Chapter Thirteen
Birdie
A s the days grow shorter, I wake up a little earlier. The sky is still an inky purple when I bundle up and head out to check on the smaller animals. My busy season officially starts on Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, when families descend on the ranch to cut down their Christmas tree.
And I still have so much to do.
By the time I’ve seen to the rabbits, ferrets, prairie dog, and chickens, the sky’s brightened to sherbert pinks and oranges. I make breakfast for three—one portion for me and double for Rex. Sometimes he’ll shuffle into the kitchen early in search of caffeine, but usually I bring it to him. The demon works hard, well over his required twenty hours per week, but man does he love to sleep in.
Reluctantly, I’ve come to admit that Rex has been a huge help. Not only has he taken on my two special construction projects, he’s also a natural at tree trimming, and does most of the chores for the bigger animals in the barn.
For the first time in a long time, when I go to sleep at night, I feel like I can breathe. Even with the holidays approaching, my tasks are manageable and the ranch isn’t only being held together by duct tape and a dream.
I finish off my eggs and toast, package up Rex’s, and jump into the Jeep just as dawn is truly starting to glow orange and yellow between the mountaintops. I fix my hair in the rearview mirror and pop a stick of gum in my mouth. If I’m wearing some lip stain, new overalls that hug my ass just right, and a warm red sweater that makes my skin glow, who’s to say?
As I drive, I glance over at the hill where the new tent recently went up, though I can only see an obscured view.
Today, Rex promised he’d show me the progress on my multifunctional tent. After that, we’ll do a quick drive around the property to distribute extra food pellets for the wild animals using the feed dispenser on the back of my Jeep. As winter approaches, I like to make sure there’s enough for the deer, sheep, elk, and occasional moose that roam the ranch, especially since several of them are threatened or endangered. Finally, we’ll finish trimming the last acre of Christmas trees before I’m officially open for business. The major pruning happens in the summer, but right before the holiday season starts, the entire tree farm gets one last round with the chainsaw-like hedge trimmer so they have that perfect triangle shape.
Naturally, wielding a deadly mechanized tool is Rex’s favorite thing to do. What takes my other seasonal employees a day to do, he can bust out in a couple of hours. And even though working shirtless is dangerous, he refuses to put one on. Wood chips and sharp metal be damned.
He’s an obstinate demon. And kind of a genius.
I can’t help but smile as I pass the field with half a dozen giant tractor tires scattered about. While frost covers most of the ground, I have a section of land heated geothermally that stays grassy year-round. Last week, I found all my goats tied to the tires via crude rope leashes. Thinking Rex was mistreating them, I gave him a piece of my mind before he explained it was a way to test out rotational grazing without setting up big temporary fences.
The whole setup—ropes scattered around big tires—looks janky as all get-out, but it worked and cut my hay bill by half. When the herd had properly decimated their circles, Rex painstakingly flipped each huge tire to the next field over.
All that sweaty, muscled back in service of feeding a few ornery goats. It was a sight to behold, I’ll say that. Not that I should be mooning after my shirtless criminally-inclined volunteer, but, well . . . I kind of am. And I can’t seem to convince myself it’s a bad idea. I’m just looking, after all. Even if those looks come with the hottest sensual memories of what his touch felt like.
I park outside the barn and open the group chat that’s been popping off this morning. Since my stepmom’s family started the farm decades ago, I always hire her siblings, nephews, and nieces as seasonal staff for trimming and cutting the trees. However, since Rex is absolutely killing it on the prep side, they get a break this year.
I sent them a reminder that we’re opening on Friday, bright and early, and what shifts I need covered.
Orla
You sure you don’t need extra help in advance? I can come this week anytime. Just let me know.
Ethel
You know I’ll hold down the register. Don’t worry one bit.
Kveta
Will we be sharing some shifts? Miss you.
Simon
Sign me up. I’m here for you, girl.
There’s no outright pity in their messages, but I can sense their concern like whispers in my ear, getting closer and closer. I haven’t seen any of them since my not-wedding day. My mom has come to visit but only briefly. Seven weeks of missed family dinners. I know I have to face them all this week, and I will.
