Chapter 14
HART
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I SHOULD’VE WALKED away.
I should’ve damn well bolted.
Instead, I had to go and bait a Fox.
Bloody hell.
What is wrong with me?
It’s bad enough I brawled on Main Street because of her, spent the night in jail because of her, and then dove into a ditch of stinging nettle, indirectly, because of her.
Now I’ve given up the solitude of chopping trees, the one thing that clears my mind—splinters hurt less than overthinking—and I’m doing it just to piss her off.
I think I’m entitled to take away Dean’s Idiot of the Year Award.
I adjust my grip on the log, steadying the rough bark against my denim shirt. Leaves crunch beneath my boots as I navigate the uneven ground.
My truck isn’t far, but it’s further than initially planned. I don’t stray onto Fox land, but something felt different today. The wind shifted, and the ground seemed to carry a different weight.
I could feel her presence.
Sounds off, maybe even crazy to someone who doesn’t live out here. But ranchers, we know our land. We read it like scripture.
And today, it told me she was near. That’s why I’m lugging this specific log through the wooded area. The trees in the Wilde land are plenty, but no, I wanted to tick off the woman who passed around the bucket list book like a lunch menu.
A few birds scatter from nearby branches at the sound of my footsteps. The rhythm of her horse’s hooves carries from afar.
Does she really think I don’t notice her?
Ranchers know their sounds.
I cross the property line, and still, she doesn’t say a damn word.
The sharp scent of sap clings to the fresh-cut log as I load it into my truck bed.
On Wilde land.
I take my sweet time, waiting—expecting—her explosive reaction. Threats, calling the sheriff, although he’s seen enough of me, or even shootin’ me and buryin’ me where no one would ever look.
I’m seriously playing with fire here.
But she makes no move, hidden in the trees, lingering in the shadows.
Just watching.
I don’t know this play, so I climb into my truck, fire up the engine, and peel out.
I keep one eye on the rear-view mirror, seeing nothing but trees and dust. But when the brush splits open, she tears out of the woods on that beautiful midnight-black horse.
Her jeans mold to her body, dusted at the knees.
The kind of jeans that have seen real work.
Her ponytail whips in the wind, the reins gripped tight, eyes locked dead ahead, on me.
She doesn’t yell or wave.
Just rides hard, determined and furious.
The ranch radio cracks over the growl of the truck engine.
“Hart, you there?” My brother’s voice snaps through the static.
I snatch the radio off the dash and jab the button with my thumb. “Well, look who finally answered the radio. You dead or just allergic to hard labor?”
“Neither. Just allergic to bad attitudes and blisters.” Levi chuckles as if he’s hilarious. “And I’m a little hungover.”
He’s lucky I even answered. I’m currently busy outrunning a Fox.
I press the gas a little harder, unable to stop watching Jade.
Not yet.
Not with her riding like I’ve taken something sacred and she’s aimed to take it back.
Bring it on.
“Hart? Hey! You there? Can you hear me?”
Shit.
I jam the button. “Yeah, I’m here. I’ve been here since sun-up, sweatin’ my soul out and cuttin’ logs for that treehouse y’all were helping me build. Ring any bells?”
The radio silences, then my brother’s voice crackles. “You got out of jail before sun-up?”
No, but he doesn’t need to know that.
I juggle the radio in my hand as I crank the wheel sharply and then readjust my grip on the button. “No thanks to you.”
My tires kick up dust, but Jade doesn’t flinch. She leans forward in the saddle and urges that horse faster, as if she’s going to run me down.
It’s adorable.
“Look, I’m headin’ your way now. I’m sure you needed the warm-up anyway.”
“I don’t need a warm-up. I need a second pair of hands.”
I should floor it, leave Jade in the dust, and get this log where it needs to be, where I need to be, far fucking away from her.
I don’t.
I play with the gas, just enough to stay ahead, but never out of sight.
Let her chase me.
Let her sweat a little.
“I’m allowing you to practice being the fun uncle before my kid is born, instead of the grumpy cowboy one.” A sharp click echoes when Levi releases the mic button.
“I’m already at grumpy. Wore through a pair of gloves, dropped a log on my foot, and got a splinter in my palm the size of a damn toothpick.
” The radio is so close to my mouth that it bounces against my lips with the uneven terrain.
“And all this is after a night in jail. But hey, take your time with your fucking hangover. Balls in your court, brother.”
I barely let my thumb off the button when a thin snap cracks across the speaker.
“Yeah, balls were in my court this morning.” Dean cuts into our conversation.
Oh fuck.
