Page 5 of Wilder Heart

The silence extended between them. “You’ve probably had a long day. Are you hungry? Thirsty? There’s always food over in the kitchen.”

His stomach felt like it was eating itself, but the thought of food made him feel even worse. “No. Thirsty, maybe.”

Lain pointed at the fridge. “Mary-Beth stocked your fridge with some things already. She wasn’t sure what you liked, so she put a little of everything in there.”

Wilder wasn’t sure what he liked, either. All they’d served in the prison were milk, shitty coffee, and water. He drifted over and tugged the sleek black door open. Every shelf was lined with drinks. Coffee drinks, energy drinks, sodas, water, and juice.

“Wow,” he remarked. “You mean Mary-Beth, your girlfriend from way back when?” He pulled out a water and nudged the door shut.

“Yeah. She’s… my wife now.”

Wilder’s hand clenched a little too hard, and water spilled down his fingers. “Shit, fuck.”

“Uh, towels and linens are in the wardrobe there.”

Wilder opened the wardrobe door on silent hinges and grabbed a hand towel from the neat stack waiting within. They were all far softer and fluffier than he was used to.

“You’re married?” he asked. “That’s… congratulations.”

“Thanks. I’m a real lucky guy. She was there for me when—” He broke off suddenly, ducking his head.

Wilder nodded, dimly recalling his brother sneaking off to see a girl. They’d started dating when they were seventeen, but for understandable reasons, he’d never brought her home to meet the family.

“I leaned on her pretty hard,” Lain said softly. “I don’t think I’d be here without her.”

Bitter words crowded up Wilder’s throat. There were so many things he wanted to say. Angry things, spiteful things, broken and sharp-edged things. He’d tried to free them, tried to save them, and instead he’d cast himself into Purgatory. At least Lain had someone.

“We’ve got a little girl,” Lain went on, his voice rough. “She’s seven.”

Seven. Goddamn, Lain had been busy. How long was Wilder gone before Lain ran into his girl’s arms and started a new family?

“And we’re expecting again. She’s due in a few months.”

“That’s—that’s great.” He cleared his throat. It didn’t feel great. The chasm between them was even wider than he thought, and Wilder felt more adrift than ever. Once upon a time, they only had each other. Now he had no one.

“Breakfast is at six. One of the hands does most of the cooking. I’ll let Cash know to meet you after. He’ll have a list ofeverything you need. There are toiletries in the bathroom, but if any of that doesn’t work for you, let him know and we can replace whatever you don’t like.”

Wilder nodded. Navigating this conversation was exhausting, and he was ready to say goodnight.

As though sensing his waning energy, Lain inclined his head. “Night, then. See you tomorrow.” There was an upward lilt to the phrase, like he was unaccustomed to saying it.

Unaccustomed to saying it toWilder, certainly. He hadn’t visited once in eight years. Wilder was surprised he’d answered the goddamn phone when he called. But here he was, a ranch hand on the land he once called home. It was no longer home, just a stopping point on the way to whatever lay in his murky future.

At least the bed was nicer.

CHAPTER 3

CASH

There was tension in the air when Cash stepped into what they called the living room of the bunkhouse. The room itself was open, with a kitchen on the left and the living area on the right. A long dining table was the only thing separating the two, and a handful of ranch hands were already seated, tucking into eggs and biscuits and sausage. Among them, sitting at the end of the table apart from everyone, was Wilder.

Cash had woken that morning to a text from Lain.

Lain

He arrived. Take him to get a wardrobe in the AM. Whatever he needs. Put it on the ranch card. Then show him whatever needs doing.

So that was the plan. Over text wasn’t the ideal way to ask after Lain’s emotional state, but he’d check in with him later and see how the first meeting went. He’d planned to be there for it, but a bull had run through a part of the fence yesterday, and he’d worked late stringing it with fresh barbed wire with two of theother hands. Ranch life meant not keeping to a regular schedule. Anything could happen.

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