CHAPTER 1
Megan
The peacock shrieks as it barrels toward me. Its luscious blue feathers are fanned out in full display. I’m not sure if this bird is attracted to the white feathers on the wedding dress I’m wearing or plotting revenge for the poor white peacock who lost them. Whatever the reason for this attack, I start running. I have no desire to die in a peacock attack.
The magnificent blue feathers shift from being fanned out and up to being partially fanned out behind the bird, which probably makes it more aerodynamic. Even though I am racing away, the bird is closing the distance. Why is it so fast? And why hasn’t anyone from the crew heard the commotion? The creatures are supposed to be contained when we aren’t shooting a scene.
I run into a group of trees, hoping, praying that this angry fowl gives up the chase. My heel lands in soft dirt, causing my ankle to twist. I lose my balance and grasp at branches, trying not to fall down the incline. All my attempts to maintain my footing fail, and now it’s my turn to shriek.
The peacock is shockingly quiet.
I tumble down the embankment and land in a bush only two feet from a river. Not an idyllic bubbling stream, no. This is a whole dang river that’s flowing rapidly. The rain last night probably has something to do with that. I’m thankful I didn’t land in the water. Thanks to the bush and its leaves and branches, the impact didn’t cause any injury, but I don’t even want to see the damage to this designer wedding gown. The river would’ve made it far worse. As it is, reimbursing for the damaged dress might eat up all the money I’m making on this movie.
Taking great care, I extricate myself from the bush, desperately trying not to tear any more of the fabric and lace. Or destroy any of the white peacock feathers that got me into this mess.
I’ve just gotten free of the bush when the peacock shrieks again. I glance up as that vicious monster launches down the embankment, wings flapping. Why does it have it in for me?
Terrified of this insane creature, I do the one thing I know will get me away from this foul bird. I jump into the river. The dress will be completely ruined, but the better news is, I’m alive. For now.
The undercurrent is stronger than I expected. But I fight the water, trying to get to the shore. When a log floats by, I grab it, which gives me a moment to catch my breath without the risk of sinking into the river. The log makes it easier to keep my head above water. It takes a while, but I finally make it to shore. Distance isn’t easily measured when fighting a current and trying to stay alive. And I can’t see the spot where I fell into the river. I’m now on the opposite side from where I fell in. However, there is no sign of the peacock. That’s good news.
After dragging myself out of the water, I hike up the front of my strapless dress. Fortunately, there was no one around to witness my wardrobe malfunction. Unfortunately, I’m all alone out here in the middle of the Texas Hill Country, and I have no clue how to get back to the set or even where I am.
I’m lost in rural Texas. And it’s not like I have my phone.
This is bad. Very, very bad.
Tears stream down my cheeks, which I feel is a fairly normal reaction after being attacked by a bird, falling off a cliff, and being washed down a river. But crying will not save me.
I pull in a deep breath and take in my surroundings. I hear a rumbling sound. An engine. There must be a road not too far ahead. So I start walking. Because of the weight of the soggy wedding dress, it’s definitely more like trudging. The heels don’t help either. But I’m thankful these strappy shoes stayed on my feet because walking on this ground would hurt.
With the river at my back, I keep trudging toward what I hope is a road. But I haven’t heard an engine in a while. And then right on cue, I hear one again. It sounds exactly like the last time, except closer. I hurry my pace, desperate to find someone.
The engine sound fades, and I push through a group of junipers. My heart sinks when I see the other side. There is no road. Just a barbed-wired fence with more of this sun-bleached landscape beyond it. And a dust cloud, indicating that someone drove away from here very recently.
The tears start flowing again. Standing at the fence line, I try to decide what to do. I have three options: go back the way I came, go through this fence and continue in the same direction, or follow the fence line in hopes that it’ll take me to a house or a road or something. I decide to walk along the fence line. After a couple of steps, I stop dead in my tracks, sure that I’m hallucinating. There is a stainless-steel water bottle on the other side of the fence. I blink, thinking it’ll be gone when I open my eyes, but no. There really is a water bottle on the ground. I reach through the fence and pick it up. After a quick shake, I unscrew the lid. I’m drinking water that someone else has been sipping on, which is gross. But compared to dying, it’s not that bad. I force myself to ration the water. I don’t know how long until I’ll get more.
With my water bottle in hand, I start walking again. In my mind, all these ranches touch a road somewhere. I’m just hoping it’s at the end of this fence line.
After maybe a mile or more, a road comes into view. The only thing separating me from a possible rescue is a barbed-wire fence. Using the layers of delicate fabric as a barrier between my skin and the sharp points, I use the water bottle to hold the wires apart while I climb through. The road stretches out in both directions. No visible signs of life either way.
I pick up a leaf and toss it in the air. There is a shortage of coins in the middle of nowhere. But anything with two sides will do. Shiny side up means I go left. Shiny side down, I walk right.
After getting blown around a bit and finally landing in the middle of the road, the leaf tells me where to go, and I start walking to the left.
