Chasing The Wild (Crimson Ridge Book 1)

I don’t usually sit out here in the mornings. Most of the days fill up too fast for me to sneak a moment to sink into one of these ridiculously comfortable outdoor armchairs and take in the vast beauty that is Devil’s Peak, wrapped in her cloak of snow like a winter queen.

Of course, it was no surprise that I hardly slept last night and have been up since long before the first purple streaks of dawn caressed the wide horizon stretching out in front of me.

This ranch is breathtaking, achingly beautiful, yet I feel like I’m drowning under ten feet of water. There’s hardly a scrap of oxygen reaching my lungs. Life is cruel and unfair, and the worst part is that I care about Colton Wilder too much to hurt him by forcing something he refuses to act on.

I don’t know where that leaves us for the next six weeks that I will be working out the remainder of my placement. But for a solid hour last night, I spent my time going back and forth between packing and then unpacking my small, ratty suitcase. I almost gave up on trying to make this situation work, figuring it was for the best if I were to cut my losses and contemplate finding a new job elsewhere.

Then, I realized my only option for leaving was to either steal a horse, or his truck, and both would inevitably lead me back to him… So I’m once again stranded on the top of this mountain with snow gently drifting down from the sky above and the insanity of it all keeps laughing in my face.

Fat, puffy snowflakes coat the wooden railing in front of me like mounded sugar. Kayce really wasn’t joking when he said the roads might be closed most of the winter.

Out here on the porch, the Wi-Fi occasionally musters enough strength to work. This morning is one of those days. Scrolling through my posts I’ve shared of the horses and a couple of quick videos around the ranch, I see they’ve been picking up a little more attention than normal for my account.

Knowing how many other people are swooning over the horses being complete fools makes me smile.

I love getting to show off their individual personalities. They really are a bunch of starlets in their own right. It’s something I secretly wish the ranch could promote more, but I’m guessing since Colt is allergic to the internet, that job would fall to Kayce and, well, he simply doesn’t give a shit.

I suck in a breath. All I can do right now is pretend that there is, in fact, a cowboy in the picture. Keeping it unspecific as all hell is my last line of defense against my best friend who is a bloodhound on the scent. I’m resigned to the fact I’m just going to have to work overtime to throw Sage off the trail, because, as much as I desperately want to spill my guts and tell her every little detail about how insane last night was, I am most definitely going to need to lie to her. No good can come of letting her know what happened between me and Colt in the dark and the firelight.

Butterflies start to riot on fluttery wings in my stomach, and I find myself absently running my fingertips over my lips. Is it possible they are still tingling from the scrape of his beard and force of his hot mouth devouring mine?

Dots erupt quickly on screen as Sage types frantically.

As I wrap my fingers around the warmth of my coffee and try to figure out what to reply, I hear crunching gravel beneath heavy tires and around half a dozen trucks not dissimilar to Colts pull into the yard. My moment of peaceful ‘figuring out what the fuck is happening in my life’ is broken, and I’m assaulted by every good-looking cowboy in Crimson Ridge.

I knew there was something happening here on the ranch today, but it would seem that Colt has neglected to inform me it would involve a bevy of sharp-eyed men poured into tight jeans. At first, I watch them with curiosity, like a flock of playful wolf cubs, some roll out of their trucks, teasing each other and joking around. A few shove at each other’s shoulders in that roughhousing way guys always seem to want to do with their buddies.

They haven’t noticed me yet. Stretching and exhaling long plumes of white into the crisp wintery air as they shake themselves out after however long it has taken to drive here. I’m guessing they’re locals, judging by their familiarity with the ranch, they’ve got an air about them that says they’ve been here a hundred times before.

My eyes catch on one man who seems much older than the others. He’s come on his own and wears a tan colored hat slung low, shadowing his face while leaning against the grill of his truck. Observing the group, he stands quietly with folded arms.

What I do see is an expanse of ink. A large, tattooed rose and script climbing up his neck from beneath the fleece-lined collar of his jacket. His body language is so different from the others. Stern and composed, reminding me of Colt in many ways.

