Page 37 of Up in Smoke (The Bunkhouse #3)

MESA

The sky holds its breath as thunder rolls in the distance, loud and mean.

The gray clouds have yet to break open, but the wind is changing.

I stand, barefoot and leaning against the jamb of my open back door, inhaling the earthy sweetness of my garden layered with the fresh, electric scent of looming moisture.

I’m not scared of a little rain and thunder. But having lived in the south my whole life, I know storms never show up without taking something. There’s no sleeping soundly on an evening like this.

Gusts of sharp wind pluck fragile petals from their stems, curling through the dense blooms in my garden like thieves.

I’m tempted to take down the wind chimes Tripp hung above the fairy garden that we dedicated to his mom.

The longer the storm builds, the more they clatter against one another.

The sound is hollow and twisted—like a haunting lullaby played in a minor key.

The stirred-up scent of dirt, petals, and herbs is typically calming for me. Tonight, it’s anything but, and it’s had me on edge since the sun went down.

A rumble, followed by an intense crack in the sky, closer this time, is what finally makes me step inside my cottage and close the door. The restless feeling in my bones sticks around even under the still protection of my home.

After pouring a steaming cup of tea and finding my softest blanket, I curl up at the end of the couch. The lamp in the corner of the room flickers once. I pick my phone up from the side table to call Tripp, but it goes unanswered. Again. We haven’t spoken since early last night.

I’m trying to let him enjoy going out with his friends without being needy, so after a few swipes and a click, I dial Mom instead.

“That was a rough one,” she says without a formal greeting. “Headed your way, looks like.”

“It’s definitely on its way. If the storm is already out of the city though, it won’t last long here.”

“I guess you made it home alright, then?”

I sigh and turn sideways to lean my back against the couch’s armrest. “Yeah, I did. The drive’s not as bad as I remember it as a kid. It’s pretty and peaceful.”

“I’m surprised you remember the drives,” she laughs. “You usually slept the whole time.”

I snicker and try to let the memories take shape in my mind. My nana lived here during my childhood. I was about to go to college when she moved to a retirement community in the city, where she could get the part-time medical assistance that she needed.

She tried to gift me this place, but I was stubborn in my young age and wanted to earn it. It wasn’t until I sold my app and could afford to buy it from her that I made it my home.

I used to lie face down on the trampoline in the backyard.

Nana would sing in the cottage kitchen with every window wide open in the early fall.

My nose, cheeks, and forehead would smush against the warm, black surface.

Staring through the tiny diamond-shaped holes was a silly habit, but I liked the feel of the sun on my back as I tried to spot the little fairy Mom would hide in the grass below.

I bought every detail of the story she’d tell me—fairies escape your garden if your heart doesn’t make them feel welcome. You must be kind and gentle, yet brave and strong. Protect the nature around you and the fairies will sense your respect.

Any time I visited Nana’s cottage and ran straight to the backyard, I’d fuss over any stray weeds or old blooms that needed deadheading. My little legs would crouch by the fairy garden to groom and nurture it—water can in hand, bandana in my hair, and red dirt covering the bottoms of my feet.

While rolling through the memories, my eyes land on the laptop and piles of paper on the coffee table.

The work we’ve put in on the app update was a monster to tackle, but we’ve stayed on schedule and will have a finished product soon.

I smile, realizing I turned my little garden obsession into something good in this world.

“I’m glad you came for a visit when you did. We miss you, sunshine.”

“Me too. Life here has been . . . amazing in some ways. Overwhelming in others. Funny how I left the city to get away for the same reason.”

The wind howls, making the mature tree on the side of the cottage rap its branches against the window. Rain falls heavily on the roof now too, and I pull at the front of my sweater to bring it closer to my chin.

“Yes, I know,” she says with a soft laugh. “Feeling everything so deeply will make that true wherever you go. Stick it out. You’re where you belong.”

She’s right. I do belong here, and I’d never dream of arguing otherwise. Even as a wild, young girl with thick, red braids and grass-stained knees, I knew my soul was embedded in this place. I never truly understood the reason behind it, but I felt it just the same. Still do.

“I will. You don’t have to worry about that.

