Soil and Serial (Cowboy Brand of Justice #9)

Prologue

She gets everything she wants!

It’s so unfair. I drive through a patch of standing water on the old, abandoned highway, sending my car into a skid.

An embarrassingly loud yelp of alarm comes out of me as I grip the steering wheel with both hands.

I’m glad no one is around to hear me. It takes a second or two, but my tires regain traction on the slick pavement.

I slow down, trying to get a grip on my emotions, but I end up bursting into tears.

It’s been a long day. I’m exhausted. I woke up this morning feeling like I was coming down with something.

My day has been downhill from there. It would be just my luck to hydroplane my Corvette and have a fatal accident on my way home. Nothing ever goes my way.

People think because my family is rich that I have the world by the tail. Nothing could be further from the truth.

While growing up, I had to wear glasses and braces.

I also took growth hormones for being abnormally small and spent hours after school with a tutor while the other kids in our neighborhood got to play outside.

Such are the joys of being born prematurely.

Now that I’m an adult, I’ve finally accepted that I’m never going to measure up to everyone else. I’ll never be good enough.

Everyone in our small town smiles to my face, but their eyes tell a different story.

They think I’m “not quite right in the head,” as one nasty old crank in the grocery store put it.

My parents swear up and down it isn’t true, reminding me I was simply born with a few “extra challenges”, but I know better.

Other people don’t whisper behind their hands when they’re saying nice things about you — like earlier today, when I scooted close enough to eavesdrop on the ladies in the booth next to mine at the diner.

Just thinking about it makes my cheeks heat with humiliation all over again.

According to them, Tiana Dakota has been secretly dating Ben Haywood.

They also said I’m going to have a hissy fit when I find out, because I’ve been secretly crushing on him for years.

That part is true, but how did they know?

I was so mad that I followed them to their car — discreetly, of course — and typed the make, model, and license number into my cell phone.

I don’t know what I’m going to do with the information, but I’ll think of something.

Something that’ll make them think twice before saying mean things about me again.

I’m also going to figure out how to make Ben break up with Tiana. He’s mine. He’s always been mine. He just doesn’t know it yet.

I can’t bear the thought of him being stuck in a relationship with someone like her.

She’s one of those sickening do-gooders who shines at everything she does.

Bor-r-ring! I honestly don’t know what he sees in her.

Miss Perfect is dirt-poor, lives in slum-ville on the southside, and the last time her clothes were in style was about a century ago.

She doesn’t even own a car. She rides a bike to work at the County Clerk’s office, and everyone is supposed to be impressed since she’s working her way through college and supposedly going places.

I honestly couldn’t care less where she’s going, as long as it doesn’t involve a long-term relationship with Ben.

My Ben.

Not her Ben.

He’s studying to be a dentist, just like his dad. He’s also the nicest person I’ve ever met. He’s nice to everybody, even me, and I never forget stuff like that. Never.

It’s possible the rumor about him and Tiana isn’t true, but it’s too risky to sit around and do nothing about it. Because if it’s true, it’ll ruin everything, including my biggest dream of all. The one I’ve never told another soul.

I’m going to marry Ben Haywood someday.

Somehow, I end up pressing down on the gas pedal harder than I mean to, and I find myself flying down the highway on wet pavement.

Again. Even after I realize what I’m doing, I sort of care and sort of don’t care.

When you’re mad, it feels good to let loose a little.

Besides, my car is the only one on the road, so the only person’s neck I’m risking is my own.

The rain comes down harder, making me squint to see through the windshield. Earlier, I noticed the lines on the side of the road were freshly painted, but I can barely see them now.

I bite my lower lip, wishing the sky wasn’t pouring such big buckets of water down on my windshield. It’s coming down faster than my wipers can keep up with.

The outline of a person on a bicycle takes shape in front of me, making me slam on my brakes.

I skid a little, but I manage to stop before hitting them. Next thing I know, I’m driving at a snail’s pace behind the woman, hoping she’ll scoot over and let me pass. She’s riding a little too close to the center line for me to safely get around her.

I rev my motor a little and drive closer to her bicycle, hoping to scare her into letting me pass.

