Page 7 of Wilder Heart

Wilder nodded, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “That’s fine. I just don’t want any handouts. I can make my own way.”

Cash inclined his head. He couldn’t, actually, because without the advance he wouldn’t be able to buy what heneeded. But that was semantics and not worth mentioning. Cash understood the drive to be independent. It was one of the reasons he’d cut out on his own with a secondhand camper at eighteen years old, after all.

“We’ll get you sorted,” he said. “Eat up. After we get your stuff, we’ll come back and I’ll show you the ropes. How are you on a horse? Can you ride?”

A couple of the other guys drifted closer, sitting around Cash and trying not-so-subtly to listen in. Cash resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They gossiped as much as a bunch of old ladies. There wasn’t much else to do out in the fields all day but talk to each other while they worked.

One of Wilder’s cheeks twitched. It might’ve been a grimace; it certainly wasn’t anything resembling a smile. His eyes were too bitter for that.

“I used to. Haven’t been on one since I was… seventeen maybe.” Under his breath, he added, “Think that’s when he sold the last one.”

“Were you any good?” Cash asked lightly. That might’ve been a question better suited for Lain, who would be able to give a more objective answer.

To his surprise, Wilder’s gaze softened with remembered fondness. He shrugged one shoulder. “I got by.”

No defensiveness, no boasting. Cash was quietly impressed. Wilder obviously enjoyed riding, back when he could. He’d try to make a point of putting Wilder in a saddle sooner rather than later. Anything to help drain the tension from the man’s shoulders.

There were quitea few stores in Roselake that would have clothes for Wilder, but fewer had the kind of hats and boots he’d need for long days on horseback and out under the unforgiving sun. Wilder was quiet in the truck, watching the world pass by outside the window. The knife tattoo on his neck was easily visible from this angle, and Cash wanted to ask him if what Clyde said about it was true.

But it wasn’t his business.

When they pulled into McKenzie’s, he ushered Wilder out of the truck and led him inside. The scent of leather hit him as they stepped through the glass doors. There were boots along the back wall, clothes racks in the middle of the room, belts and hats over on the right. Cash gestured for him to go ahead.

“Jeans and shirts first. Two belts. Get some long sleeves and flannels, and we’ll find you a good coat for winter, too.”

Wilder’s dark brows were in his hairline, staring around at the store with tension pulsing in his jaw.

“Wilder,” he said softly, and ocean blue eyes found his, searching. “It’s okay. Don’t stress. One thing at a time. How about jeans?”

Wilder nodded, taking a fortifying breath as Cash led him into the middle of the room where jeans were folded on tables and shirts hung on circular racks. He sent Wilder into a changing room with two different sizes in both jeans and T-shirts. He looked a little thinner than Lain, who was in turn a bit thinner than Cash, but sometimes looks could be deceiving.

“Hey there,” a perky voice said while he waited, and he turned to see McKenzie herself, gray-streaked blonde hair pulled back in a high bun. “Can I help y’all with anything?”

The dressing room door opened, and anything Cash might’ve said fell right out of his head. In a T-shirt that actually fit and jeans that hugged his lean legs, Wilder looked less like an ex-con and more like a rugged bad boy. His eyes were stillshadowed, his expression uncertain, but Cash’s mouth went dry nonetheless.

Don’t go there, he told himself.

“Yes,” he told McKenzie. “We could use some help. Can he just wear those out of the store?”

“Certainly. Just let me get the handheld scanner so I can ring them up for you.”

“We also need…” Cash paused, stroking his jaw in thought, “five more of the jeans and the shirts in those sizes.”

McKenzie took down the sizes Wilder told her and wandered away to gather everything.

“How do they feel?” Cash asked. How long had it been since Wilder wore a nice fitting pair of jeans? A shirt he picked out himself?

Wilder passed a hand down his abdomen, glancing down at himself. “It’s good. Never thought it was possible tomissjeans.” He rocked back on his heels, lifting the toes of his navy slip-on canvas shoes. “It’ll be nice to get out of these shoes, too. Arch support is a bitch.”

Cash chuckled. “Come on, then. Boots are over here.”

Because Wilder didn’t actually know his own shoe size anymore, they used one of the metal foot measurers to get an idea. Then Cash let Wilder peruse the boots on display until he found some square-toed, brown roper boots.

The minute he stood up, he groaned. “Oh God, that’s good.”

The sound rolled down Cash’s spine. He cleared his throat. “Good. You want to look in the mirror? Walk around in them a bit?”

Cash picked up the box, expecting they’d be getting these. When he raised his gaze, Wilder had his back to him, looking at himself in the mirror with his head tilted like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Cash’s gaze trailed down the long length of his body. The boots had just enough of a heel to lift him up,accentuating his thighs and the curve of his ass. He lookedgood, and Cash couldn’t explain why he was thinking that about Wilder when he’d never had a passing thought about Lain. They weretwins, after all. Lain was like a little brother to him, but somehow Wilder ticked boxes he didn’t even know hehad.

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