Burn the Wild (Runaway Ranch, #3)

by Ava Hunter

“She’s takin’ too many risks,” Wyatt hisses. Blowing out a breath of air, he tears a hand through his hair. Only when Fallon slides off Lawless’s backside does Wyatt relax.

“Listen, kid.” I lean in, drop my voice. Gentler than I was last year. “You’re overcompensating for what happened last year, and you can’t do it.”

“You don’t know shit,” Wyatt says, but his words don’t hold any real heat. “I know that girl is the wind,” I tell him. “You can’t catch her or babysit her when you gotta worry about your own damn self.” Wyatt stares into the sun, looking pained, but he’s listening.

I nod at his elbow. “This why you keep busting your stupid ass up? Watching out for Fallon?” Wyatt opens his mouth, but then quickly shuts it as Fallon and Lawless approach. “Hey, Ford.” “Hey, honey.” I take off my ball cap, set it back on. “That was an insanely risky move, cowgirl.” Fallon and I have always had an honest friendship. She’s like a feral little sister of mine. I respect her for her risk and her heart. “Lawless had it.” Fallon pats her horse’s flank. “Isn’t that right?” Wyatt scowls. “Horse has it until he doesn’t.” “If I have to fuck around and find out, so be it,” she says with a stone-cold expression, staring right at Wyatt.

One missed text. Unknown number. Do you have an answer for my daddy? Fuck. It feels like a bullet has torn through my chest. I can hear her voice. See the tap of those impatient nails. Seven damn years now and Savannah still has the power to piss me off. If this is Jim Donovan’s tactic to get me to take that job, fuck that guy.

Wyatt jabs a finger, and I glance over to where he’s pointing. Reese stands near the barn, pitchfork stabbed into the earth, an iced coffee in her hand. Sam, our ranch hand, chats her up. Un-fucking-believable. One bat of her lashes and Sam’s already bringing her a gallon of Starbucks.

I hop off the fence. “Give me your rope.” My brother arches an amused brow. “You sure?” I grit my teeth. “Give it to me.” Wyatt passes it over and I coil the rope up tightly, grabbing the smaller circle and threading it until I have a loop. Holding the coil in my left hand, I lift it overhead and swing it around and around until I find a smooth rhythm. Then, with Reese in my sights, I release the loop. Bullseye. A good clean catch. Wyatt cackles. I grin. Then, I cinch the rope looped around her torso. Reese screams. “Ford, you’re a fuckface,” Fallon says.

“You lassoed me!” Reese shrieks. Her chest heaves. “Like livestock.” I stride toward her. She’s a filthy mess. Blonde hair sticks to her sweaty brow, and the dress she wears slides high over her tan thighs. I look down at her. “Moo moo, baby.” Her pillowy lower lip juts out. “This is a ranch. We don’t cry.” “I’m not.” “Strutting those long legs up on stage ain’t a job, honey. Neither is bossing around the help or getting special treatment.”

“Are you always such an asshole?” Impatience and anger get the best of me. “No, Reese, I’m not. Do you want to know why I’m an asshole? Because you’re a brat. Because I don’t want to be babysitting your spoiled ass the entire summer. I don’t want to miss out on fishing and baseball because guess what? Those are two things I really fucking love. I sure as hell don’t want you to stress out my brothers because they have enough on their fucking plates at the moment. In fact, the last thing I want to do is spend time with a spoiled, pampered, pain-in-the-ass princess.”

I cross my arms. “C’mon, scream and shout, blondie.” But she doesn’t. Instead, she picks herself up, dusts her hands on the stomach of her glittery dress, and in the smallest voice I’ve ever heard says, “I hate you.”

Without another word, Reese turns, and walks toward the chalet, shoeless.

Fallon socks me in the arm. “You are an asshole, Ford.” Another punch so hard I rock back on my boots. “Seriously, go fuck yourself and your high horse.” With venom in her eyes, she flips me off and storms for the ring. The disappointed look Wyatt gives me scalds. “I don’t know, Ford. This ain’t you, man.” It’s not. I think of the text burning a hole in my back pocket. I glance toward the barn. The concrete floor is bare and clean, every blade of hay stacked perfectly in the loft. I couldn’t even do it better. An ache twists in my gut. I tear a hand through my hair. “Fuck.” I am an asshole.

