Chapter Nine

Shane woke up as the plane began its descent, and the air pressure in the cabin changed. Someone—Wes, because they were the only people on the plane aside from the pilot—had placed a blanket over him while he was sleeping. He squinted through bleary eyes to see the man in question sitting across from him looking out the window, and . . . Was he smiling ?

Shane lifted the window blind and saw nothing below them but grasslands and sage covered plateaus, hoodoos and rugged snow-capped mountains, dense forest with slashes of yellow and orange as autumn took hold, and wide-open plains to the east as far as he could see. He rubbed at his eyes and sat up straighter.

“Where the hell are we?” His voice was gruff from sleep and his mouth felt like the Sahara Desert.

Wes was grinning. Shane realized with a shock that the times he’d thought he’d seen Wes relaxed, Wes had still been at a seven or eight on the one-to-ten hyperalert scale—or the “we’re all going to die” plane crash scale. Wherever they were headed had Wes so happy he wasn’t even gripping the armrests of his seat. The tension that had been around his eyes for the last several weeks was gone, and only now, in its absence, did Shane realize how tightly coiled Wes had been. Especially after the stalker had escalated their obsession with Shane into murder.

“Northern Colorado.” Wes’s eyes were bright, and Shane swore they were glittering like ocean waves dancing under the California moonlight.

“But there’s nothing there.” Shane hooked a thumb toward the window. “I’ve flown enough to know that our current descent pattern means we’re fifteen to twenty minutes out from landing. But nothing out there says civilization. Are we parachuting in or something?”

Wes’s grin widened into a blinding smile that made Shane’s insides all swoony feeling, and he realized again that he’d never truly seen Wes smile before. Not like this. Not genuine and unguarded, and like he couldn’t help himself. “You’ll see.”

Shane harrumphed and stood. He raised his arms over his head and stretched, sighing when his spine popped back into place. Sitting so long always left him stiff, and he rarely slept on planes anymore, especially on short flights like this one. But he’d had little sleep the last couple days, what with Alex’s murder, the short but intense spontaneous make-out session and hand job with Wes, last-minute hotel change, the show in Kansas, and the crack of dawn rush to the airport. After all that, thirty-thousand feet above the earth turned out to be the safest place for him to catch up on much-needed Zs.

He made his way to the lavatory, and after washing up, grabbed a bag of potato chips and bottle of water from the kitchen on his way back. Just as he sat in his chair, the pilot informed them to prepare for landing.

Already buckled in, Wes spared a quick glance Shane’s way, before staring back out the window. His left knee bounced rapidly, but this time Shane knew it was anticipation that had him excited and not anxiety from flying.

Shane snapped his belt into place and looked out his window again as he took a drink of his water and munched his chips. Still nothing but wilderness, though now he could see dirt roads spidering through the vast terrain like a massive web.

How did people live out in the middle of nowhere ?

Ten minutes later, Shane gasped.

“Is that an airstrip?” He didn’t even care that his voice had risen a notch because what ? There, on a green plateau dotted with sage, in the middle of nowhere, was a paved tarmac. “Seriously, where the hell are we?”

“Home.” Wes chuckled, his eyes glowing with delight. How had Shane not noticed his dimples before? “Haverstall Mountain Ranch.”

A memory surfaced in his mind from their short time at his condo. “The T-shirt you were wearing in Malibu. ”

Wes nodded. “Mason, my brother’s boyfriend, owns the ranch. He changed its focus from a legacy cattle ranch to a wild horse sanctuary and rescue.”

The safehouse is a ranch ? Shane frowned as apprehension snaked into his veins. “Great. More cowboys.”

He hadn’t meant to say that out loud and hoped the plane’s engines drowned out his grumble, but Wes’s raised eyebrow said otherwise.

“What is your issue with cowboys?” Wes asked with a genuine note of curiosity in his voice.

Maybe if Wes had asked that question a few days ago, Shane might have answered, but not after the other night in their hotel suite in Columbus. Not after Wes had flipped a switch inside of him, he was certain didn’t even work anymore, and then rejected him without turning the switch back off.

Shane flattened his mouth and shifted to take in the scenery again. Now that they were closer to the ground, he saw a few buildings—ranch homes and barns—a herd of buffalo, and horses dotted the open pastures. Surely, Wes wouldn’t live on a ranch full of homophobes, especially not if the owner—a man—was in a relationship with Wes’s brother. But that didn’t negate the lifelong damage his teenage experience had branded into his psyche.

The plane touched down on a surprisingly smooth surface. A few small plane hangars lined one side of the runway, and an orange-and-white striped windsock flapped lazily on the easterly breeze.

“I think it’s pretty clear by now that I’m attracted to men,” Wes said as they taxied down the short runway, his voice like a caress on Shane’s eardrums. “Obviously, my older brother doesn’t have an issue with that, seeing as he’s in a relationship with another man. My younger brother is bisexual. Mason’s youngest sister has a girlfriend, and Mason doesn’t hire anyone who isn’t queer, an ally, or, at the very least, accepting.”

Shane had no interest in getting into his history, but he appreciated that Wes had picked up on his unease and attempted to quell it. He’d never come across a cowboy who wasn’t a dick to him about his sexuality, but then, he’d avoided them like the plague since being disowned.

Until Wes Stonebraker rode into his life .

“Just haven’t had good experiences with cowboys in the past,” he mumbled grudgingly.

