For Her (The Duke Ranch)

Chapter 1

CASSIDY

Everything was silent.

New.

Fresh. And as still as if something was right around the corner, hiding the fright that only might occur from chaos unknown.

In that moment—just before the rooster’s crow had broken the silence, and right before the sun’s rays peeked over the mountains to cast that all-too-familiar pink glow on the ridges of the Rockies—everything was absolutely frozen. Even the smallest creature held its breath, basking in that minute pause that the world took. As if the Earth stopped spinning on her axis for half a second.

And it was always this final moment when there was no pandemonium, not a single requirement in the books for me, that gave me a sense of peace. The hands weren’t out of their bunkhouses, and Weston wasn’t up and going. Which was a relief because that meant he wasn’t either taking his nerves out on me or turning back into that grump of a man because Tenley wasn’t letting him take care of her how he wanted to right now.

I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the familiar fresh air of early morning as the first rays danced over the horizon. It was going to be a hot one today; I could already feel the blistering warmth dancing thick around me. My body was sticky even as I was perched upon a wooden fence rail in the shade.

Then I heard it.

The first crunch of gravel beneath a pair of leather soles. Glancing to my left, I lifted the corner of my lips into a smirk as Weston came sauntering toward me, a frown etched onto his face.

“So, the wifey didn’t let you do something this morning again, I assume?” I called out, and Weston lifted his chin, rolling his eyes beneath that all-too-familiar cowboy hat.

“Apparently, it doesn’t matter that she’s due pretty much any day now, she’s still refusing to go on maternity leave. Her reason: The new vet that they hired still needs some training—”

“But you disagree,” I finished for him, and he hoisted himself up on the rail beside me.

“Obviously,” he grumbled, rolling one sleeve of his shirt up. “So, we’ve gotta push the cattle up to summer pasture in a few days. Is everything prepped?”

“Yep,” I casually answered, ignoring the abrupt change of topic, and brushed a hand along the back of my neck. It was already wet from sweat beneath my own cowboy hat, which shaded my eyes from the rising sun.

“You sending someone up to camp early to prep food?”

“Weston, you need to relax. I already got it all taken care of. Why not go find your wife and bug her about something instead of me?” I lifted a brow as his scowl deepened.

“She’s getting ready to head down to the clinic,” he mumbled under his breath.

“So? Go with her. I’ve got it here.”

“How about I go finish the porch on your house?”

I rolled my eyes and jumped down from the rail, my spurs ringing out. “I was planning on doing that today.”

“Cassidy—” But he immediately stopped talking as both of our eyes were drawn to an unfamiliar truck and trailer crunching over the dirt road up the drive.

“Did you have someone coming out today?” I asked, keeping my gaze locked on the beat-up, tan Chevy and the rusty horse trailer that could use some WD-40 and new tires.

“No,” Weston answered, plopping down beside me.

“I didn’t hear anyone talkin’ yesterday about new folks comin’ through town,” I muttered. We stood still as the truck pulled in next to our row of vehicles beside the main house and stopped. The vehicle idled, the driver not exiting, and whoever it was, was blurred behind glass that had the purple tint peeling from the window.

“There’s been no rumors down at the diner either,” Weston added, distracted. A few animals chattered as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

I furrowed my brows, tucking the hat tighter over my forehead as a solid clang of something bashing against metal rang out. The trailer rattled, swaying from whatever force slammed into the siding from the inside.

“What was that?” I said.

Weston stuffed his hands in his pockets but didn’t answer as the hitch rattled. Whatever bashed against the trailer before, pounded against the metal frame again. Finally, movement stirred within the truck, and the driver's door popped open. Whoever was in there dropped to the ground, hidden from view on the opposite side of the vehicle.

Everything fell still, the normal chatter that filled the morning air—cows bellowing back and forth—remained quiet as Weston and I tracked the tall, slim figure walking around the front of the truck. I couldn’t keep the shock from pulling my eyes wide as a woman, more cowgirl than I’d ever seen in my life, walked with deliberate intention directly toward the two of us.

Her long, blonde hair was pulled back in a sleek braid, swinging side to side behind her as her slender hips swayed with each step. Thin, with legs for miles hidden beneath a pair of men’s Wranglers, and boots that had seen better days crunched powerfully over the gravel.

“I’m looking for Cassidy Duke,” she called out when she’d only made it halfway toward us. Her voice was silky, like chocolate and honey, but powerful like a bull who had been taunted one too many times.

Heart-shaped lips were pulled tight upon her soft face, cheeks flushed bright red with whatever storm she was running from. She was different, unique in a way that had me intrigued. Her nose crinkled as she raised her light-brown brows, stopping in front of Weston and me.

She tossed a thumb over her shoulder. “This is Duke Ranch, right? The sign said—”

“I’m Cassidy,” I answered over her, my mind finally whirring back to life.

“Good. I was told you can help me,” she replied, her voice cracking slightly as she slid her slender hands into her pockets. Her eyes bore holes into me, as gray as a stormy sky in the middle of spring. There was something like fear glinting behind the piercing doe eyes that she was attempting to narrow.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest, leaning back slightly. “I got this,” I whispered to Weston, and he nodded once toward the woman before quietly walking away.

She sucked in a bottom lip; her lashes were bare from makeup, so golden blonde I barely noticed them fluttering over her eyes, which scanned slowly down my frame. Something I hated to admit I was doing to her, too; though, I doubted she was studying me for the same reasons I was tracing her figure. And I knew behind the oversized T-shirt tucked in her belt, hanging askew, she was trying to hide—not from me, but from whatever had her so terrified.

Lifting a hand to her lips, she chewed on a nail, glanced toward the drive she’d just come up from, and then back at me.

“Well,” I began, lifting a brow.

