Page 14 of Total Jane Wreck

While working in the barn the next morning, Chet seems surly, like he has a headache. I’m brushing Miss Adele in her stall, coaxing her to tolerate the halter, when he stops dead in the doorway. “Why’s she still got mud on her hocks?”

“She rolled. Then I gave up, for a minute, because—”

“No excuses, Jane.”

His rebuke stings, but I don’t show it. “Got it,” I tell him.

Axel Rose walks in. “Chet, there’s another delivery at the gate. Could be new feed, could be another surprise horse. Do you want to come check?”

Chet swears under his breath. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec.” Then he speaks again to me. “Just do your job, okay, Jane? No more giving up.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say to his back.

He walks away. My head is spinning.

Chapter Seven

If he were insane, his was a very cool and collected insanity.

Twice a week at Resilience Ranch, guys from Seven Bridges Landscaping Service come to mow, weed, repair fences, and ensure that our grounds are safe for the horses and the property is up to snuff.

Late Thursday morning is already a scorcher. One of the landscapers (who looks like he’s barely out of his teens) wanders up to the split-rail fence, a pair of battered work gloves tucked into his back pocket. He’s got golden retriever energy, with an unkempt mop of sun-kissed, light brown waves. His eyes are a shockingly bright green, like a Granny Smith apple.

“You’re Jane, right?”

I’ve been scrubbing out the water trough. Grit grinds under my nails. “Yep.”

“Thought I’d introduce myself. I’m River.”

“Nice to meet you, River. I like your name.”

“River is actually my last name—I played a lot of sports, and my coaches called me River cuz there was always more than one John . . .” He offers me a modest grin, and two lopsided dimples pop onto his cheeks.

“I get it,” I say. “‘Jane’ and ‘John’ are sorta equivalent, right? Like, whose idea was it, using our names before ‘Doe’? I’m offended every time I hear that phrase.”

“We should start a movement,” River states. He hooks one boot over the bottom rail, bracing a knee so his calf flexes under the faded denim. “And change the world.”

I laugh. “Well, I would, but I’m not the world-changing type.”

“That’s not what I heard. You’re pretty famous around here.”

I stand, using my wet hands to wipe dirt and grime from my damp knees. “Am I? Already?”

“Definitely. Axel Rose says you single-handedly rescued Miss Adele and have a special way with nervous horses. Also, you talked her into hiring you on the spot.”

“She’s exaggerating.”

River points at the shirt I have on; it’s got Matisse’s cat in the window painting on it. “You like art?”

“Yeah,” I say. “In another life, I was a prolific painter. But in this one, I just dabble.”

“Oh yeah? I’m an art major at Sugar Pine U. I’ll be a senior this fall.”

“So this landscaping gig is just a day job?”

“Sort of. We’ll see.” He smiles again. “What about you, Jane? Any big plans to climb the horse training circuit?”

Heat gathers behind my cheeks. River’s cute, and he seems like a nice kid. But I bet where he comes from, everyone goes to college. And here I am, without ambition.