Chapter 4
Iwake up the next morning and, for a minute, relish the fact that I actually got some sleep last night. Now I’m not terrified of the creatures coming for me when the sun goes down. The air mattress isn’t comfortable, but it’s a hell of a lot better than my car.
The sun is rising in a blinding, perfect square through the window, illuminating every speck of floating dust, and I can hear the cows somewhere beyond the house. I lay there for a minute, preparing myself for the day ahead. I have so much to do, and it feels like I’m not getting anywhere.
Exhaling, I force myself up and tug on what I think is a clean pair of shorts.
Then I grab the work boots I unearthed from the barn, tie my hair up with a rubber band, and head out to see if I can befriend Daisy before starting my day.
I am determined for this cow to like me, even if every single time I approach her, she looks murderous.
As suspected, Daisy, the demon cow, is waiting right by the gate.
I freeze. She freezes. Her eyes, which are neither warm nor soulful but rather calculating and faintly iridescent, narrow at me. I know she remembers pinning me in the barn. I know she’s plotting another attack. She’s not going to get the upper hand this time. No sir.
“I have bread for you,” I say, waving it in her face.
She snorts, jerking back, like I am the scum of the earth.
“Fine,” I snap, giving it to a nosy cow who sidles up beside her. “Another day you miss out.”
I go through a gate far enough away that she can’t charge me, doing my usual checks on food and water for the cows.
I am about to turn and head to the house when I notice something in the paddock by the road.
Three fence wires twist-sprung apart, their ends curling back like angry fingers.
The posts, which should be snug in the clay, have been pried loose.
What the hell.
I approach, and as I do, I can see that this fence hasn’t come apart on its own; it has been cut and destroyed.
I kneel in the dust, scanning for something, anything.
My mind flashes with twenty possibilities, but the one that sticks is Cupp.
Ralston Cupp. The creep with the used-car-salesman smile, the one who’d asked if I was alone out here. Maybe he didn’t like being told no.
Shit. My stomach knots.
Before panic can fully settle in, my phone pings.
Knox - You make it through another night?
Me - I’m not one for losing. I’ll make it through, and you’ll hear about it. Right now, I need assistance...
Knox - What now? Rogue snake? Feral rats? A runaway cow?
I huff, unable to stop the smile.
Me - Worse. Someone cut my fences.
It takes him a minute to reply.
Knox - On my way.
I tuck my phone away and look again at the fence, the way the wire is splayed open. I take a photo, send it to Knox. And then, because I refuse to sit around until he arrives, I walk the rest of the fence line, Daisy watching my every step, ready to make her move.
By the time I get back to the gate, there’s dust curling up the lane—Knox’s truck, unmistakable.
When the engine cuts, the passenger door swings wide, and out steps a girl who could be a human Instagram filter: platinum-blonde, lips pumped up to the hills, breasts bigger than both of mine put together, and an outfit that makes me question whether I should have dressed a little better today.
Knox comes around the hood and says nothing, just stares at the fence, his eyes narrowed. The girl comes over to me, big smile on her face, bite marks on her neck that I just know he made. Gross.
“Hey,” she says. “I’m Reese.”
Reese says it like she expects a compliment or applause.
“Callie,” I nod, my voice monotone.
Knox stares at me and narrows his eyes at my clipped tone but doesn’t say anything about it. “Somebody cut this on purpose,” he points to the fence. “You see anyone around?”
I shake my head. “No one since Cupp. But the cows could have walked right onto the highway last night.”
Reese steps in, flipping her hair with practiced grace. “Do, like, animals just wander off here? I mean, isn’t that how, you know, we get lost pets and stuff?”
I stare. Is she for real? “Daisy,” I say, motioning to the cow who is looking at Reese now, like she might just hate her more than me, “wouldn’t survive ten minutes in town. She’d be a six-o’clock news headline.”
Reese makes a face, like I’ve told her her eyelash extensions are uneven.
Knox pulls pliers from his pocket, bends the wire together, and gestures for me to hold the ends. “Put your hands here and keep this tight so I can pull it together.”
I do, and he works fast, but his arms are close, his body heat horribly noticeable, and for an impossible second, I wonder what it would be like if this was normal: a man helping me fix a fence, not because someone wanted to scare us but because the two of us actually gave a shit about the land or each other.