Not counting his experience with Wes the other night, because that had been good. So very good. Until it wasn’t. Too bad it wouldn’t be happening again.

The plane rocked to a stop, and the engines whined as the pilot shut them down.

“Well. I hope that’ll change now.” Wes unclipped his seatbelt and stood. “This ranch is a safe place, not just a safe house.”

Wes dropped his hand on Shane’s shoulder and gave him a comforting squeeze before walking toward the cockpit. Shane heard Wes talking to the pilot, heard the door open and the ramp drop, but all he could think about was how warm Wes’s large hand had felt on his shoulder, and how his skin still tingled beneath the fabric of his T-shirt from that brief touch.

He hoped this ranch was as safe as Wes said, so that Wes wouldn’t need to shadow him twenty-four-seven. Not when any slight touch or brush of skin was going to short-circuit Shane’s synapses.

With a sigh, he rose and followed Wes to the front of the cabin, where Wes waited for him before exiting.

He thanked the pilot for the smooth flight—he would take off again shortly—and trailed after Wes. The first thing that hit his senses was the earthy, sweet aroma of sage, and the comforting home scent of ponderosa pine on the crisp fall air. A cool breeze lifted his bangs and brushed his cheek, while the late morning sun kissed his skin, and an unexpected feeling of peace washed over him. He took a deep breath and wondered when the last time was that his lungs felt like they fully expanded. Even in Malibu, had he ever breathed that deep?

From the ground, the surroundings looked even more remote than from the air. In the distance, he could make out a few barns, but aside from that he was truly off the grid.

The low roar of an engine drew his attention.

A big, flame-red truck drove toward them on the tarmac and stopped a handful of feet from where they stood. The door swung open, and instinct had Shane bracing himself for the worst as the driver hopped out. A pair of well-worn, tan-colored cowboy boots hit the concrete with a thud. The man wearing them should have been threatening with his broad shoulders and solid build and dark slashes for eyebrows, but his wide welcoming grin had a calming effect. He was a couple inches shorter than Wes and densely muscular where Wes was lean. Dark hair peeked out from under his tan cowboy hat and though his eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, his jawline and mouth bore a resemblance to Wes.

Shane rolled his shoulders back and lifted his chin, ready to put the newcomer in his place if he so much as glanced at Shane the wrong way.

The cowboy removed his shades to reveal bright blue eyes that sparkled with mirth, and for a second Shane wanted, no, needed to know the secret behind them.

The cowboy rushed forward and wrapped Wes in what had to be a bone-crushing hug, going by the whoosh of air that left Wes’s lungs.

“Welcome home, bro.” He squeezed Wes a couple of times before stepping back.

“Glad to be back.”

The note of gruffness in Wes’s usually rumbling voice had Shane wondering just how homesick Wes had been while out on the road with him. Not a concept Shane was familiar with. Not when the road was where he’d spent most of his life.

Wes cleared his throat. “This is my younger brother, Levi.” He waved a hand between Shane and Levi. “Levi, meet Shane Castle.”

Levi turned his wide grin and twinkling eyes on Shane and offered his hand, giving a friendly handshake that stole Shane’s thoughts. The last thing Shane had expected was a cowboy as affable as this one. Every Stetson-sporting man he’d come across, except for Wes, had given him bone-snapping he-man handshakes to prove their dominance—if they’d deigned to shake his hand at all.

“Welcome to Haverstall Mountain Ranch, Shane,” Levi said with genuine sincerity in his voice. Shane couldn’t help but instantly like him. He didn’t know how someone he’d just met could make him feel at home, but Levi Stonebraker had done just that.

“Thank you.” Shane smiled back. “It’s nice to meet you.”

And he meant it.

“C’mon,” Levi said with a tip of his head. “Let’s get you guys home. ”

Shane and Wes gathered their bags, and after loading everything into the back of the truck, they climbed into the extended cab—Wes up front with his brother and Shane in the back.

“This is where you’re going to be lying low,” Wes said as his gaze roamed over the vast land before turning in his seat to face Shane. “And as a bonus, we have both of my brothers here for extra protection. Not that we’ll need them, since we’re pretty remote out here, and Isaac is the only other person who knows where you are.”

“And the pilot,” Shane said.

Wes shook his head. “His job depends on discretion. He won’t say anything.”

Shane studied him for a second before he relaxed a notch. If Wes was that confident, then Shane wouldn’t stress over it. He had enough to worry about.

Wes tipped his head and turned back around.

The truck rocked as it left the smooth tarmac and rolled onto a dirt road that turned left at a T, running along the edge of a massive hayfield. They bounced over a wooden bridge and followed a snaking river. Mountains rose up to his right a short distance away, and bison grazed peacefully in the green pasture. A small barn came into view, but when they got closer, he realized it was a hay shed. They circled around a large empty arena with chutes and a black roping dummy steer at one end. Over another wooden bridge to cross the river again, and headed toward a cluster of houses, cabins, and barns. Before Shane had a chance to suss out which one belonged to Wes, Levi steered the truck to the right, behind a large ranch house, and continued to follow the river away from the only civilization Shane had so far seen.

“Where exactly are we going?” Shane shifted in his seat.

Levi chuckled and glanced over his shoulder. “Wes prefers the company of animals over people. Even his own brothers—”

“Hey,” Wes argued without heat in his voice. “That’s not true.”

