Wild Highway: Runaway Series - Book 2

by Perry, Devney

  “Why?” She spun around and threw her arms in the air. Her long ponytail whipped over her shoulder. “What now?”

  I wasn’t going to apologize or beg her to come back. Even two weeks without Granddad bothering me wasn’t worth my pride. “Have you been on a horse in the past decade?”

  “No. Hence the lesson.”

  My gaze traveled up and down her body. She was wearing an oatmeal sweater with a V-neck that dipped low enough to show the swell of her breasts and a pair of jeans that encased her toned thighs. They were cuffed at the ankle, above the line of her tan, suede boots. Her legs looked a mile long and behind my zipper, my dick stirred.

  Christ. This lesson would be impossible if I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.

  “We’re riding horses, not walking the runway,” I snapped. “Do you have boots?”

  “These are boots.” Her eyes dropped to her feet. “What’s wrong with them?”

  “Those are not boots.”

  “They’ll work for today.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Don’t come crying to me if you step in horse shit.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll be fine.”

  Maybe if I pissed her off enough, she’d quit. Then I could tell Kat I’d held up my end of the bargain.

  I turned and walked back inside, heading straight for Jigsaw’s stall. I’d saddled him when Katherine had texted me about this last-minute lesson. She hadn’t bothered to give me the client’s name. Another mistake. If I couldn’t avoid the schedule, I’d ask for specifics from now on.

  “Come on, boy.” I hadn’t bridled him yet, so I took his halter and led him into the arena beside the stables. When I went back to get Gemma’s horse ready, I’d hoped she might have changed her mind.

  But no. She was standing beside Sprite’s stall, stroking the mare’s cheek. I’d planned on taking Pepsi, one of our other mares and Sprite’s sister, but when a rider took a shine to a horse and that affection seemed to go both ways, sometimes it was best to go with it.

  “That’s Sprite.”

  “Hi, Sprite.” She smiled at the horse’s gray-speckled nose, her voice dropping to a sweet caress.

  There’d been a time once when she’d given me that smile and talked to me with that same voice. The combination was a gut-puncher. But I refused to be jealous of a horse.

  I yanked a currycomb off a peg beside the stall and nudged Gemma out of the way with my shoulder. The right thing to do would be to make her saddle Sprite, but that would involve a lot of close contact.

  One of the other instructors could teach the woman how to strap on a saddle.

  Not that I expected her to be here much longer anyway.

  “When are you leaving?” I asked, sliding into the stall.

  “Please tell me you’re nicer to other guests.”

  I grunted and ran the comb over Sprite’s back as she hovered by the horse’s nose.

  Actually, I was great with guests, not that I owed her an explanation. I wasn’t charming like Katherine or charismatic like Cash, but I had my own appeal. Guests loved that I was authentic. I was a Montana rancher who loved the land, my family and a marbled, medium-rare steak.

  They liked me because I loved my roots. Something Gemma wouldn’t understand.

  Gemma Lane was too wild for roots.

  She’d run from here sooner than later, and this time, I wouldn’t let it wreck me.

  I wasn’t sure where she’d been these past eleven years and I wasn’t asking. Clearly, she’d run into some money. One look at her clothes and that Cadillac and you knew she had cash. If she was a paying guest, she’d come here to spend it.

  “I don’t know when I’m leaving,” she said. “I don’t really have a schedule.”

  “What about your job? Don’t you need to get back to it?”

  “I’m unemployed at the moment.”

  “I thought you left here to be some hotshot real estate agent.”

  “I was in real estate for a while. Then I invested in some other companies around Boston. Eventually I started a cosmetics company. I sold it three weeks ago so . . . unemployed.”

  “You made a couple bucks and decided to quit on payday.” I scoffed. “Typical.”

  That was exactly what she’d done here. Gemma had earned a good wage, but when the promise of something more came along, she’d bailed, leaving her best friend behind in tears. And showing me exactly what she’d wanted from me—a roll between the sheets and a couple orgasms—nothing more.

