Sharon Sala - Wild Hearts

Trey resented the brush-off.

“I’ll be calling whether there’s anything new or not. You’re not going through this by yourself. I’ve known you my whole life, and regardless of how we parted company, that history gives me the right to say this. Understand?”

Her vision blurred all over again, but she refused to cry.

“I hear you. I’m going home.”

He frowned. “I’ll call you before I go to bed tonight, so if you don’t answer the damn phone, you can expect me on your doorstep to find out why.”

She left the office without looking back.

He shut the door behind her without watching her leave.

Even in the midst of sadness, the spark between them was still there, and it sucked.

* * *

Dallas drove home with a knot in her belly, and she wasn’t entirely sure it was completely to do with her father’s death. Seeing Trey again... Damn that man. She’d been in love with him for so long that when they’d finally broken up, it had taken her over a year to realize it was final. He wanted nothing to do with city life, and she couldn’t put farm life behind her fast enough. Every time she’d come home to visit, she’d made a point of avoiding him. Most times she’d been successful. But this time it wasn’t going to work that way.

By the time she turned off the blacktop and headed toward the house, she was shaking. This was going to be a nightmare. All she had to do was remember that nightmares eventually come to an end.

Rocks crunched beneath the tires as she drove through the tunnel of trees, and when she drove out, she was home. As luck would have it, the first thing she saw was yellow crime-scene tape flapping in the wind down at the barn.

“God help me,” she whispered, as she parked in her usual spot by the front gate.

It was habit that made her look up toward the porch. She half expected to see her father coming out the front door with that big smile on his face. When she got out, the utter silence made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She could see the chickens, but they weren’t making a sound, and the cows were nowhere in sight. It was as if they, too, knew he was gone.

“One thing at a time,” she muttered, then took a deep breath, got her suitcase out of the trunk and headed for the house.

She had her key out, ready to go inside, but when she realized the place was unlocked, her heart skipped a beat. She pushed the door inward and then stood on the threshold, looking and listening for something out of place.

The hall clock was still ticking, and the living room looked like her dad had just stepped away and would be back any second.

The way she figured it, she had two choices. She could stomp her way in and maybe be okay, or she could call Trey and ask him if the door was unlocked when they left. It was too soon to subject herself to his presence again, so she opted for stomping.

She slammed the door behind her as she entered and began tromping loudly through the house, checking every room, under every bed and in every closet, then made a quick check of the basement before she was satisfied she was alone.

She locked the front and back doors, and then paused in the central hallway, trying to think if there was something she’d missed, but the house was so quiet it was unnerving.

“Daddy, if you can hear me, I need an answer. You know me. I’m not leaving this place until I get it.”

When the hall clock began to strike the hour, she jumped. It was already six o’clock, past time to do chores. She hurried into her bedroom and dug out work clothes from the stash she kept there, and then changed. On the way through the kitchen she noticed the cold coffee still in the pot, poured it out and started a fresh pot brewing before she went through the utility room and out the back door.

The wind was moving the cane-back rockers. If she was of a mind to go there, she could imagine her parents sitting on the porch, watching the storm she could see was approaching. But she’d already told Trey she didn’t believe in ghosts, and the chairs were as empty as she felt. However, the chickens had heard the squeaky hinges on the back door, and were fussing and clucking and looking toward the house.

“I see you, and I’m coming,” she said, and jumped off the back porch.

The quickest way to get the chickens to go in was to feed and water them in the coop. While they were eating, she gathered the eggs and shut the hens up safely for the night. She sat the egg basket down to fasten the gate and then paused outside the chicken house, staring toward the barn. The yellow tape was still flapping in the breeze, reminding her of the horror that had happened beyond it. There was no getting out of taking that walk. She picked up the eggs and started down the path as she had countless times before.

The wind was rising, making the tape pop.

Flap, flap, flap.

She looked up at the gathering clouds. It was going to rain. She hastened her steps, anxious to finish this and get back inside before the storm hit, but the tape was like a guard dog, warning her, blocking her path.

A big gray heron suddenly lifted off from the pond out behind the barn. It knew the storm was coming, too.

Flap, flap, flap.

Now the tape was telling her, Hurry, hurry, hurry .

She couldn’t run with a basket full of eggs.

Flap, flap, flap.

This is the place. Come see, come see.

“Shut up,” Dallas said aloud, wondering what her dad had been thinking this morning when he’d walked this way. What had he been planning to do? Who was lurking in the shadows when he’d walked into the barn?

Flap, flap, flap.

“I said I’m not afraid of ghosts.”

Flap, flap, flap.

“I’m not afraid of you!” she screamed, but her vision was blurring, and the smell of imminent rain was in the air.

She stared at the tape for a few seconds more, then set the basket down and started running. She broke through the tape like the winner at the finish line, then turned on one heel and began gathering it up hand over fist, crying and cursing at the top of her voice until it was in her arms and spilling down around her ankles. She carried it to the burn barrel where they burned the household trash, and threw it inside. Considering her blurred vision and the state of her emotions, it was like looking into a pit of yellow snakes. She wanted to burn it—to watch it melt and take the pain of her loss with it, but she didn’t have anything to start the fire, and it was too windy to be burning anything anyway. She dropped her head and went back for the eggs.

Stepping into the barn moments later gave her a momentary feeling of shelter, and then she hurried into the egg room, where she set the eggs in the cooler. She would clean and sort them tomorrow, when there was more time.

The wind was rattling something on the outside of the barn as she walked back out into the breezeway. She paused, giving all the familiar objects a careful inspection. Nothing seemed to be missing—except her dad.

Don’t look up. Don’t look up.

She heard the voices, but she had to face the fear to get past it, so she tilted her head back, distraught but defiant.

Immediately her eye was drawn to the raw place on the fourth rafter down, where the rope had cleaned the grime of a hundred plus years from the wood, and in that moment the weight of grief was too much. Trey had told her she didn’t need to see the body, but in her mind’s eye she already had.

She threw back her head and screamed until she ran out of breath, and then dropped to her knees and wept until she was choking.

The rain hit hard, splattering the first drops onto the hard dry ground, but the dust soon turned to mud. It wasn’t until the wind began to blow rain in where she was kneeling that she came to herself enough to get up. If nothing else, she had to get back to the house to take Trey’s call or he would come looking for her. She couldn’t be vulnerable around him. It was too dangerous for her sanity.