Chapter 1
HONEY
SEVEN YEARS LATER
After I pin the advertisement for the Harvester Club’s monthly meeting to the bulletin board, I stand back and check that it’s centered.
“Hi, Miss Honey!” a student yells as she runs by me.
“Hey!” I smile, glad I went with that moniker instead of Miss McAllister. Having students call me by my last name made me feel like my mother. Plus, I want to make my own way in this world and not rely on my family’s legacy.
As I walk down the hallway of Wild Heart High School, football banners with our wolf mascot and various art projects decorate the walls.
This place smells like foot funk sometimes, but I don’t care because I love teaching. How could you not enjoy a job where you have a reason to get an endless flow of office supplies?
“Good morning, Honey,” the secretary says as I stop at the main office for my mail.
“Morning, Gladys.”
She leans forward. “We’re putting together a Halloween committee to plan festivities for the elementary school kids. Can I count on you to join? I know you have a lot going on with your club, but I could use your help.”
School keeps me so busy, I can barely think straight, but I can’t turn her down. Teachers in Texas don’t get tenure, and I still feel the need to prove myself to the board of education so they renew my contract.
And I need this contract. If the high school lets me go, my father will use it as an excuse to make me move back to the ranch. Plus, I want to support our students. At least a Halloween committee sounds like fun. “Of course. I’d be happy to lend a hand.”
“Wonderful. I’ll email you the details.” Before I can walk away, she holds up a finger. “Will you have the proposal ready for the principal this week?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I love what you’re doing. It’s about time we get back to our roots.”
I grin. “Thank you. The Harvester Club meant a lot to me in high school, so I want to give back.”
“That’s so exciting. Will you actually raise animals on that lot?”
“If we get the funding to buy it, yes.”
“Is that Quaid Turner’s old farm?”
“That’s the one.” Mr. Turner’s looking to retire and wants to sell as soon as possible, but he hasn’t maintained his five acres in over a decade. The weeds have practically overtaken his house, which likely needs to be demolished.
But that means he’s selling it for a song.
So far, my father has only agreed to lease some cattle to my students, but he’s always bragging about how much he donates to charity.
So I’m hoping he’ll see the value in the club that helped me win a scholarship to college.
Turner’s farm is already zoned for agricultural use.
I’m lucky it’s an eyesore and far enough from downtown that it hasn’t caught the attention of any developers.
When I reach my desk in the office, I break out my planner so I can add the committee to my calendar before I forget. There are six English and History teachers, and we’re all crammed in one prep room, which has its pros and cons.
I’ve gotten close to most of my colleagues in the last two years. Except Trish Cox. That woman gets on my nerves.
With a clownishly wide grin, she claps her hands as we all rush around preparing for first period. “Don’t forget our meeting at lunch. We need to plan our professional development for the second quarter.”
I love when we have to get together to plan a plan. Plus, I was hoping to use that time to work on my proposal.
My irritation has worn off by the time we reconvene a few hours later.
We all move to the wide conference table at the front of the room.
My friend Laura, another fellow English teacher, leans close and whispers, “I wonder how many times she’s going to mention the principal hand-picked her for this role? ”
“At least once.” I break out my chicken salad and the cookies one of my students baked me. After I unwrap the platter, I set it out to share with my colleagues. “Help yourselves. Compliments of one of my students.”
Everyone reaches for a sweet treat except Trish, who wrinkles her nose. “Thanks, but you know what they say. A minute on the lips, a year on the hips.”
I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t say something snarky. Because that would be unprofessional.
While we eat, Adrian, who’s sitting on my other side, nudges me. “How’s your new place?”
“Great.” At least I think it’s great. My parents, not so much. “I’m still clearing out stuff the previous tenants left, but I love living on my own.”
“And you’re so close.”
Behind the school, and it’s amazing. “The commute is going to spoil me.” My dad hates that I won’t live at the ranch, but I feel suffocated there, and it makes me snap at everyone.
I already have a resting bitch face, and if I stay at the ranch, I’m pretty sure my parents are going to disown me because of my sour attitude.
