Freeing the Wild (Silver Pines Ranch #4)

CHAPTER ONE

Cassie

Men are the easiest creatures on the planet to distract and conquer.

Flash a little smile, tug the top of my blouse down low enough to show a hint of cleavage and, just like that, I’ve got a fresh-faced cowboy leading me into the most picturesque barn I’ve ever seen, to help me pick out a horse to ride.

Derek? Daniel? I can’t remember his name but I’m fairly certain he said it started with a D when he introduced himself a few minutes ago.

He was the first ranch hand I saw when I made my way over to the barn from the cabin my sister Ivy and her boyfriend Wade share.

They live in the boss’ cabin, because Wade owns this ranch—Silver Pines—which sits just outside of the quaint little town of Laurel Creek, Kentucky.

My new cowboy friend turns to look at me over his shoulder and smiles, but I don’t miss the way he glances down at the tiny view I’m offering him. I smile back sweetly. Mission accomplished.

As he slides open the faded white barn door, the smell of horses hits me with a pungent, yet oddly comforting familiarity. The midday September heat only enhances the experience, and Silver Pines Ranch is an experience. I’ll say that.

Not only is it a full-service horse boarding facility, they also have a racehorse training division.

It’s highly unusual to have both, but leave it to my sister to wind up in a place like this.

She’s the head trainer at Silver Pines, but she also just gave birth to the world’s cutest baby girl with the man who pays the bills.

Talk about having your cake and eating it too.

“We’ve got Jasper here. He’s an American Morgan.

’ D-man gestures to a soft and regal deep brown horse in front of us.

“Great for beginners, and he’s really calm.

” The gravel crunches under my designer boots, the ones I’ve probably just ruined by cruising through the pasture.

They’re uncomfortable, but they’ll look awfully good in a few minutes when I record the video teaser my manager wants me to capture.

I toss a toying grin at my host as I push my curtain of blonde curls over my shoulder.

“Good thing I’m not a beginner then.” I wink. “Because I’d like something a little different.” I cross my arms over my chest and tap my lips with my first finger as I take in the pickings.

He eyes me suspiciously. “Not a beginner?” His face breaks out into a big smile before glancing at my very new, very shiny boots. “Is that so?”

“I’ve been riding since I was a kid,” I fire back. “I know what I’m doing.”

He chuckles in response, and I’ll admit, that’s more than likely not true. I haven’t ridden a horse in years, but I’m sure I can make it work, just like riding a bike.

“What about that one?” I look over his shoulder at a stunning dark quarter horse. His coat is almost the same shade as my perfectly worn cowboy hat—so aesthetically, this stud will work much better than the one he suggested.

“That’s Outlaw. He’s not really fully broken yet. We’re still working with—”

“He’s perfect,” I tell him, reaching into my fringed, crossbody bag. “Could you please saddle him for me while I get some things set up? I am rusty in that department.”

“Miss—?”

“Cassie,” I offer sweetly.

“Right, Cassie. Well, I think it would be best if you went with a horse that’s a little smaller and tamer.”

I take my bottom lip between my teeth and narrow my eyes. I need to get this cowboy on my side here. My manager has a strict vision for what he wants, and I only have a limited amount of time.

“What’s your name again?” I ask, just to be sure.

“Dusty.”

“Right. Dusty,” I say softly as I straighten out my cutoff shorts.

I take some extra time to smooth the fabric over my hips, just to remind him I have them, before turning my eyes up to lock with his.

Never breaking eye contact, I make my way over to where he stands just in front of Outlaw’s stall.

When I reach him, I place my hand on his bicep and let it slide down slowly to his bare forearm. His skin pebbles under my touch.

“I’m sure safety is of the utmost importance here, and I get what you’re saying about this fella being a little antsy, but Wade—I think he’s your boss?” I play dumb, knowing he is.

Dusty nods. “That’s right.”

“Well, he told me I could choose any horse I want, and I’d really like this one. I can handle him, I promise.” I lick my lips and let them curve up into the smile I’ve had fairly good luck with when it comes to getting what I want from the opposite sex.

“Don’t worry, Dusty,” I add, letting my hand slip the rest of the way down his arm. “My daddy was a vet. He raised horses. I’ve been riding since before I could walk.”

He clears his throat as more goosebumps follow my fingertips.

A tiny pang of guilt for manipulating him twinges in my chest, but I try to push it down because I have to get this video done for my manager or I’ll never hear the end of “not trying hard enough.” Some days the pressure and the different directions I’m being pulled in feels like a thousand-pound weight sitting on my chest.

“You can take him into the large pen,” Dusty finally says as he looks me over one more time. “He’s due a jaunt anyway, and I’ll work with him after. You sure you ain’t bullshitting me about knowing your way around a horse?”

I shake my head and smile up at him through my lashes as I wrap my pinky around his.

“Promise,” I whisper, convincing myself as much as I’m trying to convince him.

He flashes me a lopsided grin. He’s actually kind of cute in a wholesome sort of way, though I think he may be even younger than my twenty-four years.

