Free A Risk Worth Taking by Heather Hildenbrand

already gone—and clearly happy with her choice. What am I supposed to say?”
    “You
have every right to be angry,” Mom said.
    “Damn
right. I’m pissed,” I said, my voice rising.
    “Watch
your mouth in front of your mother,” Dad said.
    My
mom rolled her eyes. Six months ago, that would’ve made me smile. Now, it just
made me want to cry. Remembering the way she always made me feel like we were
on the same side, even if that put my dad on the other. We would let him fuss
and then we said what we needed to say, just the two of us.
    Now,
the sides were split into three. No one seeing it from the angle of the other.
I hated it.
    “I’m
an adult, Dad. I can say whatever I want,” I said.
    “Not
when it’s directed at one of your parents,” he shot back. “Now, watch your
mouth.”
    “Fine.
Whatever. I didn’t want this conversation to begin with. Let’s just end it.” I
stepped around him, heading for the door, this time determined not to let
anything stop me. “And I want a new filing cabinet!”
    I
let the front door slam shut behind me, validated by the loud noise. I stomped
down the wooden steps, again relishing the loud thunk my boots made as I
went. I hung a left, not even hesitating in my destination.
    It’d
been a long time since I’d been mad enough to get lost, but today, the corn
stalks were just barely high enough and they were calling my name. Wandering
lost in a cornfield too high to see your way out of had a way of ordering a
person’s thoughts—one way or another. That and nobody was going to find you
before you were ready to be found. It was the best cure for a “deep-set mad,”
as Mazie called it. And it was what I intended to do.
    “Quite
an exit you just made.”
    My
head whipped up and I slowed at the sight of Frank leaning against the garage.
“What if it was?” I asked, trying to read whatever meaning lay behind his
words.
    He
shrugged. “No skin off my back. You late for somethin’?”
    “Peace
and quiet,” I said pointedly, continuing down the gravel path that led around
the garage and out to the fields.
    But
Frank pushed off from the garage and stepped in front of me just as I rounded
the far corner.
    “What
is it, Frank?” I asked on a sigh. He reminded me entirely too much of my dad.
They should’ve been brothers.
    Instead
of answering, his eyes fixed on something behind me. I gritted my teeth, hoping
like hell it wasn’t one of my parents come to finish the argument. The sound of
a motor caught my attention and I turned, curious. In a cloud of dust, two dirt
bikes zipped down the driveway and pulled up short in front of me. Both riders
wore motocross helmets and goggles obscuring their face, but I recognized them
easily by the cut of their bodies.
    Casey
was the leader—as usual. His shirt had an oil stain on the left sleeve and his
helmet was scuffed on the left side where he’d gone sailing over the handlebars
of this same machine last summer. I’d bandaged the arm he’d torn open when it
slid across tree bark as he flew. He was also the show-off of the two, cocky
and confident as the back tire slid around in a sharp-angled stop mere inches
from my booted toes.
    I
waved away the cloud of dirt that rose in my face, opting for no greeting since
opening my mouth would’ve allowed the dust inside.
    Behind
Casey, the second rider pulled to a much smoother stop and planted his feet in
a competent, practiced move. I watched him downshift to neutral and then let
off the clutch, his sinewy muscles tightening with the action of his hands. I
imagined those flexing muscles would look so much hotter gripping me instead of
those handlebars. My mouth watered before I remembered I was supposed to be
pissed. A fact the sight of Ford’s flexed forearms had made me forget in less
than three seconds.
    “You
look like you could use some wind in your face,” Casey said. His voice was
slightly muffled by his helmet, but his words were clear. And I didn’t need to
see him