The Outlaw by Jennifer Millikin
Jo
I hearher before I see her. It's those sky-high heels she wears, slapping the floor like quarters hitting tile.
Dakota, the owner of The Orchard, nods slightly and looks over my shoulder, watching Jericho approach. I turn around, ready to welcome her into the restaurant, but she tosses her expensive handbag onto the bar and looks me square in the eye.
"Josephine Daniella Shelton, I cannot believe I'm telling you this, but you got the ranch."
The air in my lungs disappears. Dakota grabs my hand, squeezing it. All I can see is her wide smile and Jericho's stoic face. A million thoughts race through my head at once, but none of them stay long enough to form anything coherent.
I gather enough air to murmur, "The ranch?"
"The ranch, Jo. Do you remember it? Abandoned, out of order—"
Dakota shuts her up with a stare. "I believe your listing called it 'a charming property waiting for a special touch’."
Jericho stares back. "Realtors’ creativity."
Dakota makes an irritated sound and looks back at me. "They accepted your offer, Jo. I told them what you were planning to do with the place, and apparently they have a thing for do-gooders. This is huge." Her strawberry blonde hair tickles my shoulders as she hugs me.
"Yeah," I say slowly when she lets me go, still processing what this all means. I thought my offer had a greater chance of being laughed at than accepted. Jericho had made certain to inform me of who I was up against. Big name ranchers, commercial developers, even a home developer. Why did they choose little old me, with the shallow pockets?
"Congratulations." Jericho takes her purse off the bar top and threads her arm through the straps. "I'd thought I'd seen it all, and then this. Getting a ranch for pennies on the dollar." Her ponytail moves with her headshake. "It's a steal. You're practically a thief."
It's not the first time I've heard this passive-aggressive comment from her, and I know it's in reference to a lower commission thanks to a lower sale price. I want to remind her that you shouldn't bother crying over what was never yours. A lesson I learned the hard way, courtesy of a certain Hayden brother.
Dakota glances at her watch. "It's too bad you can't stay for lunch, Jericho. If only it were eleven and we were open."
"If only," Jericho replies, offering a fake smile. "Jo, the title company will be in touch to schedule the signing."
She waves and walks out, leaving us with her perfume.
"She's a piece of work," Dakota says. She grabs a bottle of wine and uncorks it.
"What are you doing?"
She pours two half glasses and hands me one. "Congratulations, Jo. You once told me you dreamed of opening a place for troubled youth, and here you are, making it happen."
Our glasses make a tinkling sound, and Dakota squeezes my shoulder.
"I really have wanted this for so long." Ever since the first time Travis got in trouble, when I saw signs of the anger and emptiness brewing inside him. His behavior changed. The lens through which he looked at the world was fractured. And now… Can I really do it? Put together a ranch that can help not just my brother, but other kids too? Would my mom be willing to send him to a ranch, a real place where he could live and enjoy himself? It wouldn't be my couch in my living room, but a real home. How much could she argue with that?
For the first time, it seems possible. The pieces are falling into place, fitting together like a choreographed kick line.
I might actually be able to pull this off.
"Jo?"
Shelby's calling my name from the living room. I'm in the bathroom, swiping mascara with an unpracticed hand. A dinner to celebrate me signing all the paperwork earlier today deserves a little makeup.
"What?" I yell back.
"Your phone is ringing. Should I answer?"
I open my mouth to respond but stop when I hear Shelby say hello. I finish my second eye while I listen to her muffled voice, followed by footfalls. Shelby walks with purpose, so I never have to wonder where she is in our shared home.
She steps into my bathroom, shoulders shaking excitedly. "It's Alison Stein," she mouths, pointing at my held-out phone.
"The reporter?" I mouth back.
She nods, shoving the phone at me.
"Hello," I say, taking it from her and bringing it to my ear.
"Josephine?"
"This is she," I answer, making a silly face at Shelby. I feel uncharacteristically giddy. "You can call me Jo."
"Great, Jo. This is Alison Stein, I write for the Sierra Grande Gazette. I heard you bought the Circle B and have some big plans for it. Would you be interested in letting me interview you? As news goes in our small town, this is pretty big."
"It is?"
She laughs. "Yes. A ranch with a history like the Circle B is deserted and remains empty for fifteen years except for high school keggers and a movie filmed there recently, and then it's suddenly purchased by one of our own residents. Sounds big to me."
