Page 29 of The Wrong Ride Home (Wildflower Canyon #1)

elena

H unt was waiting when I got back to the bunkhouse, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe like he’d been there a while.

“You okay?”

I stopped in front of him, the scent of burnt paper and old regrets clinging to my skin.

I let out a slow breath. “No.”

His eyes softened just a fraction. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded like he understood.

“You wanna get the fuck outta here?”

I murmured out a breath, my hands on my hips. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He pushed off the frame. “We’re goin’ to the Rusty Spur.”

I blinked. “ We?”

That’s when I noticed the others. Ben, Jace, and Caleb were standing behind Hunt like a bunch of overgrown strays.

Ben grinned. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Jace slung an arm over my shoulder. “Or three.”

Caleb smirked. “And maybe a bad decision or two.”

The ache in my chest eased just a little.

"Y’all are idiots," I muttered.

Ben wiggled his eyebrows. "Idiots with truck keys."

Hunt grabbed his hat. “C’mon, Elena, we’re blowin’ off steam tonight. Ben is DD.”

Ben groaned. “Why am I always the DD?”

For the first time all day, I felt a ghost of a smile tug at my lips. “’Cause you’re twenty?” I suggested. Not that anyone gave a shit around here.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

“You can have one beer?” I said to him.

“Can he handle it, though?” Caleb wanted to know.

We gently ribbed Ben all through the twenty-minute drive to the bar.

Once we got there, I realized this was exactly what I needed.

The Rusty Spur wasn’t fancy, not by a long shot—even if the shot was fired from a busted old rifle held together with baling wire.

It was rough around the edges, built for drinking, dancing, and settling scores—not sipping cocktails or making polite conversation. Here, you grabbed a pitcher after a long day and listened to old cowboys argue over the best fencing wire .

If you didn’t like a bar packed with cowboys carrying the scent of horse, hay, and a hard day’s work—if the sound of boot heels scuffing against worn wood didn’t strike you as music, or if you didn’t take your whiskey cheap and neat—then this sure as hell wasn’t your kind of place.

I slid into a booth, the cracked leather sticking to my jeans, soft from years of use.

The old jukebox struggled to be heard over the racket; George Strait’s voice cut through the air as a rowdy group of ranch hands crowded around the pool table, already talking shit about who was gonna lose and how much.

“How y’all doin’?” Betsy, the blonde server, came along as soon as she saw Hunt, her tits all but spilling out of her low-cut black top. “And how you doin’, Hunt?”

“ Heavens to Betsy ,” Jace teased, “You didn’t ask me how I’m doin’?”

Betsy made a face. Her eyes had always been on Hunt, and his eyes had never been on her, except he had fucked her a few times, which had given the poor girl some hope.

She didn’t like me because she had the notion, as some others did, that Hunt and I were an item—which suited me fine; it kept the local riff-raff away from me. No one wanted to fuck with Hunt.

Hunt barked out our order. “Four burgers, extra bacon, extra pickles for everyone, and none for Ben. Fries—crispy this time—so you tell Gator that he better do them double fried for us. And four whiskeys—neat with a beer back. ”

Betsy smiled seductively, flipping her notepad closed. “Anything else, Hunt ?”

Hunt reclined, tipping his hat up just enough to meet her eyes. “Yeah, Bets. Don’t water down the pour.”

Betsy was back soon with shots of Wild Turkey 101 and Lone Star beer backs for all because this was ranch country, and that’s what a cowboy drank when he wanted to take the edge off.

“Drink first, think later,” Hunt ordered.

No one argued. We took the shot of whiskey. It burned clean and sharp, taking the edge off the hurt inside me, at least for now.

“Now, Hunt, we thought you’d get the good stuff, ya know? Buffalo Trace,” Jace teased. “Since we hear you gonna have your own place.”

“You gonna need help with the horses,” Ben chimed.

“We’re here to drink and eat. It’s not a fuckin’ job interview, Ben,” Hunt chided.

“We all gonna need jobs.” Caleb drew a line through the condensation of his beer glass. “How long before the place sells, Elena?”

“Six to eight months.”

The mood went a little somber at that, so I banged my hands on the table. “Come on, y’all need to loosen your bullets a little, or none of you’re gonna get laid tonight.”

“I never get laid,” Ben bemoaned.

“I told you; I’m gonna help you,” Jace assured Ben.

“Don’t need your kinda help.” Ben rolled his eyes. “Last time you tried to help me, you ended up with the girl riding you, cowboy, and I had to fuckin’ hear the racket.”

Caleb looked around the room. “It’s thin gruel today. But next week during the rodeo…the talent is gonna be somethin’ special.” He made a lewd gesture with his hands, indicating breasts.

Betsy came back with our food and tried to flirt with Hunt, who ignored her. I felt sorry for the girl, but she really needed to get herself together and get over Hunt.

After two shots of whiskey, two beers, and one burger, I started to feel human.

Ben nudged my shoulder. "You feel better yet?"

I tilted my head, considering. "Not entirely."

Jace grinned. "Guess we’ll just have to keep drinkin’ till you do."

