The Outlaw by Jennifer Millikin
Jo
"Mrs. Abbott?"My shoulder lifts to hold the phone against my ear so I can use my hands to pour the wine. I don't usually tend bar, but Lulu woke up to a feverish kid, and my job as manager is to be able to do everyone else's job when necessary. I place the two glasses of cabernet next to the ticket at the pickup station and pull the three new orders from the printer. "Is everything okay?"
"I tried calling your mom, but she didn't answer. Travis got into another fight today." She is tired of him. She grew tired of him months ago, and he knows it. I'm not sure how much patience school guidance counselors are supposed to have, but she seems to operate on less than what I remember when I was in high school.
I uncork the champagne bottle and line up three glasses. Who's celebrating on a Monday at noon? And can I join them? It's been a while since I had something to celebrate.
"Is he okay?"
A disapproving sound. That's what I get in answer to my question.
"Travis is fine. The other child is not."
I deliver the drink order and refrain from reminding her we're talking about high school freshmen, not kindergarteners. "Please put Travis on the phone." I finish the next two tickets while I wait.
"Hey." Travis's voice travels across the miles, sullen as all hell but also defiant. He is not sorry for what he did.
"Stop fighting at school," I hiss, ducking my head to make my own sliver of privacy.
"I didn't start it."
"What happened?" I don't have time for this right now, but I can't afford to push this aside. Travis needs someone to listen to him. God knows nobody else does.
"I had a presentation in class today, and I was really nervous. And…" His voice trails off, and my heart breaks a little. He doesn't need to say anything more. I see him in his favorite jeans, standing in front of all those pimply, expectant faces. I hear the snickering from behind cupped hands the first time he stutters. No doubt it only gets worse from there.
"Oh, Trav…" My arms ache to hug him.
"I tried to ignore it, Jo. Really. But they wouldn't stop teasing me after class. And I had enough."
The ticket machine screeches with another order. I round the corner of the bar and pull it up, reading. "Travis," I say calmly, taking a deep breath as I gather my glassware. "You can't solve your problems with your fists."
What I want to say is that the little shit who teased him had it coming, and maybe next time he won't have to learn his lesson the hard way.
"Thanks, Mom,” he says in a petulant, sarcastic voice.
I sigh and keep pouring wine for other people.
"Sorry," he mutters.
"It's fine. I need to get back to work. Are you going to be okay?"
"You mean when Mom finds out? She probably won't even care." My heart breaks a little more. He's not completely wrong. She'll care, just not as much as she once would've. She's too in love to see straight, her eyes, judgment, and attention clouded by Henri, her French pot farmer boyfriend. Such a far cry from those cultish religion days, although not so far out of the realm of her personality. My mother is a person who wants something fantastical, something immersive, something so few others are doing. Still, Travis has had a good life with her, and I wonder what would've happened if I'd chosen to leave with her when I was eighteen. No sense looking in the rearview mirror, I guess. It doesn't do any good.
I just wish my mother was better for Travis now, when the years are so important. She's taking her eye off the ball when the game is getting intense.
"She cares, Trav," I promise him. "I care."
"You're the only one who does."
"You're wrong."
"Whatever. Don't worry. I have to go."
The line goes dead. I look at my phone for a beat, then slide it back into my pocket. He won't call back. There's no need to.
It'll be summer break soon. Maybe Travis can come here to Sierra Grande for a few weeks. I don't have room in the two-bedroom house I share with my best friend Shelby, but we can make something work. Maybe I can get a discounted room for him and me at the Sierra. Then again, they're not exactly loving me over at the hotel right now. They weren't happy when I quit to come here to manage The Orchard. I may or may not have told them where to stick their attitude. I wasn't about to turn down a better paying job. Every cent gets me closer to my dream.
My stomach is in knots for the rest of the afternoon, thinking of Travis. I don't waste any time finishing up the paperwork for my shift and cashing out the servers. I hustle from the restaurant, already a few minutes late to meet Shelby.
***
Shelby doesn't want to tell me. I can't blame her for that, considering we both know what my reaction might be.
When it comes to him, I get a little mopey. Or angry. Sometimes, I get sullen. I broke a plate once, after I came home from a birthday dinner where I'd first heard about him and Sara Schultz.
"I promise to behave," I bargain, hoping this will be enough to make Shelby tell me what happened with Wyatt last night.
She watches me from her place across the table. We've been coming to this restaurant on Monday nights for years, eating our weight in chips and guacamole. It's busy tonight, and when she starts to speak I have to lean forward to hear her. "I was on patrol, which in this town is about as fun as watching paint dry, when I decided to pull into the parking lot at the Chute. I was going to grab a water and maybe some curly fries, because who wants to live without those blessed little darlings, when I saw Wyatt walk out. He wasn't obliterated, not like"—guilt floods her eyes—"well, you know…”.
I wave my hand, trying to get her back on topic. Nobody needs to be reminded of that night in Phoenix eighteen months ago. Shelby is the only person who knows what happened. It's not lost on me how ironic it is that one of the participants of that night's sexual escapade doesn't remember, and therefore doesn't know. "Continue, please."
Shelby dunks her tortilla chip in the mashed avocado. "He was tipsy. And, to be fair, I only knew it based on circumstantial evidence."
I stir the ice in my drink and raise my eyebrows. "Circumstantial, meaning?"
"Meaning the circumstances are that it's a bar and it's Wyatt."
"Very nice, Shel."
She rolls her eyes but looks contrite. "I know. No benefit of the doubt given. Not that he didn't ask for it."
