Page 167 of Double Bucked

Autumn has brought in its gusty chill. The cool air tingles on my bare arms. I should get a sweater, but I like the way Kentucky bites this time of year.

I let my feet guide me. I find myself walking around the hedges, making my way to the stables. The tall grass tickles my ankles. When I approach, I hear Ransom’s voice from inside: “—gotta give him his alone time with Miss Penny, otherwise, he gets ornery. I usually give him a couple hours in the evening while I’m winding down.”

I peek in through the open double doors. Ransom and Maeby are sitting in the stables by Chaucer’s pen. His gate is open, and he’s sniffing at Miss Penny affectionately.

“And check this one out,” Ransom says. “Chaucer! Beer me!”

Chaucer steps over to the gate, takes Ransom’s hat off the post, and flings it at Ransom.

“Alright, well, we’re working on it.”

Maeby gives a whistle. “Chaucer, beer me.”

Chaucer flicks his tail. He goes over to the open cooler, picks out a beer, and takes it between his teeth. Then he saunters over to Maeby, holding it out for her.

I put my hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter. The look on Ransom’s face is priceless. “How in the hell?—?”

“Don’t you worry about your Chaucer. He’s gonna be just fine in my hands, aren’t you, boy?”

Maeby tickles him under the chin and takes her prize beer. He lets out a pleased huff.

I step inside, lifting a hand in a short wave to get their attention. “Hey.”

Ransom leans back to look at me. “Need something, Bear?”

“Actually…I was wondering if Maeby and I could talk.”

“Of course.” She gets up, dusting straw off her backside. She hands the beer over to Ransom and follows me. “Should we take a walk?”

We walk around the property line.

60

CLAIRE

Now…it’s just me and Maeby.

Nerves climb my skin like tiny ants.

“What’d you want to talk about, darling?” she asks.

I bit my lip. “Actually…I wanted to talk about the Belleflower rituals. Your coronation.”

She meets my gaze. Stormy, rain cloud-colored eyes. Just like my own. “Sure.”

Her voice sounds casual, but I can see the muscles of her back coil up. An animal about to flee at the first sign of danger.

I hug my elbows. My jaw locks up.

Alright, Claire. Spit it out.

“I did the math,” I finally say. “You were Belleflower Queen in September of ’94. Then…I was born. Nine months later.”

I watch her. She says nothing. We just trend forward, our shoes cracking dried leaves, kicking up the decaying last gasps of summer.

My palms are sweating. “I know it has to be hard to talk about. I want to be clear that I don’t expect anything. I understand if you want nothing to do with me, that it might be a…terrible reminder…”

“Don’t you dare put that on yourself,” she says suddenly. Her voice is low but intense. “You were a spark of light in a very dark nightmare.”

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