Page 12

chapter

seven

They rode the fence line for almost two hours, checking for damage after a spat of recent rain caused localized flooding.

Jax’s thighs burned from the saddle, but he’d rather die than admit it.

He’d also rather die than admit he found the ranch confusing, its network of roads and trails disorienting after living in a prison that was all straight lines and right angles.

His mount was a plodding buckskin mare with a white blaze, appropriately named Lazy Susan. She had one pace—slow—and often stopped to munch on tall grass despite his attempts to keep her moving.

River had assured him this was a feature, not a bug. “She won’t spook at shadows like the others,” he’d said, slapping the mare’s rump.

Meanwhile, River had chosen a sleek chestnut gelding for himself, who seemed just as restless as his rider, dancing sideways and tossing his head whenever River pulled back on the reins to wait for Jax to catch up.

When Jax finally did, he scowled at the guy. “A snail walks faster than this horse.”

River laughed, and his gelding pranced beneath him. “That’s the point. You’re new. We put new guys on the slow horses so you don’t get lost and die in the mountains. Walker’s orders. You can’t get into trouble if you can’t catch up to it.”

“I get the feeling you have a knack for finding trouble.”

River’s grin widened. “Life’s all about finding the right kind of trouble, my friend. The trick is making sure you can get back out of it.”

“Since you’re at Valor Ridge, I’m betting you don’t always make it back out.”

River shrugged. “Let’s just say I know my way around an oops moment or two. Or ten. Some of us are slow learners.”

Interesting how River didn’t wear his brokenness like armor. It was a fashion accessory, a set of carefully curated eccentricities that dared anyone to look deeper. Jax had always kept his damage under wraps, the way he’d been taught to in the teams and in prison alike.

“What did you do?” He cursed himself the moment the question left his lips. He didn’t want to know.

River chewed the inside of his cheek, his gaze traveling up into the dust-blue mountain sky. “Same thing as everyone here. Screwed up more than was socially acceptable. But details bore me. Less ‘what’ and more ‘did you survive.’ That’s my metric, brother.”

Jax grunted, unsure if he respected the dodge or resented it. “You know, you talk a lot, but you don’t say much.”

“It’s one of my charms,” River said, not even pretending to apologize. He rode ahead a few yards, then swung back around like a boomerang. “You’re the first guy Walker’s personally recruited in a couple years. Must’ve seen something special in you.”

“Yeah, a rap sheet.”

“That’s the baseline here.” River gave him a sidelong glance, as if weighing whether to push.

He braced for another volley of questions, but River just nodded as if he’d made up his mind about something. “I killed my best friend, so if you’re worried about being the biggest fuckup on the Ridge, you’re going to have to try real hard. Everyone’s got a backstory.”

Jax said nothing. Mainly because he wasn’t sure what to say.

I killed my best friend.

The confession had come so casually, like River was telling him he used to play the drums, or that he was left-handed.

I killed my best friend.

“Was it an accident?” The question popped out before he could think better of asking it.

“Nope. Premeditated as shit.”

“Then why aren’t you still behind bars?”

“Did five years for manslaughter instead of life for murder. Should’ve done life.” River didn’t look at him, but the smile slid from his face and his hands tightened on the reins. Then he exhaled and smacked the brim of his hat back into place. “Anyway?—”

A scrub jay exploded from a nearby juniper, making Lazy Susan snort and stop dead. River’s horse spooked sideways, nearly unseating him. He let out a whoop, rode out the spin, and grinned back at Jax.

“See? Feature, not a bug.”

Jax shook his head. “You’re going to break your neck on that horse.”

“Nah,” River said, cheerful again, and leaned down to pat the chestnut mustang’s neck. “Whiskey Tango Foxtrot won’t ever buck me. Will you, baby?”

“You named your horse What The Fuck?”

“He mostly goes by Tango, but yeah. It started as a joke and stuck. Look at him.” He gestured at the gelding, who was now eyeing a butterfly with deep suspicion. “Tell me that’s not a WTF look if you ever saw one.”

Jax had to admit the horse looked like he was perpetually questioning his life choices. “Fair point.”

“Your girl Suzy’s more of a whatever horse. She’s seen it all and can’t be bothered to give a damn.”

Jax stared down at his horse’s twitching ears. “Well, we’ve got that in common.”

They took a side trail where the grass grew in thick, fragrant tufts, wind combing the meadow in shifting directions. If Jax had been in another mood, he might have found it beautiful. As it was, all he found was the feeling of being far from anywhere he could run.

