Page 23 of Untamed

Before I have a chance to answer my own question, a large shadow falls over me, startling me from my daze. I glance up, to find my father staring down at me from his horse, Cavalier. My heart skips a beat, a surge of fear coiling my body as his gaze flickers between Colter and me. My stomach knots with worry. Did he see something? Witness the silent, yet tense, exchange?

I try to steady myself, forcing a smile as I draw his attention back to me.

“Are you all set?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.

He squints down at me, pulling the reins when Cavalier starts shifting restlessly. “Yeah. I’ll see you in a couple days, if not sooner. Be good and take care of yourself.” His eyes narrow. “And Mamaw. Keep an eye on her and make sure she stays off that damniPad.”

Chuckling, I wave off his worry. “I will, Daddy. We’ll be fine. Don’t you think I should be telling you to be safe?” I arch a brow before jerking my head in the direction they’ll be heading. “Now go round up those cattle.”

He laughs. “I’m going, Sweetheart. I’ve got my cellphone. If you need anything, call me.”

“See you soon,” I reply softly.

He nods, his foot giving Cavalier a gentle nudge into a trot and taking up the head of the group.

My eyes, against their better judgment, shift back to Colter. I’m instantly disappointed when I find his attention elsewhere. Sighing, I kick at the gravel, my eyes following the group as they move toward the pasture.

It’s only then I feel the heat of someone’s stare on me. My heart rate kicks up, a flash of excitement rushing through me, expecting it to be Colter.

My gaze roams over them, disappointment hitting me in the gut.

Because it’s not the green eyes I wanted.

It's Brandon’s brown ones.

And by the hurt look on his face, it’s obvious he just witnessed the entire interaction between Colter and me.

Chapter Eighteen

COLTER

Colter

The days on the cattle drive drag on, stretching longer than usual. Each mile feels like it takes twice as long as the last, and the monotony starts to weigh on me. We cover many acres of Oakridge land and, for the first time, I truly comprehend just how much land Lincoln Becker owns. I’m aware of the acreage, it’s been drilled into the staff on numerous occasions, but seeing it firsthand, riding across it, puts it all into perspective. The sheer scale of what one man owns is overwhelming. I’ve never been this far out before and in the last two days, I’ve covered more land at Oakridge than I have since I started working here.

The exhaustion is starting to catch up with all of us. We’re hungry for a decent meal, desperate for a good night’s sleep and the luxury of a hot shower. Still, despite the fatigue settling in, we all press on. The job is the job, it’s what we’re here to do. Getting the cattle to safer pasture is our main priority. It’s the reality of ranch life and we won’t stop until we get it done.

“Alright, I think we can have this wrapped up by early afternoon. I know we’re all tired, but it’s the last push,” Lincolnannounces, his voice commanding as he looks around the group. “A couple more hours it’ll be done. As a thank you for your hard work, I’ve called ahead to a caterer and some entertainment. They’re getting set up for a cookout and some music. Meat, potatoes, bread, all the good stuff. Now let’s get this over with so we can get back to the ranch and celebrate.”

The mention of food and entertainment gets the expected reaction. A collective cheer echoes around the open space, a mix of relief and excitement. But I stay quiet. The thought of spending more time with these guys, playing nice, socializing, even if it does include a nice steak, does not appeal to me. My idea of a good night is much quieter. Sitting in the barn, playing my guitar… while Mila watches on with that curious, innocent expression I love so much on her face.

Fuck.

Mila.

The thought of her hits me like a punch to the stomach and for a second, I lose focus on my surroundings.

I can’t have her. I know that.

But I can’t stop thinking about her either.

Why can’t I get her out of my head?

Fucking, fuck, fuck it.

For some reason, it feels as if she is branded into my very soul. A permanent mark I can’t erase. Every time I close my eyes, I can still feel the heat of her kiss, the way her body molded to mine. My lips throb with the desperate need to do it again. I tell myself I won’t, that my control is unbreakable. That I put my reckless behavior behind me a long time ago. But when she’s around… I lose all sense of everything. It’s dangerous. Every second I think about her is playing with fire. And yet, the more time passes, the more I want to take the risk.

Exhaling a frustrated breath, I roll the toothpick between my lips, trying to focus on anything buther. Suddenly I pause, thehairs on the back of my neck standing up when I feel the heat of someone’s stare on me.

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