Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Wilder
“ W ell…how’d it go? Are you behind bars? Do you need bail money? Or has some dude named Ralph made you his bitch already?”
Smirking, I replay Delilah’s voice memo in my truck just to hear her voice and laughter again.
Holding up my phone, I take a selfie with my tongue sticking out and two fingers up.
“Not behind bars and no one’s bitch…but I got a misdemeanor charge with a year probation—which means if I get into any more legal trouble before it’s over, they’ll send me to jail for the remainder of the time. There’s a no contact order in place because Wesley’s a little bitch who thinks I’ll knock him out again. I have a hefty fine to pay, a hundred hours of community service, and then I have to take an anger management class. I’m almost wonderin’ if you told ’em that. There’ll be a review hearing in ninety days to check my progress.”
Laughing at that last part, I send the voice memo and then buckle in so I can get the hell out of here and back to the ranch.
Delilah
Now that I know you’re not behind bars, I can yell at you for giving me a hickey and then not telling me before we went to lunch with all your siblings!!!
I can’t help the wide grin that spreads across my face when I read her text.
Wilder
Whoops…guess it slipped my mind.
Truthfully, I liked seeing it on her neck, fresh and purple, a memory that the night before happened regardless of her insisting we don’t talk about it.
Tasting her for the first time is something I’ll forever remember and never forget.
But I figured she’d see it in the mirror when she went to the bathroom. When she came back out and didn’t say anything, I didn’t either.
Once I’m parked in front of my place, I rush inside and change into my work clothes.
“Seriously, though, it sounds like you got lucky. Did Wesley show up? What did the judge say?”
Her next memo comes through and I debate calling her instead, but I’m already four hours behind my work schedule, so I quickly record another one while I get dressed.
“Yep, he sure did. Lookin’ smug as hell too until the judge questioned him about patrollin’ while off-duty. Apparently, he was parked at the Twisted Bull, watching someone he suspects is dealin’ drugs and was waitin’ to see them drive away so he could follow. But he was concerned —which I call bullshit—when you stormed out of the bar and then five minutes later, I jumped into the passenger seat. When we left, he followed to make sure we weren’t drinkin’ and drivin’. But again, I call bullshit. Knowing Wesley, he wanted any reason to fuck with me and used you to do it.”
I send the memo and then grab everything I need before rushing down to my truck.
Once it’s started, I hit record again and drive toward the retreat.
“He probably saw us foolin’ around and wanted to bust my balls because of the whole sleepin’ with his wife thing. Anyway…the judge asked if he had documentation on this drug dealin’ suspect , and when he said no, the judge basically discredited his excuse. Not sure what’s gonna happen to him since he’s already on suspended leave, but I’d avoid him to be safe.”
She sends another memo as I park in front of the barn. “Well, I avoid most men, so it won’t be an issue on my end.”
I snort, then listen to her next one.
“I’m happy to hear you’re not behind bars. But maybe for funsies, you stay out of trouble and keep your fists to yourself?”
Wilder
Just my fists?
Delilah
Your mouth, too. It’s what gets you into hot water most times because you’re always running it.
Wilder
Pretty sure you liked my mouth on yours by the moaning and begging you were doing.
Delilah
I did not beg!
Grinning, I grab my Stetson hat and phone before exiting my truck, continuing the conversation about court. “John being there helped my case a lot. He argued about Wesley’s unprofessionalism and provokin’ me on purpose. The judge already saw the body cam footage, so he knew, and although he agreed that it was out of line, I still had to be punished for assaultin’ an officer regardless if he was on duty or not. John talked him out of givin’ me jail time since I wasn’t a threat to the general public and was an asset needed on my family’s ranch business. So he agreed with the probation and other stuff instead.”
“An asset, huh?” She giggles in her next voice memo. “Don’t tell your siblings. They’ll give you shit for that one.”
“Trust me, I know. But I’d rather they do that than have to serve time. I gotta get to work before Waylon kills me, but I’m pickin’ you up at seven. Don’t eat beforehand. I’m takin’ you out to celebrate.”
I pocket my phone without waiting for her response—since I’m sure she’ll act defiant about it—and then find Waylon in one of the stalls.
“Well, well, well…” he drawls, and I already know he’s going to be on my ass all day. “If it ain’t the criminal.”
“Save it. I’m here and gonna catch up,” I tell him, grabbing one of the rakes and getting to work.
