Page 12 of The Wrong Ride Home (Wildflower Canyon #1)

elena

T he morning roundup started before sunrise.

The sky was still bruised with the last traces of night. The air smelled of damp earth and strong coffee, thick from dented thermoses and chipped enamel mugs.

Hunt stood in his usual spot near the corral, early light catching the lines on his face. He didn’t have to raise his voice—when Hunt spoke, people listened.

“We’ll be moving the herd down to the south pasture before the rain rolls in.” He scanned the gathered ranch hands. “Charlie, you take point. Seth, you and Colt run the fence line afterward—keep an eye on that break near the creek.”

There were a dozen of us, give or take, some still shrugging into their jackets, others rolling the stiffness from their shoulders after another too-short night. Most held steaming mugs, their hands curled around them to ward against the morning chill .

It was all very typical, except for Duke.

He stood a little apart from the group, quiet, observant.

I was surprised to see that his jeans weren’t too new, his boots were worn enough to show miles, and the cowboy hat he wore sat just right.

It suited him… all of it . The look, the silence, the way he didn’t bother speaking just to hear his own voice.

Hunt nodded toward him. “Duke’s riding with me today.”

No one questioned it.

I stepped forward, setting my coffee on the fence rail.

“Alright, horses.” I already knew who’d be best suited for what, and they did as well.

“Ben, you and Kyle finish working the colts. Take them to the round pen after lunch. Jace, I want you on Copper today—he needs someone who won’t let him pull his usual tricks.

And Charlie, when you’re riding herd, make sure to keep an eye on Biscuit’s back left hoof. Something’s off.”

A chorus of ‘yes, ma’ams’ followed, along with a few smirks. I wasn’t much older than half these guys, but I’d been raised on this land. I knew what I was doing, and they knew better than to question me.

Hunt took a sip of his coffee and nodded at Duke. “Let’s move out.”

The sound of boots scuffing dirt, coffee mugs thunking onto fence posts, and saddles creaking filled the air as the group broke apart, heading to do the day’s work.

Hunt caught my eyes when he swung up into his saddle. I tilted my head and smiled, telling him I was okay. It was all good .

Though it wasn’t, especially when Duke walked up to me on his way to his horse. “I need to speak with you sometime today.”

My heart hammered, but I drank some coffee like I didn’t have a care in the world. “I’ll be at the stables.”

Duke didn’t respond. He walked up to his horse and mounted it, his movements smooth and practiced. He was a good rider, and he had always been.

That summer, we’d gone riding together a lot, past the south ridge, where the land stretched wide and endless, untouched by fences or roads. He had been twenty, reckless and laughing, spurring his horse forward and daring me to keep up. And I had—because I always did.

We raced through the valley, dirt kicking up behind us, and the wind was sharp and wild against my skin. When we finally pulled up near the river, breathing hard, he turned to me, his eyes bright, and he grinned like the world had never hurt him.

"You’re fast, Elena."

"Faster than you, mi cielo ," I had shot back smugly.

He smiled tenderly. I knew my endearment meant a lot to him—he was my everything.

"Guess I’ll have to catch you next time."

But there hadn’t been a next time. When he ran away from me after breaking my heart, I didn’t chase after him.

And now? There was nothing left between us but ugly history.

Duke’s horse shifted beneath him, bringing me back to the present. His jaw was tight, his hands steady on the reins as he watched me, making me wonder if his memories were as vivid as mine.

It was early afternoon when he came to the stables.

I’d been waiting—I couldn’t help it. He was with another woman.

He didn’t belong to me, and yet I ached to see him, craved even a glimpse of his face.

Having him this close felt like a dream come true, even with his cutting words and the looks of disgust he tossed my way.

Duke Wilder was back in Wildflower Canyon; my heart was whole again just seeing him. Did that make me the most pathetic woman in the world? Yes, it did. But I couldn’t change a damn thing. The heart wanted what it wanted, and mine had wanted Duke Wilder since I first met him.

It was like Mama had said when I’d asked her why she stayed with Nash even when he didn’t legitimize their relationship, made her suffer the barbs of society as his mistress, his whore, and, especially, when he’d checked out after her diagnosis, unable to stand seeing her wither away.

“ Elena, your heart chooses who you love, and your head has no say in it .”