“Really?” Levi snorted, but his demeanor was playful. “What was wrong with the cabin across from the ranch hands’ quarters?”

“Too close,” Wes grumbled, and Levi playfully punched his shoulder while Wes shook his head.

“Wait.” Emotion akin to fear welled up in Shane’s chest. “I’m going to be staying at your house? ”

Levi cast a curious look between his brother and Shane before returning his attention to the dirt trail of a road ahead of him.

Wes shrugged, but his gaze remained focused outside. “Safest place I know.”

Shane fell back in his seat. Great . Twenty-four-seven in the middle of nowhere with a cowboy who didn’t want him but who he still wanted, anyway.

The barns and homes fell behind them as they continued along, and Shane noticed several fenced pastures with horses on the other side of the river. A couple of cowboys were tossing out hay from the back of two Gator farm vehicles in one of the smaller fields. A half dozen horses stood back, watching intently.

“Those are wild mustangs,” Wes supplied. “The ones in the smaller enclosures are new rescues and adoptions that are decompressing, or those that are older or have medical conditions and need more regular attention.” Wes turned to Levi. “How are the new arrivals settling in?”

“Really well.” Levi flashed a grin at his brother. “One of them, Denali, was so traumatized he didn’t stop shaking for hours once he was off the trailer. Now he holds his head high and proud and leads a small band. I can’t wait for him to join the big herds soon.”

They drove another minute or two before a grove of tall aspen and maple trees opened to reveal a small rancher with rustic wood siding and stone accents. A veranda ran the length of the home, and raw wood posts supported an extended roof that gave it shade and protection from the elements. A wooden zigzag split-rail fence framed the home on two sides, and in a single blink, Shane transported a decade into the past. His family’s homestead was a sprawling rancher, but the hands all lived in small cabins that accommodated up to four crew members. Except for Hugh, who had a cabin to himself . . .

Nope, not going there .

Levi parked beside an older black Chevy pickup truck that was a little banged up, but its chrome accents gleamed with a blinding shine. Old but loved.

“Is that your truck?” Disbelief pitched Shane’s voice a notch higher.

“My first truck,” Wes said with a note of pride. “Bought it with money I’d saved up working odd jobs in high school. ”

“But it’s black !”

A pink flush colored Wes’s cheeks, and Shane barked out a laugh. Wes grinned but didn’t speak as Levi’s gaze bounced between the two of them, waiting for the punchline. Wes opened his door and hopped out.

Levi turned in his seat toward Shane, his eyebrows raised. “What did I miss?”

“He gives me crap about everything I wear being black.” Shane waved a hand toward Wes’s truck in a silent hello .

Levi grinned as he cut the engine, withheld secrets gleaming bright in his eyes again.

“Huh,” Levi said thoughtfully.

“‘ Huh ’ what?”

But Levi was out of his seat without clarifying, and the silence that followed was near deafening. Shane had thought his Malibu house was quiet, but this was a whole other level. His biker boots crunched on the gravel when he exited the truck and made his way to the back to gather his luggage.

“Come have dinner at Colt and Mason’s place after you guys get settled in,” Levi said once they were all unloaded and standing on the front porch of Wes’s cabin. “You can catch us up on what’s been going on and what help you need from us, if any.”

“Will do,” Wes said with a tip of his head.

Levi turned to Shane and tapped a finger to the brim of his hat, smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world. He climbed back into his pickup and, with a wave, headed back to the main ranch, Shane assumed.

“I like your brother.” Shane grinned at the dark glare Wes shot his way and wondered if Wes even realized he’d made it.

“Come on in.”

Wes pushed the glazed glass front door open, and Shane followed him inside. The rustic wood theme continued in the interior, with timber posts defining a living room and dining room space. Exposed beams accented the ceiling, and distressed brown leather furniture featured pops of color with tomato-red pillows. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened the space up and brought the outside in. But where Shane had fully expected to see taxidermy heads of animals and old rifles on the walls, were instead plants in every shade of green in the corners, on tables, in windowsills, and in hanging and wall baskets.

“So many plants,” he said in awe. “How are they all still alive?”

“Mason’s sister Trina waters them for me.”

Everywhere Shane looked, sat another plant. “Must take her hours.”

Wes only grunted behind him in response.

The place was in stark contrast to Shane’s near-sterile white condo, but to his surprise, held a calmness that put him at ease. Maybe it had something to do with all the plants. Maybe Wes himself was the source. But whatever the reason, Shane grudgingly looked forward to spending time here.

“So, uh . . .” Wes took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “I might not have fully thought this through.”

Shane frowned. Was he getting kicked out before he’d even unpacked? “What do you mean?”

Wes looked away before meeting Shane’s eyes. “Technically, this is a two-bedroom rancher, but I converted the second bedroom into a studio and office.”

Shane was quiet for a second, but couldn’t hold back the upward tug of his lips. “So, you’re saying there’s only one bed? Whatever shall we do?”

Dammit . He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He was still hurting from Wes pushing him away the other night, but the words had fallen from his lips before he could stop them. But maybe . . . Maybe Wes had changed his mind. Staying on as his bodyguard and bringing him here hadn’t been the plan the morning before. Maybe now Wes would relax a little and be open to exploring the attraction between them without worrying about Shane’s safety. Nothing was going to happen to him out here in the middle of nowhere. No one knew where he was, and he had not only one, but three hunky cowboy bodyguards. He’d yet to meet the third brother, but Shane knew he’d be just as handsome as the younger two.

