Page 14 of The Wrong Ride Home (Wildflower Canyon #1)

elena

T he funeral was the following day.

I hadn’t seen Duke for three days now.

I was relieved.

Yes, I was.

Seeing him brought up memories and emotions that I didn’t have the energy to deal with. Even when he wasn’t there, I couldn’t pretend I didn’t care about him, so when he was here, it was all but impossible.

People died. So, why the hell didn’t love? And how could I still love him? I didn’t know the man Duke had become. I’d known a boy for a short time; how could I love this man who was cold and cruel enough to demand the person who held his father’s hand when he died not even to attend his funeral?

But then, everyone had always put someone else before me. For Mama, it was Nash. For Nash, Duke had been more important than even my mother. And for Duke, it was all about taking care of Gloria .

My laptop beeped to let me know I had a meeting in fifteen minutes.

I was in the office in the stables. It was a small room off the main aisle with an old desk, a filing cabinet that was only half-closed, and a window that let in the scent of horses and hay.

I didn’t care about the niceties, just that it had a Wi-Fi router and wall sockets so I could charge my laptop.

It was quiet this time of the evening when the day’s work had all but wrapped up outside, and all that I heard was the occasional nicker of a horse or the distant sound of boots on dirt.

I liked the peace and quiet of the Wilder Ranch, and I wondered where I’d go once the horses were sold.

Maybe I could ask the people I was talking to from California if they had any recommendations.

I knew Maverick would hire me in a heartbeat, but I didn’t think I could stay in Wildflower Canyon to see the ranch lose its glory and become something vulgar, something that I knew would kill Nash if he were alive.

He’d fought long and hard to keep the land away from the vultures as so many others in Wildflower Canyon were doing—but Wilder Ranch was the biggest prize, and when it fell, it would change the face of this small town with big ranches.

I settled into my chair, propped my feet up on the desk, and rested my laptop on my lap. Then, I opened the meeting link and waited.

“Elena, how you doin’, darlin’?”

“I’m good, Halstead. How’s California treating you?”

Richard Halstead was a buyer out of California, a sharp dealer with a good eye for horses and a reputation for keeping his cards close. He was personable and easy to get along with and knew how to shake hands like he meant it—but he never tipped his real price until the contract was halfway signed.

He wasn’t a cowboy, not in the working sense, but he knew bloodlines, pedigrees, and which horses could rake in money in the rodeo and performance circuits.

We'd done a few deals over the years, and I respected him—he didn’t waste my time, didn’t pretend to know more than he did, and didn’t get all bent out of shape buying a horse from a woman.

Halstead was looking for a broodmare and a working cow horse, and I had exactly what he wanted.

“She’s a hell of a mare, Halstead," I said, referring to Imperial Rose, a foundation-bred Quarter Horse with strong reining and cow horse lines. "You know what she is. She’s got Dash For Cash’s speed up top and Metallic Cat’s cow sense underneath. Bloodlines like that don’t sit on the table long.”

Halstead tilted his head, considering. "That right?"

I nodded, knowing I had him on the hook.

"You’ve got the paperwork in front of you.

Full genetic panel, clean. Her first two foals are already in training with six-figure trainers, and her third colt just sold to a guy in Texas who’s gunning for the NCHA Futurity.

She’s proven—every foal she’s dropped has been sound, correct, and built to work. ”

He shifted as if looking at something else on his screen, probably my email with all the attachments. I’d sent him everything—vet records, performance data on her offspring, and a video of her moving in the pasture, heavy with this year’s foal but still stepping like she owned the damn world.

"Al…right," he said after a beat. "Three-fifty."

Oh please!

I didn’t blink. "Five hundred."

Halstead scoffed. “Unless she’s actually giving birth to Peptoboonsmal, I’m not paying five hundred.”

Peptoboonsmal was a winner and an overwhelmingly successful sire whose offspring had earned over $26 million in competition, primarily in cutting and reined cow horse events. Imperial Rose was no Peptoboonsmal.

I shrugged. “Okay. Should we talk about Mistral? She’s?—”

“I don’t need another barrel horse,” he cut me off. “I want Imperial Rose.”

“You can have her for five hundred.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Come on, Elena, you know that’s top-tier.”

I lifted my hand like I was inspecting my nails—not that I actually was. They weren’t even clean right now. "The horse is top tier, Halstead."

Halstead watched me carefully. “I hear Nash’s kid is putting the ranch up for sale.”

