Chapter One

Mabel

I sit in the hayloft and stare out at the farm. Green spans for acres with dots of yellow dandelions sporadically grown everywhere. In the distance is the ranch-style house I grew up in. Mama sits on a wide covered porch with a glass of sweet tea in her hand. The wind blows through her hair and the afternoon sun illuminates her skin with pinks and yellows. I bet she has a pie in the oven.

This is my favorite place to be. Up here, the world is so far away that I can write whatever story I want, even ones where your favorite person in the world isn’t gone and she has a raspberry treat waiting for you.

I pluck a piece of straw from a bale of hay and chew the tip as I stare out at the horizon and drag in the scent of fireweed and dust from the barn. I guess I have to get better at imagining richer scents.

My eyes close and I try again. Bluebells and a strawberry field. Much better.

The rumble of a bike in the distance catches my attention and I snap out of the fantasy world I’ve been in. It’s my father’s friend, Reaper. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a crush on him. He’s the big, tall, burly, bad boy type. The kind that carries the red flags with him wherever he goes, but for some reason the flags only make him hotter.

That’s my first problem. I shouldn’t think red flags are hot.

He leans off the bike to the side and swings his long leg over the seat, planting his boot in the gravel.

My clit twitches. It shouldn’t. He hasn’t done anything yet, but the mere sight of this man has always taken me over the edge. Maybe it’s the tattoos, or the big hands, or the fact that he’s off limits, or maybe I like that he represents adventure and I’m desperate for that.

I watch his giant frame walk across the field, but he stops before he gets to my father and changes direction, striding toward the barn. He’s been helping out lately, but usually, he hops on the tractor. He doesn’t come to the barn. The barn is my space . I take care of the horses, the chickens, and the goats. Dad takes care of everything else.

“You up there, little cat?” Reaper’s tone is low and graveled.

I consider not answering. He’d have to climb up into the loft to see if I’m here, and I think he knows the beams aren’t strong enough to support his weight. I’m a little surprised they support mine, but I’m used to being up here and I know where to stand to avoid the weak spots.

Learned that the hard way.

“You’re going to have to think of a name better than little cat.” I climb down from the loft and jump onto the barn floor with a thud. “I’m not little anymore.”

He grins and stares me up and down. “You’re little to me. Always will be.”

My insides tingle. They need to stop doing that. It makes talking to Reaper difficult, and after knowing him nearly my entire life, I shouldn’t find it hard to talk to him.

“What’s up?” I finally manage, picking at the pieces of straw that poke from the edges of the horse stalls.

He glances left, then right, as though I’ve forgotten something. “Your dad asked me to take you to the feed store to pick up the new chicks and a salt lick for the horses.”

I huff under my breath. “I can take myself to the feed store, thank you. I’m twenty-five years old.”

Reaper holds up his hands. “Not my rules. I’m just doing my buddy a favor.”

“Well, his favor is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman. I can drive myself to the freaking feed store! Besides, we can’t get a salt lick back on your bike.”

“He gave me the keys to the truck. Do you have a license?” He knows I don’t have a license, so I don’t know why he’s asking.

I swallow hard and stare up at the rafters as a ruffle of hay crunches beneath the horse’s hooves. “Shut up.”

“What?” He swallows back a grin. “You either have it or you don’t.”

I glare toward him and pull an apple from the bin, feeding it to Red, a bright white quarter round that I’ve raised since birth. He crunches the granny smith in a few short bites, spraying juice everywhere.

“You know my dad. If I could’ve gotten it, I would’ve.”

“You said yourself… you’re an adult. Why don’t you get it?”

I roll my neck back toward him. “Yeah, I think you know Dad better than that.”

He lifts his face to a half smile. “I do, and I think he’d be fine.”

I shake my head. “No. He hasn’t been right since Mom died, and he’s got that heart thing that bugs him whenever he’s stressed.”

Reaper rolls his eyes to the side as though he has things to say, but he’s choosing not to say them.

“I know how ridiculous my life is. You don’t have to tell me.”

He shrugs. “I’m just here to take you to the feed store.”

