Chapter Nine 2
“What?”
Shane flapped a hand at Wes’s truck. “One, does that thing still run?”
“Of course it does.”
“And two, why are we driving? ”
Wes looked over his shoulder. From his house he couldn’t see the main barns and ranch houses during the day, but at night he could see the warm flickering of lights through windows and from the main courtyard.
“Pretty sure you noticed how far we drove from the main ranch.” He tipped his head. “C’mon. It’s more than a mile. We can walk another day.”
Shane looked down at his feet and frowned. He was wearing his biker boots. Not quite ranching boots, but good enough for a tour.
“Don’t worry about your boots,” Wes teased, hoping to draw playful Shane out. “You won’t be mucking stalls or anything. At least not today.”
Shane grunted and disappeared back inside the house. Wes sighed. He didn’t want to stay holed up in the house alone with Shane just yet. But a few seconds later Shane reappeared, striding toward him as he pulled on a lightweight black leather jacket that hid the tattoos Wes admired. Wes recognized the teasing gleam in his eyes. He braced himself as Shane, gaze locked on his, walked right up into his space.
Wes expected, no, looked forward to a flirtatious comment, or some inappropriate innuendo, or even a simple grin, but Shane slid a pair of sunglasses with red tinted lenses over his nose, obscuring the warmth of his eyes. Then he turned and hopped up into the truck. Disappointment knifed into Wes. He ground his molars and closed Shane’s door. No one had ever gotten under his skin the way Shane did.
Shane didn’t say a word during the short drive to the main ranch, which should have been a good thing, but the silence between them was thick and oppressive. Wes hated it, but he had no clue how to get them back on companionable ground again. The way they’d been before that fateful email from Shane’s stalker, and Wes’s need to comfort him had turned into something more.
Wes parked his truck next to Mason’s beat-up old ranch pickup and turned off the engine.
“This way,” he said when Shane exited the vehicle.
Shane walked beside him but remained silent. Wes chanced a sideways glance at him but couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking or feeling. He did notice the tension in Shane’s jaw and the stiff set of his shoulders, though.
Wes let it go. He couldn’t protect Shane from whatever was going on in his head. He’d assured Shane he was safe here, but sometimes people had to see for themselves to believe. He led Shane around the back of the main barn and to a large pasture where his and his brothers’ horses grazed along with Mason and his sisters’ horses. Wes stopped at the gate, closed his eyes, and took a second to breathe in the fresh ranch air. A balm to his soul he’d been missing while on the road, traveling from city to city.
He whistled, loud and sharp.
“Warn a guy, will ya,” Shane complained, his hands on his ears, and Wes couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips.
A few seconds later, the sound of thunder drew his attention. Not thunder, but the pounding hooves of a galloping horse. Merlin broke through the trees and galloped toward him, sliding to a stop just shy of the gate. He snorted and tossed his head before coming closer. He nudged Wes’s hat back, drawing a laugh from him that felt unused and rusty. How long had it been since he’d laughed?
“Hey, Merl.” He rubbed Merlin’s strong cheek. “I missed you too.”
He turned to Shane, who had taken off his sunglasses and was looking at Merlin with awe in his eyes. Probably the first time he’d seen a horse in real life, Wes figured. At least Shane didn’t appear afraid. Horses picked up on people’s emotions and rarely reacted well to fear.
“This is Merlin,” Wes said. “I’ve had him since he was a wobbly, long-legged colt.”
“He’s gorgeous.” Shane stretched out a hand and rubbed Merlin’s nose. “Quarter horse, yes?”
Wes swiveled his head to stare at Shane, eyebrows raised. “How the hell do you know what a quarter horse is?”
“I wasn’t born a fully formed rock star, you know.” Shane didn’t meet his eyes, but he was smiling and the tension in his body had relaxed.
“Huh.” The mystery of Shane Castle deepens .
“Can we go riding?” Shane asked, petting Merlin like he was a fifty-pound dog and not a massive twelve-hundred-pound equine. But then, horses didn’t have fangs and claws, so in reality, dogs were scarier.
“You know how to ride?” The words were out before Wes could temper his surprise.
Shane shrugged. “It’s been a while.”
“Hey, you’re back!”
Shane startled at the shout and the rapid persona switch from private Shane to famous Shane made Wes’s head spin.
