Wild by Maggie McAlister

Author:Maggie McAlister [McAlister, Maggie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-02-16T00:00:00+00:00

The back door slams behind me, and I stomp down the steps, each heavy footfall a reflection of my foul mood. Leave it to my father to have the world’s worst fucking timing. The one day I actually want to knock off early to handle some personal business, and suddenly, he can’t run the ranch without me.

When I reach the grass, I stop and turn to look back at the house to make sure nobody is following me, relieved to see I'm alone. I'm not in any mood to talk, and if one of my brothers comes after me, I can’t be held responsible for the damage they’ll sustain.

Just as I’m about to turn back toward my cabin, I feel eyes on me. Several people are moving about the ranch, but they're focused on finishing chores before supper, not on me. Still, I can't shake the feeling.

Movement in an upstairs window catches my eye. I squint, trying to make out who's watching me from the guest room, but the sun’s reflection is high enough on the glass that it obscures them enough that I can’t see a face. Fuckin’ creepy.

Not wanting an audience for whatever the fuck emotion I'm currently experiencing, I turn my back on whoever it is and stride toward my cabin and precious solitude.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and my steps falter briefly, the weak fool inside of me wondering if—hoping—it’s Darby.

With a low, frustrated growl, determined not to give her another thought, assuming it's her who texted, I force myself forward, ignoring the greetings from farmhands until I’m alone once again and safe from…everything.

Slumping against the back of the door, I focus on my breathing, trying to bring it back to normal, despite the anger radiating off of me in waves.

Just when I feel myself gaining control, my phone buzzes for the second time in as many minutes, interrupting my focused breathing and sending me spiraling yet again into an all-consuming rage.

Thrusting my hand in my pocket, my fingers close around my phone hard enough that I'm surprised the screen doesn’t crack when I finally pull it free. Unlocking it, I see several notifications, but none are from Darby, so I shove it back into my pocket.

With a resigned sigh, I stand up straight and make my way across the open plan room to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge and a bag of pretzels from the counter before dropping unceremoniously onto the leather sofa.

Toeing off my boots and grimacing at the dried mud caked around the soles, which is no doubt sprinkled throughout the cabin by now, I unscrew the cap and down nearly half the beer in one go before leaning back. My sock-covered feet find their usual spot on the old wooden trunk that serves as a coffee table, and I close my eyes and finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Most guys my age would probably see a secluded cabin as a bachelor pad and a place to bring women.

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