Page 39 of Total Jane Wreck

“What?” My voice snaps, sharper than I intend. We both flinch.

Axel Rose leans in, voice low. “You’ve fallen for Chet, haven’t you?” Her eyebrows nearly climb to her hairline. Silence stretches between us like a taut wire. She presses on. “It was bound to happen. He’s handsome and brooding, and I’ll bet he’s a great kisser. Plus, he’s just the right amount of tortured. Tell me I’m wrong, Jane. Tell me you’re not hoping to be the girl who’ll save Chet from himself.”

I open my mouth, ready to protest, but no words come. Axel Rose sees my face, which must look both sad and flabbergasted.

“Oh, sweetie. Don’t hate me. But you and him? It’s never going to happen.”

Heat flares in my chest. “Wow,” I murmur. “Harsh. While you’re at it, why not rub sandpaper over my burns?”

Seeming to soften, she steps back, glancing toward the window. “I’m sorry. But someone needs to say the truth. Chet is damaged goods. He can’t love anyone, not right now.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” I murmur.

Axel Rose bites her lower lip, gaze drifting to the door. “I should go. There’s enough wreckage in the barn to keep me busy all day. Thankfully, the landscaping guys are here to help.” She brightens. “Should I send River up to see you? He’s such a doll, Jane. And he’s clearly got a crush on you.”

I shake my head no.

“Okay,” Axel Rose says. “Holler if you need me.”

Her silhouette slips into the hallway. The room grows colder in her absence. In the hush, my doubts smolder brighter than ever.

***

Luckily, I do heal quickly. Soon enough, it’s the Fourth of July, and Sugar Pine Springs has gone all out. There’s red-white-and-blue bunting on pretty much every porch rail, kids with sparklers running wild, and enough apple pie to feed a small nation. Meanwhile, Chet throws his own extravaganza at the ranch and invites half the town. In addition, a bunch of his jet-setting billionaire buddies fly in for the holiday.

I tend to the horses, keeping them calm amidst the craziness. Horses hate the Fourth of July.

After a while, I decide to take a break and emerge from the stable. Just for some fresh air.

“Admit it! You stole Escape from the Springs!”

The accusation pricks like a cactus, even though it wasn’t directed toward me. I turn to see a man—youngish, tallish, and handsomish—looming over Marigold Sanders.

She’s unimpressed.

“Oh, hon,” Marigold states. “I realize that multiple generations of disaffected young men see Escape from the Springs as their personal manifesto. And they can’t handle that it’s by a woman—one who writes trashy, overhyped novels, no less. But I won’t confess to something I didn’t do.” Then, she spots me. “Jane! Lovely to see you! How have you been?”

Even though I doubt she needs help, I step toward Marigold, ready to come to her aid. “I’m good. You?”

“Oh, just grand! Have you met Mason?”

Mason? As in, Chet’s stepbrother/co-founder of ShopSpot? Interesting.

“She hasn’t.” Extending his hand, Mason smiles. “Nice to meet you.”

“Back at ya.” I say this because I was raised to be polite. “I didn’t know Chet’s family was visiting.”

He smiles, showing off a set of gleaming white teeth. “I’m here with my dad and stepmom. We thought we’d surprise Chet. Except the slick bastard is nowhere to be found. Have you seen him?”

“Nope. But Chet’s always a bit elusive.” Scanning the hordes of guests, I try to spot Chet standing amongst them, playing host. “I’ll see if I can’t hunt him down.”

“Great. Thank you, Jane.”

I make an honest attempt at finding Chet. But no luck. Meanwhile, the sun is strong and I’ve gone hours without sitting. There’s a fortune teller’s tent. Strange choice, thematically, for the Fourth of July. Nevertheless, I duck inside.

Inside, it’s cool and a little musty—like someone sprinkled patchouli in front of a window fan. There’s a crystal ball on the table, which I silently judge. Surely we’re not still doing the crystal ball thing? The fortune teller sports a scarf and enough eyeliner to pass as a raccoon.

“Sit. We don’t have all day.”