Chasing The Wild (Crimson Ridge Book 1)

“Excuse me? Is that any way to treat your favorite person?”

Winnie snorts and gives me another insistent nudge, demanding more attention and scratches behind her ear, so I indulge her, of course.

“I’m trying to clean up. You’re not helping with your constant neediness, you know.”

She gives absolutely zero fucks and explores my pockets like she’s some sort of raccoon bandit with grabby hands, not a thousand-pound horse with all the subtlety of a brick wall.

“Your boss isn’t going to be happy if I’m not done soon.” That’s only partially true. I don’t think Colt could care less if I was back late because of the barn or the horses. However, he most certainly will come and drag me inside if I’m not done by the time he returns from the work he’s been attending to. While I’ve been getting things done up here around the stables and the yard, he’s been down on the far boundary mending fences.

My pussy clenches in anticipation of seeing him after going our separate ways for the day. Not that it’s been all that long. The man had me coming on his tongue and moaning his name in the small hours of this morning.

It’s been a week of nothing but indulging our curiosity in one another, and holy shit, a girl could get used to being at the mercy of Colton Wilder.

My cowboy fucks like a god and treats me like a princess, and I’m so painfully fucking aware that our time together is coming to an end.

I’ve officially fallen for my ex-boyfriend’s father, and it’s the cruelest reality that the mountain road is liable to be reopened any day from now onwards—we’ve had a run of clear, warmer weather, and by all accounts, the roading crew is making excellent time with no setbacks to report.

I’ve sent up a quiet prayer every damn day that something might swoop in to impede their steady progress.

Hello, it’s me, Layla… again. Any chance of sending another storm front through on short notice so I can continue to be stuck in a snowy paradise with a man twice my age and his giant dick?

“Fuck them and their efficiency,” I mutter out loud, and Winnie makes a noise of agreement. Or maybe she’s being a judgy bitch. I don’t know, but these horses have seen far too much of my half-nakedness in the past week. So it could go either way, really.

Colt likes to surprise me out here, and it’s the biggest turn-on ever when he unexpectedly catches me working in the stalls.

We’ve managed to fuck on just about every surface. Having a sexy as hell cowboy bending me over while growling in my ear that I take his cock so well and look so pretty full of his cum? My cheeks heat just thinking about how much that makes me needy for him all over again.

Turns out, when you both have a kink that you’ve never previously explored with someone else… there are a lot of reasons to keep indulging in that fantasy with one another.

“Stay still, angel.” Our foreheads drop together, damp with sweat, coming down after the haze of frenzied fucking on the kitchen counter. He presses my knees as wide as they can go, reaching between us to swipe up the welling evidence of him at my entrance. With sucked-in breaths mixed with fluttering heartbeats, we both stare, transfixed and insanely turned on as he pushes those two thick fingers back inside.

“Fuck. Daddy. That’s so hot.” My pussy clenches, ripples in response to my rugged cowboy pressing into me, still sensitive and desperate for more.

“Christ. Look at you. Stretched around my knuckles. Leaking cum,” Colt murmurs hotly.

His cock is already halfway hard.

I’m halfway to begging him to pump me full of his seed again.

I have to shake myself of the daze threatening to tempt me back into memories of him using my body in the way we both get off on.

Can I be addicted so fast, so soon?

It’s a dangerous thought, because I know even allowing myself a single thread of that kind of thinking is going to weave a noose of bad-fucking-news.

This thing between us could be over any day now, and my stupid heart squeezes at the notion of not being bundled in Colt’s arms at every opportunity.

I’m not a complete idiot. I agreed to this, knowing the risk of allowing things to happen while we were snow-bound up here on top of this mountain together. As much as it pains me to admit, I strolled into this arrangement with my eyes wide open to the reality that Colt will never choose me over his son, and I care about him too deeply to ever expect him to.

As much as I want to be selfish, that’s just not how I’m wired, and like some sort of good girl martyr, I’m not going to come between him and Kayce. I know what it’s like to have an absent parent, and even though Kayce is a fully-grown, partially functioning adult, he and Colt deserve to be able to have a relationship in the long term.

Holy hell, but if I don’t have it in the worst possible way for this rugged man.