Before I can thoroughly analyze how this particular cowboy seems to be so at odds with the others who have just arrived, one of them spots me, and the atmosphere switches immediately. It’s still playful between the younger guys, only now the snowy air has become charged. They each eye me sharply, enjoying the prospect of what they all presumably see as easy prey to chase. I’m not surprised, considering each of these pups looks like they could feature on a billboard advertising toothpaste or men’s underwear.

They’re cocky and gorgeous, and don’t they all know it.

Except, just like the man I danced with briefly last night—oh, god, I still can’t wrap my head around the events of last night—they do nothing for me, and all I want to do is laugh into my coffee at their boyish eagerness.

There’s only one cowboy who turns me into a panting mess and he’s currently missing in action.

My thighs clench as a memory of his tongue against mine drifts in, followed quickly by a pool of heat low in my stomach when I feel the ghost of his teeth tugging against my bottom lip.

A long, drawn-out sip from my mug hides my blushes.

“Heard rumor the view up here had dramatically improved this winter.” One of the guys leans casually on the railing at the bottom of the steps. Tipping the edge of his cowboy hat in my direction, I almost snort at the cliché move, but he seems sincere about offering those country boy manners in my direction.

“I bet a hog in a dress would look good if you’ve only had this crowd to look at all winter.” I gesture around the group of them with a smile. While I don’t want to come across as flirty with these guys, I also want to hold my own up here. Even in school, I always found it easier to be ‘one of the guys’ rather than make friends with other girls. But this is no playground. Behind those wide grins and fitted wranglers are cowboys with much hungrier appetites indeed.

They’re all frisky-eyed and cocksure of themselves, gathering by the railing at the bottom of the steps.

Of course, they’re being utterly charming, even if they’re each weighing their chances.

Only the solemn, tattooed, brooding one hangs back. My eyes flick over him quickly a second time, appraising the way he leans against his truck. Arms still folded. Heavy black combat-style work boots crossed at the ankle. As I sip my coffee, I see him bring a thumb up to rub his jaw, hints of a chunky silver ring and leather cuff peek out from beneath the sleeve of his jacket as he does so.

“You working here for the winter season, or what?” My attention is drawn back to the guys closest to the porch. I see the wheels spinning behind all of their eyes, as they race each other to some sort of imaginary start line. They’re jockeying for position and attempting to establish if I’m fair game for them to pursue.

“Yup.” I pop the p and stare them all down with my best don’t mess with me expression. “I’m here on a vet placement for a couple of months.”

“Hope the old bastard isn’t riding you too hard.” One of them quips, giving me a wink, while his mate standing beside him thumps his shoulder.

“How original.” I tilt my head and raise my eyebrows.

The first guy laughs and gives me an apologetic look. “Ignore him, he wouldn’t know how to have a conversation that doesn’t involve his fist being wrapped around his dick.”

“All I’m saying is that if the lady decides she’d rather not get locked up in this place surrounded by ten feet of snow… I have a spare seat in my truck ready and waiting to whisk you outta here. Your chariot awaits.” With cowboy hat grasped in one hand, he puts on a fake bow, then flicks his friend in the nuts. Everything promptly erupts into shoves and some kind of play-scuffle in the middle of the yard.

“Thanks, but I’m good.” I call out before taking another sip of my coffee. “I’m Layla, by the way.”

“Pleasure to meet you, lovely Layla. Are you joining us with the cattle this morning?” Country-boy-manners sports a dimple to go with his pearly white smile.

“Oh, I’m not sure. I’ve got plenty of jobs I need to get done up here.” That part is the truth, I don’t know what else might be on my agenda today other than following the usual routine. Colt hasn’t mentioned anything to me.

“Well, even if we don’t have the pleasure of a lady joining us on the round up today, hopefully we’ll see you at the bonfire later tonight?” The one leaning on the rail sounds a little too keen and my gut twists into a tangle. There’s absolutely no reason for me to be worried about him taking an interest, but I don’t want to give Colt the wrong idea, either.

Especially after we established last night that he is clearly not pleased with the thought of any man coming near me. His son, or otherwise.

