Wild Card (North Ridge #1)

It takes me a moment to clear my throat, to find the words. “What does this have to do with luck?”

“It does or it doesn’t,” he says after watching me for a moment. “But luck is something we latch onto because we believe in hope. And hope exists because we believe in something better.” He pauses. “The fault of man is that we never live long enough to be the person we want to be.” He looks at me. “Who do you want to be, Shane? The man who makes wishes on broken bones? Or the man who makes things happen?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say quietly. He’s talked circles around me.

“You do,” he says with a dry laugh. “Oh, of course you do, boy. You always know what everyone means. Nothing slips past you, even when you want it to. I know what you and Rachel had was special, is special. And I’ve seen special. I’ve seen it with your father and mother. I’ve lived it between me and Anne. Cynics might tell you that young love isn’t real love, but when love is real, it’s real, and time and age don’t have a damn thing to do with it.”

“Rachel and I broke up a long time ago,” I remind him.

“And now she’s living next door to you.”

“Temporarily.”

“The amount of time doesn’t matter. What matters is she’s here. And whatever you both had, it was never settled. With any luck, you’ll finally settle it. I know that you’ve been dealing with demons your whole life, Shane. I see them on you, trailing like shadows. I know it makes you think you’re not worthy of love. But you are. And the minute you believe it, the minute things will change. You trust me, don’t you?”

I give him a quick smile as an answer. I had a feeling today’s ride wouldn’t be like the others.

But after we ride down the slope toward the herd and the dogs gather them up with ease, driving them home, the red sun at our backs, I see the ravens again.

Omens of luck.

I’m a man who wishes on broken bones.

I’m a man who has a second chance to make things right.





6





Rachel





I stare at the three dots on my phone’s messaging system. I swear, this feature was invented for torture purposes, so the person on the other end gets all the time in the world to wonder what the other is saying.

And just like before, the dots disappear and I’m left in suspense. I squeeze the phone in my hand like a stress-reliever ball, taking a deep breath.

Today is moving day, and as if that’s not stressful enough, I’m trying to talk to Samuel and my boss at the same time, and both of them keep typing their messages then erasing them.

“They’ll be here any minute,” my mother yells from the kitchen. “Are you done in there? Stomach problems?”

I’ve locked myself in the bathroom because it’s the only place I’ve been able to get any privacy. I’ve asked my boss if it’s okay that I stay a bit longer on account of my mother—I know she’s going to be in good hands living at the Nelson’s but I’m not leaving her anytime soon—and he has yet to reply.

I did the same with Samuel, and at first I got a Sure in response, which, I have to admit, didn’t sit well with me. Then I texted back, Are you really okay with it? I might be gone for another two or three weeks, at least until my mother has her surgery.

And now, those three flashing dots.

Finally, his text pops up.

Do what you gotta do.

That’s it.

I text back: I miss you.

Three flashing dots.

Fucking hell.

Then my boss, Ed, answers: Ideally, this isn’t the best situation and you’re going to be out of vacation pay within a week. But I understand you have to be there.

Ugh. I’ve been working my way up at Campbell and Brown for two years now, lucky enough to score a job as receptionist straight out of university, and I’ve sacrificed my vacations out of the sheer fear that someone would swoop in and take over my job. That’s pretty much what it’s like in advertising; it’s as cutthroat as people make it out to be, and I think it’s taken a few years off my life.

I don’t want to ask how Pete is handling my account because Pete is a go-getter who has always been clamoring for my job and he’s probably going above and beyond. Not that I haven’t, but when you’ve been busting your ass for two years with no vacations and late nights and as much overtime as you can handle, you can’t keep giving one hundred and ten percent.

“Rachel,” my mother says again, and I sigh, checking my phone before slipping it into the pocket of my jean shorts. No three dots from Samuel, no reply. Whatever his response was, which should have been, I miss you too, has been erased.

I have to admit, that stings.

I step out of the bathroom. My mom is standing in the middle of the living room, looking especially small with all the boxes piled high around her. She gives me a tepid smile, and I realize that she looks close to crying. My mother never cried, not even when I left North Ridge, so to see her so vulnerable like this really hits me hard.

"It's going to be okay, Mom," I tell her softly, walking toward her like I'm approaching a wild animal. It reminds me of the time Shane and I found an injured baby badger in the woods and took it in. It took a few weeks until the little guy's leg healed, but Shane doted on that thing around the clock.

I wonder if that's how my mother will emerge from all of this. When she beats the cancer—which she will—and gets back on her feet with the help of Hank and Dick, will she come out of Ravenswood Ranch stronger than ever? I hope so. My mother was often harsh, so strong and determined, and while I like having her soft, it's this perpetual sadness that she carries with her that I can't deal with. I just want to erase it.

As if she can feel my pity, she straightens up, trying to be tough. "I know it will be okay. Moving is just such a pain in the ass."

"You must have liked this place," I say, gesturing to it. She had a lot of photos, knickknacks and random things cluttering up every shelf and windowsill, a sign that she had made it her home as much as she could. Though I wasn't here when my father went to jail, I know that it would have been hard on her to sell the house and move in here, to one of the few apartment buildings in town. But at least it was a fresh start.

"It's a dump and you know it," she says to me, and when I meet her eyes, she smirks.

There's a knock at the door, and I hold my breath as I go to open it. Hank had said someone would come by to help us with the boxes and I'm really hoping that he knows better than to send Shane.

When I open it, I break into a smile. It's Maverick.

"Rachel," he says in his deep voice, looking me up and down, his grin growing wider. "I can hardly believe it. Come here."

Maverick leans over and pulls me into a big bear hug.