Page 15 of Kentucky Nights (Dead Man’s Ranch #1)

Hope is by far the most deadly emotion there is. It’s dangerous. The pesky feeling lifts your soul so high that you begin to build confidence that life will go your way—and then, like the ruthless bitch hope is—it pulls the rug from under you until you’re on your back.

Hope and Karma have to be related because both are cruel mistresses toying with a man’s emotions.

“Romeo, give me your damn foot.”

“No.”

I yank my hat off and toss it in the bed of the truck, getting unreasonably frustrated with his antics. “I said give me your damn hoof, Romeo,” I snarl.

He blows a raspberry, his lips vibrating together before he backs up, turns, and has the audacity to walk himself to his stall. He bites the rope attached to the door and tugs it closed, leaving me standing in the middle of the barn alone.

“Really? Really, Romeo? You’re going to be mad at me for not running after her?”

Silence.

“Romeo!” I belt, knowing damn well he can hear me.

Again, silence.

“You really piss me off more than a raccoon is when it’s wet.” I huff, knowing I have other chores I need to do.

“That doesn’t even make sense. Raccoons love water and know how to swim,” he finally responds, and of course, it is to correct me.

I throw my hands up in the air, completely done with this conversation. “I don’t know how you know that.”

“Animals talk.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, not knowing what to say to that. Romeo is obviously done with my company for the day, and I need to get the hay to the row barn for the cattle.

“Okay, fine then. I’m getting back to work. Stay here in your stall then.” I jump onto the bed of the truck, snag my hat, and cover the hay with a tarp.

Hopping to the ground, I lift the tailgate and slam it into place. My fingers trace the indentations I’ve left behind. Her scent lingers, the warm spice of her lust clings to the air, taunting me.

Hanging my head, I clutch the same spots dented into my truck.

This woman is going to test me in ways I never thought were possible.

I remember thinking that Audrey was the biggest event that ever happened to me.

Being with her was a test in itself. I understand now that she never loved me but was using me, and I allowed it.

My entire life leading up to the day I got turned had been unremarkable. I was alone. My mother died giving birth to me, and I never knew who my father was. My uncle raised me, and when he died in my early twenties, I figured the rest of my days would be spent alone.

The ranch would have had to be sold if I got too old to manage it, since I had no one to pass it down to. The more I think about how truly alone I was, the more I think Audrey knew that no one would miss me if I were gone.

She had hoped turning me would be the answer to my lonesome nature. I’m giving her too much credit. She wasn’t that kind. She had hoped it would give her more purpose than she had.

The thing is, there’s a difference between being alone and being lonely. Being alone is peaceful and resonating. There’s nothing like being in the pasture and watching the sunset after a long day. The soul becomes healed staring at a fading horizon promising another early morning will come.

Loneliness is deeper than that. When your own company is no longer enough, your heart begins to ache for love that hasn’t seemed to find you yet.

It’s a heavy burden to carry, a tragic ailment that will eventually kill.

Loneliness is a murderer who takes its time to suck every inch of life out of you before you come to the decision that you’ve had enough.

In a way, it’s a vampire, taking every ounce from your heart until it finally stops beating.

Is that what’s wrong with me? All this time, I’ve been alone, but have I been lonely instead?

I stare out into the pouring rain, wishing Dru were still standing there looking at me over her shoulder. She’s in the house now. The porch light is faint in the haze of the weather, acting like a beacon to bring me to her.

As much as I would love to walk through my front door and spend the evening trying to get to know Dru, I think it’s best if both of us have a little space tonight. I know she’s confused, and I don’t trust myself not to feed from her without permission.

The more time we spend together, the hungrier I become for her.

I climb into the truck and grip the wheel, leaning my head against the headrest to take a moment for myself. I don’t know how she takes her coffee, and I love her more than I want death.

I loved Daphne as much as I could, but what I am already feeling for Dru? It’s so much deeper than love. The notion of love doesn’t come close to the enamored infatuation that is heavy within my body, in my stomach, clawing its way to what’s left of my humanity and latching on.

I’m completely desperate for her in ways that are beyond comprehension.

The more I focus on her, the more I can sense her. I feel her in my home. I can’t tell which room she’s in because our bond isn’t strong enough yet for me to track her in that way, but she’s there.

If we were mated, I would be able to perceive any and all emotions she has. In turn, it means she would be able to feel everything I feel, and that might scare me more than dying ever has.

She’d be able to finally have the weight of the loneliness I’ve been bearing for all these years. She’d know intimately the most vulnerable part of me—the part that has been aching for more.

