Chapter 13
Tilda
I roll my lips together.
The ribbon is gone.
There’s nothing on the fence.
I turn left, then right, double-checking that I’m not in the wrong spot. But this is where I tied the ribbon that Ranger Grumpy Pants complained about. And I’m ninety-nine percent positive he told me to remove the rest of it. Which would mean that he left some of the ribbon on the fence. But…
Nothing.
It’s all gone.
Holding the metal part, I tap the plastic handle of the scissors against my skirt, matching the beat of the song playing from my hip.
Part of me wonders if I’m losing it.
Maybe there never was a sexy park ranger with tattoos and two different colored eyes…
I spin in a slow circle.
I’m in Colorado.
Uncle Jack is gone.
I woke up in his old house because I live here now.
I put ribbon on this fence yesterday, but it’s gone today.
Facing the bare fence again, I inhale deeply.
I didn’t imagine Ethan.
And I’m not imagining the burst of color a few yards ahead of me, on the other side of the fence.
I don’t remember seeing these flowers yesterday.
And… they’re purple.
I left my vase back on the front step, and it’s already full of flowers. But the purple ones are so pretty. And there was still another vase under the sink. So… I want these.
I just need to figure out how to get over there.
And I need to ignore the sign that I read farther down the fence yesterday. The one saying No Entry to State Park from Private Property.
Honestly, the sign feels a little insulting. Because who—other than the occupant of my land—would even see this sign?
And really, what’s the difference between where I’m standing right now and fifteen feet in… that direction? East? Who knows. But really. These are man-made lines. And those flowers are pretty.
I examine the fence, judging my options.
I don’t bother entertaining the idea of hopping over the fence. Not in a million years could I do that.
Not even if I was being chased by Bigfoot.
I narrow my eyes at the darker spots in the forest.
Bigfoot isn’t real… Right?
The song in my shorts changes to something slower, more mysterious, and a shiver skitters down my arms.
Nope. Not thinking about Bigfoot.
I grab the wire where it’s not barbed, next to where it’s attached to the post, and give it a shake.
The big staple-looking thing holding the wire in place isn’t loose, but it also doesn’t feel strong enough to hold my weight.
Not that I’d be able to climb over the fence with any sort of agility.
I’m going to have to duck between the middle and top strands of barbed wire.
But they aren’t that far apart. And I’m not a wisp of a girl. I’m substantial.
And I don’t feel like getting tetanus today.
Pursing my lips, I look along the fence line.
Two posts down, the center strand of barbed wire sags a little more than the others.
Stopping before the sad-looking section of fence, I wonder again if this is worth it.
It’s just a few more flowers.
And I’ll probably tear my skirt.
But… the petals are a deep shade of purple.
And there are so many of them.
And they’ll make my new house that much cheerier.
Determined, I put the scissors between my teeth and bite down, like they’re a rose and I’m doing the tango.
With my right hand, I find a spot between barbs and try to push the top strand up, creating as much room as possible. With my left hand, I bunch up my skirt, holding it so the material is tight around my upper thighs, then I duck through the fence.
My hair catches on the top wire.
My skirt catches on a barb below me.
I lose my balance and have to slam my foot down on a patch of slippery moss.
I let out a shriek as my foot slides forward six inches.
The scissors drop from my mouth onto the ground.
And when I let go of my skirt while trying to catch myself, my dress catches on the barbed wire. Again.
All to the soundtrack of Moulin Rouge!