“Mmmkay,” he agrees as I shake his pinky finger with my own to seal the deal before letting him go and saddle Outlaw.

While he works, I make my way out of the barn to the side of the large corral just beyond. I pull my phone and my mini tripod out of my bag to get myself set up.

The truth is, I hate recording these things.

I also hate wearing pretentious clothing that costs as much as the average family’s mortgage.

Writing music—that’s what I’m good at. That’s what I want to do.

It’s the one thing that keeps me connected to my best friend in the whole world: my dad.

He bought me my first guitar when I was eight years old.

A Baby Taylor. I can still see him now, working in our garage with the door all the way open on his old ’77 Thunderbird, while I sat in the driveway in a beat-up lawn chair learning chords.

There are times those memories wake me up, and the dream is so vivid I can almost feel the sun on my back and smell the motor oil.

My dad and I did everything together. Until, one day, he didn’t come home.

His massive heart attack was completely unexpected.

After, I remember being jealous of my friends at school who still had their dads.

I was so angry at the world for taking him from me.

That’s when I started to write—about my pain, love, loss.

It became the only way I could cope. Throughout the next few years, as my mom fell apart and her dependence on alcohol grew, music became a lifeline for me and Ivy, a way to disappear into a different world together.

Ivy grew up and turned her attention to new hobbies, training horses mainly.

But music never left me. It runs through my veins.

I never thought I would be doing what I do now, and I’m grateful singing comes naturally to me, but standing on a stage while thousands of people record me on their cell phones does not.

Writing and watching someone else knock my lyrics out of the park?

Now that is my dream come true. I know I’ll get there.

But for now, I just need to grin and bear the performing side and keep my social media presence strong.

I turn my attention back to the task at hand, and set my tripod up on the edge of the sturdy wooden fence for the best natural light. Just as I do, my phone lights up with a text.

DAX

Don’t forget to remind your followers you’ll be at the Lexington Music Fest this weekend.

I breathe out a small sigh and swipe my manager’s message away so I can focus.

My plan is to record a short, picturesque video of myself riding toward the camera with one of my songs playing over the top.

“To feed the masses,” as Dax would say. To keep my name in the spotlight.

My profile has risen over the last year, particularly after playing with Red Dirt Roots—one of the hottest bands in the underground country music scene—this summer.

Their music isn’t mainstream country and that’s what I love about them.

It’s the kind of country that sinks into your bones, the kind that is played from the heart. My kind of country.

I hum a new melody I haven’t been able to get out of my head for days as I take in my surroundings one more time, making sure everything is in order to record.

Today, my dues involve climbing up onto this big old dark horse and acting like I was born on his back, all in the name of likes and shares.

I quickly check the other texts that have popped up since I last looked at my phone.

There are three more from my manager. Not that I’m surprised.

Dax O’Brien has always been high-strung.

He’s made a name for himself in this industry, which means I listen to him—and his last-minute, harebrained ideas—most of the time.

DAX

And give them a show of the stunning countryside. Ride a horse or rock on a covered porch with some lemonade. Something like that.

Stunning? Check. I look around as I wait for Dusty and take in a deep breath of mountain air.

Oak trees sway in the breeze, the vibrant green land and rolling hills are never-ending, and the entire countryside feels alive and flourishing even though it’s early fall.

Aside from the buzz of insects in the air, the only sounds to be heard come from a ranch hand turning out a few horses in the paddock to my left.

Silver Pines, and Sugarland Mountain just beyond, is perfect for the aesthetic I’m going for: down home, country, authentic bluegrass vibes.

Just perfect for the media dubbed “Princess of Bluegrass.” If only the princess didn’t hate being called that.

DAX

It’s been five days since you posted to your socials, so the sooner the better, Cassie. If you aren’t visible, you’re forgettable.

And don’t forget you have to meet Darcy tonight.

Right. Darcy is my stand-in bassist for the Lexington shows because my usual bassist, Josh, just went to rehab a week ago. I haven’t been able to get him out of my head. I know firsthand what addiction does to a person.

DAX

Darcy is excellent. He just wants to go over the set list. Apparently, there’s a pub in town near where you’re staying. It’s called the Horse and Barrel. I passed along your cell number so he can set up a time with you.

I quickly type to appease him.

Yes, Dad, I’m on top of it.

DAX

There you are. Finally. Which part?

I shake my head. So impatient.

All of it.

Except the bassist. Unless …

DAX

Not funny Cassie, and he’s married.

“Cassie, last chance … you’re sure about this?

” Dusty asks as he leads Outlaw out of the barn.

The so-called unruly horse looks fine to me.

And even if Outlaw is a bit rowdy, I only need a few minutes of his time.

I press record on my phone and straighten out the brim of my hat, then pat Dusty on the arm before I gesture for him to make his way into the pen.

“I’m sure, Dusty. I’ve got this.” I lie.

I follow him and Outlaw into the large corral, hoping this horse isn’t about to make me eat my words. I think of Dax’s famous motto as I prepare to mount, “Fake it till you make it,” which is pretty much the story of my life.

Here goes nothing.