6
H er hair’s different. It pisses me off.
That platinum mess from yesterday is now a soft honey and ash color that makes her bright green eyes pop. Worse, it’s a wild snarl of waves and curls that fall to the small of her back. With her heart-shaped face and long lashes, Reese is the very worst kind of distraction.
My baseball hat shields the late morning sun’s rays as we trudge across the ranch. I glance at Reese. Every few seconds she stops, muttering to herself, and tears her heels from the grass, then continues to lurch along. Her heels chew up the green earth better than any rototiller can. Christ, at this rate, it’ll be sundown before any of the chores are done.
The whole thing’s ridiculous. I know a recipe for disaster when I see it. I can’t think of someone more ill-equipped for ranch work than Reese.
In that sparkly silver dress, she’s like a walking disco ball, and her stiletto heels probably cost thousands. She’s got three gold bangles stacked on each arm, clinking with each move. In every video or photo I saw last night, she wore them. It must be her schtick. The constant jingle grates on my nerves. Almost has me forgetting how fucking beautiful she is.
Almost.
“You need more bracelets,” I tell her dryly. “Don’t think the whole ranch knows you’re coming.”
Her nostrils flare. “I like my bracelets.”
“Yeah, well, they’ll spook the horses.”
She squeaks, jumping onto the grass as we approach a rooster pecking his way down the gravel path.
I chuckle. The panic on her face could almost be adorable. “Your ancestors hunted mammoths with a spear, honey. You can walk past a rooster.”
She gives me a nasty look. Then, chewing on her lower lip, she gingerly tiptoes around the bird. “I’ve never seen a rooster before,” she breathes. The sweet awe in her voice tugs at my chest.
“How was the spaghetti last night?” I ask, testing her.
“Delicious,” she says, absentmindedly.
I side-eye her. Just as I thought—she didn’t touch a goddamn bite. I grit my teeth but hold my tongue. She’s twenty-six years old. A fully functioning adult. She can survive on her own. Why do I fucking care?
I don’t. But she is my responsibility, whether or not I like it.
Besides, I didn’t imagine the flicker of panic that flashed over her face when she said she needed a job. Hard times are what she’s fallen on, and damn if it doesn’t pique my interest.
“You ready to tell me what brings you to Runaway Ranch?” I glance at her beside me, keeping perfect sync with my long strides, even in those stilettos. “It can’t be the cows.”
“On the run from the mob,” she says without missing a beat. “Witness protection.”
I eye her. She’s fucking with me.
As we pass a tour headed for the falls, I watch her pull her dark sunglasses down.
“You know, if I had good common sense, I’d say you’re hiding out.” Now that I know she’s some superstar starlet who straight- up bolted from her life, curiosity has me pressing for more. In the interest of the ranch.
Her lips quirk with amusement. “Who says you have sense?”
“New hair, sunglasses, it ain’t hard to put two and two together.”
Reese lets out a long sigh. “Do you have anything else to do other than interrogate me?”
“Nope. You’re a hot topic on the news.”
“It’s not rehab,” she says quietly. “If you’re wondering.”
“I wasn’t.” She doesn’t look like the type to need rehab. There’s something soft, something sad about her. But just as I’m about to say that Reese steps into the road.
In front of a van.
“Look out.” I grab her arm, hauling her back to my side. “Jesus, you trying to kill yourself?” The girl’s a danger to herself, oblivious to whatever’s going on around her.
“No,” she snaps. “I’m not.”
We glare at each other for a few seconds, and then resume our trek.
“I needed a break,” she says, picking up the conversation. Her soft voice is clipped, like she’s choosing how much to tell me.
I glance over at her. “Is that why my little brother’s helping you?”
The dazzling smile on her face drops my insides.
My breath catches. Sharp, painful.
“You and Grady?” I love my little brother, but goddamn if for one second, I don’t hate him.
She laughs. The first light and twinkly sound I’ve heard from her.