It’s dumb of her to be riding in the rain without caution lights.

The dress she’s wearing is wet and molded to her skinny figure.

The fabric is so thin that it leaves nothing to the imagination.

Not only is it distracting, but it’s also dangerous.

Some weirdo could come along and get ideas.

I rev my motor again and drive even closer to her — close enough to give the back tire of her bike a tiny nudge.

Her body jolts forward over the handlebars. For a breathless moment, I’m afraid I hit her bike harder than I meant to, but she stays in her seat and keeps pedaling. Whew!

A split second later, she yanks her bike to the very edge of the road and waves at me to pass her.

Finally!

I pull alongside her and honk my horn to thank her.

She gives me a quick, harried glance and keeps pedaling for all she’s worth.

My insides tighten as I recognize her. It’s Tiana Dakota, the person in the world I hate the most right now.

Though my counselor and I are making progress with my anger management issues, I lose my temper. During our next session, I’m gonna have to tell her that the latest self-awareness trick she taught me isn’t working.

Oh, well! I’m on a roll now. I veer my car at Tiana to show her I mean business about her breaking things off with Ben.

To my delight, the front tire of her bike catches on a pothole or something.

She jackknifes over the handlebars and goes flying over the side of the embankment.

Her bike tumbles after her. Both she and her bike disappear from view.

I press down on the gas and roar off, laughing until my eyes stream. I’m not sure how long I drive. All I know is that my temper finally fades, and my belated sense of self-awareness kicks in. Maybe that trick my counselor taught me isn’t a complete bust after all.

As I wipe my eyes, I’m overcome by the fear that Tiana might’ve recognized me. If she didn’t recognize me, she might’ve recognized my car. Oops!

I’m too tired to stop and turn around, but I don’t really have a choice. I hit my brakes again and roll to a stop in the middle of the road. Before I can talk myself out of it, I make a U-turn and retrace my route.

Unfortunately, it’s raining harder than ever, and I don’t know how far I’ve driven away from where Tiana fell off her bike. I drive at a crawl, barely able to see a few feet in front of me.

I keep my eyes peeled, but there’s no sign of her or her bike. In a burst of annoyance, I flick on my high beams and ease into the left lane, driving as close to the edge of the road as I can without falling off.

Something excruciatingly bright flashes into my eyes, momentarily blinding me. I see stars and feel a headache coming on. Then it dawns on me that the bright lights are probably the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. It’s heading straight for me. So much for having the road to myself!

I grip the wheel, trying to make out the center line on the highway. While I search for it, the other vehicle cruises ever closer.

What to do? What to do?

Visibility is poor outside my windshield, but it’s now or never.

I glance wildly in both directions to get my bearings, hoping like crazy I’m about to pull back into the right lane instead of driving off the embankment.

If I make it home alive, whoever decided to save tax money by not installing a shoulder on this road is going to hear about it.

As I start to move into the next lane, my front tires lurch over something. It makes the whole car shudder.

Dread shoots through me. I don’t know what I’ve hit, but it feels like I’ve got a flat tire. No sooner do my front tires finish bumping over whatever is in the road, my back tires do the same thing.

Something is wrong — terribly wrong. Regardless of the vehicle heading my way, I slam on my brakes and push open my door. I step into the road. The rain pours over me, instantly soaking me to the skin. I stumble over something on the pavement and glance down to see what it is.

Horror fills my throat at the realization that I’m staring at a hand. A limp human hand with four fingers and one thumb. It looks perfectly normal, except for one detail. It’s not moving.

I’m dimly aware of the other vehicle reaching me and coming to a halt in front of me. The headlights are so bright that I can barely make out the outline of a pickup truck.

The driver steps out and stomps my way. I’m expecting a man, but it’s a shriveled-up woman wearing a pair of denim overalls. She reminds me of a dried-up peanut shell, which is a strange thought to have right after running over somebody.

The woman marches right up to me with a surprising bounce in her step for someone so old. “What happened?” The rain plasters her silver curls to her head, while her gaze hones in on the limp figure lying at my feet. Her eyes grow wide with recognition and something like glee.