“How’s she doin’ on the ranch?” Grady asks. “I, uh, might have taught her a lesson.” “What kind of lesson?” He sounds suspicious. I tug a hand through my hair. “A ranch lesson.” Grady swears when I finish telling him about today. “Ford, you dickhead. I told you she needs help. Not some asshole screaming at her. She already gets that from her manager.”

I should have given that girl some grace, and I didn’t. There’s a long pause before I ask, “Is that why she’s running?” Fuck me. I want to know. “I think so,” Grady admits. “I think she needs a lot of rest. I don’t think she’d be okay if she came back. I think she’d do something…unhealthy.”

“She needs a safe place to stay. Maybe a hug.” “A hug, huh?” My eyes drift to the open garage doors, then beyond them, to the ranch. Reese. Grady chuckles. “Just be nice to her. I think she needs it.” Before I know it, my boots are carrying me across the ranch. “Just say you’re sorry, you asshole,” I grumble to myself. “It ain’t hard. You’re a cowboy. Own it when you’re fucking wrong.”

Mid-internal-pep talk, I see Sam headed toward the staff cabins. He slows his truck to a crawl, and I come to a stop beside his driver’s side window. “You headed to the chalets?” he asks, one denim-clad arm hanging out the window. Impatience rattles beneath my skin. “Yeah. I am.” “Girl’s not there,” he grunts. “Where the fuck is she?” I growl, my chest rising with each word. Sam grins. “Took her to Nowhere.”

Beef cranes his bald head, suspicion furrowing his brow. “Wyatt here?” “Relax,” I say, and he breathes a sigh of relief. “Coast is clear.” No fighting for me. Not since I put my hand through the jukebox last year. Beef polishes a glass. “Drink?” “No.” I sidestep a couple dancing and belly up to the bar. “I’m here for—for someone.” Beef tosses a waitress a can of Bud, while saying, “You here for Jane?” “Jane?” I follow his eyeline and see bangles, sharp cheekbones, green eyes. Reese. She’s in a booth next to Lionel Wolfington. With a cheesy smile on his face, the asshole looks like he struck gold. Reese looks it, too.

I turn to Beef. “How many drinks has she had?” “Five,” Beef grunts, lifting a wary brow. “Not sure how she’s still standing.” “I need an order of fries,” I tell Beef. “Now.”

“Ain’t gotta stay out all night,” Lionel’s saying as I approach them. “Take the party back to my place.” My fists clench. I doubt he cares that she’s three sheets to the wind. “Not happening,” I say. Reese brazenly meets my eyes. Her cheeks are bright pink from alcohol. “Ugh, you.” “Yeah, ugh, me.” I stare at her. “Stop acting like a brat and get up.” “Rude.” A smile tilts her lips, and she extends a hand. “This is—” “I know who he is,” I snap.

Lionel looks pissy. “Thanks a lot, Montgomery.” I jab a finger his way. “You don’t fucking touch that girl.” His lips curl and he rises to stand. I turn to go, but before I can walk away, he says, “I know who she is.” I whip my head to him and slam him back against the wall. “Keep your mouth shut about her.” If people pull out their phones, it’ll be over. She doesn’t want to be found even if she is doing a piss-poor job at covering her tracks. “What’s in it for me?” A muscle clenches in my jaw. I want to hit him, but I can’t. We have a tentative truce with the Wolfingtons. If I fuck that up, I have to deal with Davis. “Here.” I reach into my pocket, then shove a wad of bills against his chest. “A hundred bucks a day until that girl leaves.” “Deal.” Lionel’s mouth parts in a sneer. “Although you might want to make sure she doesn’t blow her own cover.”

Beef sets a beer down, and I level a finger. “You give her one more goddamn drink…” “Bye,” Reese chirps suddenly. She hops off the bar stool and shoves past me. I curse and attempt to follow, but Floyd Gunderson blocks my path. “Selling my ranch, Ford. Sure am.” “Well, hell, remind me to put in an offer on that.” I put my hands on his shoulders, push him backward. “But right now, I gotta go.”