“No, he’s a friend.” Her smile fades, and her shoulders slump. “I wish I had more of those.”
The video of Reese crying on stage flashes in front of my eyes. And I’m pretty sure she was crying last night when I brought her dinner, too.
I harden my heart. It’s not the time to get sentimental.
“I think it was a bad idea to run,” she goes on, pausing as I dip to grab a piece of trash from the grass and toss it in a trash can.
I arch a brow, hearing the unsaid. “But?”
She gives me a sad smile. “But I had to.” She walks faster, shaking off whatever’s in her head. “Now I’m fucked. I need money. My manager cut off my credit cards. I don’t know how to access any of my accounts. I feel like an idiot.”
I should tease her for being a spoiled princess, but the soft resignation, the desperation in her voice, fills me with unease.
She has to have money, right? She’s a fucking superstar. For a second, I want to hunt down her manager and have words.
“Maybe you’re not an idiot and he’s an asshole,” I grunt.
“He is.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “He thinks I owe him because he made me.”
I think of Jim Donovan. “A lot of people like that in the world.”
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Unfortunately.”
“Gotta be honest, honey. I’ve never heard of you before.”
Reese gasps, but she doesn’t look insulted, she looks pleased. “Good. My songs suck.” A half-smile crosses her face. “They’re all as fake as my hair.”
That pulls a chuckle out of me.
Curious green eyes flick to mine. “I’ve never heard of you either, Ford ‘Flamethrower’ Montgomery.” The way she drags it out, soft and teasing, has my cock twitching.
I give a dry laugh and shrug. “Once upon a time, I played ball.”
“Why’d you stop?”
“Bad knees. Bad shoulders.” Bad life.
She arches a brow. “And you retired to Montana?”
“Something like that,” I rasp and leave it at that. I don’t want to get into Savannah. The kid.
I slow my stride when we reach the barn. Newly built after the fire that hurt Ruby, it’s even better and bigger than our last one.
“In here,” I say with a flick of my chin.
We step inside to ice-cold air-conditioning. My tennis shoes sink into the hay and grit covering the floor. The smell of horse and manure waft from the stalls. I glance at Reese and find her standing in the doorway, arms crossed tight over her body.
I toss her a grin. “They don’t bite.”
Slowly, she struts inside and wrinkles her nose at the smell, lifting her sunglasses.
“These are the horses,” I tell her, slapping Big Red’s rump. “Spoiled as hell. We use them for trail rides, ranch work…” I pause, waiting for her to approach a stall. Most guests freak the fuck out when they see a horse. Instead, Reese hangs back, nerves all over her beautiful face.
A visible shudder wracks her thin frame. “I have a thing about horses.”
“A thing?” I ask. Okay, call me curious.
She shies away, closer into a corner. Her shoulders hike up toward her ears. “I don’t like them.”
Of course she doesn’t.
“How do you not like a horse?” I move to the next stall. Inside, my Appaloosa chuffs. “This little fucker is Eephus. He’s tried to kill me numerous times. He’s the most incompetent, useless gelding I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. And I still love the bastard.”
Eephus whinnies, a demand for affection.
Reese makes a face at me. “What kind of name is Eephus?”
I mime tossing a ball. “Means a slow pitch with a high as fuck arc.” Pride heats inside of me. “I used one on Phil Brenna and got the strikeout of the century.”
A smile quirks her lips. “Is that your superpower? No shame?”
I arch a brow. “No fear.”
Though her eyes are still wary, Reese takes a small step forward. The movement makes her bangles jingle, and Eephus stomps his feet, flaring his nostrils.
“Shit,” I swear, holding out a firm hand to stop her. “Stay there.”
Her face falls. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, just listen. Ground rules, okay?” I pet Eephus, calming him. “You don’t go near the horses with those things on. You got me?” Frightened horses are a liability. Not to mention, I don’t want her getting hurt. Another problem I don’t need.
