Chasing The Wild (Crimson Ridge Book 1)

I’m rendered speechless.

The man beside me reaches across and taps his card on the screen. Green lights all perk up, indicating a successful payment, and the asshole behind the counter mutters something resembling a thank you.

But that’s not exactly the reason I’m left without the ability to form words.

A stranger just paid for my fuel, and he is absolutely someone who I had no idea could exist in real life.

He’s a wall of rugged man, and I have to tilt my head a little in order to take all of him in. With a faded black t-shirt revealing a tanned neck, scruffy dark curls, and a short beard with a bit of salt and pepper gray in it.

When he turns around to face me, I’m immediately caught in the snare of his bright hazel eyes. There’s something wild about him, and I am nothing but a fawn stunned in high-beam headlights.

“After you, ma’am.” His voice washes over me like rain after a long, hot day as he gestures politely toward the door with something in his hand. When my eyes drop down, they catch on the jet-black cowboy hat in his big paw.

Oh, god… and then his tightly fitted wranglers.

This is the real danger out here in small towns like this. Cowboys with impeccable manners who look like they can sweep you off your feet one minute and rail you until you forget your own name in the back seat of their truck the next.

I stammer something incoherent and move toward the door. I’m still not sure what just happened back there, but am more than relieved to escape the silent glare of the prick who will never get my business again in this lifetime.

Ever the country gentleman, this cowboy holds the door open for me. Behavior that is entirely foreign—especially coming from a stranger. In my world, I’m used to fending off men with wandering hands trying to cop a feel at two a.m.

Once back on the forecourt, it’s like the world rushes in again. Birds chirp, the drone of a truck rattles past, and the sweet fragrance of jasmine climbing a trellis drifts from the cafe next door.

“Thank you.” I blurt out. Regaining use of my tongue. “You didn’t have to do that.” I twist my purse in my hands.

Gorgeous-cowboy drags a hand through his unruly hair, before putting his hat back on. As he does so, I catch a little glimpse of the lines around his eyes that don’t exactly tell me his age, but they place him somewhere in the older category.

This man certainly isn’t in his twenties, that’s for certain. Possibly his late thirties.

Jesus. My thighs clench as I take him in properly now. He leans a shoulder against the tailgate of his enormous vehicle.

“No sense arguing with Kurt over a tank of gas. He’ll take any opportunity to make up for having a small dick.”

Something between a cough and a laugh bursts out of me. I was not expecting that the third thing to come out of this man’s mouth would include the word dick.

But I’m certainly not mad about it.

“It was very small dick energy, wasn’t it.” I roll my lips together. Immediately my slutty brain makes a comment about how this man is the complete opposite of that. Big dick energy radiates off him like the sun.

Something about my response seems to please him. I don’t hate the way that makes me feel, like I would enjoy finding ways to please this rugged man.

“Even so, thank you, that was very gallant what you did in there.”

He narrows his eyes on me. “Gallant?”

“Uhh, you know…” I’m stuttering under his intensity. “Like, chivalrous.”

“Sounds like you’re calling me old. Or old fashioned.”

My mouth opens and closes a couple of times, thinking I’ve offended him somehow, but then I spot the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

He’s teasing me.

Dear sweet Jesus. This man is hiding a sense of humor underneath that gruff exterior.

This isn’t fair.

“Let’s just say that girls like me don’t happen to come across men like you very often. I mean, especially not men offering to pay for a whole tank of gas out of the blue.” I gesture between the two of us.

He fixes me with a hard look. One that leaves me swallowing down a lump in my throat.

“You’re hanging around the wrong men in that case.”

Somehow, I feel like he just told me off and turned me on in the same breath.

“Don’t I know it.” I offer a small smile. My mind wanders briefly to the boxes in my back seat and Kayce while I shudder a little on the inside, considering the current mess I’ve found myself in. All because of his useless ass. The exact type of wrong man.

