Page 14 of Wilder Heart

Billy stood, looking thunderous, and Cash had had enough.

“Sit down,” he ordered sharply.

“But—“

“I said sit the fuck down.”

Mulishly, Billy sat back down, glaring daggers at Wilder, who looked askance at Cash.

“We’re good,” Cash said, kinder. “You can go. Have a good night, Wilder.”

Wilder diverted to the living room for his hat, gave Cash a nod of thanks, and slipped out of the room.

No one spoke after he left, and Cash pinned Billy with a glare. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you picking fights?”

Billy fidgeted. “I’m sorry, boss.” But he didn’t sound very sorry. “Seeing him again brought back a bunch of memories. Rebecca cried over him forweeks. And just when she was getting over him, everything with his daddy went down, and then she was all tore up about him going to prison. The whole town was in a state of shock after it happened. It was the first murder here in…” He paused, blowing out a breath. “Hell, a hundred years, probably.”

“What happened in the Blackwood family has nothing to do with you or your sister or the rest of the town,” Cash said. “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk again. If you can’t keep a civil tongue, keep your mouth shut. The last thing this ranch needs is the hands fighting amongst each other.”

Billy harrumphed. “Don’t even know why Lain let him come back. He’s bad news.”

“Lain let him come back because they’re brothers, and Wilder deserves a second chance.”

“He obviously doesn’t regret what he did. What’s to stop him from doing it again?” Billy said hotly, and goddamn if the other hands didn’t look considering.

“Billy,” Cash said coldly, “you can keep your opinions to yourself, or you can spend the last days of the summer doing all the worst jobs. Your choice.”

He sighed. “Yes, boss.”

But Cash feared the damage had already been done. The hands didn’t trust Wilder, and Wilder knew there was contention around his presence now.

CHAPTER 6

WILDER

Wilder locked himself in his room and tossed his hat on the dresser with a weary sigh. Collapsing on the bed, he stared up at the ceiling and lamented all the choices he’d made that led him here.

Rebecca Tanner. He hadn’t even thought about her in years. When he was seventeen, he hadn’t been out to anyone, and he’d done his best to blend in by dating her. She’d obviously been more invested in the relationship than he was. He’d even tried to sleep with her, but he couldn’t keep it up. It was extra shitty that they’d both been virgins at the time, so he’d technically been her first. She’d been his, too, he supposed, but he hadn’t really cared. After he broke up with her, he never really thought about how it might’ve affected her. He definitely hadn’t expected to run into her grudge-holding little brother. It was just one more mistake in a laundry list of bad decisions.

He showered, taking his time to scrub the day’s grime away. The water pressure was better than prison. The soap and shampoo smelled better, and the towels were fluffier. So far there wasn’t much he missed about prison. Maybe, sometimes, the routine. It was predictable. Everything out here was so big and complicated.

With steam clinging to his skin, he emerged from the shower and turned all the lights out. The bed was nice—a little flowerier than he might’ve chosen for himself, but comfortable. He laid down, staring up at the slowly whirling ceiling fan, circling as surely as his thoughts.

Thegallof Billy Tanner to tell Wilder that his prison sentence was hard on everyoneelse. They weren’t there. Nobody cared about the Blackwood boys when their father was drinking all the alcohol in town and roughing his kids up. But when one of them finally stood up and defended himself, he was the villain of Roselake. Any of them could have stepped in and saved Wilder from having to go to extreme measures to protect himself and Lain, but instead he was vilified. How dare he do something so heinous? Well, how dare they sit by andmakehim.

With a grunt of frustration, he flung the blankets back, found a clean pair of jeans, shoved his feet into his boots, and stepped out into the cool night air. In only a T-shirt, it was almost too cold for comfort, but he didn’t care. It was not quite eleven, and the ranch was quiet. Rubbing a hand up and down his chilly arm, he wandered over to the living room, looking in the window to make sure it was empty. The door was unlocked—there wasn’t anything worth stealing in here but food and aged books on an old bookshelf. The dishwasher was running, a rhythmic humming in the otherwise silent and dark room.

He took an apple from the fridge and went back outside, taking a bite and savoring the fresh, sweet taste that bloomed on his tongue.

A low snort broke the silence, and he glanced over at the barn to see the buckskin mustang watching him, its golden coat gleaming in the indigo moonlight. Humming lowly in surprise, he drifted over and stopped beside the mustang’s paddock. Was he lonely, separated from the rest of the horses here? Wilderwondered what they planned to do with him. It seemed a shame to break such a stubborn, free-spirited soul.

“Hey, boy,” he said quietly, and the horse’s head twitched. “I’ll share if you’re brave enough to come closer.” He held out the half-eaten apple.

The horse nickered, hooves dancing nervously.

“Come on, darlin’,” he cooed. “Take your time. I’ll wait.”

He wondered if anyone had tried this, waiting patiently for the horse to come to them. Somehow he doubted it. All these men knew horses, but the ranch was also a busy place. There were always jobs to be done. They didn’t have time to stand around and wait for a stubborn horse to give in.

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