The Outlaw by Jennifer Millikin
Jo
I havea teensy bit of a headache. After meeting with the sheriff yesterday, I stewed for the remainder of the day. And, as soon as it was reasonably acceptable, I opened a bottle of wine.
A few years ago, the idea of forced proximity with Wyatt Hayden would have sent me into a tailspin of hearts and flowers. Now it drives me to drink.
I could've said no to him helping on the ranch, as Shelby pointed out last night. And I wanted to, I really did. But even as much as I'd like to make him squirm, I couldn't say no. I don't know what was awaiting him if not for community service, but I didn't want to deliver him straight to it.
Dakota's on her way to meet me here at the Circle B. I'm standing outside my car, looking around.
I knew what I was getting into before I signed the papers. The ranch has been empty for almost two decades, and I've seen it enough over that time period that I thought I knew what to expect. When I'd mentioned an inspection to Jericho during the purchasing process, she laughed and told me all the other prospects wanted this property so much they'd offered to waive the inspection. What she was really saying was don't fuck this up by asking for more than the others. Message received.
I haven't been by the Circle B in a while, not since before Tenley Roberts showed up in Sierra Grande to film her movie and they used the ranch for some of the scenes. Tenley Hayden, I guess, but professionally she kept her maiden name.
A long line of Bald Cypress trees runs parallel to the far side of the backyard. The house is a sprawling one-story, with a river rock façade. The siding used to be red, but now it's faded and dull, peeling from all sides like tendrils of baby hair. The stairs leading up to the front porch don't look like something to be trusted, and the porch flooring sags in the center.
Jericho had said the family who deserted this place hired a person to take care of property management, but from the looks of the outside I'd say they paid him for a whole lot of lip service.
Tenting a hand over my eyes, I turn and look out to the valley opposite the house. Gently sloping hills give way to flat land. None of it is green, and I'm not sure why. It doesn't rain much, but there should be a water table somewhere, providing water to the land. It's not a huge concern right now, because this won't be a working cattle ranch, but it's something that has to be dealt with eventually.
A few hundred yards from where I stand sits a large barn and stable. Thank heavens for small miracles. I don't have the money to build that.
The round pen looks salvageable. It's going to take me a while to get the right kind of horses, the kind that are dead broke and wouldn't bat at a fly. Off to the side is what looks to be a very new trailer, forgotten by whoever it is that's in charge of trailers on a movie set. I'll run it by Tenley, but hopefully she'll let me use it as a makeshift office until the main house is livable.
Dakota pulls up in a ranch truck and climbs out. She calls out a greeting, then opens the back door and reaches in, coming away with Colt. She straps him into a carrier she wears on her chest, and walks over.
"Hey there," she gives me a side hug.
We spend a few minutes chatting about the baby, but Dakota eagerly changes the subject back to the Circle B. "First off," she says, pointing at the sign, "what's the new name?"
"Add it to the list of things I need to do." I frown as I think of how long the list is, and its steady growth rate.
"I know it can seem overwhelming," she says, rubbing a hand on my shoulder. "I felt the same way when my dad put me in charge of building The Orchard." She looks at the main house. "And that didn't even include demo."
"Am I going to need to demo?"
"My guess is that you'll have a decent amount of work to do. You said someone has been looking after the place, right?"
"That's what Jericho told me. She said the house needed some TLC, but it wasn't in the state you'd think it'd be in after sitting empty for so long. Apparently they had a caretaker come once a month and check in. Make sure the pipes didn't burst and flood the place, that kind of thing." I bite my lip as I recall the name on the papers I signed. "It was odd, honestly. The seller wasn't a person, but a company."
"Ohh, sounds like you have a mystery to solve."
"No thanks. I don't plan on looking a gift horse in the mouth."
Dakota threads her hair through an elastic hair tie and asks, "You ready to figure out what you're in for?"
I grab a pad of paper from my purse and a pen. "Lead the way," I tell her.
We go all around the property, Dakota shielding Colt's tender skin from the sun. Dakota points out various things, some obvious (broken windows) and some I would've not thought of until the problem smacked me in the face (electrical work).
By the time we take a break, I have a list of repairs, demos, and the names of who to call that's longer than my arm. Dakota instructs me to open up her back seat, and I find a full lunch from The Orchard, including my favorite sandwich, a pesto, artichoke and Havarti grilled cheese that was her mother's recipe.
"There's an extra cookie for you, too." Dakota comes up behind me. She's nursing Colt as she walks, the house framing her as she approaches, and I'm hit with a sense of disbelief. I can't believe this is really happening. All of this seems so out of this world.
We settle on the bottom front step of the main house, on the section that isn't rotted.
Colt makes noises as he eats, gulping and swallowing audibly. Dakota peeks down at him. "He's a noisy eater."
"Doesn't bother me." I take a bite of my lunch. "Do you remember that first night you came to Sierra Grande?"
She laughs. "The restaurant at the hotel. Your hair almost skimmed your lower back." She reaches over, playing with my hair. "I like it this way too, though. You're a natural beauty."
A year ago I cut off seven inches, so that now it falls to the middle of my chest. I kept the pink tips, though. I'm a play by the rules kind of girl, but the color makes me feel a bit like a person who doesn't have to be so serious all the time.
"Thanks."
"Do you want to know what I remember more than those first few times we met at the hotel?"
I nod, sucking a drip of pesto off my thumb.
"Running into you at The Bakery. When we shared that wine I had in my purse and a lemon bar. I feel like that's when our friendship really started."
I remember it exactly. I was sitting at a little table, sketching ideas for the very place I'm sitting in right now. Dakota walked in and ordered dessert like a woman who needed a sugar spike, stat. "You looked so confused about Wes."
She bops my shoulder gently with her own. "You looked pretty confused yourself. Are you ever going to tell me who made you feel that way?"
I look out at the flat, brown fields in the distance. "It doesn't matter. It's long over."
Dakota switches subjects. "How's Jared?"
"Really good." I nod enthusiastically. "He's so nice."
Dakota's silence draws my attention. Her lips are pressed together.
"What?" I ask, picking up a fallen piece of artichoke and popping it in my mouth.
"Nothing."
"Just say it, otherwise I'm going to read your body language and what if I'm wrong?"
Dakota laughs. "You're good." She uses one finger to push a wayward piece of lettuce back into her sandwich. "Every time I ask you about Jared, those are the two words you use to describe him."
I think back to our past conversations, but nothing sticks out. "Good and nice?"
She nods, chewing and brushing away crumbs that have fallen onto Colt's shoulder.
My eyebrows pinch together. "They're not inaccurate."
"Of course not."
"What aren't you saying?"
"I just wonder why you don't have other adjectives to describe him. People aren't 'good' and 'nice' all the time."
"He kind of is." It's true. I've never seen him raise his voice, or even grow frustrated.
Dakota smiles. "As long as you're happy, I'm happy for you."
We finish lunch and Dakota leaves. I review the list she helped me create, trying to prioritize the to-do's in the order they must be done, and then get started on the trailer. Dakota told me not to worry about asking Tenley about using it, that she wouldn't care. I start by opening up all the windows to release the stale air, then clean it top to bottom using the supplies I threw in my car just before I left. My headache is long gone, but the pain in my ass, by the name of Wyatt Hayden, persists.