“Sure.” Her golden hair catches the sunlight as she looks around the barn. “So, what do I do?”
“Take that hay there and move it up into that loft.” I shake my head when she reaches for the pile. “Not with your hands.”
“So helpful.” She glares at me. “What should I use then?”
“This.” I step toward her, pinning her against the wall to reach above her. She’s at least five foot four, but I’ve got almost a foot on her. I stretch up, my libido roaring as my body sweeps against hers. Soft. Hot. Sexy as hell.
Fuck.
“Ford,” she whispers, and damn if it’s not like the snap of a rein.
I snatch the pitchfork off the wall and blow out a tense breath as I move back. I need to get out of her way, give us both space, before I do something I regret. Like kiss the fuck out of her.
Clearing my throat, I carefully hand Reese the pitchfork. My gaze trails over the pretty pink flush on her cheeks that matches her lips. “Use this to shovel the hay.”
Our eyes remain locked until she turns away from me. “I’ll get right to it.”
I busy myself with the horses, adding fresh food to the stalls and checking on a pregnant mare due any day now.
When the pitchfork slices dangerously close to my shoulder, I whip around. “Christ, woman, you tryin’ to impale me?” She’s as reckless as she is beautiful.
Reese laughs, white teeth flashing. Even her smile is dazzling. “Would end all my problems, wouldn’t it?”
“Get used to it, honey,” I say, a wave of irritation washing over me. I don’t like the effect she has on my chest. A tight, dangerous feeling I ache to be rid of. “You’re not gonna prance around the ranch all day. You want to stay, you have to earn your keep.”
She flips me an exaggerated salute with a flick of her delicate wrist. “Whatever you say, boss man .”
I set my jaw. “And when you’re done with that—see that bucket. Go slop the pigs.”
She recoils. Laughs right in my face. “I’m not doing that.”
I lean in and give her a grin. “We’ll see about that.”
Crossing my arms, I watch as she gets to work. Her moves are awkward and reluctant. She’s all legs and attitude as she scoops hay from the pile and moves it to the loft.
A darkness settles over me. I swallow hard, tamping down the anger, the ache. She reminds me of Savannah. Spoiled. Bright. Trouble.
Dangerous, beautiful trouble.
I need Reese off this ranch and out of my mind.
Because this is a bad fucking idea. She’s too close, poking at something sharp inside of me. Something hungry. Something so pure it hurts to acknowledge.
Reese looks up, hopeful. “How am I doing?”
“Fine,” I grumble, already heading for the exit. Trying to pretend I don’t see the crestfallen look on her face.
If I have anything to say about it, she won’t be here long.
Satisfied Reese and her high heels have it under control, I stroll toward the pasture. There, inside the training ring, are Wyatt and the grim reaper of cowgirls, Fallon McGraw. My brother hangs back near the fence on his horse as she runs hers into a froth.
I hop the fence and sit as Wyatt trots my way. With light blue eyes and hair as shaggy as mine, he looks like a younger, leaner version of me.
He takes one look at my face and asks, “Problems?”
“Yeah, I got a problem. A five-foot-four blonde in need of an attitude adjustment.”
“Adds spice to the working day,” Wyatt drawls.
“I put Reese to work,” I tell him. “She’s in the barn cleaning up the hayloft. Think it’ll be good for her.”
Wyatt chuckles. “Spoken like Dad.”
I clock his bandaged elbow. “You seen a doctor for that?”
“Don’t need one,” he murmurs, absentmindedly.
I follow his gaze. Locked on Fallon.
“How she’d ride in Vegas?” I ask.
Wyatt shrugs. “Reckless. Bruised her ribs all to hell barrel racing.” He doesn’t sound happy about it.
“You need anything?”
Wyatt looks at me briefly. “What?”
“You got cut off the night you called me.” I squint at him. “Said you did something stupid.”