Like mother, like daughter. She loved a man who didn’t love her enough. And I loved a man who hated me. I think my mother had the better end of that stick.

I ran a brush down Jasper’s flank, keeping my hands busy .

“Did you have a good ride?” I asked politely, not looking at him because I so desperately wanted to.

The stable was quiet at this time of day, the scent of fresh hay mixed with the sharper bite of leather and horse sweat.

I spent a lot of my time here. It was big enough to house thirty horses, with wide stalls and thick wooden beams, making the space feel solid and grounded.

It was a place built to last, a place that would soon be sold.

Duke rested against Jasper’s stall door, arms folded. “You can’t be at the funeral on Saturday.”

I kept brushing. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

Silence.

I could feel his stare. What did he expect?

That I’d demand he let me come to the damn circus?

I shouldn’t have to ask. They should invite me, throw a fucking parade.

I took care of Nash in the last year of his life.

I cleaned his body and his bed, fed him, and was his nurse because he kept firing those we hired.

He wanted me so he could hate me for taking his beloved son away.

He blamed me, too. Mama never told him he was being wrong or unfair; she told me not to take it to heart.

If I had a child, I’d never love a man more than my baby. Never .

But I was probably never going to have children.

I’d never get that close to a man. Sure, I had sex.

That was a need like food and water. What I didn’t have was intimacy.

I didn’t have anything beyond a one-night stand and usually with an out-of-towner—not like that asshole smarmy tourist type who’d hit on me at Blackwood Prime but cowboys who came through Wildflower Canyon and went right on away, so I never saw them again.

I had a reputation. I didn’t fuck anyone I worked with or anyone local. Did that burn some asses? Sure. Did I give a flying fuck? No.

My body, my rules.

When the itch came, I prowled. It wasn’t hard to find a dick.

Go to a bar, smile at a man, and he was available.

I avoided those who wore a wedding band, but some men I knew took off their wedding rings when they were hunting.

I couldn’t help that. I wasn’t the one who took the vows.

That was their responsibility and their problem.

“You’re fine not attending the funeral? You’re not gonna argue?” he asked after he realized I was done with this conversation.

I glanced up at him. “It’s gonna be a spectacle. I don’t do that kind of shit.”

His jaw tensed like he didn’t quite believe me. Like he thought I should be more upset about it.

But I’d already made my peace. The funeral, the formal one, would be held at the church in town where he’d be buried in the Wilder plot. It would be packed with people who never really knew Nash but would show up anyway, dressed in black, whispering the right words in all the wrong ways.

But his body wouldn’t be in that casket.

He’d asked for a closed casket for this reason. Nash, Hunt, and I had talked to Father McCay before he died, and he’d agreed to perform rites twice, once for Nash and once for the world .

The morning before the spectacle, before the hollow condolences, Hunt and I would bury Nash next to Maria, here on the ranch, where he belonged.

At the formal ceremony, Father McCay would perform the rites—bless the grave with holy water, recite the prayers for the dead, trace the sign of the cross over the fresh-turned-earth.

The words would be familiar, the same ones spoken at a thousand funerals before this one, but they wouldn’t be for Nash. Not really.

No, the real farewell would come before the last prayer was said.

Hunt and I would bury the man we both thought of as a father in different ways, giving him what he wanted in the end: a place next to Mama for eternity.

We’d mark the grave not with a polished headstone but with his old saddle, placed on the dirt like a rider gone ahead, and a cross that I’d carved.

Nash had been clear about this. We were only to tell Duke if we felt he could handle it and if he would allow his wishes to be carried through.

After the way Duke behaved with me, Hunt and I knew it would be unwise to tell Nash’s son where he wanted to be buried. We didn’t even have to discuss it; we just knew.

“I thought you cared for Nash,” Duke goaded.

I reached for Jasper’s other side. “I did care for him. I took care of him. I don’t need to be at his funeral to prove what I feel for him.”

“My mother doesn’t want you around. She’ll come to the ranch house, and I need you to make yourself scarce. ”

“Loud and clear.”

Duke breathed out, long and slow. I didn’t look at him, but I could feel the shift in the air.

“Would he have wanted you at his funeral?” he asked softly, his words gentle and surprising.

