Chasing The Wild (Crimson Ridge Book 1)

I’m so fucked.

That girl is going to be the death of me.

Every time I turn around or close my eyes, she’s there.

And I can’t stand myself for all the tiny details and moments that make me want her. How she looks at me with big doe eyes and nibbles her lip when she doesn’t think I’m looking. Every curve of hers is hugged by those goddamn jeans I want to peel slowly off her body, and the way the cropped part of her top rides up when she has to reach for something. How she hums to herself while brushing the horses and murmurs to them with that raspy little purr in her voice.

The one that goes straight to my dick.

What’s worse, is I know the exact shade of forest green her eyes turn when her hot little cunt grinds in my lap, and rolling climax drags her under.

All around us, the world has turned white. The snow is piling thicker day by day as we’ve danced around each other for the past week. Avoiding the girl under my roof has been the only way to keep my sanity in all of this. It might be the least mature thing I’ve ever done in my life, but acting like ships in the night has been a hell of a lot easier than trying to have a conversation. So I’ve stayed wrapped in silence, coming and going when I know she won’t be there.

What the fuck am I supposed to say to Layla after what happened between us?

There were so many lines crossed that night, and I should have been the one to put a stop to it the moment she wandered in, wearing next to nothing. But that selfish, jealous, asshole part of me took everything she offered and didn’t make any effort to say no.

Jesus, I’m nearly twice her age. All it took was one flutter of those eyelashes, and I was convinced to lose my morals within seconds. Ready to damn near risk it all just for a taste.

Not that I think I had any to begin with where the beautiful girl living under my roof is concerned.

We both pass through the house in a strange routine, one where each of us is painfully aware of where the other is and what they’re doing. Like the faint footfall I can hear from my room as she pads down the hallway for a glass of water late at night. Or the dinner she leaves out wrapped up for me on the bench when I’ve stayed out after dark doing shit I really don’t need to be doing. Even though we’re sleeping just down the hall from one another, and working the same few acres of this ranch, neither of us dares to encroach on the other’s space.

Or maybe Layla is just so sick of my bullshit, that she’s come to her senses, and this is how it will be until she leaves this mountain.

The moment she takes her sweet scent and soft presence and leaves me for good.

What it comes down to is that I want her. There’s nothing complicated about that, only the longing and twisted loathing of myself for desiring her. I fucking hate the circumstances we’ve been tangled in, and if I was a worse person, I’d have said fuck it, and given into this thing between us back on day one.

Even though I shouldn’t want Layla, there’s no way I can turn off the flood of desire that courses through my veins all day long. Just thinking about her is misery and agony and pleasure all mixed up, churning, whirring around in my brain.

I’m a piece of shit father is what I am.

Unfortunately, for my sanity, today is a job that requires both of us. I even put a call out on the radio to some of the guys who might have been able to come give me a hand checking the cattle, but none could get here in the current conditions. I don’t blame them considering the forecast for later today is for a whiteout.

No one needs to be risking their neck, not when I’ve got someone right here who is more than fucking capable of riding out with me.

It’s just that I’ve been putting off the inevitable of having to spend time together.

Right now, I’m radioing the final person who might have a chance of getting up here, but deep in my chest, I already know he won’t be able to.

‘Oh good, this isn’t you calling me from jail then?’ Storm’s familiar chuckle comes over the radio.

“Don’t start with me, Stôrmand.” My fist grips the handset. “Not in the mood.”

“Well, after watching you threaten Pierson off with your shotgun the other night, I thought this might at least be a thank you call, seeing as I made sure those two fucked off down the mountain.”

I suck in a deep breath. “Yeah, thanks. Didn’t need to be getting my ass locked up for taking matters into my own hands.”

“Are you finally gonna file a report with Hayes? File that trespass order we’ve talked about a hundred times? You’ve got more than enough cause.”

“You know exactly why I can’t.”

“Colt, you gave them an offer of equity, even though you shouldn’t have even given them two minutes of your time, and those two shit-for-brains assholes spat in your face. You don’t owe them anything, and you sure as hell don’t need to atone for the sins of that asshole. He’s long dead and buried, and you can’t keep carrying guilt because of what he did. You’re just as much of a survivor as the others.”

“Didn’t know you were giving out free therapy sessions on the side there, Storm.”

I hear him laugh through the crackling of the line. “So if you’re not in cuffs with the sheriff, and you’re not wanting to talk about why you should be getting those pricks put away, to what do I owe the pleasure of this neighborly chit-chat?”

Pinching my brow, I ignore his taunting. “Don’t suppose you could make it up here before this next front rolls in.”

