River Wild Read online

  “I-I …” I stammer. I haven’t stammered in so long. “I-I … can’t—”

  “Talk to me,” she snaps, her voice so harsh that it brings me to attention.

  The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “It was me. I-I shot h-him.”

  Her face looks frozen. Her eyes are searching over my face like she’s looking for something.

  “Oh dear God,” she whispers. Her old hands press to her face. She breathes in and out. Lowers her hands to her sides. “What happened?”

  “I-I … c-can’t …”

  “Why did you shoot him? I don’t understand. River, why would you do that? Answer me!”

  She moves toward me in a quick movement, grabbing for my arm, and I stumble back.

  “Don’t touch me!” I cry.

  She freezes. She’s staring at me. Then, her expression crumbles. “Oh no. Oh God, no. River … did he … did he hurt you?”

  “I c-can’t. M-Mama said …”

  “Oh God, River. I’m so sorry. But it’s going to be okay now.”

  No, it’s not. It’s never going to be okay again.

  “What did your mama tell you to do?”

  I swallow. “To not tell anyone what really happened that day.” To not tell anyone what he did to me.

  “People won’t understand, River. They’ll treat you differently.”

  “And you haven’t told anyone other than me?”

  I shake my head.

  “Okay. You don’t speak this to another soul, you understand? You keep that promise to your mama. If you need to talk to someone, you talk to me.”

  I nod my head.

  She reaches out to touch me but stops and holds her hands together in front of her. “No one’s ever going to hurt you again, River. I swear to you.”

  I nod my head again.

  “Do you have homework to do?” she suddenly asks me.

  “No,” I tell her.

  “Good. We are going to carry on like everything is normal because, sometimes, that’s the only way to get through things. And normality would mean punishment for getting into a fight at school.”

  “So, am I grounded?” Not that it would matter. It’s not like I go anywhere, except to school.

  She gives me a look, like she’s just read the words in my mind.

  “No, your punishment is to help me out in my workshop.”

  “Making that glass crap?”

  My grandma does glassblowing. She has a workshop out back. She makes vases and shit and sells it to people.

  She gives me a disapproving look. “Don’t use that word. And it’s not crap. It’s art. And you, River, have way too much anger inside you. You need to learn how to handle that anger of yours, channel it, and the best way to do that is to work with something that’s easily breakable.”

  Carrie

  I’m sitting on my back porch on one of the Adirondack chairs I found for sale online for an absolute bargain. The two chairs came with a small table, which is where my achy feet are currently resting. The seller delivered them for free, which was a big help, as I still haven’t invested in a car yet. So, I’m still walking everywhere. Honestly, I quite enjoy it, especially the walk to the diner every morning—where I’ve now officially been working for two weeks.

  I love it.

  The atmosphere in the diner is great.

  Sadie is a brilliant boss, and she’s also becoming a friend, I think. And Guy, who is the cook, seems like a nice person. I’ve only met one of the other waitresses, Shelley, as we have a brief shift crossover. She’s a single mom, and she works when her kids are in school. She seems nice, too.

  Folks in this town have been really welcoming and friendly. I’m enjoying meeting new people. It’s wonderful, just being able to chat with them while I serve them without fear of retribution.

  Not that I get a lot of time to stand around and chat with the customers because the diner is plenty busy from the moment the door opens. It’s popular with locals and tourists.

  I learned pretty quickly that Canyon Lake is a tourist town. People like to come here for the lake, those who enjoy water sports, and the warm weather.

  I know the place is pretty as heck, but the continuing warmth is a nightmare for a heat-hating pregnant gal like myself.

  It’s supposed to be butt-freezing cold at this time of year. But, of course, it’s not. I’m totally blaming global warming.

  I mean, surely Texas must get cold at some point. Right?

  I have at times questioned whether I made the right call in moving to Texas, but then I think about Neil and how this is the last place he’d think to look for me, and I know I did the right thing.

