Ride the Sky (Runaway Ranch, #4)

by Ava Hunter

Aiden, the man who hurt both me and my sister… Guilt and rage pour into my veins. I’m the one who brought Aiden back into Dakota’s life. We met at a stock show; he told me his name was Danny. We dated. Fucked. I liked him, as a temporary fixation. Being with Danny was boring, bland. His kiss tasted like dirt from a garden, but I did it anyway. I saw the anger in Wyatt’s eyes, the desperation every time we were together. I wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. Make him jealous. But then it was revealed that Danny was Dakota’s ex, Aiden. He used me to get close to her. To try to hurt her and take his baby.

If I had been stronger, better, smarter, I could have stopped it. That’s what sex—love—gets you. Pain. It makes you stupid. Weak. I can’t get over Aiden. I have nightmares of him coming to me in my cottage, carrying a knife and chopping me into little pieces right after Dakota and Duke. It’s like he’s still holding that knife in my chest, but no one can see him or hear him but me.

Walking to the driver’s side door, I pause, wincing as the pain in my head increases. Swearing, I press two fingers against my angry, throbbing temple. Migraines. A lingering reminder of Aiden.

When I was eight, my mother left. I locked myself in the closet, because I didn’t want to face the truth. For an entire week, I slept there. Ate plates of food Dakota left for me. On day eight, my dad crouched down. I could smell the whiskey on his breath even through the closed door. He cleared his throat and said, “Cowgirls don’t cry, Fallon. They just get tougher.” That was the last time he ever got drunk in front of me. Or spoke about my mother. So, yeah, cowgirls don’t cry. But they sure as hell are ready to get the fuck out of Dodge. In twenty-nine years, I’ve never run away from anything. Today, I change that to change me.

Reaching over, I pull an envelope from the glove box then exit my truck. As I walk swiftly up to the red bricked building, my heart thumps in my chest. I look down at the letter burning a hole in my hand. My heart. For Dakota. After a second of hesitation, I drop it in the mail slot and try to ignore the anxiety building in my gut. Without a doubt, Koty will be upset. I can see her and that bossy, broody cowboy of hers rounding up his brothers to look for me. The thought of my older sister refocuses me on the task at hand. Why I’m doing this. For her.

Back in the driver’s seat, I sit taller. The road turns thin as I hit Country Road 255 and approach Runaway Ranch.

I pass the lodge, the barn, the garage, until I’m edging through dense forest. My heart races when I spy the silvery glint of an old Airstream. Letting my truck idle, I exit and climb the rickety steps to face the door. Around me, the wind howls. I lift my hand. An almost-knock. A goodbye to the blue-eyed devil inside sleeping the sleep of a beautiful idiot. I rest my hand on the door. The icy kiss of metal bites into my palm. I bite my lip. Tonight, I’m young and stupid. Sixteen. I’m that girl with posters of Wyatt Montgomery above her bed. I pull the second envelope from my back pocket. Glancing down, a small ember of anxiety sparks. For Wyatt.

I turn my head and stare out at the deep, dense, dark forest. Something warm and dangerous curls inside me. A spark of memory. Three years ago. Wyatt and the day of the farewell campfire dinner. I shake my head, clearing it. All we are is a mistake. Wyatt knows it. This entire last year, the man has given me those pitiful sad puppy dog eyes every time we came within an inch of contact. I got the message loud and clear. Not only have I fucked up Dakota’s life, I’ve fucked up Wyatt’s. I see what he’s doing to himself to try to keep me afloat. Looking out for me on the rodeo. He’s another piece of wreckage I’ve left in my wake. I don’t deserve Wyatt and all his goodness. I’m an asshole. I’m fucked up. I’m a leaver. Like my mother. Like my sister. A long line of runaway women.

Don’t know why I’m leaving him this letter. Don’t know why I’m telling him where I’m going. Hell, I don’t know why I’ve done half the things I have the last two years. I inhale a deep breath. Then, like my hands have a mind of their own, they tuck the note into the mesh wire of the screen door. I let go of it like it’s on fire. Before I can chicken out. Before I knock on the door, throw myself into his arms, and tell him to talk me out of this.