My mouth opens, but I don’t get a chance to answer, because the door crashes open. There’s a hurricane of messy dark hair, and a set of glaring hazel eyes taking in every single one of the cowboys gathered in the yard. The snarl on his upper lip already fixed in place as if they are all dead meat.

I swear a smile plays on the lips of the tattooed one, barely visible beneath the dipped brim of his hat.

“Told you pricks to get the horses and meet me down there.” Colt barks as he aggressively stomps into his work boots. “Does no one fucking listen around this place? I’m not paying you to stand around talking.”

More than one of the guys gives a knowing look my way, but they’re obviously well-versed in avoiding the wrath of Colton Wilder.

There’s a shuffle and some murmuring, and some of the group move off toward the barn. Others head for a handful of the vehicles. They must be making use of the horses to round up the cattle today. Mr. Pearly Whites gives me another little touch to the edge of his hat as he swings into the cab of his truck.

Their engines roar into life, and one by one, they jolt off over the muddy track in the direction of the far paddocks where the cattle are located. A chorus of voices drift on the snowy air as the others head toward the barn. Meanwhile, flakes of powdery snow silently fall thicker and faster. It has barely started sticking yet, but I imagine if conditions carry on this way by tomorrow, the mountain road will become even more treacherous, perhaps even impassable.

I begin to wonder if we might get cut off from town again, barely five minutes after the crew managed to open the road all the way up to the ranch entrance.

Colt hasn’t left to join the others. He’s thumping around, looking for something in his truck, and I guess this is the moment when we have to face each other in the cold light of day.

I take a steadying breath, and walk down toward his parked vehicle. Why do I feel like I’m having to coach myself through this? Nothing to worry about, we can both be professional. I’m just checking in with my boss.

Totally professional. Not at all like this is the man I begged to touch me and make me come not even twelve hours ago. The man who left my pussy tingling and whose bulging cock I can’t stop daydreaming about.

My stomach is a riot of fluttering wings as I approach the hood, my coffee still clutched in my hands. Something about this feels like trying to coax a feral dog out of hiding.

He could come gently, or might need a muzzle.

“Uhh, do you need me to help with the cattle round up today?” I try to keep my voice cheery. Like I would sound every morning when I slide him a cup of coffee across the kitchen island, or offer to fix us both breakfast.

Not like a girl who can’t stop thinking about his tongue pressing into my mouth or what he said last night.

Then tell me why I’m spending every night talking myself out of visiting the bedroom just down the hall.

“No.” He doesn’t even look my way. Just continues to ransack the cab of his vehicle looking for god knows what.

Okayyy…

“Are you sure you don’t need more help? I honestly don’t mind?”

Colt slams his palm into the outer panel of the truck so hard I’m certain there must be a dent left in the metal. The force of the noise makes me jump.

“Christ, Layla. Just do your fucking job.” He pins me with a glare that is all too familiar by now, but no less intimidating. “And if I catch you trying to sneak off and get out of doing your duties by leaving the stables today, I’ll put you over my damn knee.”

“So this is something Colt puts on for you boys every year?” I’m sitting on the flipped-down tailgate of someone’s truck, watching the flames dance in the huge bonfire set up by the cowboys earlier this evening. Plumes of orange sparks soar into the inky black sky as logs crack and spit out bursts of heat.

“You betcha. Every year around this time. We pitch in and help him out with the midwinter check on the full herd, and in return he throws a BBQ and bonfire. It doubles as a thank you for the mountain road crew.” The polite cowboy I met this morning stands with an elbow propped on the side of the truck and has a beer in hand. Turns out his name is Brett and he works across a few different ranches around Crimson Ridge.

What has surprised me the most about this bonfire tonight is that this is evidently a thing Colt puts on annually, purely out of the goodness of his heart. Considering he’s ready to march people off his property at gunpoint and threatens to kneecap them like some kind of cowboy gangster, I’m struggling to believe what I’m hearing.

There are new layers I’m discovering to Colton Wilder every day, it would seem.

