Page 48 of The Wrong Ride Home (Wildflower Canyon #1)

elena

I didn’t plan on taking Duke to Nash’s grave, ever , considering how he’d been behaving since he came back. But his genuine remorse told me that he’d respect Nash’s last wishes.

Since the cottonwood was a good twenty-minute ride out, we took the ATV instead of saddling up. The horses had worked hard enough that day, and I didn’t have the wherewithal to tack up.

The engine rumbled low beneath us, the cool April breeze cutting through the quiet. The land stretched vast and endless around us, and the twilight sky hung heavy with clouds that hadn’t yet decided if they’d break.

When we reached the cottonwood, I cut the engine, and the silence pressed in—thick and heavy. We climbed out, our boots crunching through the dry grass as we walked the rest of the way.

Duke stopped a few paces from where his father lay, hands on his hips, staring down at the simple wooden cross.

“What’s this?” he asked, but I knew he knew.

“Mama is here.” I pointed to her resting place with the cross and her name carved into it. “And…Nash is here.” I waved to the cross and his saddle.

Duke stared down at the earth, his breathing suddenly heavier, confusion etched across his face. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to grieve—or maybe he was just angry as hell. I wasn’t sure. A flicker of doubt crept in. Had I been too hasty in bringing him here?

Then his shoulders shook. A ragged breath. A quiet, broken sound.

His knees hit the ground, dust rising in a soft cloud around him.

I knelt beside him, pressing my hand against the dirt as if touching the earth meant touching the man who had raised me, the man who had broken me, the man I had loved and resented in equal measure.

Without thinking, I pulled him into me, wrapping my arms around him as he fell apart.

Because I loved Duke Wilder with everything I had, and seeing him like this—raw, hurting, shattered—felt like a hot poker straight through my chest. So, I held him.

Let him grieve. Let him mourn. Let him release all the sorrow, the guilt, the heartache that had been locked inside him for too damn long.

I knew what it felt like to lose a parent. But for Duke, it wasn’t just loss—it was regret. A bone-deep ache over the words left unsaid, the chances not taken, the wounds never healed. And now, it was too late.

“He was happy when he died.” I stroked his back and felt him clutch my hips hard.

The ground hurt my knees, but I didn’t care.

My man was with me, and my world had never felt this right.

“I told him that you’d forgiven him, that you loved him.

I told him that you were going to keep the ranch and save it for your children. I told him?—”

“Lies,” he whispered, raising his head. He cupped my face. “You lied for me.”

Tears filled my eyes. “And for him.”

“But also for me.”

I nodded. I had no guardrails, no protection against this man. I never had any. Was I foolish? Yes, probably, but wasn’t love supposed to make us stupid?

“I don’t deserve you.”

I laughed softly. “You don’t have me.”

“Lying again, Florecita .”

I stilled. He hadn’t called me that since…since he left, and I felt tremors run through me at the intimacy.

“Don’t,” I murmured, wanting to protect my heart, save myself.

“I trust you with my life.” He held my face still, so I’d be forced to look at him. “With my fuckin’ life. Tell me you don’t trust me.”

“I don’t.” It wasn’t a lie. “You broke me.” A sob wrenched out of me. “You called me a whore.”

He leaned his forehead against mine. “I can’t even apologize, baby, because words mean horseshit.”

“You know what Nash used to say? ”

“What?”

“That ‘ apologies are like pissing in the wind—feels like you’re doin’ something, but all you get is a mess .’”

He laughed then through his tears. “Nash was a wise fuckin’ man.

But he wasn’t wise enough, was he?” He looked at me and brushed his lips against mine.

Tremors shook my body. It was a tender, gentle kiss full of love and affection.

“He didn’t marry the woman he loved. He didn’t take care of her. I won’t make that mistake.”

“You already made your mistakes, Duke. Mistakes neither of us can recover from.”

“No. I refuse to believe that we can’t come back from that. I refuse to believe you’ll let a twenty-year-old dickhead take the love of your life away from you.”