The butterflies currently kicking up in my belly are a lovely little reminder that my feelings have taken on a very treacherous shade. Where I’m not just at risk of being swept up in this man, the danger is I’ve already drifted far out to sea, no longer in sight of the horizon, with nothing but a will to keep treading water and hold my head above the surface.

All I want is to stop and allow myself to sink, to fall, to be surrounded by his warmth and scent and capable arms.

I’ll gladly drown in a single drop of him.

Checking the time on my phone, I know it’ll easily be another hour before Colt is likely to get back. It’s not yet that point in the afternoon when the daylight vanishes like water down a drain, and the weather lately has held resolutely blue-skied and brimming with sunshine.

Something I should be grateful for, rather than ice and wind and atrocious conditions for the cattle to have to endure out on the ranch. But my heart pouts at this feast of spring-like weather all the same.

Colt will most likely take every minute of daylight he’s given to get these jobs done out on the furthest reaches of the property, so I might as well make myself useful until the time when we can heat up dinner together and lose hour upon hour exploring each other in front of the fire.

There are a few jobs I’ve been meaning to get to around the back of the barn. We’ve got a stockpile of extra wood and kindling located back there and I keep intending to do a big restock of firewood close to the house. Ever the gentleman, Colt had told me not to worry about it and leave it to him, but I’m a big girl and I can handle lugging some wood around.

Heading out the main doors I take a hard right and follow the side of the barn that is furthest from the main high-use areas. In all honesty, I never see Colt coming around here either; it’s a place where an odd assortment of ranch debris lives. A graveyard of wood and wire and the kinds of occasionally useful things on a working ranch that need to be put somewhere in anticipation of a rainy day.

The snow around this side hasn’t melted fully. It’s shaded nearly all day back here in a strip between the barn and the tall stand of pines, with the left-over remnants of the last storm banked up in places. Back when I first arrived, this was one of the locations Colt showed me to get supplies from if needed, so I’m careful to pick my way toward where I know the wood is stockpiled at the far end, not wanting to twist my ankle on something hidden beneath the layers of ice and snow.

As I reach the stack of cut logs, I spy the wheelbarrow that I’ll be able to pile up and run a load to the house with. If I start with the kindling and then tackle the larger-sized pieces, that should be a reasonable amount. No one wants to discover wood supplies have dwindled when it’s pitch black and the weather has turned to shit.

One less job for Colt to have to worry about. That man has got more than enough on his hands around this place at the best of times. The sun is still hovering low in the sky, it’s the perfect opportunity to get this done.

Swiping the residual snow and ice off the wheelbarrow, I set it beside me and turn to the wall of wood. It’s heaped taller than me, and the smallest pieces have been carefully layered at the top. Of course, the cowboy up here on his own most of the time has stacked everything perfectly—only he’s done so to match his own reach.

Which is much too high for me.

This is going to require some fucking ingenuity, because call it laziness or sheer stubbornness, but I’m not trudging all the way back to the barn to find myself a stepladder.

There’s a round of wood hanging on the edge of the pile that I’m sure I can knock down, if I stretch. It’ll do perfectly to balance on as a temporary height boost until I get through the topmost layer of kindling and firewood. Once I’ve removed that, the next one down is still over my head, but at least I’ll be able to reach that from where I’m standing on the ground.

Looking like an absolute fool—and terribly mindful that I don’t want to risk bringing down an avalanche of wood on my head—I strain upward to catch the edge of the log. I’ll only need to bump it. The thing is hanging out over the front of the stack, and won’t need much of a nudge for gravity to do all the hard work for me.

My fingers graze the bark, and it shifts a little but could be stuck thanks to all the ice back here. It’s fucking cold and shaded around this side of the barn, but I’m determined to get this shit done. My toes already feel a little numb in my boots as I reach again and let out a curse as my fingers bump the piece of wood but it only dislodges a fraction.

“Come on, asshole,” I grumble, and this time spring upward a little, swiping at the edge, which has the desired effect. The log loosens and tumbles to the ground. I’m not intending to catch it, so I let it fall with a crash, feeling mighty satisfied that I’ve now got myself a thick, heavy-set round of wood to use as a step stool.

