer.

“I got lucky Bobby decided to eat his feelings after his girlfriend dumped him,” Logan said.

“Please,” I said, whacking him gently on the arm. “You could have beaten him this year even without the extra pounds.”

What was it about this place that was making me touchy-feely?

Logan removed the saddle from the now-cooler LG and replaced the bridle with a halter. “You guys ready for the show?”

Amy nodded vigorously. “You're going to love it, Brie. It's an old-fashioned shootout slash dinner theater. Wait until you see it.”

“Will LG be okay?” I asked Logan.

“He'll be fine. The trailer is ventilated and it's shady over here. We'll just be a couple of hours and then we'll go.”

“Okay.” I emptied my soda and tossed the bottle into a recycling bin. There was something . . . liberating about being out of town. There was no more microscope. I wasn't looking over my shoulder for Dad. No one here knew me as the daughter of the man who was destroying the town. Here, I was nobody. I liked it. “On to the show!”

Less than ten minutes later, Logan, Amy, and I were seated at a rustic table with an oil lantern at the center. Along with the other diners, we sat inside an old barn that was turned into the
meal spot. A wobbly stage had been erected at the front of the barn and everything inside was authentically Western.

Logan ordered us more root beer. Amy and I traded looks and struggled not to smirk as a cowgirl with huge boobs brought over three tin cups and a pitcher. She bent slowly over Logan's side of the table. She had stretched her shirt so far that the “Shootout Shack” lettering had cracked.

“Do you know what you'd like to order?” the waitress asked. The question was addressed to the group, but she hadn't stop smiling at Logan when she had asked it.

“I'd like a well-done cheeseburger, please,” I said. “And no tomato.”