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My heart crumbled at the thought, even though I’d known it was a distinct possibility, considering heblamed the ranchandme for what happened to his family.
Gloria had a history of suicide attempts. She was frail and fragile, and Duke—the good son—had always taken care of her. In her eyes, the ranch was an ugly place that consumed your soul. Never mind that this so-called ugly place paid for her lavish lifestyle and ensured his mother never wanted for anything. While people like Hunt and me worked ourselves to the bone, the Wilders lived comfortably, looking down their noses at both us and the very land that allowed them to do so.
“It’s his ranch, and he can do with it what he wants.” I sat next to his cowboy hat. “I can’t stay, Hunt.”
“You leave, we’re gonna struggle to sell the horses. Don’t you want to ensure they get to good places and not end up with someone like Bo Landry?”
Landry was an asshole who thought that because he had money, he could run a ranch. He was one of them California transplants, a total tech bro who saw ranching as a hobby, not a way of life. He threw money at bloodlines he didn’t understand, bought land he didn’t know how to care for, and hired idiots who wouldn’t know a colic twist from a head toss.
With a guy like Landry, the horses wouldn’t just end up in the wrong hands—they’d end up ruined. He’d overfeed them, underwork them, or let some greenhorn cowboy yank their mouths to hell because he didn’t know a soft hand from a damn tree trunk. And when they stopped being "fun" or got "too much attitude" he’d sell them off at auction to God-knows-who. Maybe a ranch that worked them half to death. Maybe some kill pen in Mexico.
“Not my horses, not my business.” I wouldn’t be Duke’s whipping girl ‘cause his daddy fell in love with my mother. “I called Mav. He’s on his way to pick me up.”
Hunt sighed.
Maverick Kincaid, the owner of another large ranch in Wildflower Canyon, Kincaid Farms, had been trying to hire me for several years now. He was also trying to get into my pants. I’d resisted both. One, I couldn’t leave Wilder Ranch, and two, I wasn’t attracted to the man, no matter how good he looked. I was friends with him and his sister Joy; in fact, they were my closest friends after Hunt.
“Maverick will understand that you’ll be staying.” Hunt rose. His stance said this wasn’t up for discussion. I wasn’t leaving because he didn’t want me to. “Let’s catch Maverick before he comes storming down to get you.”
I laughed. “Maverick wouldn’t do that.”
“He exactly would.” When I got up, Hunt put a hand on my shoulder. “You okay seein’himagain?”
We knew who he was talking about.
Was I? No. No, I wasn’t.
I didn’t lie to Hunt, so I only shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“Ain’t it always.” He squeezed my shoulder and walked out of the bunkhouse.
By the time we stepped outside, I could already hearMav’s truck coming up the drive, the deep rumble of his black Ram 3500 Limited an announcement in itself.
The sound had alerted Duke because he came out still in his suit slacks, though he’d taken his jacket off. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. He’d had on cufflinks. On a ranch.Jesus!
Maverick climbed out of his truck like he owned the ground he walked on—tall, broad-shouldered, every inch a cowboy—dark jeans, scuffed boots, a black button-down rolled at the sleeves, and a hat that had seen real work. He looked like he was cut from the same land that ran under my feet.
“Duke.” Maverick raised his chin and walked up to him. They shook hands. “My condolences. Nash was a good man.”
“Thanks.” Duke looked at Hunt and me approaching and then at Maverick. “How come you’re here?”
Maverick stuck his hands in his pockets and grinned. For all his masculine attraction, he doled out the charm in spades. “I think I’ve finally convinced your horse trainer to becomemine.”
Duke looked at Hunt and me. I didn’t say a word. Hunt merely grunted.
“Sorry, Maverick, she ain’t coming with you,” Duke snapped.
Mav’s eyes went straight to me, his expression shifting to irritation. And then, just like that, he went from annoyed to possessive. He stepped up beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him. "You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on, Wildflower?"His voice was smooth, easy, and intimate. The son of a bitch was riling Duke up. I was petty enough to enjoy it.
I opened my mouth, but Duke beat me to it.
“She’s not comin’ with you.” His tone was hard, his jaw tighter than a rusted bolt.
Mav’s lips curled, more smirk than a smile. “That right, Wildflower?”
Duke bristled. Hunt groaned. The tension spiked, hot and sharp.
“Yeah, Mav. I’m sorry. I?—”