Wes turned to see Dion, a young ranch hand who mostly worked with the rescued domestic horses, approaching from the medical barn. Dion’s infectious smile was like a ray of sunshine that always made Wes feel hopeful about the world. Which was a feat in and of its own, given how heartbreaking horse rescue could be and how dark his own job sometimes was.
“Hey, D.” Wes pulled him into a quick hug.
Dion slapped his back a couple of times before stepping out of Wes’s embrace and turning his kind, dark eyes on Shane. His smile widened, and Shane’s shoulders lowered. As far as Wes was concerned, Dion made it impossible not to feel relaxed and at ease around him. He beamed his golden smile at Shane, whose mouth curved up in return.
“Shane. This is Dion Wisher,” Wes introduced. “He’s one of the full-time hands on the ranch who works mostly with the rescue horses. Dion, meet Shane. He’ll be staying here with me for a couple of weeks.”
Dion offered his hand, and Shane took it without hesitation.
“Nice to meet you,” Dion said. He tilted his head, as though piecing a puzzle together, and Wes held his breath, hoping Dion didn’t recognize Shane. But how could he? Dion lived on the ranch twenty-four-seven and listened to country music. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have seen Shane and Audio Siren somewhere. The ranch hands’ quarters had a TV and internet, after all.
“You, too. It’s good work you do here.”
Dion ducked his head, shoved his hands into his pockets, and kicked at a rock. “Just doing what needs done.”
“Levi sent me photos of the new mustangs,” Wes said. “Did any new rescues come in too? ”
“Sadly, yes.” Dion sighed and tipped his head toward the large medical barn that was once a dairy cow barn when Wes had lived on the ranch as a kid. “C’mon.”
Wes motioned for Shane to follow, automatically falling into step just behind him and on his right. Shane quirked an eyebrow at him but didn’t say anything. The point of bringing Shane to the ranch was so that he would be out of the limelight and hidden from his stalker. But even though Wes could let his guard down at home, where he didn’t need to be as diligent and had the extra support of his brothers, it didn’t seem to matter where Shane was concerned.
“Welcome home, Wes,” Katie called out as they entered the barn, her eyes the same color as Mason’s flashing bright.
“Hey, Katie,” Wes greeted, and then waved toward Shane. He’d let Katie know Shane would be staying on the ranch for a couple of weeks, and to keep a close eye on the ranch’s social media. “This is Shane.”
Wes turned to Shane. “This is Katie Hayes, Mason’s youngest sister.”
Shane stepped forward with a flirty smile that had Wes narrowing his eyes. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Katie handles all the admin, fundraising, and social media for the ranch,” Wes said. “But she’s been spending her free time helping with the rescue horses.”
“You mean, she helps Angela with the horses,” Dion teased. He winked at Katie, who play punched his shoulder.
“Angela is one of the rescue staff, and Katie’s girlfriend,” Wes clarified at Shane’s confusion. “Speaking of which, where is she? You two are usually attached at the hip these days.”
“Picking up supplies in town,” Katie said with a frown. “Have you seen the new rescue yet?”
“Dion was about to show us,” Wes said.
“This way,” Dion said, leading them to a stall where a tall, coal-black horse stood. Wes’s heart squeezed at the sight before him, and Shane gasped. The horse’s head hung low, discharge leaking from the corners of his flat eyes and nostrils, and every single bone stuck out sharply from under his dull coat. He was a walking skeleton .
“What happened to him?” Shane asked, the pain and shock in his voice echoed in Wes’s chest. He hated seeing the condition seized domestic horses were in when they arrived at the ranch, but he was grateful Mason and his sisters had made this space for them, where they received the kindness and care they deserved.
Dion sighed, his full lips dipping into a frown, and Wes knew just what he was thinking, because he was thinking the same thing. How could people be so cruel?
“The Colorado Humane Society seized him,” Dion spoke, his voice tight with emotion. “His owner had neglected and starved him. He’s young too, only three years old. Apparently, he wasn’t responding to the owner’s training methods and so the owner left him to his own devices in a dirt pen. No food, no water, no shelter. The owner’s son was the one who reported him.”
Shane was quiet for a minute. His voice was hard when said, “How does someone do that?”
“They have no heart, no respect, no compassion,” Wes said softly.