But I was mostly pissed because of my father’s new rules. What’s the point of living on a ranch if I can’t ride our horses and help out? He won’t even let me compete in ranch rodeos anymore with my older brothers, Cash and Trig.
Being on my own is better. Even if it is a little lonely sometimes.
“How’s the newspaper going this year?” I ask as I take a bite of my sandwich.
“I think it’s going well, but my father says our stories are boring. There’s no pleasing that man.”
I know firsthand how tough dads can be to please.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. Your students love you, and they’re learning a lot.
That’s all that matters.” Adrian’s father is a former broadcast journalist on a major network.
I can see how he wouldn’t care about our little dramas.
“And look at all those awards your students won last year.”
He gives me a grateful smile. “We did kick ass, didn’t we?”
I chuckle and hand him another cookie because chocolate chips always soothe your soul.
Trish claps her hands again. “We need to pick a professional development option for the next quarter. I have a list of topics Principal Erickson gave me when she personally picked me for this job.”
Next to me, Laura chuckles, and I bite my cheek so I don’t smile. As Trish circulates a handout, one of the other teachers scoots back to throw something in the trash.
That’s when the rattling starts.
I know that sound. I grew up on a ranch. Of course I know a rattlesnake when I hear one.
Trish’s eyes grow comically large before she shrieks, jumps on her chair, and crawls onto the conference table. “Snake!”
I roll my eyes. “Calm down. It’s probably more freaked out than you are right now.”
Though judging by Trish’s next howl of terror, maybe not.
Glancing around, I realize all of my co-workers have joined Trish. I scoot my chair out and check where the sound is coming from. The snake is coiled a few feet away. Right in front of our exit. How the hell did he get in here?
“Isn’t this a fire hazard, only having one door?” I ask no one in particular as I sit on the table and rest my feet on the seat of my chair. If I was wearing jeans and boots, I could be more useful, but the snake is pretty pissed off right now, and I’d rather not end up in the emergency room.
I consider our wall of windows along the far side of the room, but they’re narrow, the kind you crank, which opens them up vertically. Laura dials 911 and puts the call on speakerphone. After she describes the problem, the operator says, “Stay calm. The fire department is on its way.”
Shit. If I’m lucky, Beau’s not working today. Because in the last seven years, he and I have not made peace with what happened at the Devil’s Den.
Ten minutes later, when that handsome bastard struts up to our department, I grit my teeth.
So much for luck.
Trish’s hysteria briefly subsides when Beau pokes his head in the door. “Heard y’all got yourself into a pickle.”
Shut up, asshole. I roll my eyes and continue grading an essay.
The snake agrees with me because his tail goes crazy.
“Beau Walker, am I glad to see you!” Trish flaps her arms around like one of those inflatable balloon men in front of a car dealership.
Annoyed, I glare at my co-worker. “What did I say about not making quick movements?”
Beau chuckles. “I’m gonna agree with Little Mac.” That fucking nickname. He says it like he hasn’t had his tongue down my throat. “Y’all should sit tight, and we’ll figure this out. I’m the department’s snake wrangler, and I’ve caught plenty of these guys. This shouldn’t take too long.”
“I love a man who knows how to handle a snake,” Trish gushes.
I’m not sure who annoys me more, Beau or Trish.
As he checks out the situation, I finally let myself study Beau Walker. He’s wearing a red and blue Wild Heart Fire Department t-shirt that stretches across his stupid broad shoulders, plus those fireman pants and thick black boots. Today, he has stubble on his rugged jaw.
I can admit he’s hot.
But what I will never admit, on pain of death, is how often I think about what happened between us that night at the masquerade party.
The bell rings, and I groan. I hate being late to class.
Behind Beau, two other firefighters stand around and chat. They ask if Beau needs help, but he waves them off. “Easier if I do it by myself. Hang back.”
While I record the essay in my grade book, Beau slowly moves in with a snake hook and a twenty-gallon red bucket. As much as I want to ignore his act of heroics here, I can admit what he’s doing is dangerous. We all still as he moves closer to the reptile.
But a bright flash from the hallway makes us collectively flinch.
