PROLOGUE

WEST

S hut the heck up!” Jackson hissed when I tripped over a metal bucket. Again. I broke down laughing. “We’re going to get caught! You and your massive dang feet!”

I laughed harder—practically giggling. Jackson Myles wouldn’t swear if someone paid him all the money in the world. No, Sir. He was a good country boy, and good country boys didn’t swear. But me? I didn’t give a flying fuck. I, Dakota McNamara, was eighteen years old. I was a man. No one could tell me to do a damn thing.

Except my father. But that was a different story.

When I ran into a shovel, the horses stirred in their stalls. Grace was not my middle name. West was though, and everyone called me West.

Except my father. Again .

“You might as well set off an alarm, you know.” Jackson sighed dramatically. “There’s no point in sneaking out with you ever.”

“It ain’t my fault the stable hands suck at fucking cleaning,” I muttered. “Who the fuck let James run the stables anyway?”

“Our dads, that’s who,” he reminded me. Oh, yeah .

The Myles and the McNamaras had a long history together. Our great-great-great-too-many-for-me-to-fucking-remember-grandpas bought a plot of land with all the money they had in their pockets. They named it Double Arrow Ranch—for some reason or another—and then worked their asses off until that small plot of land became a thriving ranch. We were the largest cattle ranch in all of Oregon with connections all around the country for bull breeding. Some of the best bulls in the industry came from our ranch.

We also had horses, but those seemed to be more of a hobby than anything else. Jackson’s mom called the herd her babies. She had them named, spoiled, and looking just fine. Every minute I had, I helped her with them.

Jackson and I grew up on this ranch together, and one day, we’d run it together. His family had their house, and mine had ours, but I couldn’t remember a time when we weren’t together. Even at night, when we should’ve been sleeping, we’d sneak out to take our horses for a ride.

“Just watch your feet, Bigfoot,” Jackson teased. He took the lead, moving through the barn like he owned the place. Maybe he did. What did I know? Jackson belonged on this ranch. It ran deep in his blood. Me? Yeah, I was born and raised here just like him, but I didn’t feel it. I didn’t want to be a rancher. Honestly, I didn’t know what I wanted to be. Or what I wanted to do with my life.

“Look at you, pretty girl,” I whispered as I slipped into my horse’s stall. Bailey was a gray leopard Appaloosa and a gorgeous one at that. She’d been a gift on my fifteenth birthday from Mrs. Myles. My father thought getting me a horse was a bad idea—too much responsibility for a kid who couldn’t wake up with his alarm. But I’d do anything for my girl. I liked her a hell of a lot better than I liked my father.

I brushed my hands over her snout and doted on her. Even if we did get caught, I was still taking my time. Bailey deserved my respect when I saddled her. Hell, I knew Jackson was doing the same with Lucky across the stables.

By the time I guided my girl out of her stall, Jackson was waiting for me with Lucky and wearing that soft brown cowboy hat of his.

“You and that stupid hat,” I scoffed. I made fun of him only because it looked so goddamn good on him. Jackson looked the part of a rancher from his sunkissed chestnut hair to his tanned skin that made his blue eyes stand out in an unnerving way. I gave him shit for it but that didn’t stop me from admiring.

The real problem was that I was in love with Jackson Ford Myles. I had been for years. Boys like Jackson chased after the girl next door types while I just pined silently after my best friend. While it fucking hurt sometimes, I’d come to accept that this was my reality.

“Better than that tattoo you got,” he shot back. I grinned. On my eighteenth birthday, I’d gotten a tattoo—four simple words: no fear, no regret . It was small and technically two tattoos since I had one phrase on the inside of each wrist but still.

I followed him outside. As soon as we cleared the side of the barn, I mounted my horse and took off at a gallop. It was seconds before Jackson caught up. Lucky was a bay Thoroughbred and a fast one at that. Jackson could’ve turned him around and made some damn good money racing him, but the closest thing to racing Lucky would ever do was our late-night adventures.

Double Arrow fell just shy of thirty thousand acres. It gave Jackson and me a hell of a list of places where we could hang out away from our parents. Our favorite spot was just over the northern ridge—far enough to be alone but close enough that we could get back fast enough. The cows never ventured there and neither did the horses, leaving it untouched. I kind of had a feeling that Jackson’s mom had something to do with keeping the space for us. She was just that kind of mom.