The truth is, Rex isn’t only saving me money by pitching in, he’s helping me continue to avoid, well, everyone. My hermit behavior has to end.
It’s just that every time I imagine facing their pity, I clam up. I don’t need your sympathy I wish I could shout! Wipe the entire debacle from your minds! But I promised to come over for Thanksgiving and Mom’s already been dropping hints about all the other holiday events coming up. With the tree farm opening, I have to be ready to actually face people.
A Wild Hearts Holiday.
I let out an ugly loud exhale of relief as I slam my car door closed and move to the barn, happy at least that it’s one less thing I have to worry about. The only upside to getting jilted is not having to deal with that stuffy, catered, $300 per plate dinner for the rich and well-connected of Winter Bliss that Randy was planning.
That was all him. I’m over it. From now on, all I care about is me, my ranch, and what I want to do with it.
Fuck Randy.
I open the barn and check in on the stalls. I see Rex must’ve woken up earlier to feed everyone, then fallen back asleep. That’s his typical routine. When I finally make it back to his makeshift bedroom, a raised platform of hay bales and several layers of old quilts, I stop and lean against the low barrier blocking off his space from the rest.
Before I start clapping to try and rouse him from his snore-filled slumber, I let myself just look. He’s honestly breathtaking. A perfect male specimen, at least in my eyes, with his overwide chest and messy hair, the rounded swell of his belly with sweatpants riding low. Laying down, somehow his neck seems even thicker than normal. Inked up with those sexy tattoos.
It’s not a crime to look. Maybe a little creepy, though I know he would encourage the attention. He flirts shamelessly but never pushes too far. I’m the only one with boundaries in this strange partnership we’ve got. Restraint is my defense.
There’s just one problem. Day by day, it’s all falling apart.
The urge to jump this demon’s bones is reaching critical levels. He’s sexy and huge, sure. But anyone with a pulse would understand my plight seeing the way, right this moment, he's cuddled up with a three-month-old goat drooling on his naked chest. Rex’s hand is so big it cups their furry little rump like a football. When the little guy fidgets, Rex does too, like they’re some kind of interspecies father/son pair.
The resemblance is sort of uncanny. This particular goat kid has no need of hand rearing. He’s not the runt of the litter. If anything, he’s the not-runt, the biggest of them all, so plump and greedy for milk that his mom frequently singes him with a blast of fire to try and give his siblings a chance to eat.
Naturally, Rex felt for the hungry guy’s plight and has essentially adopted him as his own. The cuteness is almost too much. I take a breath and shore up my defenses.
“Rise and shine!” I sing out with a gentle clap of my hands.
On a dramatic groan, Rex peeks at me with one gleaming orange eye, before closing it and shifting the goat higher up his chest for a kiss on the head. Oof. I bite my lip at the adorableness.
“Your mistress is a real ballbuster. Works me nonstop. Can’t even sleep in.” He cracks open the other eye to peer at me. “Dewdrop needs his beauty rest, boss.”
I try to restrain my smile. “His name is Baaaaash.”
All the goats have long-vowel B-names because it’s fun. Except Gumdrop, their mom, because she was already named when I got the property.
“Bash?” His lips curl in disgust. “After Bandit and Beth and Billy and Borat, you have to admit your creative juices are running low.”
“Dewdrop’s kind of whimsical for him, don’t you think?”
The kid in question blinks awake, and I’d swear he’s judging me.
Rex snorts smoke which the goat copies immediately. “Who says you can’t be whimsical with a little meat on your bones? Dewdrop deserves a special name, like his mom. He likes to lick the dew off the grass in the morning. It’s the cutest.”
I barely restrain the urge to laugh, the sensation warming my chest as my cheeks twitch to smile. Rex is so annoying sometimes, but when he’s goofy with the animals, my loins quake.
“He’s even litter trained.” Rex stands up and makes his way over to me. With his eyes locked on his little buddy, I have another chance to take in his massive frame. Ugh. The shirtlessness must be stopped. “A real gentleman he’s turning out to be. Good instincts with people too.”
“You mean because he likes you,” I tease. Most of my animals find Rex frightening. Not that I blame them. It’s probably the prey instinct in the face of a giant male demon. He’s kind of an apex predator in the scheme of things around here. For a moment, I’m reminded that he’s leaving the ranch in only a few weeks. “Bash really shouldn’t be sleeping with you.”