  Gemma’s glare was waiting when I came out of the stall. “If you call twelve million dollars a couple of bucks, then yes. I quit on payday.”

  My feet faltered a step at the number.

  She saw it. The corner of her mouth turned up as I marched past her to put the comb away and grab a saddle blanket.

  Twelve million dollars was quite an accomplishment for a kid who’d lived in a junkyard, not that I’d give her anything resembling a compliment.

  Katherine had told us about her homelife as a kid. How she’d run away from home, scared and hopeless, until some other kids had pulled her into their fold—Gemma being one of them.

  They’d lived in a junkyard, for fuck’s sake. Gemma and Katherine had built a tent out of sheet metal, tarps and whatever else they could find and had slept on the ground for years.

  My horse lived better than that.

  But looking at Gemma, you’d never know it. She held her shoulders straight. She kept her chin up. She was as shiny as my Sunday boots, and as refined as any of the wealthy people who shelled out thousands of dollars to go glamping here each summer.

  And damn it, there was a swell of pride in my chest. Twelve million dollars. She’d made it. She’d set herself up to never sleep on the ground again.

  “Why does it bother you that I’m here?” she asked as I came back with the saddle blanket.

  “Because,” I muttered.

  Because she was a distraction. Because when she was here, I couldn’t think straight. Because those hazel eyes were so enchanting, and if I let myself, I’d get swept up in her all over again.

  She’d be gone soon, chasing the next dollar or wild adventure, leaving me behind, wondering what kind of man could compel her to stay.

  It sure as fuck wasn’t me.

  We didn’t speak as I finished saddling Sprite. She followed close behind when I led the horse out of her stall and to the arena, stopping inside the gate.

  “Walk her in a circle to get her blood flowing.”

  “Okay.” Gemma nodded, taking the leather straps in her dainty hands. Her glossy nails caught the morning sun and they gleamed, clean and pale pink.

  Mine were permanently stained with dirt.

  As she walked Sprite, I hurried to my office and grabbed my hat. Then I scribbled a note for Rory to oil Mom’s saddle before lunch. He was over at the barn, cleaning up the mess Granddad had brought in with the four-wheeler yesterday and the tools he hadn’t put away.

  If I made it through this lesson with Gemma, I’d have two weeks without Granddad screwing with my plans.

  Theoretically.

  Katherine was good at managing Granddad but she wasn’t infallible. And he was unpredictable. But Sprite was saddled and so was Jigsaw, so I was committed to see this through.

  With a deep breath, I returned to the arena. Private lessons were typically two hours, but this was going to be ninety minutes, max.

  Gemma didn’t hear me as I walked up. Sprite’s hooves thudded in the soft dirt as Gemma led her in a circle, the noise drowning out the sound of my own footsteps.

  “Okay, Sprite,” Gemma said. “Help me out today. Don’t make me look like a total fool in front of him. Please.”

  I froze. The way she’d pleaded with the animal, the vulnerability in her voice . . . fuck. She did a hell of a job making sure to keep her confidence in place, but to hear her beg a horse. Maybe it wasn’t as steely as she pretended.

  And maybe I was being a dickhead, punishing her for a
decade-old mistake.

  Jigsaw, the bastard, chose that moment to snort and caught Gemma’s attention. When she spotted me listening in, the gentle expression she’d had with Sprite hardened.

  “That’s good enough.” I closed the gap and tightened Sprite’s cinch. Then I jerked my chin for Gemma to follow me to the horse’s left side where I held the stirrup for her. “Foot in. Hand on the horn. Then up you go.”

  With one graceful swing, she was in the saddle. A small smile toyed on her pink lips.

  I adjusted her stirrups, then handed her the reins. “Wait here.”

  Jigsaw jittered as I approached, the excitement radiating off his large body. “It’s not that kind of trip today.”

  He nudged me in the shoulder with his nose, leaving a snot mark. “Thanks.”

  After a couple of walking laps, I cinched him up, pulled on his bridle and climbed on. I clicked my tongue and led the way out of the arena, heading toward the two-lane road that created a large loop in one of the pastures.

