Ride the Sky (Runaway Ranch #4)

Prologue

I shut the door. Pass the bumper with the decal of a silhouette of a bull rider as I move for the horse trailer attached to my hitch.

Lovely and Lawless, caramel mares the same color as my hair, stand quietly in their trailer. They were a thirteenth birthday present from my father. Twins. A rarity. When I was a little girl, we were so joined at the hip I felt like their third sister.

My horses. The only thing in this life that’s never failed me.

I look at Lawless on my right. “Are you ready for an adventure?”

She gives her standard dismissive chuff, and I wonder why I’m so pleased she’s a standoffish asshole.

Because she’s ready to go.

Just like me.

Tonight, I leave. My friends. My family. My hometown.

The only blessing I need is my father’s, and I have it.

Earlier, he had pressed a hundred-dollar bill in my hand and squeezed me hard. “You go,” he had said in that gruff tone of his. “Ride hard, ride fast, and find what you’re searching for.”

His rodeo pep talk had my throat tightening up.

What that is, do I even know?

All I know is I have to go. I will explode if I stay here any longer.

The roaring in my head dulls as I glance over at my little cottage.

My first big purchase. First bottle of Boone’s Farm drunk on the porch in celebration of clinching my first WPRA World Championship Barrel Racing World Title.

I haven’t stayed overnight in it since the attack.

Maybe one day I’ll be back. Maybe one day I won’t want to set it on fucking fire.

A shiver rolls through me. Not because of the cold, but because of the memories.

I’ve been having fun playing with your sister. Your pussy was nice, but hers was even nicer.

“Fuck,” I mutter, squeezing my eyes shut. I try to stop the memory, the voice, but he’s always there. That demon. Dragging me down the hallways of my mind.

Aiden, the man who hurt both me and my sister…

Guilt and rage pour into my veins.

I’m the one who brought Aiden back into Dakota’s life.

We met at a stock show; he told me his name was Danny.

We dated. Fucked. I liked him, as a temporary fixation.

Being with Danny was boring, bland. His kiss tasted like dirt from a garden, but I did it anyway.

I saw the anger in Wyatt’s eyes, the desperation every time we were together.

I wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Make him jealous. But then it was revealed that Danny was Dakota’s ex, Aiden.

He used me to get close to her. To try to hurt her and take his baby.

My fault. All my fault.

If I had been stronger, better, smarter, I could have stopped it. That’s what sex— love —gets you. Pain. It makes you stupid. Weak.

I can’t get over Aiden. I have nightmares of him coming to me in my cottage, carrying a knife and chopping me into little pieces right after Dakota and Duke.

It’s like he’s still holding that knife in my chest, but no one can see him or hear him but me.

Some days, living reckless is the only thing that drives away the memories. The sheer dread and panic of that night. And yet, all the wild rides, the bulls, the drowning myself in alcohol, the fighting with men at bars, the icing out my family, still haven’t offered peace.

I can feel it. That spot in my chest expanding and expanding until I finally realized I was planning to take everyone down with me.

What Reese said last month at Nowhere. It’s okay to go. To move when you need to run. It stuck with me. Sunk into my bones like a seed and pushed through the old sidewalk cracks like a stubborn wildflower.

Walking to the driver’s side door, I pause, wincing as the pain in my head increases. Swearing, I press two fingers against my angry, throbbing temple. Migraines. A lingering reminder of Aiden.

My heart’s racing as I take a seat behind the wheel. I flex my fingers. The tattoos on my right knuckles— R O P E —ripple.

The second I put the Chevy in gear, my lungs stop hurting. The dark disappears.

I glance at my face in the rearview mirror.

Breathe. Pull your shit together. Pull it, rope it, bury it deep.

When I was eight, my mother left. I locked myself in the closet, because I didn’t want to face the truth.

For an entire week, I slept there. Ate plates of food Dakota left for me.

On day eight, my dad crouched down. I could smell the whiskey on his breath even through the closed door.

He cleared his throat and said, “Cowgirls don’t cry, Fallon. They just get tougher.”

That was the last time he ever got drunk in front of me. Or spoke about my mother.

So, yeah, cowgirls don’t cry. But they sure as hell are ready to get the fuck out of Dodge.

In twenty-nine years, I’ve never run away from anything. Today, I change that to change me.

I was born to roam. My veins are highways, my heart’s a map, and fences will not keep me in.

My gaze shifts. I put the Chevy in reverse and back out of the driveway.

