Page 34 of Savage Heart

“Oh, one of the kids was just asking, and I didn’t know,” she says.

I do a few chores that have to be done and find Charlie by the cabins.

Her shoulders droop. “Oh thank goodness. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“What’s up?”

“I have a huge, huge favor.” She presses her hands together. “Two, actually.”

“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”

“Because you’re probably not, but I need you to do it anyway,” she says, smiling wide.

“Spill it.”

“Well, I’m reminding you, Grady, and Cameron to keep an eye on Uncle Clive. If possible, keep him out of the liquor, and if that’s not an option, keep him away from the kids.”

“We’ve already got a plan in place for that, but I’ll make sure it’s being enforced.”

“Thank you. Also . . . Braxton is sick and can’t be the chaperone in cabin twelve.” She looks at me expectantly.

“And?”

“And I need you to cover for him this week.”

“Fuck, Charlotte—you think I’ve got the time and energy to do that?”

“Uh-oh, he’s cursing and calling me by my full name.” She giggles. She taps my chest with her clipboard. “I have faith in you, and also, everyone else is already covering a cabin, so . . .” She lifts an eyebrow. “You don’t get to skate by. Please and thank you.”

I groan. “Why do we have to do this thing again?”

“Because it makes the kids who come here from all over the world happy and teaches them so much about the land, the animals, and how to respect their food sources?”

“Whatever,” I mumble. “I’m already over it.”

“Better turn that attitude around. We’re only on the first day!” she calls behind me.

“Next year, hire more employees,” I say without turning around.

“On it. But you’ll do it this week . . . and possibly next if Braxton doesn’t get well, right?”

I lift my hand in a wave and then lower all the fingers but the middle one. “Yes.”

I hear her laughing as I walk away.

There are at least thirty extra people working during the summer camp. Instead of eating in the big house, all of us—family, campers, and staff—eat in the round barn we use for special events. I look for Jennifer in the barn kitchen and then ride up to the big house to see if she’s in that one. When I don’t find her there either, I go knock on her door. She lives in the same house she did with Manny and the boys and hasn’t changed a thing since they lived here together.

She opens the door and just stands there.

“I should’ve told you,” I say quietly. “I should’ve prepared you better. About Iris. About Linc being here this summer.”

Her shoulders lift on a sharp inhale, then drop just as fast.

“Prepared me how?” she asks. Her voice is controlled, but it’s brittle at the edges. “You think there’s a version of this where I say, ‘Oh, sure, Maverick, that sounds fine. Let’s bring the girl who killed my son onto the ranch like it’s nothing’?”

Her eyes are red but dry. That’s worse somehow.

“You don’t get to soften it,” she says. “Not for me.”