I rested my hand on Jasper’s warm coat, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath my palm. He was solid, dependable—a mountain beneath me when the world felt wobbly.

I clutched at his mane, the coarse strands slipping through my fingers, grounding me. Jasper shifted slightly, adjusting to me the way a good horse always does—listening without words, steadying me without question.

“No,” I finally replied.

Nash wouldn’t give a shit about the hoopla. He’d only care that he was with Mama.

“Would he want me there?” Duke mused.

I cleared my eyes of emotion and looked into his blue ones, and for once, they weren’t spitting daggers at me. “You should’ve come around when Hunt told you Nash was dyin’ and asked him all your questions.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what you think it does. I don’t have answers for you.

I can tell you that Nash craved your forgiveness until the end and…

I lied to him and told him you had forgiven him.

I lied and told him you were on your way.

He was so delirious, he didn’t know that I kept up the same lies for days…

or maybe he knew, and he didn’t care because he liked the lies. ”

“Why would you do such a fool thing? Why would you lie like that, Elena? What right did you have?” He took some steps toward me, his hands clenched into fists.

Grief struck me like a 1,200-pound bronc—wild, unbroken, and determined to drive me into the dirt. I dropped the brush, letting it clatter against the stall floor.

Jasper flicked an ear, shifting slightly beside me, waiting.

I reached for him out of habit, running my fingers along his neck, scratching the spot he liked just below his mane.

The rhythmic motion steadied me and gave me something to focus on that wasn’t Duke’s anger pressing against me like a storm about to break.

“Because he was dyin’, Duke, and I was giving him respite from the regrets that ate at him.

” I bent down and picked up the brush, dusted it off, and started again—long, even strokes over Jasper’s coat, the simple, familiar act pulling me back from the pain.

I kept at it because if I stopped and looked at Duke now, I’d see too much.

And I wasn’t sure I could handle what was in his eyes.

“Why did you take care of him? Why not get a nurse?”

“Hunt told you he kept firing nurses, got upset, screamed, and all in all made a nuisance of himself. I could get someone to be around him part of the day, but not if he needed to be bathed or fed…or…he wouldn’t let anyone get close to him with all the medication he needed in the end. I had to do it.”

And while I had done all that, I wished Duke would come to see his father, hold his hand, and let the man die in peace.

Nash deserved that much. Gloria didn’t deserve Duke’s loyalty, but that wasn’t my business, and Nash would never let Duke know the truth about his mother.

So many secrets and all it did was tear a family apart in the worst way possible.

Duke was still carrying tremendous anger. Gloria was still manipulating her son.

But Nash was dead, and none of it mattered anymore, did it?

“He wanted you to be his nurse?” he scoffed like it wasn’t believable.

“Yeah, Duke, he did.” I stopped brushing Jasper and took a deep breath like I was about to give a confession.

I looked at Duke again and saw the sneer on his face, so much like Nash’s when he talked to me.

“He hated me. Blamed me for losing you. He wanted me to be there, to witness him dyin’ so I’d feel guilty about it for the rest of my life. ”

“How do you know that’s what he wanted?” Duke demanded.

I went back to brushing Jasper. “Because he told me. He told Hunt. He told anyone who cared to listen to him.”

I heard Duke’s indrawn breath and then, after an infinitesimal moment, felt him sigh. “You were…are to blame. You could’ve told me who your mother was. You could’ve left Wildflower Canyon so I could be there for my father.”

I nodded, not looking at him, not bothering to defend myself against a man who was too blind to see, who was deliberately turning away from the facts he knew so he could blame someone who wasn’t him for his choices. He was a lot more like Nash than he’d liked to believe— like father, like son.

“You’re right.”

Before Duke could throw some other poisoned arrow at me, Ben called out to me from outside the stable. “Elena, something is wrong with Biscuit’s hoof. The infected one. You wanna come take a look.”

“Yeah, I’ll be out in two seconds, Ben.” I faced Duke, suppressed my pain at his words so he’d see the Elena I had become—quiet, in control, hard. “Was that it?”

“Yeah. I don’t want you anywhere around here. Don’t want her to see you by accident.”

“Noted.”

“Where will you go? To Kincaid?”

“Why do you care where I go, Duke? I’ll be out of Gloria’s way, and soon, once the horses are sold, I’ll be out of yours, too.”