My pulse roars in my ears as I spot her clumsily two-stepping with Travis Wheaton, a local rancher. He drives a Cybertruck, so he’s automatically our town’s biggest dipshit. I watch as he leans in close to her, his hand sliding low on her back before gripping her ass.

I wedge myself between them, breaking Travis’s hold on her ass. I don’t miss the way Reese takes an immediate step back. “Time to go,” I say, curling my hand around her arm. Travis lets out a short laugh. “Fuck off, Montgomery. I’m having a conversation with—” “Jane.” I step closer. “And it doesn’t look like a conversation. It looks like you’re copping a feel. And if you know what’s fucking good for you, you’ll leave her alone.” Travis holds up his hands. “Whatever, man.”

Travis’s eyes lift, and a laugh erupts from his belly. He elbows one of his cronies. “Get a load of this.” I follow his gaze and understand why that vein in Davis’s temple always looks like it’s on its last nerve. Reese is strutting her stuff across the bar top like it’s her own personal stage. Beef stares up at her, his eyes grazing over her long, long legs. In any other scenario, I’d probably fight back a smile over the fact this girl doesn’t give a shit. She’s star power incarnate and has my small town slack-jawed and gaping. But she’s in hiding, she’s in trouble, and most importantly, she’s drunk as a goddamn skunk.

“Get off the bar, Reese,” I order. My gaze travels up her toned thighs to those nude panties. If I can see them, everyone else can. I hate that idea. She looks down and bats her dark lashes. “Have you ever danced on top of a bar? It’s actually quite fulfilling.”

My fingers dig into the bar top. “One more chance.” “Or you’ll what?” “Either I burn the bar down or you come with me.” She grins. That coy little smile that revs me up. “Burn it down then.” I open my mouth, ready to tell her she’s a brat, when some random fucker slides his grubby hand up her calf. And then he leans in and licks it. He licks her fucking leg. Reese gasps and stumbles backward, her pretty face twisted in disgust.

I turn to Beef, rolling up my shirtsleeves. “Who are these assholes?” “Townies.” Beef shakes his head, even though he and I both know it’s pointless. “Ford. You’re not Wyatt,” he warns. “I just got a new sign.” I roll my neck out. Flex a fist. “Give me a shot.” “Ford.” “Give me a goddamn shot, Beef.” He does it, and I shoot it back. Then I glance over at the man. He’s staring up at Reese like he’s already got her in his bed. “Hey, buddy, you like that girl?” His ugly face grins at me. “Yeah, man, she’s got a real nice p—” I fucking punch him. My knuckles shatter his jaw, and I grin at the satisfying crunch of bone. He stumbles back and hits the ground. Reese gasps. “Ford, what—” Screams pierce the air. The music from the jukebox has kicked into some frenetic country song. I glance behind me and realize a new fight has broken out.

“Don’t move,” I tell her. She’s safe where she is. I don’t want anyone trampling her. My heart beats hard. I love a goddamn fight as much as Saturday night. Beef has the fire extinguisher out. He catches a townie in the face with a harsh spray of foam. A taller guy nearly catches me in the jaw when I turn my head, but I grab him by his shirt and shove him into the wall. I spin around and take in the chaos.

There are too many people crowding our space, throwing things. I have to get Reese out of here. That lone thought takes over my brain. I don’t think twice. I grab Reese around the waist and pull her off the bar. Toss her over my shoulder. She shoves at my back, making huffy little sounds of protests. “What are you doing?” “Protecting you, princess.” I hate the way she feels against me. Soft, warm skin. The curve of her hip on my shoulder. Her sharp nails digging into my arm. It’s sensory overload on my libido.

Face pressed against my chest, she moans and grips my shirt, trying to pull herself up. “I drank too much.” I choke down a quiet laugh. “Honey, you drank a saloon.” I lift her in my arms and carry her through the parking lot. When we reach the truck, I gently settle her in the passenger seat. After buckling her seatbelt, I climb in beside her and lower the windows. She sits there, emotionless, blonde hair like a halo around her head. I dig under the seat and find a bottle of Gatorade. I hold it out. “Drink this.”

