Ryder (Lucky River Ranch #5)

Prologue

LOVE STORY

FOURTEEN YEARS AGO

Air.

I wake up gasping for it, lungs burning, heart pounding.

I had the nightmare again. That’s the third freaking time this week.

Bolting upright, I put a hand on my chest and take a heaving inhale. The oxygen hits my lungs, making me lightheaded. The faint outline of the contents of my tiny bedroom tilts queasily to the left before righting itself. I suck in a breath, let it out.

The panic gripping my insides slowly dissipates.

My body prickles at the sudden influx of cool, crisp air. Mom finally agreed to set the thermostat lower than usual at night after I woke up sweating for the hundredth time last week.

Apparently she, too, had bad dreams as a kid.

Mine started a few months ago, right after I turned ten.

It’s always the same nightmare: I’m sitting on a chair in an empty room, trying very hard to stay still.

I can’t, though, because the urge to fidget, to wiggle my hips, radiates from my center outward.

It’s like my heart is a rising sun, glowing and moving and warming me from the inside out.

It almost feels like being tickled. In the dream, I bite back laughter.

Squirm against a rising tide of something that feels cozy and good, something that makes me want to move and be silly but that I know I should tamp down.

Sit still. Be sweet. Your dress looks so pretty, don’t wrinkle it.

The thing is, the more I struggle to sit still, the smaller the room gets. The walls creep in, bit by bit, until they’re pressed up against my shoulders and back and knees.

That’s when the air gets thin. Or disappears, really, because all of a sudden, I can’t breathe even though I try to inhale. It’s like being stuck underwater.

I want to bang on the walls, but I also don’t want to wrinkle my dress or startle anyone. That’s not what nice girls do.

I feel myself suffocating, the lack of air sending a burst of white-hot agony through me.

Just when I’m about to pass out or die, I wake up feeling like this: scared, sweaty, sure I’ve done something wrong.

A couple times I’ve even woken up with the word sorry stuck in my brain.

Sorry for what, though?

I did cuss at the mean mailman the other day when he kicked one of the dogs. Mom said I needed to watch my mouth and stop causing trouble, but I wasn’t about to let poor Petey get treated that way.

Throwing off the covers, I rub my eyes. It’s still really, really dark out, which means it’s probably close to midnight. Every time I sneak into the kitchen after having a nightmare, the clock on the microwave almost always says 12:07. Weird.

I’m too shaky to go back to bed. I also don’t want to wake up Mom or Dad.

They get up so early and work so hard. None of my five brothers will be able to give me the comfort I need.

They always make fun of me, calling me a baby for still having nightmares.

Well, everyone except Tate because he’s too little.

So I go to the one place I can find comfort. Our house is all one story, so I’m able to put on my barn boots and slip out my window easily. I can hear Colt, my oldest brother, snoring through the window next to mine as I tiptoe through the grass.

I roll my eyes. He and his best friend, Ryder Rivers, were probably sneaking sips of Dad’s whiskey after he went to bed. Colt is a couple years older than Ryder—they got close because they love to hunt—and while my brother is definitely the ringleader, Ryder’s happy to be along for the ride.

Dumbasses.

It may be the middle of the night, but the air is hot and sticky.

That’s summertime in Texas Hill Country for you.

The stars make up for it, though. For a second, I stop and tilt back my head to admire them.

We live in the middle of nowhere, so you can really see everything in the night sky: a billion stars, the bright half-moon, even other planets if you know what you’re looking for.

I love it here. I was born on my family’s ranch, and I hope to live here for the rest of my life. I just wish…

I don’t know. That I could do what I want, same as my brothers. As the only girl in the family, I feel like I have to follow all these stupid rules that no one else does. Girls don’t talk like that. Girls shouldn’t ride like that. Girls shouldn’t get so dirty.

The horse barn is down one hill and up another. Our foreman, who we call Grumpy Bud even though he’s actually pretty nice, always leaves a light on. Sometimes I wonder if he knows I sneak out here at night.

Whatever the case, I’m grateful. Stepping inside the barn, I’m hit by the familiar smells of hay and warm animals. Closing my eyes, I take a deep, steadying breath.

I already feel better.

I head for a stall toward the middle of the aisle that splits the barn in half. A chestnut-colored horse with a white star on her forehead peeks out, her huge, dark eyes shining in the light overhead.

Everything inside me lifts.

“Hey, you.” I tuck my hand underneath her velvet chin and give her a rub. “Don’t tell the others, but you’re my favorite.”

