Page 74 of Burn the Wild

As we haul bags of feed to the barn, people wave when they spot Ford. He returns the greeting but keeps a steady pace. I keep my face down, not wanting to be recognized. I don’t want to cause trouble for Ford or his brothers, so I’ve been using the name Jane I gave at Nowhere. With my hair in braids and light makeup, so far, no one’s been the wiser.

“You have to up the water intake,” Ford orders, reaching back to hand me a bottle of water. “Not energy drinks, not iced coffee, not that purple shit all over TikTok. Water.”

“If you couldn’t guess,” I huff, hurrying after him. “I wasn’t a girl scout.”

“No shit.” He sets the bag of feed down and smiles as a sudden barrage of kids from a nearby cabin approach us. They chat for a minute or two, then one boy passes Ford a baseball. Nodding, he winds up and lets it rip.

The ball arcs high in the air and lands somewhere in the pasture.

“Go get it, you little gremlins,” he yells, then laughs.

The kids scatter, their excitement filling the air.

He’s good with kids.The sudden thought has me blinking. Heating. Has me shaking my head. I’m beyond delirious, even if my ovaries are swooning right now.

“They know who you are,” I say, approaching him.

He shrugs. “Some do. Sometimes I play catch with them in the evenings if I’m not tied up.”

“That’s sweet.” I bite my lip, considering something. “Have you ever taught a class?”

He looks baffled, then shakes his head. “Hell, I never thought about that.”

I glance back at the kids in time to hear the boy yell, “Incoming,” and then whip the ball our way.

The baseball lands back near my boots, then rolls into the gravel drive.

“I’ll get it,” I say, darting into the road.

Behind me, Ford swears.

Before I can reach the baseball, two black legs come down in front of me. The horse snorts, and I yelp, scrambling backward, right before I’m pulled away by a pair of strong arms.

“Fuck.” Ford breathes heavily, securing me against him with a hand over my stomach. I dare a glance at his face. Dark, worried. “Sorry, man,” he says, looking up at the rider. “She’s still getting her ranch legs. Go ahead.”

With a tilt of his Stetson, the rider takes off.

Ford spins me in his arms. I wait for his ire, but he doesn’t yell at me. “That horse ain’t a Pontiac, honey. No seatbelts.” He shoves his fingers through his hair, softens his voice. “You or someone else on the ranch could get hurt. You gotta be careful.”

“Okay, I will.” I hitch the bag of feed he hands me against my hip. “I’m sorry. Clearly, I’m just meant to shimmy on stage.”

The tight tension in his face clears. “Nah, you’ll learn.”

We resume our walk to the barn.

“It’s busy,” I remark. Vans of guests are pulling in. The start of a new week.

“It wasn’t always like this.”

“It wasn’t?”

“Nah. I fucked up a few years back. Put the ranch in trouble.” Ford looks tense, as though the memory is painful. “Ruby got hurt. It all went wrong.” Turmoil laces his drawl.

“Is everything okay now?” I ask.

There’s something about a wounded Ford Montgomery that tugs at my heartstrings. Makes me want to help him. The man definitely has demons.

When he doesn’t reply, I reach over and touch his arm. “Ford?”

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