Custody in the Crosshairs (Wilde Country #1)

Chapter One

Blaize Wilde walked outside the broken-down barn at Wilde Cattle Ranch taking mental inventory of the shitshow he and his two brothers had just inherited.

The weathered wood planks and rusted metal roofing sheets with pieces missing wouldn’t be complete without peeling paint and cracked walls.

How was he supposed to get this place up and running without a bank load of cash?

“No one would blame you for selling to get what you can out of it.” Kit, his grandmother, ambled up, catching him off guard while he’d been deep in thought.

You would. Kit had built this small cattle ranch with Blaize’s grandfather. Her son had drained the place of money and spirit. Selling now meant his beloved grandmother would have to move from the only home she’d known for more than fifty years. Not happening. Period.

“There’s work to be done to get the place back in shape.

” Blaize stood in front of a barn in need of far more than a coat of paint.

It could use a torch. Starting from the ground up might be easier than attempting to salvage what was left of this rickety old, neglected building. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

He forced a smile.

“Have you found your brothers yet?” Kit asked, slipping her bony fingers through the crook in his arm and then holding on to him like she needed him for balance.

“No, ma’am.”

“Well, you got the news about your father’s passing last night and showed up before the sun,” she said. “You should try to get some rest after driving all night.” Blue eyes stared up at him, still bright.

“I’m good.”

Cormac’s death was no loss to the world. A few liquor manufacturers might feel the drop in sales, though. When your last name was Wilde, the jokes wrote themselves. They also got old real quick. Cormac did his best to live up to the family name. His sons couldn’t stand the man for it.

Blaize glanced down into serious eyes framed by wrinkled skin.

“How are you doing with it all, by the way?” She waved her free hand like she was presenting paradise, but the twinge of sadness mixed with helplessness in her gaze told the real story. She was afraid for her future. Yet she would never put pressure on the grandsons she loved.

“Me? Like I said, I’m fine.” Cormac had never been much of a father. The irony there being Blaize had wanted the whole wife-and-kids package, figuring he could do better than his father. “The world is better off without a person like Cormac in it, as far as I’m concerned.”

Another glance told him that he’d struck a raw nerve.

“I’m sorry, Kit. I didn’t mean to say your son was a—”

She clucked her tongue, stopping him mid-sentence. “Nonsense. There’s nothing to apologize for.” She squeezed his arm. “He gave me three incredible grandchildren. It might have been asking too much for him to be good, too.”

Three grandchildren from three different mothers, married to none. Cormac was a real piece of work. Kit had hinted there was a time when he wasn’t like that. As far as Blaize was concerned, there was no excuse good enough to cover the man’s lies and reckless behavior.

“Thank you, by the way,” he said, wanting to change the subject. He smiled and patted her hand. “I’m pretty sure you just gave me a compliment.”

“I meant every word.” She looked up at him with a devilish grin. “I’d keep throwing out compliments, but you’ll accuse me of brown-nosing to keep my bedroom at the ranch.”

Blaize laughed for the first time in a very long time.

“You don’t have to worry about being evicted as long as I’m around.

” He wanted to offer reassurance even though he couldn’t be certain his brothers would agree to keeping the place.

If he could locate them. Since neither were on social media, preferring to stay off the grid, he was limited as to how he could reach his brothers.

All he had was phone numbers, no addresses.

“Speaking of you boys, did you get a hold of Raiden or Phoenix?”

He shook his head.

“They’ll turn up,” she said. “They always do.”

“I’d settle for them answering my calls.”

Not that they had a reason to. Blaize had been living in his own hell for the past couple of years.

Losing the person you promised to spend the rest of your life with had a way of obliterating every piece of you and causing you to go dark with everyone you knew or cared about.

Your world shrank. You cut people out of your life.

Lashed out. Blaize couldn’t blame his brothers for not answering his calls or texts anymore.

He’d been a jerk to them, and they had no idea why.

“They will,” Kit said, turning toward the farmhouse that was in almost as bad a shape as the barn. “But first, what should I cook for dinner? Something nice to celebrate your homecoming.”

“Don’t go to any trouble on my account.”

She batted her free hand at him playfully. “You coming home qualifies as special, Blaize.”

“Fine.” He knew better than to start an argument with Kit despite some of her spark dimming with every passing year. There was enough flicker there to light a fire when provoked. “A special occasion calls for steaks on the grill.”