Wes shook his head and replaced his hat.

“No. You’ll take my room.” Wes waved an arm toward what Shane assumed was his bedroom at the end of a short hallway. “I’ll take the office. The couch in the studio folds out into a bed. ”

“I can’t take your room,” Shane argued, though the thought of sleeping where Wes slept held an appeal he couldn’t deny.

“It’ll work better this way,” Wes replied. “I tend to work ridiculous hours on my computer, so if I’m sleeping there too, I won’t disturb you.”

Shane shrugged. With a nonchalance that hid his unexpected disappointment, he said, “Suit yourself.”

Wes led him past a modern kitchen with a large window set in a stone wall—where more plants that looked like herbs sat on two glass shelves barring the window. Two massive droplights hung over a granite island, with four stools sidled up to it. They entered a short hall with an open door on each side.

“That’s the laundry room.” Wes waved to the left. He turned to the right. “This is my room.”

Shane held his breath as they entered Wes’s bedroom. The same warm wood flooring ran into the room, and centered under the king-size bed lay a cushy-looking, off-white rug. The comforter was dark brown, maybe suede or microfiber, with a rust-red throw blanket folded across the foot of the bed. Curtains the color of the throw blanket framed a massive window, and a glazed glass door opened onto another patio. A massive umbrella tree, at least seven feet tall, stood in the corner. Lights hung over matching nightstands on each side of the bed. Somehow, the understated space felt like Wes.

“The closets and bathroom are through there.” Wes indicated with a flick of his hand toward another doorway to the left. “I’ll clear some space in the closet for you.”

“This is nice,” Shane said, meaning it. He’d expected some sort of single-room, rustic log cabin with an outhouse and woodburning stove, but the house was modern country style with all the high-end amenities one could want. Outside civilization, that was. Wes’s house burst with color and character, mostly from enough lush greenery to rival a nursery, but the mood was serene. Nothing screamed at Shane for his attention, and for a second, he wondered why he’d thought that blank white-slate of a condo he called home was what he’d needed to find peace off the road. “Even though it’s not white.”

Wes held his gaze for an extended beat, his mouth lifted into a lopsided grin. Shane’s heart skipped a beat as he stood trapped in those gray-blue eyes. He swallowed .

Wes’s whole body twitched, as though someone had zapped him, and pursed his lips.

“Okay.” His voice was breathy. He spun toward the closets and flung one open. “I’ll just grab a few things and then you can get settled.”

Wes dumped his handful of clothing on the sofa in his office and exhaled so loud he was certain Shane heard him clear on the other side of the house. What had he been thinking? Really? Keeping Shane safe was the priority, yes, and the ranch was the safest place he knew. But at his house? There were more than enough empty houses and cabins on the ranch that he could have used instead. But part of him liked the idea of Shane in his space—in his bed, even if he wasn’t in it with him.

Well . . . It is what it is now .

Wes wandered into the kitchen. His gaze on the short hall to his bedroom. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard to pour himself a cup of water and stared out the window at nature’s portrait as doubt bled into his mind—not out of fear for Shane’s safety, but that he wouldn’t measure up in Shane’s eyes. Not that it should matter, or that he should think that way at all. Protector-slash-protectee relationship, after all. But he couldn’t help wondering what Shane thought of his home. Haverstall Mountain Ranch was a long way from posh hotel suites and luxury Malibu beach condos.

He frowned at the thought, pushing away the odd sense of vulnerability that crept into his thoughts. This was his house, and he damn well wouldn’t let some diva rock star make him feel embarrassed about it.

But he’s not really a diva, is he ?

Shane wandered into the kitchen a few minutes later, saving Wes from his mental spiral down the rabbit hole. Wes’s breath caught when he dragged his gaze from the wilds of the ranch to wilds of another kind—a sexier-than-he-had-any-right-to-be man with warm brown eyes and a seductive grin who stirred things inside his body that shouldn’t be stirring .

Shane’s grin widened into a toothy smile, as though Wes’s face revealed everything he was thinking and feeling. Vanishing just as fast.

“So,” Shane said, his voice was low but there was a flatness to it again that bothered Wes. He wanted the flirty, cocky Shane back as much as he needed the fire sparking between them to remain dormant. “What now?”

Wes drank him in for a long moment. Shane wore a T-shirt with “CBGB” in distressed white lettering on it, jeans that were faded over his thighs, both black, of course, and he’d refreshed his makeup. Not the loud, in-your-face makeup he did for concerts and interviews, but a subtle statement that said: This is me. Deal with it.

Wes loved how unapologetic Shane was, but he hoped, with a sense of sadness, that Shane didn’t feel he needed to wear it here on the ranch. He should only wear it because he wanted to, because it made him happy. Not like a shield or a weapon. But Wes had learned two things about Shane over the past month: one was that something had happened in Shane’s past that made him put his back up around cowboys. The other was that the more vulnerable he felt, the more “in-your-face” he became. Wes wanted Shane to know that not a single person on this ranch would judge or hurt him. He was safe here, in more ways than from his stalker.

Shane raised an eyebrow.

Right ! What had Shane asked . . .?

Wes shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Now we go see Merlin.”

“Who’s Merlin?” Shane’s eyebrows dipped into a thoughtful furrow.

“You’ll see,” Wes said, his voice lighter than he felt, and turned for the front door. Shane at his heels.

