Page 21 of Burn the Wild

“Hold on. My bags.”

I climb in behind the wheel of the UTV and fire up the engine.

Reese heads to her car and leans all the way across the driver’s side to reach the passenger seat. It’s hard not to do adouble take when her skirt rides up, revealing tan, toned thighs, and a gorgeous round ass.

When Grady said he was sending some starlet to the ranch, I had my doubts. But Reese looks every bit the part of a dolled-up country singer. A sheer low-cut blouse tied high at the midriff. A tight black skirt. Boots covered in diamonds or crystals or whatever shit that makes her glow. Platinum blonde hair that’s as stick-straight and as skinny as she is.

Then there’s her face. Heart-shaped, high as hell cheekbones, long lashes, and pouty pink lips. Eyes that remind me of the pasture on the first day of spring.

Although, I’ve never seen eyes that young look so damn old.

I’d say she’s just my type if I didn’t know exactly what type she is. Spoiled. Drama. High maintenance. Everything Savannah was. Entirely too beautiful—and no doubt she knows it.

I already hate the way my cock sprung to attention the second I grabbed her wrist to keep her from face planting. Last thing I need is to take care of her.

But since I already promised my little brother I’d get her settled, the least I can do is play chauffeur. The sooner she’s at her chalet, the quicker she’s out of my life.

Louis Vuitton duffel and guitar case in hand, Reese trudges those long legs toward me. Taking her damn sweet time. Christ. She’s like a horse. Stubborn mule I’ll have to wrangle.

“Your chariot,” I say when she meets me at the UTV.

With a dirty look, she dusts off the seat with her long nails, then settles beside me.

I throw the UTV in drive. Reese squeaks and grabs the handhold bar, looking like she wants to throw herself from the UTV the second we start moving. On a roar, we head off in the direction of the chalets. I want Reese as far away from the ranch as possible. Out of sight, out of mind. Whatever she’s here for, she can handle it herself.

“Well?” she begins.

“Well, what?”

“Which brother are you?” Her lips quirk. “Dopey?”

I clench my jaw. “Ford.”

Intrigued, her eyebrow arches. “And you’re a mechanic?”

“Bartender. Outdoor activities. Ranch hand. Pick your poison.”

“Oh,” she sniffs.

That’s right, honey. I’m too low class for you. Not your type and you know it.

For some reason, it makes me feel like shit.

She’s a city girl. Even the fake country accent she puts on riles my nerves.

Reese opens the bag cradled on her lap and pulls out a licorice rope. I slow for a group of guests out on a horseback ride, using the opportunity to peek into her bag. A bottle of Coca-Cola. A bag of Funyuns. A jumbo bag of Sour Patch Kids.

Got it. She eats like shit. She’s a gorgeous girl, but she’s dead-eyed, dead tired. The best thing I can do is get her to her place and leave her there.

“So, you’re what?” I ask. “On the lam?”

She gives me a scathing look. “None of your business.”

“When you’re on the ranch, it is my business.” I don’t care, don’t want to know, but because Davis will ask, I better get it out of her while I can.

“It’s a long story.” She tucks her chin into her shoulder. “Just…pretend I’m not here.”

“Already on it.”

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