Page 36 of Honey Bee Hearts

Fable

The fabrics are strung out across the spare bed as I dig through them, trying to find the perfect one for an outfit worthy of a honkytonk. I have two days to make something awesome. I probably don’t want to go too wild since we’re going into town and I don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb, but I can at least have fun.

“Skirts are always a winner,” Jinx comments where she lounges across my bed. “Get real short and these cowboys will be lining up to dance with you. Plus, easy access.”

I narrow my eyes in thought. “Yes, but then my leg will be on full display.”

“And?” Jinx comments. “You have great legs.”

“Leg,” I correct, as if I’m really having a conversation with this phantom that isn’t here. The pill bottles in the bathroom mock me, as if they’re saying, “you could get better if you’d just take us.” Silly me though. I’d rather have PTSD-induced visions of my best friend than feel as numb as the pills make me.

“No one will comment on your prosthetic. If they do, just karate chop them fuckers in the throat!” she says and then does a hi-ya motion as if her point needed further making.

“I can’t just go around punching people in the throat,” I grumble. “Besides, that was your job.”

“I know, Everhart,” she says sadly, her eyes meeting mine. “But I’m not here anymore.”

To really make those words sting, she fades away until I’m left in my cabin alone again. But I was always alone. Isn’t that the point Dr. Julia was trying to make? Take the pills so that reality can set in, so that I don’t have to do this, so that it doesn’t hurt every time she’s not there to hold my hand, to lift me up, to remind me to punch fuckers in the throat. Jinx was a spitfire, the uncontrollable wildfire to my calm seas. Without her, my waters are choppy, and I never built the boat to survive without her. I don’t know how. . .

A chrome-colored leather material catches my eyes from my pile, and I pick it up, tugging the leather jacket I’d started making back home before the wreck. It’s like butter against my fingers, an expensive and high-quality material. My heart squeezes and I set it gently on the table, taking it in. The pieces are already blocked out, but I’d never sewn them together. I decide to finish it for the honkytonk and immediately reach for the necessary supplies.

Jinx would have told me to wear a skirt, to dress how I want and forget everyone else, but I’m not ready to go out to a bar and listen to people make comments about my leg. I spend the rest of the first day pinning the pieces properly. The next morning, I wake up and start sewing. The chrome leather is a showstopper, so when I add hot pink fringe along the sleeves and the back, it only adds more pizzaz. It’s only as I finish up that jacket that I realize my outfit will be missing one key piece.

A proper cowgirl hat.

I look over at the cheap hat I’d ordered online with a frown. I’ve only been here for a week and a half, but the stitching is already giving up and the hat no longer holds its shape. You’dthink I was out roughhousing in it, but really, it’s just from wearing it out in the elements. I haven’t crushed it once, but it looks like I’ve stomped on it in the street a few times. I can’t go to a real honkytonk with that.

I stand and head for the door. Jethro leaps to his feet from where he’d been lying near the small fireplace rug, his eyes bright as he realizes I’m about to leave.

“Come on, Prince of Barkness,” I tell him. “I have a mission.”

The honkytonk is tonight. I need a hat fast, but I don’t have a car. I don’t think any ride shares are constant out here, not like I’d be able to get into one if they were. So, I go find the one person who usually doesn’t mind spending time with me.

I find Gunnar out with Houdini in the stables. He has his hoof pulled up between his legs as he carves out mud and gunk from beneath his horseshoe. My heart sinks.

He looks up at my arrival with a grin. “What can I help you with, Florida Girl?”

“I was hoping you’d be able to take me to town to get a proper cowgirl hat before tonight,” I say, shifting on my feet. “But I see you’re busy.”

He grins. “I am, unfortunately. I gotta get Houdini all shoed up. I can see if Rhett can take you. He shouldn’t be too busy right now.”

“I don’t wanna interrupt you. I can ask him,” I answer. “Where is he?”

“He’s up in the big house, in the office going over some paperwork. Just knock on the doorframe.” He nods his head and goes back to Houdini’s hooves.

I take a deep breath and turn toward the big house. Inside, at this time of day, the house is mostly quiet. Lunch isn’t served for another hour where everyone can come grab something to eat. I trail through the first floor, looking for an open doorway that feels like an office. I haven’t explored much of the big house. Iknow Gunnar and Callie live here. Trent and Colt do as well. Mel lives in another small cabin out somewhere on the ranch as well as a few of the other full-time workers. I know the rooms are upstairs, but I haven’t gone looking. It feels far too intimate to be looking into people’s bedrooms, so I’ve refrained from exploring anything but the dining room and the kitchen. Now, as I peek into rooms, I see living areas that feel homey. A living room sets off to the right with a floral couch that feels old and worn but still comfortable. The tv is clearly new and large, and the gaming systems beneath them are the newest on the market, but the rest of the room feels almost like it’s stuck in the past. I wouldn’t have pegged the guys as floral couch kinds of people.

The next doorway is a small bathroom that I have seen before, so I skip it. It isn’t until I reach the back of the house that I find Rhett. When I peek around the corner of the doorway, I see him sitting at a desk, his shoulders hunched as he scans some papers. He doesn’t realize I’m here watching, whatever paper he’s reading so engrossing, he hasn’t even sensed my movements. When I knock on the doorframe, he startles and the papers flutter off the desk.

“Sorry. Sorry,” I say, rushing forward to help pick the papers up.

“Stop,” he commands, his voice hard. “Leave them. I’ll pick them up.”

I frown, but back away. Maybe it’s their financials and he doesn’t want me to see them. That would be understandable. I watch as he comes around the desk and stoops, picking up the papers.

“I’m sorry,” I rasp. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Gunnar said to knock first and?—’

“It’s fine, Wild West Barbie,” he says, his face immediately relaxing into his normal carefree expression. “What can I help you with?”

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