I laugh softly, picturing Wyatt Hayden. "He went for the friend card?"
Shelby nods. "Oh yeah." She clears her throat and adopts a deep tone of voice. "How long have we been friends? Seventh grade?" Her lower lip juts out in an attempt to imitate Wyatt's perpetual pout.
I compliment her on her accuracy. "You look just like him."
Shelby executes a small bow. "I took him in. He was carrying on about how he needed to get where he was going, and—"
"Where was he headed?" As soon as I ask the question, I wish I could take it back. It's the look on Shelby's face, the pity.
"He wouldn't tell me where he was going."
I nod once and look away. I could make a pretty safe bet about Wyatt's destination when he left the Chute last night.
And even if I can't see it, I hear it in her response. "Forget him, Jo. He has more problems than a pregnant nun."
Despite the uneasy feeling building in my stomach, I laugh. "Don't worry, Shelby. My feelings for Wyatt Hayden are long gone."
Shelby nods approvingly, even though it's obvious she doesn't believe me. "Right. And you have Jared now. Mr. Steady Eddy."
"Correct." Jared is Wyatt's polar opposite. An anti-Wyatt.
"I mean," Shelby continues, draining her tea. "Jared's probably more of an adult than me, and that's saying a lot. I bet he contributes to a 401(k) and does yard work on the weekends."
I can't speak for the financial part of what she said, but the weekend landscaping is spot on. Jared is a good guy. He opens doors, pays for dates, compliments me. The whole nine yards.
"Jared is a good person," I say, nodding as I picture his classic haircut and aw shucks grin. "I'm lucky to have him."
"Yes, you are," she replies firmly. Shelby would probably support me dating a rum-running pirate if it stopped me from pining over that arrogant, elusive, sexy as sin cowboy. "I wish you looked a little happier when you think of him."
I shake my head. "It's not that. Travis's guidance counselor called me at work today. I'm still upset about that."
Shelby makes a face and tips her head, listening to the whole story. "What are you going to do, Jo?" she asks when I finish. She knows how badly I want to get Travis back up here to Sierra Grande.
"I don't know. I'm not in a position to argue with my mom about where Travis should live. She'd never move back here, not now with Henri"—I say his name in a hideous French accent—"keeping her there. And she'd never send him to live with me. My schedule is all over the place, and he needs stability." I stab at a cube of ice with my straw. "One day, I'm going to open that camp I've been talking about."
Shelby smiles out of one side of her mouth. "And until then?"
"I'm saving all my pennies." Opening up a camp for troubled youth has been my dream for the past few years, right after the first time Travis got in trouble. The first thing I need is land, which is in short supply around here. The second thing I need is money, which is also in short supply.
"This topic is depressing." I slide out of the booth. "I'm going to use the ladies' room."
"One day," Shelby calls out. I wave my hand above my head as I walk away. One day sounds a lot like never.
I'm standing at the sink washing my hands when she walks in, heels snapping against the floor. Jericho Barnett. Her phone pressed to her ear, she leans closer to the mirror above the second sink and fixes lipstick I'm positive isn't in need of fixing.
"I can't believe it either," she says. She sounds so pleased with herself, but I think she might live in a constant state of feeling happy about the various things she accomplishes in a day. "The Circle B is a prestigious listing, and they chose me out of all those other realtors." She frowns at whatever has been said by the other person on the phone. "I know it's for a reduced price, but I'm looking at it as a résumé builder."
I tap on her arm. She turns, looking at me like she had no idea I was in here when she walked in. She knows me from The Orchard. Her favorite wine is a red blend, and the cooks call her Jeri-No because she modifies the shit out of every food order she places.
"I have to go," she says into her phone, then ends the call and looks at me. "Hi, Jo."
"Hi, Jericho. Did I just overhear you saying the Circle B is on the market?"
"Not yet. Not officially, I mean. I'm going to list it tomorrow. The sellers just chose me an hour ago." The same slow, luxurious look of content slides over her face. Maybe she was facing a lot of competition to be the listing agent, and can't control how pleased she is to have won.
"Congratulations," I say. It's obvious this is what she wants to hear. "So," I start before she can say anything. I take a deep breath. This is it. My chance. It's now or never. I don't know what I'm doing, but since when has that ever stopped me? I'm an expert at learning on my feet. "I want it."
Jericho blinks. Squints. "I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly."
"You did."
She stares at me. "You want to buy the Circle B?"
"Yes."
Her hair swishes around her face as she shakes her head, confused. "What for? You're not a rancher. It's a ranch."
"A wilderness therapy camp. For troubled youth."
Jericho laughs. I think I'd prefer real laughter to this disbelieving cackle coming from between those overly made-up lips. She sees my straight face and stops laughing. "You're serious?"
I nod.
She crosses her arms and leans a hip against the bathroom counter. "I already have people calling me about the property. It's hot, and it's not even live yet. Do you know what that means?"
I didn't graduate from business school, but I know it means there's competition. Demand. And demand drives up price. I think of Travis, and square my shoulders. "I want it."
Jericho makes a face. "I'll add your name to the list."
The bathroom door opens. Shelby walks in, gaze darting between me and Jericho. "You've been gone for a while. I wanted to make sure you weren't sick."
Jericho walks to the door, and Shelby steps aside. "She's not sick," Jericho tells Shelby. "Just crazy."
Shelby makes a face, and Jericho looks at me. "I'll be in touch, Jo."
Jericho leaves, and Shelby stares after her. "What was that about?"
I wash my hands again, because I need something to do with them. They shake with nerves as I run them under the water. "I either did something really great, or incredibly stupid."