Branded Hearts (Carter Ridge #3)

Prologue

Caden

Seven years ago – age thirteen

“Boys.”

My brothers – Ade, Maverick, and I – turn around at the sound of our father’s voice, his tone deep and unwavering as we walk up the path toward the church.

He’s a couple of paces behind us, standing still as our mom smooths the collar of his shirt, and then he’s enveloping her hand with his and gently leading her up the steps.

“Wipe your boots before you breach the threshold, and take off your hats,” he says quietly.

I pull the brown cowboy hat off my head, running my hand through my hair as my dark fringe falls forward, and then I look up at Ade as he flexes his jaw, reluctantly removing his own as we continue walking.

“I can’t believe that he’s still reminding us every single Sunday,” he rumbles gruffly, his tan cheekbones staining crimson as he pushes his fingers through his hair. “I’m twenty-one years old – does he really think that I’m going to leave my hat on?”

Maverick bites his cheek, restraining his laughter, and the three of us trudge silently over the threshold, the golden Kentucky sunshine illuminating the pews as we head down the centre aisle.

It’s Sunday morning in rural Texas and our entire small town is inside these walls, Ade and Maverick rumbling “hey” to their friends until we reach our usual section in the middle row.

I flick my gaze over the faces, catching the eyes of the football guys who I know from the team, but when they smile at me, gesturing for me to join them, I shake my head and turn away.

Maverick watches me with an unreadable expression as we wait for Ade to slide into the row first, the gentle flex in his stubbled jaw his subtle signal that he’s still concerned.

I look up to meet his eyes, wanting to convey to him that I’m fine, but he sighs softly and squeezes my shoulder, telling me that he’ll believe it when he sees it.

Or, to be more accurate, he’ll believe it when he hears it.

But I need a little more time before I finally open my mouth and talk again.

It’s almost a year since it happened, the day that was so damn good until it wasn’t, when I’d been riding with the ranch-hands all morning and feeling happier than I ever had before.

Feeling the start of something tangible – of becoming an adult, of becoming a rancher – until suddenly the Texan sun disappeared into a storm that no forecast had seen coming.

The rain was lashing, the clouds were darkening, and we were hit by a hurricane that no-one was ready for – and even though I’d been riding horses since I could walk, we were up one of the most dangerous valleys on our land.

The mud, the thunder, the hidden dips that were so easy to slip into, and even after I dismounted Daybreak, my horse just didn’t know how to handle it.

I tried to calm him down, telling him that he was my best friend and that I was going to get us home, but before I could get us to shelter, he freaked out like I’d never seen before.

And as soon as the storm felled that tree between us, Daybreak took off like a shot.

I’d chased after him as fast as I could, my lungs burning as I ran through the storm, but then I heard that sound like a crack of thunder and I knew that it was too late.

The valley was too wet, too dangerous, for a horse his size to be racing through, his graceful legs too delicate to bear the impact of his muscular body.

In most cases, if a horse breaks their leg, it’s unlikely that it can be healed.

So when Daybreak shattered two of them, I knew that it was all over.

Everyone told me that it wasn’t my fault, that it could have happened to any of them out in that storm, but Daybreak was my first horse and my closest friend, and the fact that I couldn’t save him broke me in two.

And when my parents started asking me about it… I just couldn’t get the words out.

I swallow hard, rubbing my throat, and then I lower myself down beside Maverick onto the pew, my brow furrowing slightly when I realise that there’s been a change to the seating pattern.

Usually there are enough seats in this aisle to fit all five of us, but there’s a dozen new patrons at our service today, so I’m seated at the end of our row.

I turn around, looking over my shoulder, and I glance up at my mom and dad as they come to the same conclusion. Then my mom leans down to kiss my temple before whispering that they’ll go and find two seats somewhere else.

“We’ll meet y’all after the service, okay, sweetheart?” she whispers gently, and I nod my head as I look down at my hands, my face warming when she pecks my cheek.

Then my dad takes her hand in his and leads her quietly to a different row, my right thigh bouncing as I finally hunch forward, dangling my cowboy hat loosely above the toes of my boots.

