Page 4 of Wilder

As I headed over to the storage bay, a familiar pair of boots appeared from up on the top stack, causing me to stop right next to where the last bale had been dropped. Morbid curiosity would be my excuse this time around as I watched limber legs kick a few times to help wiggle the lean body attached to them out from between the other bales.

Normally, I’d have a lecture tingling on my lips, ready to go, the second one of my ranch hands was within earshot after doing something stupid. I’d had plenty of talks over the years, teaching moments as Sully would call them, with the greenhorns who had harder times adjusting to how we did things around here.

Funny how that was somehow always thrown out the window whenever this particular one was at the helm of the mess.

My heart leaped into my throat as his body propelled down toward the ground, dropping a good eight feet before landing gracefully, both arms coming out as he stuck it near perfectly. Hay clung to his stained jeans and the worn t-shirt still half-tucked into his waistband when he straightened fully.

He brushed his hands together a few times while glancing up at the tall stacks of bales in front of him. More bits of hay had woven into the dark, curled ends of his hair that looked wildly unkempt like usual. A few strands of it were tucked behind one of his ears, the curved tip of the shell slightly red from the sun.

My fingers itched to reach over and pluck his hair clean. Run my digits through those tangled lengths until they were smooth and out of his face.

I really needed to get him a bandana or something to keep that mop from covering his eyes while he worked. Constantly reaching up to brush back the thick strands was distracting. Not just for him but for everyone.

He stopped short the second he turned around and spotted me. “Oh.”

Asher Torres. My newest acquisition.

Just out of high school and all the way over here from Baton Rouge. He’d come in on a bus a little over six months ago with the other applicants for this year’s stint and was now officially one of two people left standing.

He was easy to smile and even easier to coach. A friendly attitude that left no one a stranger. Perfect to hire on as a ranch hand who was eager to learn the ropes of what it took to work a manual labor job like this one.

And undeniably, the one that was going to give me my first ever heart attack.

I let out a slow breath. “Any reason you’re taking down the top stock?”

He shot me a grin. “Yeah. Wanted to drag it out to one of the paddocks.”

“For?”

Asher wasn’t exactly the type to do things without a reason. I’d come to learn that rather quickly over the last few weeks he’d been here. While young—very young—he was whip-smart. Had a natural knack for taking the unconventional and creating solutions where others only saw problems. A real ideas man with the energy to execute it.

Normally, I tended to temper that kind of enthusiasm during the first few months. Not to discourage innovation but to push for learning why we did the things we did. Questioning the status quo was all fine and good, but would get you nowhere if you didn’t have the basics down first.

There was a reason this ranch ran efficiently. Why we were one of the best in the state and had kept that reputation for the last seven years. That wasn’t because of sheer dumb luck. My father, and now me, I suppose, had spent years trial-and-error-ing what did and didn’t work. We had a system set in place and rarely liked to stray off that path unless necessary.

Usually.

I was finding that word was becoming more and more frequent as the days went on.

Asher thumbed over his shoulder. “That new palomino we got a few weeks ago, I think I’ve finally made a breakthrough.”

Excitement made his eyes glitter in the sun, the warm brown of them turning a honey color that was hard to look away from.

My lips parted immediately to ask him how but I quickly snapped them shut as I caught myself.

This past week, I’d been trying to let go of this odd habit I’d somehow let manifest since he arrived that compelled me into over-questioning him. While we had rules and regulations here, I still had a healthy appreciation for curiosity and trying new methods when it came to the horses and rehabbing them. I wasn’t so stuck in my ways that there was no room to bargain.

The problem was that for some reason, I’d had this nagging demand inside my head to helicopter Asher wherever he went. Overseeing whatever it was he was up to regardless of who I’d partnered him off with at the beginning of the day.

This was something I’d never done with anyone else that had come waltzing past the ranch’s front gate seeking a job. Had never felt the need to at any point in time.

Training was done by my veterans and overseen by Sully. I hardly ever had a hand in personally tutoring anyone unless there was some major misstep that needed correction. A mishandling of one of the animals or someone getting seriously hurt from not following proper protocol. There was too much on my plate to babysit, and honestly, I didn’t have the kind of passion for it like Sully did.

Well. Until Asher Torres.

Our first few weeks together were some of the roughest I’d had in a long time. A greenhorn coming in with lofty goals wasn’t exactly new to any of us seasoned veterans. We’d seen it plenty of times and were used to the inevitable crash and burnout that eventually happened when reality finally dragged those same wishful thinkers back down from their clouds.

I’d been prepared for the same thing happening with Asher. Hell, had already prepared my farewell speech once he came around to the main house to turn in his things and apologize for having to leave on such short notice while a cab waited for him back at the bunkhouse.