After we break for lunch, Waylon and I get the horses ready for the trail ride tour. Four people signed up for today, so we take out the horses assigned to them.
When guests check in, they can sign up for activities and when they choose trail riding, Tripp gives them a specific horse based on their experience and age. If they want to go more than once, they’ll get the same horse each time.
Waylon usually leads the group and then I follow at the end to make sure no one gets left behind or a horse doesn’t randomly take off. Sometimes we’ll switch and then we each talk about the ranch’s history and how Sugarland Creek became what it is today.
When the group is more playful or experienced with horses, I’ll stand up in the stirrups and ride next to the other horses to get them to gallop faster. It usually makes the younger guests laugh and they get to experience the trails the fun way.
“Hey, everyone, welcome to the retreat! I’m Waylon and this is my brother Wilder, and we’ll be your guides today. Has anyone been here before?”
Waylon continues with his usual welcoming speech as I lead two horses on each side of me toward the corral. It’s where the guests will put on their saddles and get comfortable climbing on and off before we leave.
We’ll check they’re secure beforehand, but it’s fun for them to learn about some of the aspects beforehand. When we return, they’ll remove the saddles, and we’ll talk them through grooming care.
“During this season, you’re gonna get the most beautiful views from the mountains. Lots of colorful trees,” I tell them once everyone’s settled on their saddles. “We’ll stop at the top so you can take pics if you want.”
Before everything happened this past year, I was known to be rowdy on the trails, sometimes even standing on my horse and taking bigger risks while riding. I wanted that adrenaline rush any way I could get it even if it meant falling on my ass or getting kicked off. And although I still do things that are considered reckless, I got a lot of perspective after Mr. Fanning’s death and talking with a therapist.
The afternoon sun peeks through the trees as we give our usual spiel about the ranch and the Appalachian Mountains that surround it. A couple asks questions and then we stop to take photos for them.
Once we return from the tour and get the horses back in their stalls, the guests are free to explore, but they’re usually with a group of people.
“Wilder, right?” One of the women from the tour taps me on the shoulder.
“Yep, that’s me.” I tip my cowboy hat with my usual lopsided grin.
“Hey, I’m Molly. I was wonderin’ if I could get your number? Or I can give you mine?”
Her question takes me off guard because there were no signs she was interested in me that way. We’d talked a little, but there was no flirting, at least on my end.
“Unless you’re married, of course.” Her gaze falls to my left hand. “But I didn’t notice a ring.”
I lick my bottom lip, trying to figure out how to respond. The last thing I want to do is make her feel bad or ruin the rest of her vacation.
“Uh, no. Not married. But sorry, I don’t have time to date right now either.”
Unless she’s five-foot-five, blond, and responds to Delly. Then I’d make all the time in the world for her.
Right now, she’s currently blowing up my phone with messages—probably insisting she can’t go to dinner tonight for some bogus reason—but we have a strict no-phone policy when we’re with the guests. I’ll have to wait until I’m alone at the barn or in my truck to respond.
“Oh, because of the community service hours you have to do now?” she sasses.
I furrow my brows. How the hell does she know about that already? I only got out of court three hours ago. The small-town gossip mill is fast, but not that fast.
“Excuse me?”
Her entire demeanor changes and she whips out a recorder. “Could I get a statement for The Creek Chronicles about your charges? Perhaps shine some light on how you continually get away with breakin’ the law?”
I step back, growing more pissed the longer she talks. “What’re you talkin’ about?”
“This is you, right?” She taps on her phone screen a few times and then holds it up for me. There are a couple old photos of me looking drunk and stupid, with her name printed below the headline:
Power and Privilege Prevail: Wilder Hollis Avoids Serious Punishment After Assaulting Officer, Sparks Public Outcry About Sugarland Creek’s Popular Ranch & Equine Retreat
“You wrote this?” I grab her phone and scroll through the article. Paragraphs about the injustice from Judge Roberts about my “weak” punishment and how Officer Wesley Townsend is a victim who deserves justice. She even name drops Delilah as the witness who Wesley pulled over. Then it continues on about how my bad behavior and breaking the law are patterns and how I never have to pay any consequences. It encourages the public to boycott the ranch and retreat unless I get fired since I have a criminal record and should be in jail.
As if that’s not bad enough, it praises Wesley as a heroic officer, but there’s nothing about him getting suspended for his multiple issues—while in uniform.
