Addicted to My Daddy's Friend

I WANT TO SEE WHAT IS MINE

JAMIE

“What the hell is going on with you, Jamie?” my dad yells, his face growing redder with each passing second.

I briefly think about giving him attitude, but I've never seen him this angry, and I'm actually worried he might have a heart attack, so I shrug my shoulders and try to make myself smaller. The cans of spray paint are screaming my guilt no matter how innocent I try to make myself look.

“You ruined our neighbor’s garage door with your graffiti,” he screams at me. “How the hell am I supposed to face him tomorrow?”

At the mention of Mr. Foster, I jerk my head up in anger. “That fucker deserved it,” I yell before I can stop myself.

My dad looks at me like I've smacked him. “I don't know what has gotten into you.” His once broad shoulders sag with the weight of all the stress I've put him through. Ever since my mom died, I've kind of been a handful. My last year of high school was a nightmare for the both of us, and things haven't gotten any better since I turned eighteen. I don't know what's going on. I'm just so fucking angry all the time.

My dad sits down with a heavy sigh. “I've been in touch with someone I used to know. He lives on a ranch in Montana, and he said he needs some help this summer with his horses. He's agreed to hire you on a trial basis.”

“What?” I'm so stunned it takes a second for me to register what he's said. “Montana? For the whole summer?”

“I think it's the best thing. You're eighteen now and need to start making your own way. Plus, you'll need to pay for the damages to Todd’s garage.”

I let out an angry huff. That old fucker deserved what he got. He'd been eyeing me for way too long and yesterday he'd smacked my ass when I'd walked by. I don’t want to upset my dad by telling him that, though, so I keep quiet.

“I don't know anything about horses,” I argue, trying to get myself out of this mess.

“Hank said that's not a problem. He'll teach you everything you need to know and he has a spare room you can stay in.”

Hank? Good god, visions of the dullest summer imaginable float through my mind. Quiet evenings watching game shows with some old-asdirt guy in plaid who smells like medicine and arthritis cream.

Before I can argue, my dad says, “I've already bought the ticket, Jamie. I'm sorry, but you've left me no choice. It's just for the summer, and maybe some time away will do you good, give you time to think.”

I nod numbly, knowing I don't have much of a choice. Three months of rancher hell, I'm sure it'll fly by. Well, at least I'm getting paid. Maybe I can save up enough to get a car, that would at least give me some freedom.

Before I know it, my ass is on a flight to Montana, and I'm debating how angry my dad would be if I just ran off. Pretty fucking angry is what I'm guessing. I lean back in my seat and try to rest. The jarring feel of wheels touching the ground wakes me with a start. I look out the window at the unfamiliar terrain and grudgingly admit that it's actually quite beautiful.

It may be three months of hell, but at least it's a pretty one.

I disembark with the others and head to luggage claim. When I've grabbed my bags, an older man with a big pot belly that's threatening to pop the buttons on his plaid shirt walks up to me with a hesitant smile.

Wow, he's exactly how I pictured him.

“Jamie?” He asks, giving me a small smile.

“Yeah, that's me.” I give him as big of a smile as I can manage. “You must be Hank.”

He lets out a huge barrel of a laugh that seems to echo and lands all eyes on us. “No, ma’am, I'm Jerry. Hank couldn't leave the ranch, so he asked me if I could come pick you up. If you're ready, I can drive you over there.”

“Sounds good.” I toss my backpack on while he grabs my heavy suitcases and leads the way out to a big pickup truck.

Once we're on the road, I work up the courage to ask, “So what's Hank like?”

Jerry shoots me a quick look before laughing. “I'll warn you that he doesn't tolerate any shit from anyone. He's a fair man, but a firm one.”

Wonderful. An entire summer with an old grump.

I sink back into the seat and remind myself that it’s only three months. I’ve survived worse, and I can survive this, too. When Jerry turns down a long, dirt driveway, I perk up and look out at the acres of land sprawled around us. God, this place really is gorgeous. Mountains loom in the distant background, and I can see a huge fenced-in area off to the far right with several horses milling about as they eat grass, tails flicking every few steps to keep the flies off.

When Jerry turns around a bend, I let out a soft gasp at the gorgeous log house in front of me. I had been picturing a small, rundown place, but this is impressive as hell. Tall windows line the whole front of the house and I can see a large stone chimney jutting up from the other end. There’s a large wraparound porch complete with wooden rockers and a border collie resting in the sun who lazily lifts her head when she hears the truck pull up.

I let myself out of the truck, looking around for old-man Hank, but the only movement is the old collie who gets up for a stretch before gingerly coming down the steps to inspect the visitors. I imagine her owner is just as arthritic and decrepit. She is a beautiful dog, though. I hold my hand out to her, and she wags her tail and gives my hand a friendly lick. Her black-andwhite coat is smooth to the touch, and I can tell she’s very well taken care of. It raises my estimation of Hank just the tiniest bit. I hate when people don’t take care of their pets.

“She likes you,” Jerry says, walking over to give her a pat. “Sadie’s a sweet old gal. Hank retired her a couple of years ago, and now she’s a spoiled house dog, aren’t ya, Sadie?” he asks, giving her a good scratch behind the ears.

“She’s beautiful.” I give her another pat before grabbing my bags. “Is Hank inside?”

“Nah, he’s out working in the barn. He told me to tell you to make yourself at home and that he’d be back as soon as he could. One of the horses has been doing poorly, so he’s out there with the vet trying to get him fixed up.”

Jerry helps me carry my bags to the front door. “Well, it was sure nice meeting you, little lady, and I’m sure I’ll see you around.” “What about the keys?” I holler after him.

He laughs and waves off my question like it’s the silliest thing he’s ever heard. “It’s not locked, hon. Hank said he made up the first bedroom at the top of the stairs for you. Welcome to Montana,” he says before climbing into his truck and disappearing down the long driveway.