Acres, Natalie - Pole Position [Country Roads 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (2 page)

The little one skipped ahead of them and Brant said, “You can’t go making friends with these kids, Colt. Times are tough and out here, folks face desperate days. Adults in these parts have been known to use their children in order to find ways to put food on the table.”

A lump moved down Colt’s throat. He and Brant had been friends for a long time. They’d gone to the same schools, lived on neighboring farms. He’d always thought of Brant as a good guy. Typically lighthearted, Brant wasn’t the kind of man to give a child a cold shoulder. What had gotten into him?

After they followed the little girl through the growing crowd, Colt located the tea party. Old newspaper had been used for cut-out placemats and dinnerware. In the middle of a large box, an arrangement of weeds, wild flowers, and hay provided the illusion of a centerpiece.

“Have a seat,” she instructed, turning to Brant and adding, “You’ll find a better view of the party from over here.”

Another grumble followed a grunt. “Colt, we don’t have all day.”

The child was unaffected. “Colt is your name?”

“Yes.”

“I like that name. I asked you for it when we first met,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “You didn’t answer me. Is it because you don’t like your name?”

“No, I was too interested in finding out more about you. Princess is an interesting name, too, ya know.”

She laughed aloud and then slapped her knee, cackling all the more. “You silly cowboy you, that’s not my real name.”

Brant twitched his nose, sat down, and quietly observed. He suddenly looked more intrigued.

“Why do you think I’m a cowboy?”

She pointed at his hat and then the one atop Brant’s head.

“You’re an observant little woman, aren’t ’cha?” Brant asked.

“Of course, a good princess always pays attention to folks around her.”

“I thought we were having tea with the queen,” Colt said, quite impressed by the child’s imagination and her quick wit. She would certainly go far in life with her personality.

“I am the queen.”

“You told us you’re a princess,” Colt reminded her.

She sighed dramatically. “Would you be disappointed if I told you something?”

Brant arched his brow. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

She flipped her hair over her shoulders. “All of this is make-believe, silly. Don’t you know how to pretend?”

“In other words,” Brant explained, “the fairy tale can change at any point.” A beat later, he added a smile and said, “See if you can’t try and pay attention.”

Colt studied the large, round circles adorning the cardboard box, noticing they didn’t have plastic cups or anything to suggest drinks—imagined or real—would soon be served. “Tell you what, since you were kind enough to offer us a little hospitality, I have an idea. I’ll be right back.”

Colt started to walk off and Brant jumped to his feet. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“She’s a child, Brant. She’s not a loan officer at the local bank. She won’t bite. Wait here.”

Brant had warned Colt on the way to Kentucky. Harlan County was rich with natural character and offered plenty for the outdoorsman, but where the area’s county leaders and officials failed, they failed their community miserably.

Many citizens in the area struggled. Families couldn’t feed their children. Schools weren’t provided with enough funding to offer adequate education. Jobs were scarce, some said practically nonexistent. And homelessness was the norm.

Was Princess Exhibit A? If so, where were her parents? Did they understand how dangerous it was to leave a child unattended in this day and age?

Colt wandered through the park area until he found a vendor selling hot chocolate. He ordered three cups and headed back to the large oak tree. He stood at a distance for a few minutes, observing the way the child tried to manipulate Brant. She apparently longed for his acceptance.

She was telling what appeared to be a grand story, complete with arm movements, dancing, and a solo march around the table fit for an imaginary king. When she didn’t gain the reaction she evidently desired, she swooned at Brant’s feet.

Colt rushed to the table and quickly set the Styrofoam cups on the flat surface. Brant dropped to the ground and obviously bought the child’s theatrics. “What the blasted hell?” He shook the girl by the shoulders. “Hey! Are you okay?”

She opened one eye. A slow smile claimed her full rosy lips and she said, “So you do care if I live to rule this land as the greatest queen this court has ever seen!”

It wasn’t a question, but rather a triumphant proclamation.

Colt laughed. “You’re a little actress, aren’t you?”

“Colt,” Brant complained, standing at once. “Don’t encourage the child.”

“She doesn’t appear to need much of that, does she?” he said, amused.

“It’s about time to get those toys out of the truck,” Brant mentioned under his breath. Apparently, he’d forgotten why this event was so important to the Kentucky community in the first place. They were there to give back and help the needy—the little girl in front of them certainly qualified as a recipient.

The Jingle Bell Ride required only one admittance fee—the donation of one unwrapped toy. In many cases, the children receiving the toys wouldn’t have a Christmas gift at all if they couldn’t rely upon the generosity of those who participated in the two-day ATV event.

Princess quickly jumped to her feet. “You brought
toys
?”

“For the ride,” Brant stated flatly.

Colt winked. “Tell you what. If you’ll help us unload the truck, we’ll pay you a little extra.”

“Shit, Colt,” Brant grumbled. “Keep it up, and you’ll be paying that kid what Lehman Brothers used to pay its CEO.”

“At least the money would go to someone deserving.”

They shared a laugh. Brant lost a fortune in stocks and bonds over the last few years. Recently, he’d confided in Colt, he didn’t think he’d survive the financial catastrophe. Colt couldn’t care less about Wall Street. He’d made his money in beef cattle and real estate, and somehow held onto the profits.

Returning his focus to the child, Colt said, “Aren’t you going to drink your hot chocolate?”

“Does it have marshmallows?”

“Would it be hot cocoa if it didn’t?”

“Nooooo,” she drawled, pushing the tab forward and watching wide-eyed when the steam rose from the plastic lid. She inhaled the fumes from the liquid, acting as if the greatest aroma in the world came from that small cup. When she finally took a quick sip, it was obvious how much she savored the taste. “This is so good, sir. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome.”