Shane stepped up to the stall door and rested his forearms on the narrow ledge. “Does he have a name?”
“Uh . . . I didn’t like the name he had, so I changed it to Nahawi,” Dion said. “It means ‘brave’ in Choctaw.”
“Perfect,” Wes said. Nahawi was a beautiful name.
“Hello, Nahawi,” Shane whispered, and Nahawi flicked one ear in Shane’s direction, but was too shut down for anything more.
Dion turned to Wes. “Have you seen the new mustangs yet?”
Wes shook his head. “We only just got here. I wanted to see Merlin first, before giving Shane a tour of the ranch.”
“Mason and Colt are out there with them now.”
“Thanks.” Wes turned back to Shane, who was still having a silent conversation with Nahawi. Huh . If he wasn’t mistaken, Nahawi had shifted slightly toward Shane. Wes and Dion exchanged a raised eyebrow.
“I can’t tell what breed he is,” Shane said. “A Friesian cross?”
“Good eye. He’s a Moresian—a Morgan and Friesian cross,” Dion said. “They’re an actual registered breed now.”
“Really? He’s gorgeous.”
Sick, skinny, and beaten down, but Shane was right .
“Looks like we might have a new hand here,” Dion said quietly.
Wes nodded as he studied Shane’s profile. His hair had grown a half inch since Wes had come on board as his personal protection officer. Long bangs obscured Shane’s eyes even more than when he’d first met him, and the ends curled at the base of his neck. His nose was straight and sharp and dark stubble dusted his jaw, softening the edges of his goatee.
Shane pushed the hair from his eyes with fingers free of their usual collection of rings, and his gaze locked on Wes. Heat crawled up Wes’s neck at having been caught staring. He cleared his throat.
“Want to go see some mustangs?”
Shane looked back at Nahawi and nodded. “Sure.”
Shane was quiet as they left the barn and crossed the dirt courtyard back to Wes’s truck.
“So, what’s the deal with this ranch?” Shane asked once they were on their way. “You said Mason transitioned from a cattle ranch to a wild horse sanctuary, but I saw some bison on the way in.”
“They ran cattle here for generations,” Wes replied as they bounced over a wooden bridge, crossing the Laramie River that snaked through the entire seventeen-thousand-acre spread. “But when Mason’s dad passed away and Mason took over, he made some big changes. He had different ideas than his dad and with the help of his sisters, they shifted focus to more ethical and sustainable ranching. He’s also a staunch wild horse supporter, and believe it or not, he’s mostly vegetarian.”
Shane snorted and looked at him, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses and the fall of his hair, but Wes knew his eyes were wide, and eyebrows raised. He chuckled.
“How is that a thing?”
“He makes it work.” Grinning, Wes shrugged. “Anyway, he sold off all the cattle, brought in a small herd of bison, and fenced thousands of acres to create a sanctuary for the mustangs removed from the public lands they’re legally entitled to run free on. And as you saw with Nahawi, he also rescues domestic horses from bad situations and brings them back to good health. Those horses are mostly adopted out. His other sister, Trina, helps with the wild horses. He even has wilderness and eco-tours in the northwest section of the ranch to diversify income streams. ”
“This is a ranch I can get behind,” Shane said. “As long as the hands aren’t assholes,” he added quietly enough that Wes wondered if he’d meant to say that out loud.
“Here we are.” Wes rolled to a stop outside the field with the mustangs that had landed when Wes was in Toronto. Colt, Mason, and Trina were tossing out flakes of hay, and Thad, the youngest hand on the ranch, was cleaning out a water tub. Wes killed the engine.
Shane walked with him as Wes opened and closed the first gate to the pasture, crossed a narrow laneway that they used to move the mustangs from pasture to pasture, or to guide them down to the medical barn when they needed veterinary care. He opened the second gate, and before he had a chance to close it behind him, Marley and Diesel, Mason’s dogs, raced over. They danced at his feet, their pink tongues lolling, Diesel’s tail wagging a mile a minute, and Marley doing the infamous Australian Shepherd bum wiggle.
“Hey you two.” He kneeled to receive their exuberant canine welcome. “I missed you guys.”
Satisfied Wes had received enough attention, the dogs turned their excitement on Shane, who laughed at their antics as he petted them behind their ears.