Before a wave of grief can crash into me, I tear off the steps and cut through the wind. As cold as my rage. As hard as my beating heart. I can almost feel it shudder against the black of the night. A violent gust rattles the Airstream’s screen door, but I don’t look back.

Last year, I was approached by the Younger Rodeo School to open the second clinic in Montana. They wanted me to train, and it was a hard hell no. Working for Rand Younger, my old asshole instructor, dredged up shit I’d rather forget. But then I got hurt. And hurt again. I love the rodeo. I’m goddamn good at it. Some might call it cocky, but for me, it was a calling. But it was time. I had enough broken bones; one day it’d be a broken neck. My older brothers were worried, and they’ve had enough worry to last them a lifetime. So I finally took the damn job. A job I didn’t even want.

Hell, I don’t know what I want. If I can make ’em happy by keeping my dumb ass alive, so be it. Giving up the rodeo hurt. But not as much as losing what I was foolish enough to think I had. Fallon. She and I belonged on the rodeo together. When she left, it made my decision to take the job easier. It gave my brain somewhere to focus besides the past. I have a reason to get up every morning and go on. Even if it’s the last fucking thing I feel like doing.

Without another word, I mount my blue roan mare, Pepita, and guide her into a slow canter across the ranch. Dust billows beneath her hooves as I leave behind our new expansion—or what we call the West Pasture. Last year, we bulldozed the chalets and everything on the land. After what happened with Reese, Ford wanted nothing to do with the chalets anymore. Who can blame him? Someone took his goddamn wife. Since then, we’ve built another barn, a bunkhouse, and a small cabin to be used as my training school during the summer. Like I said, my brothers pulled strings to get this school going. Letting them down isn’t an option.

It seems like just yesterday we were struggling to make a buck, to keep the ranch open. Now it’s a million-dollar business. We’ve doubled our staff. Had a write-up in Bride magazine featuring the ranch as a top bachelorette party destination that damn near gave Charlie a heart attack. These days, the ranch can run without us. That’s a good thing, too, especially with all my brothers and their wives doing their own things. Although Davis and Charlie would never admit it, they’d work themselves to death if they could.

Inside, the Airstream is sun-cooked and stale. I drop my Stetson on the kitchenette next to an ashtray and a burnt-out joint then turn on the old radio. John Denver croons softly from the speakers. I pull open one of the tattered flowered curtains to let in the sunshine, and a moth escapes. It’s dusty and threadbare, but I like my trailer. My brothers give me shit for living like a hobo. I got it at an auction for cheap. With the rodeo, I was always on the go, so something temporary made sense. Although with the school being open, maybe it’s time I rethink taking Ford up on his offer to move above the garage. Maybe it’s time to rethink my entire fucking life.

I shuck my sweaty rodeo school shirt off and change into my Runaway Ranch gear. Swipe aside the marketing material Ruby’s made for me. Tug a bottle of vodka from the cupboard. I grip its neck hard, my gaze going to the old coffee tin on the shelf. Forgetting about the drink, I give the coffee can a shake, rattling its contents as if to make me remember. As if to remind myself I haven’t made it all up. Us. Me and Fallon.

Fallon smokes her cigarette, puffs a white ring into the air. “One day, I’m gonna chase those wild horses. And never come back.” I rub her thigh and frown, hating the idea of her gone. “Your sister would miss you.” Ignoring her dirty look, I pluck the smoke from her fingers and stamp it out. I fucking hate it when she smokes. A constant reminder of her reckless life. “I’d miss you.” She shrugs, rolls into my arms. Her raspy voice is like smoke rolling over silk as she says, “Cowboys don’t miss anything. Least of all a woman.”

Three years ago, I was holding her in bed, now I’m holding a bottle of cheap vodka and this fucking tin can. I drop both on the counter, bury my face in my hands, and exhale.