  Even if it is eleven thirty and I’m as hot as balls, hence why I’m sitting outside with an iced tea, trying to cool down.

  The electric fan I got for my room is doing nothing. I even tried taking a cool bath earlier. It worked just fine while I was in it. The moment I got out, I was uncomfortably warm again.

  I cannot wait until I’ve earned enough money to afford to have air-conditioning fitted.

  Leaning forward, I grab my iced tea from the table and take a sip, and then my eyes go straight back to the book I’m currently reading.

  Sadie loaned it to me. She said it was amazing and that I had to read it, and she’s not wrong. It’s really good. It’s about a tortured rock star and the girl he’s in love with. Le sigh. If only real life were like books.

  If it were, then I wouldn’t be sitting here, pregnant and alone, on the run from an abusive husband.

  I like to think there is real love out there.

  Not for me though. This is the hand I was dealt. And I’m happy now. I have a baby on the way, and I couldn’t be more excited about it.

  I saw Dr. Mathers last week. He really is a great doctor, like Sadie said he was.

  I had my first ever ultrasound while I was there, which was beyond anything I could’ve imagined. Seeing my baby on-screen brought emotions to my chest I hadn’t even known I could feel. The baby doesn’t look like a baby yet and is still only the size of a blueberry. That’s what the website I’m following says; it charts the baby’s weekly growth in comparison to fruit. But I’d never felt love and an overwhelming urge to protect like I felt in that moment, staring at the fuzzy black-and-white screen. Dr. Mathers gave me a printout of the ultrasound. It’s taking pride of place on the mantel above the fireplace in the living room.

  He also told me that I was six weeks pregnant, meaning I’m seven weeks now. My due date is the seventeenth of July, next year. And I cannot wait to meet my baby. Dr. Mathers said I could find out the gender of my baby at my next ultrasound if I would like. I’m not sure yet though. I do like the idea of knowing, so I can get organized. But I also like the idea of a surprise.

  The sensor light comes on in my next-door neighbor’s garden, catching my eye.

  Guy from work told me my grumpy asshole neighbor is called River Wild.

  Not that I was asking Guy about him. It was purely just happenstance. I was sitting at the counter on my first day with Sadie, and she was filling in my employee form as I provided her with the details, which honestly made me feel twitchy and kind of awful for having to lie to her about my name and date of birth.

  But, anyway, I just recited my address to her, and Guy, who was standing nearby at the time, said, “Oh, you live next door to River.”

  And I confusedly said, “River?”

  And Guy said, “Yeah, River Wild. Your new neighbor. Hot as Hades. Crazy as Kanye. And as mean as Regina.”

  And I said, “Regina?”

  And he said, “George.”

  So, I said, “Oh, right. Yeah, I’ve met him—River.” I didn’t elaborate that, the first time I’d met him, he’d ignored me, and the second time was after he’d run over my groceries with his big, stupid truck, once again being a jerk.

  Then, Guy said, “I went to school with him. The guy has serious—”

  And the conversation was cut off wh
en a timer went off in the kitchen, and Guy scooted off before finishing his sentence.

  And, even though I was dying to glean more information from Guy about River, I didn’t feel right in doing so. I don’t want people asking questions about me, so me being nosy about him would have felt wrong.

  I haven’t spoken to River since he ran over my stuff—if you could call it speaking; it’s more like him being a jerk to me. I have seen him a few times when he’s been in the garden. I even saw him in the supermarket one time, and he point-blank ignored me. But I don’t care. I don’t want to be his friend.

  I see movement over by his pool and wonder if it’s him.

  Lord, that pool.

  What I wouldn’t give to be able to jump in that cool water right now.

  I’d honestly jump straight in there, wearing the pajama tank and shorts I have on, and I wouldn’t care.

  But it isn’t River over by the pool. It appears to be a small animal.

  Too big to be a squirrel. But too small to be a bear.

  Are there any bears in Texas?

  God, I hope not.

  I can’t see from here what it is.

