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“You started up the Bummer lately?”
That got a smile out of him. Driving the Bummer was a perk of Boon’s job. Quint and I built the Frankenstein truck ourselves. We’d pieced it together from parts of countless others. Once it was assembled, I’d found buckets of bright yellow texture paint, and that’s what we’d used to paint it. It had four rows of seats, all-wheel drive, was lifted higher than any of our other trucks, and the tires were from an abandoned military vehicle.
While it didn’t really resemble any other vehicle in existence, when some asshole from a nearby ranch bought an old Hummer H1, Quint and I decided our monstrosity looked like a damn sad version of the Humvee, the basis for the H1. That’s when we’d started calling it the Bummer.
“Took it out just yesterday,” said Boon.
I clapped the man on the back before heading out to saddle up my own horse.
Ike was the first in my string, sired by the same stud as Gunsmoke, Quint’s Paint. A year younger than Gunsmoke, Ike was a fifteen-hand, five-year-old gelding, and in my opinion, a far superior horse. Quint disagreed, of course, but really it was just another thing we gave each other shit about.
It made me feel like a pussy, but I missed my best friend. I wondered what Quint’s take would’ve been on Rile’s proposal. Most likely he would’ve been in favor of me signing on the dotted line. Quint was always telling me that I shouldn’t use the ranch as an excuse not to do the kind of work I loved.
Except I loved both kinds of work equally, especially at King-Alexander. This place was my home and had been for the last eighteen years. Before Z told me I could stay here with them, I’d never known what having a home felt like. From my earliest memory, I’d bounced from place to place, never feeling like I belonged. I couldn’t imagine ever leaving.
“Where’s Edge?” I asked Mila when I came out and saw her warming Sage up in the arena.
“He said he wanted to check on something in Schoolhouse.”
“What kind of rider are you, Mila?”
“I’ve ridden a time or two.”
I smiled when she smirked. It was obvious that she was comfortable in her seat, and while Sage was a sound and manageable mount, like most horses, she responded best to a confident hand.
“Ready?” I asked, opening the gate.
“Whenever you are,” she answered, walking Sage out of the arena.
I closed the gate, mounted Ike, and gave him a quick nudge. We moved together easily from a walk to a trot and then into a canter. I let Mila take the lead at edging Sage into a gallop. Once she had, I rode ahead of her, leading her to the upper pasture known as Schoolhouse, where Edge told her he’d be.
She had her blonde hair pulled back, but her ponytail was long enough that it waved in the breeze behind her. The smile on her face couldn’t have been more natural; she obviously loved being on horseback as much as I did. To me, there was no freer feeling in the world. Riding out gave me the space and time I needed to think. I’d needed to get out here more than I realized.
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” I said when we slowed to go over a crest.
“Like I said, it’s been a long time. God, I can’t even remember the last time I was on horseback.”
“It’s my therapy. If I haven’t had time to ride, pretty much everyone at the ranch knows it.” I laughed and then looked up at where Edge was fussing with a section of the fence.
I rode up, dismounted, and tied Ike to a post. I was about to help Mila do the same, but she’d already tied Sage off.
“Looks like somebody got twisted up,” Edge said when I got close enough to see what he was doing.
Sure enough, this section of the fence was mangled. I knelt down when something caught my eye. It looked similar to the fabric I’d seen snagged on the broken twig outside the cabin. I pulled out my bandanna and grasped the material with it before rolling it up and putting it in my pocket.
My cell vibrated, and I pulled it out of my other pocket. “Hey, Boon.”
“Rile is lookin’ for ya.”
“Tell him I’ll be back in fifteen.”
“All three of ya.”
“Understood. Send somebody out to Schoolhouse, Boon. We’ve got some fence to mend. Better yet, I’d prefer you handle it.”
“Got it, boss.”
21
