Something Wilder

But wanting didn’t get her anywhere. She’d learned that lesson a long time ago.

Still, quitting this gig consumed Lily’s every waking thought; seven years into this business and she felt trapped. She scraped by leading tourists around the desert, but horses were expensive, and Lily needed horses to lead tourists around the desert in order to scrape by. Chicken, meet egg.

“How did things go at the bank?” Nic asked, coming at it from a different angle.

Lily shook her head.

“Again?”

“Who’s going to give someone like me a loan? What’s my income going to be if I stop leading treasure hunts?”

Nicole leaned in again. “Did you tell them that was your plan? What do they even know?”

Lily looked over at her. “I didn’t, Nic, but they’re not dumb. The guy said, ‘So if you buy some land and start up a new outfit, how are you going to make money until it’s solvent?’ And I told him that it would take a couple years but that I knew the area, knew the business, and knew what people wanted in a Wild West vacation, but it didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what I say; I’m not a good investment.”

Nicole blew out a breath and stared down at her hands. It was then that Lily noticed an envelope with her name poking out of the stack of mail and liability waivers. She’d recognize the return address anywhere. It used to be hers.

Immediately, she was buried under a deluge of memories—the astringent, crisp punch of sagebrush; herding horses as the sun tipped its hat over the top of the mountains; fat, warm butter biscuits in the mornings; the precise moment she’d laid eyes on him, and, weeks later, the heat and fever of his body—

Rubbing the ache beneath her breastbone, Lily cut those thoughts off at the pass, pointing at the envelope. “What’s that?”

Nic tucked the envelope away again. “Nothing.”

“It’s from Wilder Ranch. And it’s got my name on it.” She reached for it. “Give it.”

But Nicole slapped her away. “You don’t want it right now, Dub, trust me.”

Right now?

“Is it about the ranch?”

“Let it go, Lil.”

A rare fire ignited in Lily’s veins. “Did you open it? I swear to God, Nic, you are the nosiest little—” She went for it again, but Nicole dodged to the side, evading.

“I said no.”

Lily’s blood turned to steam at the implication that she couldn’t handle whatever was in there. Nic was the hothead; Lily was the measured one. But suddenly, she’d never wanted anything more than she wanted to see the contents of the nondescript white envelope.

Lily shoved Nic’s arm, but Nic knew it was coming and leaned in, caging around the papers, unmoving. Diving for her midsection, Lily knocked Nic off the stool and tackled her onto the floor. Suddenly paling in importance, the liability waivers rained around them, landing among the discarded peanut shells in the layer of sticky beer on the floor. Behind the wrestling women, men hooted and clapped, cheering them on. Normally Lily would get up and take this argument elsewhere, but she had a singular focus, and it was to dig that envelope out from under where Nicole had rolled onto her stomach, covering it with her body.

“No fucking way,” Nic yelled into the floor, even as Lily smacked uselessly at her shoulders, tickled her ribs, and then began to punch her ass.

“It has my name on it, you dick.”

“You don’t want it!”

“You’re committing a felony!” Lily glanced over her shoulder. “Petey! You’re a cop.”

“Off duty,” he answered, laughing into his beer. “Punch her in the ass again.”

“I’m gonna punch you in the dick next if you don’t help me.”

“Honey, you’re welcome to hit on any part of me.”

With a savage growl, she dug with all her strength under her friend’s body, reaching blindly for the envelope. She got her fingers around it, tearing off a corner as she yanked it free. Lily scrambled up and away, hiding behind Big Eddie near the dartboard in case Nicole decided to come for her.

“I’m telling you,” Nic warned, “you don’t want it.” Defeated, she stood, swiping bar floor grime from her cheek with the back of her hand. She returned to her stool, and her beer, and the bowl of nuts. “Just don’t come pouting to me when you see what it is.”

Back in the corner, Lily pulled the letter free. A bar full of eyes lingered on her as she read it, at first uncomprehending—the words swam in swirls of black and white—and remained glued to her face as she returned to the beginning to start again. Sentences took shape, meaning coalesced, and all of the ache and loss and empty blackness she’d packed into a solid brick in her chest broke free, becoming a swarm of horseflies.

The letter was from the man who now owned her family’s land. A man she’d met only once, barely a week after that other, brutal heartbreak. As much as Lily hated Jonathan Cross, she’d wanted to read these words every day for ten years.