Wes crossed the front yard, opened the passenger door of his truck, and waved an arm to usher Shane inside, but Shane had stalled in the doorway, his arms hanging at his sides and a confused expression on his face.

“What?”

Shane flapped a hand at Wes’s truck. “One, does that thing still run?”

“Of course it does.”

“And two, why are we driving? ”

Wes looked over his shoulder. From his house he couldn’t see the main barns and ranch houses during the day, but at night he could see the warm flickering of lights through windows and from the main courtyard.

“Pretty sure you noticed how far we drove from the main ranch.” He tipped his head. “C’mon. It’s more than a mile. We can walk another day.”

Shane looked down at his feet and frowned. He was wearing his biker boots. Not quite ranching boots, but good enough for a tour.

“Don’t worry about your boots,” Wes teased, hoping to draw playful Shane out. “You won’t be mucking stalls or anything. At least not today.”

Shane grunted and disappeared back inside the house. Wes sighed. He didn’t want to stay holed up in the house alone with Shane just yet. But a few seconds later Shane reappeared, striding toward him as he pulled on a lightweight black leather jacket that hid the tattoos Wes admired. Wes recognized the teasing gleam in his eyes. He braced himself as Shane, gaze locked on his, walked right up into his space.

Wes expected, no, looked forward to a flirtatious comment, or some inappropriate innuendo, or even a simple grin, but Shane slid a pair of sunglasses with red tinted lenses over his nose, obscuring the warmth of his eyes. Then he turned and hopped up into the truck. Disappointment knifed into Wes. He ground his molars and closed Shane’s door. No one had ever gotten under his skin the way Shane did.

Shane didn’t say a word during the short drive to the main ranch, which should have been a good thing, but the silence between them was thick and oppressive. Wes hated it, but he had no clue how to get them back on companionable ground again. The way they’d been before that fateful email from Shane’s stalker, and Wes’s need to comfort him had turned into something more.

Wes parked his truck next to Mason’s beat-up old ranch pickup and turned off the engine.

“This way,” he said when Shane exited the vehicle.

Shane walked beside him but remained silent. Wes chanced a sideways glance at him but couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking or feeling. He did notice the tension in Shane’s jaw and the stiff set of his shoulders, though.

Wes let it go. He couldn’t protect Shane from whatever was going on in his head. He’d assured Shane he was safe here, but sometimes people had to see for themselves to believe. He led Shane around the back of the main barn and to a large pasture where his and his brothers’ horses grazed along with Mason and his sisters’ horses. Wes stopped at the gate, closed his eyes, and took a second to breathe in the fresh ranch air. A balm to his soul he’d been missing while on the road, traveling from city to city.

He whistled, loud and sharp.

“Warn a guy, will ya,” Shane complained, his hands on his ears, and Wes couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips.

A few seconds later, the sound of thunder drew his attention. Not thunder, but the pounding hooves of a galloping horse. Merlin broke through the trees and galloped toward him, sliding to a stop just shy of the gate. He snorted and tossed his head before coming closer. He nudged Wes’s hat back, drawing a laugh from him that felt unused and rusty. How long had it been since he’d laughed?

“Hey, Merl.” He rubbed Merlin’s strong cheek. “I missed you too.”

He turned to Shane, who had taken off his sunglasses and was looking at Merlin with awe in his eyes. Probably the first time he’d seen a horse in real life, Wes figured. At least Shane didn’t appear afraid. Horses picked up on people’s emotions and rarely reacted well to fear.

“This is Merlin,” Wes said. “I’ve had him since he was a wobbly, long-legged colt.”

“He’s gorgeous.” Shane stretched out a hand and rubbed Merlin’s nose. “Quarter horse, yes?”

Wes swiveled his head to stare at Shane, eyebrows raised. “How the hell do you know what a quarter horse is?”

“I wasn’t born a fully formed rock star, you know.” Shane didn’t meet his eyes, but he was smiling and the tension in his body had relaxed.

“Huh.” The mystery of Shane Castle deepens .

“Can we go riding?” Shane asked, petting Merlin like he was a fifty-pound dog and not a massive twelve-hundred-pound equine. But then, horses didn’t have fangs and claws, so in reality, dogs were scarier.

“You know how to ride?” The words were out before Wes could temper his surprise.

Shane shrugged. “It’s been a while.”

“Hey, you’re back!”

Shane startled at the shout and the rapid persona switch from private Shane to famous Shane made Wes’s head spin.

Wes turned to see Dion, a young ranch hand who mostly worked with the rescued domestic horses, approaching from the medical barn. Dion’s infectious smile was like a ray of sunshine that always made Wes feel hopeful about the world. Which was a feat in and of its own, given how heartbreaking horse rescue could be and how dark his own job sometimes was.

“Hey, D.” Wes pulled him into a quick hug.

Dion slapped his back a couple of times before stepping out of Wes’s embrace and turning his kind, dark eyes on Shane. His smile widened, and Shane’s shoulders lowered. As far as Wes was concerned, Dion made it impossible not to feel relaxed and at ease around him. He beamed his golden smile at Shane, whose mouth curved up in return.

“Shane. This is Dion Wisher,” Wes introduced. “He’s one of the full-time hands on the ranch who works mostly with the rescue horses. Dion, meet Shane. He’ll be staying here with me for a couple of weeks.”

Dion offered his hand, and Shane took it without hesitation.