“Are there no other women on Devil’s Peak, or what?” I glance around the gathering of men—some of whom I recognize from earlier, and others I assume must be the roading crew who have shown up. But it is decidedly an all-sausage affair, and I’m sure they are all more than conscious that I’m the only female present.

I certainly am.

“Well, there hasn’t been a woman around up here before, so wives and girlfriends never bothered coming along. I guess it just became a routine after a while.”

Clumps of snowflakes continue to drift down, one lands on my face, instantly melting against my cheek.

It’s more than a little magical.

And there’s never been a woman here. Before me.

I can’t let myself fixate on that detail, it doesn’t mean anything. In fact, all it proves is that Colt keeps his women elsewhere, and they don’t feature in his life beyond the bedroom.

Oh, god. I promised myself I wouldn’t think of Colt and his bed and agonizingly long, snowy nights in that house, knowing he’s just a couple of doors away from mine.

Especially not after how much of an asshole he was earlier.

You can bet I spent the entire day doing every single one of my jobs to absolute perfection. There’s not a patch left un-mucked or unattended to. Each stall is completely spotless. I’ll be sure to fill all the horses in tomorrow on how much of a grouchy dickhead their owner is. I’m pretty sure they’re all on my side by now, anyway.

The tack room is gleaming, the chicken’s coop has never looked better, and I’ve stacked wood like a woman possessed.

It was only once I knew I’d ticked off everything without a shadow of a doubt that I followed the smell of BBQ and woodsmoke to join the gathering. Colt can’t accuse me of not doing my job, and I’m certainly not going to sit up in that house all on my own.

The way I’ve worked today, I’ve earned a drink and some company to chat to. The generous second helping of whiskey I’ve poured myself is giving me a perfect glowy feeling all over.

All the while, as I sit here chatting with Brett and sip on my drink, I can feel his eyes on me. Even though I can’t see Colt through the darkness, I know he’s here, but he’s being too much of an asshole to approach me, or talk to me today.

We make small talk. Chatting about Brett’s life in Crimson Ridge. That he’s lived here, or thereabouts his whole life. I explain a little about myself, but in all honesty talking about my upbringing usually makes people uncomfortable, so I’m an expert at keeping on asking other people questions about themselves.

Deflecting attention is something I’ve grown accomplished in.

Shitty mom I cut out of my life and Aunt who raised me but has advanced dementia and doesn’t recognize me anymore aren’t usually the topics strangers want to get into while enjoying a few drinks and casual conversation. Plus, I kind of like getting to pretend my life isn’t a trainwreck. Certainly, up here at the ranch, it is easy to forget.

An orange glow throws enough light to illuminate the immediate circle around the bonfire. Other than that, it’s all heavy shadows and silhouettes, making it impossible to see anyone’s faces as we gather out here in the snow.

Eyelids drooping, limbs growing heavy, Brett’s voice cuts through my daydream.

“You all good there, Layla?”

God, this drink is hitting me hard and that’s when I scrunch my brows with realization. I’ve been so determined to work my ass off, I haven’t eaten anything all day. Between the lack of sleep, full day of work, and freezing cold, I’m more of a lightweight than usual.

Actually, I’m probably way more drunk than I intended to be.

“Yeah, I’ll be back in a sec. Gonna grab a bite to eat.” I hop off the tailgate and figure I’ll fix myself some food up at the house.

I’m sure there are some leftovers to toss in the microwave, that’ll soak some of this liquor up nicely. Besides, as much as it has been nice chatting and all, the man I would really love to be snuggled up next to in the flatbed of a truck won’t come near me.

Everyone’s vehicles are parked in a circular pattern spread out around the fire, so I weave my way between a couple of them. Just as I wander between the two parked furthest from the fire, I sense a figure up ahead in the darkness.

A waft of stale cigarette smoke hits me, and my stomach sours.

Whoever this is, he’s blocking the way, and I’m either going to have to squeeze past or double back on myself.

The way he just stands there makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Layla, isn’t it?” The shadowy outline of the man readjusts his stance, leaning up against the passenger door.