River gestured toward a ridge in the distance.

“That’s the northwest corner of the property.

The Ridge’s got nearly two thousand acres, most of it mountains and forest.” He turned Tango with a casual shift of his weight.

“We’ve got one more section to check, then we can head back.

Boone’s gonna want you working with Echo this afternoon.

Oh, by the way, City Boy,” he added and held up a dented stainless steel thermos.

“You’re officially banned from the coffee pot. This is fucking awful.”

“You’re drinking it.”

“Desperation, my friend.” River took a long swig and grimaced. “When a man’s hungover and faced with goat invasions, standards drop.”

Jax urged his horse to catch up. She snorted and plodded forward. “Thought alcohol was forbidden.”

“Ah, Boone gave you that speech, huh? Those ironclad rules he harps on about are really more like suggestions. We pretend we don’t break them, and he pretends he doesn’t know we break them.

As long as we keep it out of the bunkhouse, and keep ourselves out of that trouble we’re all so fond of.

” He turned his horse so abruptly that Jax had to yank on Lazy Susan’s reins to avoid a collision.

“No hard drugs, though.” For the first time since Jax met him, River’s expression hardened, all traces of humor vanishing. “Don’t fuck with that here. We had a guy who did. Walker found out. That guy don’t live here anymore.”

“I’m five years clean and sober.”

“Good. So are Boone, Jonah, and Bear, but the rest of us like to indulge in a beer or two after work. If you don’t want us drinking around you, you tell us.”

“Doesn’t bother me.”

“All right then.”

They rode in silence for a while, the only sounds the creak of saddle leather and the occasional snort from the horses. The trail narrowed, winding through a stand of aspens, their new leaves catching the spring sunlight.

River pointed toward a cluster of birch trees, their trunks pale against the pines. “That’s the border with Cole’s land. He likes his privacy.”

Jax raised a hand to shield his eyes, squinting against a sun that now shone bright and hot with an apparent vendetta. Maybe those cowboy hats everyone wore around here weren’t just for looks.

Through the trees, he could just make out a simple cabin with a solar panel on the roof, smoke coiling from a stovepipe.

There was a battered pick-up beside the cabin, and a black animal that looked more hellhound than dog sleeping on the porch.

A muscular, heavily tattooed man chopped wood in the yard.

“Evander Cole?” Jax guessed.

River wasn’t paying attention. His gaze was on a pair of birds circling the sky overhead. “Huh,” he muttered. “Not a good omen.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He took off his hat, ran a hand through that wild hair of his, and looked in the direction of the cabin. “Yeah, that’s him. Stay clear unless invited. He’s about as sociable as a cactus.”

“So what’s his deal?”

“Evander?” River scratched at his chin, considering, then settled his hat back on his head.

“Like I said before, he’s the only man who ever quit Valor Ridge.

Comes around town sometimes, but mostly stays out there.

” He nodded toward the cabin. “Other than that, I don’t know much about him.

He does wilderness retreats, though I don’t know why anyone would pay to spend time in his company.

Dude communicates exclusively in grunts and death stares. ”

They kept their distance from Cole’s property as they followed the fence past the cabin. The hellhound lifted its head and tracked them, its sharply pointed ears twitching. Cole himself didn’t pause or wave. He just kept splitting logs, the ax rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Soon the trail bent back toward the ranch, and River’s mood lightened as if they’d passed through some invisible checkpoint. “Anyway, the real fun around here’s not the work, it’s the shit you get up to when you’re pretending to be a citizen again. You ever go into Solace?”

Jax hesitated, then decided his escape attempt was probably common knowledge by now. “Yesterday morning. Nessie’s Place.”

“She’s all right,” River said with a nod. “You ask me, the only reason half the men here haven’t offed themselves is Nessie’s bakery. Her muffins are almost as good as sex.” He shot Jax a look. “Did she feed you?”

“Just coffee and eggs while her kid told me all about fire trucks.”

River barked a laugh. “That kid’s her pride and joy, but he’s weird as hell.

Kind of a mini genius. Obsessed with those trucks and dinos and absorbs information like a sponge.

He once recited the entire periodic table to Walker, and Walker just nodded along like he understood any of it.

Little dude will probably be president someday, assuming he survives the school bus. ”

Jax pictured the kid’s animated face—the big brown eyes and wide smile—as he’d explained the five functions of a fire truck.