“Nice to meet you,” Dion said. He tilted his head, as though piecing a puzzle together, and Wes held his breath, hoping Dion didn’t recognize Shane. But how could he? Dion lived on the ranch twenty-four-seven and listened to country music. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have seen Shane and Audio Siren somewhere. The ranch hands’ quarters had a TV and internet, after all.

“You, too. It’s good work you do here.”

Dion ducked his head, shoved his hands into his pockets, and kicked at a rock. “Just doing what needs done.”

“Levi sent me photos of the new mustangs,” Wes said. “Did any new rescues come in too? ”

“Sadly, yes.” Dion sighed and tipped his head toward the large medical barn that was once a dairy cow barn when Wes had lived on the ranch as a kid. “C’mon.”

Wes motioned for Shane to follow, automatically falling into step just behind him and on his right. Shane quirked an eyebrow at him but didn’t say anything. The point of bringing Shane to the ranch was so that he would be out of the limelight and hidden from his stalker. But even though Wes could let his guard down at home, where he didn’t need to be as diligent and had the extra support of his brothers, it didn’t seem to matter where Shane was concerned.

“Welcome home, Wes,” Katie called out as they entered the barn, her eyes the same color as Mason’s flashing bright.

“Hey, Katie,” Wes greeted, and then waved toward Shane. He’d let Katie know Shane would be staying on the ranch for a couple of weeks, and to keep a close eye on the ranch’s social media. “This is Shane.”

Wes turned to Shane. “This is Katie Hayes, Mason’s youngest sister.”

Shane stepped forward with a flirty smile that had Wes narrowing his eyes. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Katie handles all the admin, fundraising, and social media for the ranch,” Wes said. “But she’s been spending her free time helping with the rescue horses.”

“You mean, she helps Angela with the horses,” Dion teased. He winked at Katie, who play punched his shoulder.

“Angela is one of the rescue staff, and Katie’s girlfriend,” Wes clarified at Shane’s confusion. “Speaking of which, where is she? You two are usually attached at the hip these days.”

“Picking up supplies in town,” Katie said with a frown. “Have you seen the new rescue yet?”

“Dion was about to show us,” Wes said.

“This way,” Dion said, leading them to a stall where a tall, coal-black horse stood. Wes’s heart squeezed at the sight before him, and Shane gasped. The horse’s head hung low, discharge leaking from the corners of his flat eyes and nostrils, and every single bone stuck out sharply from under his dull coat. He was a walking skeleton .

“What happened to him?” Shane asked, the pain and shock in his voice echoed in Wes’s chest. He hated seeing the condition seized domestic horses were in when they arrived at the ranch, but he was grateful Mason and his sisters had made this space for them, where they received the kindness and care they deserved.

Dion sighed, his full lips dipping into a frown, and Wes knew just what he was thinking, because he was thinking the same thing. How could people be so cruel?

“The Colorado Humane Society seized him,” Dion spoke, his voice tight with emotion. “His owner had neglected and starved him. He’s young too, only three years old. Apparently, he wasn’t responding to the owner’s training methods and so the owner left him to his own devices in a dirt pen. No food, no water, no shelter. The owner’s son was the one who reported him.”

Shane was quiet for a minute. His voice was hard when said, “How does someone do that?”

“They have no heart, no respect, no compassion,” Wes said softly.

Shane stepped up to the stall door and rested his forearms on the narrow ledge. “Does he have a name?”

“Uh . . . I didn’t like the name he had, so I changed it to Nahawi,” Dion said. “It means ‘brave’ in Choctaw.”

“Perfect,” Wes said. Nahawi was a beautiful name.

“Hello, Nahawi,” Shane whispered, and Nahawi flicked one ear in Shane’s direction, but was too shut down for anything more.

Dion turned to Wes. “Have you seen the new mustangs yet?”

Wes shook his head. “We only just got here. I wanted to see Merlin first, before giving Shane a tour of the ranch.”

“Mason and Colt are out there with them now.”

“Thanks.” Wes turned back to Shane, who was still having a silent conversation with Nahawi. Huh . If he wasn’t mistaken, Nahawi had shifted slightly toward Shane. Wes and Dion exchanged a raised eyebrow.

“I can’t tell what breed he is,” Shane said. “A Friesian cross?”

“Good eye. He’s a Moresian—a Morgan and Friesian cross,” Dion said. “They’re an actual registered breed now.”

“Really? He’s gorgeous.”

Sick, skinny, and beaten down, but Shane was right .

“Looks like we might have a new hand here,” Dion said quietly.

Wes nodded as he studied Shane’s profile. His hair had grown a half inch since Wes had come on board as his personal protection officer. Long bangs obscured Shane’s eyes even more than when he’d first met him, and the ends curled at the base of his neck. His nose was straight and sharp and dark stubble dusted his jaw, softening the edges of his goatee.

Shane pushed the hair from his eyes with fingers free of their usual collection of rings, and his gaze locked on Wes. Heat crawled up Wes’s neck at having been caught staring. He cleared his throat.

“Want to go see some mustangs?”

Shane looked back at Nahawi and nodded. “Sure.”

Shane was quiet as they left the barn and crossed the dirt courtyard back to Wes’s truck.

“So, what’s the deal with this ranch?” Shane asked once they were on their way. “You said Mason transitioned from a cattle ranch to a wild horse sanctuary, but I saw some bison on the way in.”

