Chapter 7BOONE #2
He nods his head, fast. “Duh! Can we go?”
I jerk my chin toward the path. “Let’s go.”
Hudson takes off like he’s got rockets in his sneakers, cutting ahead toward the barn. I slow my pace as I fall into step beside Lark. She glances over, her braid shifting over her shoulder, one hand tucked into her back pocket.
“Thanks for bringing him,” I say, voice low enough that only she can hear.
She snorts. “You don’t have to thank me, Boone. It’s not like I’m handing over my firstborn to a pack of wolves.”
I let out a laugh. “No, just to a pack of Wildings.”
“Hmm.” She hums, tilting her head as if weighing the difference. “You’re right. Some might argue that’s worse.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Should’ve known you’d come in here with an attitude.”
She grins. “You wouldn’t recognize me if I didn’t.”
We walk a few more steps in silence, Hudson still darting ahead, taking everything in like he’s trying to memorize it all.
Lark exhales, scanning the land stretched out before her.
“It still looks the same,” she says, almost to herself.
“I mean, I know some things must’ve changed, but it feels… familiar.”
I nod, glancing at the barn ahead. “Guess that’s what happens when a place has been in a family this long. It sticks.”
She huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Like the way the barn door still doesn’t shut all the way ever since you ran into it with that four-wheeler.”
I groan, shaking my head. “Damn, I forgot about that.”
“You were trying to impress me,” she teases, bumping her shoulder into mine.
I scoff. “I was trying to impress myself. You just happened to be there when it all went to hell.”
“You floored it right into the side of the barn, Boone.”
“Not my proudest moment,” I admit, pulling off my baseball hat and running a hand through my hair—hair that’s gotten too long and curly at the ends, that I keep meaning to get cut but never do.
When I shove the hat back on, adjusting the brim, Lark’s eyes flick to the movement.
It’s quick, barely noticeable, but then she bites the inside of her cheek, like she’s caught herself looking and doesn’t want me to know.
“In my defense,” I add, smirking, “I didn’t think it had that much kick.”
She snorts. “You flipped the damn thing.”
“I didn’t flip it.”
“You totally did.”
I roll my eyes, but she’s grinning, and her laughter spills out, warm and unguarded.
She shakes her head, still smiling. “You were always terrible at playing it cool.”
I shrug, my voice low. “Still managed to get the girl, though.”
For a second, she falters, her smile dimming just a fraction. I shouldn’t have said that—I know I shouldn’t have said that, but it just slipped out. She recovers quickly, rolling her eyes like it doesn’t matter.
“Until you crashed a four-wheeler into a barn,” she quips, shooting me a pointed look .
I chuckle, shaking my head as we keep walking. “Yeah, yeah. Not all my best moments were behind the wheel.”
The barn hits me with the usual mix of leather, hay, and dust the second we step inside.
It’s familiar in the way muscle memory is—built into me from years of early mornings and long days.
Sunlight cuts in through the upper windows, slicing golden beams across the dirt floor.
Horses shuffle in their stalls, ears twitching, hooves shifting.
It’s quiet in the way barns get—busy, but steady.
Couple of the hands are moving around—checking feed, hauling hay, refilling buckets.
Walker’s parked himself by the tack room door, rolling a cigarette he never lights.
Just something to keep his hands busy. He’s been with us long enough to be part of the damn walls—steady, sharp, knows every inch of this barn better than most.
He straightens when he sees us, tips his chin toward Hudson. “You must be the new boss around here.”
Hudson looks up at him, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to figure out if that’s a joke. “I am?”
Walker grins. “Depends. You got what it takes?”
Hudson squares his shoulders, puffing up like he’s got something to prove. “Yeah.”
Walker sticks out his hand, and Hudson grabs it without hesitation. “Hell of a handshake,” Walker says, giving him a nod of approval.
Hudson turns to look at me, waiting to see if I caught that. I clap him on the shoulder. “You hear that? Might have to put you on payroll.”
We walk down the aisle, passing stalls of quarter horses, all muscle and shine. Some dozing. Some watching us like they know exactly who we are and why we’re here. Hudson can’t stop looking, taking it all in with wide eyes like he’s never seen anything better.
“There’s so many,” he says, spinning in a slow circle.
“Only the best,” I tell him.
I stop in front of two stalls, reaching up to scratch the nose of the chestnut gelding hanging his head over the gate. “Hudson, meet Springsteen and Red. ”
Hudson cocks his head. “Like Bruce Springsteen?”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Damn right. That a problem?”
He shakes his head. “No, he’s cool. I just thought you were into country.”
“Springsteen is American music,” I say, nodding at him like it’s a fact he needs to understand. “Man’s a legend.”