He hesitates before a crooked grin tips his lips. “Lost all my money at blackjack. Planned to ask you for a loan.”
I bark a laugh. “Keep dreaming, little brother.”
Davis may be my twin, my better, more noble half, but Wyatt and I are cut from the same cloth. Adrenaline junkies. Smart mouths. I’m damn proud of the kid even if all I’ve done half my life is torment him.
Fallon speeds by us on her horse, Lawless. Dust and grit cloud the air.
“How’s that dirt taste?” I ask Wyatt.
“Girl rides like she’s immune to gravity,” he mutters. The brim of his Stetson casts shadows across his face, his eyes.
Even without it, the kid’s got shadows.
Ever since Fallon was kidnapped and attacked last year, she’s been jumpy as fuck. Wild as hell.
If anything could have brought her and Wyatt back together, it was the mess with Aiden King. Only Fallon took about ten steps back from Wyatt and anyone who cared about her. Started sleeping in her truck, or at Davis and Dakota’s. Taking risks with her riding. Surrounding herself with Pappy Starr and her entourage of managers, who are all ready to bet on the next big thing. And that’s her.
It’s taken a toll on the entire family, including my little brother. Wyatt misses her.
The only time he can get close to her is on the rodeo circuit. Which is why he’s hesitant to retire. He thinks if he’s there, he can protect her.
“Fuck.” I whistle as Fallon flies by us in a blast of dust. “That horse is running like he pays the vet bills.”
“Shit,” Wyatt hisses.
Fallon, her horse stationary, is standing on top of its saddle. She has her arms out, her face to the sun.
“She’s takin’ too many risks,” Wyatt hisses. Blowing out a breath of air, he tears a hand through his hair. Only when Fallon slides off Lawless’s backside does Wyatt relax.
Fallon McGraw’s guardian angel is exhausted.
And so is my little brother.
“Listen, kid.” I lean in, drop my voice. Gentler than I was last year. “You’re overcompensating for what happened last year, and you can’t do it.”
Wyatt wishes he had been there to save Fallon. Hell, we all do. But living in the past won’t change a damn thing.
If only I could take my own advice.
“You don’t know shit,” Wyatt says, but his words don’t hold any real heat.
“I know that girl is the wind,” I tell him. “You can’t catch her or babysit her when you gotta worry about your own damn self.”
Wyatt stares into the sun, looking pained, but he’s listening.
Fuck. I’m not good at this. I can talk to my therapist about my feelings, but talking to my brothers… it’s complicated. It fucks me up every damn time.
Still, I have to do my best for my little brother. I put him on the edge of that cliff last year by goading him about Fallon. If I can make up for it, be there for him and listen to whatever comes out of his stupid mouth, I’ll do it. I owe him. Because that goofy kid pranking the Wolfington’s two years ago is gone, and I can’t be sure he’s ever coming back. Not unless he and Fallon fix their shit.
I nod at his elbow. “This why you keep busting your stupid ass up? Watching out for Fallon?”
Wyatt opens his mouth, but then quickly shuts it as Fallon and Lawless approach.
“Hey, Ford.”
“Hey, honey.” I take off my ball cap, set it back on. “That was an insanely risky move, cowgirl.” Fallon and I have always had an honest friendship. She’s like a feral little sister of mine. I respect her for her risk and her heart.
“Lawless had it.” Fallon pats her horse’s flank. “Isn’t that right?”
Wyatt scowls. “Horse has it until he doesn’t.”
“If I have to fuck around and find out, so be it,” she says with a stone-cold expression, staring right at Wyatt.
I roll my eyes. Fallon will do anything possible not to get help from a man.
A kind of manic energy radiates between Fallon and Wyatt. As they bicker, I check my phone.
One missed text. Unknown number.
Do you have an answer for my daddy?
Fuck.
It feels like a bullet has torn through my chest.
I can hear her voice. See the tap of those impatient nails. Seven damn years now and Savannah still has the power to piss me off.
