Page 31 of The Wrong Ride Home

No TV, no cell service—just silence. And that was what I needed.

But The Rusty Spur first. I’d start with losing myself in a man whose name I wouldn’t remember, andthenI’d bury Nash.

I covered my face with my hands as grief slammed into me again.He was gone. The only father figure in my life who’d bothered to keep me, regardless of how he felt about me, was gone.

I felt a sob rise through me.

I wasn’t invited to the funeral.

That wasn’t a shocker. What was a surprise was how much it hurt to have Duke lay that down for me.

I knew that Gloria wouldn’t have allowed it, and Duke sure as hell hadn’t fought for me. The ceremony would be all polished boots and stiff handshakes, a show for those who’d never really known Nash.

I didn’t need it, I thought as I wiped the tears that fell. Because when the crowd was gone, when the last polished car rolled out of the driveway, I’d know the truth since I’d be the one putting Nash into the earth the way he wanted—next to Mama, under the big cottonwood, where the land stretched wide, and the wind never stopped moving.

Hunt would be there with me, and maybe that’d make it easier. But once Nash was in the ground, he’d head to the funeral, and I’d leave to hide out in a cabin that wasn’t mine. Then I’d be alone.

Maverick had offered to stay with me and said he didn’t have to go to Nash’s funeral, but that’d stir up more trouble than it was worth. He knew that. This was ranch country—you showed up when a man died. You stood by his family, paid your respects, and bowed your head whether you liked him or not.

So…I’d be alone.

Like you always are, Elena.

I picked up my hat and slid my wallet into the back of my jeans pocket. I texted Hunt to let him know I wastaking his truck. He drove a ranch vehicle, so he let me use his junker.

Outside my office, the quiet shuffle of hooves and the distant scuff of boots on concrete alerted me. I frowned. Most of the hands were probably by the fire, drinking beer and telling tall tales.

“Ben?” I called, pushing open the office door. “That you?”

No answer.

I stepped into the dimly lit stable. The horses were calm, heads poking over stall doors, ears flicking toward the sound of my voice.

My heart stopped when I saw them right outside the stable, with the moonlight shining on them like a spotlight.

Duke and Fiona.

Her hand rested lightly on his chest; her body tilted toward him like she belonged there. He kissed her. I watched hungrily, hating what I saw. I became so caught up that I didn’t bother to hide, hoping the shadows would take care of that.

My heart ached.

I saw Duke’s hand lifting her dress, pressing his hand on her ass, and I looked away.

“God, Duke,” Fiona moaned.

My eyes flipped open. Her head was thrown back; he held one hand on her waist, and the other was…pleasuring her. He’d done that with me. I knew how his hands moved and how?—

“You’re so wet, Fi,” Duke rumbled. I raised my eyes and met his. “You have such a juicy pussy.”

He watched me while he kept touching her. I couldn’t see much—his hand was inside her dress, the fabric draped just enough to hide what he was doing.

“Duke. Please,” she whined.

He kept watching me.

I couldn’t look away.

His eyes were heated, and I remembered them as kind blue eyes that had looked at me with love—endless love. For the first time in my little life, someone sawmeand only me.

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