He looks hurt, and hugs the fluffy goat tighter. “It's almost winter, Birdie Lynn. Have a heart. And his name is Dewdrop. Get it straight.”
I roll my eyes. “Get dressed. I want to see how the tent is going and then we've got that last acre to hit.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He drops Bash, err, Dewdrop, in the goat paddock on the way to the bathroom. When he comes out in blue jeans and nothing else, I hand over the food and coffee. Cracking it open, he closes his eyes on an inhale. “Mmmm. You’re too good to me.”
He’s a hungry demon with a long day of tree trimming ahead of him. It’s the least I can do. As usual, he inhales his breakfast in three minutes flat.
“You really should wear a flannel at least for the trimming, Rex.” It doesn’t matter how many times I try to warn him about basic workplace safety, he’s just obstinate about the shirtlessness.
“I wear goggles.” He throws two pairs of battered safety eyewear in his backpack. “Good enough.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you slice off a nipple.”
He grimaces and covers his chest. “Don’t put that out in the world, Birdie Lynn.”
I shake my head to hide my smile.
“Let’s go, big guy.”
“That’s what she said . . . once upon a time.”
I’d like to say his puppy dog eyes have no effect on me, but I’d be lying. And even if it’s only to myself, I’m trying not to do that anymore.
By the time we hike up the hill that the second foundation was built on, I’m practically shaking with excitement when I see the tent in all its glory.
With a cry of joy, I rush over to feel the canvas fabric in my fingers. Even early in the morning, the moisture doesn’t stick at all. And the zipper enclosing the entrance is perfectly flush with a lower barrier which I can see would keep the warmth in for someone camping overnight. It’s totally dark and empty inside except for a few heavy-duty trunks, until Rex unties a couple of flaps that act as windows.
The sunlight pours in, and even more, I’m blown away, breathless at seeing it put together. My fingers trace over every little detail as I race around and babble out each of the specifications I know by heart after painstakingly researching the setup.
How the fabric is taut against the wooden frame and every corner. How three of the four sides are capable of being propped open to create a shaded learning space. How the fourth wall houses the climate control and simple bathroom/kitchenette, meaning up to six researchers could camp on cots for extended stays. The roll up dry-erase board fits perfectly along one side. There’s a small wooden table that can fold out to six times its size, stained to match the tent frame and the collapsible bench seating tucked into one corner. Everything is custom constructed to serve the two purposes I wanted. Education and research.
It’s perfect.
“You don’t hate it, huh?”
I spin to find Rex leaning against one of the support posts, arms crossed, looking nervous. How could he even—
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Tears well up instantly, and I cover my mouth to hold in the happy sob. Get it together, Birdie! I rush over and smack his chest. “It looks even better than the photos!”
“I made some modifications.” His mouth tips up on one side, almost bashful. “Improvements, I think.”
“You think!” I beat my fists jokingly against his bare chest, and when he tentatively pats my back, I give in and go for a bear hug, working through the surprising fit of crying I’m going through. My words come out through hitched breaths. “With everything else going on— I never really let myself believe— It didn’t seem possible. I still don’t know if these two sites will even become anything, but—”
“Of course they will.” He squeezes me tight while one hand cradles my head. “You’re a force of nature, honey. All your dreams are just a step away.”
That just makes me cry more. I let the hope sink in, trying not to doubt that what I want with the ranch could one day become a reality. That this place could be an epicenter for education about the fragile, incredible ecosystem right here in Winter Bliss.
“I gotta up my game,” he rumbles beneath my cheek. “I’ve mastered making you angry. We can add crying to the list, but smiling? I’m rusty with that one.”
I snort then pull back and let loose the smile I try so hard to hide around him. I can’t even remember why anymore.
“A hundred billion smiles and yours is the best.” He pinches my chin. “Just makes me happy to see it.”
I can’t help but needle him. “There’s only about seven billion people in the—”
“Shut your piehole, smart-ass.”
I fall back into his chest and giggle.
“No, no, no. Look here.” He lifts my face back up and pokes my cheeks until I laugh again. “There we go, Birdie Lynn. Prettiest smile that ever was.”
