Burn the Wild (Runaway Ranch, #3)

by Ava Hunter

The earth beneath my feet moves. I’m moving. Out of the hotel room. Down the stairs, two at a time, in heels. I’m a pro.

me rises. I hear my name called in a husky, familiar drawl, but I ignore that too as I shove through the crowd, tears building in my eyes. Somehow, I escape them. The paparazzi. My manager. The crowds. And I walk. Away from everything. Away from the stage, the music, the burn of the neon. Away, away, away. I’ve never walked out on Gavin before. Not on the shoot of Hell or High Water or that time he smashed my dinner plate on the ground when I took a brownie for dessert. Disappointing Gavin is like kicking him in the balls, but I don’t care. Not anymore.

I look around to make sure I’m alone—no cameras, no fans—then I wade into the water. The rippling movement is hypnotic, made even more so by the crescent moon above and the distant lights of Broadway. I hiss a breath as the cool water hits my waist like its soft edge might cut me. Chill bumps dot my arms. The soggy rabbit fur coat is like a heavy chain dragging me down.

I move deeper through the rippling water. A hand wraps around my arm. “What the fuck? Reese?” I’m yanked backward and spun around. A tall cowboy frowns down at me. My anxiety ebbs a little when I see who is in the water with me. Grady Montgomery. My first opening act. Disheveled brown hair, an endearing grin. I’ve barely known him for two months, but he’s relentlessly cheerful.

“You okay?” I shake my head, a hysterical sob bubbling in my lungs. “No. I’m not.” He studies me for a moment and then his hands clasp my shoulders. “What do you need?” I tense at his question, then fling myself into his arms. “I don’t know what to do.” It’s a breathless rasp into Grady’s chest. My arms wind around his waist. “I hate this life. Nothing feels right anymore. No one cares what I do. Or where I go. They just care that I make them money.”

“I care,” he says, rubbing my back. He has no scorn or sarcasm in his tone. Only concern. “I care, Reese.”

Is it possible that Grady Montgomery is my only friend in the world? He releases me. “You need to go.” My gaze shoots to Grady. “What?” He tilts my chin up, his expression gentle. “I want you to go to your place, pack a bag and go. Lie low.” Helplessness crashes over me. “I don’t have anywhere to go.” “I have a place.” My throat closes up for a second. “Where?” “Runaway Ranch.” “Runaway Ranch,” I echo. Grady nods. “It’s my brother’s ranch in Montana.”

“Really?” My voice comes out small, distrustful. “Really.” His earnest eyes bring tears to mine. “I won’t tell anyone where you are.” A sob climbs up my throat, but I choke it down. Now’s not the time to lose it. “Thank you.” “You look tired,” Grady says. “It’ll give you time to—to rest.”

“I’ll text you the address. They’re good guys. I’ll call them and tell them you’re coming.” With a careful grip on my elbow, Grady walks me to the bank of the Cumberland. “Take my car.” Cool metal presses into my palm. “Parking garage. Third floor, black Mustang.” He drops my arm, his voice soft with encouragement. “You got this.”

The black cat my sister-in-law pawned off on me last year prowls forward. Her big green eyes flicker in the dark. She raises one svelte paw and gives it a lick. I lift up on my elbows. “Can you not stalk me? I don’t need this shit in my life right now.” Mouse settles for kneading my stomach. I give her a scratch on the rump as she settles into my side. As annoying as she is, she’s my shadow. A dirty, dumpster-diving garage cat, but I can’t help but love her.

“You busy writing songs or chasing women?” I ask my little brother. Grady chuckles. “Both. Listen…” My ears pick up the reluctance in his tone. It reminds me of when he was a little boy, and how he’d always get nervous asking me to play baseball with him. “You need something, kid?” “I’m gonna send someone your way.” “What kind of someone?” Grady hesitates. “Someone who needs help.” “Great. Just what I need,” I grumble, moving back to sit on the edge of the bed.

“What about me? I need help from dickhead little brothers who call at two in the fucking morning.” He laughs, happy. That’s Grady, even getting yelled at. “I think you’ll survive, Ford.” Grady lowers his voice. “So, will you help her?” “Yeah, yeah.” I scrub a hand over my face. As much as I moan and grump, my little brother has a heart of gold. If he’s telling me something’s wrong, I listen to him. “Her name’s Reese Austin. She needs a place to lie low.” That gets me to cock an eyebrow. “Lie low? Like hide out?” “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know much do you, kid?” I can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Just give her a place to stay, you asshole. Put her in a chalet.” That gives me pause. “You’re tellin’ me she’s famous?” “I’m tellin’ you to just do it.”