I want to ask what his name is, but something tells me that’s not wise. What do I need to go asking this man’s name for? It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again. Unless… unless what? I could always offer to pay him back for the fuel. But even then, to what end would that be. I’ve still got nearly a year’s worth of study and placements ahead in my future.

I’m in no position to even be thinking about dating, or doing anything but putting my head down and working for at least the next twelve months.

This feels like one of those sliding doors moments. In another time, if we were different people, maybe then I would ask his name, and he’d ask for mine. A world where I have the job of my dreams, running stables and taking care of horses all day, and I can buy a whole cart of groceries without checking my bank balance.

Instead, I’m standing here in the beating sun, as sweat trickles down my back and my thighs stick together. I’ve got nothing more than a declined card and a tank full of fuel thanks to the charity of a stranger.

All the while, God’s favorite cowboy watches me from where he leans casually against his truck. A vehicle that’s probably worth more than my entire annual take home pay.

“I hope it didn’t ruin your visit to Crimson Ridge.” His hazel eyes are still fixed on me with a keen expression. Even though his gaze might be glued to my face, I can feel him taking in every inch of my appearance.

My body heats under his perceptive stare.

“How do you know I’m just visiting?” I tilt my head to one side. For some reason he’s still standing here talking to me in this grimy gas station, and I’m making no effort to move toward my car. Not only that, but I can’t help but feel like he’s definitely, absolutely flirting with me a little.

His attention feels warm and not too forward. This stranger isn’t being overly direct, but there’s something sparking between us, and I’m sure it isn’t just my imagination.

One of his dark eyebrows lifts a little and he nods towards my license plate. The one that says OLEANDER TOWN AUTO, from the dealer where I bought it years ago. “We don’t have those kinds of plates here.”

“I could be borrowing a friend’s car.” I tease.

This time, his eyes most definitely drop down my body, and every inch of me comes alive.

“A friend, hmm?” He mulls the word over. “Is that the kind of friend that comes with a dick, or without one?”

Well, fuck. Is he asking if I have a boyfriend?

“Uhh. No friend.” I chew my cheek a little. “Boys my age aren’t worth my time, I find.”

That makes his eyes snap up to mine. Oh, holy hell, I might as well just wave a big sign that says please fuck me, I’m single, with that kind of statement.

He rubs a thumb along his jaw, still leaning against the truck, and he looks so damn good I want to melt. As he shifts his arm, it drags up the hem of his t-shirt a little, revealing a sliver of tanned skin above his belted jeans. Am I having heart palpitations? My pulse thuds relentlessly in my ears.

This man is stunning, a little rough around the edges, with a lump at the bridge of his nose hinting at stories from his past. This cowboy is just my type, only I’ve never actually met someone like him in the flesh before. He’s compelling, attractive, enticing in a way that makes my skin prickle with excitement.

“So, if you’re staying here in town… what are you doing on Friday night?” His voice is all rumbly, and I feel it right in my chest.

But then I realize what he’s asking. Or maybe, is about to ask.

And I fall back to earth with a jolt.

“Oh, no.” I shake my head, and his expression hardens. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was saying… I really am just passing through.” Jesus, I’m such a fucking idiot. It took me all of two seconds to lead this guy on, and now I feel like the world’s biggest cock-tease.

In another time, or life, I could maybe be Layla Birch: carefree woman who says yes to handsome strangers asking her out on a Friday night.

I could be the woman who gets to enjoy an easy conversation with a gorgeous man such as this one. Indulging in drinks and stolen glances and the giddy moment of wondering whether the night might end with being treated to more intimate pleasures.

Wondering whether there might be the type of goodnight that involves a brush of lips and sensual glide of hot, seeking tongues.

Instead of all that, I’m stuck on a hamster wheel of bills to pay, a qualification to finish, and forever feeling older than my years.

When, by all rights, I should be dating and kissing handsome men with enthralling eyes and unruly hair.

“Well.” He pushes away from the truck, and suddenly ice solidifies in the air between us. Those shoulders of his are now tense beneath the thin cotton of his tee. “Travel safe, then.” And as quick as a flash, he’s fishing his keys out of his back pocket and is on the move, opening the cab of his truck without so much as another look in my direction.

