My Apocalypse Cowboy (Wild Apocalypse Protectors #2)

Chapter 1 Rebecca

one

Rebecca

The beautiful chestnut mare doesn't even look up when I creep closer.

That should be my first warning sign. In this world, animals that don't spook at human approach are either dead, dying, or belong to someone who feeds them regularly. But I'm four days past rational thinking, operating on nothing but desperation and the dregs of my last energy bar.

My boots, or what's left of them, squelch through the muddy grass of what appears to be an abandoned ranch.

The buildings look intact, which is suspicious as hell, but the mare is right there, grazing peacefully like the world didn't end three years ago.

Like the Iron Wolves didn't just burn my settlement to the ground and scatter my people to the wind.

I pause behind a weathered fence post, assessing.

She's gorgeous, maybe fifteen hands, well-muscled, coat gleaming with health that screams regular care and good feed.

The kind of horse that could carry me the remaining two days to Old Pines Settlement instead of forcing me to walk on feet that stopped feeling pain yesterday and moved straight to numbness.

"Sorry, girl," I whisper, easing closer. "But I need you more than whoever abandoned you here needs you."

The lie tastes bitter. Nothing about this place looks abandoned. The fences are too sturdy, the barn too well-maintained. Even the house in the distance has glass in all its windows—a luxury that disappeared from most places within the first year.

But I'm beyond caring about property rights. Horse thieves used to get hanged, my grandfather always said. Of course, Grandpa never had to outrun raiders while running on fumes and sheer stubborn will.

The mare lifts her head as I approach, studying me with intelligent dark eyes. I hold out my hand, letting her catch my scent. She snorts softly but doesn't shy away.

"That's right," I murmur, moving slowly despite every instinct screaming at me to hurry. "Just let me get this halter on you and we'll both get out of here."

There's a rope halter hanging on the fence post—another sign this place is actively maintained. I ignore that thought. I slip it off the post, my veterinary student training kicking in as I assess the best approach. She's calm, well-socialized. Someone's spent time with her.

Someone who's going to be really pissed when they find her missing.

I push the guilt down. Survival first, conscience later. That's been my motto since Clearwater fell.

The halter slides over her nose easily, and she doesn't resist when I buckle it behind her ears. For a moment, hope blooms in my chest. Maybe this will actually work. Maybe I'll make it to Old Pines alive.

"Planning on leaving an IOU?"

The deep male voice behind me makes me spin around so fast I nearly fall. My hand flies to the knife at my belt, the only weapon I managed to grab when the Iron Wolves hit us at dawn four days ago.

The man standing ten feet away is nothing like the scrawny scavengers and desperate survivors I've been dodging.

He's huge, for starters. Tall enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes, broad enough to block out a significant portion of the barn behind him.

Dark hair that's getting shaggy, a beard that's more functional than fashionable, and eyes the color of winter storm clouds.

He's also holding a rifle with the casual competence of someone who knows how to use it.

"I..." My voice comes out as a croak. When did I last have water? "I was just—"

"Stealing my horse." His tone is matter-of-fact, not particularly angry. Almost amused. "In broad daylight. Points for boldness, I'll give you that."

My grip tightens on the knife hilt. "Your settlement's abandoned."

"Does it look abandoned to you?"

I glance around. Fresh tire tracks in the mud. Hay bales stacked neatly under cover. The distinct sound of a few cattle lowing in the distance. A dozen details I missed in my desperation that now seem glaringly obvious, and the ones I did notice can’t be explained away with excuses.

"Shit," I breathe.

"Yeah." He shifts the rifle to a more comfortable position, still not quite pointing it at me but making his capability clear. "So. Horse thief. You know what we used to do with horse thieves?"

"Hang them." The words slip out before I can stop them, some remnant of my grandfather's stories.

"That was before the world ended. These days, we're more practical." He studies me with those storm-gray eyes, taking in my torn clothes, my muddy boots, the way I'm swaying slightly on my feet. "When's the last time you ate?"

The question catches me off guard. "What?"

"Food. Water. Sleep in a real bed." His voice gentles slightly. "You look like you've been walking for days."

"Four days." I admit. "The Iron Wolves took over my settlement. I've been trying to reach Old Pines."

His jaw tightens. "The Wolves?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. Thinking about that morning, the chaos, the shouting, having to run and leave everything behind, still makes it hard to breathe.

"How many made it out?"

"I don't know." I swipe at my eyes with my free hand. "Maybe a dozen of us scattered. I haven't seen anyone since the first day."

He's quiet for a long moment, studying me. I keep my hand on the knife, but honestly, if he wanted to shoot me, I'd already be dead. The rifle's presence feels more like a precaution than a threat.

"Name's Joseph," he says finally. "This is my ranch."

"Rebecca." I hesitate, then add, "Rebecca Rennick. And I'm sorry about the horse. I just—"

"Needed transportation. I get it." He shifts his weight, decision made. "Tell you what, Rebecca Rennick. You want Sunshine here?"

Sunshine. Of course her name is Sunshine. Perfect.

"You can earn her."

I blink. "What?"

"One month of honest work. You help me run this place, learn the operation, pull your weight. At the end of thirty days, Sunshine's yours."

"You're not serious."

"Dead serious. I need the help, and you clearly need somewhere safe to recover." His eyes flick over me again, seeing injuries and exhaustion I'm trying to hide. "Unless you'd rather take your chances on foot between here and Old Pines?"

I think about the two-day walk still ahead of me. About the blisters on my feet and the way my vision keeps going spotty around the edges. About the Iron Wolves who might still be in the area.

"One month?"

"Thirty days. Room, board, and at the end, the horse."

"What kind of work?"

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Ranch work. A small herd, mainly. You ever worked cattle?"

I think about my three years of veterinary school before the world ended. About the time I spent on my uncle's farm as a kid, which consisted mostly of collecting eggs and avoiding the mean rooster.

"A bit. I'm a fast learner."

"Good. You'll need to be." He gestures toward the house with the rifle barrel. "Come on. You look like you're about to fall over."

I don't move. "How do I know you're not worse than the thieves you're protecting your horse from?"

"You don't." He shrugs. "But I'm offering food, shelter, and honest work for fair payment. In this world, that makes me either a saint or an idiot."

"Which are you?"

"Jury's still out."

Despite everything—the exhaustion, the fear, the fact that I just got caught trying to steal his horse—I almost smile.

"Deal," I say, and let go of the knife hilt.

His shoulders relax slightly, and I realize he was more tense about this confrontation than he let on.

"Good choice. Now let's get you inside before you collapse on my doorstep. Bad for property values."

I follow him toward the house, Sunshine trailing behind us on her lead rope. With each step, the reality of what I just agreed to settles in. Thirty days. On a ranch. Working cattle I know nothing about, for a man I just met, who caught me red-handed committing a crime.

Either I just made the smartest decision of my life, or the dumbest.