“Hey, look,” Ade whispers quietly, and Maverick shoves my shoulder to get my attention, making me flick him a moody glance because he did that way harder than he needed to.

I rub my shoulder and Maverick chuckles, before holding a finger to his lips and pointing at the altar, making me glance cautiously toward the front of the church, and my brow rises when I finally see it.

I’d forgotten that this was happening today.

No wonder there are so many new patrons in here.

Everything finally makes sense.

We’ve got a new pastor.

He reminds me of all of the ranch-hands – deeply tan, broad shouldered, and weathered – and he’s got to be at least six-foot-three, and looking even taller on the raised altar.

Ade raises his eyebrows, impressed, and then he whispers to Maverick and me, “He’s freaking jacked.”

Maverick snorts and then tries to dissolve in his chair, elbowing Ade in the gut after the girls in front of us turn to stare at him. And even I can’t help but smile at that, feeling my dimples flex as I play with the brim of my hat.

“Hey,” Maverick whispers, grinning down at me, “is that a smile?”

And then he sticks his finger in my dimple, chuckling quietly as I shove him away.

I exhale raggedly and he finally relents, draping his heavy forearm over my shoulders, and then I glance across at Ade, realising for the first time that he’s watching us.

Our eyes meet and he smiles warmly, holding out his fist so that I can bump it with mine.

I look at it cautiously and then I give it a firm nudge, unable to stop my smile from widening when Ade whispers softly, “Good punch, Caden!”

I swallow again, wetting my throat, and Ade gives me a paternal smile before leaning back in his seat, his gaze flitting between the pastor up on the altar and one of the new patrons down in the front row.

I follow his gaze, seeing a beautiful woman, and my shoulders swell when she turns around, her incredible eyes meeting mine for a long moment, as if she could sense the three of us looking at her.

My cheekbones burn and I slide down in my seat, thinking, I just got caught staring at the pastor’s wife, but she tilts her head with a curious smile before glancing at my brothers and turning back around.

Maverick whistles quietly. “She’s fine,” he whispers.

Ade elbows him in the side, but he doesn’t deny it.

I glance toward the front row again, wanting to get a glimpse of the other newcomers, but with all of the ranch-hands sat in front of me I can’t see over their plaid shoulders.

I exhale quietly, rubbing my jaw, and then I look down at my biceps as the pastor starts talking.

I mean, they’re decent, given all the hay bales I’ve thrown around. Then I slide a look toward Ade’s and Maverick’s, wondering how long it’s going to take to get mine as big as theirs.

Maverick catches me looking and gives me a smirk, subtly flexing his muscles so that they jut out like crazy, and I frown as his biceps bulge under his shirt, now even more bummed than I was five seconds ago.

I flex mine and they curl a bit, but not as big as I need them to be if I want to look like my brothers.

“We’ll get you on hay-bale-lifting duty again,” Maverick whispers, and I duck my chin, trying not to smile. “Then they’ll be bulging out of your shirt in no time,” he adds, and I nod my head. Sounds like a plan.

I flex again, a little less bummed now, and then I return my attention to the people in the front row, leaning to the side so that I can glance down the aisle and see who else has joined our small town’s service.

There’s some shushing, followed by a soft-spoken whisper, and I lean farther out at the sound of the accent, such a gentle Southern lilt spoken by a girl with purred ‘r’s and honeyed vowels.

Rural and drawn out – the sweetest drawl I’ve ever heard.

And the second that I see her, my heart stumbles in my chest.

Bright eyes, blushing cheeks…

And her hair is freaking pink.

Soft, fluffy curls that bounce over her shoulders when she turns her head, her stunning profile illuminated in the sunlight as it cascades through the arched window above the pews.

She’s wearing a white long-sleeved shirt, the bodice encrusted with tiny diamonds, and every movement that she makes casts heavenly refractions against the sun-kissed walls.

My chest expands and I swallow hard, my pupils dialling out as she turns to face me.

And the second that our eyes meet… she gives me the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen.

“Caden,” Ade murmurs quietly, but I keep my focus on the girl in the front row.

I run my gaze over her outfit again, and she turns around a little more, doing the same to me.

