Page 105 of Burn the Wild

“Hell, D, I’ve got articles out there. I fucked up, and your grumpy ass stuck behind me the entire way.” I finish my beer, gesture for the tab. “She’s in trouble. Her manager’s a sleazy piece of shit. Reese needs someone in her corner. And that’s me.”

He’s silent for a long beat then says, “Then you’re what? A thing?”

I snort. “C’mon, man. That girl is wildfire. She’ll burn it on up, then tear it outta here end of summer.” Even as I say it, the words sink heavily into my gut.

I tell myself I don’tcare if she goes back. I tell myself it’s for the summer. I’m a cowboy. I’m helping her out. Picking me is the last thing she’d ever do. She’s going places. I’m just a stop on her tour. And she’s just a notch on my bed post.

But I don’t know if I believe the lie anymore.

“She’s destructive,” Davis insists.

“Not destructive. She’s broken.”

“Ford. If she’s toxic—”

“I got hazmat gear,” I shoot back.

“Fuck,” Davis mutters in exasperation.

Sick of the inquisition, I slam my beer down. “Fuck, why are you so invested in this, man? Why do you care?”

Davis looks conflicted. “Because I don’t want to see you go to that dark place again, brother. When you fall, you fall fast and hard. This girl leaves, you’re gonna get your stupid heart broken and I’m gonna be the one to scrape your sorry ass up and put it back together.”

I face him, needing to own up. Because I get it. I’ve been doing the same thing with Wyatt this summer, trying to look out for him. “Reese isn’t bad for me. And I don’t plan on going to that dark place again.” I give him a look. “I’m on drugs, man.”

Davis tenses.

Grinning, I arch a brow. “Good drugs.”

Davis relaxes. “Since when?”

“Last year. I got my shit together. Got back on antidepressants. Saw a therapist. Mood has evened out.”

“What was the diagnosis?” Davis asks, seeming mildly interested. “Asshole?”

“Hardy fucking har.”

We share a chuckle, then Davis claps my shoulder. Squeezes. “I’m glad, brother. Real damn glad.” He exhales. “I’ll back off about Reese.”

We order one last round of beers and pay the tab. I thumb through my phone, on the hunt for a text from Reese. Still nothing.

The prickle of unease turns to worry.

After helping Davis unload the horses, I go in search of Reese. By now, her schedule’s ingrained in my mind—four in the afternoon, she should be finishing up her day. A good thing, too. The sky is full of dark clouds and thick humidity clogs the air.

As the chicken coop comes into view, my eyes go to the door. Tim, a hired hand, is exiting, carrying a basket of eggs.

She’s late. She’s never late.

I frown at Tim. “This is R—Jane’s job.” She loves the damn chickens.

Tim grunts, then spits. “No one’s seen her.”

The bad feeling’s back. “How long?” I bark.

He shrugs. “Three days.”

My stomach flips.

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