I didn’t skip a beat. “You hear all sorts of things.”

“So, this is a fire sale?” He arched an eyebrow.

I smiled, slow and knowing. “Do you think there’s ever a fire sale with me running the horse program?”

He sighed. “Elena, I can’t do half a million. That’s gonna give me an ulcer. ”

I stayed silent for a moment, just long enough for him to feel it. Then I casually said, “I have another broodmare, Majestic Valor?—”

“I don’t want Majestic Valor.”

“You can have her for three-fifty.”

“Hell no. If I buy her, I want her for two-fifty.”

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal.” I let the silence stretch before dropping my offer. “Take Imperial Rose and Majestic Valor for seven seventy-five.”

Halstead narrowed his eyes. "Seven fifty."

I let another stretch of silence settle between us. I could practically hear him grinding his teeth.

“Seven seventy-five, Halstead.”

A beat. Then—"Fine. Send me the paperwork.”

I let out a tired breath like I was doing him a favor. “On its way.”

He chuckled. “You drive a hard bargain, Elena.”

I laughed. “If I told you how much you could’ve gotten them for, Halstead, that ulcer of yours would be real.”

He laughed again, shaking his head. “One day, I’ll get the better deal on you.”

“Not today,” I said sweetly.

Seven hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars for two horses! Damn good deal.

“Okay, now back to Wilder selling the ranch. What are your plans? You going to Kincaid?”

Everyone assumed, Maverick included, that I’d want to work for him. It was no wonder. Kincaid Farms was one of the most impressive horse operations in the West. Not some rinky-dink breeding program with a couple of stallions and a handful of broodmares—this was a multimillion-dollar empire.

His barns were state-of-the-art. They had climate-controlled foaling stalls, an equine rehab facility that rivaled what most veterinarians had access to, and an on-site genetics lab that tested for everything from speed markers to coat color probability.

His stock was unmatched.

Kincaid-bred horses weren’t just winners; they were legends. His cutting horses dominated at the NCHA Futurity. His reining stallions had bloodlines traced back to Hollywood Dun It and Colonels Smoking Gun. His yearlings routinely sold for six figures before they even set foot in an arena.

The buyers came from everywhere: Texas oil tycoons, Kentucky racing elites, and European investors who thought owning a champion reiner gave them American cowboy cred.

If you wanted the best, you came to Kincaid.

And if I wanted security, I’d be all in.

But that was the problem; I wasn’t looking for security—I was looking to forget, move past Wildflower Canyon, Duke, Nash, and Mama…my whole life.

“I was thinking of going somewhere warmer,” I told him.

He grinned appreciatively. "I have a few people who’d love to hire you, Elena. I swear to God, come down here, and I’ll have you a job that pays you three times what you make at Wilder in a weekend. "

"Thanks," I said, genuinely grateful for the offer. "Let me finish up here, and maybe I’ll come down for the NRCHA Snaffle Bit Futurity in the fall. See what kind of trouble I can get into. Will you be there?”

His grin widened. "Abso-fuckin’-lutely.”

The National Reined Cow Horse Association (NRCHA) Snaffle Bit Futurity was held every year in South Point Arena in Las Vegas in October, which gave me a solid five months to close down here, which would be how long it would take for me to sell the horses and for Duke to sell the place.

Considering the price tag on a hundred thousand acres of prime ranch land, it could take longer.

And if Halstead couldn’t help me, the NRCHA was a huge event for high-end Western performance horses, including cutting, reining, and cow horse competitions.

Wealthy buyers, breeders, and trainers all attend—it would be the perfect place to network for my next opportunity.

I had enough saved up to buy a new truck, pack up my life, and get on the road until I found my new home.

"Then it’s settled. You show up, and I’ll introduce you to the right people. Maybe even find you a horse worth betting on."

I’d missed dinner again by the time the call ended. I could probably rustle up a sandwich in the kitchen, but I felt like something a bit more substantial .

I could go down to The Rusty Spur, maybe pick up a tourist, and stay the night, get lost in someone else's hands, someone who didn’t know me, didn’t expect anything, and didn’t hate me.

I could let a stranger carry me for a few hours, give me respite from my thoughts and the grief of losing Nash, of never having a chance with Duke.

I’d get back early, bury Nash, and then head out to Maverick’s cabin so Gloria didn’t have to see me and be reminded of what a piece of shit human being she was.