I make a start toward him. “Wait, I need to pay you back for the gas.” God, I’ve fucked this all up.

“Don’t worry about it.” He swings up into the driver’s side and slams the door.

The giant black truck roars to life as he revs the accelerator, taking off out of the gas station. Leaving me standing there coated in sweat and shame and feeling my heart sink into the oil-stained concrete.

My foul mood only worsens when I plug the stupid hillbilly address into the map on my phone, and all I can see is a long-ass road finishing in a dead end. The red pin glares back at me like a big middle finger.

Surely, it can’t be right.

I pinch the screen to zoom out, and this address isn’t even hillbilly territory. It’s on Mars.

The location is so far out of town I want to cry. It’ll use up a large chunk of the gas that the handsome stranger just paid for in order for me to drive out there and back again.

Kayce Wilder can go fuck himself, I bet he wrote the address down wrong—it would be typical of him—so I decide to get resourceful and go in search of some local knowledge. Crimson Ridge is small enough, surely someone will know something, but I certainly won’t be setting foot back inside the gas station.

So I park my car under the shade of the trees lining the median and make my way into the cute little cafe next door. The outside is surrounded by jasmine blossoms winding along the porch, shading the footpath from the beating sun. The place is quiet, with the lunch rush long gone, and when I cross the threshold, cool air welcomes me inside. Thank fuck for that. My shoulders sag with relief.

A girl around my age is behind the counter washing some glasses, so I make my way over. She’s got long, poker-straight black hair, with bleached ends. Her tank top is way too tight, but hey, if that’s what gets her tips then so be it.

Sometimes, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

I can hardly judge, considering the places I’ve had to work over the years just to take care of myself.

“Excuse me.” I plaster on my best friendly smile. “Would you be able to help me with some directions?”

“Sure.” She eyes me and tosses the hand towel over her shoulder.

Loudly chewing gum, she looks me up and down as I approach, which immediately sets my teeth on edge. Whatever, I don’t need to be her friend. I just need some fucking confirmation that my trek to the middle of nowhere isn’t going to be a colossal waste of time.

“This address here, can you tell me if it’s real?” I show her the screen of my phone, the one with the pin located way off in the middle of nowhere. “Like, is it legit? I’m trying to find a friend, but I think the address might have been written down wrong.”

The girl taps at the screen and then gives me an odd look. The kind of sidelong glance that seems weirdly knowing and curious at the same time. It makes me feel uncomfortable within an instant, like I’m missing something and she’s in on a joke that I don’t get.

Her lips curl into more of a sneer than a smile. “You wouldn’t be the first girl trying to find your way up to his place.” She hands me back my phone and leans on the counter. Putting her tits right in my face. Like she’s pissing all over her territory or something.

Fucking hell.

Kayce Wilder. Certified man whore.

“I’m taking it you certainly know how to get there, then?” I’m about done with all of this and have half a mind to just toss this girl the boxes right here in the middle of the cafe and let him come and get them from his fuck buddy.

She just gives me a coy smile and smacks her gum loudly.

“Might have been there before. But you’re a bit young for him, ain’t you?”

What? I can’t even with this level of weirdness going on. It’s hot as hell and I’m dying for a cold glass of water and feeling just about done with being the good girl.

“Look, it isn’t like that. Can you just tell me if the address is correct? That’s all I need to know.” I shove my phone in my pocket and give her a pleading look. Yep, that’s right. I’m at the lowest ebb yet, groveling to some slut who my ex has obviously been fucking. Or maybe is currently fucking. Or, I don’t know… I just want to get this dealt with so I can get on the road.

“That’s the one. Right at the top of the mountain. It’s a dead end, so you can’t miss it.” She picks up a dirty glass and runs it under the tap. “Hope you don’t get lost… if the beasts up there don’t eat you, the wildlife might.” And with that, she saunters out through the back with a flick of her hair.

For fuck’s sake.

