Going Wild (The Wild Ones Book 2)(59)
Sometimes I can’t tell when she’s joking or when she’s serious. Does Kylie have a vibrator here? Pretty sure I cover all those needs.
Kylie just laughs and leads me out. I try to stop acting like a damn spaz before I ruin this thing with my fear of ruining things.
Damn frustrating woman.
What the actual hell is wrong with me?
Why am I panicking this much?
Her fingers twine with mine, and some of that panic dies down. Things are fine.
Just fine.
***
“What’s this?” I ask, confused as we tie off to a tree and start climbing up a hillside where a dilapidating old bridge is.
“The Nickels are just beyond this bend. Their daddy is full-blooded Cherokee, and he used to live on Reservation, but he moved out here years ago to be with their momma, who was born a Wild One,” she states randomly. “Even though she’s of Irish descent, she adopted his heritage to the extreme to show her support of Native American culture. She’s a little wacky, but she has a huge heart. They also bought all our moonshine distilleries a while back when we got tired of the operation, and that’s how they make the bulk of their money now.”
“Okay…” I’m not really sure what else to say to that.
“The Wilders are more complex. Their dad was wild in the wrong way, and got himself killed when they were little, while he was off on a bender somewhere in Arizona with some other woman,” she says with a sad smile. “Momma Wilder, as we all call her, never wavered. She held strong for her kids, and carried on the name like it was always hers and never his. You already know about all the pot they grow.”
I run my hand along my jaw, debating on whether or not I should tell her. Deciding I’d rather piss her father off than continue to lie to her about what I know, I come clean.
“Speaking of Greta Wilder,” I say on a sigh. “There’s something you should know about her and your dad. They—”
“They’re dating?” she asks, a small curve of her lips hinting at a mocking grin.
My brow furrows. “You know?”
“Of course I know. Most all the Wild Ones have figured it out, except maybe Nila. You should see the way they look at each other when they think no one is paying attention.”
Now I’m just confused.
“How do you know?” she asks me, tilting her head.
“I sort of walked up on them when they were rattling the hunting shack on my land. And—”
She bursts out laughing, much to my surprise. Since her father wanted her not to know, I assumed that meant he was worried about how she’d take the news of him moving on.
Kylie rolls her eyes. “They sneak around like teens, but we know. The rest of the town doesn’t know. It’s not local knowledge, since it’s against town rules for two Wild Ones—no matter their age—to date. Tomahawk problems.”
My grin steadily grows.
“So I’ve been carrying that around for nothing?”
“Pretty much,” she says with an impish grin. “But don’t let Dad know I know.”
“No worries,” I mutter under my breath.
“Anyway, no one gets the other information I gave you about the Wild Ones unless they’re inside the Wild One circle. Consider yourself unofficially inducted,” she states, not meeting my eyes.
“Is this you telling me you believe I’m really here and not going anywhere?”
She bristles. “It’s me extending a lot of trust,” she defends.
“And what does all that have to do with the bridge?” I ask, deciding not to push too far too quickly.
“Remember last week when you were talking about finding a way to prove to people Tomahawk is your home because you’re sick of Chester Perkins expecting you to leave? Which, by the way, what’s up with that?”
I shake my head. “I’d rather not talk about it right now.”
She shrugs. “Anyway, I was thinking about all that wood in your wood shop, and about the fact you’re actually good with your hands.” She gives me a wink and a dirty grin that has me moving closer, but she moves away from my hands, going to stand on the rickety bridge.
“Kylie,” I hiss, not daring to go after her because the weight of two might send this thing collapsing. “Get away from there!”
She just moves closer to the center while holding her arms out and grinning.
“This is the unusable yet most helpful road from the north end of Tomahawk to the south. Yet no one can use it, because the bridge will fall apart under a car. There’s also a waterfall type area when the beavers don’t have it dammed up, but the dam helps keep the lower areas from flooding or draining the upper level until it’s just dirt. So there’s no way to drive through here on a boat either, since you’d be dropping thirty feet.”