“The Aussie is Marley, and the blue heeler is Diesel,” Wes introduced with a grin he couldn’t stop if he’d tried. “They’re a menace, but we love them.”
Shane chuckled, paying no mind to the fur that stuck to his clothing. “Nothing menacing about these two.”
The dogs continued bouncing around them as they made their way toward his brother and Mason. Trina waved at him as she walked back to a Gator to retrieve more hay. She’d kept to herself since divorcing her husband, Brett, after learning he’d been involved with the threats against Mason.
“Welcome home,” Mason greeted with a nod. He shifted his gaze to Shane and pulled a glove off his right hand. “And you must be the rock star we’ve all heard about. I’m Mason Hayes.”
Shane slanted a questioning look at Wes before stepping forward and taking Mason’s hand in a quick, friendly shake. Wes shook his head. He hadn’t told Mason or his brothers anything about Shane—except that he was a musician. And world-famous. Wes noticed that even though Shane appeared confident, the set of his shoulders had stiffened again.
“Welcome to Haverstall,” Mason said to Shane in that velvety voice of his.
“Thank you.” Shane’s shoulders lowered, and Wes breathed a sigh of relief. Mason’s voice held a kind of magic with horses, and seemingly with rock stars as well. “This is an amazing place you have here.”
Mason grinned as Colt came up beside him and extended a hand in greeting. “And I’m Colt. Wes’s brother.”
Wes narrowed his eyes at the assessing way Colt regarded Shane. He knew that look, the one that made anyone he aimed it at feel as though he could see into their very depths and uncover all their secrets. That innate talent was one of the many things that made Colt great at what he did.
“Nice to meet you,” Shane said, lifting his chin so slightly no one would notice—except for Wes, who was learning all his tells, and Colt, who saw everything.
Colt grinned. A disarming lift of his lips that Wes hoped would put Shane at ease. “Come help us spread hay for these guys.”
Colt turned to Wes, and his smile broad. “Good to have you home.”
“Good to be home.” Wes grabbed some hay from the back of the Gator and handed an armful of flakes to Shane. “Which one is Denali? Levi told me he was in rough shape when he arrived.”
Colt pointed to a massive dapple-gray gelding standing well back and watching them with wary eyes.
“He’s huge,” Wes said, awed by the sheer power and beauty of the once formidable band stallion.
“Over sixteen hands.” Colt tossed some hay. “I doubt he’ll ever come too close, but he’s standing so much taller, and his confidence has been growing stronger by the day.”
“Why do you have so many mustangs?” Shane asked as he spread his flakes out on the ground.
Colt glanced at Mason, who had wandered off to check one of the water troughs. “Don’t get Mason started,” he said conspiratorially. “His passion for protecting wild horses borders on obsession. But basically, lobbyists, ranching associations, and poor land and herd management practices are decimating free-roaming wild horses. Even though they’re federally protected to roam public lands. They’re rounded up and sent to holding pens that cost the American taxpayer millions of dollars every year—if they make it there at all, after the inhumane roundups—and far too many of these horses end up in the slaughter pipeline, which is illegal, but they somehow get away with.”
Colt paused, inhaling deeply as he pursed his lips, hands on his hips.
“Mason is wearing off on you,” Wes said with a tilt of his mouth.
“It’s easy when it means fighting for what’s right,” Colt replied.
Shane walked back to the Gator for more hay. “How do they end up here, then?”
“They’re put up for adoption by the BLM.” At Shane’s frown, Colt clarified. “As in the Bureau of Land Management. Mason goes to all the adoption events and kill pen auctions to adopt and rescue as many as he can. Some are also owner relinquishments, or requests from those few with the BLM who truly do care about the welfare of these horses. We even get other rescues who are at capacity asking us for help.”
“One thing I know about Mason,” Wes interjected, “If he could, he would adopt every single wild horse out of the holding pens.”
“And he fights to prevent their removal in the first place,” Colt added.
“That just seems all so wrong to me.” Shane shook his head, his features tight as he scanned the small herd. “What will you do with these horses?”
“Once they’ve fully decompressed and their quarantine is over, we’ll turn them out with the big herds,” Mason said, having finished checking the troughs and returning to the Gator. “Free to roam and live as they choose for the rest of their lives.”
“You don’t train any for saddle horses?” Shane asked.
Mason shook his head sharply. “They’re wild. They belong on the open range.”