I shove my sunglasses on and stomp back to my car. Cursing Kayce and his unique brand of uselessness the whole way as I start to follow the directions on my phone.

The drive takes me away from town, and pretty quickly, I start climbing what must be Crimson Ridge. I keep glancing at the screen perched on my thigh, and there’s no other place to go but to follow this one road as it snakes up into the trees.

If I wasn’t in such a shitty mood, I’m sure this place would be gorgeous. There’s lush forest rolling across the hillsides, without any signs of houses or people. Just endless shades of green, punctuated by sheer outcrops of reddish rock extending in frighteningly sharp drops into the valleys below.

The ridgeline itself forms a long sharp cut into the sky, like a knife lying on its side, and in the golden light of summer, the exposed rock looks a bronze kind of color. I can only imagine in autumn when the leaves turn red and brown and orange out here, it must look spectacular.

As I keep making my way higher and higher, I realize I must be approaching Devil’s Peak. I start to catch glimpses of the jagged top of an imposing black outline against the sky. It cuts across the pine trees and protrudes up into a cloud formation, even on a sweltering day like today when there is only blue sky as far as the eye can see.

I’ve been driving for about twenty minutes already, and I look down at my phone and see there’s no service. Just fucking great. Even if I did decide to bail now and wanted to leave Kayce a scathing voicemail about how I’ve burned his stack of photo albums, or god-forbid broke down, I’m stuck out here with no choice but to either carry on or brave a chainsaw-toting hillbilly and hike the ridiculous distance back to town.

The voice in the back of my head reminds me that I’m too nice and that he doesn’t deserve my kindness, but even though I’m deeply regretting my choice to try and help him out with this last favor, I’m also never going to change.

This is the type of person I am, for right or wrong.

Just as I think this insanity will never end, with the gravel becoming chunkier beneath my tires and the road growing narrower, I crest the final bend and emerge into a clearing amongst the trees.

It’s a small plateau, looking directly out at the view of Devil’s Peak.

My foot almost slams on the brakes as I take it all in with my mouth hanging open.

But the gravel veers left along a winding driveway, guiding me beneath a wooden arch with a steer skull hanging from the middle. It snakes a path leading me toward a yard and large, plain wood barn which looks like it must be the stables. Sweeping down below the property is a meadow of wildflowers and long grass, and I can see the elegant, bowed necks of horses grazing off in the distance. My eyes are darting, bouncing, flitting everywhere at once as I pull up in front of what can only be described as a mountain-property wet dream.

It’s wood and stone and has wide-span glass windows overlooking the view. A porch wraps around the entire length of the building, which sits low and elongated against a backdrop of pine trees rising steeply behind the roofline.

This is no rundown old shack hidden away in the hills.

What I’m seeing is a thing of beauty, designed to blend in with the landscape and not only that but it looks modern as all hell.

As I get out of the car, the scent of hay and wild herbs tickles my nose. Lazy, chirping crickets in the baking sun greet me. Sweet fucking relief, it’s a little cooler up here than down in town, with a crisp wind blowing from the direction of the forested ridge.

How the fuck has Kayce Wilder landed on his feet in a place like this? I was expecting him to be shacked up in someone’s drafty old farmhouse, with a stained couch and mice in the walls.

Not a five-star luxury lodge.

Lettering made of iron hangs above the double doors to the barn, spelling out the letters: D.P.R in bold black set against cedarwood planks.

Devil’s Peak Ranch.

Wide stone steps lead me up to the front door framed by rough pieces of stacked slate in charcoal and gray, and the woody smell mixed with cut grass is divine. Someone has taken a lot of care to create this place and I’m in open-mouthed awe as I reach the imposing front doorstep.

There’s no knocker or doorbell—I’m guessing you don’t need those way out here—so I raise my fist and bang on the wood.

Before I can even drop my hand, the door is yanked open so hard I almost fall into the entranceway.

What greets me on the other side is a wild tangle of curly dark hair, wetted locks that sit against tanned, damp skin, and fearsome hazel eyes.

And the man before me is naked, except for a towel.