Page 8 of Savage Heart

Maverick

Now

Well, that was . . . unexpected. I drive back to the ranch in a daze. It’s been years since Iris and I have spoken.

I tell myself I’m fine.

But I’m not.

I’m thirty years old, and I already feel like I’ve lived a couple of lifetimes. There was the lifetime with Lincoln and Iris by my side, as much a part of my family as my parents and four siblings. And there’s the lifetime since I lost them both.

I’ve rebuilt myself out of the shrapnel she left of my heart, the ruins Lincoln did not survive.

Suddenly I’m anxious to get home. It’s a short distance but feels like an eternity. I reach the gate with the iron arch overhead, timber posts on either side, and the emblem my dad welded decades ago in the center, catching the sun. An H and an R, back to back.

I punch in the code and cross a threshold into another world—one that demands everything from me. I drive down the long dirt road that leads home, gravel pinging the undercarriage of my truck as the mountains rise up around me. The air coming through the cracked window carries that sharp scent of the early wheat from our fields.

For some reason today, I see it with fresh eyes. I wonder what Lincoln would think if he saw all the changes we’ve made around here. The place is thriving.

My truck bounces past equipment sheds, tractor garages, covered storage for the cattle trailers, a few different red barns, the riding arena, and the calving shed. The round white barn is one of the more recent builds, and then there’s the gym that Cameron swore we all needed—it was a good call. Lincoln would’ve loved the gym.

Past that are the staff bunkhouses and then the family houses. Mine sits closest to the operations yard, because convenience beats peace every time when you’re the one people call at 4:00 a.m. with a calving crisis. Grady’s place is tucked farther down, closer to the vet barn. Charlie’s house is also out there near the horse barn, so she can get her fix of early-morning rides without too much trouble. The cabins are not too far off the beaten path, but we tried to keep them as unobtrusive as possible. Cameron’s house sits near the river bend, where he sketches out plans for the dude ranch he’s building.

And built into the curve of the mountain, high enough to seem untouchable, is the big house. It’s beautiful, with wraparound decks and windows that glow clear across the other end of town at night. Billie’s still living there, the last of us kids who hasn’t flown the coop. She doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave either.

I take everything in like I always do. It’s why I’m good at my job.

The cattle graze farther out, the Red Angus and Black Angus like little rust and black lumps speckling the green hills. The horses cluster near the fence line, tails swishing. Muriel, our farm operations manager, walks with a few of the wranglers in the distance, Pickle barking as he waits for one of them to play fetch.

This place is both my haven and a pain in my ass every damn day.

But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

I pull into my spot outside the operations barn, kill the engine, and just sit there for a second.

Iris fucking Sullivan.

Her eyes had looked a little haunted, but they’re still that same shade of amber that made me feel like she could see right through me.

She threw me off by speaking, and then I offered her a damn white flag. Because she looked tired? Because she seemed so alone?

Because she’s Iris, and no matter how much anger I feel when I see her, she still has too much of my heart in her hands.

I slam my palm against the steering wheel and blow out a breath.

No.

It had nothing to do with her.

It’s Linc. On the occasions I’ve seen him around town or when he’s been to the ranch, it’s like I’m looking at Lincoln all over again. Every interaction we’ve ever had, whether it’s talking about candy bars at Sweetgrass Market when he’s there with Otis, or when he rode next to me last summer, we’ve bonded.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that, since I want nothing to do with his mother.

I climb out of the truck, boots hitting the ground harder than necessary, and tell myself to get my shit together. Pickle runs over and nuzzles my leg. I lean down and pet him, digging my fingers into his black fur to scratch his favorite spot.

There’s too much to do to be thinking about Iris for another second.

But her face keeps flashing in my mind.