“Rooney sent me,” she hesitantly answered.

“Rooney?” I questioned and took a step closer.

Her eyes narrowed, warning me to stop moving, so I did. “Yeah, Rooney McCallister.”

My mouth parted slightly, hearing a name that I regretted admitting I hadn’t thought about in a long time. The very man that taught me how to weld, that had taken me in during my time away from the ranch. The very man who knew the one thing I’d never told anyone—not even Weston.

“You know Rooney?” I asked, and she nodded frantically.

“Look, he said you could help me with this horse. I’ve trained some, worked with plenty, but this is something I’ve never dealt with.”

“Normally, I’d say yes, but we are leaving in a few days to push the cattle up to summer pasture, and I haven’t worked with horses and only horses since—”

“Since you lived with Rooney. I know. He told me you’d probably refuse. But he also told me that you’re the best trainer he’s seen in years, even if he knows why you don’t leave to focus on just that.”

I swallowed stiffly, the smile falling from my face. “I can’t.”

“You owe Rooney.”

“Yes, but I don’t owe you.” I knotted my jaw together, sizing up this woman who seemed to be hiding her fear behind her pistol attitude. “I don’t even know you. Why wouldn’t you want a well-known trainer who’s guaranteed to give you the horse you want instead of me?”

“He says this is how you can repay him,” she answered, either purposefully ignoring my final question or choosing to not answer.

“How am I supposed to—”

She suddenly stalked forward and slapped a piece of paper against my chest. Instinctively, I placed a hand over hers, catching the sheet and her fingers between my body and palm.

And everything around us paused, as if time itself dared not disturb this moment.

She didn’t move, and nor did I. My eyes were wrapped up in the silver streaks that danced around her pupils, so similar to the stars that sparkled at night, right before the sun covered them in the gleaming rays of morning. My heart jumped into my throat, my gaze staying latched onto her stormy irises as desperation coated her fear, which hid behind a mask of aggression.

Slowly, she slid her hand down, out from my grip, leaving tingles at the lack of her touch. “He said to give you that,” she whispered, balling her fingers up and looking away from my gaze.

I pulled the paper away from my chest and glanced down at the scribbled writing, recognizing the skewed pencil lines that only Rooney could leave—seeing as he lacked two and a half of his fingers on his right hand from a welding accident years ago.

I need you to do this for me. This isn’t about you or me, this is about her. And she needs help that only you can give. Tell no one about her, or what she’s doing there. Have those livestock officer buddies you know on standby. I’m calling in your debt and when all of this blows over, you’ve repaid me.

—Rooney

I lifted my gaze from the wrinkled piece of paper. All animosity, all intimidation that she’d been trying to exude was gone. Instead, she simply looked at me, silently pleading.

Sighing, I stuffed the note in my pocket and glanced over the fields to my right. The hands were out and about, going through morning chores as usual. The fields full of bright green grass, not yet scorched by the summer heat, swayed in the breeze. Everyone was waiting for me to show up so we could finish the last minute preparations.

Something that I might not actually be doing now.

“What’s your name?” I asked, looking back at her.

She tipped her hat lower over her eyes, hiding her relief as she glanced over my shoulder. “Briar.”

“Like the princess?” I asked, furrowing my brows.

She rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed. “No. Like me.”

“Well, aren’t you a golden ray of sunshine.”

Briar pursed her lips and lifted her brows, crossing her arms over her chest, but said nothing.

Chuckling to myself, I exhaled. “Show me what’s in that trailer.” I walked past her, my spurs ringing with each step. The warm summer gust danced over my body, flushing my skin warm, and mixed with the curiosity bubbling within me. I wanted to ask her so many things, too many things. I wanted to know what she was so afraid of, what she was running from. How she knew Rooney, and why he specifically mentioned the livestock officers I knew.

I heard her boots crunch over the gravel after me, jogging to catch up as I strode toward the back of the rusty trailer. The sound of a hoof kicking into the paneling of the trailer bounced loudly around me again; the container rattled as I neared the back and paused.

“Briar, how do you know Rooney?” I asked, voicing what seemed to be the tamest of my questions.

She quietly walked past me, pushed some strands of hair behind her ear. and paused at the latch holding the trailer closed. “He and my dad were friends.”

“Were?”

Her slender fingers snapped open the latch, then slid to the other side, unhooking the second lever, and guided the tailgate to the ground. “He died six months ago.”

“Rooney’s dead?” I gasped, my heart stopping in my chest as four hooves with black socks appeared beneath the divider inside the trailer.

“No, my dad is,” she answered softly, her voice cracking as she hoisted herself inside the trailer. Her steps were hesitant as she crept toward the animal that suddenly reared, a knotted, onyx mane tossing over the neck of a big, bay horse. She stopped as the creature bucked and kicked, denting the metal again.

“Woah,” I whispered. The horse tossed its head to the side, exposing the menacing white of its eye, and snorted loudly, kicking and bucking again. The entire trailer shuddered, and Briar placed a hand against the side to steady herself. The horse didn’t have a halter on or rope around its neck, and there was no way I was about to attempt to lead that beautifully massive beast out of this trailer. Who knows how she got that thing in there.

“How about this?” I started. “We’ve got a round pen farther down the road. I’ll go and open the gate. Think you can back the trailer up and we can just release that guy there instead of trying to fight him the entire way?”

She nodded, quickly climbing back out of the trailer, and the horse let out a shrill neigh. I watched him, the whites of his eyes snapping toward me again as she raised the tailgate. But it was the final snort, the tension that was pulled taut on his face, that broke my heart.

He wasn’t trying to be mean. He wasn’t trying to get out of there to come after someone. No, that horse was as scared as Briar was.

What had I just gotten myself involved in?