Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
WILDER
W ilder locked himself in his room and tossed his hat on the dresser with a weary sigh. Collapsing on the bed, he stared up at the ceiling and lamented all the choices he’d made that led him here.
Rebecca Tanner. He hadn’t even thought about her in years. When he was seventeen, he hadn’t been out to anyone, and he’d done his best to blend in by dating her. She’d obviously been more invested in the relationship than he was. He’d even tried to sleep with her, but he couldn’t keep it up. It was extra shitty that they’d both been virgins at the time, so he’d technically been her first. She’d been his, too, he supposed, but he hadn’t really cared. After he broke up with her, he never really thought about how it might’ve affected her. He definitely hadn’t expected to run into her grudge-holding little brother. It was just one more mistake in a laundry list of bad decisions.
He showered, taking his time to scrub the day’s grime away. The water pressure was better than prison. The soap and shampoo smelled better, and the towels were fluffier. So far there wasn’t much he missed about prison. Maybe, sometimes, the routine. It was predictable. Everything out here was so big and complicated.
With steam clinging to his skin, he emerged from the shower and turned all the lights out. The bed was nice—a little flowerier than he might’ve chosen for himself, but comfortable. He laid down, staring up at the slowly whirling ceiling fan, circling as surely as his thoughts.
The gall of Billy Tanner to tell Wilder that his prison sentence was hard on everyone else . They weren’t there. Nobody cared about the Blackwood boys when their father was drinking all the alcohol in town and roughing his kids up. But when one of them finally stood up and defended himself, he was the villain of Roselake. Any of them could have stepped in and saved Wilder from having to go to extreme measures to protect himself and Lain, but instead he was vilified. How dare he do something so heinous? Well, how dare they sit by and make him.
With a grunt of frustration, he flung the blankets back, found a clean pair of jeans, shoved his feet into his boots, and stepped out into the cool night air. In only a T-shirt, it was almost too cold for comfort, but he didn’t care. It was not quite eleven, and the ranch was quiet. Rubbing a hand up and down his chilly arm, he wandered over to the living room, looking in the window to make sure it was empty. The door was unlocked—there wasn’t anything worth stealing in here but food and aged books on an old bookshelf. The dishwasher was running, a rhythmic humming in the otherwise silent and dark room.
He took an apple from the fridge and went back outside, taking a bite and savoring the fresh, sweet taste that bloomed on his tongue.
A low snort broke the silence, and he glanced over at the barn to see the buckskin mustang watching him, its golden coat gleaming in the indigo moonlight. Humming lowly in surprise, he drifted over and stopped beside the mustang’s paddock. Was he lonely, separated from the rest of the horses here? Wilder wondered what they planned to do with him. It seemed a shame to break such a stubborn, free-spirited soul.
“Hey, boy,” he said quietly, and the horse’s head twitched. “I’ll share if you’re brave enough to come closer.” He held out the half-eaten apple.
The horse nickered, hooves dancing nervously.
“Come on, darlin’,” he cooed. “Take your time. I’ll wait.”
He wondered if anyone had tried this, waiting patiently for the horse to come to them. Somehow he doubted it. All these men knew horses, but the ranch was also a busy place. There were always jobs to be done. They didn’t have time to stand around and wait for a stubborn horse to give in.
“Lucky for you, I’ve got plenty of practice waiting around. Not much else to do in prison,” he said. “You know a thing or two about being locked up against your will, don’t you?”
Would Lain fire him if he opened up the paddock and let the horse go? Or would he understand that some creatures just weren’t meant to be contained?
“Better not risk it,” he murmured. “Unfortunately, you’ll just have to deal with me.”
The horse drifted a few steps closer, tossing his head again. His ears were laid flat, his front legs stomping in the dirt.
“There’s no sense in all that posturing,” Wilder pointed out. “There’s a fence between us, and nobody’s here to see how tough you are. Come on. You want it or not?”
When he was almost near enough to reach out and touch, the horse stretched his neck out to take the apple from Wilder’s hand with his soft lips. Wilder grazed his nose with his free hand, intent on showing him that not every touch was a bad one. The horse startled, dropping the apple, but came back and picked it up off the dusty ground.
“There, see?” Wilder said. “Not all humans are that bad. Some of us give treats.”
The mustang snorted loudly, turning to look at him with one liquid black eye. A likely story , it seemed to say.
“Fine, don’t believe me. I’ll win you over eventually. For now, we probably both need sleep. Early mornings and whatnot. I’ll come back by in the morning with another treat.”
Breakfast was an awkward affair the next morning, thick with tension and many warning glares from Cash, mostly aimed at Billy. When Wilder finished eating and put away his plate, he grabbed another apple from the fridge and ventured outside. The sun was just cresting over the hillside, winking through the evergreens that dappled the eastern field. The mustang—who really needed a name—was standing under the awning of the barn, his head hanging lazily and one back hoof cocked up, resting.
