Clarke
“Great.”
I slammed Daisy’s hood down with a grunt. “The radiator’s blown.”
Avalon still hadn’t removed her feet from the dashboard. She shifted them aside and stared at me through the windshield.
She threw her hands up before lowering her new cowboy hat—the one she insisted she needed to “fully immerse herself” into Opal Springs. I still thought it was stupid.
“I don’t know shit about cars and mechanics.” A shiver ran down her spine. “That’s a blue job.”
I shook my head. “There’s no such thing as blue and pink jobs—at least not in the South.” I walked around the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Here, everyone pulls their weight. And those who don’t—”
I slammed the door shut, jolting the whole vehicle. Avalon looked over at me from under her hat.
“—leave.”
She sat upright, finally removing her feet from the dashboard. A flash of fury lit her eyes as she yanked off her hat.
“I wouldn’t be here by choice. If there was another way, I’d gladly take it. You don’t seem to understand just how desperate I am for this to work out. I’m really sacrificing a lot.”
Avalon slumped back into her seat and fanned herself with a magazine. “I mean, you guys don’t even have working Wi-Fi or cable. The only thing that seems to work around here is your family.”
I snorted and pushed the lever beneath my seat, scooting it farther into the cabin.
Oh, she was sacrificing a lot, huh?
“It’s called having a good work ethic. Is that so bad?”
Opening the glove compartment, I pulled out the mini emergency satellite phone Colt had insisted I keep in Daisy after the last time I’d been stranded. It would take a few minutes to heat up, but then I could call my father to tow us back to the ranch.
Avalon sighed and rolled her eyes. “It’s boring. Don’t you guys have any fun around here?”
“Fun? Oh, Opal Springs does fun, alright.”
I lowered my hat over my face—the midday sun was becoming unbearable despite it being early in the year.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Avalon mimic me, propping her legs back up on the dashboard. I couldn’t help but snort at the difference in length; standing beside her, the height difference wasn’t too noticeable, but lying down it was almost laughable.
“Tell me then, Clarke.”
She sounded bored—and honestly, I couldn’t blame her. I’d rather be doing half a million things than be stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere with Avalon Kennedy.
“What does Opal Springs like to do for fun?”
I sighed and shifted into a more comfortable position. “There’s Founder’s Day in August. Fourth of July, obviously—it’s a big thing. Tons of fireworks, parades, carnival food. My favorite unofficial Opal Springs holiday is Pelican Fly Day.”
“Pelican Fly Day?” Avalon snorted, crossing her arms. “What the hell is that?”
I smiled, twirling the end of my braid. “It’s a local tradition, based on a story from years and years ago.”
She yawned and fanned herself again. “We’ve got nothing but time, so I’m all ears.”
She wasn’t wrong.
King & Co was about half an hour from Opal Springs. The town had been built on open prairie land, but when developers pushed for more modern housing, my father bought the land directly adjacent to town. We owned all the surrounding acreage—over sixty acres of it.
It would take nearly an hour for my dad to reach us.
So why not pass the time with one of my favorite childhood stories?
Even if I was telling it to my current least favorite person on the planet.
“Well, years and years ago—” I began, “—like way before I was born, there was this woman who lived in Pelican Bay, right down by the gulf. She lived alone in this little house—I always thought it was super cute.”
I smiled at the memory of Mama telling me the story.
“There was a little lighthouse attached to it, and when it rained, pelicans would come in looking for shelter from the storm. Now, this woman, Sonja Glasgow, loved those birds. Loved them like they were her own children.”
Avalon shifted again, boredom dripping from every word. “Okay, crazy bird lady gets her own holiday. But if she lived in Pelican Bay, how did it become a holiday in Opal Springs? Isn’t that like an entire day’s drive? Or more, considering the time period?”
I nodded. “Well, that’s the thing. After World War Two, Sonja moved to Opal Springs because she had a cousin here—someone she wasn’t even close to. The two of them opened a bed-and-breakfast, Capers and Coffee.”
Capers and Coffee was still standing—one of the few places that truly held the history and heart of this small town. Sonja had named it after her late husband’s favorite breakfast: fresh gulf fish with lime and capers, served alongside a cup of strong, freshly ground coffee.
Before my dad built the homesteads and the ranchers moved into the Big Barn, Capers & Coffee had been my safe space. My home away from home, but still close enough to run back if Melly needed me. Or Mama. Or Dad.
I hadn’t realized it then, but everything I did was always “just in case.”
Just in case Melly needed me.
Just in case Mama needed help catering.
Just in case Dad needed an extra hand.
Was I still making decisions based on who might need me?
I pushed the thought aside and continued. “One day, word spread about a terrible storm in the Bay. Sonja worried for her birds—they hated the rain, and without a lighthouse tenant, they had nowhere to shelter.”
“A few days passed, and while she was walking through town, she heard this sound—”
“What sound? Don’t tell me it was the birds,” Avalon groaned.
I stifled a laugh. “Will you let me finish?”
She nodded, so I continued.
“The birds had followed her since she left the Bay and got caught in the storm. With nowhere safe to land, they crashed in a neighbor’s barn for the night.”
They’d been covered in mud and twigs, feathers missing, skin torn. The neighbor sent his son into town with the birds, hoping the vet could save them.
“At the time, Opal Springs was tiny. The vet had almost no experience with birds—especially pelicans—but he agreed to try.”
Sonja recognized them immediately, even in their battered state. She and the vet spent months nursing them back to health, through winter and beyond.
Her determination spread like wildfire. Soon, the whole town was invested—waiting, watching, praying for the day the birds would fly again.
“News spread to neighboring towns. Supplies poured in. Everyone wanted the birds to fly.”
Those towns—Mooresville, Halstone—didn’t exist anymore. Developers had swallowed them whole, turning farmland into sidewalks and churches and hotels. Nothing historical remained.
Opal Springs saw what was coming and fought back. The town came together, determined not to become another tourist trap. But when word of Sonja’s birds spread, people came anyway—filling every empty bed.
“When the day finally came, more than a thousand people showed up. The town used the money from visitors to push back against the government’s development plans. And it gave them an excuse to celebrate.”
I smiled as I finished, glancing over at Avalon.
She’d shifted in her seat, knees pulled to her chest, sitting sideways to face me. Her long arms wrapped around her legs, chin resting atop her knees. She looked genuinely interested.
“Wow. So crazy bird lady saves the town and gets her own holiday,” she said, smirking. “That’s sick.”
I nodded, yawning. I turned over the satellite phone—still cold. Was the battery dead? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used it, but these things were supposed to last forever.
“And what about the vet?” Avalon pressed, her storm-grey eyes fixed on me. When we first met, I thought they were blue. Now I was convinced they changed shades like a mood ring.
“What about the vet?”
“Did he fall in love with Sonja or not? I mean, spending all that time together—feelings are bound to happen.”
She sighed, a wistful look crossing her face before she cleared her throat.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. No one ever talked about him. I’m not even sure it was a him.”
Her question lingered. Why had no one ever mentioned the vet?
“Maybe there’s something in the public library?” Avalon pulled out her phone, only to toss it aside. “Fuck, I forgot there’s no cell service in horse country.”
She paused. “I don’t think I’ve been in Texas long enough to start seeing things, but I swear on my life, there are two men on horses riding toward us.”
I sat up, feet dropping from the dashboard. She was right—two riders were approaching, their silhouettes growing clearer with each step.
The wide brims of their hats hid their faces, but the way they carried themselves, the way they commanded their horses…
Big city riders.
Houston or Dallas, most likely.
Ah, shit.