“Uh. Hi.” I don’t want to be rude in case this is one of Colt’s friends, but it feels weird that he’s over here hanging around alone. Maybe he’s just taking a piss.

“Headed off by yourself in the dark?”

Something in this man’s energy is setting off alarm bells in my tipsy brain.

“Nowhere, I was just—” I go to step backward, but he closes the distance like a viper. His hand wraps around my elbow.

“Ah, no need to run off, now.”

I do not want this man touching me.

“Take your hand off me, please.” I try to keep my voice calm. Years of dealing with drunks in the bars I’ve worked at kicks in on reflex. Just be firm with them, but not dramatic. Don’t provoke them, but stand your ground. Remove yourself as safely as possible. The bartender’s handbook for dealing with grubby men who think that because they’re at a strip club, it means they can lay hands on the women working there.

Right now, I don’t have a burly bouncer to intervene. Not that they ever paid too much attention to the lowly barbacks, they were mostly far too focused on the girls working the stage or the customers on the main floor.

“Don’t be like that, we’re just talking.”

“No. You’re talking, and I’m leaving.”

“Why don’t you have a drink with me over here?”

Bile forms in the back of my throat.

“No thanks.”

“You seemed happy enough to have a drink with Brett at his truck, surely it won’t hurt to do the same for me.”

All I can see is the outline of his head, but I can’t make out any features. It’s pitch black and the snow trickling down from the heavy skies overhead ensures there’s no moonlight to see by.

“Listen. I’m not interested.” I yank my elbow, but he tightens his grip.

“Come on, girlie. It’ll warm you up. I promise you’ll enjoy yourself much better once you’ve had a drink with me.”

Yeah, one that’s probably been roofied, judging by the way this guy is acting. I don’t really give a shit anymore if this is supposedly a friend of the other men here, I’d rather not stick around to see what he’s like when he’s really friendly.

“I said, no,” I growl.

“Layla?” One of the other cowboys from earlier, whose voice I sort of recognize, comes up behind me. One part of me is relieved, while the other is spitting mad that this dickhead doesn’t have the word ‘no’ in his vocabulary, or understand its meaning.

That’s when I hear the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

“Get up to the house, Layla.” Colt’s tone drips with cold aggression.

He’s disguised in the shadows when I turn toward the direction of his voice, but I can sense the tension rolling off him, bouncing between the sides of the vehicles we’re all crowded in between.

At first, I’m relieved as all hell when I hear his voice. Then as I tug my arm out of the dickhead’s grip and step back, I get slapped around by Colt’s next statement.

“You shouldn’t even fucking be down here. Let alone wandering around drunk in the dark.”

Excuse me?

My fists clench by my sides as I fight back the urge to start hurling insults at him.

He’s barking orders before my whiskey-soaked brain can come up with anything to say. “Grange, I’m gonna need you to go on up to the house and make sure Layla gets safely inside. If you so much as take a glance her way while you do so, you’ll be picking lead shot out of your balls for the foreseeable future, you understand?”

“Colt—” I don’t know what I want to try and say, but this feels like the moment back at the Loaded Hog when I danced with that guy all over again. Another scenario when I’m the one being chastised for something that isn’t my fault.

Grange—the only man in this situation who actually seems concerned for me—mutters something in agreement. I find myself stomping away, leaving the tense standoff without so much as a backward glance, with alcohol diluting my blood, using my phone as a flashlight.

“You don’t have to coddle me.” I snap as the man traipses after me, keeping a respectful distance.

“And risk the hell I’ll have at the hands of Wilder if I don’t do exactly as he asked? No, thank you.”

“He’s such a controlling asshole.” I grind my teeth. Talking to myself more than the man behind me. “I’m fine now, see?” I sneer as I slap a hand on the wooden railing, giving him an exaggerated bow to show that I’ve safely made it to the house as instructed.

“He might be that, but with good reason.” Grange gives me a sympathetic look, then dips his hat. “I’ll just wait here ’til you’re safely indoors, Miss Layla.”

“Fine.” My eye roll is unnecessary, but the whiskey and confrontation have jumbled me into a mess. Apparently, the way I’m choosing to handle this situation is to be petty.