Meredith nuzzles my hand in reply, licking the pad of my thumb.

Yeah, I named my horse after Taylor Swift’s cat. So what? She looked like a Meredith to me.

I just hope my parents keep letting me ride her out with the cowboys.

Dad’s always pushing me to help him in the office, where I put stamps on the bills and letters he sends out, and where I pretend to be interested in his lectures about how much everything costs and why.

I don’t know who hates sitting at a desk more, me or him.

He says he wants me to “learn the business side of things” because I’m “the smart one who’s good at math. ”

But really, I think he wants to keep me away from cowboying or working with the horses.

There aren’t any other women who work on the ranch, other than Mom, Aunt Lee, and the lady who comes to help the farrier sometimes.

There are definitely no women who work cattle or break horses.

It’s only the boys who train fillies or ride out in the mornings with our small herd of cattle or do fun stuff like rinse off in the creek after a hot day in the saddle.

Girls, meanwhile, have to do indoor things, like lick stamps and fold laundry.

Meredith’s breath is warm on my hand. I lean into her, my heart rate finally back to normal.

Of course I’m your favorite, I imagine her saying back to me. I’m wild and I’m full of heart. Just like you. We can be both things at once, wild and warmhearted, no matter what other people think.

“They’re always saying I’m wild.” I stroke Meredith’s silky neck. “Why is that a bad thing all of a sudden?”

“Because boys are scared of wild girls. We’ll never admit it, but we scare a lot easier than y’all.”

I jump at the sound of the voice behind me. Whipping around, I see Ryder, my brother Colt’s friend, standing a few feet away. He’s in a rumpled T-shirt and shorts, and he’s holding a guitar in his hand.

Why is he always carrying that thing? The dude’s obsessed.

“Well, you just scared the shit out of me, and I’m a girl!” My heart thumps. But instead of putting my hand on my chest, I put it on my stomach.

It keeps doing this funny somersaulting thing whenever I see Ryder. It only started happening recently. Maybe because he’s gotten a little bit cute since he turned thirteen?

I like his smile. And the way he doesn’t make me feel like I’m any different from the boys. Like he can talk to me and hang out with me the same way he does with my brothers. I’m not some porcelain doll he ignores or mocks or handles with such care that he can’t be himself around me.

I also really like his thick mop of dark blond hair, the way it curls out at the ends.

Speaking of his hair: It falls into his eyes as he shakes his head. “You and the cussin’.”

Growing up surrounded by cowboys who curse like sailors and brothers who talk smack like nobody’s business, I learned the art of cuss words early.

“You gonna tell me to watch my mouth like everybody else?”

“Hell no.” Aw, Lordy, now he’s smiling, and he’s brushing back his hair, and my stomach’s flipping again. “Cussin’ don’t bother me one bit.”

“Even if a girl does it?”

“Especially if a girl does it. To be honest, I don’t care who’s doing it. I think it keeps things nice and relaxed.”

I grin. “Mom and Dad aren’t relaxed when I cuss.”

“Well maybe I’m able to relax when you cuss because I don’t gotta watch myself around you. I like that.”

Dang, now my heart’s doing somersaults too.

I don’t have many friends that are girls.

None, really. Mom homeschools my brothers and me, so the only time I see other girls my age is at church on Sunday downtown.

I used to be able to play with other girls in the “kid room” where our parents would drop us off before service.

One of the older girls would babysit us while everyone else went into the chapel.

But now that I’m older, I’m expected to sit still and look pretty in the pews beside our parents. That means I don’t get to run around with the other kids anymore even though I’ve begged to be one of the babysitters in the kid room.

Back when I was five, maybe six, I distinctly remember the older girls giggling over how “cute” they thought the Rivers boys were. Something about their blue eyes and the little cowboy hats they’d wear to church.

I nod at Ryder’s guitar. “Why did you bring that?” Putting my hands on my hips, I tilt my head. “No, wait. Why are you even here?”

He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep. Colt snores like a goddamn bear when he drinks. I heard someone creepin’ around and wasn’t sure what to expect. So I grabbed the nearest weapon, which just so happened to be my guitar—”

“So y’all did get into Daddy’s Jim Beam.”

“I’m allowed to be wild too, you know.”

I roll my eyes. “Boys are always allowed to be wild.”

“We live on a ranch in the middle of nowhere, Billie. There ain’t nothing else for us to do around here.”

“Yeah, well, some of us still gotta act right, Ryder.”