When the headlights of the truck cut through the windy road ahead of me and illuminate the sign reading Welcome to Resurrection , I slow on the gas.

Main Street.

I flip on my blinker and pull over onto the side of the road. Two a.m. in our small town, the streets are dark. Too early to be nosy. Although, word will travel fast once I’m gone. The quicker I’m out of town, the better.

Reaching over, I pull an envelope from the glove box then exit my truck.

As I walk swiftly up to the red bricked building, my heart thumps in my chest. I look down at the letter burning a hole in my hand. My heart.

For Dakota.

After a second of hesitation, I drop it in the mail slot and try to ignore the anxiety building in my gut.

Without a doubt, Koty will be upset. I can see her and that bossy, broody cowboy of hers rounding up his brothers to look for me.

The thought of my older sister refocuses me on the task at hand. Why I’m doing this. For her.

It’s better this way. They don’t have to worry about me anymore. They have lives, families, careers, and I…

I just have anger.

I can handle it myself. I don’t need anyone’s help. Or their pity. I don’t need to be a burden. Or to hurt anyone else.

Back in the driver’s seat, I sit taller. The road turns thin as I hit Country Road 255 and approach Runaway Ranch.

Everyone runs to Runaway Ranch. But not me.

Still, I slow on the brakes and turn, passing beneath the great metal sign. At the gate, I key in the personal code I’ve been given.

The gate swings open.

I creep the truck down the dirt road, hoping I don’t sound the alarms to alert the cowboy cavalry.

I pass the lodge, the barn, the garage, until I’m edging through dense forest. My heart races when I spy the silvery glint of an old Airstream. Letting my truck idle, I exit and climb the rickety steps to face the door.

Around me, the wind howls. I lift my hand.

An almost-knock.

A goodbye to the blue-eyed devil inside sleeping the sleep of a beautiful idiot.

I rest my hand on the door. The icy kiss of metal bites into my palm.

I bite my lip. Tonight, I’m young and stupid. Sixteen. I’m that girl with posters of Wyatt Montgomery above her bed.

I pull the second envelope from my back pocket. Glancing down, a small ember of anxiety sparks.

For Wyatt.

What will he say? If anything?

Words were never our strong suit.

Arguments, anger, lust. Secrets. Those we excelled at.

I turn my head and stare out at the deep, dense, dark forest. Something warm and dangerous curls inside me. A spark of memory.

Three years ago. Wyatt and the day of the farewell campfire dinner.

I shake my head, clearing it.

All we are is a mistake. Wyatt knows it. This entire last year, the man has given me those pitiful sad puppy dog eyes every time we came within an inch of contact. I got the message loud and clear.

Not only have I fucked up Dakota’s life, I’ve fucked up Wyatt’s. I see what he’s doing to himself to try to keep me afloat. Looking out for me on the rodeo. He’s another piece of wreckage I’ve left in my wake.

I don’t deserve Wyatt and all his goodness. I’m an asshole. I’m fucked up. I’m a leaver.

Like my mother. Like my sister.

A long line of runaway women.

I glance down at the letter in my hands.

Don’t know why I’m leaving him this letter. Don’t know why I’m telling him where I’m going. Hell, I don’t know why I’ve done half the things I have the last two years.

I inhale a deep breath. Then, like my hands have a mind of their own, they tuck the note into the mesh wire of the screen door. I let go of it like it’s on fire. Before I can chicken out.

Before I knock on the door, throw myself into his arms, and tell him to talk me out of this.

I shake off the thought. I’d be better off with a pack of wild dogs than the wrong man. The wrong man like Wyatt Montgomery.

It’s better this way. He won’t even know I’m gone. Won’t even miss me.

And if he does, he’ll know where to find me.

Before a wave of grief can crash into me, I tear off the steps and cut through the wind. As cold as my rage. As hard as my beating heart. I can almost feel it shudder against the black of the night.

A violent gust rattles the Airstream’s screen door, but I don’t look back.

Everything Aiden took from me—my strength, my health, my sanity—I’ll find it again.

I am Stede McGraw’s daughter. I don’t quit, and I sure as fuck don’t lose.

Moments later, I’m in my truck, throttling the engine, wondering how far away from Resurrection I can get and what I’ll do if I’m turned away from my destination. Most importantly, I stick a cigarette in my mouth and blast AC/DC.

My boot punches gas pedal. The entrance to Runaway Ranch fades to dust as I blaze through the darkness like a cowgirl ready to slay that motherfucking dragon.

I want to go where no one can find me. End of the earth.

End of the sky.