Page 62 of Eight Second Hearts

“But they’re siblings.”

“In name only.” I chuck her on the chin. “I’ll let Tripp tell the story, but let’s just say they weren’t exactly given the tools to ever truly be brother and sister. There’s no love lost there.”

She glances between the two of us, the gears of her mind turning. I like when she thinks. Her intelligence shines in her eyes and I can see her piecing things together. Give her long enough, and she’ll figure us all out.

When she realizes the dangers of dancing with our demons, I just hope she doesn’t try to run. I’m not sure she realizes that you can’t get rid of a stray dog once you feed it.

And oh, has she fed me, over and over again.

“So what now?” she asks.

I grin. “Now we go help Mama Maria load her car and go to the farmer’s market. Duh.”

“Maybe try to act a little normal if we’re in the booth,” Ram tells me, his brow raised.

I lift my pink heart-shaped glasses on my head and glare at him. “I beg your finest pardon? You keep that up and I’ll go dress in a crop top and daisy dukes, so everyone sees just how normal I am.”

Indie smiles. “I mean, I’d like to see that.”

I gesture to Indie. “See! At least someone appreciates my sense of style.” I drop my glasses back on my nose as I throw my arm around Indie’s shoulders. “I’m not as unhinged as I could be and I think everyone should be more grateful for that,” I bemoan as we prepare for the walk up the driveway back to Mama Maria’s house.

An hour later, we’re standing on the street in downtown Steele, my eyes taking in all the booths set up along the sidewalk. Ram is helping his mama set up her table with the best tamales I’ve ever eaten, and so Indie and I are strolling along the booths as everyone gets ready.

“This has grown,” I muse. “There were only a few tables last year.” I point to the booth in front of a building. “That there is Georgia’s coffee house, Ugly Mugz. She makes the best coffee around. I guess she’s started roasting her own beans now.” She has bags of coffee beans sitting out on the table, her eyes bright as she waves to me. The woman is a saint. It’s no wonder her and Mama Maria are friends.

We trail along the tables as my Indie bird peruses the offerings. I enjoy watching her talk to the people of my town, pleased when she seems to like it. After all, I’d found my way here as a kid and stayed.

“You haven’t asked how I fit into this family,” I muse, glancing over at her. “I know you’ve already figured out how Ram does.”

She nods. “Maria said she’s worked on the ranch since she was a child, and that her parents worked there before her. So, Ram, he grew up on Fairview Acres like Tripp.”

I shrug. “Not like Tripp, but yes. He’s lived there his whole life.”

“You’re not related to the Savages,” she comments. “And your family didn’t work for them.”

“Right again, little outsider,” I encourage. When she doesn’t say anything else, I grin. “Go on and ask.”

She bites her lip, and I desperately wish it was me biting it instead. I thread my fingers with hers, wanting to at least feel her hand on me. If this is all I can have right now, I’ll take whatever she gives.

“How did you become part of the Crimson Three?” she asks, her pretty dark eyes looking up at me. “Where does Beau Rogers fit into all of this?”

I grin. “I’m glad you asked, Indie bird,” I preen. “You’ll have noticed the old man called me a stray?” When she nods, I continue. “That’s because at one point, before I was part of the Crimson Three, I was known as The Stray of Fairview Acres.” I tug her hand, and we start walking again, slowly along the street. “I was left on the streets of Steele when I was five. I was a scrawny thing, a feral dog if you will, desperate to be fed. Hunger is a gnawing feeling in your gut when you’re that small. It makes you feel like a hollow doll.” I stop on the sidewalk and pull her to face the building in front of me. “I was left right here. I don’t’ remember by who. I don’t know why. All I know is this is where I was thrown from a car like a puppy who’d peed one too many times on the carpet.”

She blinks and I realize I’ve made my Indie bird cry. The single tear falls along her cheek, and I lean in to lick it away, surprising her. She presses her hand to her cheek where I licked, her eyes on mine. “You didn’t deserve that.”

I shrug. “I don’t know if I did or not. What I do know, is that day, I watched Tripp and his dad go into that building right over there, both of them looking squeaky clean and fresh, and I knew I wanted to be like them.” I frown. “At least, I thought I did. I learned quickly that monsters don’t always look like monsters. Anyway, I climbed in the back of his daddy’s truck and hid under a tarp. They took me home without knowing, and once there, I’d hidden in the barn. That’s where Tripp found me a few days later, shoveling handfuls of cow feed in my mouth to survive.”

“What did he do?” she asks.

“He brought me food,” I murmur. “A heaping plate of steak and potatoes. It was the first time I’d had steak. I remember eating so much, I made myself sick. Apparently, when you’re used to not eating, it takes a while to get adjusted back to eating food.” I smile down at her. “Anyways, I’m just the stray that showed up, was given food, and never left. That’s how I fit in. That’s my legacy.”

She reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear. My hand snaps out and circles her wrist, stopping her.

“Careful, Indie bird,” I warn. “I have a history of refusing to leave when I’m fed.”

Her lips curl, and despite the sad story I’ve painted, she can’t help saying, “I’ve always liked dogs.”

And right there, I give her my heart. In the same place I was once abandoned, I rip out my heart and place it in her hands. She has no idea what she’s just done, my Indie bird. She has no fucking idea.

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