I'm confused. What history is she talking about? I've lived here for a long time and I know nothing about the Circle B's history. The way she said it, it gives the impression that whatever happened before is sordid.
In an effort not to come off as clueless as I so clearly am, I return her gentle laugh. "What can I say, I have big dreams."
"Is right now an okay time to ask a few questions?"
I glance at Shelby. She gives me a thumbs up and goes back to whatever she was doing.
"Sure," I answer, putting the phone on speaker and leaning it up against the bathroom mirror. I finish my makeup and hair while explaining to Alison why I bought the ranch.
"This is all preliminary, because as you know I just bought the ranch. Ultimately, I plan to turn the Circle B into a therapeutic ranch that serves troubled youth."
"That's very altruistic of you. Is there a personal connection?"
I see Travis's face in my mind, and say, "No. I happen to think a lot of the world's problems could be solved by investing in our youth." Not a lie, just skirting the truth a little. "Ranching is a beloved part of the Sierra Grande community, and we all know nature is incredibly healing. There are young people out there looking for their place in life, struggling, and vitamin nature might be a large part of what they need. I plan to use outdoor and ranch activities, coupled with equine therapy and perhaps some still unknown to me concepts to facilitate a more casual approach to therapy." I'm making this up on the fly, but it's true. Maybe some troubled youth need serious therapy and strictly regimented schedules, but I happen to believe a lot of wayward kids just need space and something to be responsible for, work they can take pride in. And an adult who shows them kindness and respect.
Alison goes on to ask me questions about forthcoming job openings and the construction. I make all that up on the fly too. I've had ideas and rough sketches for two years, ever since I had the idea for a place like this, but now that it's actually happening, it all feels bigger than what I've been imagining. I'm going to need help. A whole lot of help. And to be perfectly honest, I don't know exactly what I'm in for, so I'm not yet sure what kind of help to ask for.
We finish up the interview, and Alison tells me it will probably be in the paper in two days, that tomorrow's paper has already gone to print.
I find Shelby parked on the couch, watching TV. She presses the pause button when she sees me, gazing at me expectantly. "How did the interview go?"
"Good." I pinch my bottom lip with two fingers. "I was feeling glowy and hazy, like I was walking through a gold-tinted cloud or something, but now…" I shrug. "Alison's questions made me realize how out of my depth I am. I can have all the good intentions in the world, but"—my shoulders lift and drop—"they won't do me any good if I don't know what the hell I'm doing."
Shelby gathers the blanket around her midsection. "Nobody knows what they're doing. Do you remember when I bought this place?" She gestures around at the house. "I wasn't even through the academy. I had no idea if I'd be able to afford it. But we needed a place to live, and you needed cheap rent." She smiles at me, and it prompts me to return one in kind. "Sometimes you have to close your eyes, and leap."
I keep thinking about Shelby's words while I finish getting ready. Jared shows up on time, of course. He opens the passenger door of his silver sedan, closing it behind me when I'm safely tucked inside. We chat on the drive, him telling me about his day, and me telling him about the day shift at The Orchard following my signing at the title agency. I don't know when my last day at work will be, but it will have to happen eventually. Dakota knew when she hired me that I wasn't going to stay for long. In fact, that was how we bonded almost two years ago. Me telling her about my big dream of running a ranch for troubled youth, and her opening up about her relationship with Wes. At the time I'd just returned home from that weekend in Phoenix, the one where Wyatt and I shared a night only one of us remembers, and I told Dakota what had happened. Sort of. I edited the part about who it was I slept with.
And then—
Oh my God, there he is.As if thinking about him has made him appear out of thin air, Wyatt Hayden is walking along High Street. Not walking. Striding, in that overconfident Hayden way. They all do it, but Wyatt has something extra. Swagger.
I've learned my lesson. I stay the hell away from Wyatt, because I know what's good for me. And that would be Jared. My hand slips over the center console, resting on his thigh. I meet his eyes, match his smile, and internally double down on what he's offering.
Reliable, secure, a safe bet.
I don't look back at Wyatt, and soon he's nothing but a speck in the rearview mirror. Literally and figuratively.
Jared and I go to dinner, a fancier place in the next town over. We eat decadent French food I can't pronounce, drink champagne, and later, when Jared's inside me, I close my eyes and remind myself that this is where I'm supposed to be.