  Sprite had been trained well. She followed behind Jigsaw without Gemma having to do a thing but stay seated.

  I looked over my shoulder occasionally to check that Gemma was sitting correctly and wasn’t choking up on the reins. Every time, I expected to make a correction but she looked good there. Natural.

  “Come on up here.” I pointed to the other lane. Having her behind me wasn’t going to teach her anything about leading a horse if she was only following.

  She nodded, her eyes fixed on Sprite’s white mane, then gave a gentle nudge with her heels and steered to the right. When we were walking side by side, she glanced over.

  Normally, this would be the time in a lesson when I’d shower a student with praise. Good job, you steered the horse three feet to the right. I’d prattle on about horses and gauge the student’s comfort. I’d talk about the ranch and answer questions, making small talk and ensuring the student had a nice time.

  Except this was Gemma. My normal approach had flown out the window when I’d snapped at her in the stables. And as much as I’d like a quiet, no-conversation ride, it actually made the tension worse.

  “So you drove here?” I asked at the same time she said, “Katherine said you built a house.”

  “Uh . . . yeah,” I answered. “A few years ago.”

  “I bet it’s nice to have your own space. And yes, I drove here.”

  “Nice car.”

  “It’s not mine. Do you remember Londyn?”

  I nodded, recalling the blonde who’d arrived with Gemma and Kat. She’d left not long after the first snowstorm. “The other friend.”

  “The Cadillac is hers. When we lived in the junkyard, it was her home, for lack of a better term. A while ago, she had it hauled from California to Boston and completely restored.”

  “How’d you end up with it?” Maybe she’d bought it with some of her millions.

  “Londyn was driving it back to California a little over a year ago. She got a flat tire and ended up stuck in West Virginia. The mechanic who rescued her is now her husband. After I sold the company, I went to visit, and she got this crazy idea for me to take the car to California in her place.”

  Like I’d suspected, this was only just a temporary stop. “Why California?”

  “To find an old friend from the junkyard. It was their car, Londyn and Karson’s. She wants him to have it.”

  “That’s quite the gift.” Restoring a junkyard car would not have been cheap. “But if she’s got money to burn.”

  “Londyn saved for a long time to restore that car,” Gemma fired back. “It was important to her and she worked hard for it.”

  I shrugged. I didn’t care. This was just conversation and a way to pass the time. I wasn’t all that interested in Gemma’s life story and how she’d come here. I was interested in when she’d be leaving.

  “Why are you in Montana if you’re headed to California?”

  “For Katherine.” She glared. “I wanted to see her and to apologize.”

  “You two looked fairly chummy last night, drinking all the expensive wine.”

  “Is that what this is about? The profit margin? I’ll pay for the wine, okay?”

  Of course, she would. She was loaded. “We don’t need your money.”

  “God, you’re something else. First, I need to pay my way. Then, you’re too good for my money. You haven’t changed at all, have you? In eleven years, you still only know how to send one type of message: mixed.”

  “Mixed? I think my intentions the last time you were here were pretty fucking clear.”

  I’d wanted her. I’d told her I’d wanted her. Lying in my arms, I’d told her I’d thought we had something real.

  And she’d left anyway.

  “I didn’t . . .” She blew out a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

  It was too late for an apology. I didn’t trust her, not after she’d snuck out of my bed and disappeared without so much as a word. All because she’d wanted to strike it rich.

  “Keep up,” I barked, pulling down the brim of my hat a fraction of an inch. Then I urged Jigsaw faster.

  Today wasn’t Gemma’s first time on a horse. She didn’t need to be coddled. She was doing just fine walking, so we’d trot for a bit and put an end to this conversation.

  The asshole who’d been pissed at her for eleven years wanted her to falter. To get scared and beg to slow down. To dent her confidence as way of punishment.

  But I wasn’t a complete asshole and when she stayed right by my side, actually seeming to enjoy the faster clip, another surge of pride swelled.

  Gemma wasn’t scared of anything, least of all me or a gentle horse.

