Page 25 of Wild Highway (Runaway 2)

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.