Brant started to act uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the next. “How about we go unload?”

“Let her finish drinking her hot chocolate.”

Brant took his cup from the box and discarded the lid.

“Hey! You can’t litter around here. I have to keep my yard clean.”

Immediately, Brant looked left and then right. Colt did the same. Their gazes met and held. Thinking it might be another make-believe situation, Colt made the inquiry, “Where exactly is your castle, little princess?”

She pointed at the shipping container that still had labels attached to the front. “Have you ever heard the story about Barney’s Barrel?”

Brant shook his head. Colt nodded. “Do you live in a barrel?”

“No, silly,” she replied. “If there was a barrel ’round these parts, one of the local drunks would probably get to it first. I live right here.” She knelt beside the box and pulled the thick side flaps open. Surprisingly, the cardboard was studier and thicker than first appearances suggested.

Brant and Colt eyed the substitute door. “Oh my God,” Brant mumbled. “This can’t be.”

He voiced what Colt was thinking.

“You live here?” A suffocating sensation threatened to collapse Colt’s lungs. He kept Princess in his peripheral vision as she gave them a glimpse of the place she called home. The area consisted of ratty blankets piled one on top of the other, though neatly layered, and a round sofa pillow. An old teddy bear occupied the far left corner, driving home one pertinent fact. Princess was a homeless child living alone.

“That’s Ralph,” she said, pointing.

“Ralph,” Brant muttered in a broken voice, immediately turning away.

“Would you like to hold him?”

“No,” Brant replied. “Thanks.”

Colt continued to take in the girl’s inadequate housing. Her décor included a silk green curtain draped over two sides of the box with ribbons tied at all ends. A few small items were scattered about. A bottle of water claimed the space next to a soda can containing a bright red toothbrush with worn and quite disfigured bristles.

“You have a lovely home,” he somehow managed, backing away from the heartbreaking image.

“It’s not much,” she said, shrugging. “But I’m sure thankful for what I’ve got. This old box doesn’t look like a lot, but with the big branches from the tree to shield us, Ralph and I rarely get cold unless we have high winds or a real heavy snow.”

Kentucky had been slammed with a lot of snow in recent weeks. He wondered how Princess survived freezing conditions and inclement weather when her home was a cardboard box.

“How long have you lived here?” Colt asked.

“About two years. Not in this box, of course, but when this one gets ratty, I go dumpster diving and find another one, good as new.”

“You go what?” Brant asked, dumbfounded.

“You know, prowl through the garbage cans.”

Colt didn’t think he could stomach much more. Determined to fight back the tears threatening to slip down his cheeks, he finally managed to ask, “Honey, what is your name?”

She bowed her head. Her arms dropped to her sides and she took a few minutes to answer. When she finally looked at them again, a bit of sadness flashed in her aqua-colored eyes, but it was instantly replaced with a new sparkle of blue. “I don’t have a name. I borrowed the name Princess because one of these days, I’ll live a fairy-tale life. I just know it.”

Chapter Two

Colt and Brant checked in at the Black Mountain Cabins right before the first ATV run. Brant hadn’t said a handful of words since their chance encounter with the little girl who finally admitted she wasn’t sure if she even had a name.

After they unloaded their belongings and took a quick peek at their rustic accommodations, they rolled their four-wheelers off the trailer. “We have about fifteen minutes,” Brant said, checking out their expensive wheels.

“Yeah,” Colt said. The lone word was about all he could manage. His mind was somewhere else.

“I’ll make some sandwiches,” Brant offered, walking toward their cabin.

“Okay.”

Brant disappeared inside their temporary quarters, and Colt sat on the steps leading to the tiny front porch. Black Mountain in November looked like a chilly forest with bare trees capped in white, and winding trails sparsely covered in ice.

The wildlife, somewhat scarce around their campsite, gave the outdoorsmen plenty of hunting opportunities, just like the fishing found in the various streams and nearby lakes. But even with all its beauty, there was a sense of despair hanging over the place.

There was practically no way of escaping the desperate history the place was known for. It was if the ghosts of yesteryear stood at the county line and made sure those who entered Harlan felt their presence.

The desperation lingered in the eyes of the locals, too. Colt noticed it when they’d greeted a few of the others joining the ride. He certainly detected it in many of the blank expressions of the men he saw there. Children, some of them anyway, weren’t dressed appropriately for the cool November day. Several of the younger kids didn’t wear shoes to speak of, since they typically lacked soles or were opened-toe and torn to pieces.

There was no excuse for that, not in the South, certainly not in the United States of America.

What the hell was Harlan County anyway? A third-world country?

Pushing away from the plank boards beneath him, Colt went inside. Brant’s back was to him. “When we first decided to come here, what was your main reason for accepting the invitation?”

“It sure wasn’t the promise of great company,” Brant teased. A few seconds later, he spoke in a more serious tone, “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see this place again. My grandparents lived here. When I was a kid, I used to visit them. The only thing I remember about the area is what you see now in the faces of the people who live here. The poverty…that’s what I recall whenever I think of Harlan County,” Brant said, dropping the already-made sandwiches into a brown paper bag.

There were three of them, and that fact didn’t go unnoticed.

Colt closed his eyes for a second, which only made things worse. All he could picture was the little girl who lived in a box. The precious child who thought she was blessed because the current cardboard flaps held up in the worst of weather. Clearing his throat, he hurried for the door. “Guess we need to get down the hill if we’re going to make this Jingle Bell Ride.”