Fallon and I—we had something real. Even if she didn’t feel it. Because all I did was fuck it up. Fuck us up. And before I could work up the nerve to tell her how I feel, she left. All because of Aiden King. I bow my head. My hands turn to fists. Even two years later, I want to rage. That motherfucker could have killed her. And what did I do earlier that night? I walked out on her. Because I threw a fucking tantrum at her bull riding announcement. And then she was attacked. Taken. Hurt. I should have been there. I should have protected her. I will never fucking forgive myself. Because I’m the one who pushed her into that bastard’s arms. I fucked around with Sheena Wolfington. I played games, acting like I didn’t care about Fallon. I took it for granted that eventually we’d get together. But Fallon’s as stubborn as a mule, and I’m a goddamn idiot.

Then, after months and months of watching her in pain, she was gone. Truth is, I’m pissed. Her leaving fucked me up bad. Dakota got a note, and I didn’t. It fucking stings. I still have third-degree burns from the memory of her disappearing without a word. But why would she leave me one? It’s crystal fucking clear she hates my guts.

Where did his note go?!

I exhale slowly and slump onto a stool at the kitchen island beside Charlie, resisting the urge to slam my head against it. I don’t have a favorite brother, but I do have one I try really hard not to piss off. And that’s Davis.

Ruby gasps. “Charlie, the cookies.” “Fuck,” Charlie growls and dives for the platter. I watch in amusement as Charlie tries to hide the cookies, but seconds later, Duke comes thundering around the island. Blinded by the injustice, he latches on to Charlie’s leg and screams, “COOOOKIES!” I laugh. “C, you are a grown-ass man trying to hide a bowl of cookies from a two-year-old.” Davis runs a hand over his scalp. “He’s not allowed to have sweets after five.” “What is he a gremlin?” I snag a cookie and pass it down to Duke. “Here, kid, go nuts.” Duke giggles and crams the entire thing into his mouth. Davis sighs and scoops up his son. “Wyatt.” Dakota drops her oven mitts on the counter and lifts a bottle of wine. “Let’s eat.”

We all flinch as Duke cheerfully bangs a spoon against a tin plate. Mouse, curled up in the toybox, lifts her head at her interrupted nap. I nod at Charlie and Ruby as I pour myself a glass of whiskey. “Y’all ready for that?” The surrogate they hired at the end of winter is four months pregnant. We can’t fucking wait. Another Montgomery. Ruby’s answering smile and her bright eyes say it all. “Oh, yes,” she chirps, pulling her hands to her heart. Charlie grins. “Can’t damn wait.” Ruby looks like she’s going to explode from happiness. Charlie, too.

Love’s a funny thing. One minute, Ford’s slamming his hand through a jukebox, the next, he’s got the best thing in his world sitting right beside him. All my brothers. Down for the fucking count because of a pretty face. That ain’t to say they’re wrong. All my sisters-in-law are pure gold. I’d go to battle for any of them.

Good things don’t stay. I saw my brothers have it all and then lose it in horrific ways. It’s easier to rodeo, to chase girls, to drink, to start fights. Hell, even my little sister was two steps away from divorce. I’ve seen what love can turn a cowboy into, and it’s not anything good. I’m living proof.

“While you’re here, need to talk to you ’bout something,” Charlie says. His tone is serious, which means it’s about the ranch. “The land you’re livin’ on…we need it.” The left-field announcement has me gaping. “You serious?” Davis passes the whiskey bottle down the table. “It makes no financial sense to let that land sit.” “So that means, what?” I glare around the table, pissed off about this sudden revelation. Pissed off they’ve all discussed this without me. Fucking figures. They’ve always left me out of big conversations. And I’ve always hated it. Ford smirks. “You’re gonna move, kid. End of summer.” Reese looks at me hopefully. “The garage is free.” Great. The fucking garage. I glare at them. “What about my Airstream?” “Your Airstream has rats,” Davis says, and Dakota shudders. “It’s hollowed out. Eaten through. Ain’t worth shit. At the very least, you shouldn’t be livin’ in it.”

