Wild At Heart (Wild 2)

“I don’t know! Until she feels comfortable, I guess.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I’d be more worried about how long that’s going to take than I would be about when she’ll be ready to have kids. I mean, she’s terrified of stepping outside!”

“Don’t worry about Calla. She’s figuring things out and doin’ fine, running the office stuff and getting the house settled. She’s got that big garden out back—”

“I’m not worried about her, Jonah. I’m worried about you.”

Just like that, any goodwill I felt toward Marie withers.

“You wanted to be free to fly wherever, whenever. It’s why you didn’t take over Wild from Wren when he tried to give it to you, remember?”

“It wasn’t mine to take.”

“You were like a son to him, Jonah. No one would have thought anything of you for accepting his offer. You could have had the entire thing.”

I frown. What does she mean by that? My father did ask Jonah if he’d be willing to buy Wild at one point, but Jonah didn’t have the money.

“And here you are, turning down jobs that you really want so you can do supply runs all day long while she blows that money, decorating.” There’s no missing the critical edge in her tone.

“That’s outta line, Marie,” he warns, his tone sharp.

“I’m sorry.” She sighs. “I do like her. Please don’t think that I don’t. I just hate seeing you giving up what you love.”

My heart pounds as I waver between storming inside to scream at Marie and demanding that Jonah tell me what the hell she means about giving things up. In the end, I keep my feet grounded where they are, wanting to see what more I’ll glean from this conversation.

The silence stretches.

“I should probably go. I told Roy I’d be by at seven to give Oscar his shots …” Marie’s voice grows louder as she approaches the hangar door. I shift backward, not wanting to get caught eavesdropping. But there’s nowhere to go, the driveway between the house and here stretching too far to hide.

The workshop.

I dart for the smaller building adjacent the hangar, thankful that the door is propped open. I make it inside just as Marie appears, her long, golden-blonde locks loose down her back, her hiking boots kicking gravel on the driveway.

I’ve only been in the workshop twice, the clutter Phil left behind too much for me to digest. There are countless old tools and jars of screws and everything under the sun that a person might need to survive, but also straight-up junk—old rusty license plates and dented hubcaps cover the back wall; an old fridge that’s missing a door, rendering it useless, sits in the corner; old, used paint cans and supplies are stacked in a heap. It’s another major clean-out task for us that we’re both avoiding.

I find my way to the small, grime-covered window in time to see Jonah grab Marie’s hand, stalling her from climbing into her truck. My anger flares over the fact that he seems to be consoling her after her harsh words—does she deserve comforting after what she said about me? And do I have a right to say anything, given I was listening in on a private conversation?

They exchange words I can’t hear. With a quick parting hug, she ducks into her truck and peels away, leaving Jonah standing by himself, rubbing his forehead as if the day has already been too much for him.

Abruptly, he turns and walks along the driveway toward the house.

He’s on his way home to see me.

Shit.

There’s no real way around this, short of sprinting from tree to tree to try to get home in time, and lying that I was out here—a decidedly immature and high-risk charade I don’t want to take part in.

Taking a deep breath, I step into the doorway and holler, “I’m in here.”

Jonah’s head whips around, his face momentarily marred with surprise.

Then with realization.

His brow is furrowed as he doubles back and approaches as he no doubt replays his conversation with Marie, wondering what I caught of the exchange.

“Sorry, I came down to see you and then you were talking to Marie and …” And what? Do I tell him that I know about the ring?

He leans against the door frame, close enough that I can inhale the intoxicating scent of soap on his skin. “What exactly did you hear?” he asks.