I shift my body so that I’m more in the aisle, so that she can see my jeans and my beat-up boots – a sign that I’ve been working in the valleys all morning with some of the best ranch-hands in the whole of Texas.

And suddenly I’m grateful that Maverick suggested that I take Sunset for a ride in the valley, beginning to work past the trauma of what happened out there almost a year ago now.

Because even though I won’t be riding through a storm anytime soon, it felt good to be back in the saddle, forming a bond with our newest rescue.

Giving both of us a chance to learn how to trust again.

And from the way that the girl in the front row is looking at my outfit… I think it’s clear that she likes what she sees.

I dangle my hat beside my boots and she meets my eyes with a playful smile, making my chest swell as I look her over until she’s turning away again.

I blink at her curls in a daze, and I rub at my throat, willing the words to come.

“You like her?” Maverick whispers, and I nod my head. No point denying it. “She’s your age,” he adds quietly, “and, if she’s new in town, she’ll join your school.”

I flick my gaze to his in amazement, and he smiles softly, nudging my shoulder.

“You see what she’s wearing?” he murmurs gently, and I look at her again, completely entranced – the soft white tights covering her legs and her fitted top shimmering with crystals. “She must be an ice skater,” he tells me quietly, before Ade leans forward, joining in.

“She’s a figure skater,” he murmurs. “And, from that outfit, she’s probably a professional. She’ll be able to do all sorts of amazing things on the lake near the ranch when it freezes over.”

I stare at her again, my breathing unsteady, while I imagine her at the lake, watching her dance on the surface.

And I suddenly realise something crucial.

I need to learn how to skate.

The service ends and I get to my feet, not wanting to lose sight of her in the crowd of ranch-hands, but as soon as I start brushing my way past the patrons, by the time that I reach her seat, she’s already gone.

I swallow hard and push my hair back, looking for soft pink curls in the sun-streaked crowd, and then I hear my brother calling my name, and my gaze flies to Maverick’s at the sound of his drawl.

He tips his chin and jerks his thumb, gesturing to a side-door that’s slightly ajar, and as soon as I see the golden sunrays filtering through, there isn’t a doubt in my mind about where I need to go.

I look back to my brothers and nod my head, before continuing to weave through the crowd of small-town churchgoers, rubbing the heel of my palm at the base of my throat and exhaling quietly, willing myself to do it.

To open up.

To let go.

To look that beautiful girl in the eyes and say something.

I duck under the archway and step out into the light, holding my hat loosely in my fist as she finally comes into view.

She’s standing beside the only truck that’s parked back here and leaning over the wooden fencing that surrounds the church, the crystals on her skirt sparkling like diamonds in the summer sunlight as she takes in the view that’s spread out in front of her.

In this part of Kentucky, the whole area is ranch land, and from up here beside the church, it’s sweeping valleys as far as the eye can see.

I hold back for a moment, clutching my hat a little tighter, and I run my free hand through my hair as I quietly clear my throat.

If she hears me, she doesn’t say anything – she just leans patiently over the railing – her soft pink curls falling around her cheeks as she basks in the sun, totally at ease.

You can do it, man, I think to myself. You’ll regret it forever if you don’t.

I clear my throat one more time and then I’m walking quietly toward her, until there’s only a few feet between us and I’m stopping silently in front of the gate.

My chest swells as I finally glance down at her, her gaze on her fingertips and a tiny smile on her lips, and I carefully move about half an inch closer, loving the blush on her cheeks as she restrains her grin.

I set my hat on the post in front of us and her beautiful eyes flick up to look at it, moving over the brand emblazoned in the centre as a small smile plays on her lips.

Hartstrings Ranch.

The brand that’s worn solely by my family.

She stares at it for a long moment before tentatively reaching up to touch the brim, her irises sparkling in the Kentucky sunlight as she gives me another glimpse at that pretty smile.

My dimples flex in my cheeks.

And, just like that, I know.

My heartbeat races as she breathes out a laugh, my boots sidling another inch closer to hers in the dirt, and then I quietly clear my throat, my voice soft and gravelly as her eyes finally meet mine.

“Hi.”