We rode in silence like we always did. Mostly, we just wanted to make sure we got the hell out of dodge before we drew too much attention to ourselves. The twenty-five-minute ride always passed with ease.

Letting go of a heavy breath, I tipped my head back and enjoyed the rush of wind over my face. I loved the outdoors. I’d never go inside if I didn’t have to. There was something comforting about a clear night sky overhead and the pounding of hooves underneath me. I had no love of ranching, but I did love being on the back of a horse.

We hitched the horses and dropped down into the long grass. Jackson stayed close like he always did, and I was all too aware like I always was. His arm brushed up against mine, his knee knocked against my thigh. The contact had my heart galloping in my chest .

“I’m thinking of trying my hand at bull riding,” Jackson said.

“Didn’t your dad tell you no?” I replied. It was no secret he wanted to be a bull rider. He’d been dreaming of it since we were kids putting fake horns on calves when we played.

“Yeah, but I’m eighteen next month. Nothing he can do about it then.”

“Your mom’s going to have a heart attack, you know that, right?”

“Nope.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “You know those meetings she drags me to twice a week? They’re with Buck Hartley.”

“You fucker.” I laughed. Buck Hartley lived across town, kept a small ranch, and kept to himself. He also happened to be a retired bull rider—and one of the best too.

“He says I’ve got real talent,” Jackson beamed.

“I bet he says that to all the boys with money,” I retorted.

“Shut the heck up!” He elbowed me. “Mom ain’t paying him. He wouldn’t take it anyhow.”

“That’s cool,” I said. “Isn’t it a little late to just get started? The season starts in like a week or two.”

“Yeah, but Mom made a whole plan with Buck about ways I can ride through small summer festivals. Make a name for myself and all that,” he replied. “He thinks I’ve got a good chance at coming in strong as a rookie in the next year or two.”

“Your dad’s going to be pissed,” I told him. Shit, I couldn’t imagine pissing my father off like that.

“It won’t be so bad.” I felt him roll on his side and did the same. It was damn near impossible to see him, even though we were practically nose to nose. I held my breath, my heart pounding wildly. Sure, this was nothing for him, but it was so much for me. “Mom says I just need to prove I plan to make the ranch important too.”

“I’ll help,” I volunteered a little too quickly. “With ranch stuff and all that.”

I didn’t want to do it but for Jackson, I would.

“Will you be there when I do my first ride?”

“Will I be there to watch you fall flat on that ugly face of yours?” I chuckled. “Hell yeah, I will. ”

“You suck.” But he was laughing. The sound did things—stupid things—to my brain. Enough so that I didn’t realize what I was doing until it was too late.

Closing the distance, my lips barely touched his, and I froze. Alarms and red flags fired off in my head. This was such a horrible idea. There was no coming back from it. How the hell did you fix kissing your straight friend?

The truth: you didn’t.

I started to pull back, but to my surprise, he followed. His mouth latched onto mine in an awkward kiss. Between the angle and my retreat, it was a mess. I’d never kissed anyone. I didn’t know what I was doing. I chuckled awkwardly, unable to get out of my head as I broke away from him.

“I’m sorry,” I managed to say pathetically.

“Don’t be,” Jackson said, his voice thick as gravel. His fingers brushed through my hair, sending a tingle down my spine. “But I ain’t done kissing you.”

That hand anchored at the back of my neck and dragged me closer. His lips slid across mine, and I followed his lead. Soft and warm. That’s what he was. Despite his whole rough cowboy thing, Jackson was soft and warm. He kissed me gently as if afraid to break me. My tongue flicked over the seam of his lips, and he opened, meeting me in a greedy battle for control.

Kiss after kiss, we grew bolder. My hands ran down his sides, his leg wrapped around mine. The feel of his hands, the taste of his mouth, the warmth of his body. I was fucking flying.

“What’re we doing?” I asked in a lull as we both stopped to catch our breath.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. His head shook slightly. “I don’t…”

“Tomorrow,” I suggested when he faltered. “We can figure it out tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Tomorrow is good.”

And then his mouth was on mine again. I melted into the cool grass as I made out with my best friend under the stars.

We stayed out way later than we usually did, but neither of us wanted to leave. Somehow making out in a field until we were both rocking the most painful boners of our lives was better than anything else. Also, riding a horse with a boner wasn’t comfortable.

