Page 46 of The Wrong Ride Home (Wildflower Canyon #1)

duke

T he bunkhouse dining hall smelled like roast chicken, fresh cornbread, and tension .

The long wooden tables were scarred with years of elbows, knife marks, and the occasional beer bottle slammed down in an argument. The overhead lights illuminated faces that had spent the last few weeks waiting for bad news.

I sat at the head of the table, Hunt and Roy on either side of me. Plates were piled high with food—meat, bread, mashed potatoes, and green beans. The murmur of conversation settled as people turned their attention to me.

Elena was at the far end with Miss Patsy, Itzel, and Allison, the young woman who helped around the house.

They weren’t the only women on the ranch—a handful of the hands were married, their wives living in the cabins out past the main barn.

They helped with cooking and cleaning and were compensated for their work .

The bunkhouse crew ate as they waited for me to explain why I was having dinner with them. Nothing came between them and chow, not after a long day of hard, back-breaking work. The second bunkhouse crew was at an adjoining table. They worked closer to the cattle pastures.

For the most part, everyone got along, thanks to Hunt and Elena’s leadership. There were a few like Sawyer now and then, but they usually weeded themselves out or got shown the door.

At plenty of ranches, women ended up in the bunkhouse, shacking up with their boyfriends or lovers, which only led to trouble.

But not here. Hunt had made the rules clear—no one stayed two nights in a row unless they worked the ranch.

That policy kept things clean, kept drama to a minimum, and made sure fights over women didn’t turn into full-blown disasters.

I tapped my knife against a glass to get everyone’s attention, and when I did, I simply said, “I’m not selling.”

Silence.

Then a scrape of a chair, the thunk of a glass hitting the table, and finally, cheers.

“Well, Goddamn,” Cal grunted. “’Bout time.”

A few men made similar statements, while others kept eating like I’d only confirmed what they already knew. But beneath it all, the tension that had lived in this place since Nash died finally eased.

Roy smirked. “Figured you’d come around. Knew you weren’t that stupid. ”

“Debatable,” Hunt muttered around a bite of cornbread.

Laughter rolled through the room.

Jace wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So, what now, boss? You’re gonna start running cows yourself?”

I snorted. “Hell no. That’s what I got all of you for.”

Another round of laughter, glasses clattering, and the sound of forks hitting plates again.

After dinner, which was raucous, I stretched my arms over my head. "So, y’all dealing me in tonight for a few rounds of poker?”

A chorus of “ hell no ” rang through the room.

Jace shook his head. “Bossman, I ain’t risking my paycheck.”

Another ranch hand muttered, “I like my money where it’s at, thanks.”

Roy just scoffed. “Boy damn near cleaned me out last time he sat at this table. No offense, boss, but get lost.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Fine. Guess I’ll just sit back and enjoy the company.”

Cal tipped his beer at me. “See? He’s learnin’.”

I wasn’t sure about that. But I was trying.

As the dining area cleared, I went outside to look for Elena.

The night air was cool, and the scent of earth and horses settled deep in me. I found her by the fence, drinking coffee. She didn’t turn when I approached, even though I knew she heard me.

I stopped beside her, resting my arms on the top rail. I felt her flinch and move away .

She was like an unsteady filly.

I remember Nash teaching me about horses when I was six or seven.

He’d stand by the paddock, looking as big as a damn mountain—or at least, that’s how he felt to me.

Tall, rough, solid as the land itself. He wore a sweat-stained hat, an old denim shirt with pearl snaps, and a scowl that could send grown men running.

I gripped the top rail of the fence, trying to act like I belonged, my small hands barely wrapping around the weathered wood as I peered into the round pen, where one of the hands was working a high-strung filly, easing her into the idea of wearing a saddle.

“You see that horse out there?” Nash asked, pointing with his chin.

I nodded. She was skittish, barely halter-broke, stomping at the dirt like the whole damn world was her enemy.

“She’s mean,” I muttered, watching her toss her head.

Nash let out a low chuckle that sounded like gravel shifting under boot heels. “She ain’t mean, son. She’s scared. Big difference.”

I looked up at him, confused.

He rested one calloused hand on my shoulder and kneaded. “Thing about horses, Duke—they don’t trust easy. And they never forget who was rough with ‘em.”

I’d nodded like I understood, even though I didn’t.

But now, standing here all these years later, I understood. Elena wouldn’t forget how I’d hurt her, and trust wasn’t something I could just ask for—it was something I’d have to earn. The thing was that Elena wasn’t just angry; she was wary. Guarded. Scared.