  She relaxed into the saddle, finding her rhythm with Sprite’s, and by the time we made it through the loop and back to the stables, Gemma looked damn good on that horse.

  Too good.

  Her hair swung as she rode. Her thighs flexed and her breasts bounced. There was a peach flush to her cheeks and an added sparkle in her eyes. She looked beautiful. Satisfied.

  Hell. What if she’d actually enjoyed herself and wanted to do this every day? I was on the lesson schedule all week.

  The cool edge to the fall weather had been burned off by the bright morning sun, and the horses were panting by the time we walked them into the arena. I hopped off Jigsaw first, then took Sprite’s reins from Gemma to hold them while she dismounted.

  She gripped the horn, shifted in the saddle, then swung her right leg up and over. She swayed on the ground but found her balance. Her hands were shaking and there was a bead of sweat by her temple.

  I really was a dickhead, pushing her so hard. She might have liked it, but I’d still gone too far.

  Before I could apologize, Gemma took Sprite’s reins from my hand and forced a too-wide smile. “That was fun. I forgot how much I liked it here. Maybe I’ll take Katherine up on her offer to stay a while.”

  My eyes narrowed, the apology forgotten. “What offer?”

  “To stay in the guest bedroom at Cash and Katherine’s place. I’m in no hurry to get to California. So maybe I’ll stay.”

  I scoffed. “You’ll make it a week, maybe two before you get bored.”

  “You’re so sure you know me. That you have me pegged.” Her eyes blazed defiance. “But you don’t know shit.”

  “Oh, I know you. Intimately.” I inched closer, the smell of her perfume hitting my nose. She held my gaze by raising her chin higher. Those luscious lips right there, positioned and ready for the taking.

  If I kissed her, would she kiss me back? Or would I see the Cadillac’s taillights racing toward the highway by supper?

  “What do you want from me, Easton?”

  For you to get the hell out of my head. “I want you to leave. You don’t fit here.”

  I’d expected a snarky comeback. More of that stubborn, infuriating attitude that clearly hadn’t changed in the years she’d been away. But something flashed in her eyes that looked a lot like sorrow.

/>   She dropped her chin and unlocked her gaze, turning to stare off into the distance. “Maybe you’re right. I’m not sure where I fit.”

  Her words were no more than a whisper, but they sent me rocking on my heels.

  Gemma brushed past me, leading Sprite to the stables.

  Son of a bitch. This wasn’t my problem. If this road trip was Gemma’s way to find herself, more power to her. She. Is. Not. My. Problem. So why wouldn’t my heart climb down from my throat?

  I gripped Jigsaw’s reins and he followed me without hesitation into his stall.

  Gemma was standing in Sprite’s stall, pointing to the saddle. “What should I do?”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Okay.” She patted Sprite’s cheek. “You did good. It was nice to meet you.”

  I took a step back, giving Gemma a wide berth to exit the stall. She gave me a small nod, then turned and walked down the center aisle. Lesson complete.

  She wasn’t the same girl who’d left here. I was man enough to admit she’d changed—not to her face, not today. Gemma had grown into a mature, breathtaking woman. Even with the sadness in her eyes, the longing, she was close to irresistible.

  But if I let myself worry about Gemma, I’d turn myself in knots.

  “She’s a good girl.”

  “Shit.” I jumped at Grandma’s voice, slapping a hand over my heart. “Give a guy a warning.”

  She laughed, watching as Gemma disappeared around the corner and into the sunshine. “How was the lesson?”

  “Fine.”

  “She’s lost, that girl. Always has been. She’s running from anything that makes her feel.”

  I frowned. “She screwed Kat over. You remember how upset Kat was when Gemma ditched her.”

  “She was nineteen years old, Easton. I recall a few mistakes you made at that age. There was the time you stole your dad’s car and drove into town to get drunk at the bar. There was the time you—”

  “All right, all right.” I held up a hand. “You’ve made your point.”

  “Katherine has chosen to forgive her and welcome her here. We can all do the same. For however long she wants to stay.”

  I swallowed a groan. “She’ll leave.”