“That’s what I’m getting? Some rich bitch?” Grady sighs. “You can’t tell anyone she’s there.” “I ain’t the one, kid.” I don’t need more bullshit in my life. I’ve barely been able to keep myself on a straight line as it is. “It’s a favor, man. I’ll owe you.” I consider it. “You’ll owe me double.” “You got it. She should be there any day now.” “Anything else I should know?” “Yeah. Don’t let her have any whiskey.”

Coffee cup in hand, I snag my climbing bag from the garage, then head to the UTV parked outside. Mouse leaps onto my seat. She’s got our routine down pat. I fire it up, and as we roar across the field, I take it all in. Crystal clear views. Snow-dusted mountain tops. Emerald-green pastures. A field of bright yellow sunflowers. Runaway Ranch vans shuttling loads of guests.

The ranch is like working for the mob. It kicks your ass until you pay your dues.

Lol

A full guest book is a fucking nice problem to have when three years ago we were pissing in the wind trying anything and everything to fill a cabin. My fault with that damn video that made the rounds, effectively ruining our reputation and bringing trouble we didn’t need. But hell, if it weren’t for my mistake, Charlie would never have found Ruby, and we wouldn’t be where we are. She brought our brother back.

Dakota’s behind the island, cracking eggs one-handed into a bowl. On her hip, Duke. He’s cherub-cheeked, with jet-black hair and chubby fists. “Perfect timing,” she says, bouncing her son. “Uncle Ford’s here.” I place Mouse on a stool and take him as Dakota passes him off to me. “What’s up, you little monster?” Even at a year old, the kid’s the tiny terror of Runaway Ranch. He chases horses. Sneaks up on Mouse. Bosses my brother’s Belgian Malinois, Keena. I keep telling Davis he takes after Wyatt, but my twin refuses to hear it. It scares the shit out of him.

“What about Charlie?” Davis turns, clocks the room with his sharp gaze, then looks at Ruby. “Where is he?” Ruby bites her lip. “Someone yelled at me in the parking lot of the market last week and he finally found the truck.”

The door swings open. Charlie strides in with a squirrelly-looking smile and a crazed glint in his eye. Davis pivots from Dakota. Frowns. “Let me see your knuckles,” he orders. Charlie rolls his eyes but sticks both fists out. Davis scrutinizes Charlie’s knuckles. I do too, but mostly to know how proud of him I should be. When it comes to our younger siblings, my twin and I play good cop, bad cop. He’s the hands-on type. Me? I only pull the big brother card when there’s imminent danger of death. Satisfied, Davis nods and turns back to his wife. While Davis isn’t looking, Charlie, proud as hell, takes a busted windshield wiper out of the back pocket of his jeans and sets it on the kitchen table. Ruby squeaks and covers Duke’s eyes. “Fucker had it coming,” Charlie says to me in a low voice. I snicker. “Who was it?” I feel for the poor bastard on the other end of Charlie’s wrath. “Clyde Krenshaw.”

“Speaking of little brothers,” I say, and all eyes land on me. “Heard from Grady last night. Two in the damn morning.” Dakota snaps off the oven. “He okay?” “He’s sending someone to the ranch.” I shrug carelessly. “Some big-shot country singer. Wants her to stay in a chalet.” Both Davis and Charlie look unhappy. We all know what that means. More work. Ridiculous demands. For a second, I’m half tempted to tell my twin it’s his problem, but the dark circles under his eyes tell me Duke’s kept him up again. I don’t have the heart to be an asshole. “I’ll handle it,” I say. “Whatever it is.”

I love this ranch. I love my brothers. My sisters-in-law. My family. And last year I almost fucked it all up. All because I was an angry asshole. I put down Charlie and Ruby’s relationship. I fucked with Wyatt and his feelings for Fallon. I said bullshit words about Dakota. Fucking with my twin’s relationship was my rock bottom. I could have lost it all. I should have. Ford, if you ain’t happy with your life, fix it, Davis had said. So I did.

“What can I do for you, Jim?” I’m not in the mood for small talk. Especially not with Jim Donovan, owner of the Phoenix Renegades, and my ex’s father. “Listen, son, I’ll admit it. It’s no secret we’ve had our…issues.” I snort. Issues is putting it lightly. “Trust me, this phone call is purely business. We’re looking for someone to take over as the Renegades’ new television play-by-play broadcaster. Big leagues. Big time.” “And you thought of me,” I say dryly. “We did.”

“No one wants me.” Frowning, I attach a hook to the side of the rock. “Not after that video.” A smug smile in his voice. “Which video?” Which video is fucking right. Jim’s voice shifts from carefree to alert. “We buried the one of you and Savannah. It wasn’t good optics for either of you.” He clears his throat. “And no one remembers that other video anymore, Ford.”