I pushed him away, anger surging through me. He fell on his ass. “You destroyed me.” I straddled him and began to pound at his chest. He didn’t stop me, just let me hit him. “You killed me from within.” I was screaming now as I struck him. My fists hurt because the son of a bitch had abs.

I began to cry, and he pulled me to him, settled me in his arms, my thighs nestled between his. And maybe it was the grave, or maybe it was the fact that we were finally stripped bare, but the words came easier than they ever had.

“I lost our baby,” I wailed.

His grip tightened on me. “Tell me.”

I couldn’t. Instead, I sobbed my heart out, grief pouring from me in ragged gasps, the burden too much to carry alone any longer. Duke let me break, let me empty out every ounce of pain until there was nothing left.

When the tears finally dried up, I sat up, my body heavy, my throat raw.

Duke slid his arm around me, solid and steady, anchoring me to the moment, to him.

He didn’t rush me, didn’t push for words I wasn’t ready to say.

He just held me, letting his warmth soak into my bones, letting me know I wasn’t alone.

And then by the graves of Nash and Mama, beneath the open sky, surrounded by the land that had shaped us both—I told him the sad story.

“After you left, Nash…he said worse than you did.”

“Tell me,” he insisted.

“He called me a whore and a slut. He said you were off limits, and how dare I think I could have something to do with his boy. He said I was an uneducated tramp, and you were destined for better.” I hung my head, the shame of his words still making me weak.

“And then…Mama said she was disappointed. She said that I was going to end up like her, a mistress and nothing more, and maybe I deserved that.”

“Fuckin’ hell.”

“I was pregnant. I was going to tell you when you came back. I was so scared and?—”

"Goddamn it, Elena," he choked out, his head dipping to my shoulder. "I'm so fuckin' sorry."

I felt his tears, hot against my skin, his breath shuddering as he held me tight. And for once, I didn’t mind that he was sad—because it meant, for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t alone.

“It gets worse so you may want to hold on to your dramatic responses,” I quipped.

He let out a watery chuckle. “Okay. I can do that.”

I sniffed, swiping at my face before shifting back, putting just enough space between us so I could look him in the eye. I needed the distance to say this part—to lay it bare without the warmth of his touch softening the edges.

“I went by the river and…I was so lost. So scared. So alone.” He was going to say something, but I raised my hand.

“This is hard enough to tell you without you interrupting me.” He shut up.

“I was about ten weeks pregnant, I think. I didn’t go see a doctor or anything; I just did a home pregnancy test. I was by the river,” I said again, “and I decided to….”

“ Florecita ?” The pain in his voice matched what was in my heart.

“I jumped in.”

“No,” he moaned.

I knew what he was thinking. The river on Wilder land was wild, untamed—fast-moving and merciless.

It crashed against the rocks, churning, foaming, hungry.

The current was vicious, dragging debris—branches, rocks, anything foolish enough to challenge it—downstream like a damn freight train.

The river didn’t care if you were strong or if you could swim.

It would drag you under, pull you down, and never let go.

It was cold, too. The kind that locked your lungs up tight and turned your muscles to stone before you even had a chance to fight. You didn’t swim in that river. Either you made it across by sheer luck, or it swallowed you whole.

“Hunt pulled me out. I found out later that I was unconscious for a while. He took me to one of the empty cabins we used for the temporary hands. When I woke up, I was cramping. He wanted to take me to the hospital, but I told him that no one could know. He stayed with me that night. And then he stayed another. He bathed me. Gave me painkillers. Held my hand. Let me cry.”

When I finally stopped talking, Duke wasn’t breathing right. His face was tight with pain, hands clenched into fists against his thighs, his whole body shaking like he was trying to hold himself together.

“Jesus Christ, Elena.” His voice was wrecked.

I let go, let the wind take my breath, take the burden I had carried for so long. “After, I moved out of the ranch house. I couldn’t leave Mama; she was so scared I would, and I told her I was just going to earn my keep from now on.”

“And that’s why you didn’t go to college?”