I’ve always felt a ton of pressure to live up to my trailblazing older brothers. Charlie has the ranch. Davis his dog rescue. Ford his baseball camp. But they’re not pressuring me. It’s pressure I put on myself. I see what they’ve done, and I’m not sure I stack up. I’m proud of my big brothers. I don’t know if they’d say the same about me. “What are you gonna do with the land?” I ask. “Ain’t sure yet.” Charlie looks at Davis. “We gotta clean up all those old trees. Tear down those posts. Level out the land.” “I’ll do it,” Davis says. “Davis.” Dakota’s lips thin. We all watch as a silent conversation happens between them. She lays a hand on his arm, and his big muscles untense. “Hire someone. You don’t need the stress right now.” My eyes narrow. “What’s going on?” Dakota sighs. “You didn’t tell them?” Pretty face pained, she looks around the table. “He has an ulcer.” Davis sighs. “Dakota.”

I clear my throat. “You’ll be okay?” “About a month. And I’ll be fine.” Davis grunts, standing to pluck a whimpering Lainie from her cradle. Slowly, he rocks her side to side. “Feels like a fucking burning in my chest is all.” “You should have told us,” Ford says, offended.

“Did you see Fallon’s ad?” Ruby’s light voice floats around the table, chasing away the tense silence. Charlie’s eyes flick to me then his wife. “Sunflower.” “We have to talk about her.” Ruby gives her husband a pretty frown. “She’s not…dead.” Dakota flinches at the word. “Ruby’s right. Fallon’s still part of this family, even if she’s not here.”

“Where is it?” I ask casually, trying to act like I’m not ready to tear the goddamn room apart in search of a single magazine. At Ford’s nod, Reese stands and pulls the magazine from high atop the fridge. I scowl at the ridiculous hiding spot. “Here she is,” Reese says softly, passing it my way. I exhale when I open it to her centerfold advertisement. In the glossy issue of Cowgirl Magazine, Fallon sits on the back of a massive Clydesdale. She wears Tecovas, propped up on bejeweled spurs. Caramel hair curling around her slender shoulders, her eyes darkened by kohl. She looks beautiful and bad ass. Up close, I can see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes. My chest is suddenly on fire, and I rub a hand against the ache.

“They even captured the scowl on camera,” I grumble, earning a sharp elbow to the side from Ruby. “Well, she did it,” Reese says, a small hint of pride in her voice. “She’s famous.”

“And Pappy got what he wanted,” Charlie says, his face turning dark at the mention of Fallon’s slimy manager. “Fame. Fortune. Fucking bullshit, if you ask me.” “He has our girl.” Dakota’s voice is hard, her eyes misty. “He doesn’t care about her.” I scowl. “Pappy don’t care if one day they pull her up dead, as long as he makes his fucking money.”

“When was the last time you talked to her?” Ruby asks Dakota. I stiffen, grip the table. Dakota’s voice is soft, hesitant. Her eyes flick to mine. Hold. “She called, maybe two months ago.” Her lower lip trembles. “Right after Lainie was born.” Holding my breath like I’m drowning, I force the words out. “Do you know where she is?” “No.”

Davis grunts and crosses his arms, biceps bulging. “Still think we should have traced her call.” Dakota shakes her dark head then swats his arm. “We can’t betray her trust.” She looks down at her plate. “I wish…I just wish she wouldn’t have left. That we could have helped her.”

A memory washes over me of the last time I laid eyes on Fallon. The last real conversation we shared. The night of Reese’s birthday party at Nowhere. Fighting with her about all the ways she was acting up. I called her an idiot, she called me an asshole, and we were done.

Red earth. Saguaros. Sonoran hills. Lawless and I ride through it all, until, rising out of the desert like an oasis, we reach the familiar wood-hewn gates and bunkhouse of El Toro Ranch. No green pastures, no jagged mountains at El Toro Ranch. Just red dirt, dust, and tumbleweeds. The days here move like molasses, and the air is hotter than hell. The perfect place to hide out from the world.

