Page 35 of Burn the Wild

“You need more bracelets,” I tell her dryly. “Don’t think the whole ranch knows you’re coming.”

Her nostrils flare. “I like my bracelets.”

“Yeah, well, they’ll spook the horses.”

She squeaks, jumping onto the grass as we approach a rooster pecking his way down the gravel path.

I chuckle. The panic on her face could almost be adorable. “Your ancestors hunted mammoths with a spear, honey. You can walk past a rooster.”

She gives me a nasty look. Then, chewing on her lower lip, she gingerly tiptoes around the bird. “I’ve never seen a rooster before,” she breathes. The sweet awe in her voice tugs at my chest.

“How was the spaghetti last night?” I ask, testing her.

“Delicious,” she says, absentmindedly.

I side-eye her. Just as I thought—she didn’t touch a goddamn bite. I grit my teeth but hold my tongue. She’s twenty-six years old. A fully functioning adult. She can survive on her own. Why do I fucking care?

I don’t. But she is my responsibility, whether or not I like it.

Besides, I didn’t imagine the flicker of panic that flashed over her face when she said she needed a job. Hard times are what she’s fallen on, and damn if it doesn’t pique my interest.

“You ready to tell me what brings you to Runaway Ranch?” I glance at her beside me, keeping perfect sync with my long strides, even in those stilettos. “It can’t be the cows.”

“On the run from the mob,” she says without missing a beat. “Witness protection.”

I eye her. She’s fucking with me.

As we pass a tour headed for the falls, I watch her pull her dark sunglasses down.

“You know, if I had good common sense, I’d say you’re hiding out.” Now that I know she’s some superstar starlet who straight-up bolted from her life, curiosity has me pressing for more. In the interest of the ranch.

Her lips quirk with amusement. “Who says you have sense?”

“New hair, sunglasses, it ain’t hard to put two and two together.”

Reese lets out a long sigh. “Do you have anything else to do other than interrogate me?”

“Nope. You’re a hot topic on the news.”

“It’s not rehab,” she says quietly. “If you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t.” She doesn’t look like the type to need rehab. There’s something soft, something sad about her. But just as I’m about to say that Reese steps into the road.

In front of a van.

“Look out.” I grab her arm, hauling her back to my side. “Jesus, you trying to kill yourself?” The girl’s a danger to herself, oblivious to whatever’s going on around her.

“No,” she snaps. “I’m not.”

We glare at each other for a few seconds, and then resume our trek.

“I needed a break,” she says, picking up the conversation. Her soft voice is clipped, like she’s choosing how much to tell me.

I glance over at her. “Is that why my little brother’s helping you?”

The dazzling smile on her face drops my insides.

My breath catches. Sharp, painful.

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