Page 67 of Wilder Heart

Wilder shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe. Not sure how he’s faring now that I’m not around to look after him.”

“How long was he in for?”

“Five years, I think. He’d done one when I was released. Told me he was a transient and got arrested breaking into people’s homes for supplies. Too many people have home security cameras now.”

“Tough break,” Cash said lightly—a littletoolightly, and Wilder shot him an amused look.

“Is that a tone of judgment I hear?” he teased.

“I said I wouldn’t judgeyou.” Cash smiled reluctantly. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t judge them, either.”

“You can judge some of them,” Wilder allowed, tucking an arm under his head. “Some of them absolutely do bad shit on purpose and fully intend to do more the minute they’re released.Lucky for me, I only had one dad to kill, so the odds of a repeat offense are low.”

Cash sputtered out a scandalized laugh.

Wilder beamed at him. “Thanks for laughing at that. Not many would’ve.”

Cash’s face softened, and he reached up to brush callused fingers delicately across Wilder’s cheek. “I’m not sure I could have survived in that kind of environment. You’re an incredibly strong, resilient man. Being a survivor doesn’t mean you’re bad.”

“Tell that to the rest of the town.”

“I will,” Cash swore seriously. “One person at a time. But I still think we should start with Lain.”

Wilder squirmed.

“I know you’re not ready yet, and that’s fine. But when you two are ready to finally have it out, I’ll be right there with you. Okay?”

Wilder blew out a breath. “He doesn’t care what I have to say, Cash.”

“Does that mean it shouldn’t still be said? For your own sake? Aren’t there things you wish you could say to him? Things you sat in that cell and dwelled on foreight years?”

Wilder’s eyes were dangerously wet again. “Yes,” he rasped. “Of course. He never came to visit, you know? Which I expected, I guess. The night it happened, I remember the shock on his face when it was over. Dad wasn’t moving, and Lain said ‘You orphaned us. He was all we had.’ And then he didn’t even come to the trial. He gave them permission to use his medical records and show the court that Dad had been beating us that night, but he never showed up. And the prosecutor pointed that out to the jury. ‘You use his medical records for your defense, but isn’t it true that he hasn’t spoken to you since that night?’”

Cash scowled. “They shouldn’t have done that. That was a low blow.”

“They were making a point that my own brother thought I was too dangerous to support. But I got ten years, not life, so I guess my story was sympathetic enough to give me a lightened sentence. Once I was in, I tried to call him a few times. To apologize or try to explain or something. Beg him to come and see me, because I felt like I was losing my mind. But he never took my calls.”

“How’d you wind up coming here when you were released, then? Didn’t you contact him?”

“I stopped calling for years. I called maybe a dozen times that first year, because I had nothing to do but dwell on all the poor choices I’d made that led me to where I was. It took me a while to figure out that he was never going to answer. I didn’twantto come here, because I knew he didn’t want me here, but I didn’t have anywhere else to go. So when my early parole was approved, I gave it one last shot. I called, and this time, eight years later, he finally answered.” He could admit, at least to himself, that he’d wondered why Lain finally answered that one. What changed? Or had time simply dulled Lain’s feelings about what happened back then? He’d never know unless they sat down and talked about it.

Cash frowned mulishly. “He should’ve taken your calls before then. You’re hisbrother.”

“I killed his father,” he whispered, with none of the glibness he usually infused that statement with. “Even if Dad was a piece of shit, Lain was right, he was all we had. I think… that’s how Lain sees it. Killing him ruined Lain’s life.”

“Ruined his life?” Cash repeated, incredulous. “Look around. The ranch is thriving. He’s got a beautiful wife and wonderful daughter. You think he’d have any of that if your dad was still in charge of this place?”

“I know, I know. I’m just telling you whatIthinkhethinks. Killing him thrust Lain into this huge, stressful role, running the ranch all alone. I don’t think he ever wanted that.”

“Maybe things were hard for him in the beginning,” Cash said, “but he’s so much better off now. Hell, he’s been running this whole ranch himself, and I know for a fact that he loves this place. Maybe he didn’t really want it then, but he’s turned it into a home. He wouldn’t have any of this if you hadn’t done what you did. Best case scenario, if your dad was still out of the picture at this point, Lain would probably be sharing it all with you.”

Something lurched through Wilder at that realization, and he turned away to stare up at the ceiling. Was that true? Was half the ranch supposed to have been his? He’d always wanted to run this ranch his way, without Dad’s interference. Did he throw away his teenage dream the night he killed him?

“That never occurred to you?” Cash asked softly.

“No. It made sense that Lain took over with Dad and me—gone. But I never thought about whether I had a claim to the ranch.”

Cash winced. “Would you… want it? I’ll admit, I worried in the beginning that Lain’s estranged brother would come in and try to bully his way into part-ownership of the ranch. But then I met you. You wouldn’t have done something like that.”

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