If this were a movie, a truck would skid to a stop after passing me, and a tall, handsome cowboy would saunter toward me, asking if I needed help. Depending on the movie rating, he might even have his shirt off.
If it happened in real life, he’d take one look at me and hop back in his truck. I can only imagine how awful my hair looks after my dunk in the river. And the dress is worse.
Out here, time is weird. I’m not sure if I fell two hours ago or a half hour ago. I lean toward hours ago, but my sense of time is broken. The blazing sun feels like it’s burning my skin, and my muscles are screaming at me. Why bother building a road if there are no cars around to use it?
The straps on one shoe are getting tight from my swollen ankle, so I kick off the shoes and carry them. Water bottle in one hand and strappy heels in the other, I continue my hunt for civilization.
The weather-faded pavement radiates heat. But it’s better than stepping on something with a stinger in the grass. Or on the rocks in the space between the grass and the road. My friend warned me that in Texas, there were lots of critters out to get you. She never mentioned peacocks.
I hear the rumble of an engine and glance behind me. A truck comes into view. Heart racing, I’m not sure whether to wave my arms and ask for a ride or to ignore the vehicle and keep walking until I get to a town. All I have to protect me is this water bottle. But one good swing might knock someone out. These heels aren’t pokey enough to do much damage.
If I’ve learned anything from all the crime podcasts I’ve listened to, it’s that monsters are where you least expect them to be. And the middle of nowhere is a perfect place to commit a crime and get away with it.
The brake lights come on, and the truck screeches to a stop. Do I run? Do I smile and ask for a rescue?
My indecisive thoughts are interrupted when a teenage girl pokes her head out of the driver’s side window.
“Hello!”
I relax, less uneasy about trusting a young woman. “Hi! I seem to have gotten myself a little lost.” I’d rather not give the rambling tale of how I ended up wandering in the Texas Hill Country alone.
“I can give you a ride.” The girl points toward the passenger seat. “Hop in.”
I run around and climb into the truck. “Thank you so much. I’m Me—”
“Oh, I know who you are, but don’t worry. I won’t go all fan girl on you. But I am a fan. A huge one!” She sticks out her hand. “I’m Bree.”
I like this girl. “So very nice to meet you, Bree.”
When she offers to take me to her ranch, I jump at the invitation. Only because I really want out of these wet clothes, and I can’t give her directions to the set because I don’t know where it is. Disappearing for a little while holds appeal. I can face reality later.
A mile or so down the road, she turns and drives through a gate. A brand in the shape of hearts dangles from the top of the gate, and rock walls flank each side. She rolls to a stop beside a white sprawling house.
“Welcome to the Rocking Double Heart Ranch.”
That explains the brand.
After glancing around, she pushes open the front door. “How long were you walking?”
“An hour or two. Not sure. We were filming, and then—it’s not important. I appreciate this. It’s nice to not be looking over my shoulder.” I cringe at the idea of being caught by the paparazzi like this. Or another peacock.
“Make yourself at home.” She motions for me to follow her. “My dad will be gone for a while, so you can shower in here. And feel free to grab one of his shirts from the closet. I’d loan you one, but I doubt it would fit.” She looks at her own chest, then at mine.
It takes me a second to understand her meaning. Too long a second I guess.
She flashes a half grin. “Your girls are bigger than mine. But I have leggings that will fit you. I’ll leave them on the bed.”
“Awesome. Thank you.” As weird as it is being in someone else’s home like this, I’m desperate to get out of this gown and wash off the river water.
In the bathroom, I strip off what used to be a very expensive gown. Now it’s a muddy torn mess. Then I pick leaves and twigs out of my blonde hair. I hear Bree humming in the room, and when I peek out of the bathroom, I see the promised leggings on the bed.
Before getting in the shower, I grab the pants off the bed and hang them on the back of the door. Between the leggings and a towel, I won’t feel so exposed when I leave the bathroom.
I step under the hot water and stifle a scream. Then I adjust the temperature to make the water cooler. The sun did a number on my skin. I can only imagine how my back and shoulders look after walking so long in that strapless dress. I’m going to hurt. This has seriously been the worst day ever. I can’t imagine how it could get any worse.
After my much-needed shower, I smell like sandalwood and citrus since I used the shampoo and soap that was in the shower caddy. I slide a dark blue cotton towel off the bar and dry myself. Then I pull on the leggings. Hugging the towel to my chest, I poke my head into the room. Empty. I hurry to the closet.
Bree didn’t mention her mom, and this room is completely masculine. And very orderly.
Along the right wall of the closet, there are two bars. One high. One low. On the bottom bar, multiple pairs of jeans, each carefully arranged on a hanger, hang evenly spaced. Above them on the top bar are T-shirts and dress shirts. They aren’t dress shirts like you’d see a man wear with a suit. More of a western-style shirt. These are all grouped by color. Closer to the door are T-shirts, also arranged by color. The other wall has only one rod. And on it are a couple of suits and shirts that coordinate, a few coats and jackets, and other assorted items of clothing. The shelf above that stuff holds a few boxes and multiple cowboy hats.
I’m curious to meet the cowboy with the outgoing daughter.
