Page 1 of Blue Jean Summer

Chapter 1

Hayes

I sat sixteen hands high atop a bluff and watched mourners float across the valley like wraiths cloaked in black. The horse let out a low grunt of displeasure, shifting from hoof to hoof. He was just as agitated as I was.

The late-spring breeze was balmy but still cool as it flowed down from the Blue Ridge Mountains. My best black suit, crisp white dress shirt, silk tie, cuff links, and patent leather loafers weren’t proper riding attire, but that had never stopped me before.

Sweat beaded on the back of my neck as the midmorning sun seared the exposed skin, but I didn’t budge. At least I felt something.

Even if it’s a mild sunburn.

Elvis, the Appaloosa who had helped me flee, stood stalwart as we watched the long caravan of cars rumble down the lane like a snake slithering through the valley.

Vibrations rippled through my chest as my phone buzzed. I laid the reins across the pommel and pulled my phone from the inside pocket of my suit jacket.

Hallie Campbell: The minister is looking for you.

Hallie knew I’d be present for the funeral when I had to be, and not a second sooner. Then I glanced at the time and realized that second was now.

I tucked my phone back into my suit jacket and eyed the old dirt path that led up from the valley and snaked around to the kissing rock, wondering just how uncouth it would be to watch the funeral proceedings from the ledge. Granddad wouldn’t mind, but the spectators would.

Elvis picked up on the shift in my energy and the tension I had on the reins. He adjusted his footing on the path, ready to take me higher up the mountain.

If I didn’t have to bury my granddad in a few minutes, I would have continued up the low incline as far as the trail would take me. Each pounding hoof slamming into the earth would have taken me farther and farther away as I tried to outrun the grief.

I didn’t truly want to be alone—now or in the greater, more existential sense—but losing people again and again hurt far too much.

Being alone meant I wouldn’t have to worry about finding a diamond ring and a breakup note on the kitchen counter, or picking out caskets.

I peeled my eyes away from the valley and stared up at the sweeping tree line that was more green than blue. Things always looked different when you were in the thick of it. In the distance, the forest slowly morphed from emerald to cobalt.

My phone buzzed again, but instead of pulling it out to see another reminder from Hallie, I tapped Elvis with my heels and squeezed my thighs around the saddle as he began to lumber down into the valley.

The moment the dirt path turned to grassy plains, Elvis took off like a bullet out of a gun. Crisp mountain air flooded into my lungs as we galloped across the expanse of the estate.

I imagined this was the rush that NASCAR drivers felt when they were rounding banked turns at two hundred miles per hour. But rather than making me fly, the hit of adrenaline was the only thing grounding me to reality. We zipped past the racetrack, where champion horses practiced day in and day out, and skirted around the hot-walker.

The training facilities were empty today. Rather than practicing, the teams of coaches, jockeys, and owners would be up in the rose garden to pay their respects.

I tugged on the reins, slowing Elvis to a canter, then a trot, as I steered him into the paddock and dismounted. I didn’t bother detacking him. The moment the funeral was over, I’d be back in the saddle, heading for the hills.

I felt as much like a ghost as the rest of the Wilders who had come before me.

As I walked up to the estate house, my loafers squished through the soft grass that had soaked up yesterday’s rain. I kept my head low as I cut across the field, avoiding the white pebble path that led to the rose garden, and dipped into the house.

Servers and chefs jockeyed for position as they squeezed in and out of the kitchen door to unload a box truck with crates of dishes and hot boxes.

In the midst of the chaos, a head of copper hair whirled around and looked me up and down. “I’d ask where you’ve been, but I think I have a pretty good idea.” Hallie handed me a lint roller. “Minister’s waiting. Lewis is already out there.”

I put on the expression I had used for days like this since I was a child and ran the roller over my pants to catch all the black and white hairs that Elvis had left behind.

Hallie was waiting with an open palm to take the roller. “What do you need?”

I looked through the glass patio doors where bodies had begun to fill the neat lines of chairs. “For today to be over.”

For a moment, Hallie’s usual strength slipped, and I saw her grief too. “Only a few more hours and then it’ll be quiet again.”

That’s what I was counting on.