“This is fuckin’ bullshit.” I smack her phone into her palm. “Ain’t sayin’ shit to you.”
I walk in the other direction toward the barn.
“This is your chance to defend yourself…” She rushes to my side with the recorder in her grip. “Tell your side of the story.”
“You his girlfriend or somethin’?” Because I know she’s not his wife and only someone sleeping with him would believe a word that moron says.
“No, just a reporter after the truth.”
“Pfft. Yeah, right. He knew his ass was already on the line, so now he’s draggin’ mine even though he’s the one who started it.” I huff, shaking my head at the ridiculousness. “Call my lawyer if you need a statement. For now, get off my property.”
I nearly sprint to my truck so I can get the hell out of here. My parents are going to flip their shit when they read that.
“Wilder, wait!” She jumps on the running board and holds on to my door through the open window. I squeeze the shifter, ready to bolt. “Off the record…”
“What?” I grind out between my teeth, but I’m trying my damnedest to hold it together.
“Wesley’s hired me and others to run a smear campaign to ruin your name and plant doubt in people’s heads about supportin’ the retreat. If you don’t respond or share your version, he wins. And your family loses. Can you live with being the reason their business plummets?”
Fuck, she’s shady.
But Wesley knows where to hit me for the biggest impact. Screwing with me is one thing but bringing the retreat and my family into this is a low blow, and I’d love nothing more than to tell her about the true Wesley outside of the one the locals idolize.
However, one of the conditions of my parole was not talking to the press since Wesley’s an officer and also being investigated for whatever shit he’s been doing off the clock. So the fact he’s doing this to me is comical. He knows pointing the finger at me will keep the attention off him when he inevitably gets busted.
And having the local reporter write it up as if she came up with the story makes him look innocent.
“Wesley’s a piece of shit who deserved to get hit in the mouth because of what came out of it. He can try all he wants to fuck with me, but it’s not gonna work. And you’re no better for agreein’ to work with him and bookin’ a trail ride just to get my attention.”
“I doubt I’m the first girl to do that. Considering your history with women, I’m sure you’re used to it.”
My blood boils at her baseless accusation. I’ve met women here who’ve given me their numbers, so I’m not denying it’s happened, but he’d find a way to make it sound nonconsensual or inappropriate and that couldn’t be further from the truth.
It’s probably Wesley’s next step in dragging me through the mud—find everyone I’ve slept with and come up with more lies. Or perhaps he’s trying to push me over the edge and wants me to kick his ass so I break my parole conditions and get sent to jail.
Either way, it’s not going to work.
“No, but you’re the first one to use it against me.”
“Well, maybe we could come up with an arrangement so the next thing written about you is on the positive side…”
Her devious tone tells me everything I need to know.
“You think I’m gonna pay you off to stop you from writin’ more articles about me?” I arch a brow, tightening my grip on the steering wheel as my blood boils hotter. “Because I wouldn’t trust you with a nickel, nevertheless savin’ my reputation.”
Her mouth falls open and her brows draw together in disbelief. “You think I’m lyin’?”
My gaze drops to her low-cut long-sleeved shirt and the outline of the recorder in between her breasts.
“Let’s see, shall we?” Before she can react, I pull out the device and see that it’s recording. “Off the record, my ass.”
“Hey! Give that back!” She stretches out her arm through my truck, but I keep it out of her reach.
“It’s mine now.” I turn it off, then shove it into the glove compartment.
“That’s stealin’!” She attempts to reach through the window again, but I could knock her down with one push if I needed to.
“Maybe, but I bet Sheriff Wagner will be interested in what else is on there.”
“Give it back and I won’t write another article about you.”
“Remember what I said a moment ago about not trustin’ you? That still applies.”
“I swear! I’ll even give you dirt on Wesley. I know his plans.”
“Not interested,” I deadpan. “But you have three minutes to leave or I’m callin’ the sheriff to remove you for trespassin’. And don’t think I won’t just because you’re an attractive woman.”
Her lips curve into a seductive grin. “Attractive, huh?”
“That doesn’t make you special, sweetheart.” This time I do shove her just enough so she steps down from the running board.
“I thought you were too busy to date?”
“To date you ,” I correct. “And I was tryin’ to be a gentleman . Heartless, connivin’ women aren’t my type.”
She pouts and crosses her arms when I shift into reverse.
“And you can go ahead and put that in your next article about me.”