Page 73 of Burn the Wild

He chuckles. “Easy. Finish your breakfast, then we’ll get started. No rush.”

We sit on the front step of the lodge, watching Runaway Ranch wake up. The slow putter of a tractor in the distance. The first cowboy loping across the pasture, reins in hand. The golden sun lifting above the horizon. It feels magical. Maybe it is.

Ford lifts his coffee cup. A toast to the sunrise. “This is my favorite part.”

“Mornings?”

He nods.

“Why?”

“Because the world wakes up, and it’s a fresh start. Clean slate.”

“Clean slate,” I echo. “I like that.”

We sit in a peaceful, easy silence. In my periphery, I take in his features. Tan, chiseled hands. A crooked index finger that piques my curiosity. And those long, lean legs. The way his thighs fill out those Wranglers should be criminal.

Ford breaks the quiet. “Sleep good last night?”

I pop a piece of hard-boiled egg into my mouth and roll up the bag to keep until I find a trash can. “It was amazing, if you must know.”

“So amazing you still have those dark circles under your eyes?”

“Nothing a little makeup can’t handle.”

“Still look tired,” he says smugly. “Maybe you should stay out of the forest.”

“Maybe you should mind your own business.”

I can feel him studying my face with those intense amber eyes, and I try to control the blush creeping over my cheeks. It was close last night—Ford catching me in the forest. After dinner, I was burning alive. I needed the water to wash away my night at Nowhere, the awkwardness of the family dinner, the dark hole hovering.

But moving forward, maybe I won’t need it.

Because Ford’s right. This morning does feel like a new start.

Old Reese would be forced to take a selfie and post it on my Instagram with some cheesy caption, but I don’t have to do any of that here. No one’s monitoring my social media, my dating life, my clothes.

The thought hits me suddenly—I can do this. I can find myself in the shitshow that is my life. I have three months of freedom. Better enjoy it while it lasts.

I turn to Ford. “Can I see the ranch before it wakes up?”

He almost smiles, which tells me I’ve said something right.

Ford slaps his hands on the thighs of his jeans and stands. He holds out a hand. “Hell, let’s get to work, princess.”

Collect chicken eggs? Check.

Clean out stalls at the Warrior Heart Home? Check.

Pick up trash in the pens and on the sidewalk? Check.

And it’s only noon.

I’ve done most of the work. Through it all, Ford stands tall over me, supervising, maybe. Helping? Hovering?

He’s shown me all the nooks and crannies that make Runaway Ranch tick.

There’s something nice about working with Ford. He’s calm. Easy. So different from Gavin’s chaotic energy. Ford takes his time to explain the steps until I understand. He’s also funny. It’s unfair and I hate it.

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