Page 20 of Wilder Heart

Over the next few days, Wilder fell into a routine. He woke at dawn, ate breakfast with the hands, and did whatever needed doing that day. Sometimes that meant working out in the fields. Sometimes he was required to hang around the main barn and tend to the horses or help with equipment. As it turned out, there was more than cattle on Blackwood Ranch. They had a pen of Yorkshire pigs, a field for sheep, and a whole flock of chickens, turkeys, and even guineas.

Annalise seemed to be in charge of the birds. She fed them twice a day and made sure they were all accounted for in the coop at night—often supervised by Mary-Beth. Wilder gave them a wide berth when they were in the same vicinity. He didn’t know what Lain had told them about him—he doubted very seriously that Lain had told Annalise that Uncle Wilderkilled someone, but he assumed Mary-Beth knew the whole story—and he’d rather keep his distance than risk making anyone uncomfortable.

Lain also seemed to keep his distance, but whether that was happenstance or by design was anyone’s guess. Lain spent a lot of time in his office and occasionally took his truck around town for various errands. Wilder heard something about auctions andmeetings with the Bureau of Land Management. Things a lowly hand like himself didn’t have to worry about.

In the evenings after dinner, he escaped to the mustang’s paddock. He’d started going inside the fence, sitting patiently in the dirt and waiting for the horse to approach him. Nights were better than mornings. Wilder thought there was something calming about the night. There were fewer people milling around, less noise. The quiet set the horse at ease. Wilder understood well.

He’d been at Blackwood Ranch—he couldn’t bring himself to think of it ashome—for a full week when Cash caught him as he made his escape after dinner. Out on the bunkhouse’s walkway, the setting sun left streaks of fading orange and gold across the sky, the indigo night already taking over and dappled with starlight to the east.

“There was a storm a while back that took out some trees,” Cash explained. “Thought we’d have a fire to burn some of it, if you’re interested. We usually always have a few drinks, sit around and shoot the shit.”

A high-pitched peal of laughter broke through the quiet evening, and Wilder turned to see Annalise bounding from the house with a border collie on her heels and Mary-Beth and Lain not far behind. They were headed toward the fire pit on the other side of the barn, surrounded by chairs and treated wood for sitting on. Lain’s gaze wandered the property, finding and lingering on Wilder and Cash standing together.

Wilder swallowed hard. Sitting around a fire with them and Billy and whoever else here hated him for what he’d done? He’d rather do literally anything else.

“No thanks,” he said kindly, because Cash didn’t deserve to shoulder his bitterness. “It’s been a long day. I think I’ll just turn in. Have a cold one for me.”

Cash’s face flickered withsomething, but it was gone before Wilder could guess what it was. Maybe he was bothered the new hand didn’t want to participate. Nonetheless, he nodded genially. “Sure. Get some rest, Wilder. I’ll see you bright and early.”

“You know it.” He clapped Cash on the shoulder, swearing as he did that the muscle felt like a solid rock under his palm, and turned away.

In the dark and quiet safety of his room, Wilder blew out a relieved breath. There was no way he was welcome around a bonfire with Lain and his family. He was lucky they’d even let him on the property. He could only imagine how awkward it would be if he showed up todrink alcoholin front of them.

He showered slowly, knowing there was nothing to do in his room but sleep when he got out. He really needed to invest in a small television or an e-reader or something. He had too many sleepless nights to go without one or the other.

When he emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, he kept the bedroom light off. The bonfire was visible through his window, flickering orange against the curtains. He drifted over as he tugged his shirt over his head, peering through the crack in the fabric. He couldn’t make out who was who, silhouetted in darkness as they were, but Annalise was plainly obvious, bounding around in the grass just outside the circle of adults. Mary-Beth was also visible, sitting in a reclining lawn-chair with her feet up, her hands resting on her belly. Lain must be the one sitting beside her, one hand resting on the arm of her chair.

Twins, he thought again, dizzy. He knew the gene ran in the family—obviously—but somehow he’d never expected either of them to actually have some of their own. God knew kids weren’t anywhere inhisfuture.

Turning away, he slipped under the blankets and turned his back to the window. He didn’t belong out there, and dwellingon things he couldn’t have never helped anything. He’d done this to himself, and he had no regrets. They were both better off because of what he’d done, no matter what Lain wanted to tell himself.

But sleep was as elusive as an eel in water, slipping from his grasp. He gave it his best effort for an indeterminable amount of time, laying lax with his eyes closed and letting his mind drift. But at some point, he flopped onto his back and opened his eyes with a sigh. Sleep wasn’t coming. The light outside was gone, and he flung the blankets back, creeping to the window to peer out. The fire had burned down to embers, and everyone was long gone. The clock on his bedside table told him it was almost midnight.

His eyes snagged on movement just before he turned away from the window. It was the mustang, walking a few paces out from under the awning. His big head hung low. Wilder wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep.

Tugging a flannel on over his T-shirt and pulling his boots over his pajama bottoms, Wilder slipped outside and walked across the grass to the paddock.

“Hey, boy,” he said, climbing right over the fence and dropping inside. The horse’s head turned toward him, but he made no move to come closer. Wilder didn’t approach him—not yet. He leaned against the inside of the fence, waiting.

The night was a brisk one. It was still too warm to reach freezing temperatures, but a cool wind came down off the hillside, cutting through his thin pajama pants and giving him a chill.

“What should I call you, huh?” he asked as the horse eased closer.

Keeping his head turned to one side and the horse in his periphery, he stepped out into the open space of the paddock, telegraphing each step to keep the horse relaxed.

“You need a name, ol’ boy.”

The horse snorted, hooves thumping rhythmically in the dirt as he circled around Wilder.

“Something that captures how strong you are, I think,” Wilder went on. The best way to ease the horse into coming closer was to talk. “Cause you shine bright, buddy.”

He finally stopped on Wilder’s right, just in the edge of his periphery. Wilder didn’t move, and a moment later that velvety nose pressed against his arm, whuffing gently. He lifted his hand, brushing the horse’s soft jaw. He nickered quietly, and Wilder turned his head to look at him properly.

“When you gonna let me put a halter on you, huh?” he asked, turning bodily so he could pet with both hands, rubbing one up and down the mustang’s long face and letting the other trail down the side of his neck. “You let me ride you, and I’ll let you run. I know you want to run. I see you pacing all day. You’re desperate to get out in one of them fields and give it your all. I want to let you. You’ve just got to work with me.”

The horse’s ears twitched, and his soft nose pressed against Wilder’s stomach, snorting hard.

“How about Lightning?” Wilder asked. “Or Thunder?”

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