Page 1 of Wilder

CHAPTER 1

Wilder

The Texas heat was a different breed. Not the kind you messed with even on a cloudy day like today. It seeped into your skin, sunk down to the bone, and stayed there long after the sun dipped down past the horizon and bathed 3,000 acres worth of property in those warm, golden hues green ranch hands liked to write home about.

It stayed stuck in the air well past the time the fireflies came out to flit around out in the pasture. Their flashes of light speckling the dark and lingering like tiny ghosts until the morning haze chased them away along with the last bits of heat from the day before.

There was only ever a small lull before daybreak; only ever enough time to start the morning chores before sweat started trailing down your back and your clothes began sticking. But in those final few minutes before that familiar sliver of gold grazed along the border of the horizon and touched land, it was heaven.

I wasn’t the kind of man that took the time to stop and gawk at the view, though.

Not when time standing still meant money lost and every minute on a ranch counted. Pretty skies didn’t herd the horses out from the paddocks or fix the fences knocked down by hot foals finally let out of their stalls for the day. It didn’t help put feed in the trough or groom the stables. Ranch life left no room for sentimentalism.

Something always needed to be done, someone was always demanding attention, and letting yourself get distracted from the work piling up would only make it stack that much faster.

You learned quick that out here the land and the animals who lived on it didn’t owe anyone a damn thing. Simple as that.

I’d seen plenty of greenhorns come and go over the years, bright-eyed and eager to please with some romantic notion that living on a ranch and taking care of horses was a lot like those Hallmark movies my mama liked to pull up while whittling away on her knitting needles during afternoon rain storms.

A week in had most dreamers cursing out those same pretty hills they were once sending photos back home to their folks about. A month in gave them time to reflect on the tough labor that bore permanent calluses and cricks to your joints.

Four months was usually the limit and had them heading out just as fast as they’d come, with their bag slung over their shoulder and a taxi from the city kicking up dust along the way while blowing through the drive heading back to the main road.

That’s just how it went around here.

Well, for most of them, anyway.

I’d gotten lucky over the years hanging on to a few stragglers.

“Come on,” I said to one of them, tossing a half-filled water bottle across the way from me. “Up you go.”

It was caught in a steady hand, the cap popped off instantly as the rest of what was left in the bottle was guzzled down the thirsty throat of one of my younger ranch hands. His bronze skin was bathed in sweat, streaked with dirt and grime from us trying to wrestle one of our geldings out of the round pen and back through one of the gates leading out to pasture.

A bitch on any normal day, worse during a heat wave like this one.

Sweat coated my skin in a sticky film, making everything feel tight. I probably also looked just as filthy but had half a mind to keep a hat securely tucked over my brow since early this morning, keeping most of my face shrouded in a light shadow.

Not the best of ways to make myself look more presentable, but then who was I trying to impress around here?

“Thought it was supposed to rain this morning,” Ryder muttered from where he was sitting on the ground, crushing the plastic bottle in his hand after finishing it. “What happened to this shit breaking?”

“Didn’t hear anything about that,” I replied.

Truth be told, I’d barely paid any mind to what was scrolling on the TV this morning when fixing up a breakfast for my mama right as light was beginning to filter in through the kitchen window. Not that it really mattered. Rain or shine, you were walking through mud or shit regardless of what was happening outside.

Made no difference if it was more wet than usual, just made it more annoying to keep from tracking in past the mudroom when kicking your boots off for the day.

Chores still had to get done regardless, and so did training. Horsekeeping wasn’t just for the sunny days.

“Maybe tomorrow,” I offered.

He groaned at me before taking my hand when I held it out to him, rolling up to his feet with a small bounce. A liveliness returned to him after rolling his shoulders back a few times and then tilting his head around until his neck let out a healthy crack.

Ryder threw me a grin instantly. “Got that gelding to run seventeen full laps before he flipped shit. I’d say that’s a win.”

I brought my hand down onto his shoulder to clap it. “Told you he’d come around eventually.”

“Funny, Dallas said the same thing.”