Page 38 of Burn the Wild

Crossing my arms, I watch as she gets to work. Her moves are awkward and reluctant. She’s all legs and attitude as she scoops hay from the pile and moves it to the loft.

A darkness settles over me. I swallow hard, tamping down the anger, the ache. She reminds me of Savannah. Spoiled. Bright. Trouble.

Dangerous, beautiful trouble.

I need Reese off this ranch and out of my mind.

Because this is a bad fucking idea. She’s too close, poking at something sharp inside of me. Something hungry. Something so pure it hurts to acknowledge.

Reese looks up, hopeful. “How am I doing?”

“Fine,” I grumble, already heading for the exit. Trying to pretend I don’t see the crestfallen look on her face.

If I have anything to say about it, she won’t be here long.

Satisfied Reese and her high heels have it under control, I stroll toward the pasture. There, inside the training ring, are Wyatt and the grim reaper of cowgirls, Fallon McGraw. My brother hangs back near the fence on his horse as she runs hers into a froth.

I hop the fence and sit as Wyatt trots my way. With light blue eyes and hair as shaggy as mine, he looks like a younger, leaner version of me.

He takes one look at my face and asks, “Problems?”

“Yeah, I got a problem. A five-foot-four blonde in need of an attitude adjustment.”

“Adds spice to the working day,” Wyatt drawls.

“I put Reese to work,” I tell him. “She’s in the barn cleaning up the hayloft. Think it’ll be good for her.”

Wyatt chuckles. “Spoken like Dad.”

I clock his bandaged elbow. “You seen a doctor for that?”

“Don’t need one,” he murmurs, absentmindedly.

I follow his gaze. Locked on Fallon.

“How she’d ride in Vegas?” I ask.

Wyatt shrugs. “Reckless. Bruised her ribs all to hell barrel racing.” He doesn’t sound happy about it.

“You need anything?”

Wyatt looks at me briefly. “What?”

“You got cut off the night you called me.” I squint at him. “Said you did something stupid.”

He hesitates before a crooked grin tips his lips. “Lost all my money at blackjack. Planned to ask you for a loan.”

I bark a laugh. “Keep dreaming, little brother.”

Davis may be my twin, my better, more noble half, but Wyatt and I are cut from the same cloth. Adrenaline junkies. Smart mouths. I’m damn proud of the kid even if all I’ve done half my life is torment him.

Fallon speeds by us on her horse, Lawless. Dust and grit cloud the air.

“How’s that dirt taste?” I ask Wyatt.

“Girl rides like she’s immune to gravity,” he mutters. The brim of his Stetson casts shadows across his face, his eyes.

Even without it, the kid’s got shadows.

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