Only as it hits the layer of compacted snow with a thud, my stomach lurches. Instead of the noise I’m expecting to hear, there’s a slick sound and a clatter. Heavy-cast metal leaps upward from where it had been partially hidden beneath the blanket of white. Sharp layered teeth made of steel snap together.

A fucking bear trap.

Right in front of the wood pile and only a matter of inches from where I currently stand, now trembling.

Everything feels too confusing. My mind tries to piece things together in a flurry. Colt never mentioned bears or traps or anything of the sort up here on the ranch. Bear traps are illegal, aren’t they? He certainly wouldn’t take the trouble of showing me where this supply of wood was located and forget to point out something as dangerous as this.

If I’d stepped a foot to the side—If I’d stretched and lunged for that piece of wood only a tiny fraction to my right—it would be my leg currently mangled in those powerful, flesh-ripping teeth.

My hand flies up to cover my mouth as I suppress a cry. I’m chilled to the bone, too stunned to move. Too terrified to take a step or shift my weight. What if there are more of them hidden beneath the snow out here? As my wide eyes survey the layer of white all around me, the plummeting realization lurches in my stomach that I’m essentially standing in what could be a minefield.

It’s impossible to tell what might lurk beneath the surface of the innocent-looking white blanket stretching out in all directions.

“Layla, you out here?” The sound of Colt’s voice drifts from near the entrance to the barn. Oh, god. I don’t know what to do. Fear has frozen me to the spot, like the icicles clinging to the pine trees behind me.

“Colt—” I croak out his name. Fuck, why do I feel like bursting into tears? I don’t even think as I call for him, but it’s only when he approaches round the side of the barn that my panic morphs into a different emotion entirely.

What if he gets hurt? I can’t be the one responsible for him getting hurt.

“Wait. WAIT.” My hands fly out, sounding like a woman possessed even to my own ears as I yell at him. “Don’t move.”

“Layla?” He strides toward me, and blood pounds in my ears as I have an instant meltdown watching his boots hit the fresh snow one after the other. Crunching footsteps that I’m certain are going to end in bloodshed with every step nearer.

“Stop… Stop walking. Don’t come any closer.” Tears prick the back of my eyes. I’m not good at any of this, and I’m so confused and shocked and don’t fucking know how to handle this situation.

Thankfully, he stops and gives me a look from behind dark, furrowed brows.

“What’s going on?”

“The snow. There are traps. Fuck. I don’t want you to get injured. Please don’t come closer.” I’m an incoherent stream of babbling words.

My voice is too high-pitched and panicky, and Colt closes the distance between us, almost jogging, before I can stop him. “Layla, are you ok?” He’s moving faster than I can do anything to change his mind, with concern written all over his face, and I’m urging him to stand still. Just fucking stop. Don’t keep walking over here because I have no idea what I’ll do if there’s another set of those brutal steel teeth that snap up out of nowhere.

“What happened to you? Baby, show me where you’re hurt.” He’s on me before I can do anything about it. His big hands cup my face while all the blood drains from my limbs.

“Don’t move. Don’t step anywhere. Just stay still.” My fists grip the front of his jacket like I’m clinging onto him for dear life, and right now, he’s the only thing holding me upright.

“You get hurt?” He repeats again, voice gruff but soft in his way that he always is. Always so endlessly caring as his hazel gaze, alert and filled with concern, flickers over my body.

“Traps.” I stammer. “Under the snow.”

“Traps?”

“Right there. I don’t know how many.” Each knuckle turns white under the force of how tight I’m clinging to his jacket, because I can’t handle the thought of him stepping to one side. I’m certain that if I don’t anchor him in place with every ounce of strength I’ve got, he’s going to end up mangled and bloody and broken.

“Where?” His voice is so fucking steady. Sure and certain, and with an even tone that reaches into my brain and works some kind of magic because the grip of panic I’d been locked in seconds ago loosens its constrictive hold.

How is he able to talk me down off the ledge so effortlessly, every single time?

“By the wood. Please don’t move your feet. Please stand still.” God, the way my voice sounds so shaky when he’s the picture of calm. How the fuck does he do all this on his own? He’s as rock solid as this mountain, and I’m nothing more than a snowflake ready to melt at the first sign of inclement conditions.

