Page 12 of Burn the Wild

Shaking myself from my daze, I grin back. “Damn good.”

Everyone clinks their glasses together, and I choke down the bubbly liquid with a grimace. The only one who doesn’tcheersis Ruby. Instead, she stares longingly at Duke, now cradled in Dakota’s arms.

I nudge her shoulder. “You okay, Fairy Tale?”

“I’m okay.” A thick sheen coats her bright blue eyes. She swallows, then blurts, “I have to go to the garden.”

She’s out the door before anyone can say anything else.

Charlie runs a hand through his thick brown hair. “Fuck,” he swears, and then his boots are stomping out of the house after his wife.

A pang lights along my sternum. Davis clears his throat before turning back to Dakota and Duke.

This is the kind of situation that has me looking for an early exit.

Plucking Mouse from the floor, I flip a wave to Davis and Dakota.

As soon as I step outside, I breathe easier.

Dogs and cats and wives and kids. Everyone’s world is loud except mine.

The apex of Crybaby Falls offers a high-rise view that no city can beat.

I check my stopwatch when I get to the top, grinning when I see I’ve beaten my best time. It’s not the biggest or most dangerous spot to climb in Montana, but it’s close to the ranch and gives me the daily dose of adrenaline I crave. Nothing beats the rush of dangling into space with only a thin fucking thread to catch you.

I’m three hundred feet in the air, and I hang there in the stillness. No people. No responsibilities. Only me and the wild blue yonder.

The ranch stretches out below me in stunning, pristine views. Woods to the right, glimpses of bright green pasture interspersed by cabins and chalets.

Home. Even if sometimes it feels the furthest thing from it.

My fingers search for a crack in the limestone rock, the mid-morning sun hot against my bare arms. With a grunt, muscles stretching, I hook myself into the side of the mountain. I follow the route laid before me, unhooking from a bolt and lowering myself down a notch.

I move with agility and speed, breathing easily in the crisp mountain air. I could do this route blindfolded. Without a rope. That cocky confidence—that fuck-it attitude—got me far inbaseball, but the start of the season makes me take precautions. Dying on my brothers isn’t an option. Even in the grave, they’d never let me hear the end of it.

I hook into an anchor, and right as my feet find good footing to descend, the tinny buzz of my phone sounds through my pack.

I snort. I can’t believe I have a signal up here.

I pull it out and check the ID.

UNAVAILABLE. It could be spam, but I think of Grady last night and answer it.

“Hello?”

“Ford? Ford ‘Flamethrower’ Montgomery?”

I wince at my old nickname.Fucking A.This is why I hate answering the phone. It’s always bad news.

Like Jim Donovan. Nearly ten years later, and I can place that perfunctory bleat like it was yesterday.

I lower my brow to the rockface. “The one and only.”

“Have you ever been told you’re a hard man to track down?”

“What can I do for you, Jim?” I’m not in the mood for small talk. Especially not with Jim Donovan, owner of the Phoenix Renegades, and my ex’s father.

“Listen, son, I’ll admit it. It’s no secret we’ve had our…issues.” I snort.Issuesis putting it lightly. “Trust me, this phone call is purely business. We’re looking for someone to take over as the Renegades’ new television play-by-play broadcaster. Big leagues. Big time.”

---