Page 7 of Burn the Wild

“Vegas.”

“How’d you do?” I close my eyes. He and Fallon are in Vegas for the PRCA rodeo. “You win?”

A cocky scoff. “What do you think?” Then, “Ford, I got—Listen…I did—stupid.”

“Wy, you’re breaking up. Wyatt?”

The line goes dead. I frown.

These days, the more he and Fallon are together, the dumber his decision making gets. Who fucking knows what he got into? Here’s hoping he still has both legs and his wallet.

Two seconds later, my phone rings again.

“Wyatt?”

“What? No, it’s Grady.”

“Grady?” I blink. Hearing from my little brother is rare these days. He’s a big-time country singer now, always on the road. “Jesus. It’s two in the morning, man.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that. Just got done with a show.”

Sleep is canceled, effective immediately. On a sigh, I roll out of bed and cross to the window. My apartment above the garage gives a prime vantage point of the ranch. Even in the dark, the beauty of Runaway Ranch takes a man’s breath away.

“You busy writing songs or chasing women?” I ask my little brother.

Grady chuckles. “Both. Listen…”

My ears pick up the reluctance in his tone. It reminds me of when he was a little boy, and how he’d always get nervous asking me to play baseball with him.

“You need something, kid?”

“I’m gonna send someone your way.”

“What kind of someone?”

Grady hesitates. “Someone who needs help.”

“Great. Just what I need,” I grumble, moving back to sit on the edge of the bed. I flex my right hand, the broken index finger that gives me hell on restless nights. “What about me? I need help from dickhead little brothers who call at two in the fucking morning.”

He laughs, happy. That’s Grady, even getting yelled at.

“I think you’ll survive, Ford.” Grady lowers his voice. “So, will you help her?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I scrub a hand over my face. As much as I moan and grump, my little brother has a heart of gold. If he’s telling me something’s wrong, I listen to him.

“Her name’s Reese Austin. She needs a place to lie low.”

That gets me to cock an eyebrow. “Lie low? Like hide out?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

Mouse nudges her way under my hand. Absentmindedly, I stroke her fur. “You don’t know much do you, kid?”

I can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Just give her a place to stay, you asshole. Put her in a chalet.”

That gives me pause. “You’re tellin’ me she’s famous?”

“I’m tellin’ you to just do it.”

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