“Now you’re talking,” she said as her eyes lit up. “The corn on the cob at Harden’s stand up the road is the best. We’ll pick up some of that along with a pair of potatoes. We can do ’em up with sour cream and the works.”

“It’ll be a feast.”

Blaize liked the excitement in her eyes and the hope in her voice.

The cattle ranch was in dire straits. He’d stayed up part of the night driving and the rest looking into the books.

He hoped like hell he didn’t let her down the way he’d disappointed his wife.

Former wife. The reality of those words struck like a physical blow.

Blaize was no longer married. He was thirty-five years old.

No kids. Very little money. And now he needed to save this small cattle ranch or watch his grandmother lose her home.

Life sure as hell knew how to kick you in the teeth when you were down.

Gloomy gray clouds rolled overhead. A couple of rain drops splatted on his forehead. Lightning streaked across an ever-darkening sky. Thunder boomed a few seconds later.

He ducked his head down. “We better head inside before this gets worse.”

In Blaize’s life, it always did.

CARYS HOLMES HELD a three-month-old baby in her arms, gently bouncing up and down in a feeble attempt to stop the little girl from crying. Hopeless. Carys was hopeless. This attempt was hopeless.

In times like these, she seriously questioned her career choice. Holding an inconsolable baby definitely fit into the downside category.

Her office door opened. Harrison Tucker poked his head inside.

“What is that baby still doing here?” her coworker asked, frowning, practically yelling over the noise.

It didn’t help. The little one screamed louder.

“I think she’s sick.”

He stared at her like …And?

“It’s just hard to throw her in a car seat and then drop her off at an orphanage when she’s this upset.”

The air stilled as the baby sucked in a breath before launching another ear-splitting wail. The kid had a good set of lungs on her.

“That’s the job, sweetheart.” The frown lines on Harrison’s face softened.

“She’s a baby, Harrison. Sister’s Love is severely understaffed right now. They had two people quit last week alone.” Carys looked down at the baby, who was winding up to belt out another loud cry. “They won’t have time to hold her like this.”

He pursed his lips. “Some days, this job is the worst and you go home wondering if you made any difference at all. Other days, you see a once-troubled teen now making straight A’s in school and on a better path because you intervened and they listened to your advice.”

That still didn’t answer the question of how she was supposed to drop off an innocent child at an understaffed orphanage. There were no available foster families and her babysitter’s husband said the baby couldn’t stay with them.

“She’s already lost so much already,” Carys said. “And there’s at least some hope the woman the vehicle was registered to had loaned out her car. It is possible the baby’s mother wasn’t the one driving.” The fiery crash made it difficult to positively ID the female driver.

“There’s no proof she wasn’t, either. And the mother hasn’t shown up, so she still needs to be taken in.”

Fair point. Carys didn’t have a comeback for that.

The baby belted out another shrill. Did she know her mother might be gone? Is gone, Carys. There’s no reason to hold out hope the mother is somehow still alive.

“Sorry about knocking, but I have a raging headache and these walls are paper thin,” Harrison said as soon as she sucked in a breath.

“I have aspirin in the top drawer if you’d like some.” Carys needed to figure out a plan to quiet the crying. Her heart was cracking in half at the pitiful sounds—sounds that she could relate to for the same soul-deep reason. Loss.

He shook his head. “Took some a few minutes ago.” He paused for a beat, resigned.

“You’ll locate and notify the father or a family member, and she’ll be picked up in no time.

She might not even spend the night at Sister’s.

You know how that goes.” He squinted like it hurt to look at anyone.

“Plus, it’s Friday and you probably have a hot date tonight. ”

Everything he said made sense, except the last part.

She almost laughed. Instead, she cracked a smile. “You know it.”

“Wait. I was kidding. You do?” His face scrunched. More pain?

“No. Nothing.” His reaction caught her off guard. It was likely the pain of his headache causing his face to twist with concern when he believed she had a date. Why would he care?

She chalked it up to curiosity and nothing more.

At twenty-four years old, she’d been on the job for two, going on three, years following college graduation. Harrison had worked here for six. Clearly he had more experience—and was probably right.

“We can’t wear a red cape for everyone who comes through the front door, Carys.” With those words, he waved and closed her door.