Stealing Hearts (Wild at Heart #1)(8)

Danny and my mom are resting along the back. My dad’s on the other side. Irma wouldn’t let him be buried next to Mama.

When I reach Danny’s plot, my eyes immediately go to the empty root beer bottles, and my heart pangs in my chest. “I guess you’ve had other visitors.”

I’ve done an impressive job of avoiding Rhett over the years, but sometimes, the reminders of him and my brother hit me hard.

After I clean off the headstones, I place the bouquet between them. “Mama, I’m sorry I don’t have flowers for you too. You and Danny can share. I know you’re not supposed to cut bluebonnets, but I got a few for y’all. Daddy always said they were your favorite.”

My mom died in childbirth with me, and my dad died in a construction accident at work when I was eleven, which left us with Irma.

I lean against Danny’s headstone and stare at the empty cemetery. “I graduated from college last week. Irma and Ty didn’t come. No surprise there.” My ankle throbs, and I rub it. “I was supposed to start a new job this summer in Austin at this amazing cheer camp, but I got injured. The doctor says I’ll need physical therapy, but I can’t afford it.” I can’t afford anything right now. I shouldn’t have given Marcus money for rent, but I hated the idea of owing him anything.

“I lost that job. Can’t coach cheer if you can’t spot the tumblers, you know?” I pick a blade of grass. “So now I need to eat some humble pie and ask Irma if I can stay in my old room for a while. I’d ask Baylee, but her sister is visiting with her kids, and they don’t have the space.

“I worked so hard to eke my way through school, thinking I could coach, and then this happened. I got a degree in communications. That’s probably ironic since I hate public speaking.” That’s one of the reasons I love cheer. When I step out on that field at halftime, I always know what to do or say. I wish real life was like that.

I blow out a breath. “Sorry I’m complaining. At least I’m not dead, right? Gotta look on the bright side.” I know I should be grateful for what I have. My brother’s life got cut short. My parents’ did too. I need to make the most of what I have.

I just don’t know how.

An hour later, I reluctantly get back in my car and head home.

Even though I get anxious when I come back here, I have to admit that Wild Heart is picturesque. Historic buildings built of limestone brick dot both sides of the main drag with boutique shops, many of which have been painstakingly renovated. Several shops surround the courthouse, where there’s a grassy area and a pretty gazebo that townsfolk light up for the holidays with twinkle lights. And there’s no shortage of cute restaurants, like the Honeybee Hideaway or the Blackbird Brew Coffee Shop.

There are trading outposts and Wild West memorabilia shops. If you want to learn how the outlaws of the 1800s stole cattle or robbed trains, the Wild Heart Museum highlights the most noteworthy ones and even hosts shootout reenactments on Saturdays for tourists at the Wild West Saloon.

My favorite part is the Eden River, which snakes through half the county and cuts through town. There’s a mining kiosk next to all the food trucks that teaches people how to look for gemstones along the banks, but I suspect someone tosses out a few quartz every night so visitors have something to find.

If I didn’t have the history that I do here, I’d think Wild Heart was adorable.

Unfortunately, when I reach my house, the fond thoughts flee.

Ghosts loom large here. That’s the tree where Danny used to push me in the swing. His old Dodge is still parked in the gravel driveway. And that rusty bike he taught me to ride lies there in a heap.

After I wrestle my crutches out of the car, where they’re jammed against moving boxes, I finally get them out and limp to the porch.

“Hey,” I call out through the screen door. “It’s me.” I’m about to open it when the overwhelming stench of wet dog hits me. Gross.

Against my better judgment, I open the creaky screen door and hobble inside, where I find a half-empty bottle of rum on the weathered coffee table. Irma’s still getting sauced. No surprise there.

When the door shuts behind me, a half-dozen dogs come tearing around the corner.

Oh, shit.

They pounce on me, and I crash into a wall with a scream. My ankle throbs, and I try to shove them off me.

A raspy chuckle makes me look up. “Looks like you met our Frenchies, huh?” Irma asks as she takes her time pulling them off me. “Tyson! Get in here and help me!”

My half-brother laughs when he sees me on the floor. “You should’ve warned us you were coming.”

I haven’t seen him in months, and this is how he greets me? “Nice to see you too, Ty.”

He’s not so little anymore. My brother is much taller than me. Still lanky, though. “Just here for a visit?” he asks as he helps me up.

I wobble and lean against the wall as he hands me my crutches. “I was hoping I could stay in my old room for a while. I got injured, so I can’t start my cheer job.” No sense in telling them I lost it. Irma’s always putting me down, and I can’t deal with any more negativity right now.

My stepmother makes a face. “Wish we had known you wanted your room. It’s occupied right now.”

“What does that mean?” And really, what the fuck? This was my mother’s house. By all rights, it should be mine.