“They ran cattle here for generations,” Wes replied as they bounced over a wooden bridge, crossing the Laramie River that snaked through the entire seventeen-thousand-acre spread. “But when Mason’s dad passed away and Mason took over, he made some big changes. He had different ideas than his dad and with the help of his sisters, they shifted focus to more ethical and sustainable ranching. He’s also a staunch wild horse supporter, and believe it or not, he’s mostly vegetarian.”

Shane snorted and looked at him, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses and the fall of his hair, but Wes knew his eyes were wide, and eyebrows raised. He chuckled.

“How is that a thing?”

“He makes it work.” Grinning, Wes shrugged. “Anyway, he sold off all the cattle, brought in a small herd of bison, and fenced thousands of acres to create a sanctuary for the mustangs removed from the public lands they’re legally entitled to run free on. And as you saw with Nahawi, he also rescues domestic horses from bad situations and brings them back to good health. Those horses are mostly adopted out. His other sister, Trina, helps with the wild horses. He even has wilderness and eco-tours in the northwest section of the ranch to diversify income streams. ”

“This is a ranch I can get behind,” Shane said. “As long as the hands aren’t assholes,” he added quietly enough that Wes wondered if he’d meant to say that out loud.

“Here we are.” Wes rolled to a stop outside the field with the mustangs that had landed when Wes was in Toronto. Colt, Mason, and Trina were tossing out flakes of hay, and Thad, the youngest hand on the ranch, was cleaning out a water tub. Wes killed the engine.

Shane walked with him as Wes opened and closed the first gate to the pasture, crossed a narrow laneway that they used to move the mustangs from pasture to pasture, or to guide them down to the medical barn when they needed veterinary care. He opened the second gate, and before he had a chance to close it behind him, Marley and Diesel, Mason’s dogs, raced over. They danced at his feet, their pink tongues lolling, Diesel’s tail wagging a mile a minute, and Marley doing the infamous Australian Shepherd bum wiggle.

“Hey you two.” He kneeled to receive their exuberant canine welcome. “I missed you guys.”

Satisfied Wes had received enough attention, the dogs turned their excitement on Shane, who laughed at their antics as he petted them behind their ears.

“The Aussie is Marley, and the blue heeler is Diesel,” Wes introduced with a grin he couldn’t stop if he’d tried. “They’re a menace, but we love them.”

Shane chuckled, paying no mind to the fur that stuck to his clothing. “Nothing menacing about these two.”

The dogs continued bouncing around them as they made their way toward his brother and Mason. Trina waved at him as she walked back to a Gator to retrieve more hay. She’d kept to herself since divorcing her husband, Brett, after learning he’d been involved with the threats against Mason.

“Welcome home,” Mason greeted with a nod. He shifted his gaze to Shane and pulled a glove off his right hand. “And you must be the rock star we’ve all heard about. I’m Mason Hayes.”

Shane slanted a questioning look at Wes before stepping forward and taking Mason’s hand in a quick, friendly shake. Wes shook his head. He hadn’t told Mason or his brothers anything about Shane—except that he was a musician. And world-famous. Wes noticed that even though Shane appeared confident, the set of his shoulders had stiffened again.

“Welcome to Haverstall,” Mason said to Shane in that velvety voice of his.

“Thank you.” Shane’s shoulders lowered, and Wes breathed a sigh of relief. Mason’s voice held a kind of magic with horses, and seemingly with rock stars as well. “This is an amazing place you have here.”

Mason grinned as Colt came up beside him and extended a hand in greeting. “And I’m Colt. Wes’s brother.”

Wes narrowed his eyes at the assessing way Colt regarded Shane. He knew that look, the one that made anyone he aimed it at feel as though he could see into their very depths and uncover all their secrets. That innate talent was one of the many things that made Colt great at what he did.

“Nice to meet you,” Shane said, lifting his chin so slightly no one would notice—except for Wes, who was learning all his tells, and Colt, who saw everything.

Colt grinned. A disarming lift of his lips that Wes hoped would put Shane at ease. “Come help us spread hay for these guys.”

Colt turned to Wes, and his smile broad. “Good to have you home.”

“Good to be home.” Wes grabbed some hay from the back of the Gator and handed an armful of flakes to Shane. “Which one is Denali? Levi told me he was in rough shape when he arrived.”

Colt pointed to a massive dapple-gray gelding standing well back and watching them with wary eyes.

“He’s huge,” Wes said, awed by the sheer power and beauty of the once formidable band stallion.

“Over sixteen hands.” Colt tossed some hay. “I doubt he’ll ever come too close, but he’s standing so much taller, and his confidence has been growing stronger by the day.”

“Why do you have so many mustangs?” Shane asked as he spread his flakes out on the ground.

Colt glanced at Mason, who had wandered off to check one of the water troughs. “Don’t get Mason started,” he said conspiratorially. “His passion for protecting wild horses borders on obsession. But basically, lobbyists, ranching associations, and poor land and herd management practices are decimating free-roaming wild horses. Even though they’re federally protected to roam public lands. They’re rounded up and sent to holding pens that cost the American taxpayer millions of dollars every year—if they make it there at all, after the inhumane roundups—and far too many of these horses end up in the slaughter pipeline, which is illegal, but they somehow get away with.”

Colt paused, inhaling deeply as he pursed his lips, hands on his hips.

“Mason is wearing off on you,” Wes said with a tilt of his mouth.