He’s silent on the other end for a moment. No doubt checking the conditions outside.

“You know as well as I do, I’d be there any time of day or night if you needed… but this one looks like she’s gonna be a real bitch.”

Storm’s right. I know he is.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

There’s a static-filled silence.

“What about the girl?”

“Mind your business.”

“Just saying, she couldn’t stop looking for you around the bonfire.” My gut twists. Storm is too goddamn perceptive for his own good at times. “Also, couldn’t help but notice that you might have been ready to shove that shotgun down someone else’s throat, too, even before Pierson turned up. All for letting her sit pretty on his tailgate and get a little friendly.”

“You didn’t see fuck all.”

His laughter echoes through with a tinny crackle. “Sure, old man. You’re absolutely right. I didn’t see a thing.”

Heading into the barn, my heart bucks around in my chest like a bronc trying to unseat its rider. After talking with Storm over the radio, I’m keyed up, hoping like hell it was only the fact he knows me so well after all this time that gave him any clue there might be something more between me and Layla.

Something more than has any right to exist.

The scent of cedar and hay alongside the soft snorts of the horses greets me. All their curious sets of eyes peek out and follow me, giving me the exact looks that tell me they know my secrets.

Of course, it doesn’t take long until I find the gorgeous girl who is mucking out the furthest stall. A pink flush coats her cheeks, and her headphones are in as she works.

Which means I get to stand here like a fucking pervert watching her bend over, just so I don’t give her a heart attack creeping up from behind.

My cock thickens the moment I’m near her, like some damn automatic response to her presence. I’ve spent the better part of the day fighting off the need to see her and the rest of it willing away an erection just at the memory of her grinding in my lap.

When she had me shooting cum in my jeans like some sort of randy teenager.

Now, I’ve got a front-row seat to all her curves and softness.

Layla doesn’t hear me approach, too caught up in what she’s doing, and the music she’s listening to drowns out the scuff of my boots against the ground. So I knock on the wooden framework, as if I need to fucking announce myself at my own ranch.

She jerks up and spins around, snatching one of her earbuds in the process of doing so. Her lips drop open a little as she takes in the sight of me and my breath catches in my chest. A giant hand reaches in to squeeze a tight fist around all my vital organs at the moment our eyes lock on one another for the first time in a week.

This is the power Layla Birch has over me. What this girl does to me, without even so much as trying, every single time. I’m so fucking fucked.

“Hey,” she says softly, her lips roll together while plucking the other earbud out, too. “Is everything ok?” I see the way a tiny crease furrows her brow, but she hesitates to step any closer.

Damn it. This is my fault. The fact that in her mind there has to automatically be something wrong to warrant me coming and seeking her out is telling enough.

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong.” I wrap my palm around the back of my neck. Feeling prickly and clammy all over. Like my tongue is too damn big for my own mouth. “Just need you to come down with me to help check the cattle before this front sets in.”

“Ok.” Her eyes drop, and she sets the shovel aside.

“We’ll need to take the horses. Snow’s coming down thick out there.”

“Sure.” Layla edges past me, keeping herself as far away as possible as she passes through the opening to the stall.

I hate the way her eyes stay fixed on the floor and that I’m the asshole who has made this such a difficult thing to endure. All I want to do is reach out and catch her hand as she scoots past, to hook her pinky finger and tug her into my chest.

But I do the rational, sane thing and don’t maul the girl half my age right here in the middle of the barn. Because I’m a gentleman.

A. Real. Fucking. Gentleman.

Between the two of us, we saddle up our horses, side by side. In a silence that aches in my bones, only the little whinnies and snorts and munching sounds of the other horses in their stalls surrounds us. Outside, there’s an insistent howling and swirling as the conditions continue to deteriorate.

As much as I’d love to put this off, or just go on my own, the reality is that I need Layla to come with me so we can get the cattle checked and fed before it’s too dangerous. I don’t need either of us to be caught out by thickening snowfall while down in the far paddocks.

Up here, it could be life or death if you don’t respect the laws of Mother Nature.

She’s up on her horse, rugged up for the elements without so much as a peep, and I follow suit.

“Layla—” I venture.

“Let’s just go. I’m sure the weather is only going to get worse.” She shuts me down efficiently and I get the sense she’s retreated into herself.

There are a thousand things I want to say, but instead, I grind my teeth and take the lead. Once we’re both out of the barn, the biting cold and whipping snow feel like razors against my skin. I turn in my saddle to catch a quick glance at Layla and silently confirm she’s right behind me. All I get is a dip of her chin, but not her eyes.

