Chasing The Wild (Crimson Ridge Book 1)

At the sound of the female voice ahead of me, I glance up from my phone. I’d been scrolling through a few of the comments left on my latest video of me and Peaches from the other day in the barn. It’s fun posting the horses, and I’ve always liked sharing a bit of a diary of my work with animals across my different vet placements.

A long time ago, I’d probably have sent a quick check-in text to my mom in a moment like this, not that she ever used to reply to them, but after going full no contact when I hit my twenties, it has honestly made a world of difference to my mental health.

Sad. But it’s true.

I can see notifications from Sage, and there are a handful of comments on my latest photos on my Instagram I managed to upload when the internet was reasonably solid last night.

One girl has asked where the ranch was and just as I’m in the middle of typing a reply to let her know where Devil’s Peak Ranch is located, that’s when the voice distracts me.

Colt had been all sorts of brooding and quiet during our meal, even though it was his idea to come here and eat in the first place. Not to mention how abruptly he avoided my question about why we’d just loaded his truck with enough BBQ meat to feed an army. So, when he said he’d go settle the bill, I was kind of relieved.

Too much time spent sitting two feet away from Colt Wilder is enough to have my ovaries misbehaving like little sluts.

I also cannot understand why he keeps insisting I wear his hat today.

There are rules about cowboy’s hats and the fact my ex-boyfriend’s father gave me his… well, I can’t let myself read too much into it. My horny mind is already up to no good.

Wear the hat, ride the cowboy, and all that.

But then again, it carries his scent, and I feel like I’ve been harboring a naughty little secret around town this entire day. That I’m the girl wearing this cowboy’s hat even though he’s absolutely off-limits.

Does he not know? I mean, he is kind of a hermit and doesn’t use the internet or social media…

However, that train of thought is derailed by the urge to claw the eyes out of the woman who currently has her tits shoved in his face. She’s not a lot older than me, but must be at least in her early thirties, and everything about her screams that this woman is ready to walk out of here with a man on her arm tonight.

She’s got an amazing figure, and that body-con dress wrapped around her shows off every flawless inch. Olympic volleyball players have got nothing on this woman. Tall, statuesque, leggy. Absolutely everything I am not.

I’m busy trying to watch Colt’s reaction to the six-foot model fawning all over him in a way that is far too friendly to have just met five seconds ago, while also wanting to vanish into the crowd like smoke.

I have no right to be jealous.

He’s my ex’s father for Christ’s sake. My boss.

If anything, I should be over the moon for him at the prospect of meeting someone here tonight.

And that’s when it slams into me.

Is that the whole reason we’re here? Why he was so insistent about coming to have a meal before leaving town in the first place? It feels like a Rubix cube has started to slot various matching colored pieces together in my mind… oh, my god. He was planning to meet up with a woman while the roads were clear and I’ve been so caught up in my obsession with him that I couldn’t even see it.

Before I know what I’m doing, I spin on my heel.

Right into the broad chest of a tanned, dark-eyed, cool drink of water.

There’s no denying this guy is very nice to look at. But he is certainly not the cowboy I want to be in the arms of, so I make a polite face and try to excuse myself past him.

“I’ve just spent half an hour trying to work up the courage to ask you if you’d like a dance.” He flashes a dimpled smile at me.

My eyes flit sideways to find Colt still waiting to pay. The woman is still talking to him, and the line of the bodies between him and the bar is thick. He’s going to be there for a while.

“Have you now?” I tuck my phone into the back pocket of my jeans and give him a look up and down.

Maybe I’m feeling petty. But if Colt came here to chat up women, then why the hell can’t I say yes to a dance?

“Did I ruin my chances by waiting too long, or did I completely fuck up by not waiting long enough?”

Oh, he’s cute enough alright. Pretty close to my age from what I can tell, maybe a year or two older. His clean-shaven, perfect jawline look might make some girls go all whimpery, and the cologne he wears is pleasant, but it still doesn’t do anything for me.

“How about you let me decide after a dance.” I give him a small smile, not trying to be flirty or coy, but going for a strong, friendly kind of vibe. This isn’t going to lead to anything, but a dance might help take my mind off worrying about whether I’m going to spend tonight listening to that woman scream Colt’s name as he fucks her brains out just down the hall.

“Sounds fair. But take a shot with me first?” He winks and plucks a glass filled with clear liquid off the leaner beside us.

Shooting my more than a little jealous gaze back to Colt, all I can see is the woman’s hand placed on his arm. That’s the final push I need to be a whole lot of reckless for once. I toss the shot, and reach for another. Chasing the burn straight down with a second.

“Atta girl.” The guy laughs as I cough, and my eyes water.

Holy crap. I literally did the one thing in all my years bartending I never usually do. No accepting drinks from unknown men.

Fuck it. Maybe having my memory obliterated tonight might be a nice relief from all this longing for the man I simply cannot have. Colt is on the other side of the room. It’s not like this young cowboy can cart me off while comatose and draped over one shoulder without his noticing.

Do I want to dance? Do I want to get drunk? I don’t even know.

Before I can change my mind about the proposition of a dance, he’s got a firm hand around my waist and one of my hands wrapped in his warm palm. We’re moving among the other couples all dancing to the country music blaring and I can’t help but feel my skin prickling.

Is he watching me?

My dance partner is pretty good and I’m kind of enjoying this little opportunity to focus on something other than money and work and not fantasizing about my boss slash ex’s dad. But the sensation only intensifies the longer the song goes on, and as we turn, I feel the air rush out of my lungs.

Colt’s eyes are possessive, watching me from the same spot I left him, and I can see that he’s in the process of shoving his card back into his wallet. If he had a shotgun hidden over there, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Fucking hell, I’m single. It’s like I have to keep reminding myself that I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m allowed to dance with someone, and there’s nothing preventing me from saying yes to this guy.

But his hands don’t feel right on my body.

His scent is pleasant, but it doesn’t cause a mad fluttering in my chest like I get whenever I’m encased in the rich scent of rain and leather belonging to the man currently committing murder with his eyes.

The song peaks and winds to a close and the vodka hums sweetly beneath my skin. I’m pretty sure I hear the guy with his hands around my waist ask if I’d like to go grab a drink with him at the bar, but I don’t even get a chance to put words together.

Colt grabs me by the hip, and looks like he’s about to smack the other man in the mouth. As he hauls me out of the guy’s reach, his expression is furious.

“That’s enough. We’re fucking leaving.”

Propelling me through the crowd, his bark is at my back, and I have to fight the urge to laugh out loud at the irony.

The attitude of Colton Wilder is something else. Manhandling me, like I’m some kind of disobedient dog.

My fists clench, and I’m too busy calculating the odds of me being able to successfully connect my fist with his jaw to notice anything else as we leave the bar.