Page 7 of Savage Secrets

A lump burned in his throat, and he swallowed hard to send it far away. He didn’t have time for emotions. Especially not now.

He had a new view to admire.

Instead of a vision of Springvale Ranch rising in his mind’s eye, he saw Opal’s face.

There was something hard about her…yet soft too.

She’s like me.

Halfway across the gravel parking area, he slowed.

No, he was wrong. Opal was too good. Not like him at all.

Despite the smirch on his reputation, Sean Gracey still trusted him enough to allow him to use one of the ranch trucks. Good thing too—Zach didn’t have any possessions besides his hat and boots, a small bag of clothes and his guitar. Being in prison had taught him that he didn’t need much to survive.

As he climbed behind the wheel, the anger he kept shoved down deep inside surfaced.

So much mistrust weighed on his shoulders now. When he was managing the ranch, he commanded respect. Then Forest’s buddies came in and things changed.

The old truck engine rolled over with a groan. How many times had Zach tuned up the finicky thing? Countless.

Driving the short distance to the Springvale didn’t grant him the time he needed to send his anger packing. Over the course of months, it had built higher and higher until it felt like a wall too enormous to scale. There wasn’t a hose long enough to douse the flames climbing it either.

Pastures gave way to small patches of trees. A doe wandered out of the brush on the side of the road, delicate and graceful. She stood in the middle of the road, staring at the truck with interested eyes, tail twitching in curiosity.

Then she took two steps to the other side of the road.

The peaceful moment knocked down some of the anger blazing in his core. He drew a deep breath and released it in a slow trickle. After five more breaths, he realized he was following the anger management steps his therapist outlined for him.

By the time he arrived at the Springvale, he was calmer, and his fingers didn’t ache from latching so tightly to the steering wheel.

Opal’s small SUV was parked in front of the ranch house. The front door stood wide open, the screen propped too, but the woman herself was nowhere to be seen.

When he parked, he couldn’t ignore the clench of his bowels at the thought of her being alone here, in the place where her father had been murdered.

He leaped out of the truck and rushed toward the open door. “Opal?”

Just as he cleared the doorway, she stepped into the cramped living room. Her dark hair was swept up in a messy style, with wisps dancing in the cool breeze washing in from outside.

The stale, heavy air from the post-funeral wake was washed away, replaced by clean, crisp fall air and the tang of fallen leaves.

Their gazes met, and she arched a brow. “Everything okay?”

He didn’t share his horrific vision ofherlying facedown with an ax in her back, the way her father had been discovered.

He glanced around. “Fine. Where’s Rainie?”

Face softening, she waved a hand. “In her new bedroom. It’s a wreck.Everythingis a wreck.”

“I can see that.”

The already-cramped living room was filled with extra pieces of furniture that Opal had obviously shoved in here from other rooms. A couple outdated bedside lamps teetered on an equally outdated nightstand with a chipped top.

Everything about the ranch could use some updates.

“I’m moving things around.”

He unzipped his coat and slipped it off. Draping it over the nearest piece of furniture, he turned to Opal. “I’m here to move anything you need.”

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