When Mason didn’t say anything more, Wes added, “Some mustangs are too wild to be domesticated. Those especially need sanctuaries like this one. But many adjust nicely to domestic life and make some of the best riding horses in the world. ”
After a few moments of watching the horses peacefully munch on hay, tails swishing lazily, Shane turned to Wes. “Speaking of riding . . .”
Mason raised an eyebrow, his gaze bouncing between Shane and Wes. “Have you ever ridden a horse before?”
Shane lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “Once or twice.”
Colt and Mason shared a look.
“You could put him on Joker,” Colt said with a straight face, but the amusement underlying his voice was a dead giveaway he was anything but serious.
Wes bit back laughter and shook his head. “Ignore him.”
Shane lifted his chin. “Is there a problem with Joker?”
“Trust me,” Wes said, “you don’t want to ride that one.”
Shane crossed his arms, widened his stance, and puffed out his chest. Rock star mode dialed up to the max. “I can handle any horse you put me on.”
Wes had no idea if Shane had any riding experience—or if he did, how long it had been—but it was already clear that he was comfortable around horses. Wes saw it in the calm, quiet way Shane had spoken to Nahawi, and how at ease he was standing in the middle of a field with wild and unpredictable mustangs. He wouldn’t be surprised to discover Shane could ride circles around him.
“Why don’t we see if Levi will let you ride Spice Girl,” Wes offered. He waved a goodbye to Colt and Mason. “We’ll see you at dinner.”
“I want to see this Joker,” Shane demanded when they climbed back into Wes’s truck. “The other one is probably a pony. I’m too tall for a pony, and like I said, I can handle any horse.”
“I’m sure you can.”
Shane glared at him.
“What? I mean that.”
Shane leaned back in his seat with a soft huff. “We’ll see.”
When they returned to ranch central, Wes found Levi in the machinery shed tinkering under the hood of a classic car he’d been restoring for years.
“Hey, Lee,” Wes called out. “Do you mind if we take Spice Girl out for a short ride? ”
Levi stood back, placed a wrench on the edge of the engine frame, and grabbed a towel to wipe his hands—for all the good that would do. The towel was nearly as black as his hands.
“Sure, no problem.” He tossed the towel back onto the corner of the car and regarded Shane for a second. “You need proper boots, though.”
Shane glanced down at his feet. “These are all I have.”
Levi gave him another perusal, and Shane being Shane, cocked a hip before spinning around with a graceful flourish. Levi raised his brows, laughter shining in his eyes.
“Just making sure you get a good look,” Shane teased, but there was an edge to his voice Wes didn’t miss. He’d bet Levi picked up on it, too.
“And the looking is good, Mister Castle.” Levi chuckled, effortlessly putting Shane at ease the Levi way.
A growl threatened to rumble up from the base of Wes’s throat. He looked away. Where the hell had that come from ? That was twice in one day a little green monster Wes had never known lived inside of him had reared its head.
Wes coughed, drawing the attention of both his brother and Shane. “I don’t have any boots that will fit you.”
“I got you,” Levi said, oblivious to the war going on inside Wes. “I’ll meet you in the barn in a few minutes.”
Wes nodded and turned for the barn without another word. He didn’t trust himself to speak just then. Not even to tell Shane to follow him. But a second later, the soft crunch of Shane’s rubber-soled boots on gravel and dirt trailed behind him.
Luckily, Shane didn’t speak or ask questions, and by the time they returned to the pasture where Merlin was, Wes had shoved his green demon back into whatever hole it had crawled out of. He grabbed a couple of halters and lead ropes from hooks that were nailed into the top railing of the fence and handed Spice Girl’s halter to Shane. Then he reached into a bucket that was near the gate, lifted the lid, and snagged a few homemade treats Mason and his sisters made for the horses. He handed a couple to Shane.
“Brace yourself,” Wes warned. He whistled as he opened the gate for the two of them to enter the pasture .
Several horses trotted toward them this time, including a donkey that Mason had rescued from the slaughter pipeline as a yearling.
The donkey sauntered right up to Shane and nuzzled his hand. Shane chuckled as he fed the burro a treat and petted his forehead.
“Well, aren’t you all kinds of adorable,” Shane cooed.
Wes chuckled and Shane glanced over. Wes waved between them. “Shane, meet Joker.”