Pain was a damn good teacher, and it had taught her well. She didn’t want to be anywhere near me, not because she didn’t feel something—God, I knew she did—but because she was afraid. Scared that if she gave in, if she let herself be with me again, I’d do what I did before—I’d break her.

I had to show her that I’d never do that again, that I’d rather die than cause her pain.

I’d done that enough, and now I had to find a way to heal her, be the medicine that made her better—because she was mine.

I had lived a life of distrust, which didn’t surprise me, considering how I’d been raised by a man who showed no emotions and a woman who lied about hers.

“I wasted so much fuckin’ time,” I said hoarsely.

She didn’t say anything to that, kept her focus on me.

“I miss him,” I admitted, my voice rougher than I wanted it to be. “I…should’ve been here during his last days. I fuckin’ hate myself for not telling him to his face that there was nothing to forgive, that I loved him, because fuck, Elena, I did.”

Tears filled my eyes as I thought about Nash—the larger-than-life man whom I’d respected and then hated.

I couldn’t understand how he could’ve left my mother, disrespected their marriage vows, and Mama had fueled that emotion.

She’s never had one good thing to say about Nash, and after that summer, I started to believe each one of her lies.

Was Nash perfect? Hell no. But then, who was?

We were all flawed, all damaged, all broken—we were, all of us, overcoming shit.

“I wish I’d had more grace.” I closed my eyes, hanging my head in shame and remorse.

A hand rested on mine, not soft but a touch that was calloused, beautiful, hers . “I know. But he believed you had forgiven him, Duke, before he was gone; he believed that you loved him.”

I raised my eyes to meet hers, wet with regret. “Because you lied to him.”

“Yes.”

“You loved him.”

“Yes.”

I gave her a watery smile. “And you did it for me, too, didn’t you? So, when I was standing next to you, feeling like ripping my heart out for hurting my father, you could give me this.”

Her eyes flashed surprise.

Oh, baby, yes, I know you.

Our lives had taken different paths, we’d spent a decade apart, growing, changing—but at her core, she was still Elena. The fire in her, the way she loved, the way she fought, the way she stood her ground—that hadn’t changed.

Her experiences had shaped her, just like mine had shaped me. But her identity, her values, the essence of who she was? That had stayed the same. And I knew her like I knew the land, like I knew the rhythm of a horse beneath me. Like I knew my own damn name.

“What did he say to you in the letter?” I asked.

She drew a pattern on the back of my hand. “He didn’t want you to know.” And then, as if realizing that she was touching me, she pulled away.

“He’s dead, Elena, he doesn’t give two shits what you do.” I took her hand in mine and squeezed gently and added in warning, “And don’t make shit up because you think it’ll hurt me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Wasn’t planning to.”

“Tell me,” I urged.

She puffed out air between pursed lips. “I burned the letter just like Nash asked, but I get it that you want to know your father’s last words to me.”

I listened as she told me how Nash had apologized to her in the letter.

How he’d known he’d treated her like shit and that he hadn’t left her anything because he couldn’t—not with Gloria watching, not with me in charge.

She told me that Nash knew why she stayed, that Maria had tethered her to him, and that he had known he would fall apart without someone to keep him together.

“He called me his guardian angel,” she whispered. “Said he was never mine, though.”

I breathed out slowly. “Jesus.”

She was crying, and I couldn’t stand it. I wiped her tears.

“He said he was proud of me even when he didn’t say it. Especially then. ”

I said nothing but softened my touch and cupped her cold cheek, wanting both to warm and comfort her.

“He said he was unfair to me, and he was sorry about that.”

I was sorry, too, because I had treated this wonderful, caring, loving woman worse than she ever deserved.

She sniffled, and I felt a slight hesitation from her.

“What?”

She bit her lower lip. “He said if you knew he loved me like a daughter, you wouldn’t forgive him. And he wanted you back, even after he was gone.”

The silence between us pulled tight, stretched thin like a wire about to snap.

I dropped my hands from touching her, hating myself.

She reached over, resting her palms on my heart. Then, she looked at me, her brown eyes full of kindness and love.

“I would’ve forgiven him,” I said hoarsely.

She nodded. “I know.”

“I held on to my anger for so long.”

“You were young.”

“Not young anymore, just plain stupid,” I muttered. “Mama fed me lies, and I was too damn stubborn to question them. And even when I did, even when I had moments where I thought about reaching out to Nash, I let my pride stop me.”

“You’re here now.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, but it’s too late. ”

She was quiet for a moment, then tilted her head, considering me. “You want to visit him?”

I frowned. “What?” Did she mean to go all the way to the family plot?

She met my gaze. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” I replied without any hesitation.