Page 142 of Burn the Wild

I slap Eephus on the rump. “We can take the UTV.”

“No.” Her hesitant eyes move to Eephus. “I want to be brave, Ford.”

“Baby, you don’t have to do this.” Now that I know her story, forcing Reese to get on a horse is the last thing I want to do. I’m proud of her, though. She’s down to one bangle on each wrist. She’s taking her meds daily. She’s got this. And when she doesn’t, I’ll be there.

Her eyes soften. “I can if I’m with you.”

I swallow. A bloom of pride fills my chest. Each day she trusts me more and more. It scares me shitless.

I give her a grin. “Let’s do it then.”

We finish loading up, and as I’m securing a canteen to the saddlebags, Charlie appears. A yellow sticky note pokes out ofhis shirt pocket. Between his out-of-town trips and ranch work, it’s been easy to avoid my brother for the last week.

“Storm’s coming,” Charlie says.

“You got a radio,” I say. “Could’ve said that there.”

Thinning her lips, Reese throws a sharp elbow in my side.

“Came to talk to Reese.” Charlie grunts, clears his throat. “Reese, I’m sorry for last week. There’s no excuse for the way I talked to you.”

A smile teases Reese lips. “Thank you, Charlie. I appreciate it.”

Scrubbing a hand down his beard, Charlie turns to me, his face contrite. “Ford.”

“Gotta get.” I swing myself up on Eephus and hold out a hand to Reese. My brother can sweat for another week. “C’mon, Birdie.”

Fear crosses her face, but then she steadies her breath and sticks out a hand.

Our palms meet, and the jolt of connection is so damn electric it ripples through my veins.

My girl.

With a grin, I swing her up into my lap. Prettiest passenger I’ve ever had. With a sharphyahI nudge Eephus into a trot and we head toward Old Mill’s Farm.

From its hiding spot in the brush, the trapped calf bellows at me. Two babies and their mother watch me from afar.

I dismount Eephus and help Reese down. “I gave that calf a shot last week, and she’s still pissed at me.”

“She’s got it out for you, Ford,” Reese says solemnly.

“Yeah, well, feeling’s mutual. May calves—bastards, all of them.”

We’re ten miles from Runaway Ranch, prairie in all directions. Meadow Mountain looms in the distance, dark and imposing. The lowing of cattle drifts across the plains as I eye the ominous black cloud creeping closer. Worry curdles my gut. I have to work fast.

When I near the calf, I see she’s tangled in twine or string. It’s snarled around her feet and winds through tangled in the brush and around trees, making it hard for her to move. I pull my knife from my hip pocket but every time I attempt to cut the twine, she bleats and writhes, pulling the knots even tighter.

“Get over here, Birdie.” I move around the cow.

“See?” Reese says triumphantly. “You do need my help.”

“Take this.” I hand her a bag of apple slices, a cow’s kryptonite. “Distract her while I cut.”

“Here, pretty girl,” Reese croons, distracting the calf. She giggles as the calf strains at the rope, trying to follow her.

I make quick work, slicing at each knot until the calf is free.

Then, like it’s been yanked, the calf lurches at Reese. The abrupt motion sends Reese backward onto her butt. She sits there in the snarl of weeds and laughs as the calf noses her shoulder.

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