Branded (Fall of Angels #1)(6)

“Right … course you were,” he says, rolling his eyes at me. “What’s her name?”

“Dixie Burrell.” Her name rolling off my tongue gives me a high.

His face immediately turns sour. “Burrell? As in the Burrell family?” he asks, carrying more boxes from the back. “Oh, no. Not happening.”

I frown and stop lifting one of the boxes. “Why not? What’s it to you?”

“That family is bad news all around.” He walks off again, so I follow him into the back.

What the fuck is he going on about? “How’d you figure that?”

“I don’t have to figure. I know. For sure. Along with anyone else who does business with the people on the reserve.”

I don’t get it. The Burrell family owns a large corn farm, and they’re good members of the community. Or at least, that’s what I see. They always arrive at charity events with lots of food, and the people in this town genuinely look up to them.

But not my papa. It’s as if he hates literally anyone who doesn’t live in this town. Or basically, anyone who is even remotely connected to the reserve.

“What is it with you and the reserve?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer, so I keep asking. Giving up isn’t an option.

“Papa, we used to live there. I remember,” I say.

He looks up at me but still doesn’t respond.

“Why do you hate that place so much? Is that why we had to move?”

“Part of it, yes.” He sighs. “But it’s not the place I hate, nor the people. Just the decisions they make … I don’t wanna be a part of any of that.”

Picking up more boxes, he stacks them, then carries them to the front of the shop again. I tag along, still trying to get more out of him. “But what did they do? And what do the Burrells have to do with it?”

He holds up his hand as if he wants me to stop. “Look. It’s complicated,” he says. “I don’t wanna—”

“But you said you’d tell me,” I interrupt. “You said ‘someday.’ When is it ‘someday’?” I make quotation marks with my fingers. “I’m tired of waiting around for answers.”

“I … No. We’re not doing this now.” He shakes his head and returns to the back again. As though he’s fleeing the conversation.

“Papa!” I shout. I’m not having it. “I’m having my ass handed to me every day in this place. I don’t like it here. This whole town seems to hate us.”

“They don’t. There are just a bunch of ignorant little kids running around. There are plenty of those in other towns too.”

“Yeah, but at least the people on the reserve get us. We’re like them.”

Suddenly, he turns around and almost stabs me with his index finger. “We’re nothing like them. Nothing.”

The deadly stare he gives me makes me shudder.

What’s gotten into him? It’s like he finds it the ultimate insult to even be considered related to the reserve, our people, or their ways.

“Papa? Why do you dislike them so much? Did something happen?” I ask, but he looks away.

“Don’t,” he says, holding up his hand as if to shush me. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“But I wanna know,” I say, letting out an exasperated breath. “I need to know.”

He licks his lips, the pause in the conversation deafening.

“Maybe someday …” He nods. “Maybe. But not now.”

And then he turns around and walks away, leaving me standing in the shop, dumbfounded, with more questions than answers.

Like always.



*

Dixie



Age 15



After an entire afternoon of hanging around the local bar like Derek always wants, he finally lets me go home in peace. If I don’t do what he wants, he’ll berate me for it, and I’d rather not be yelled at in public. Besides, it’s not as if I hate it. The bar has good music, and it’s fun to watch people get drunk and dance like idiots. Derek and his buddies only wanna be there because one of them is old enough to buy liquor and then they split it behind a dumpster in an alley.

I think it’s bullshit and so immature, but they think it’s cool.

Whatever. I’m not interested in alcohol. I only wanted to spend time with Derek, but he’s being such an asshole lately that I’m not even sure I still want to hang out with him. Or be his girlfriend, for that matter.

When I finally get home, I immediately go into the workshop behind the shed on our farm. It’s where my dad keeps all his tools. It’s also the only place where I can calm down after a night out.

I throw the plastic bag I bought at the Locklear Stop & Shop on the table and get to work right away. It’s my mom’s birthday soon, so I’m making her something special. A homemade lamp designed and created by Dixie Burrell. I’m not much on the actual designing part, but I do my best. I love fiddling with technical stuff. When a household appliance breaks, I’m usually the one to repair it. Or, at least, I try to before my dad finds out.

He doesn’t like it when I fix stuff around the house. He always says that’s a man’s job, and that I’m taking his work away from him, but I just like helping out, that’s all. Besides, work on the farm can get kinda boring. Plowing, planting, harvesting, rinse and repeat. It’s always the same tedious work. And here in my dad’s workshop, I can let my creativity run loose and make whatever I want. The sky’s the limit. One tutorial is all I need to watch to know exactly how to do it.