Pulling the camera away from his face, Keith, one of the newspaper students, waves at us. “Heard there was a snake. Holy crap, he’s huge.”
Adrian mutters a curse under his breath. “Keith, what did I tell you about not getting into dangerous situations? You could have gotten Mr. Walker bitten. Back up.”
The kid’s shoulders fall, and he nods. “Sorry, Mr. Rogers.”
A pretty girl with red hair elbows Keith. “Yeah, dummy.”
Keith rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”
Adrian lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Sabrina, that wasn’t nice. Please apologize.”
“Sorry, Mr. Rogers.”
“Not to me.” A vein pulses in Adrian’s forehead.
I bite back the Mr. Rogers joke I’m dying to make because he hears them all the time. “You have some great students on the newspaper.”
“They’re gonna shorten my lifespan. Those two in particular. They’re always competing to get the story, and it’s giving me an ulcer. They’re seniors. They should know better.”
I snicker. “Want another cookie?” I hand him the platter so he can take the last one.
“Thanks, Honey.”
When I turn back, I find Beau watching me. “What? Aren’t you supposed to be catching a snake?” You can add “acts like a bitch” to “has a resting bitch face.”
He smirks and holds up the container where the snake rattles around. “Just thought you might want to offer me a cookie. You know, since I saved your life.”
I hop off the table and gather my things before I turn back to him. “Sorry. I don’t have any more cookies left.” I’ll never offer you my cookies again.
Adrian whistles and mutters something about the McAllister-Walker feud, which I ignore because my disdain for Beau has nothing to do with those old vendettas.
Tripping over her own two feet, Trish somehow manages to stay upright and runs up to Beau. “I could make you cookies. What kind do you like?”
With my resting bitch face firmly in place, I scoot by the annoying couple and march toward my classroom, which is in chaos when I walk through the door. I set my things down, stick my fingers in my mouth, and let out an ear-piercing whistle. All of my unruly students freeze.
“What in the good Lord are you doing? Pretty sure you’re not supposed to be swinging from the rafters if a teacher runs late.”
“Sorry, miss.” They race to their seats.
“Get out your notes. We’re going to review The Odyssey this afternoon to help you study for your quiz. Mr. Rogers says his freshmen know this story better than mine. Are we really going to let his students think they’re smarter than us?”
“Oh, hell, nah!” The kids are up in arms, and I chuckle to myself.
A student raises her hand. “Miss Honey, what are we reading after The Odyssey?”
“The best play ever, Romeo and Juliet. It’s about two rival families who hate each other, and the daughter of one falls for the son of the other. It’s very messy.”
“Does it have a happy ending?”
“Sadly, no, but in my mind, those two ride off into the sunset together.” I grab the chalk and start a timeline on the board.
“Okay, remember that The Odyssey is structured like a burrito. It actually starts way down here.” I make a mark for where the story begins.
“Then it wraps around itself. What’s that called?
When a story tells something that happened in the past? ”
“A flashback!” someone in the back calls out.
“Ding, ding. That’s right.”
Emilio holds up his hand. “What kind of burrito? Are we talking that fake crap at Taco Bell or the kind my grandmother makes?”
“Which one has the really good fillings bursting out of it?”
“My abuela’s burritos for sure.”
“That’s like this story. It’s filled with many interesting things.
Get out your worksheets to help us note all of the key events that happen as Odysseus tries to get back to Penelope, the woman he loves.
Remember, he could have stayed with Calypso or Circe, who are goddesses, but he fought tooth and nail to return to his wife, the woman he’s always adored.
And even though Penelope has been hounded by dozens of suitors, her heart has been loyal to Odysseus for the twenty years he’s been gone. ”
“Dang. That’s a long time,” Emilio says.
But the girl behind him sighs. “Is there really a time limit on love?” As she says those words, I spot Beau and Trish walking by, and his eyes lock with mine. Trish gives me one of those crazy-ass smiles and hooks her arm in his.
He’s all yours, Trish.
I close the classroom door and turn to my students. “We’ll have to see if Penelope forgives Odysseus for being gone so long and entertaining those goddesses. Open your textbooks.”