Page 4 of Wild Rose (Blue River Springs #1)

Wilder

First of July and I already feel like I’ve dropped ten pounds of sweat this season. The heat doesn’t usually bother me. The workload I’m stuck with now does. The stress does. The weight I’m bearing to keep this place running smoothly.

And make it look like we can afford to be one man down.

I ride across the pasture slowly, back toward the house, scanning the fields for routine inspection.

It’s not dusk yet, but I’m shot as hell since I was up at four this morning, rearranging the week’s schedules to accommodate last-minute tours.

OK, so maybe they weren’t last -minute, per se.

Maybe I’m working them into the schedule last-minute.

And somewhere deep, deep in the back of my worries is Wesley’s sister. My last and only interaction with her was less than .?.?. well, mature. So excuse me if I’m less than confident that she could be of any use to me here.

I shake my head. Focus.

Did I check everything?

The fences seem to be holding up well. That’s good.

It’s not like me to be forgetful. My head’s been somewhere else these last few rounds. And with the heavier workload, I can’t afford things slipping through the cracks.

One brother’s head wrapped in a fog is enough for this ranch.

My muscles ache, and my brain hurts from the amount of unreliable suppliers I never realized we work with. The pressure is mounting.

But nothing hurts like the knot of worry in my chest for Dallas.

He’s no closer to healing than the day he had to say goodbye.

Reaching the house, I take a deep breath, bracing myself for another afternoon of trying to get Dallas out of bed and outside.

To my surprise, I hear him in the kitchen. The scent of citrus and something herbal hits my nose as I make my way inside.

His back is to me, facing the kettle. “Morning,” he calls out.

“It’s after four, Dal.”

Dallas turns with a shrug. “Oh well.” Older by three years and taller by an inch, my brother is a constant reminder of how different we are.

He navigates the world with a natural serenity.

His composed demeanor is frustrating for someone like me whose mind runs a mile a minute, constantly buzzing with worry, judging everything I lay my eyes on, and overbearing myself with burden.

I’m not proud that Rose comes to mind when I think of these burdens I’m taking on for the sake of others, but it’s just how I see things right now.

I judge everything poorly until I’m proven otherwise.

It’s not lost on me that I’ve found flaws in every supplier I’ve come to know since taking over inventory for the last two months.

Setting down my hat, I eye the dark stains on my marble counter, slices of lemon on a wooden cutting board, and stalks of washed basil in a bowl. “What you up to?”

He barely glances up. “Lemonade.”

“That’s a lot of lemons. Expectin’ company?”

“I didn’t make it right .?.?.” he mutters, his focus deep.

I point to the dark drops of liquid on the counter. “Tea?”

“Millie liked black tea lemonade.” He tries a sip of the mixture. “Too sweet.”

I nod slowly. “So .?.?. an Arnold Palmer.”

“No. Millie couldn’t pronounce it.” He grins a little before it’s gone. “Said it was a tongue-twister.”

I exhale a small laugh. “Hardly.”

He looks up. “How are things?”

I blink in surprise, since he hasn’t asked about the ranch in a while. “Great. I mean .?.?. we’re managing. How are you?”

He nods. “I dreamt of her last night. Woke up thinking it was her birthday or somethin’.” He shakes it off and turns, dumping the mixture and muttering something about trying again.

“Well, go easy on those lemons. We don’t grow those here.” I chuckle, finding no humor in any of this nonsense.

His back is to me again, but he nods. I’m about to leave him to his mixing when he says, “Heard you hired yourself an assistant.”

I pause and turn back tentatively on my heel—like I’ve done something wrong. “Yeah, well, thought we could use some help around here.”

He meets my eyes for the first time today. Maybe in days. “’Cause of me?”

“Nah. It’s probably long overdue, you know? Someone who can deal with the suppliers better than you or I can. Keep things in order.”

“Someone who doesn’t yell as often as you do? Who knows, she might teach you a thing or two about catching more bees with honey.” He flicks his gaze to me again. A slight smirk. “She cute?”

“It’s Wesley’s kid sister,” I practically snap.

“Ah, yes. Was wondering when he’d cave and relocate Rose.”

“You know about her?”

“Yeah, I hang out in the kitchen occasionally. Might’a heard a thing or two about the untamable little sister. Surprised you agreed to it.”

This is probably the most normal I’ve seen my brother in weeks. Though a shower wouldn’t hurt.

“Not like I’ve got a choice.”

His gaze in response is empty. Like he knows he’s the source of our troubles but can’t help it.