As I stomp my way up the steps and head inside, making sure to lock the doors behind me, I sure as hell hope Colton Wilder doesn’t have a key to get in and ends up having to sleep out in the barn with the horses tonight.

I jolt awake.

A sickening clench in my gut makes itself known straight away, wondering if something startled me from sleep, or if I’ve woken up for no good reason at all. Lying still, I strain my ears for a hint of anything that might be the reason I find my heart fluttering madly in my throat.

The room around me is so dark I can’t see my hand in front of my face, yet it feels like it’s swimming a little all the same.

Events from the day before, and what happened immediately before I got into bed, come flooding into my mind. God, was it really only yesterday that I sat out on the porch with my coffee?

Not just that, but was it truly only one night ago that things escalated wildly out of control with the man whose house I’m sleeping in?

Christ, the man did me a favor by getting me away from that creepy guy, but the way he went about doing it somehow made my hackles prickle and my defenses sit up.

It felt like the moment when he accused me of getting knocked up by Kayce all over again.

Colton Wilder certainly has a way with words.

Lying there in the dark, I gnaw on the inside of my cheek for a while. Did the sound of him coming back to the house wake me up? I reach over and fumble around, slapping a hand in the direction of the bedside table, before successfully tapping my phone’s screen. Numbers glare at me through the dark, telling me it’s two in the morning, and while I don’t know how these bonfire nights usually go, I don’t exactly picture Colt as being the type to indulge in benders around the campfire lasting through the night.

That’s more Kayce’s style, and the two Wilder men couldn’t be more different in that regard.

God, I need to stop comparing them.

Now that I’ve had a little bit of sleep, I wince at the thought that maybe I locked Colt out of his own house in the midst of my drunk, petulant state of mind.

Guilt weighs heavily on my chest. Cowboys rough it in all conditions, and that man is as tough as nails, but shit. What if he’s trapped outdoors in below-freezing temperatures, and I’m the heartless, sulky bitch who barred him from coming inside?

I slip out from under the warm covers, tugging the loose blanket from the foot of my bed to wrap around me as I go. Crossing the carpet, the sliding door off my bedroom overlooks the dark porch. When I crack the curtain, I can’t see shit, but there’s still an orange glow of embers off in the distance where the fire has burned down.

There’s one way I can know if he’s back for certain, so I creep out into the hallway. The low sensor lights pop on, letting me see just enough to make out the room my eyes are immediately drawn to. It’s a space in the house I’m hyper-aware of at all times, whether his door is open or closed, whether he’s in there or not.

Straight away, I can see that his bedroom door is standing wide open. No lights come from within either.

Crap.

Now, I really feel the churn of guilt.

There’s still just enough alcohol in my bloodstream that I don’t stop and think. I just move. Perhaps it’s the late hour, or the instinctive fear of something gone terribly wrong, or call it fucking intuition. I can’t simply crawl back into bed without checking, without confirming with my own eyes. So I wrap myself tighter in the blanket and set off through the house.

Scanning around, there’s no sign of life in the office or kitchen. The fire in the lounge has burned right down overnight, and I spot that his hat and jacket are missing from the hooks.

God, what if he’s frozen to death out there, or something worse happened with whoever that guy was? Guns and alcohol and angry men are not a good combination.

But I haven’t heard any gunshots.

I don’t think.

Oh, my god. What if that’s what woke me up?

My heart is wedged in the back of my throat as I unlock the front door and prepare to step out into the bracing chill. Even from where I’m standing in here, it’s obviously quiet outside, there’s no wind, and I can make out the silhouette of puffy snowflakes fluttering down just beyond the edge of the porch.

The glow of the bonfire is all I can see, and I wonder if maybe Colt is still down there? I’m not dressed to be outside at all, but even so I twist the handle and hover just a moment.

What’s my end game here? I’m hardly intending to venture out into the elements, but I find myself peering with all my might through the glass panel beside the door to see if I can make out any sight of him.

I slowly ease the front door open on silent hinges before a deep voice startles me.

“Where do you plan on going, dressed like that?”