Page 110 of Ride the Sky

My heart pounds as memory ripples. That day so long ago. Back in Georgia.

Charlie enters the barn. “Wy? You okay?”

I try to speak, try to tell him what happened. Younger. His fist. The horses.

Instead, I groan.

Charlie gets closer. He stares and shakes his head as if to throw the image of me—busted, battered, bleeding, lying on the floor of the barn—out of his head.

Then he shouts. For our parents, our brothers. The hay shifts as he kneels beside me, places a shaking hand on my shoulder. “What happened, Wyatt? What happened?” His voice breaks.

I want to tell him it wasn’t an accident, wasn’t my fault, but I can’t answer him. My tongue has turned to mush.

My brothers’ concerned voices fill the barn. My parents are there. My head hurts. The world fades in and out.

When I wake next, I’m in the hospital. When my parents ask, I try to tell the truth. But I can’t. It sticks in my mouth. They don’t need to worry about me. What if they don’t believe me?

What if it was all my fault?

The slam of a door has me blinking, shaking my head to clear the reverie.

Ford stands there, a frown on his face. “Hey. What was that about?”

I shake my head, watch a tractor putter over the field. “Nothin’.”

Ford scrubs a hand over his stubbled jaw as his eyes narrow on me. “You’re actin’ shifty. With this job.”

Anger burns in my gut. “Yeah, well, it’s just a job.”

Ford stares at me for a long second then swears darkly under his breath. “Damn it. Knew you takin’ it was a bad idea.”

He’s right. It was a bad fuckin’ idea. I had some idiot notion that by takin’ it I could prove I could do it. I could protect those kids from that sonofabitch.

“If you hate it,” Ford says, clapping a hand on my shoulder, “quit.”

Bitterness rises inside of me. Old words that still sting. “And what? Then I’m a fuckup, right? I let y’all down?”

Ford gives me a strange look. “Nah, kid. You ain’t a fuckup.” He reaches out and cuffs my ear. “I don’t know why you think that.”

“Because—” I cut off, stopping myself.

Because ofhim. Younger. He drilled it in me. Made me feel like fucking shit. That’s why I never told my brothers or my parents. I was worried they’d think it was my fault. And maybe it was. Maybe I should have minded my own fucking business.

Ford peers at me. “Wy?”

“Never mind,” I mutter.

“We talked you into this job.” Ford says, his expression regretful. “That’s on us, too.”

I shrug. “Whatever, man.” Not wanting another lecture from my brother, I take off across the field, heading for the Edens.

Nerves on edge from the news about Younger’s visit, I stalk up the steps of Dakota’s farmhouse. When I walk in, she pokes her head out of the study.

“Fallon’s playing with Lainie and Duke in the playroom.” From a nearby room come the sounds of little giggles and a menacing growl. Dakota tilts her dark head. “C’mon. I’ll box up some pastries for you two.”

She leads me down the hallway into the kitchen. The island’s covered with flour and broken egg shells. On the counter, there’s a framed photo of Davis and Dakota at their wedding. One of Dakota and Fallon as girls, hugging baby lambs at their ranch.

I pick it up, my gaze studying Fallon, who looks as mischievous then as she does now.

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