I scratch Red on the nose before stepping through the tall double doors into the sunlight. From this spot, the front porch on the house is empty and reality is clearer than ever. I hate it down here.

Down here, my mother is dead . Down here, she’s not baking a pie. Down here, my father is depressed. Down here, I’m in a prison.

My stomach turns at the thought of how many years I’ve wasted. I should have a life, a story of my own. Instead, I’m here, in perpetual childhood, placating to a man who I’m pretty sure will lose his mind and possibly have a heart attack if I leave.

Reaper lands his hand on my back. It’s big and even through the cotton of my dress, I can feel how rough it is as his palm snags the fabric. “I’ll talk to your dad. You should get your license.”

It’s sad that someone has to talk to my dad about me getting a license. “Trust me, it’s a wasted effort. I talked to him about it last week and he went into one of those breathing things that he has. We had to call the ambulance, and he spent four hours in the emergency room.”

“So, you’re just going to do whatever he says until he dies? I love the man, but that’s insane, little cat.”

My thighs ache when he calls me little cat. Maybe it’s because I’ve been void of all affection for so long. Sometimes at night, I fantasize about the things Reaper could do to me. Dirty things. Things I shouldn’t be thinking about.

“Yeah,” I laugh, “I think that might be the plan.”

“That’s a shit plan,” Reaper laughs under his breath. “Let me talk some sense into him for you. He can hire someone for help.”

“It’s not that. He doesn’t want to hire anyone. He lost Mom and now he’s afraid to lose me. When I assert any kind of independence, he just has an episode.”

Reaper narrows his brows and stares at me. “You think maybe he’s doing it on purpose?”

“Wow, some friend you are,” I laugh.

“Seriously though, we both know your dad can be dramatic. He loses it at the slightest inconvenience. Maybe he needs a reality check.”

“And you’re going to be the guy to give it to him? No thanks. Survivor is on tonight and I don’t want to end up in the hospital. It’s the last episode before the finale and all this crazy shit is going down.” I glance toward his bike. “You know what I do want, though?”

“What’s that?”

“A ride on your bike.”

He lifts his brows and brushes his hand down over his beard. “Yeah right. Can’t bring baby chicks back on a bike. You said so yourself.”

“So, take me for a spin and then we’ll stop back and grab the truck.” My tone is pleading. “Come on. It looks fun. I never get to leave this property. I need twenty minutes of freedom.” I’m not sure what’s come over me, but the second I see his motorcycle, I know I have to leave on it.

He stares toward me and then toward my father, who’s out in the far field plowing. “I don’t know, little cat.”

I glance toward the tractor. “He’s far enough out that he won’t even notice we’re gone. Twenty minutes . I deserve something fun, right?” I pout my lip playfully. “You said so yourself. Plus, tomorrow is my birthday. So…”

“Tomorrow is not your birthday!” he groans. “You forget I’ve known you forever?”

I grin. “I didn’t think you were paying that close attention.”

He rolls his eyes. “Get on, but you’re wearing the helmet.”

“You don’t wear a helmet!”

“I don’t wear a helmet because I know what I’m doing. You’re wearing a helmet, because if anything happens to you, it’ll kill your father.”

“You’re the one driving. If you know what you’re doing, why do I need a helmet?”

He sighs and grabs the helmet from the back of Dad’s truck. It’s the one Dad insists I use when I’m on the four-wheeler.

I stand still as Reaper slides it over the top of my head. We’ve been close before, but never like this, not with him attending to me. He smells like pine and spice of some sort, and his fingertips brush against my skin as he tightens the straps in place.

I feel like an idiot. I want to let my hair blow free, but if this is what I need to do to get on this bike and ride away, I’ll do it.

He climbs on and kicks up the stand. “Come on, little cat. Let's go before I change my mind!”

Heart pounding, I hold on to his wide shoulders and balance my way onto the bike, wrapping my arms around his waist before he kicks off and the wind blows against my shoulders. I don’t know where we’re going, but I don’t care… because I’ve never felt more alive in my life.