He opens one of the flaps to show me how he set up the clean and gray water, fully outfitted with a camping sink, small outdoor shower, and ecotoilet. There’s a simple foot pump faucet and the toilet uses sawdust to compost with no cleanup necessary. They’re both incredibly easy to use and maintain.
Just as he’s explaining how to take a shower over the two-foot square cedar plank platform using a water bag, I get a phone call. While he finishes rigging that up to demonstrate, I sit down on the wood slats and look at my screen.
Incoming Call - Randy
I blink. It’s been almost two months of radio silence. I hit the End Call button with shaking hands. How? Why?
A text pops up.
Randy
Please answer. It’s important.
The phone rings again and I feel lightheaded. He’s like the freaking ghost of Christmas past from that Scrooge story. Something about seeing his name after weeks of imagining my future unfolding without him brings me back to who I was with him.
Compliant and completely tuned out.
When that call goes unanswered he calls a third time.
I do it. I hit the green button and bring the phone to my ear. Still, I can’t seem to utter a word. There’s movement on the other end, until finally he breaks the silence.
“Birdie?”
I make a humming noise in answer. What the fuck is wrong with me? S peak! Yell at him!
“Hey. So . . .”
I swallow.
“The Wild Hearts Holiday PR package I emailed out the, um, the night before . . .” he trails off.
“You left me,” I fill in the gap quietly.
He sighs. “Yeah. So it’s bouncing around with some big players—the mayor, school superintendent, and Chamber of Commerce leadership. It’s generating a lot of interest. We’ve gotten some calls about—”
“You’re back?” I gasp.
“No. I’m still traveling, trying out the digital nomad life. I snagged that honeymoon package on such a steal but you were adamant about not going. Call it cold feet or mental health crisis, I don’t know. I’m a travel agent who’s never traveled!”
My jaw grinds. There’s no hint of apology, just a— this is what I wanted and you didn’t get in line. He left me to go on vacation.
“I never cheated on you or anything. I still, you know, I care about you.”
He does? How? Knowing he didn’t cheat is a cold comfort. Every word over the line seems to numb me further. I feel myself breathing and blinking, but can’t say anything. At my continued silence, he prattles on.
“Anyway, my sister’s been holding down the fort. We just found out that the holiday event flier was shared in the local country club newsletter and uh . . .”
I groan and rub my temples, imagining the rich and fabulous of Winter Bliss and surrounding areas chitchatting about the formal evening affair they were promised.
“How are the cabins coming along?” he asks.
I scoff. Back to business, then. I clear my throat. “They’re not. There aren’t going to be any cabins.”
“Oh.” His voice pitches up. Did he really assume I’d just be a good soldier and continue partnering with him in the vacation rental business after he left me at the altar? “I’ll let Susie know to reach out to the email list that signed up as interested in bookings.”
“You do that.” My tone comes out even, which is better than how shaky I feel. A Wild Hearts Holiday. Something about it sticks in my mind. “Forward me your email about the event. What the newsletter saw.” As expected, he didn’t cc me on the message and I have no idea what’s been promised. He mentioned the superintendent and the mayor were interested, both people I have in mind to reach out to about the new educational direction of the ranch. Would canceling the event leave a sour taste in their mouths right when I want to pivot to something new?
“What do you want to do about the holiday event?” he asks. “My, well to be honest, my reputation is on the line with this, especially if I’m putting out the word the cabins aren’t happening.”
His reputation? Unbelievable.
“It could be a great networking opportunity for you,” he picks up, talking faster. “Hey, use it to promote your little tree farm. Or hell, pivot to a fundraiser. Put out a donation jar for the animals. You know, I'd be happy to manage the ticket sales remotely and set aside a portion for your nonprofit.”
Little farm? Donation jar?! My teeth grind at the minimization of everything I do day in and day out. The assumption he’d control all the money. How his energy picks up the moment he thinks he can convince me to do work for him. Him! I hold back from laughing like a madwoman, from snarling out a curse.
Fuck you, Randy!