Dru would be able to feel how much I wanted to die. There would be no escaping that. Not wanting death is so new to me, I’m not sure if I believe it yet. I’ve convinced myself that living isn’t important for more years than most will ever live.

The old pickup truck grumbles to life. The thick purr reminds me of when the first automobile was invented in the 1870s. I remember being in awe of such technology. I never thought I’d live to see the day cars were invented.

And now there are too many types of vehicles to keep track of.

Never thought I’d be alive for that either.

The squeak of the windshield wipers brings me back to reality, staring out of a cracked windshield being pelted with rain.

I can’t see two inches in front of me. Luckily, I could drive the path in my sleep.

The brakes squeak when I come to a stop, pressing the button I have for the tall metal gate to swing open.

When I’m through, the mechanical door swings shut, locking the bar in place. The road dips from the uneven path, causing me to bounce in my seat as this old girl trucks up the hill, tires slipping and sliding every few feet.

“Kentucky!”

“Kentucky’s here!”

“Come on, ladies!”

I grin when I hear their thoughts slamming into me. “Hey, everyone. Meet me at the row barn. Get out of this storm,” I shout out the window, rain pouring into the cab and soaking my pant leg.

Pulling into the barn, the rain finally stops beating the rust off my truck. Lightning dances gracefully through the ominous dark clouds, a ballerina performing a powerful show for all to witness.

Slamming the truck in park, I do something I don’t typically do; I use my enhanced speed. Ripping the tarp off the hay bales, I stack as many as I can before blurring to the rows and filling the feeders. Dispersing the hay is easy with my claws, dividing it up perfectly amongst the cows.

“Thank you, Kentucky.”

“Thank youuuu,” is mooed from another corner.

“Thanks!” a smaller voice chirps.

“You’re welcome. Try not to go outside, okay? It’s getting nasty out there, and some of you are about to give birth. Play it safe, ladies.”

The entire group moos in unison.

“Great.”

I pop the tailgate down and take a seat, staring down at the house that holds my fate. Thunder shakes the ground, causing the truck to slightly quake. Bolts continue to shock the sky with their anger, a blinding white shooting through the clouds.

Rain fills the gutters, and small creeks drain across the yard.

In all my years, I’ve never seen the climate so mad before.

The storms are worse, devastating entire states, obliterating people’s homes.

I haven’t seen a tornado rip through these parts in at least a decade, but it wasn’t anything serious.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if that streak is coming to an end.

I’ll have to keep an eye out tonight and guard the house. I refuse to let anything happen to Dru, storm or not, her life will never be at risk.

The wind howls, reminding me of a wolf signaling his pack. The memory of those shifters hiding Dru comes to mind, and I snarl, wishing I could kill them all over again.

My eyes focus on my new lasso hanging on the side of the barn. I might have taken a few shifter spines and fused them together, creating the most lethal weapon I’ve had besides Romeo.

They’re my trophies.

And if Dru wants, she’ll be able to hold her abuser’s spines in her bare hands, proving who the weak ones really are.

Anyone who dares touch her again, I vow they will be a wonderful addition to the lasso.

I jump off the truck, my boots scuffing the ground as I walk to the edge where the roof stops. The pull to her is strong. Heat warms my body, sweat soaking through my shirt, and I tug it over my head. God, I feel like if I don’t get to Dru, I’ll rip out of my own fucking skin.

I want her.

I need her.

She’s mine. She’s all mine.

Why can’t I have her?

I can’t. I can’t take away her will.

I won’t take away her will.

One step into the rain and the cool touch of water extinguishes the wild fever I just had. I take a deep breath, my cock still stretching the denim jeans. I’ve never felt this kind of want before. I ache.

I fucking ache.

I crouch, leaping onto the second story of the barn. I keep a room up here for when I want to sleep closer to the stars.

Ripping off the chaps, I toss them on the small cot in the corner.

“Come on, Kentucky. Snap out of it.” I grip the edge of the barn door, leaning out the window to allow the rain to hit me again.

The water soaks my hair, drenching me until it slips over my lips like a beverage after a hard day’s work.

The need barely eases. But my skin isn’t on fire like it was before.

Fuck , my fangs throb in agony from wanting to sink into her. I reach to touch one, and the threat of my finger ghosting over the point causes another wave of pain to pulse through the tooth.

“Fuck!” I roar so loudly, the monster inside me grips my throat, turning my shout into a guttural howl, and I fall to the floor.

My nails dig into the floorboards, engraving long grooves as I fight the need to jump out of this window to take what is rightfully mine.

I rip my pants open with my claws, free myself, and fuck my fist. It will have to do.

For now.