And hell, I don’t blame him for checking out.

I thought I knew heartbreak after Bonnie left me, but this doesn’t compare. Having the love of your life die in a fire that shouldn’t have happened—on your ranch—is a tragedy beyond words.

But there should never be any comparison. Bonnie is and never will be half the woman Millie was.

And my dumb ass nearly gave up everything for her.

The sound of a car kicking up a trail of dust from the long driveway breaks our silent standoff.

I rub the back of my neck. “That’s Wes back from the airport .?.?. with Rose.”

Dallas looks uncomfortable for a moment, scanning his concoction like it’s evidence of his grief.

“I’ll uh .?.?. I’ll come out there in a minute. Introduce myself.”

What’s the point? She’ll probably never see you beyond the porch steps.

“Don’t worry about it. You just .?.?.” I glance down at the mess on my counter. “Work on that iced tea. I’m going to need some later.” I offer a small grin, but my brother remains unaffected by my efforts.

“Where she stayin’?” he asks, and there’s an edge to the question. It’s not conversational, it’s almost a demand.

My gut twists. I’d expected this part to be easy. But looking at him now, it’s anything but. “Millie’s cottage.”

Jaw tight and eyes on the counter, he nods. “It’s cool,” he assures, like I’m not an equal owner of everything on the property. “She’ll like it there,” he rasps.

“It’s temporary. I didn’t think a regular cabin would—”

“I said it’s fine,” he barks.

I nod, taking a step backward to the door. “Check in with you later.” What I mean is I’ll check in on you later, but I’m not in the mood for another defense.

I step outside, cross my arms over my chest, and lean against the post under the overhang.

Wesley hops out of his truck first, already shaking his head, car still idling.

My eyes narrow to the passenger seat. The girl I haven’t seen in six years is silhouetted by the dipping sun.

Her face is turned down and to the side like she’s looking for something—her profile as sharp as the glass she’s behind.

She flips the visor down, looking up at the tiny mirror as she applies something on her nose and cheekbones. Probably sunscreen.

Wes pulls three giant suitcases from the back.

I can only imagine what they each contain. Stylish jeans and dresses, a variety of boots she’ll complain about getting dirty, maybe a set of organic cotton sheets.

“Need some help?” I call without movement.

Rose emerges from the truck, a backpack slung over her shoulder and a pair of sunglasses perched over her nose.

Her hair is dark brown, falling in long, silky waves over her shoulders.

She’s small, with a deceptively delicate frame.

Because from what I remember about this wild Rose, she’s anything but delicate.

She doesn’t face me when she steps out—she faces the river, or maybe it’s the mountains behind it that catch her attention.

Or hell, maybe it’s just her being a brat.

Judging by the annoyed look on my best friend’s face—and the defiant tilt of her chin—I can tell there was a fight on the way over.

Fucking great .

Wes comes around and mutters something that gets no reaction out of her.

I imagine it was something like “Behave” or “Don’t embarrass me.”

I can’t help but scan her once more. Even if it is her backside I’m getting.

Other than her longer hair, she doesn’t appear to have grown much since I last saw her.

She barely reaches Wes’s shoulder, let alone my towering six-foot-four frame.

She looks about as suited for ranch work as a kitten in a dog pen.

Wes climbs the steps of my porch, putting on a smile for me. Albeit a tight smile, but credit to him for trying.

I smirk, patting his back as he reaches me. “Rough ride?”

He sighs. “Just got a call from the kitchen. Jack needs help packin’ up the take-home meals tonight. I was hoping to give Rose a quick tour before showing her to the cottage.”

I follow his gaze. Something tells me that’s not the only reason he’s ditching her right now. She’s still watching the fields like we’re not over here talking about her. “Remind me why I’m doing this?”

“Because you need help around here and she’s available—and to help me out. Honestly, if she didn’t come back here with me, I’d have seriously considered moving to New York.”

I frown at this new information. Wes considered leaving?

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“Good thing I didn’t have to.” He winks and slaps my shoulder. “Ro,” Wes calls, waving her over.

I catch her shoulders lift, a sharp inhale that promises a sigh, but then she stops—like time catches her mid-motion. Her head turns toward us, and for a heartbeat, everything stills. Slowly, deliberately, her shoulders fall with a soft exhale, and she pushes her sunglasses up onto her head.

Pouty, bee-stung lips part slightly, and my mouth goes dry.

With a hard swallow, I tear my gaze off them—meeting her eyes—and it’s not any better.

“ Hell ,” I growl low at the sight.