If this is Jim Donovan’s tactic to get me to take that job, fuck that guy.
“Hey, uh, man.”
My head snaps up, and I shove my phone back in my pocket.
Wyatt jabs a finger, and I glance over to where he’s pointing.
Reese stands near the barn, pitchfork stabbed into the earth, an iced coffee in her hand. Sam, our ranch hand, chats her up. Un-fucking-believable. One bat of her lashes and Sam’s already bringing her a gallon of Starbucks.
My hands curl into fists.
Like a flip switched, anger bubbles up inside of me. Maybe it’s the text, maybe it’s the way she’s laughing, tossing her hair and batting those lashes.
Women like Savannah think the world should be handed to them on a silver platter. That they get it for free. That the world owes them. If Reese wants some life lessons, she’s come to the right fucking place.
Iced coffee in hand, Reese storms by me and it pisses me off that I take a real long second to admire that perky ass of hers.
Wyatt laughs. “I got Tylenol in my pack because that woman’s gonna give you a headache.”
I hop off the fence. “Give me your rope.”
My brother arches an amused brow. “You sure?”
I grit my teeth. “Give it to me.”
Wyatt passes it over and I coil the rope up tightly, grabbing the smaller circle and threading it until I have a loop. Holding the coil in my left hand, I lift it overhead and swing it around and around until I find a smooth rhythm.
Then, with Reese in my sights, I release the loop.
Bullseye.
A good clean catch.
Wyatt cackles.
I grin. Then, I cinch the rope looped around her torso.
Reese screams.
“Ford, you’re a fuckface,” Fallon says.
Reese teeters in her heels, and one quick tug of the rope has her on her ass in the middle of the field. She’s barefoot now, her high heels plunged deep into the earth, and her iced coffee a milky puddle in the grass.
“You lassoed me!” Reese shrieks. Her chest heaves. “Like livestock.”
I stride toward her. She’s a filthy mess. Blonde hair sticks to her sweaty brow, and the dress she wears slides high over her tan thighs.
I look down at her. “Moo moo, baby.”
Her pillowy lower lip juts out.
“This is a ranch. We don’t cry.”
“I’m not.”
“Strutting those long legs up on stage ain’t a job, honey. Neither is bossing around the help or getting special treatment.”
She delivers a look forged in ice. “Are you always such an asshole?”
Impatience and anger get the best of me. “No, Reese, I’m not. Do you want to know why I’m an asshole? Because you’re a brat. Because I don’t want to be babysitting your spoiled ass the entire summer. I don’t want to miss out on fishing and baseball because guess what? Those are two things I really fucking love. I sure as hell don’t want you to stress out my brothers because they have enough on their fucking plates at the moment. In fact, the last thing I want to do is spend time with a spoiled, pampered, pain-in-the-ass princess.”
She stares at me, her lower lip trembling.
I cross my arms. “C’mon, scream and shout, blondie.”
But she doesn’t. Instead, she picks herself up, dusts her hands on the stomach of her glittery dress, and in the smallest voice I’ve ever heard says, “I hate you.”
She grabs her empty coffee cup like she’s fully prepared to lob it in my face and then stares into the dregs. A tear slips down her face.
Without another word, Reese turns, and walks toward the chalet, shoeless.
A muscle jerks in my jaw.
Fallon socks me in the arm. “ You are an asshole, Ford.” Another punch so hard I rock back on my boots. “Seriously, go fuck yourself and your high horse.” With venom in her eyes, she flips me off and storms for the ring.
The disappointed look Wyatt gives me scalds. “I don’t know, Ford. This ain’t you, man.”
It’s not. I think of the text burning a hole in my back pocket.
I glance toward the barn.
The concrete floor is bare and clean, every blade of hay stacked perfectly in the loft.
I couldn’t even do it better.
An ache twists in my gut. I tear a hand through my hair. “Fuck.”
I am an asshole.