Wild Hearts by Jessica Burkhart Page B

about. If I wanted to find myself—as lame as that sounded—it wasn’t going to happen while I sat in a hot tub.
    Â 

    CHAPTER NINE

    A man is not born a cowboy. He becomes one.
    Out of breath and trying not to look sweaty, I parked my bike outside of Watson’s. I’d passed WyGas on the way and had lingered for a moment, looking for Logan’s truck. But it wasn’t there.
    Inside Watson’s, Amy bagged groceries at the register.
I live here now. This is the only grocery store in town.
Ignoring her, I went to the back of the store and got a Diet Coke. I waited until there wasn’t anyone else in line before going up to the register.
    â€œJust this,” I said, thrusting a five at her.
    Amy took the money and put the change back on my waiting open palm.
    â€œThanks,” I said. I opened my drink and walked away.
    â€œUm, Brie?” Amy called.
    I put my hand on the exit door, ready to push it open, but turned around, facing her. “What?”
    â€œI wanted to apologize again,” Amy said. She tucked her black hair behind her ears. “I was a total bitch to you.”
    I stayed silent, just staring at her.
    â€œI did a lot of thinking after that happened,” Amy said. “Actually, you acted so much classier than I would have ifsomebody had talked like that about my dad,” Amy continued. “If I were you, I probably would have hit me.”
    I almost smiled. Sincerity radiated through her voice and I could tell how sorry she was. This was her second apology. How many more times was I going to make her say that she was sorry? There was something about Amy that I couldn’t help but like.
    â€œThanks,” I said. “It was cool of you to apologize again.”
    â€œAre you doing anything now?”
    I shook my head. “No, I was just going home.”
    â€œMy shift was over ten minutes ago,” Amy said. “I was just working until Casey got here to take over.”
    As if on cue, a curly-haired brunette jogged through Watson’s automatic doors. She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Amy! I’ll stay late tomorrow.”
    â€œIt’s okay, Case,” Amy said. “See you tomorrow.”
    Amy turned to me. “Do you want to get coffee or dessert or something and maybe talk?”
    Her offer caught me off guard. I’d planned to slip in and out of Watson’s.
    â€œSure,” I said, finally.
    Amy took off her Watson’s smock and slung it over her shoulder. A cerulean-blue cross-body purse went on the other shoulder. “Do you like coffee?” she asked.
    â€œI like it enough to think it should be added to the food chain,” I said.
    â€œThen I think you’ll like Beans,” she said. “It’s not like the chain coffee shops that you’re probably used to, though.”
    I shook my head. “I’m so
not
a coffee snob. I don’t care whether it’s instant coffee or Colombian beans—I just want the caffeine in my body.”
    Amy laughed. We crossed Main Street, which was—shocker—empty. Not a car visible in either direction.
    We walked inside Beans and the coffee shop was just about the size of our kitchen. There were three small circular tables and square and rectangle ones along the window. All of them were filled, with the exception of one of the booths by the window.
    We ordered, got our drinks—both skinny vanilla lattes—and snagged the free seats.
    I took a sip of coffee, then another.
    â€œOh, this is some of the best coffee that I’ve ever had,” I said. “I’m going to buy this place out!”
    â€œSo weird!” Amy said. “My mom says that I’m going to do that. She’s also sure that I’ve stunted my growth. Since she’s worrying about something as trivial as an inch or two of my height, I’m so an only child. Obviously.”
    â€œI’ve been the only child at home for the past few