Wild Card (North Ridge #1)

And I can't fucking blame her. That's the worst part of it all.

"Shane," my father says again, and this time his voice is lower, trying out a softer tone. That's the difference between my dad these days and the dad of my past. Though he will always have a hard edge to him, age is making him softer. And ever since Vernalee and Rachel moved into the worker's cottage, I swear he's smiling more than he has in a long time. Believe me, the cattle business is hard these days and there's plenty for us all to be worried about.

I meet his eyes, forcing myself to be in the moment. "Sorry," I tell him. "I’m..."

"I know," he says. "I am too. There's been a lot of change in a short amount of time. It's hard to keep up." He pauses. "What I was saying is next time you go out on the range or into the mountains, you should bring your gun. I saw some bear scat down by the river. Looks like grizzly. You know that normally this isn't something to worry about but with all the fires up north and east, the bears might be out of their usual territory. Plus, this smoke can rile them up."

I nod. "Got it." I don't like to carry my shotgun because it's cumbersome and brings up bad memories. I also don't like to be in the position to shoot anything. I’ll bring it to protect myself and the cattle, but I'm rather fond of the bears around here. They're dangerous as hell and terrifying when you see them up close, but they're also a symbol of the wild. I've only once come across them in a perilous situation, and with some luck and a lot of noise, the bear went on its way.

"So how are you holding up?" my father asks me as we start riding again, side by side.

I raise my brow. "Holding up?"

"You know what I mean. With Rachel and Vernalee."

"Well, Vernalee isn't much to worry about," I tell him. "Frankly, I think it makes perfect sense for her to live here for as long as she needs to."

"And after that?" he asks me. "What if she lives here always?"

Is my father asking permission if she can live here permanently?

I shrug. "Sure. I mean, she might have to share the worker's cottage with someone else. When calving season comes, we're going to need someone to help."

"We'll worry about that later," he says. "Worst case scenario, she can take one of you boys’ old bedrooms in the house."

I study my father carefully. There's something soft and hopeful in his expression, even though I can't see his eyes. "Honestly, I had no idea you and Vernalee were so close."

His expression hardens but it's forced. He clears his throat. "We've been friends for a long time, Shane. About as long as you and Rachel have."

"I didn't know that."

He opens his mouth to say something, then stops. Takes a deep breath. "I knew she was in trouble with Errol. Back then, I tried to tell her I was there for her whenever she needed it. But she acted like nothing was wrong. Shit, that still hasn't changed, has it? But when he went to jail, I stepped in. The women in this town, they ostracized her, you know? It was such a damn scandal and it wasn't her fault, but she was caught up in it and she needed a friend. And so we became friends."

I want to bring up the fact that even though they've been friends since then, I've rarely heard him mention her, nor have I seen them together. But I know my dad can be like me sometimes when it comes to opening up and I should be happy I'm getting this much.

When we get back to the ranch, we ride up alongside the worker's cottage. Lo and behold, Rachel is sitting on the porch, immersed in something on her phone.

"Howdy," my father says to her.

She looks up, surprised to see us even though we'd been approaching her for a long time.

"Hi," she says, her tone edgy. She puts her phone down and tries to smile away her frown lines. "Nice ride?"

"Pretty as a peach," he says.

"You're riding bareback," she says to me, nodding at Polly.

I nod. "It's good to mix it up." Not only does it help with your muscles and balance when you ride bareback, but it's much cooler for Polly without the saddle and saddle blanket. "Want to go for a ride?"

She looks at me as if I have two heads, but at least she's smiling. "No way."

My father gives me a quick look. "I'll leave you two." Then he nods at Rachel and steers Major toward the stable.

Rachel looks at him longingly as he goes, and I have to pretend it doesn’t hurt that she hates being alone with me that much. But still, I’m feeling persistent today.

I hold out my hand for her. “Come on.”

“Shane,” she says, “I’m not going bareback riding with you.”

“Too busy frowning at your phone? Remember what I said about frowning?”

She cocks her head, studying me with pursed lips. Her dark hair is piled high on her head, a few loose tendrils framing her face which is covered in a thin sheen of sweat and no makeup. She’s wearing a white tank top with a red bra strap peeking out, jean shorts, and Converse low-tops. She’s still the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. Time has only amplified this, the fact that over the years no one else has been able to measure up to her, to what we had.

Do you feel it? I want to ask her.

Do you still feel what we had together?

Did you ever think of me on cold nights?

Did you feel that longing in your bones for just one more moment, one more chance?

I don’t know if she can read my thoughts, though when we were young it seemed she could. I never did end up making a secret language with her because I never needed to. We just always knew. We knew each other’s heart like the back of our hands.

That can’t just disappear. That can’t just go away. I don’t care if she thinks she’s changed, that she has an important job, a boyfriend. I refuse to believe I can’t reach her.

“You chicken?” I ask, biting down a smile.

She raises her brows. “Chicken?”

That got her attention.

“Yeah, you scared?”

“I’m not scared,” she says, raising her chin.

“You forgot how to ride.”

“I did not. It’s like riding a bicycle.”

“Have you been on a horse since you left here?”

“Well, no.” She gets to her feet, dusts off her ass.

“So, get on,” I tell her, jerking my head for her to climb up. “Stand on the edge of the porch there.”

I bring Polly around until she’s parallel to the porch and hold out my hand again.

Wheels are turning in her head. She’s stubborn. She wants to keep her distance, wants me to leave so she can go back to her phone, back to her life in Toronto.

But then determination sets on her brow and she nods.

She takes my hand.

With ease, I haul her up until she’s swinging her leg over and pressed up against me.

“You all right?” I ask, even though I’m the one who feels like I can’t breathe. She’s barely even touching me and yet the feeling of her so close is lighting my skin on fire.

“I’m fine,” she says, a lilt in her voice that tells me she’s trying to sound tough.

We’ll see about that.

“You going to hold on to me?” I ask.

“I am holding on.”

No, you’re touching me like I have some sort of fucking disease.