I can’t fucking stand it.

My mind is anywhere but focused, which is going to be a massive problem if I can’t keep it together for the time it takes us to get down there and get shit done promptly.

As we make our way through the deepening snow, I’m quietly calculating how much more time we’ve got together up here: just over five weeks. Out of that, it’s going to be at least another two before the mountain will be reopened again, given how thick and fast this storm has come in.

Burying my face in the collar of my jacket, I blow out a long breath. This is exactly what I’m used to—silence and being alone on top of the godforsaken mountain, working my ass off day in and day out. So I just need to suck it up and get the fuck over whatever this obsession is that keeps festering away inside me.

Layla is here to do a job. I’m going to make sure she gets her hours signed off, and at least I can sleep at night knowing I’ve helped the girl out.

Somehow, in five weeks’ time I can try to rid my house of the wisps of jasmine and pear after she’s taken all her things and left an old man like me buried in the snow with my misery.

As we reach the cattle, they’re already lined up, waiting close to the gate. Snow coats their ears and flanks, and plumes of white stream from their wide noses. Layla doesn’t even have to ask, just heads straight for the gateway while I head over to load up the tractor with a large bale.

Everything is white as far as I can see, and there’s a threatening sky, full of heavy-set ominous clouds rolling toward us.

Devil’s Peak has retreated out of sight, completely obscured by the weight of the storm approaching.

I slide off and hitch the horse, making fast work of the usual routine. With Layla to man the gate and check round the cattle while I’m feeding out, it doesn’t take us long to be done. Thank fuck, because the snow is damn well pelting down by the time I’ve gotten myself back in the icy cold saddle.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” I reach forward and give Winnie a pat on the neck, dusting some of the snow off her mane. Her haunches flinch, and she snorts, clearly unimpressed with the need to be out here in the first place.

“Layla. We gotta move.” I glance up at the sky again and see that the front is bearing down on us. Snow whips around my face, and the cold stings every exposed part of flesh. It’s deteriorating quicker than the forecast suggested, and that makes my gut churn.

While we have a lot of easy-to-identify markers to help make our way back to the yard, I don’t like the idea of risking being in a total whiteout. Shit can go sideways real quick, and I’m not taking any chances.

I have to squint against the force of the wind, and clumps of white determined to haze my vision. She’s on her horse, but not moving away from the gate.

“Layla.” My bark in her direction is loud, even to my own ears. While I don’t want to sound pissed off, now isn’t the time for any of us to be fucking around. And even though I deserve every second of her silent treatment, there’s also a time and place for her to be pissed off at me.

That’s when I see her slide off her goddamn horse and go back over toward the gate. She’s fumbling around with the latch, and I can barely make out a faint, blurry outline of her from where I am.

Jesus. We’re both going to get caught out down here with no shelter and every possibility that neither of us will make it back to the barn or the house in one piece.

Growling under my breath, I urge Winnie back in their direction, and my heart pounds. I’ve never been particularly worried about myself up here, I can handle my own, but knowing that she could get hurt—lingering in a blizzard, when we need to fucking move—my teeth are grinding themselves to dust at the mere thought.

I need to get her to safety, but I don’t understand why she’s not listening to me.

“Layla. For fuck’s sake.” I’m outright shouting now. Against the wind and the force of the snow falling and trying to drown out the thundering sound of my own pulse in my ears as I hit the ground.

Crunching over ice and powder, I’m jogging in her direction, with all sorts of curses and threats on my tongue, when I realize what she’s doing.

Layla is tugging and hauling on the gate that’s become lodged in the pugged-up, frozen mud, and she’s trying with all her might to get the latch to slot securely in place.

I feel my stomach drop down into the soles of my boots.

She’s following my fucking orders from when I tore strips off her that first day.

Right now, I don’t know who to be more furious at. Myself for being such a goddamn asshole, or Layla for being too proud to ask for help.

Reaching out, I try to grab her upper arm and drag her off. “Fuck. Layla, leave it. We need to go.”

“No.” She fights against my hold. Shrugging me off with gritted teeth.

“I said leave it.”

“NO. I’ve almost got it.” Her small frame tries to wrestle to lift the gate, as the freezing wind slices right to the bone.

“You’re going to get both of us fucking killed.” I don’t care about any sort of self-imposed boundaries I’ve tried to put in place about getting close to her again. Right now, it is about getting to safety, so I do the only thing I can do considering the circumstances.

My arm snakes around her stomach, and I haul her away. Dragging Layla back into my body and toward the horses. She’s fighting me and hitting at my arms like a woman possessed.

