Something Wilder(23)

“Wait,” she heard Walter whisper. “Bradley, her name is Lily Wilder. Wasn’t that—?”

“Oh shit,” Bradley whispered. “You’re right. She owned the ranch he worked at, didn’t she?”

“She sure did,” Lily said. Anger, attraction, and confusion created friction in her bloodstream. The cat was out of the bag, and it was her fault. She knew it. But what could she do? She’d been completely unraveled watching Leo in his element like this. “Leo and I go way back, don’t we?”

Leo nodded slowly, exhaling. “We do.”

And even with their past out there for everyone to see, the heated moment didn’t immediately break off. Unfortunately, for her own sanity, she needed it to.

“All right, then,” she said, wrenching her gaze away. “Y’all read the code. Gossip time is over, and Lily Wilder wants you to get cleaned up and set up your tents.”





Chapter Nine


AFTER DINNER—TOO much chili, too much cornbread, an extra beer for Leo, and Lily’s wickedly delicious spicy hot chocolate for everyone else—the group of guests slowly stood, creaking, groaning. In the firelight and stooped over from saddle soreness, they all looked ten years older.

Walt walked to where Lily and Nicole were going over notes for tomorrow’s route.

“I wanted to tell you good night and see if there’s anything I can help with before bed.” His eyes scanned the area, pausing on the old leather notebook—Duke’s journal—on the table. “Cool,” he said, reaching down and fingering the faded yellow leather strap used to hold it all together. “That looks vintage.”

“Neither cool nor vintage, I promise,” she told him with a laugh. “Just old.”

Terry dropped his mug in the washbasin and nodded toward the book. “Can’t find ’em like that anymore.”

“Sure can’t,” Lily said, closing the journal and slipping it into her bag. She had no deep love for the words and drawings that lined the pages but felt protective of the journal anyway. “And thanks for the offer, Walt, but there’s nothing else to do. You guys should get to bed.”

Walter mumbled a grateful “Good night,” and headed off in an exhausted shuffle. Bradley and Terry looked ready for a few more beers, but they eyed Lily, and then Leo sitting alone at the firepit, and seemed to silently agree to file away.

Only Nic lingered. When she caught Lily’s attention, she tossed an eyebrow skyward and cocked her head, wordlessly asking if Lily wanted her to stay or go.

Tilting her chin toward the tents, Lily said a quiet “Night, Nic.”

Lily supposed it was time to do this.

Once Nic left, she took a seat next to the fire, unsure where to start. She’d initiated this conversation in her head so many times, but it was never satisfying. Her imagination never got it right. The balance of understanding and hurt, of consolation and castigation.

Thankfully, he didn’t make her. “We don’t have to talk about it, you know.”

Lily released a husky, wry laugh. “I don’t see how there’s any way around it. We’re going to be up in each other’s business for the next week. Let’s just get it over with.”

She’d been terrible at having emotional conversations before him. But to be fair, Lily’d been the only daughter of a man with the emotional depth of a teaspoon and a woman who couldn’t take the isolation of living in the middle of nowhere with a husband who was never present, even when he was. Her uncle Dan taught Lily everything she knew about horses and ranching, but his sensitivity bucket was only slightly deeper than Duke’s had been. Feelings were never a priority.

Lily knew she’d grown up hard, but Leo had made her soft. Over the five months they’d spent wrapped up in each other, Leo had broken her down one day at a time until she would tell him practically anything. It had taken some prodding, but with him Lily would open her mouth and everything would come tumbling out.

Truthfully, she hadn’t done that in a long time.

“Okay.” Leo let a thoughtful handful of seconds pass and then pulled out a proverbial two-by-four and took a swing. “So, what happened? After I left, I mean.”

She glanced into her tin mug before taking a sip of the hot chocolate that had long since gone cold. “Starting small, I see.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to do the long-lost-friends thing,” he said, looking over at her. “But maybe it’d be better if I started with ‘How are you?’?”

Lily kept her attention fixed on the fire, but the press of his gaze was unnerving. She turned and met his eyes. Dark and searching. So familiar it hurt. “Actually, yeah. Maybe that’s easier.”

“Okay, Lily,” he said, and his playful smile tapped against a tiny, vulnerable well of feelings inside her. “How are you?”

“I’ve been better.” Lily laughed thickly, pushing back the heavy swell of anger and sadness that rose in her throat. “I guess I was wrong. ‘How are you’ isn’t an easier place to start.”

His gaze swept over her face, from her hairline down to her mouth, pausing there. That vulnerable well began to upend, spilling dangerously, and Lily turned away.

When he spoke again, Leo’s voice was so strained it came out as a whisper. “Then maybe I’ll just start where I really want to: What happened to the ranch?”