  I don’t know why I’m so bothered, to be honest.

  Letting curiosity get the better of me, I put my book down and get to my feet. I walk over to the railing to get a better look.

  Oh, it’s a dog.

  I didn’t know he had a dog.

  I’ve never heard one barking or seen one in his garden before.

  He probably keeps it cooped inside his gloomy house, the poor thing.

  I think it’s one of those shih tzu dogs. Cute. Looks a bit scruffy though.

  I can’t imagine grumpy River Wild with a cute little dog like that.

  Honestly, I can’t imagine him with any dog. Or any living, breathing thing, for that matter.

  The dog wanders over to the pool edge and starts drinking from it.

  “Oh, be careful, little dude. You don’t want to fall in,” I say, curling my fingers around the railing.

  Dogs can swim, right? And should it even be drinking from the pool? The chlorine could make it sick.

  River really shouldn’t be letting his dog wander about the garden like this when he’s got a pool. He should cover the pool or at least come outside with the dog while it does its thing.

  And maybe give it fresh water, so it doesn’t need to drink out of the pool.

  I see the dog edge closer to the pool, my heart rate picking up a little, and the yell comes out of my mouth at the exact same time the dog falls into the pool.

  “Oh no!”

  I watch for a few seconds … and the dog isn’t swimming.

  I thought all dogs could swim?

  Apparently not. Because this dog is struggling to keep its head above water.

  “Fudging heck! I’m coming, little dude! Hold on!” I move quickly on bare feet, running down my porch steps and onto the grass.

  I run across the garden, heading for the fence that separates our houses, right to the spot where I know there’s a gap in the fence.

  I saw the broken boards the other day when I was out here, digging up weeds.

  Grabbing the boards, I shove them aside and squeeze myself through the tight gap. “I’m almost there, little dude!” I yell to the sound of the panicked barks coming from the pool. “Hold on!”

  I race through River’s big garden, through a flower bed—sorry, flowers, but there’s a dog’s life at stake here—and straight for the pool.

  The poor dog is now in the middle of the pool, frantically trying to keep afloat.

  Almost there.

  A few seconds later, I reach the pool, and without another thought, I jump straight in.

  Cool water rushes me as I go under.

  Sweet Lord, that feels good.

  I surface and quickly swim over to the dog.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” I say in a calming voice as I reach out and take hold of the dog. Hugging it to my chest, I tread water. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

  The dog looks up at me with big doe eyes and then licks my face in thanks, I think.

  “Well, you are very welcome.” I laugh softly.

  “What the fuck are you doing in my pool?” a voice booms, startling me.

  Carrie

  My head snaps up to find my grumpy-ass neighbor standing at the pool edge, glaring down at me. Big, tattooed arms folded over his huge chest, a white T-shirt straining over his biceps, faded jeans on his legs.

  “And, with a”—he squints at the wet bundle in my arms—“fucking dog. What the hell are you doing in my pool with a dog?”

  “You mean, your dog,” I uncharacteristically snap as I start to swim, one-armed, toward him, keeping hold of the dog with my other arm. “That I just saved from drowning. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “I don’t have a fucking dog,” he snarls, bringing me to a stop close to the edge of the pool.

  Hellfire, he’s even bigger up close.

  “Do you have to curse so much?” I say to him.

  Those dark eyes glower down at me. “Yes, I fucking do.”

  Okay then.

  “So, this dog isn’t yours?”

  “Nope.” He lets the P pop.

  I look down at the little cutie in my arms. “Well, whose dog is it?” I ponder.

  “How the hell should I know?”

  Ignoring his grumpiness, I ask, “Do you think it’s a stray?”

  “Why don’t you ask me the more pertinent question?” His voice is a dark rumble, making my arms break out in goose bumps.

  I look up at him. “Which is?”

  “If I care. Which I don’t, if you haven’t already figured that out, Red.”

  Red?

  Oh, my hair.