“Can’t commit,” I say, watching a red tail hawk soar through the sky. “Not yet.” “You’re on a ranch, son.” Disdain stains his voice. “In Montana.” Annoyance prickles my spine. That’s the bastard he’s always been. A smug, rich asshole who thinks the entire world is a cement city. “I’ll take the ranch any day of the week.” “That’s your brother’s place,” he argues. “You gotta make a place for yourself. You did it once. You can do it again.” Restlessness rattles beneath my skin. A grudging admittance that he’s right. “You think pissin’ me off is really the way to my heart, Jim?” He chuckles. “You saying no?”

“Give me the summer,” I say. “You’re not gonna put anyone new in a booth, especially with it bein’ mid-season.” He blows out a rush of air. “I’ll wait. Just make it worth my while.” I roll my eyes. “Right.” “Ford.” “Yeah?” “Who’s going to win the World Series?” I grin. “White Sox,” I tell him. “They’ll come back after being shut out for five innings. Then, Colm Meeney will get a solo homer in the tenth and end it.” “See?” Jim laughs. “Gotta get you in the booth.”

The one thing I knew since I was eight years old was I wanted to play baseball and I wanted a family. Clear natural law. And do I have either of those? I sure fucking don’t.

Savannah. A lawyer, blonde, bright, beautiful. We were opposites. She was a good girl who had her shit together. I was a southern boy bumming around on a baseball field. But I loved her. I loved taking her out and showing her off. Our song was George Jones’ “He Stopped Loving Her Today” and on late nights she’d lean over to me in bed and whisper, “It can’t get better than this, Ford.” We dated for three years before I popped the question. Planned it out to a fucking tee. Even asked Jim for his permission. During our warm-up, I brought her onto the field, because Savannah loved spectacle. Drama. Anything she wanted, I wanted to give it to her. I got down on one knee. With my heart hammering in my chest, I pulled out a ring. Only… She said no. She left me kneeling on the mound, feeling like a used-up fool. As a chorus of boos filled the stadium, I put the ring back in my pocket. I rallied and pitched the best game I ever had in my life. All the while, it felt like she had walked off and left me to die on that field. Later, she found me in the locker room.

It hit at once like a lightning strike. Everything clicked, though it was about three years too late. She wasn’t the one. Never once did she go home with me to Georgia. The way she’d micromanage every little thing I wore, especially when we went to one of her fucking parties. How she hated when I wasn’t with her but wasn’t happy when I was. The way we never had good days. They were either amazing or awful—so high or so fucking low. It was never good enough. I was never good enough.

Gritting my teeth, I stare at the flat tire on my glittering blue ’67 Chevy pickup. I pull out my phone and pace while I try to get a signal. Fucking figures, I get goddamn reception on the mountain, but in town, I’m shit out of luck. When I see the time, I groan. It was meant to be a quick two-hour climb, but without a doubt, I’ll be late.

I gotta get back. Now. If it means hitching a ride—so fucking be it. I blow out a breath and search the road. A black Mustang is coming toward me. Fast. A tan arm hangs out the window. I stick out my thumb, step into the road. But the Mustang doesn’t slow down. It accelerates at an alarming rate, and blows right past, leaving me in a cloud of dust and exhaust. “Slow down, asshole,” I mutter, catching a glimpse of the out-of-town license plate. Great. Just what the Resurrection locals need. Some dickhead out-of-towner plowing them down. And then, the hand lifts and flips me off with expert precision. An armful of gold bangles dangle from a slender wrist as the driver careens down the freeway like they’re an outlaw on the run for their life.

On the drive here, I promised myself I’d be New Reese. No drinking. No dancing. No dark mind. Clean slate. But God. Old Reese really wants a drink right now.

I glance up and the cowboy stands there, frozen, whiskey bottle gripped in his fist. His eyes land on my bangles. Something like recognition filters into his gaze. “Not from here, are you?” he asks, sounding surly. I rack my brain to think if I’ve seen him before. No. He’s just a dusty, crabby cowboy who should be pouring me a drink. “How’d you guess?” His nostrils flare. “Because when people are stuck on the side of the road in a small town, you typically stop to help.” He pours whiskey into a crystal glass. I scoff. “Strange men, hitchhikers? I don’t think so.” His frown deepens to a scowl. “Let me guess, that’s your car out there takin’ up three parkin’ spots.”

“Look, give me the drink and I’ll go.” His gaze returns to me like a magnet. “Let me break it down for you, honey. You won’t get far givin’ the orders ‘round here.”

“Don’t call me honey.” I swallow, push aside the pang of hurt. “Seriously. Give me my goddamn drink.” He lays a long, cocky look on me, instantly annoying me. “The whiskey’s for paying customers. Guests.” His lip quirks up. “You have a room here? You lost? Because I have a map with directions to the best way out of town.”

