Page 2 of And Forever (The Riders and Rings Duology #2)

WILDER

COEUR D’ALENE, IDAHO — MARCH,PRESENT

I t’s easy to ignore the sound of tires coming down the gravel road. I’m shoulders deep under the hood of this vintage Ford pickup, and the damn alternator belt won't slip into place. I’m not expecting anyone—I never am—so whoever has decided to venture onto my property can wait until I’m done.

This truck is a labor of love. Today’s the first day warm enough to come out to the shed and work on the engine without my fingers going numb. While the air is still cool, the nights are downright cold, but spring is on its way.

There’s the distinct slam of a vehicle door closing, then the crunch of footsteps as they approach.

I wiggle my fingers once more, internally cheering when the belt finally engages where it belongs.

Only after I extract myself from the belly of the engine and use a discarded rag next to me to wipe the grease from my fingers, do I look to see who’s on my property.

The visitor leans casually against the passenger side of my truck.

Boots hooked at the ankles, and a worn pair of faded denim lead to arms crossed over a chest. The salt-and-pepper mustache has more salt in it than last time I saw him, but the frowning slant of his mouth is still the same.

Curtis Stanton looks like he owns the place, and that bothers me as much as his unannounced arrival does.

“What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you, too, Wild.” Curtis skips my question, pushing off the side of the truck and heading toward the wooden steps of the front porch. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

I follow, hitching my step to catch up just as Curtis crosses the porch to the front screen door.

He pulls at the handle, and I reach past him to slam the door closed.

No one goes inside the house but me. I can hear how my breathing spikes with anxiety at the thought of having him go inside.

It makes me press my hand more firmly in place, before I slide around my old mentor and block his entry.

We hold each other’s gaze, a silent but intense staring contest until, finally, Curtis relents and looks down.

His step back has me inhaling more steadily, and I extend an arm, offering him one of the chairs I have out here.

I don’t abandon my spot until the man has sat his ass completely down, the Adirondack style making a quick escape difficult when he has to slide back and sink to hit the back rest.

“I’ll ask one more time, Curt: what are you doing here?” I cross to the rail, leaning against it before folding my arms over my chest. I have a long list of things to do today, and a heartfelt reunion isn’t on it.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Curtis Stanton. My former riding coach. Teacher and mentor. The man who stood on this very piece of land the New Year’s Day after Travis died when I told him I didn’t want his help, even as my world was falling spectacularly apart.

Two weeks ago, Charlotte Stryker, the love of my life, left me. I couldn’t even blame her for doing it, and I hadn’t tried to convince her I was worth fighting for. I didn’t even think I was worth fighting for back then.

Curtis arrived as early as dawn, pounding on my trailer door while standing in the snow, little flurries winding their way around him. I knew why he was there. I might have wanted to run away from the world, but that didn’t mean the world was going to let me leave.

“Memorial’s tomorrow,” Curtis announced, pulling up the sheepskin collar of his jean jacket. “You get in my truck right now, I’ll make sure you’re there on time.”

“Not going.” I tried to close the door. Tried to block out everything I wanted to hide from. It had barely been a month since Travis Frost had died. Since he had been killed in Las Vegas by the bull he had just finished riding for a championship buckle.

My best friend.

I’d watched the life drain from his body, holding my hand in the dirt of a rodeo arena.

I still wasn’t able to sit with that knowledge without wanting to burn the world down.

Anger burned hot inside me every time my mind flashed back to that day before overwhelming sadness rendered me incapable of much more than breathing.

“You stubborn, son-of-a-bitch.”

Curtis gripped the door, keeping me from shutting him out. I didn’t fight him, instead I came down the two small steps to stand on the cold ground. With my arms wrapped around me, I waited for my former mentor to speak.

His head dropped, a gravelly sound of discomfort working its way from his chest before he sucked in a breath and put his hands on his hips.

When his eyes met mine, they were glassy and pained.

His teeth clenched so that his jaw throbbed with the effort.

I had never witnessed this man cry. He cleared his throat, and the sound died on a deep groan.

“I know I taught you to ride, kid.” Curtis’ voice was thick with emotion, an unusual display for the stoic cowboy I’d known for the better part of a decade.

I ignored how my dead heart lurched at the display.

“And along the way, I tried to teach you a few other things. Some, I was more successful at than others. But I know I never taught you this.” He gestured to the trailer behind me.

There wasn’t any way of hiding the state of it with the door open.

There were clothes scattered over the soft surfaces and unwashed dishes covering the counter.

But I know my poor housekeeping wasn’t what he was referring to.

“Travis was your best friend. He meant something to you. You should be there.”

I looked away from him, happy for the sting of snowflakes melting against my face. It cut almost as much as his words, but not as deeply as what he said next.

“And Charlotte was the best damn thing that ever happened to you. They both deserve more than this.”

Charlotte . Pain flashed anew in my chest upon hearing her name.

She loved me. She had wanted to stay. Begged me to give her a reason to.

