Untamed (Wild Sage Ranch #1)

Chapter 1

one

. . .

SIENNA

I’d been hired to manage a guy who made a living trying to get himself killed.

On my laptop screen, Brock Wilder clung one-handed to a bucking horse, his body snapping forward with every hard landing. His other arm hung loose like he didn’t give a damn. Under the brim of his hat, he looked bored out of his mind.

Four seconds. Five. Six. The horse spun and kicked, but he didn’t budge.

Seven. Eight. The buzzer went off, yet Brock stayed on.

Two men rode in to help him dismount, and he ignored them.

Eight seconds was all he needed for a score, and anything after that was pure showing off.

He lifted his free hand high, playing to the crowd.

Those extra moments of cockiness cost him, because the next buck launched him off.

He hit the ground rolling, his shirt ripping open at the shoulder as he slid through the dirt. When he pushed himself up, the fabric hung torn, exposing a strip of tanned muscle.

He stood there, sweat running down his throat. For a man who'd nearly broken his neck, he looked far too pleased with himself.

This was who they were sending me to fix.

I snapped the laptop shut, face burning. The woman in the aisle seat, who’d been knitting since Denver, elbowed me in the shoulder.

“Oh, sorry, hon,” she said. “I get real into it when I’m working.”

“It’s fine,” I muttered.

She held up the pink bundle in her lap and smiled. “Making a baby blanket for my granddaughter.”

“That’s really sweet.”

I tried to shift toward the window from my cramped middle seat, but the guy in the cowboy hat was sprawled against it, dead asleep since takeoff. Between the yarn and those sharp elbows, there wasn’t much room left for me.

I opened the laptop again anyway. This time I went straight for the video, the one that had started all of this.

It was ten seconds long, muted, and had already racked up two million views in seventy-two hours. There was Brock in a crowded bar, half a second before his fist connected with another man’s jaw. The clip cut off right as the other guy swung back at him hard.

The woman’s elbow caught me again. Her yarn slid off her lap and pooled against my knee.

“Oh, shoot—I’m so sorry, honey!”

I bent to scoop it up, winding the loose yarn back into a ball before handing it to her. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. You’re a doll. Where are you from? You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

I smiled. “Chicago.”

“Oh, Chicago! That’s a long way from Wyoming. What brings you all the way out to Sheridan?”

I hesitated, forcing a light tone. “I’m here to clean up after a man who can’t seem to behave himself.”

She let out a soft laugh. “Lord, there’s plenty of those. Is he family?”

“No. A client.”

“Good luck, honey. Men out here don’t make it easy.” She held the yarn out toward me. “Would you mind holding this while I cast off? It keeps tangling on me.”

“Sure,” I said, taking it from her.

She kept knitting, then spoke again. “My granddaughter’s turning three soon. My daughter married a rancher’s boy. Nice family, but those winters are no joke. I keep telling her to move closer to Cheyenne so I can spoil that baby properly. Somewhere with a Target nearby, at least.”

That pulled a laugh out of me.

“You laugh now, but you’ll see,” she said, patting my arm with her papery hand.

The seatbelt sign dinged on, and a minute later, the pilot announced our descent. I leaned forward, straining to see past the snoring cowboy as the plane dropped through the clouds.

Wyoming was prettier than I’d expected. Green foothills rolled into mountains still capped with snow, even this close to July. Incredibly empty, though. A single house would appear in the middle of nowhere, then miles of open land before another one showed up.

Chicago, this was not.

We landed in Sheridan after four. As the plane slowed, the woman tucked her yarn back into her canvas tote with a satisfied sigh.

“You hang in there, hon,” she said. “And if he gives you trouble, you give it right back.”

“Don’t worry. I give as good as I get.”

The woman beamed like I’d passed some kind of test.

I gave her a small smile back, then stood and joined the line of passengers shuffling off the plane.

The Sheridan terminal was basically one big room. By the time I reached the carousel, my suitcase was already circling. I caught it on the second pass and headed straight for the rental counter, where a bored-looking guy manned the desk. I slid my phone forward with the confirmation open.

“Sienna Starling. I’ve got a booking.”

"Where are you headed?" he asked.

"Redbow."

He looked me up and down. “You sure you want the Camry? Got an Outback on the lot, same price. Better if you’re going off pavement.”

I was going to the motel. After that, I planned to lie face-down on the mattress until morning.

“The Camry's fine.”

He slid the keys across the counter. “Suit yourself.”

I rolled my suitcase out into the parking lot and stopped. The mountains sat flattened blue against the horizon under an endless, cloudless sky. A dry chill nipped at my nose. I breathed deeper and caught the scent riding the wind: green, wild, and bitter. Sagebrush, maybe, or dry pine.

Then my phone started ringing, shattering the quiet.

I pulled it out and stared at the caller ID. It was Avery, my boss. My thumb hovered over the ignore button. Couldn't I have a little time to be the person who had just arrived? An hour to call her back from the hotel, from a bed, behind a closed door?

I finally answered on the fourth ring.

“Sienna, you landed?” On the other end, her keyboard clicked rapidly under the muted roar of traffic outside her office window.

“Yes,” I said. “I already got the rental.”

“Good, good—listen. There’s been a change of plans.”

Something in her tone made my stomach tighten. “What kind of change?”

“You can ditch the hotel.”

I frowned, staring at the keys in my hand. “But I just got here.”

“I know, but the sponsor wants you on site.”