  I roll my eyes. “How original,” I scoff. Then, I move close to the pool steps. I put the dog down on the poolside and haul myself out of the water. I’m dripping everywhere.

  And the dog has already moved and is now sniffing around River’s feet, which are bare.

  He has quite nice feet. Why I’m noticing that, I’ll never know.

  My eyes lift to see him scowling down at the dog, which gives me a chance to properly look at him for the first time.

  He towers over me. I’d say he’s about six-three at least. Way taller than me, and I stand at five-six. I still can’t pin an age on him, but if I had to guess, I’d say twenty-eight or twenty-nine. He’s better-looking closer up than I realized. I mean, I knew he was good-looking, but up close, he’s impossibly handsome.

  The kind of handsome that everyone notices. I can’t imagine any woman or man not finding him attractive with his wavy dark copper hair, sharp jaw covered in stubble, dark eyes overhung by frowning eyebrows, long, dark lashes, high cheekbones, and perfectly straight nose.

  He’s beautiful.

  Shame he’s a total douche-canoe.

  “Will you get this mutt the hell away from me?”

  He gives the dog a shove with his foot. It’s not a hard shove, but I still feel annoyed at him for pushing the dog away like that.

  “Hey! Don’t do that. You’ll hurt her.” I bend down, picking the dog up into my arms, holding it to my chest.

  He cocks his head to the side, dark eyes appraising, arms still folded over his chest. “If it’s not your dog, then how do you know it’s a she?”

  “Um … because she’s cute and sweet, obviously.”

  The dog starts to wriggle in my arms, forcing me to put her down.

  She immediately goes over to another flower bed where she cocks her leg up and has a pee.

  Huh. I guess she is a he.

  “And, now, your gender-confused dog is pissing on my flowers. Awesome,” he grumbles.

  I daren’t tell him that I trod over a bunch of his precious flowers back there.

  “Well, clearly, she’s a boy dog—I mean, he’s a boy dog!” I huff at him while I gather up my hair and wring out the excess water.

  I’m soaked through.
>
  My pajamas are plastered to my body, and … sweet Lord, I’m not wearing a bra!

  As the realization hits me, I snap my gaze up to find River’s eyes on me.

  And he’s not looking at my face.

  Nope. His eyes are firmly fixed on my bra-free chest. I fold my arms over my boobs and loudly clear my throat.

  He lifts his eyes to mine. All dark and moody.

  He doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed after being caught staring at my breasts.

  Jerk.

  “So … I guess I’ll be on my way.”

  “And the dog?” The guy wears a perpetual frown on his face, but he still manages to frown on top of his frown.

  Figure that one out.

  I look over at the dog, who is now cutely growling at the grass. Or whatever is on the grass that’s making him growl.

  I walk over and pick him up. The growling ceases immediately, and he snuggles into my neck, like he’s seeking comfort and contact.

  For some reason, a lump forms in my throat. Must be pregnancy hormones playing me up. “I’ll take him home with me and try to find out who he belongs to.”

  River gives a humorless laugh. “Trust me; that dog doesn’t have an owner anymore. No collar and tag. He’s skinny, and his fur is matted to hell. Someone got rid of him a while ago.”

  Now that I feel him in my arms, I register just how small he is, and I just thought his fur was matted up from the unexpected swim. But, now that River’s pointed it out, I can see this dog is all alone. And my heart breaks in this moment.

  I hold him a little tighter to me. “Why would anyone do that? Put a sweet, defenseless, little dog out onto the streets, all alone.”

  “Because people are selfish cunts.”

  I flinch at the harshness of his words.

  He’s staring at me. I look into his eyes. And what I see there surprises me.

  It surprises me because I know that look. I used to see it in my own eyes every time I could bear to look in the mirror. I still see it now.

  Like your soul is empty. Hollow.

  The anger and pain and hurt have swallowed you up completely, and there’s nothing left but emptiness.

  He’s felt pain. He knows what it’s like.

  He’s like me.