Wilder whistled, and the golden horse’s head rose, ears pricking forward. “Damn right you know who I am,” he called as he approached. “Good morning, beautiful boy.” He climbed up on the lower rung of the fence. “I promised you a treat, didn’t I? Come on. Come get it.”
The horse inched closer, tail swishing. Wilder didn’t say anything, holding his arm out and waiting. In the harsh light of day, the horse took longer to warm up to him. Maybe because he was more visible, more plainly strange and bipedal than in the sleepy haze of the night. Wilder didn’t move even when his arm started to ache, and bit by bit, the horse moved closer, occasionally tossing his head in agitation. Wilder didn’t move a muscle.
After maybe twenty minutes, which felt like an eternity to his outstretched arm, the mustang was close enough to stretch his neck out and take the apple from Wilder’s palm.
“That’s a good boy,” Wilder praised softly. “See, I’m nothing to be afraid of. The friendliest felon you ever did see.”
There was a snort of amusement from behind him, and he turned to see Cash watching him.
“What—how long have you been standing there?” he asked, flushing with embarrassment.
“Long enough,” Cash replied archly. “Glad to see you’re making friends with someone .”
Wilder wagged a finger at him. “Don’t hold the other thing against me.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I know who was at fault last night,” Cash said, strolling closer. “I’ve got to ride out with the flatbed trailer for some hay bales today. You want to tag along?”
“Sure, yeah.” His gaze drifted to the mustang, who had trotted away and was watching them warily from the middle of the paddock.
“You like that one, huh?”
“I do.” He couldn’t put his finger on why. He was a beautiful animal with his golden fur and black mane and tail. He was full of spirit and personality. Something about him just called to Wilder.
“Well, maybe I’ll block some time out in the evenings for you to work with him. Lord knows nobody else has managed anything with him so far.”
Wilder glanced sharply at him. “I don’t need you to do me any favors.” And he didn’t need to owe anyone any, either.
“No favors at all,” Cash said, his whiskey-brown eyes following the mustang around the paddock. “If you can already get him to take food from you, you’re doing better than any of the rest of us. We’ve either got to get that horse pulling his weight on the ranch, or he’ll have to go somewhere else. I’d rather keep him here, if we’re able. That means he needs to let somebody ride him.”
Wilder desperately wanted to be the one to ride him, but not if it meant bullying the horse into letting him. He wanted to be able to take his time with him, earn his trust.
“Give me the time to get on his good side,” Wilder said. “I’ll get there.”
Cash nodded. “I’ll see you get it, then. Come on, we’re burning daylight. That hay’s not gonna deliver itself.”
On their way to the long shed where the work trucks were parked, small, rapid footsteps across the gravel broke the silence, and Wilder turned, his eyes widening as he spotted Annalise rushing toward him, blonde hair flapping out behind her head.
“Daddy!” she squealed. “The chicks are hatching! Come on, come see!” She grabbed his hand, and Wilder’s weary heart lurched in shock at the sensation of her tiny fingers in his. She gave him a tug—and then stopped, looking at the tattoos on his knuckles. When her eyes met his again, there was confusion and surprise in her deep blue eyes. She looked like Lain. Like a Blackwood. Like him .
“Sorry, kiddo,” he rasped. “I’m not your daddy.”
“Oh!” She giggled. “You look so much like him. You’re his brother, right?” There was no fear or judgment in her eyes when she looked up at him, squinting in the early morning light. There was a dimple on one of her cheeks. They probably hadn’t told her much about him.
“That’s right.”
“How come I’ve never met you before?”
Wilder opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“Wilder was away for a long time,” Cash said kindly. “But he’s back now because he just had to meet his little niece and nephews.”
Those words almost took Wilder out at the knees, and he reached out blindly to grab onto something, planting a hand on the sun-warmed hood of the truck. Nephews ? Mary-Beth was having twins? There were going to be two more Blackwood boys running around this ranch? Was history doomed to repeat itself again?
A strong hand landed on his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts, and his spine stiffened.
“We better get going, little lady,” Cash said, giving Wilder a little shake as though to ground him in the present. “I think I saw your dad going into his office. Why don’t you go check there?”
“Oh, okay. Thanks Mister Cash!” And like a shot, Annalise was off, her gangly legs pumping.
Neither of them spoke as they got in the truck, nor when Cash drove it around the back of the bunkhouse to attach the flatbed trailer to the hitch. It was only when they were rumbling down a narrow trail that traveled between the fields that Cash finally broke the silence.
“I suppose Lain left that part out when he met up with you that first night.”
Wilder didn’t want to talk about this. “Yeah,” he said curtly.
“They’re both healthy, as far as I know. Hopefully it’ll be an uneventful birth, and… Lain is a good father.”
Wilder’s hand tightened into a fist on his thigh. That was good. Maybe the cycle wouldn’t repeat itself after all. Maybe this time the Blackwood boys would grow up to be good men. Both of them. He didn’t want some innocent kid to share the same fate as him.
“That’s good,” he finally said. “Good for them. They deserve it.”
He could feel Cash’s eyes on the side of his face, burning like a brand.