Page 27 of Wilder Heart

His heart jumped into his throat as the truck swerved off the road, coming to a stop on a dirt path in front of a random fence gate. It was deserted for now, and dust billowed around the windows as Cash put the truck in park and turned to face Wilder with a grave expression.

“You listen to me and you listen good,” Cash said sternly. “You’re one of the hardest workers on the ranch. When Billy started in on you that night at the dinner table, you didn’t take the bait. You even loaded the goddamn dishwasher without having to be told, wiped your hands of Billy’s bullshit and walked off without getting angry. You work tirelessly with Blaze. You’re patient and calm with him, as understanding of that horse as I wish everyone could be with you. You committed a crime as a kid who didn’t see any other way out. I don’t think you should be punished for the rest of your life because of that. I think the system let you down. I think this wholetownlet you down. And I’ll be damned if I sit there and watch them treat you like shit for the rest of your life because they were all too cowardly to stand up for a couple of kids who needed help.”

Wilder’s throat ached with the effort he made not to give in to the tears. He couldn’t speak around it, and his eyes burned. He was sure that if he looked at Cash’s earnest expression, he’d shatter. Instead, he shook his hand free and reached for his bottle of water, opening it and taking a long sip. Cash sat back, ducking his head to massage his forehead and maybe give Wilder a moment to compose himself.

When he finally felt like he could speak, he rasped, “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve having you in my corner, Cash, but… I’m glad you are.”

It didn’t feel like enough to encompass everything Cash meant to him, but he didn’t dare reach for anything more. Hewas lucky enough to have Cash’s friendship. Hell, he’d even trusted him enough to come out to him. Just because Cash was bisexual didn’t mean anything would happen between them. Wilder had just been in prison so long that a genuine friendship looked like more to him. That was all it was.

When they got backto the ranch, Clyde was waiting to help them unload the groceries in the bunkhouse, and, not wanting there to be too many proverbial cooks in the literal kitchen, Wilder made his way to the barn to find something to do for the day.

Across the yard, Blaze trotted restlessly. Wilder was going to ride him today. He was sure of it. He’d put a saddle on him, and Blaze would tolerate it long enough for a taste of freedom. They both needed it.

Since everyone else was already scattered across the ranch doing various jobs, Wilder put himself to work cleaning out the horse stalls. It was smelly, tedious work, but he didn’t mind it. It gave his hands something to do while his mind raced.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself be so vulnerable with someone. He trusted Cash more than just about anyone. A part of him wanted to be humiliated by the way he’d reacted to Gary and how he’d behaved after, but it was so cathartic he couldn’t truly bring himself to regret it.

Sometimes, he admitted to himself, he missed prison. It was easier, in a way. He knew where he stood amongst the other inmates. There was no second-guessing or floundering for what was right. It was all about survival. During his first weeks inside, he’d been heartbroken. Sentenced to ten years, he’d mourned for the life he’d lost. Not just the one he’d known, but the life hecouldhave had. He’d dreamed of one day being in charge of the ranch, running it the way it deserved, or cutting out on his own with Lain and finding a new ranch all their own. But suddenly he was locked away. Everything would be different when he finally got out, and what was more, he felt like the boy he’d once been had died with his father. He would be a felon for life because of what he’d done. By the time he got out, everyone he knew would be out of college and working. While they found careers and spouses and had children, he would be stagnant. He’d had to come to terms with that. He’d spent many nights silently crying himself to sleep, wishing desperately that things could have been different. That someone else had stepped in and done the hard thing so he could go on being a kid for just a little while longer.

But after he was done feeling sorry for himself, he’d locked away those childish emotions and focused on the present. Prison was his life, and he had to make do with the hand he’d been given. So he’d made a name for himself amongst the inmates, turned himself into the kind of person no one would mess with. It was the easiest way to protect himself. He was lucky that the things he’d done while behind bars had gone unnoticed, or at least unsolved by the guards. Nobody, not even the guards, cared about what happened to some of the worst guys he’d gone up against.

He wasn’t a good man. He was a survivor, and he always had been. Cash deserved better than he could offer, even in friendship. There was a lot more to life than surviving; he’d just never known anything else. And in prison, he’d started from scratch. None of the inmates knew him when he arrived, and while they’d seen a scrawny, eighteen-year-old kid, he’d been able to prove himself to them in time. Out here, he was already known. His past followed him like a dark specter, looming over every interaction. He could never escape it.

Two years. That was all he had to do here on the ranch. Maybe less, if he could save up enough money to eke out a living elsewhere and get the approval of the courts for a move. He liked Cash, but enough to build a future here? He didn’t think so. One person’s friendship couldn’t assuage a lifetime of bad decisions. A clean start somewhere else was his best option, no matter how much he liked Cash.

“How come we’ve never met before, Uncle Wilder?”

The little voice—and girl—appeared out of nowhere directly in front of him, and he nearly smacked himself in the face with his own shovel.

“Jesus!”

She giggled, covering her mouth. “I’m sorry. Did I scare you?”

“I—No. It’s fine.” He cleared his throat. “What’d your dad tell you?”

“That you were somewhere far away.”

It was about eight hours from the prison to Roselake, so it wasn’t actually a lie. “He’s not wrong.” He scraped up some more horse dung from the stall he was in and passed her to dump it in the wheelbarrow.

“Where have you been, then?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No. He said it was grownup stuff.”

“Then what makes you think I’ll tell you?”

Her blue eyes narrowed. “Were you a spy?”

He snorted. “No.”

“Were you on the run?”

“Who would I be running from?”

She paused. “Daddy?”

He frowned. “I wouldn’t have come back then, would I?”

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