The throbbing in my chest hadn’t disappeared, but it had dulled, smoothed over by the burn of alcohol, the steady chatter of cowboys, and the rhythm of a steel guitar twanging from the speakers.

I went to the bar, deciding to find some entertainment for the night. There were some out-of-towner cowboys, and I wouldn’t mind riding one of them, I thought.

The alcohol had dropped some of my inhibitions, and I was giving Betsy a chase for her money with my flirting. I took a man to the dance floor and let myself go.

I wasn’t thinking about Nash. I wasn’t thinking about Wilder Ranch. And I sure as hell wasn’t thinking about Duke. Not until the son of a bitch walked through the damn door .

I felt him before I saw him—a shift in the air, a prickle at the back of my neck.

I ignored him for a good thirty minutes, and then I couldn’t because he got in my face—the arrogant prick.

I was laughing, my hand loosely resting on the chest of a man I hadn’t even bothered to learn the name of, swaying to the music, letting myself just be.

A hand wrapped around my wrist, firm, possessive.

“That’s enough.”

I turned to look at the man who thought he could say such shit to me. He looked like sin in a denim jacket and an expression that told me he was about five seconds away from throwing a punch.

The out-of-towner looked between us, confused. "This guy a problem?"

I almost laughed at the irony.

“Not my problem.” I tugged my wrist free.

But Duke wasn’t letting this go. He didn’t look at the man, probably didn’t give a single damn about him ‘cause his eyes were on me.

“You want to leave her, the dance floor, and the bar in that order,” Duke ordered.

“Who the fuck do you?—”

Duke silenced him with a look. Christ! At twenty, he’d been hot ; now he was…well… hotter . I shouldn’t have had that third shot of Wild Turkey, I thought as I watched the man who I’d wanted to be entertained by tonight run away. I didn’t even hear what Duke said to him that made him go pale.

“What was that?” I demanded, trying to wrestle my wrist free, but he wouldn’t let me. Instead, he pulled me into his arms. We weren’t dancing…we were… entangled .

"What the hell are you doin’, Elena?"

I lifted a brow. "About what?”

“With that man?”

“I was tryin’ to get laid, Duke, until you decided to play alpha fuckin’ male.”

Duke’s jaw ticked. “Do you even know that asshole’s name?”

“Don’t need to know his name to ride his cock, Duke.”

“So, you were just going to fuck him?”

The way he said it—low, rough like it killed him to even acknowledge it—sent something hot curling through my stomach. I hated him for it. For making me feel. For making me want.

“Yeah, Duke, I was goin’ to fuck him… hard .” This time, when I pulled away, he let me go, but he followed me as I stomped out of the bar, walked a distance to the parking lot, wanting privacy to scream into the air and maybe at him as well, since I could feel him behind me.

I turned to rip him a new one, but before I could, his hand was on my face, fingers curling around my jaw, tilting my chin up, and before I could stop it, his mouth crashed onto mine.

The kiss was hard, desperate, there was nothing sweet about it.

I felt him against and in every inch of me—his hands, his heat, the taste of him mixed with whiskey, the way his body pressed against mine like he was trying to prove something neither of us could admit.

For a moment—just a moment—I let him. I let myself have him.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned as he nibbled, bit, and plunged his tongue back inside my mouth.

Reality slammed into me.

I shoved him away, breath coming fast, hands clenched into fists.

“You son of a bitch.”

His chest rose and fell hard, like he’d just run miles.

I shook my head, voice sharp. “What the hell is this? You wanna make me the other woman? That it?”

Something flickered across his face— guilt ? Good.

“You’re with Fiona,” I raged. “So don’t you dare come in here acting like you have any claim over me.”

He didn’t say anything because we both knew I was right. We both also knew I was wrong. We had a claim over each other whether we liked it or not. I definitely didn’t like it.

“You can finger fuck her in front of me, but you have a problem with me dancing with?—”

“I did it because you were there,” he drawled, his eyes fiery. “I did it because I wanted to know.”

“Know what?” I flung my hands in the air.

“Know if you still felt like you used to…like I do.”

I took two steps back. Everything inside me shut down.

I shook my head weakly .

No, no, no. No fucking way was I going to play his games.

No way was I going to let this man get close to me. No fucking way was I going to open my heart to him or anyone else. I was closed for that kind of business.

“If you touch me again, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to use your hand for a long time,” I threatened. “Stay the hell away from me, Duke. I’m not interested in your bitch girlfriend’s leftovers.”

Then I turned and walked back into the bar. I took the shot Hunt had in his hand and threw it back.

“I need to get back,” I told him.

Hunt nodded and waved to Ben.

“It’s early,” Ben protested, but he had the truck keys out.

“Take her to the ranch and then come back,” Hunt instructed.

He looked at me as if checking to make sure I was all right. Then his eyes flickered to the door. He hissed, and I guessed he’d seen Duke and surmised why I’d gone from happy drunk to pissed-off drunk.

“You want me to come with you?” Hunt asked.

“Nope, you hang here and get laid,” I slurred slightly as I swayed. Yeah, that fourth whiskey had been a bad idea. I hooked my arm into Ben’s. “Cowboy, take me home.”