“You didn’t have to come and get me,” she whispers, accepting the Gatorade. “I would have found my way back.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Do you ever think about what someone could do to you when you drink?”

“I just wanted to dance. No one likes me here. Especially after today.” “Nothing wrong with dancing. What’s wrong is those guys with their hands all over you.” I shake my head, back to irritated. “You threw a glass of water in my face for calling you honey, but you let Lionel Wolfington put his fucking paws all over you.” Her lower lip trembles. “It doesn’t matter what they do to me. Everyone’s already done their worst.”

“You shouldn’t let people touch you without your permission.”

“You did.” She sits up, turning to laser me with a look of devastation. “You lassoed me.” I flex my fingers on the steering wheel. “You’re right. I did.”

Her expression twists, caught somewhere between hope, pain, and suspicion. “Is that an apology?” “Yeah.” I look her straight in the eyes. “It is. I’m sorry, Reese. I never should have done that to you.”

Eyes closed, she says, “I love old country songs. My parents and I used to sing ’em at the bars when I was a kid.” A soft, hollow nostalgia fills her voice.

I pass the ranch, not wanting to slow the conversation. She’s drunk, but she’s finally opening up.

“Where’d you grow up, honey?” “Georgia.”

“A small town outside of Atlanta. We had a peach farm.” “I’m from Wildheart.” “I’ve heard of it.” “How’d you end up in LA? In…” “The bowels of hell?” She doesn’t look at me, just wraps her arms around her waist. “My parents gave me to Gavin.” I shake my head like I’ve heard her wrong. “You wanna say that again?” She shrugs like it’s obvious. “He saw me singing in a dive bar and offered my parents the chance to make a star out of me. We needed the money and they…they turned me over. Like I didn’t matter.”

“Shit—Reese…” “It doesn’t matter, Ford. No one wanted me then, no wants me now.”

“It’s good with Gavin. At least it was.” Her shoulders sag as if defeated. “Back when I liked my life.” “Is that what you’re doing here? New life?” “Something like that. Maybe I’ll be plain Jane, and I’ll matter to someone out there in the wilds of Montana.”

“Nothin’ plain about you, honey.” “I wish there was,” she murmurs. “Sometimes I feel so far from the little girl on that Georgia farm singing country songs with her mama and daddy just to earn a buck. Sometimes I feel so…so…” “Lonely?” “Lost,” she says.

I turn toward the ranch at last, my truck rattling down the long gravel road. Despite telling myself she should go back to her chalet, I head for my place.

“Hi, Country Boy,” she whispers. I should hate the nickname—hate what it does to me. How it carves me into fucking pieces, making my heart still and sped up at the same time. “Hi.” I stroke the sweaty hair off her brow. My chest hitches. Up close, guard down, she’s stunning. “I’ll carry you,” I say, snapping out of the hungry trance. She giggles and lifts her arms. “Carry away.”

Reese blinks, tilts her head. “Why are we at your place?”

“I don’t want you alone.” I set a bottle of water and a bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand. “See? We got the good stuff.” With curious eyes, she sniffs the air. “Your place is a garage.” “I live above it. Makes the working day easier.” Kneeling, I slip off her heels and do my best to ignore her silky skin, her pink-painted toes. I eye her sequined dress doubtfully. “You want to sleep in something that’s not scratchy as fuck?” I ask, hating myself.

“Ain’t tryin’ to get you naked, honey, just gettin’ you comfortable.” I grab a clean T-shirt from a drawer. “I won’t look.” She nods. “Arms up, baby.”

I shove the T-shirt over her blonde head. A soft, sexy moan pulls from her lips as my fingertips sweep over her thighs, and I grit my teeth. “There,” I say thickly. Mouse sits there, silently judging me and my fat fucking erection. I’m so hard it hurts to move. “No. Not the bracelets,” she murmurs when I reach for her bangles. “They’re solid gold. Stolen from pirates.” I sink onto the edge of the bed beside her. “Whatever you say.”

The past makes my pulse race as I sit in the chair beside the bed. Exhaling hard, I shove a hand through my hair and grip the back of my neck. And then a sight worse than my memories hits me. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life is in my bed. Wearing my goddamn jersey.

:(