“It’s easy when it means fighting for what’s right,” Colt replied.

Shane walked back to the Gator for more hay. “How do they end up here, then?”

“They’re put up for adoption by the BLM.” At Shane’s frown, Colt clarified. “As in the Bureau of Land Management. Mason goes to all the adoption events and kill pen auctions to adopt and rescue as many as he can. Some are also owner relinquishments, or requests from those few with the BLM who truly do care about the welfare of these horses. We even get other rescues who are at capacity asking us for help.”

“One thing I know about Mason,” Wes interjected, “If he could, he would adopt every single wild horse out of the holding pens.”

“And he fights to prevent their removal in the first place,” Colt added.

“That just seems all so wrong to me.” Shane shook his head, his features tight as he scanned the small herd. “What will you do with these horses?”

“Once they’ve fully decompressed and their quarantine is over, we’ll turn them out with the big herds,” Mason said, having finished checking the troughs and returning to the Gator. “Free to roam and live as they choose for the rest of their lives.”

“You don’t train any for saddle horses?” Shane asked.

Mason shook his head sharply. “They’re wild. They belong on the open range.”

When Mason didn’t say anything more, Wes added, “Some mustangs are too wild to be domesticated. Those especially need sanctuaries like this one. But many adjust nicely to domestic life and make some of the best riding horses in the world. ”

After a few moments of watching the horses peacefully munch on hay, tails swishing lazily, Shane turned to Wes. “Speaking of riding . . .”

Mason raised an eyebrow, his gaze bouncing between Shane and Wes. “Have you ever ridden a horse before?”

Shane lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “Once or twice.”

Colt and Mason shared a look.

“You could put him on Joker,” Colt said with a straight face, but the amusement underlying his voice was a dead giveaway he was anything but serious.

Wes bit back laughter and shook his head. “Ignore him.”

Shane lifted his chin. “Is there a problem with Joker?”

“Trust me,” Wes said, “you don’t want to ride that one.”

Shane crossed his arms, widened his stance, and puffed out his chest. Rock star mode dialed up to the max. “I can handle any horse you put me on.”

Wes had no idea if Shane had any riding experience—or if he did, how long it had been—but it was already clear that he was comfortable around horses. Wes saw it in the calm, quiet way Shane had spoken to Nahawi, and how at ease he was standing in the middle of a field with wild and unpredictable mustangs. He wouldn’t be surprised to discover Shane could ride circles around him.

“Why don’t we see if Levi will let you ride Spice Girl,” Wes offered. He waved a goodbye to Colt and Mason. “We’ll see you at dinner.”

“I want to see this Joker,” Shane demanded when they climbed back into Wes’s truck. “The other one is probably a pony. I’m too tall for a pony, and like I said, I can handle any horse.”

“I’m sure you can.”

Shane glared at him.

“What? I mean that.”

Shane leaned back in his seat with a soft huff. “We’ll see.”

When they returned to ranch central, Wes found Levi in the machinery shed tinkering under the hood of a classic car he’d been restoring for years.

“Hey, Lee,” Wes called out. “Do you mind if we take Spice Girl out for a short ride? ”

Levi stood back, placed a wrench on the edge of the engine frame, and grabbed a towel to wipe his hands—for all the good that would do. The towel was nearly as black as his hands.

“Sure, no problem.” He tossed the towel back onto the corner of the car and regarded Shane for a second. “You need proper boots, though.”

Shane glanced down at his feet. “These are all I have.”

Levi gave him another perusal, and Shane being Shane, cocked a hip before spinning around with a graceful flourish. Levi raised his brows, laughter shining in his eyes.

“Just making sure you get a good look,” Shane teased, but there was an edge to his voice Wes didn’t miss. He’d bet Levi picked up on it, too.

“And the looking is good, Mister Castle.” Levi chuckled, effortlessly putting Shane at ease the Levi way.

A growl threatened to rumble up from the base of Wes’s throat. He looked away. Where the hell had that come from ? That was twice in one day a little green monster Wes had never known lived inside of him had reared its head.

Wes coughed, drawing the attention of both his brother and Shane. “I don’t have any boots that will fit you.”

“I got you,” Levi said, oblivious to the war going on inside Wes. “I’ll meet you in the barn in a few minutes.”

Wes nodded and turned for the barn without another word. He didn’t trust himself to speak just then. Not even to tell Shane to follow him. But a second later, the soft crunch of Shane’s rubber-soled boots on gravel and dirt trailed behind him.

Luckily, Shane didn’t speak or ask questions, and by the time they returned to the pasture where Merlin was, Wes had shoved his green demon back into whatever hole it had crawled out of. He grabbed a couple of halters and lead ropes from hooks that were nailed into the top railing of the fence and handed Spice Girl’s halter to Shane. Then he reached into a bucket that was near the gate, lifted the lid, and snagged a few homemade treats Mason and his sisters made for the horses. He handed a couple to Shane.

“Brace yourself,” Wes warned. He whistled as he opened the gate for the two of them to enter the pasture .

Several horses trotted toward them this time, including a donkey that Mason had rescued from the slaughter pipeline as a yearling.

The donkey sauntered right up to Shane and nuzzled his hand. Shane chuckled as he fed the burro a treat and petted his forehead.

“Well, aren’t you all kinds of adorable,” Shane cooed.

Wes chuckled and Shane glanced over. Wes waved between them. “Shane, meet Joker.”