Walker chuckles from a few feet away. “He’s been defending that name choice since high school.”
I smirk, patting the horse’s neck. “He was my dad’s horse, technically. But when he let me ride him for the first time, he said I could pick the name. I didn’t even hesitate.”
Hudson raises a brow. “You were that sure?”
“Damn right I was,” I say, resting a hand on the stall gate. “He deserved a name that meant something.”
Lark hums behind me. “Could’ve named him Billy. Billy Joel fits a chestnut.”
I shoot her a look over my shoulder. “We are not starting this again.”
“‘Vienna’ is a beautiful song,” she says, all innocent-like, even though she’s stirring the pot on purpose.
Hudson snorts. “Mom. No offense, but Billy Joel doesn’t make sense for a horse.”
I point at him. “Thank you.”
Lark feigns a dramatic gasp, clutching her chest like I’ve wounded her. “Wow. Betrayed by my own flesh and blood.”
Hudson grins. “Springsteen’s cooler.”
I glance at her, smug. “Kid’s got taste.”
She shakes her head, lips twitching like she’s fighting a smile. She doesn’t win.
I guide Hudson a little farther down, stopping in front of another stall. I gesture toward the palomino mare inside. “Alright, this one’s Ellie. She belongs to your mom.”
Hudson’s head jerks toward Lark, eyes huge. “You had a horse this whole time?!”
Lark laughs, stepping up to the stall. “I had a horse a long time ago. ”
Hudson crosses his arms, pretending to be betrayed. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
I shake my head, grinning. “Your mom wasn’t just any rider, either. She was one of the best barrel racers in the state of Montana.”
Hudson’s jaw drops. “What’s barrel racing?”
Lark strokes Ellie’s nose, voice soft. “It’s a rodeo event—fast, tight turns around barrels. It’s all about control, speed, and trust between the horse and rider.”
Ellie flicks her ears, nudging into Lark’s hands, and I watch as Lark murmurs something quiet to her. There’s something about the way she does it, the way animals always seem to gravitate toward her like she speaks their language.
Watching her like this with Ellie stirs a deep, reckless pull inside me—dangerous, familiar, and impossible to ignore. A feeling I have no business entertaining.
“If you think baseball’s fast, you should’ve seen your mom run a barrel pattern.”
Hudson’s eyes widen. “That good?”
Lark scoffs. “Your dad’s exaggerating.”
But there’s color rising to her cheeks, just the faintest flush, and I forgot how much I liked that. How much more I liked it when it was there because of me.
“Not even a little,” I say, watching as her blush deepens. She huffs, crossing her arms, but there’s no real bite behind it, and for a second, it feels like we’re seventeen again—flirting without meaning to, falling without realizing it.
Walker shakes his head, grinning. “Man, you should’ve seen her, kid. Fastest racer I ever saw.”
Hudson’s awe deepens, and he looks back at Lark. “That’s so cool.”
Lark gives Ellie one last pat before turning to Hudson with a smile. “Maybe I’ll show you sometime.”
Hudson lights up, and I feel something settle in my chest, something that feels a lot like home .
I clear my throat. “I was thinking we could take a ride. Give you the proper tour.”
Hudson tilts his head. “Why can’t we just walk?”
I huff a laugh. “Because the ranch is too big to walk. You’d be trekking for miles and miles.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Miles?”
I nod and look out over the land. Pastures stretch out in every direction, all golden light and wind-cut ridgelines.
“Wilding Ranch runs deep. We’ve got thousands of acres—cattle pasture, hayfields, trails, creeks, a lake tucked back behind the ridge.
You try to walk it, you’ll be praying for a horse before you even hit the halfway point. ”
Hudson’s eyes track the horizon, then shift to the horses, then back to me. “I’ve never ridden one before.”
Springsteen shifts in his stall, tossing his head once, and Hudson takes half a step closer to me.
“You know I used to be scared of ’em too?”
His eyebrows lift. “You were?”
“Hell yeah.” I nod at Springsteen. “Big animals. Strong as hell. But they’re smart. If you show ’em you’re calm, they’ll meet you there. You get nervous, they’ll feel it. You trust them? They’ll carry you through anything.”
He glances back at the horse, chewing on his bottom lip. “What if he doesn’t like me?”
I squeeze his shoulder. “He will.”
Still, he looks unsure. That edge of nerves I know too well. “You’re riding with me today,” I tell him. “You won’t be alone.”
He nods once. “Okay.”
I push to my feet and look over at Lark. “You good to ride Ellie?”
She smirks like the answer’s obvious. “Hear that, girl?” she murmurs, running a hand down Ellie’s neck. “Time to get back in the game.”
Walker steps up. “Want me to tack her?”
She waves him off. “I’ve got it.”