Page 16 of The Wrong Ride Home (Wildflower Canyon #1)

duke

I wanted a reaction out of her, and I got it. She looked stricken, and then she’d run. I heard hoofbeats not long after as Fiona nuzzled against me. I hurt her. I knew that, and a part of me felt triumphant, but another, the one that loved Elena, hated me for causing her pain.

“Come, Duke, let’s go to bed,” Fiona purred.

“Baby, why don’t you go along? I…I’ll be with you in a little bit.” I walked to the stable.

She crossed her arms. “I can’t wait to get out of here after the funeral. You’re different here. You’re no fun.”

“Different?” I peeked into the stable to confirm Elena wasn’t there.

“You’re so serious and…just…not my Duke.”

I looked at her then and knew why she felt that way: Here, in Wildflower Canyon, I was Elena’s Duke.

“Te amo, my Duke.”

“My Elena. ”

Fiona shook her head sadly. “We’ve been here nearly a week, and this is the first time you’ve touched me. Do you know that?”

“My father just died, Fiona. What the hell are you expecting from me?”

“I thought you didn’t give two shits about him and just wanted the ranch.”

“ He was my father ,” I gritted out. “Now, go back to the ranch house, and I’ll be there soon.”

Right after I found Elena.

I didn’t allow myself to dwell on why I should even go looking for her. It was crazy. Wrong. Dangerous.

Elena and I couldn’t be anything . Mama would lose her shit. And…it wasn’t like Elena wanted me back in her life. She looked at me with her cold, emotionless eyes, which made me want to goad her, get a reaction, and I just had, which made me feel like a worm.

When I suggested taking a walk, I hadn’t planned to make my girlfriend come while I watched my ex right outside the stables.

We were walking, and then she kissed me, and…

then I saw Elena. After that, things spiraled out of control.

Fiona thought we were back to the intimacy I knew she was craving.

I was dreading it. Being back home was messing with my head. Seeing Elena was fucking with my heart.

Fiona shot me an irked glance before striding angrily back to the ranch house.

I made my way through the stables toward the paddocks, where I encountered Ben.

He was young—barely in his early twenties—with sharp angles and a restless energy that set him apart.

According to Hunt, he was one of the hardest workers around.

He had that eager look common among younger ranch hands—the sort that meant he would tackle any grimy task without a single complaint if it proved his worth.

He looked up to Elena, that much was evident in how he admired her like a devoted yearling.

“Hey, is Elena around?” I asked, my voice low and cautious.

Ben, reins firm in hand as he led a ranch horse back to the stables, blinked in confusion. "Uh…I’m not sure."

I exhaled sharply, scanning the yard. “I heard hoofbeats.”

He hesitated, a glance toward the empty paddock telling me more than words ever could.

“She probably went for a ride. Stormchaser should be in the paddock, but he’s not.”

“Where would she go so late?” I pressed, worry creeping into my tone.

Ben shifted, rubbing the back of his neck as if pondering a secret. “I can guess.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Where?”

“Down by the river,” he replied softly. “She goes there when she needs to be alone.”

I knew where. “Can I borrow the horse?”

“Of course, sir.”

Without delay, I grabbed the reins of Whiskey Rush from Ben and hoisted myself up into the saddle.

I pressed my heels lightly into the gelding’s sides, and he responded immediately, moving into a steady lope. The night air was crisp, carrying the familiar scents of horse sweat, dry earth, and the distant bite of pine.

I nudged Whiskey forward, guiding him through the paddock and out onto the open range.

The night was deep. The sky stretched wide above me, with stars scattered like dust across the black.

The moon was just a sliver, half-hidden behind drifting clouds.

The air was cool with the last breath of winter, carrying the scent of earth and leather and the lingering promise of rain, which, according to the weather app, would be coming later tonight and would stay through tomorrow.

What did they say about when it rains during a funeral? That the heavens were grieving? That the soul was finding peace? Or maybe, I thought cynically, it just meant the world didn’t give a damn who you were—it’d drown you all the same.

The ride wasn’t long—maybe fifteen minutes at a steady pace. Enough distance to remind me how much I’d missed this.

There was nothing like riding at night when the world went quiet, and the only sounds were the steady beat of hooves on packed dirt, the soft creak of leather, the rhythmic sway of a horse moving beneath you—muscle and instinct carrying you forward.

It settled something in a man—something in me that had been restless for too damn long.

I kept Whiskey Rush at a brisk pace, cutting across the open pasture, then weaving through the line of cottonwoods as we neared the river. The sound of water came first—a low, steady rush growing louder as I drew closer.

I got off of him and looped the reins around a low-hanging branch, giving them just enough slack so he could lower his head but not enough to wander. He flicked an ear, huffed, then settled.

I stepped forward, careful where I placed my boots so as not to startle Elena, and moved slowly over damp earth and fallen leaves.

I looked for her, and my heart hurt when I saw her on her knees in the dirt, her shoulders shaking.

She was crying. The roar of the river masked her sobs and my presence.

My stomach churned with regret and dread.

I’d never seen her break apart like this—not even after the last time when I had hurt her.

“ You didn’t just break my heart, mi cielo; you broke me.”

I should leave, I thought, turn around and give her the privacy she deserved.

But I didn’t. Couldn’t.

I stood silently watching her fall apart, knowing I was the last person in the world who had a right to witness it.

I’d done this to her in an effort to show myself how she felt about me.

I knew how she felt. I’d always known. She used to wear her heart on her sleeve—while by the age of twenty, I’d mastered the art of hiding my feelings.

Now, it appeared so had she, unless she was alone in the place where we’d dreamed of a life of love together.

So, I remained hidden in the shadows, watching her, each moment intensifying my self-loathing for what I had done.

