Page 2 of Wrangled
Family. What a joke.
“Still, it might make some folks around here uncomfortable, you marrying off your daughter before she’s even finished high school.”
I shake my head in shock. There is no way I’m getting married. Consequences be damned.
“They’ll get over it. I’m not expecting her to get married until her eighteenth birthday. But even if I wanted to marry her off tomorrow, it’s nobody’s fucking business. It’s legal in this state, a fact you’ll just have to remind them of. Besides, nobody really cares what Calliope gets up to as long as she does it far away from them.”
I wince at the truth in his words. I could hang myself from the rafters in the barn, and most people would be annoyed at my body for swinging in their way.
“I think they might have something to say if it affects her making her little lotions. As much as most people like to avoid her, they’re obsessed with what she makes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was putting crack in them or something.”
My father huffs, sounding irritated. “As I’m sure you remember, Joanie had the same gift. It runs in her family line. And when she has daughters, they’ll likely inherit it too. Of course, with me picking out her husband, it will be far easier for me to keep both Calliope and any future offspring in line.”
Neither of them says anything for a minute, and any hope I might have had about the sheriff finally having my back is diminished with his next words.
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
“Andy Dyer.”
I recoil as if he slapped me. Andy Dyer, my school bully? The asshole who made it his mission to make my life hell? Like heck did I want to have to deal with him at home too.
The sheriff makes a noise somewhere between surprise and laughter. “Andy Dyer. Austin’s brother?”
“You know another Andy Dyer?” my father grunts, sounding irritated.
The sheriff whistles. “Not sure Austin will go for it, regardless of how he feels about the boy. Not given their family’s caustic history with yours.”
“An engagement between the town’s most powerful families is inevitable. He’ll agree to it if he wants a percentage of this place. And that’s what tying our two families together will do, or at least that’s what he’ll assume. Thugs like him tend not to read the fine print on contracts, if the fucker can read at all. Besides, it will get Andy out of his hair and keep Calliope out of mine. It’s a win-win for everyone.”
“Not for Calliope. That kid has had it out for her for years.”
“Boys will be boys. Besides, when she’s his wife, he’ll be able to live out every little fantasy he wants. He’ll soon get bored and leave her to her own devices.”
For once, the sheriff has nothing to say. I squeeze the jar so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t break. I hope the sheriff has the dayhe fucking deserves over and over again. He’s the only person here who could get me out of this place, but all he does is turn a blind eye to everything.
“Besides, Andy is just a puppet. One who is easily controlled with the right incentive.”
“Andy is a lazy fuck, but he sure has a hard-on for Calliope. If he thinks he’ll get to have power over Calliope and get a share of this place, he’ll do it. It’s not like he needs to be faithful.” The sheriff laughs, which doesn’t surprise me. The man can’t keep his dick in his pants for two minutes.
“He probably already thinks this place is yours anyway, just like everyone else in town does.”
“And that’s the way it will stay.” I can hear the threat in my father’s voice, and I know the sheriff does too.
“None of my business. I don’t agree with women owning property anyway. It gives them ideas. I don’t want any of the feminist shit invading my town.”
“Only the Hart women can inherit this place. Hell, I had to take the Hart name when I married Joanie, that’s how fucking strict the rules are regarding this place. Keep your mouth shut about that and everything else I just told you, and we’ll be fine.”
“I’m hardly going to sit down with Calliope and tell her she owns the place now, am I? Even if I did, she’d think I was just fooling her. We both know she isn’t that bright.”
I back up quietly and head back outside, needing a minute to get my thoughts in order. The house seems to swell with sympathy beneath my palm as I lean against the wood. My mouth is dry as dirt, my palms slick with sweat as I try to get my head around what I just heard. This place is mine? There is no way my father would put it in my name. Heck, that conversation just proved that. So, my mother then? Or grandparents, perhaps? Both died before I was born, and from what I understand, this place has been in the family for generations.I just assumed it was my father’s line, not my mother’s. After all, there was a time when women weren’t allowed to have bank accounts, let alone own property.
I blow out a shaky breath, feeling off kilter, but I pull myself together, not wanting anyone to become suspicious. I open the door again, this time slamming it behind me so they can hear me coming. I wipe my expression clean and walk to the kitchen, where the sheriff is just getting to his feet. He walks over and takes the jar from me before tipping his hat.
“Thank you, Calliope. You be careful now, you hear me?”
I feel my lip curl up in disgust, so I dip my head to hide it. My father walks past me to see him out, elbowing me out of the way. I don’t stick around. Instead, I head up to my room and set about cleaning myself up. I strip out of my clothes and take a shower as my mind spins over everything I’ve just learned. The problem is that the information means nothing if I have no one around to enforce the rules.
With a sigh, I climb out and dry off before slipping into clean underwear and a long black dress. I pull my hair into a braid and take a look at my face where it’s swelling and red. It will be bruised by this time tomorrow. The bruises on the other side of my face haven’t even faded yet, and now I’ll be rocking a new set. How awesome. The split in my lip has stopped bleeding, but the gash in my eyebrow is still weeping. I might need a stitch or two. I could do it myself, of course, but every time people turn their backs on what’s happening to me, it makes me want to expose them to my reality. I don’t bother with any makeup. I’m not trying to hide what happened. My father has enough of a hold on this town that he could probably beat me in the middle of the town square, and he’d still get away with it. That’s why I like them all to see what happens to me. Hopefully, I can haunt them with the knowledge that they are not the good, god-fearing folk they claim to be. And honestly, it’s my anger at all of them thatkeeps my fear in check. Without it fueling me, I’d have climbed into a bath with a razor blade years ago.