Just my spontaneous visits when I’m about to crash out,” I joke.

After taking a cleansing breath, I lean into the honesty that always feels so easy in conversations with my mom.

“I settled here for myself , and I’m going to stay for the same reason.

Drifting around and setting goals based on who’s hurt me wasn’t a path I wanted to stay on. ”

I can’t see her, but I know she’s beaming. “God, I love it when you remember who the fuck you are.”

My voice switches to mimic Nana’s sassy cadence. “ You come from a long line of powerful women, Mesa Kate Riley. Never break the pattern .”

Mom cracks up with a nostalgic sigh. “And we never forgot it, did we? My grandma was the same way—a cussing, hard-nosed lady till the day she took her last breath. It’s in you too, whether you like it or not.”

Flashes of their passed-on genes have certainly shown up in me recently. I’d do well to harness it more often. My soft side remains a mystery.

“I guess I got some of the weakness from the other side,” I point out quietly.

“That old vermin didn’t give you a thing. Well, maybe the gap between your front teeth. It was so dang cute, and I was sad when you grew into it and it went away as you got older.”

“Abandonment and buck teeth,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Killer combo.”

The entire cottage shakes under the boom of thunder as if I summoned it. Mom’s been open about my dad from day one and never shies away from the conversations we’ve had about him not sticking around. It’s me who gets uncomfortable if things shift to the topic.

“He was a complete mess.” Rather than sounding shaky in her admission, her words brim with polarizing clarity. “But he gave me unbreakable survival instincts. Like I always say—men have nothing on those of us who link arms with the women in our family and forge on.”

That very notion is what steered my instincts to be with her and Nana on her birthday today. It’s always stuck with me, but I don’t live and die by the concept of assuming all men will crush you if you give them the chance.

Not since meeting someone who challenges that logic.

“I’m not pressuring you to go all out with a graphic t-shirt that says men be damned in bold letters,” she adds, sensing my conflicted silence.

“I’m just saying that your dad was one of many rogue offenders in this world who chose to leave their children.

Undeserving men like him might keep doing their best to drag you down.

Leaning on the strong women in your family is the reliable foundation that will break your fall. ”

“Mmm.” I scrunch my nose and shake my head like she’s preaching at a pulpit. “Should I raise my fist and harass male politicians in their comment sections for the rest of the night now?”

“If the storm keeps you up, then it’d be a good use of your time,” she says with an amused laugh. “Hanging out with your mom on the phone while you prepare to get blown away is a good option, too.”

I smile. “The best option.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to challenge our usually skeptical take on the male species as a whole and talk to her about Tripp.

We broached the subject a few times this morning while sitting on the front porch in rocking chairs at her house.

My inclination to remain casual about it was intense, though.

She’d be supportive. After meeting him at the game almost three months ago, she’s never had anything but praise for the guy. Not surprising, considering how innately likable and personable he is.

Still, I skirted around how strong my feelings for him were while giving her and Nana surface-level updates. There’s a figurative rope attached to my body, keeping me pulled back in the cautious safe zone.

“I’m not going to go to bed if there’s anything else on your mind tonight, sunshine.”

My lips part on a teetering confession of woes, but the phone beeps against my ear.

I lift the screen away to see a caller ID I don’t recognize—city zip code.

At this time of night, it’s either the weather updates I stupidly subscribed to telling me what I already know is happening in my area or something time sensitive.

Having not heard back from Tripp, my heart jumps.

“That’s okay, Mom. We can dive into that another night.”

“Okay,” she answers softly. “Get some sleep and catch all those dreams in your head.”

I accept the incoming call after exchanging goodbyes with Mom. There’s a bustle of professional-sounding voices in the background before I speak.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is McKenzie Scott, EMS, and I’m calling for Mesa.”

My head turns as if I’ll see something in the room that will clue me in on what getting a call like this in the middle of the night might mean. I sit up straight and walk to the kitchen with my head down.

“This is she. What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“I’m calling because there’s been a single vehicle accident east of Westridge about thirty miles. Both individuals involved are fully conscious and receiving a routine examination right now,” she explains with a soothing, even tone to her voice.