Colt tugs me against his chest, wrapping one palm around to nestle between my shoulder blades, while the other strokes my hair. He smells like the horses and the open plains and sweat from his day’s work. My knees just about buckle as that scent rolls through me, soothing and comforting as if it’s his goddamn superpower.

“You’re ok.” The rumble of his voice comes through beneath my ear. “You left perfect tracks in the snow, baby. All we’re going to do is walk exactly where you stepped before, ok? I’m going to go first, and you follow right behind me and that’s all we’re going to do. I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you.

Words I can honestly say, hand on my shaken-up heart, I don’t think I’ve ever had spoken to me before.

For my entire life, I’ve had to go it alone. Other than my brief time living with Evaline, and the way my aunt took care of me to the best of her abilities, I’ve never had anyone tell me it’s going to be ok with that sonorous voice and steadfast energy. As he speaks, the words don’t just flow out of Colt’s mouth, his voice radiates off him like a fire emitting warmth and light and sustenance.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I nod against his broad chest. It takes everything in me to block out the three little words swimming around my brain. Words threatening to blurt out an entirely inappropriate confession of how deeply I’ve fallen for the man currently holding me and calming me.

“Let’s get you out of the cold. Just step right inside my footprints. That’s all you gotta do.”

Something tugs behind my ribs and hooks me to him. Doing exactly as he says, we follow the track I cut through the snow when I first came around here. Daylight has all but vacated and made way for nightfall, with only a blackish-purple hue stretching over Devil’s Peak as we reach the house.

Just like the night after stitching up the livestock, he tells me to go shower and quietly takes charge of organizing some food for us. I should be fucking stronger and should shrug this whole thing off, but the shock and cold have eaten away at my reserves of energy. Besides, I get the feeling this man would simply pick me up and toss me in the shower by force if I didn’t listen to him.

When I return to the kitchen, he’s not at the island like I expected. Our plates have been heated and there are a couple of beers already opened, but then I hear him coming out of his office in the hallway.

Stopping in front of me, he takes my chin in between thumb and forefinger and studies my eyes. There’s a solemness in his gaze, and I don’t really know what to fucking say. How many times is too many times before a man like Colt realizes what a goddamn headcase I am and is relieved to be rid of me? Why do I seem to crumble in his presence? Or is it just a sequence of ridiculous occurrences, each of which he’s been right there for.

Now I’m going to be forever stuck—the knowledge chafing my brain like sandpaper—knowing what it feels like to have someone who sticks by you even when you’re falling apart at the seams.

What a cruel and unusual punishment.

“Feeling better?” His voice is low.

I nod. Once again, enjoying the roughness of his hands and the closeness of him too much for my own good. “Thank you…” I trail off. There’s every chance I’ll start crying again, and I don’t want that.

“Let’s get some food in you.” Dipping his head, he places a gentle kiss on my lips, then ushers me toward the source of another incredible-smelling dinner he’s reheated. Colton Wilder is my perfect man, and I’ve never fucking hated our circumstances more than in this moment.

After we’ve sat and eaten in silence for a while, Colt clears his throat. “There are cameras around the place, not that I ever have the need to use them much. But I keep some going over by the barn for the security of the horses, and around the yard, the front of the house… just a couple of spots where anyone coming and going can be captured on camera.”

He scratches at his beard, not looking at me, studying the beer label on his bottle real fucking hard instead.

“There aren’t any unusual footprints or tracks in the snow I’ve noticed. It hasn’t snowed fresh in over a week. So whoever has been up here and laid that trap did so long before the last storm came through. Fuck knows why, or what for, but my gut is telling me it has something to do with whatever happened to the stock that day.”

I fiddle with the hem of my sweater. What is he saying?

“While you were in the shower, I ran back through the older records. The cameras out there sense movement and detect when there’s been something or someone pass by. A lot of it was just wildlife, but…”

“Someone has been up here?” I gasp. Not sure whether I’m more freaked out by the idea that there’s been an intruder on the property, or that there’s every chance whoever it was might have seen something between me and Colt during that time.