And just like that, the noisiness of my brothers is about to begin.
“Got handled real nice too,” he continues. “Gently. Thoroughly. Repeatedly.”
“Bro, no one wants to hear about your balls,” Levi barks over the channel, ricocheting inside the truck like thunder.
But I agree with him.
“Let’s just say I was workin’ with a different kind of wood this morning.” Dean lacks a moral compass.
“If you say one thing about your wood, I’m changin’ frequencies.” My threat only garners a long, crackled laugh from Dean.
“Tell me then, did Nash actually lock you up or just make a show of it until you got to the station, then let you go?”
“What do you think?”
“That you woke up stacked on a cot, but didn’t have a woman to unload the lumber, if you catch my drift. So now you’re cranky.”
“Fuck off.”
“Wood’s gotta be treated right. When’s the last time you had a woman help you polish your wood?” Dean’s tone is slow and flat, but there’s a trace of mischief underneath.
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Do you kiss at all?”
“I ain’t fucking celibate, if that’s what you’re asking.” Not that I need to defend myself.
“Bet he was spoonin’ a cedar stump whisperin’ sweet nothings to it.” Wheeler jumps into the conversation.
Great. A full-on sibling affair when I have other things on my mind.
Gravel dust kicks up in my rearview mirror. My heart pounds like I’m sprinting the forty-yard dash, daring trouble to tackle me.
“Or did you have to romance your axe handle solo again?” Dean’s barbaric in ways a man shouldn’t be.
“Rubbing the wood with a certain Fox sister in mind after we sent those riders packing for crossing the line. I can see the fantasy. You, the hero. Her, needing a way to thank you and getting down on two knees, would do the trick.”
The truck jerks beneath my hands. I wrestle the wheel straight, and the radio slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor.
“Y’all ever notice he gets real quiet every time we mention her?” Dean presses like the asshole he is.
A glance in the rearview mirror confirms Jade is steady in the saddle and still on my trail.
“He’s dodgin’ harder than a calf at branding day.” Beck jumps in because apparently my love life, or the sad, dusty version of it, is a group project now.
I grab the tangled cord and haul the radio back into my grip, but Levi beats me.
“Y’all are idiots,” he says. “Hart’s out there doin’ the Lord’s work, buildin’ my kid a treehouse. He ain’t got time for your pine-scented fantasies.”
“Cowboy’s been workin’ on that woman since high school. Real slow burn romance.” I can hear the smirk in Dean’s tone.
I hit a shallow dip. The truck jostles hard. Coffee sloshes from my forgotten thermos in the cup holder. The radio cracks with static before kicking back into a George Strait tune I haven’t listened to in years.
Fitting.
The path narrows ahead, snaking through mesquite and cedar brush.
I glance in the rearview again. She’s standing slightly in the stirrups now, face set, ponytail whipping back, and a sweater I don’t recognize flapping behind like a flag of war.
I tap the brakes and kick up a little more dust, just enough to cloud her line of sight, but not enough to lose her.
“I’m just sayin’, if dirty looks were foreplay, y’all’d be married twice over.” Dean’s words slide out smooth, slick with dry humor.
“They hate-flirt so hard, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a wedding and a restraining order in the same week,” Beck cracks.
I’ve about had enough of this conversation.
“One of these days, one of you is gonna snap, throw the other against a fence post, and fuck the fight right outta each other.” Leave it to Dean to drag us into the crude world he resides in.
“In all seriousness,” Levi’s voice comes through the radio, composed and carrying a subtle warmth beneath the surface. “You can let your guard down. Foxes and Wildes aren’t fightin’ anymore. I broke the cycle, ended it for good. No more blood. No more grudges. It’s over.”
His words are meant to comfort me, to help me move on. Instead, they wind my guilt into a storm that nearly overwhelms me.
My destination comes into view, and I ease off the gas and coast to a stop under the massive oak tree dominating the property. Beneath it, a peaceful pond mirrors the vast blue sky. Its surface ripples gently with the soft breeze.
“I’m at your place, Levi. Hurry the fuck up. Over and out.” I kill the engine and flick off the radio.
The sudden silence is deafening.
Then I wait.
Because I’m the master at being the bad guy to cover the hurt I caused her, and every time I think about it, that damn guilt eats me up, twisting my insides like a noose. But I can’t have it any other way, so I damn well make sure she loathes me.
Fuck, I’m a coward.
Although it wasn’t hard to be the bad guy today when she decided to do the bucket list without me. Not that we could ever do it together.
I glance in the rearview mirror.