“Ever wonder who your daddy is?” I asked her once, reclining in the soft grass with my arms tossed casually behind my head. My eyes fixed on the endless blue sky, and I felt as though the world stretched infinitely without confines.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. She sat next to me, playing with a sprig of wild lavender. “Mama says it doesn’t matter.”

I tilted my head, watching how she bit her lip, marveling at how small and fragile she appeared despite the undeniable fire in her spirit.

“But it does matter to you.” I took her hand in mine, kissed her knuckles, and smelled the lavender she was still holding.

“Yes. But less and less.” She smiled at me. She put her hand on my heart. “Especially now that I have you.”

“Do you think your mother loves you?” I asked then because I wasn’t sure about mine loving me. She needed me, yes, but love?

She nodded. “Yes. But maybe not the way I see other mothers’ love. She works a lot, and she’s distant with me. I feel…I feel most of the time like I’m a bother, and she prefers it if I keep out of her way.”

“My mother clings to me,” I confessed. “I couldn’t wait to leave Dallas and get here, have some freedom. She’s always…on me. She’s so fragile. Crying, weeping, afraid that if I come here she’ll lose me like she lost Dad. ”

“She feels you’re all she has, Duke.” Elena cupped my cheek. “She loves you.”

“She also stifles me.”

“But you know she loves you. You have two parents who adore you.”

I felt guilty because she had neither. “I know. I’m very lucky.”

“Just because you have them both doesn’t mean it’s all roses,” she said with a perceptiveness that floored me. “You’re allowed to be annoyed and irritated.”

I had been tongue-tied, unable to find a fitting reply, so I reached out and squeezed her hand tenderly.

“When you talk about your mama, it sounds like you’re the parent, and she’s the kid.” More insights from my girl that hit the target.

“Don’t I know it?” I rolled to my side. “But it bothers me less and less…especially since I met you.”

I told her then about the suicide attempts.

She hugged me tight and told me she was sorry I had to go through that. She made me feel seen, understood—validated. Not like Mama, who had always acted like it was my duty to care for her as if my own feelings didn’t matter—as if her life and safety were my responsibility.

That summer, life had been a simple, untroubled melody…until everything fell apart, and I threw away the precious things we had once held dear. But how could I have kept those incredible moments? Our situation was untenable.

I now believed her when she said she hadn’t known about Maria. The woman I saw in front of me, and the girl I knew wouldn’t have lied. I’d just been so angry that I’d lashed out. I was losing Elena because there was no way I could keep Maria’s daughter in my life.

Finally, Elena stopped crying. I watched as she composed herself, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her jacket, she stood steadily and walked toward the river, toward the falling water.

The river roared as it tumbled over the rugged rocks, a steady, shimmering cascade of silver. A delicate mist floated in the cooling air, catching the fading light and wrapping the scene in an ethereal glow as if time itself had stilled.

She knelt at the river’s edge, cupping what I knew was shockingly cold water in her hands, then splashed it across her face. The water streamed down her skin, washing away the traces of her grief.

She then turned, not looking around, feeling safe and at peace that she was alone and no one had seen her lose her shit. She walked back to her waiting horse, swung up into the saddle, and rode off—not leaving behind any sign that she had been there at all.

I walked to the river’s edge where she’d just been and felt the agony of her pain like it was my own because, in truth, it was.

Seeing her opened every wound until I was just a throbbing mess.

But nothing has changed. Mama couldn’t even stand the idea of Elena at Nash’s funeral.

If I told her that I fucked Elena ten years ago and still wanted to…

that I loved her , my mother would have a fucking coronary event. I couldn’t kill my mother.

I sat on the grass, touching the wet blades .

I recall the first time Elena and I made love.

It was a beautiful day. The sky was dark blue, and the setting sun was indescribably opulent. The evening was perfect for poets to write love ballads about.

We lay on a blanket in the grass, her head resting on my chest, our fingers intertwined.

Elena tilted her head up to look at me, her dark hair falling in waves around her face. "I love you." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

I felt my heart swell with emotion as I looked into her deep brown eyes, and without saying a word, I kissed her.

We moved together in perfect harmony, our bodies speaking a language that only we could understand. It was pure, raw, and beautiful—perfect!

I was her first, and it was tender. It was amazing to be given that gift. I promised to cherish it and her. I hadn’t kept that promise. I hadn’t kept any of my promises to her, except maybe the one where I vowed I’d love her forever.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Elena.” I shook with the effort it took to move into her slowly.

She wrapped her legs around my waist as if it were the most natural thing. “You could never hurt me.”

What a fucking joke!

That night, we both felt like we were exactly where we were supposed to be—with each other. And as we lay there, spent and tangled in each other's arms, I knew that I never wanted to leave that moment. I never wanted to leave her. We were young and in love, and nothing mattered but us .

That memory would forever be etched in my mind, an anchor that kept me rooted here no matter how hard I tried to let Wildflower Canyon, the Wilder Ranch, and her go. Because even now, ten years later, I could still feel her in that warm summer breeze, her touch on my skin, her love in my heart.

Now, I had a new memory superimposed over that, one of her on her knees weeping because I’d shattered her dreams, her hopes, showing her I was with another woman.

If it were the other way around, I’d have fucking hurt the motherfucker.

But I knew she’d not do that to me, she didn’t have that kind of cruelty. I knew Elena. I’d always known her.

I did as she had, splashing some river water on my face to wash away my tears.

I’d made my decisions. I’d chosen my mother over my father. I’d chosen my mother over Elena. And now, I had to live with my fucking choices as they tortured me—I had to live with the knowledge that they tormented her as well, which somehow hurt the most.