Page 114 of Wilder

Right around noon, I found myself wandering down toward the stables like muscle memory at this point.

Truth was, I needed to see my horse, sought the comfort she brought me and hoped like hell it would actually save me from doing something stupid like tracking down Wilder and confessing my undying love to him while begging, on my hands and knees, to tell Sully to fuck off.

The barn doors were already open when I arrived, the place quiet once I stepped in past the threshold.

We’d let the horses out early this morning, taking advantage of the unusually warm weather. There hadn’t been much on the schedule today outside of Laken taking the two new colts through a few basic exercises in the arena. Outside of that, the rest of the herd had been left to graze until the sun went down

I headed down the midway to the tack room.

With both Wilder, and subsequently Sully, avoiding me, there was no one left to tell me I couldn’t take Pelly out for a ride.

Where I’d go, I had no fucking clue. Somewhere far enough away that the noise in my head might finally shut up for once. Ryder had shown me a map once during my first few weeks here and that there were a few trails that ran west of the property line, weaving through the brush of the Texas wilderness.

As long as I had my phone on me, no one could accuse me of taking off without permission. I could argue it was part of my job or my responsibility of keeping her active and training her to handle more than just a few laps around the paddock—whatever excuse I needed to make it make sense.

I grabbed one of the leads off of the wall, throwing the end of it over my shoulder. I brushed my fingers over the row of harnesses hanging neatly beside it until I found Pelly’s, unclipping it and settling the familiar weight over my arm.

The plan was simple enough: grab Pelly, bring her back here, saddle her up, and then ride until the restlessness in my bones burned out.

Simple.

I turned on my heel, already mentally ticking through what I’d need to grab next, when something shifted at the very edge of my peripheral vision—a flicker of movement that had my head turning toward it.

And then I saw him.

Wilder.

The breath punched out of me like someone had hit me square in the chest.

For a long, unbearable second, neither of us moved.

He stood halfway down the stable aisle, still as stone, the afternoon sun pouring in behind him through the wide, open barn doors. The light behind him hit just right, framing him in this soft, almost ethereal glow that made him look otherworldly. Like something I’d conjured up in the middle of the night when I was too heartsick to sleep.

But the closer I looked, the more the cracks began to show.

While his expression was unreadable, there were dark shadows under his eyes, deep enough to look like bruises against the warm sun-kissed tone of his skin. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with long hours spent doing physical labor.

As sick as it sounded, that brought me a flicker of comfort. Even if I couldn’t be sure I was the reason behind it, this was a proof I wasn’t the only one drowning in some kind of emotional mess.

I swallowed against the lump forming in my throat, forcing my legs to move forward. My boots made a soft, muted noise against the concrete floor, the cavernous space stretching between us quickly being swallowed up as I grew closer.

When I stopped a few feet away, I couldn’t help letting my gaze sweep over him. Up close, he looked rougher than normal. His scruff darker than usual, his hat tilted back just enough for a few pieces of his hair to stick out like he’d been running his hands through the strands dozens of times out of frustration.

One hand was curled into a fist at his side, while he used his other to rub his fingers together anxiously.

I licked my lips to wet them, my voice coming out softer than I meant when I finally spoke. “Hey.”

Wilder’s eyes flicked up to meet mine, and for a heartbeat, I almost let myself hope. But then there was a small tug at the corner of his lips, down turning them, that I didn’t like at all. “Asher.”

There wasn’t a trace of relief in it, no hint of joy or longing after days spent avoiding me. Just something quiet and sad, a subtle thread of resignation that clung to the two syllables in my name.

No.

I forced myself to clear my throat, trying for something more casual instead. “I was going to take Pelly out for a quick ride. You want to join me?”

The words were light, almost careless on the surface, while underneath they were a lifeline—a quiet, desperate offer disguised as something simple. An extension of the olive branch, a plea for him to reach out and take my hand, grasp it tightly in his own while reassuring me this would blow over soon enough. That it would just take a little more time but we had plenty of that to look forward to in our future.

Please, please...