Hours later, I snuck in through the backdoor and practically tiptoed through my house. My father wasn’t a fan of me sneaking out, so I tried to keep it down. With any luck, he’d passed the fuck out with the help of whatever drink he picked for the night.

“Where the hell have you been?” That gruff voice stopped me dead in my tracks when I tried to pass through the living room. The light flipped on and my dad sat in his favorite chair, empty drink in hand and an empty bottle on the table next to him.

Shit.

Harrison McNamara was a beast of a man—something I wasn’t, much to his disappointment. Granted, everything about me was a disappointment. I took after Mom, which made me a reminder of her that he was stuck with. My dark hair contrasted his light hair, my gray eyes didn’t match his brown ones, and he was tall while I was average at best. Yeah, Harrison McNamara would’ve been happier with anyone else for a son.

“I went out with Jackson for a ride.” I cleared my throat as my voice cracked. “We talked. I promise we didn’t mess with the herd or break anything, Sir.”

He grunted, and my heart lodged in my throat. That wasn’t a good sign. Neither was the way he pushed to his feet. I remained rooted where I was, knowing that turning my back was the worst thing to do. Sometimes it was just easier to take my father’s wrath than try to avoid it. That always ended worse. I could take a hit or two. I was tougher than he thought I was.

He reeked of alcohol as he stomped close. My stomach rolled at the stench. I didn’t move—could barely breathe—as he glared down at me. I hoped to hell he just decided I wasn’t worth his time and went back to drinking so I could go to bed.

“What the hell is that on your neck?” he demanded loudly. Before I could say a word, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and wrenched my head hard to the side. “Is that a goddamn hickey on your neck?”

My heart stuttered in my chest, and my ears burned. I definitely remembered Jackson’s mouth on my neck, but I hadn’t known he left a mark. What was I supposed to say? He knew I’d been out with Jackson, and the evidence was right there.

“Dad, I…” I swallowed hard, struggling to say the words. “I love him.”

I barely had time to register the blind rage in his face before the first hit came. The blow to the side of my head sent me stumbling backward.

“The hell you do!” he screamed. The ringing in my ear distorted the sound. I pushed back the urge to run.

I could take a hit. I just kept reminding myself that. A few hits and he’d be done. He always got bored with me.

But each hit got harder, and I crumbled. I didn’t mean to, but I did. When his fist connected with my jaw, I went down. Blood coated my tongue, and I hurt everywhere. I covered my head but that didn’t protect my stomach from the toe of his boot. Something cracked and pain exploded in my side. I cried out and scrambled across the floor. He grabbed the back of my shirt and dragged me to my feet.

“Please, stop!” I begged, fighting off his hands.

More words were shouted at me but I couldn’t hear them over my own screaming and the sounds of his fists on my skin. When he grabbed me by the throat, he lifted me clean off the floor. I clawed at his hand and kicked with my feet. My throat burned, and black spots blotted my vision.

In a desperate move to get free, I kicked him in the balls as hard as I could. My steel-toed work boots made all the difference. He dropped me as he collapsed to his knees. Gasping and sobbing, I put as much distance between us as I could.

“You get out!” he hollered, his voice tight. “You get the fuck out of my house! I won’t have some faggot for a son! You get the fuck out! Get out!”

I ran up the stairs two at a time and stormed through my room, tearing it apart as I grabbed whatever I could stuff in my backpack. The stash of money in my desk drawer, some clothes, the leather cord from Mom. It wasn’t much. I didn’t have much I could take with me.

The picture of Jackson and I on my desk stopped me in my tracks. Maybe I could go there? Maybe I could—

Heavy boots stomped up the stairs, and my heart lurched into my throat. I had to get the fuck out of here. I wasn’t sure I could handle much more from him. I frantically took apart the frame and stuffed the picture in my bag before darting through the window onto the small overhang .

I’d snuck out this way more times than I could count. Getting from the overhang to the tree and dropping down was second nature. Even beaten, broken, and bloodied, I still managed to do it.

I was halfway down our drive when I dared to glance over my shoulder. He stood in the window. Just watching .

I couldn’t stay here. He’d kill me. And I couldn’t run to the Myles family house. I couldn’t stay that close. My father would never hurt Jackson, but I suddenly understood that he’d have no problem killing me. Maybe not intentionally, but it’d happen. If I stayed, it’d happen.

I ran away and refused to look back.