“It isn’t secured.” Her gloved hands try to wrench my grip off her waist, but I’ve got her clamped against me like a steel bar. “They might get out.” Layla’s furious voice resonates straight through her layers of clothes and into my own chest as her small frame thrashes beneath my hold.

Clumps of snow layer her eyelashes and stick to her mouth, and a part of me wants to wither up and die inside that this girl is trying to be good for me. She’s trying so damn hard to be perfect, for bullshit I growled at her about weeks ago. Is there any worse fucking feeling in the world than this? The only reason I said what I said that day was because I felt like I was losing my mind, being trapped together in the front seat of my truck and unable to reach for her the way I wanted to.

“The gate can fucking wait. Now get on the damn horse.” I keep her trapped against my chest, fighting against the snow and the cold seeping through my bones. Meanwhile, my blood is a raging inferno running through every inch of my skin.

Layla makes a strangled noise, crushed against my front. “Why do I care so much what you think of me?” She spits against the wind. “All I seem to do is want to try not to disappoint you, and yet it’s never enough.”

“You are enough.” My voice comes out cracked as I shove her in the direction of the horse. I want her with me, tucked against me, and in the face of a storm rolling in thick and fast, I’m losing the will to resist.

“No. I’m not. I’m not enough for you. I never will be.”

This isn’t about the ranch or a fucking gate anymore.

“We’ll fix it tomorrow,” I grunt. Not giving her a choice. Being rough and forceful and manhandling every inch of her in order to throw her up to the front of the saddle, quickly tying the other horse to pony behind us, before swinging up directly behind her. It isn’t ideal, two people on one horse is damn hard on an animal. But it’s a straight shot back to the barn, and I don’t like the idea of Layla spiraling out here where I can’t physically hold her tight.

She’s still determined to fight me. Trying to growl and slam an elbow into my gut in an effort to get back down.

“You just want me to suffer.” She squirms and moves against me, and blood rushes to my groin. We’re in the middle of a whiteout, and I’m stuck somewhere between crippling panic like I’ve never known before for this girl’s safety and the overwhelming need to wrap my fingers around her neck and crush her mouth against my own while we freeze to death out here.

“Fuck you. Fuck this place. As soon as I can, I’m leaving.” She snarls and tenses in my arms. Her entire body is rigid with anger and the cold, and I’m the sick asshole who is soaking up every moment of being so close, in spite of the insanity of our circumstances.

Yeah, and I’m hard as stone against the thickness of my pants. There might be a whole lot of winter layers in the way, but my cock reacts, thickening with each jostle of our bodies against one another.

I’m angry at myself. I’m angry at the universe for cursing me with the knowledge that Layla exists. I’m angry with my shitty son for treating her so poorly that she’d even look twice my way.

Leaning forward, I make sure my mouth is right against her ear. “Maybe all you are to me is the punishment I’ve been long overdue for being selfish.” I grit out. “Maybe I’m the biggest asshole you’ll ever meet who wants you to suffer exactly like I am.”

“Well, you got your wish.” Her coldness matches the bleak winter landscape of this mountaintop, and I should be relieved. I shouldn’t be cursing to myself, while gripping the reins tighter, urging the horse to move faster. There are so many reasons for me to be overjoyed that the beautiful girl pressed against my torso has woken the fuck up and realized what an irredeemable bastard I am.

But instead of all that, something is stirring in my gut like a damn hurricane.

There’s a tingling beneath my skin that won’t go away. It buzzes and hums with every moment we draw closer to the peak of the barn, cedar planks and iron lettering partially obscured by white, barely standing out against the sky thrashing with snow and wild wind.

We reach the entrance, and I launch myself off the back of Winnie before we’ve stopped moving. We’re still covered in snow, and flurries eddy around my boots from the open doors. These horses need warmth and to be fed and the tiny girl glares down at me from her position high on the front of the saddle, shaking. Not with cold, but with a desperate kind of anger and rejection.

The grim line of her plump mouth sends a sucker punch straight to my ribs.

I grab the reins of both horses and lead them further inside. Layla’s eyes bore into my skull from where she’s seated.

“You’re right. You are too old for me. Bitterness has consumed you and shriveled up whatever used to beat inside your chest.” She sneers in my direction. “You’re going to rot up here hoping that tomorrow you might wake up, and you’ll suddenly be free of the guilt you’ve been carrying around.”

That’s right, baby. See me for what I really am.

There’s no denying that I deserve all of her frustration and more.