Oh, god. I suddenly feel like my stomach has flopped. It can’t have been Kayce—he wouldn’t be fucking with the ranch or the stock—but what if this person who has been here saw us together? What if they were to tell him?

What a nightmare scenario. For my ex-boyfriend to find out about me and his father through a goddamn stranger spilling secrets to him in a bar down in Crimson Ridge.

“Not just someone.” Colt grinds his molars. “The footage is blurry, it’s nighttime when the cameras caught the movement, but I know it’s them.”

“Who?” But even as the words come out of my mouth, I already can tell what the answer will be.

“Those Pierson assholes. I’ve every right to fucking shoot them on-site. Should’ve done it with Alton, the older one, the night of the bonfire.”

The dots start connecting. “The stock were hurt right after that day one of them turned up in the barn.”

Colt dips his chin. “Right after Henrik was poking around. Then the snow stuck that night of the bonfire, and hasn’t cleared until these past couple of days. So whoever laid that trap did so probably the night we were all down at the fire, and whatever happened to the cattle was probably retaliation for being threatened. Those two fuck faces deserve to be in jail, and yet they’re out here creeping around the ranch causing shit.”

“But you’ve got them on camera, right? You could take the evidence to the sheriff of what they’ve done?”

He shakes his head and digs a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “No. All I’ve got is grainy fucking shadows of two figures dressed in black and a gut hunch that has never let me down.”

“But why would they do any of it… what makes you a target up here?” There’s an uneasy feeling building in my chest. One that tells me this has everything to do with the way Colt sat up guarding the property—and me—that night with a shotgun in hand.

“They’re bad people. Damaged fucking kids who only want to pass that poison on to others. That’s all they want to do in return is hurt, because they’re hurting.”

“I don’t understand. That trap could have seriously maimed someone.” You. I want to shout it at him from across this countertop. It was obviously set there with the intention of injuring whoever went out to collect firewood from that pile next. No prizes for guessing that it was Colt they were targeting.

“Layla.” His voice is soft, but it’s a warning to drop the subject.

“Why? Why don’t you get on the radio right now? Even if you don’t have the evidence it was them, you should at least be reporting that there’s been someone trespassing and creating god knows what dangers on the ranch.” I’m bristling on his behalf. The thought that anyone could come and disrespect him and his property and his livelihood, not to mention that they intentionally hurt his cattle, is making my blood boil.

He takes a long swig from his beer, while I stew in my seat.

“Colt. I’m serious. What are you protecting them for?”

That triggers a response. His hazel gaze lands on me, and there’s a ferocity that sparks right there. Bright embers glow beneath his heavy brow. “You think I’m protecting them? Those assholes are exactly the kind of predators who like to drug girls and film them when they’re out of their head, while they do whatever they want to them. They get away with it because they always manage to make it appear as though whoever they preyed on wanted it. Hayes has tried to catch them in the act before, but nothing has ever stuck to them. There’s never been enough indisputable evidence.”

I’m so confused and lost and angry on his behalf. I don’t understand what this has to do with the ranch and the man sitting across from me isn’t being forthcoming.

“Then why not report them?”

His shoulders roll back, and he shakes his head. “Just… fuck… there’s history there, and even if I got on that radio to track down someone at this hour of the night to put in a report about trespassing, absolutely nothing can be done about it.”

My lips press together as I watch him closely. “You’ve had shit like this happen before, haven’t you?”

Colt holds my eyes, and there’s an expression on his face I can’t read.

“The important thing is that you didn’t get hurt.” His throat works down a heavy swallow as he looks me over, then pushes up to his feet, collecting our empty dishes.

As I help with tidying up after the two of us, I keep mulling over what secrets still roll around Devil’s Peak and this ranch. What burden is Colton Wilder still carrying? As we settle into bed together, he tugs me against his chest, holding me tightly in his strong arms. I drift off to sleep listening to the thump of his heartbeat beneath my ear, with a wishfulness filling my mind that he didn’t have to continue facing whatever it is that he carries alone.

Even though my time on this ranch is coming to an end, I hate that he’ll be left here and that he won’t have anyone to be steady for him, like he has been for me.