But then Reese giggles, and the fantasy shatters.
The fence is almost fixed when Reese gets bored, whips out her phone, and angles for a selfie with Daisy.
“Could you,” she asks, angling my way, “move so you’re not in the shot?”
I stare at her, not believing she is actually asking that. Instead, I let her go closer to Daisy, who is not snorting in protest. This should be fun. I grin as Daisy drops her head and slams it through the fence and into Reese’s hip, sending her and her phone flying onto the ground.
“Oh my god!” she cries when she lands with a thump. “That cow is horrible.”
“Oh, whoops, I should have told you,” I grin. “She doesn’t like stupid people.”
She glares at me, and Knox helps her up, his eyes fixed on me. Once she’s on her feet, she turns and stomps off for the truck, clutching her phone. Knox watches her go, then glances at me, deadpan. “You’re a bitch.”
I shrug. “I didn’t see you warning her, either. Besides, I picked you as someone who had a little more taste than that.”
He glares at me. “Jealous?”
“Of her? Please.”
He grins, and I want to punch him in the face. “She’s a decent lay.”
“Ew, I don’t care.”
“Been a while then, has it?”
Oh, he is rubbing me the wrong way.
“None of your business, buddy.”
He grunts, but I swear I can see the hint of amusement in his features.
He goes back to wrapping the last bit of wire. “You worried Cupp’s going to try something? Almost guarantee this was him. Probably tryin’ to steal these cows.”
I think about that, about the way he lingered, the way his eyes darted over the house and its windows. “Yeah,” I admit. “I don’t know what he wants, but he creeps me the hell out.”
Knox finishes twisting the wire and looks at me, chin down, eyes hard. “You want me to stay tonight?”
The offer is not what I expected, and I can’t tell if it’s kindness or just another opportunity to torture me with his perfection. “I’ll be fine,” I say, because the last thing I want is to owe him anything else. “But thanks. For the help.”
He doesn’t argue. Instead, he slides the pliers back in his jeans and wipes his hands on his thighs, smearing dust into tattooed skin. “If anything else weird happens, you call me.”
I nod. He turns to leave, but then pauses, voice so low I barely catch it. “I mean it, Callie. Call me.”
I nod.
After the truck disappears down the lane, I go back inside, find a cold Diet Coke, and stand in the kitchen, staring at my bruise-purple spider bite and wondering if it’s weird to be more nervous about a stranger with good teeth than about the nest I need to remove today.
Exhaling, I leave the house, needing to figure out my next move.
I sit on the porch, drink my Diet Coke, and make my weekly phone call to the prison to find out how my brother is.
As always, I am trying to make contact with Ruger, and as always, he is refusing contact or visitors.
I haven’t seen him for years, but I still call every single week to check in, write letters, and hope that one day, he will let me in.
He is the only person I have left, and I miss him so much.
He might not answer the calls I make, but it won’t stop me from trying.
The people I speak to on the phone can only tell me he is okay, and that’s basically it, but it’s all I need to know. When I hang up, I put my phone down and exhale. Leaning back in the chair, I know I need to get to the store and gather a few items, then I need to get back to work on this house.
I sit for half an hour or so when my phone rings.
Staring down at the screen, I am surprised to see it’s the prison calling.
My stomach twists, fear clutching my throat as I reach down, answering it quickly.
It tells me that I am receiving a call from Ruger before asking me if I will accept.
My fingers have never moved so fast in my life as I accept the call, shocked at the gravelly sound of my brother's voice saying his name on the prerecorded message.
“Ruger,” I say, so quickly my voice comes out as almost a hiss.
There is silence.
Not a single word, but I can hear him breathing.
“Ruger, please say something. Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.”
“Someone wants me dead.”
That’s all he says, not a single word more, and the phone is disconnected.
What the hell was that?
My heart breaks and tears burn under my eyelids as I try to process what just happened.
What does he mean someone wants him dead?
Who?
Why?
And what do I do about it?
BY THE TIME THE SUN sets on the horizon, I’m one-quarter deep into a cheap whiskey bottle, staring up at the roof of the porch, trying to work out if I can die of heartbreak before the bottle kills me.
The world has gone all shimmery around the edges, or maybe that’s the unshed tears I am trying to force back.