If a bull stomped on me, would it matter? Would death finally find me? Death. That dark shadow nipping at my boots. When I was ten years old, a fortune teller at the county fair told me I had nine lives, and I’ve been chasing that high, that dark omen, ever since.

Real or not, I have two lives left. Aiden took the third, and ever since then, I haven’t cared if I lived or died. My eyes snap open. Face the truth. Face myself. After nine months of sunshine and wide-open spaces and bruised bones, Aiden’s still here. Every night in my nightmares. I thought I’d be happier here. I thought I had a plan that would fix everything, fix me. I thought I’d be okay. “You are,” I tell my reflection. “You’re fucking fine.”

I pick up my phone and log on to my abandoned Instagram account. Ignoring my overflow of unwelcome DMs, I go to one particular profile. Wyatt Montgomery. It hasn’t been updated since he announced his retirement from the rodeo. In the caption, he thanks his brothers and the PRCA, while stating his excitement about his new venture as a trainer with Younger Rodeo School. A bullshit statement for a bullshit job. He’s too good to quit the rodeo. I hate everything about it.

The text he sent me a day after I left Resurrection. I’m pissed at you. For worrying everyone. Worrying me. I hope you’re okay. Please be okay. The letter I left him, unanswered. Maybe I had been a fool to hope. That he’d read it and— It doesn’t matter. He’s a grudge I can’t get over.

“Put the cigarette down.” The order raises my hackles. Curls my toes. I shouldn’t like a man telling me what to do, but it’s different with Wyatt Montgomery. Muted conversation drifts from the farewell campfire dinner taking place on the ranch. Inhaling a deep drag, I lean back against the tree. “Didn’t you know? Good for your body and soul.” His handsome face clouds. “Cowgirl killers, and you know it.” I give a lazy shrug. “Sure, they’re bad for you. So are cowboys, but they taste good.”

Then he plucks the smoke from my mouth. Tosses it on the ground, advances to press me up against the tree. “You’re a neanderthal,” I sneer at him. He links his index finger around mine. Fire lights inside me. “C’mon.”

The woods rustle around us, as if sensing our secret. Finally, he lets me go and drifts. To that old trailer. Straightening, I glance around the whispering forest. Then I follow, slowly, as if to make him wait. As if I don’t want it as much as he does.

“Sit,” Davis orders again. On a grumble, I plop on the couch. “If this is about the possum, I…” I trail off, noticing the lack of beers, a stack of notecards, solemn faces. “What is this? Some kind of intervention?” They all lean forward, eyes on me, and I tense.

I sigh. “Listen, I don’t need this. I’m not—” “Okay,” Charlie finishes with an eyebrow raise. I glare at him. “I’m—” “Depressed,” Davis finishes “An idiot,” supplies Ford. I scowl. “Christ, can I get a word in?” Ford tugs on his collar, ill at ease. “Kid, shut up and listen to us.”

My eyes narrow. “Did your wives put you up to this?” Davis clears his throat. “The wives have nothing to do with this.”

Ford reaches for the stack of notecards, his big hands fumbling as he flips through them. I laugh. “Christ. You made talking points. Y’all really are whipped.” “This was Ruby’s idea,” Ford snaps, looking more desperate by the second. “Leave my wife outta this,” Charlie growls.

“Fuck this,” Ford swears, realizing what I’m doing. He drops the cards and looks to Davis. “D, I’m about ten seconds away from puttin’ this kid’s head through a wall.”

Davis pins me with a stern glare. “You know, you’d make it a hell of a lot easier if you shut up and listened to us.” “It ain’t your job—” “Yeah, it is,” Charlie cuts in. “We’re your big brothers.” “Fine,” I mutter. “Say what you want to say.”

On a big exhale, Charlie rubs his jaw. He looks at Davis and Ford and then at me. “You’ve changed,” he states bluntly.