“On site where?”

“On site with him.”

A short laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “Are you serious?”

"After that video, Outlaw’s panicking. They want someone on him twenty-four-seven.”

My grip tightened on the suitcase handle. “That’s not what we discussed. I’m not comfortable living with the client.”

A pause. When she spoke again, the friendly edge was gone. “Sienna, you remember what we talked about after the Richie account went south?”

I closed my eyes. Oh, I remembered.

Trent and I had been co-managing the account, and he’d been brilliant at it—until he missed the deadline that cost us the client.

I could still see him at our kitchen table, holding my hand, swearing he’d take care of me if I took the fall.

Partners covered for each other. He was already on track for a promotion. It made sense at the time.

He got the promotion. I got stuck doing damage control. And then, he moved out of our apartment and straight into hers, the girl from analytics he’d been cheating with the whole time.

"Sienna? You still there?”

"Yeah," I said, my voice tight.

“You know I’m on your side here. I went to bat for you, so let’s make it work. I’m sure you’ll figure it all out.”

She hung up.

I pulled up Wild Sage Ranch on Google Maps. The blue dot landed near the base of the mountains outside Redbow, and my estimated drive time was just under an hour.

I stared at the white Camry across the lot for a long second, then turned around and walked back into the terminal. The rental guy was still at the counter. He didn't even glance up as I approached.

"I'll take the Outback," I said.

He slid a new form across the counter. I signed it without reading it and swapped the keys.

"Good choice," he said. "Drive safe."

I rolled my suitcase back out into the parking lot, the wheels rattling over the cracked pavement. I spotted the Outback in the second row and heaved my bags into the trunk.

When I slid into the driver's seat, I let out a hiss. The leather was scorching hot from the sun. I started the SUV, peeling my legs off the sticky seat, waiting for the AC to kick in. As a blast of cool air hit my face, my phone buzzed on the console.

This time, it was my sister. I smiled before I even opened the message.

Mara

How's Wyoming?

Me

Very empty

You meet him yet? Is he as hot in person?

He's a client.

So… yes

Goodbye Mara

OK WAIT don't go

Guess what. I got an A- in biochem

That's... suspicious

I hate you

Love you too

…

Bring me back a cowboy hat

I set the phone down, chuckling despite how tired I was. Mara was six years younger than me and somehow the smartest person I knew. She was the only reason I hadn’t told Avery to go to hell a long time ago.

Her scholarship and student loans barely paid for half her tuition. Our parents helped when they could, so I covered the rest. I didn’t want her taking a job and risking the flawless GPA she needed to get into medical school.

I cranked the AC to max and pulled out of the lot. Sheridan disappeared fast, giving way to nothing but straight road. Before long, I was flying down the highway at seventy miles an hour.

I reached for the radio dial, scanning for an upbeat pop station to keep me alert. Instead, a voice warped by static filled the car.

“…still no rain in the forecast, folks, and alfalfa hay prices are climbing right along with the heat…”

I stared at the dashboard, sighed, and left it on.

The mountains grew larger, from hazy blue to sharp gray. Every so often, an antelope would lift its head from the roadside and watch me pass, like I was the strange one.

When the turnoff for Redbow finally appeared, the town itself was three blocks long. It had a faded, postcard kind of charm: a general store with hand-painted lettering on the glass, a diner with a glowing neon sign, and a corner tavern with a dirt lot full of dusty pickup trucks.

That was the full business district. Good thing I brought my Kindle.

Right past the quirky motel I was supposed to stay at, the pavement ended without warning. A thick plume of dust kicked up in my rearview mirror, but the SUV handled the ruts easily.

"GPS signal lost," the navigation app chimed.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," I muttered.

I followed the road through miles of open scrub until a wooden gate came into view, propped open with a rock. The name Wild Sage Ranch was burned into the wood, the letters soft with age.

My tires rattled as I drove over the metal cattle guard. I followed the dirt road around the bend, and soon after, a massive two-story wooden ranch house came into view. A wraparound porch hugged the front, lined with mismatched rocking chairs and a stack of chopped firewood.

But it was the paddock to the left that made me hit the brakes.

A huge, dark horse tore frantic circles in the dirt. And there in the middle of it, perfectly still, was Brock Wilder.

He held a long rope as the horse spun around him. When it jerked sideways, Brock didn’t fight it. Three strides later, it dropped its head and settled, breathing hard.

He was taller than he looked in the videos, broader across the shoulders too. His white T-shirt clung to his chest, and every time he pulled on the rope, his arms flexed in a way that was hard not to stare at.

So, he was capable of discipline and control. He just chose when to use it.

I rolled to a stop at the edge of the gravel and killed the engine. He still hadn’t looked up. Was he ignoring me on purpose?

I stepped out. He turned then, looping the rope around his hand.

He gave me one look and scoffed. “You’re the wrangler they sent.”

“I’m the PR specialist.” I slammed the car door shut. “But considering I’m here to keep you from swinging at the locals, wrangler works just fine.”

The horse tossed its head, but Brock’s gaze stayed locked on mine. He tied the rope to the fence post, swung the gate open, and walked toward me.

Up close, his jaw was tight under a few days of scruff. A fading yellow bruise lined its edge. His eyes dragged down my dress to my kitten heels sinking into the dirt. When he finally looked up, his blue eyes locked on mine, and the corner of his mouth ticked up.

"You're going to last about four days, sweetheart."