But I couldn’t, so I didn’t. I’d let my grief burn through her love like the fuse on a stick of dynamite.

When it was ash, the detonation that followed was an appropriate punishment.

I deserved my daily anguish; the slow disintegration of my life, my mind, and maybe one day, my own body.

It was all-consuming. I didn’t need Curtis Stanton reminding me of it.

“You’re right,” I told him, stepping forward, forcing Curtis to retreat in surprise. I kept moving until he was against the side of his truck. “Now, Curt, if you ever gave a damn about me, you’ll get in your truck and leave.”

“Don’t fucking do this, Wild.”

“It’s already done.” I sighed. I walked to the door of the cab, wrenching it open. “I don’t want your help—or whatever you think you’re doing. Get out of here.”

“I’ve got a job for you.” Curtis breaks me out of the memory with his words. His eyes are shrewd, watching closely for a moment before he continues.

“Don’t need one. Sorry you wasted a trip.”

“Stop being a dick,” he barks. Muscle memory from years of training have has my spine straightened and my jaw locked tight.

He doesn’t look angry, just disappointed, and somehow that’s all the worse.

Anger can call to anger, an emotion I have all too much experience with.

But his disappointment cuts deeper than a quick lash of rage.

Slowly, he lifts one ankle to rest on his opposite knee.

He pulls his hat off and hooks it onto the bend in his leg with a calm that belies his harsh tone.

“I don’t need you to say anything to know that your summer job at the Carvers’ place is canceled on account of their selling Rolling Hills last month. ”

It’s clear he knows by the way he assesses me, so there’s no point in lying.

I give a sharp nod of affirmation. I’ve spent the last two summers working on Cora and Nathaniel’s horse ranch in Casper, Wyoming.

We met a few years ago when I purchased a horse, Vesper, for Charlotte.

After the disastrous end to that rodeo season, the Carvers were a lifeline.

They offered me a position the following spring to help manage their stable, and I’ve returned every year for different stretches of time.

This year, they called to let me know they had decided to sell the property and retire.

I couldn’t begrudge them the opportunity to move closer to their grandchildren, but it does leave me unemployed.

“I’ll be fine.” I sidestep the conversation, twisting my head to look out over my property.

It’s been a labor of love to get finished, but the final fence of the riding ring went up in October, and I’ve lacked direction since.

For the last two and a half years, if I wasn’t in Wyoming, I would be here, building and overseeing a plan for this place I didn’t think would come true.

A long sigh pulls my attention back to the cowboy on my porch.

“Kid.” Curtis’ voice is gravelly, weathered by age or irritation, I can’t be certain.

“I’m damn proud of you.” He holds my gaze.

Despite the years between us, and the sour taste of our last meeting sitting in the back of my throat, his sincerity is clear.

It makes the air in my lungs constrict, and I grunt to try and ease the discomfort.

“I never should have left you alone all this time—even when you pushed me away. But I’m damn proud of what you’ve built and how you’ve changed.

Except for still being as stubborn as a mule. ”

We both huff out a laugh.

“Learned that from the best.” I smirk at him, the fight going out of me. Dropping my arms, I cross to sit next to him. With my back firmly against the chair, I can’t help but grumble, “Why are these damned chairs so uncomfortable?”

“Better question is why you have them on your porch if they’re so awful.” Curtis twists to look at me, waiting a beat to read my silence. It’s not a stretch for him to figure it out. “Ah, yeah.” His eyes turn soft as he thinks of Charlotte. “This place does have her touch all over it.”

“Don’t want to talk about her, Curt.”

“That’s going to be damn awkward. The job I’ve got for you is at her family’s place: Arrowroot Hills,” he says without preamble. “It starts next month.”

Curtis picks up his hat and sets his foot on the porch. With no small amount of awkwardness, he hoists himself out of the chair. He pulls a slip of paper from his back pocket and turns to face me. He extends the offering, tapping his fingers against his hat when I take it.

“All the information you need is on there. Can’t promise that it will be smooth sailing.” He turns the worn Stetson around by its brim, worrying the wool for a moment before putting it on his head. “She doesn’t know I’m bringing this to you. That girl would probably have my grave dug if she did.”

I bite my tongue as he starts for the porch steps, the piece of paper heavy between my fingers. He takes the first step down, then holds the railing and turns over his shoulder.

“It’s not every day a man gets a second chance, but I’m going to give you the same piece of advice I did the first time: Don’t fuck this up.”

I stand there long after the dust trails from Curtis’ truck have faded, the offer he brought to me turning over and over again.

It’s not a good idea.

Or maybe it’s the best idea.

I’ve spent nearly every day since Charlotte left thinking about her.

I’ve processed every emotion I’ve ever felt through the lens of my love for her: anger, sadness, regret, desperation, hope.

They’ve all woven a tangled image of our history together and muddled every possible scenario I’ve imagined of a life with her in it.

Even if it terrifies me, maybe it’s finally time to find out what will happen.