All my desire to hear him apologize evaporates into thin air. He clearly doesn’t give a shit. And the truth is, I get it. I don’t give a flying fuck about him either. Not a day has gone by that I miss his presence. That should have struck me as strange before now. The only thing he brings up is a reminder of my humiliation, of what a fucking pushover I’ve always been.
There’s something scratching at the back of my mind though—a seed of an idea about the holiday event—but I’m too blinded by the cacophonous anger and bone-deep sadness that I spent so long dating this asshole!
Rex yanks the phone out of my hand and whispers darkly into the receiver.
“Riddle me this, you Gumby-looking cockwaffle. How does it feel to know you ruined the best thing to ever be placed in your clammy, shit-stained hands? I hope it drives you to drink a gallon of dish soap in the stupid hope you could ever wash away the shame. I hope your family whispers about you behind your back until you’re on death’s door, alone in a musty nursing home because they all know you're a rat-faced hosebag who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as Birdie. And if I ever see you in a dark alleyway—”
With my heart in my throat, my wits return and I snatch the phone back. I stare at the screen and bark out a relieved exhale when I see Rex accidentally fat fingered and put the call on mute when he grabbed it from me.
“Birdie? Still there?” Randy’s voice is tinny.
I turn away from Rex. His energy is too addictive, the desire to repeat everything he just said with my own colorful spin is far too tempting. But I need to be smart right now. Maybe I can salvage that holiday event. I just need some time to think.
“We’ll talk soon, Randy,” I say, tone flat. “Send me that email.”
After hanging up, I set the phone aside and hang my head in my hands.
The crazy thing is—I don’t even cry. I can’t. Maybe I only cry when I’m happy? Is that broken of me? Or maybe it’s not me. Maybe it’s the dynamic between me and Randy. I’m closed off to most people, but with him, I shut down in a way I’ve never really realized until just now. I go numb. I turn inward. I accept the bare minimum, and part of that’s on me. My brain rationalized our relationship into practical bite-sized compromises that seemed sensible at the time. But now, on the whole, I wonder why I was always the loser, the one who did the work, the one who had to sacrifice?
I think Rex is talking—his voice sounds so far away—but there’s so much static in my mind, I can’t hear anything else. Deep down, was it safer to accept good enough than hold out hope for what I really wanted? Something right. Someone perfect for me. It’s a chilling thought, making the numbness spread to my arms and legs.
Good enough was a better option than dreaming. It meant a comfortable way of life. No one could hurt me if they never got close enough. I can’t go back to that though—
A deluge of water shocks the air out of me. Soaks through my clothes in an instant and puddles into icy mud beneath my feet. I inhale and exhale, watching my hair hang in a lumpy, dripping curtain all around my face. My whole body freezes in the cold air, but inside?
Inside of me, something dangerous flares to life.
“What the fuck ?” I jump up in a whirl of droplets, fists balled, to find Rex with a jerrican of water poised above me.
“I tried—I asked if you were okay.” He looks, frankly, a little shocked at what he did, frozen in place. “You were so quiet and still. It freaked me out.”
“So you—” I sputter through wet lips. “You doused me with gallons of ice-cold water?”
“Okay.” He nods, cranking his arm at me. “There you go. Get mad! Let's call that pencil-dick asshole back and read him the riot act.”
I growl.
“You’re the asshole! I’m SOAKED!”
His face goes blank. He drops the container and takes off running.
“Oh no, you don’t!” I spring after him, slowed down by the fact my clothes are heavy and wet. His lead grows. For how big he is, the demon can run.
“Ramonarex Cohl Perchaz!”
He heads for some old stone steps that lead down to Teapot Lake. When he reaches them, he spins back with a smirk on his face. “You know my middle name.”
“You’re fucking smiling? Oh no, sir. You won’t be smiling when I get a hold of you.”
“Promises, promises.” He grins and disappears down the stairs, but his voice carries. “Use the f-word one more time, Birdie Lynn. I’m bricked up.”
That annoying demon! That insufferable scamp! I have no idea what I’m going to do to him when I catch him, but I better make it good. As he’s scurrying down toward the water, a few steps before the dock, he slips on wet stone and falls over the edge. I don’t see him land but I hear a splash.
“Rex!” I scream. My mood changes in an icy flash.