“Fuck me.” He stares at my credit card as if it’s a bomb. A muscle jerks in that chiseled jaw as his amber eyes lift to mine. “You’re Reese?” he demands. “I am.” I toss my hair. “And I suppose you are the unfortunate grouchy cowboy welcome wagon.”

My jaw tightens. I hold out my hand. “The drink.” The glass bobs in his hand like he’s considering something. Then he drawls, “Sorry, honey. Don’t think you need this today.” I watch in horror as he downs my drink in one long shot. Smirks. A squeak comes from the blonde girl behind him. Her blue-eyed gaze pinballs from me to the cowboy. Fists clenched, I stomp my heel. “You—you asshole.” “Tell it to the judge. Here.” With a cocky grin that lights a fire in my chest, he slides a glass of water toward me. “Cool off.”

I grab the glass of water and splash it in his face. There’s a collective gasp from the guests in the lodge, then…silence. I stare at him, and he stares at me. His gaze sharpens, as if he’s deciding whether to choose violence, then he drags a hand down his water-soaked face.

Grady was wrong. I don’t need this ranch. I don’t need anyone. Let alone a cowboy with anger management issues. I’ll get back in my car, find a map, and head somewhere else. Figure out what to do next. There’s only one problem. My car. There’s smoke rising from the hood. Karma, I suppose for taking up multiple parking spots.

“Oh shit.” I fan my hands over the hood, heat seeping into my fingertips. “Shit, shit, shit.” My high-heeled boots wobble across the gravel as I hover around the car, pushing at the smoke like I can make it all go away. Like that black spot isn’t hanging over my shoulder laughing at me. It can’t get any worse. “That ain’t gonna help you, honey.”

“Leave me alone.” The crunch of gravel tells me he’s circling me. Like a vulture. “I’d love to. But I promised my little brother I’d give you a place to stay and since big brotherly duty frowns on reneging on promises…looks like you’re stuck with me.” Ugh. Of course, this broody cowboy is Grady’s brother.

“Not you,” I say, horrified. “You’re the last person I want to be stuck with.” He heaves an annoyed sigh, looming over me as he places a disarmingly big hand on the engine hood. “Believe me, I feel the same way about you.”

Lol damn

The cowboy slaps greasy hands on the thighs of his jeans. “Whether or not you wanna get away, you won’t get far with this car. You got a leaky radiator.” I blink. “Since when?” A vein pulses in his temple. “Since I looked at it.”

“It started making a noise back in Illinois.” My tongue prods at the inside of my cheek. “I just kept going.” “Yeah, you would do that, wouldn’t you?” Heat darkens my cheeks. “How long will it take to fix?” “Don’t know,” he clips. I roll my eyes. “Aren’t you a cowboy? You’re supposed to be charming. Helpful.”

“So what do I do?” I ask,

“You stay here.” A shrug of his broad shoulder. “Unfortunately.” “Absolutely not.” With a huff, I stalk away from him. But the boots I’m wearing have no grip and I slip and slide over the gravel drive. My knees are buckling when a big, calloused hand wraps around my wrist. “Please tell me you ain’t planning to wear these boots around the ranch.” His voice is stern, but the way he grips my wrist is almost tender.

“So what if I am?” He grunts. “Bangles need work, too. You’re loud as hell.” “Good thing I’ll be out of here before you can work yourself into a froth,”

going. He stares at me, his gaze a dark storm brewing on the horizon. His hand stays wrapped around my wrist, the sensitive skin there tingling with a memory I try to push away. Burning. Falling into dark. He must read something in my face because he drops my wrist.

“Where are we going?” I ask, cupping my bangles in my hand and jogging after him. God forbid I jingle on the way. “I’m taking you to your lodging.” He looks like he hates the idea. I halt. “Not in that.” For a long second, I miss limos. Private drivers. He grunts and keeps going, his long lope casting lazy shadows across the gravel drive. “Suit yourself. But trust me, it’s a long hike to where you’re staying.” I remain rooted in place, arms crossed, unwilling to budge until he tells me where exactly he’s taking me. “By the way,” he tosses over his shoulder. “Your card’s been declined.”

Be nice Ford

When Grady said he was sending some starlet to the ranch, I had my doubts. But Reese looks every bit the part of a dolled-up country singer. A sheer low-cut blouse tied high at the midriff. A tight black skirt. Boots covered in diamonds or crystals or whatever shit that makes her glow. Platinum blonde hair that’s as stick-straight and as skinny as she is. Then there’s her face. Heart-shaped, high as hell cheekbones, long lashes, and pouty pink lips. Eyes that remind me of the pasture on the first day of spring.