I shrugged. “I barely finished high school, Duke. But it bothered me, so I got my GED a few years ago.” It was a pointless exercise, but it made me feel better to at least have that, even if I didn’t go to a fancy college (or any college) like Duke.

“I wanted to work, earn a living, mostly prove to Nash that I wasn’t a whore. ”

He cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing away the last of my tears. “You’re not. You never were. Those were ugly words from a stupid boy who didn’t know what the hell he had.” His voice was rough, raw. “You’re strong. You’re smart. You’re beautiful. And, Jesus, Elena, you’re Goddamn glorious.”

I shrugged. “I don’t believe any of that, so…don’t bother.”

“Mama kept threatening to kill herself,” he said softly. “All the fuckin’ time I lived in fear. So, every time she called, I went running, afraid that by the time I got there, it would be too late and she’d OD. Finding out that was her way of manipulating me is…hell, Elena, it’s devastating.”

I picked up a stone and played with it. “How is she going to handle your leaving her now?”

“I’m still terrified that I’m going to get a call that she killed herself and…it’ll be my fault.”

“No. That would be her choice,” I said emphatically. “Remember, you can’t control how others behave or act, only how you react to their behavior and actions.”

“When did you become so wise?” He put a finger under my chin to raise my eyes to his. “God, you’re beautiful. Every time I look at you, I feel like I can’t breathe because you…are so fuckin’ beautiful.”

A part of me, a very small part of me, believed him. Maybe because I desperately wanted to.

“Don’t ask me to stop saying it,” he said when he saw my lips thin. “I’ve been dying to say it for weeks now, and finally, I have the freedom to be with you, say whatever the hell I want. I can’t stop myself.”

We sat there for a long while, hands tangled together, the silence between us saying more than words ever could.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about all of this—about the past, about the future—but I knew one thing for certain: Duke was right.

We had a connection, something deeper than time or distance, something that refused to fade no matter how much we’d tried to bury it.

The only way to sever it would be for me to leave if he was staying.

But would that even work? We’d been apart for ten years, and look at us now—right back where we started, drawn to each other like a river to its bed.

Desperate to touch, to hold, to breathe each other in.

So would leaving really help? Or would it just be another lie I told myself?

Because the truth was, I didn’t want to leave.

Not now. Not when my Duke was here, right beside me.

“When we have children, we’ll be careful with them, Florecita ,” he said suddenly. “We’ll love them unconditionally.”

I rolled my eyes. “We’re not even together, and you’re birthing children in your head?”

“We’re together,” he assured me. “We’ve always been together.”

“Mama didn’t love me as much as she loved Nash.”

“My mother doesn’t love me as much as she loves designer goods,” he mocked.

We both laughed.

“How much stuff can she want?”

“I have no idea, but she spends…a lot. Like, she’ll buy a necklace for a million dollars.”

I scrunched my nose. “No shit! But why?”

“So, she can wear it to a party, and everyone will know she has a necklace worth a million dollars,” he explained.

“Wow! I could wear new boots here and no one would give a shit…maybe except me since they wouldn’t be broken in,” I said dryly.

Duke let out a long, shaking breath. “I fucked up big time, didn’t I?”

I almost laughed. “Yeah.”

“I’m gonna make it up to you.”

“How?”

“By showing you every damn minute of every damn day that I love you…and not just by pissin’ in the wind as Nash said, but by?—”

“Just let that metaphor go,” I cut him off. “I don’t need to know what you’ll replace pissing with.”

It was like we were back in time, playing and bantering. I couldn’t have imagined that telling him my truth would lift the pain, but it did.

He pulled me into his arms. “You gonna give me a chance, Florecita ?”

“I don’t know.”

“You already have given me a chance”—he kissed my hair—“and I promise I’m not going to shit all over it.”

“You had to go there, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he said, his eyes dancing with amusement.

We laughed again, real and open, the kind of laughter that came from the heart—the kind that loosened something tight inside me, something I hadn’t even realized I was holding on to.