I reach up to roughly grab her, lifting her by the waist and setting her on both feet, and she shoves against my chest. “Don’t touch me.”

There’s nothing but the sound of heavy breathing between us, and the gentle clip of hooves and chuff of breath as the horses settle in their stalls.

“Get inside the house, Layla.” My throat tightens, and my jaw works overtime not to do the very thing that can’t be undone if I cross that line. Reluctantly, I let go of her hips and tug my gloves off one by one. Studying every facet of her face as if it’s the last time I might see this girl look my way.

Her green eyes are nearly glowing, with wisps of hair plastered against her wet cheeks from the melted snow. Those pouty lips of hers are stung a deep shade of dusky rose by the freezing temperatures, and my brain immediately connects that color with the sight of her hardened nipples.

“I’ll deal with the horses. Go.” I turn away—no, wrench myself away from her and start making work on Winnie’s tack. Trying to focus entirely on the horse in front of me, and not be lured into looking over to where Layla is still standing.

Fixating on getting these horses cared for is about the only thing holding me together right now.

I want her.

I want her so badly it aches.

Yet, she’s not mine to hold, or whisper to, or soak up her smiles.

It’s the most fucked up thing I could have ever done to let myself get even a taste of her. It’ll torment me for an eternity, and maybe that’s the devil’s bargain I’ve been cursed to endure living here on this mountain.

Alone.

I’ve had one taste of forbidden fruit, and now I’ll be trapped in my own private hell with the faintest dream of her whimpering into my mouth and melting for me as I rubbed over her soaking wet panties.

Fucking fuck.

For a moment, I run my palm over the horse’s long neck. Gathering myself, with head bowed to somewhere and somehow find it in myself to do the right thing. To be a good father. To not fuck up this girl’s life because I’m being a selfish bastard. To take a last, deep inhale before I go over to the other stall and repeat this process.

I give her a final pat before straightening up and turning around.

But I don’t even get five paces before I realize Layla is still here. She’s standing in the middle of the barn with a bridle in hand and her eyes narrow on me. Behind her, I see that she’s finished up while I’ve been lost in my head, and the horse in the stall behind her has already been taken care of.

“Thought I gave you an instruction.” I grind each syllable like it’s personally offended me.

She cocks her head ever so slightly to one side. “This is my job.” Stating it with that same ice queen tone as before.

It slices like a motherfucker, but I can’t help silently urging her to continue being like this. To forget about anything she might have found interesting in me and move on with her life.

“The job was to go inside.” Get warm. Get dry. Get away from me and my fucked up obsession. Leave me out here to drown in my vat of longing surrounded by the sweet notes of hay and self-hatred.

“No. You don’t get to ignore me for a whole week and then yell at me.” She glares back. Green eyes glowing with emotion. “You freeze me out every time. You did it that day I first came here. As soon as you found out who I was, you turned to ice. It’s the same thing now, and I know you’ll do it again.”

“Well, that’s who I am. Sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t change.” The snarl is out of me before I can halt it.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. You’ve chosen to be that way, and you can choose differently.”

My heart pounds in an erratic rhythm. “I don’t know what you want from me, Layla.” How else am I supposed to survive this? To deny this thing between us that shouldn’t happen? How the fuck am I supposed to survive her?

I stride over, fully intending to swipe the bridle from her hands, but Layla tries to pre-empt me. She attempts to turn around and head for the tack room herself, and I shoot a hand out to catch her elbow.

“Leave it.” I hear myself hiss the words through a clenched jaw. “Just go.”

Layla spins towards me, and our bodies collide. I’m still holding her arm and even though she’s glaring at me, there’s no attempt to try and shake me off this time.

“I said,” she thumps the heel of her palm against my shoulder, but the action is soft. Too soft. The way her hand sits over my chest is more like a caress. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

We’re tangled together in the middle of this storm, and instead of shoving me away, her fingers curl against the shell of my jacket.

Layla’s big eyes hover on my mouth, tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip.

She swallows heavily, and her hand moves between us to grip the v of my collar.

“Please.” Her throaty rasp is hardly more than a whisper.

I lift the bridle from her other hand, and there’s a soft thud as the leather drops to the floor, and I’ve officially lost my mind because my fingers reach out to slide into the hair at the base of her neck. Tightening my hold, I yank her head back ever so slightly, and a tiny gasp rushes past her lips.

“Please, Colt.”

Hearing her say my name in that breathy little voice, fuck. I’m going straight to hell. That moment is when the last tenuous thread of my resolve snaps.

With one hand still fisted in her soft curls, I crash my mouth against hers.