He could be knocked out cold. He could be bleeding or sinking to the bottom. I see a patch of white churning water near a section I know is deep, so I dive in. Underwater, I find him nearby, thrashing and looking disoriented, so I grab him by the horns, and swim backward to a shallow section.
We pop up at the same time, panting, and I keep tugging his arm until we’re both able to stand on the lava rock lake bed.
My hands skate over his face, his neck, then yank his horns this way and that, but I don't see any blood. “Did you hit anything? Hurt yourself?”
“Just my pride.” He grimaces.
“You dummy!” I pound my fist on his chest. “You big stupid jerk. You never run on a wet surface like that. You could have killed yourself!”
His face softens into the ghost of a smile. “I thought you were gonna kill me anyway.”
“Don’t you dare smile!” I growl and pummel his chest with both hands. His wet, naked, hairy chest. “I hate you,” I say with no conviction.
His hands fall to my shoulders, then pull me closer by my back. “I don’t think that’s true, honey.”
“It isn’t.” My forehead hits his chest. Why am I tearing up all of a sudden? Why am I always crying around him? Maybe I am broken. “You scared me.”
His hand holds the base of my skull while the other fists gently under my chin. Slowly, he lifts my face. I still won’t look at him. The silence extends, until I can’t take it anymore and make eye contact.
His gaze is pure black with a dancing flame of gold in the center, just like when he rescued me on horseback.
“I’m sorry,” he says, steady and heartfelt.
An apology. It's that simple for him. A genuine apology, the likes of which I couldn’t even get from the guy who jilted me.
This big chaos monster may be the only guy who's ever cared enough about my emotions to even see them. Anger, sadness, joy, and fear. Not just that, he relentlessly drags them out of me. Even if I’m kicking and screaming.
He always has. And right now, wanting him close is all I feel. Why should I deny it?
I grab him by the back of the neck and demand a kiss. There’s no other option anymore. I hate fighting my feelings so much. For once, even if it’s only for a few weeks, I want to just let them be, maybe even follow them every once and a while.
He groans and clasps me to his chest, pulling me up with an arm under my ass. I loop my legs around his waist. Instead of messy and fast like before, he takes his time. I take mine, tracing his full lips with my finger, feeling the prickly stubble down over the bump at his throat as he gulps.
“Kiss me again,” he whispers.
I oblige. Our lips meet again, gentle and soft. Warm and wet. We open and taste, learning each other for long moments in a totally new way. What it’s like to be at peace with Rex instead of at odds. Our hands explore, tongues dance again and again. When we break to catch our breath, there’s a furrow between his brows.
“He wants you back, doesn’t he?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Far from it.”
His gaze darkens. “Fucking dick—”
“Stop it.” I peck his lips once. Twice. Kiss him into submission until the grumbles die out and he’ll let me explain. “He called, wanting to convince me to do the Wild Hearts Holiday thing he’d planned—that formal dinner for rich people a few days before Christmas.”
“Fuck that.” Rex rears back, his grip on my ass tightening. “Fuck him. May his business die a slow and debt-riddled death. Bad riddance, asshole.”
I giggle. “Right? So that was basically my first instinct. But then, I mean, what if I did host a fun holiday event? Cut Randy out completely and just do it my way. Nothing fancy. Free admission. Have it be the open house I’ve always wanted for the animal side of the ranch. My moms could cook all the traditional demon solstice snacks over an open fire. We could have all kinds of fun Christmasy activities, like a holiday petting zoo, some crafts, maybe a kid-sized snow sleigh pulled by the goats.”
“That sounds like a death trap.”
I laugh. “Okay, fair.”
“Otherwise, why not? Smart idea, turning lemons into lemonade.”
I sigh and hug his neck, laying my forehead against his. “Talking with Randy was . . . Well, it was the wake-up call I didn’t know I needed. I think I’m ready to show my face around town again. More than that, I want to get the message out about the new improvements, let folks know I’m open to field trips and educational events. I think A Wild Hearts Holiday might be the right move.”
“Fuck yeah.” His shoulders bounce as he squeezes me tight. “Let’s do it.”
“You’re in?” I laugh, just as a snowflake lands on the tip of his nose.
“All in, honey.”