Free Wilde One by Jannine Gallant Page A

Alaska or Chile or some mountain in Europe—pretty much anywhere there’s snow and rocks that look like they could kill you—my little brother was probably one of the stars. They call him the Wilde Thing.”
    “Unbelievable. Maybe you aren’t the wild one in your family.”
    “Oh, I have my moments.”
    Her heart stuttered before picking up its normal rhythm. “I bet you do.”
    The glance he shot in her direction held a simmering heat. He cleared his throat. “Eden’s the only one who still lives full-time on the ranch in Wyoming with our parents and grandfather. She breaks horses—wild ones.”
    “I’m suitably impressed. Geez, Griff, your whole family sounds a little crazy.”
    “So people tell us. What about you? Let’s hear your life story.”
    “It isn’t very exciting. I grew up on our family dairy farm. My older brother runs the business with my dad. My younger brother is a vet. I wanted to teach. A couple of years after college I threw caution to the wind and left Iowa for New York. Not a mistake, exactly, but not the experience I’d dreamed about. I wanted to make a difference. I’m not sure I succeeded.”
    “I don’t know about that. Maybe your concern for those kids will catch up with them somewhere down the road. They may remember your advice, or simply that someone cared enough about them to try.” He lifted the fingers of one hand off the steering wheel and wiggled them. “It’s the ripple effect. If you throw a rock into a pond on one side, it may shake up a toad on his lily pad near the other bank.”
    She snorted with laughter. “I hope I’m the rock and not the toad.”
    “Of course you are.” His teasing glance sobered. “Though I’m beginning to think Victor is the rock in this game, and we’re all toads waiting to get dunked.”
    “Then be glad you’re a good swimmer. With my skills, I’ll drown.”
    “No you won’t.” His gaze slid over her like a caress. “Because I’ll be right there to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”
    Her toes curled in her sandals as she put her head back and looked over at him. “My hero.”
    * * * *
    Griff strolled behind Ainslee, hands pushed into the pockets of his shorts, enjoying the evening breeze blowing across the grassy field. On his own, it would never have occurred to him to wander around an old battlefield, but the process was actually cathartic after long hours cooped up in a car. Birds chirped as evening shadows lengthened over an area where men had once fought and died.
    According to Ainslee, soldiers from the North did most of the dying. Apparently the South had kicked northern ass here. Twice. The first time a bunch of dimwits from the nation’s capital had driven their buggies out to watch the battle then gotten caught up in the retreat when the inexperienced ranks broke and ran. Who knew history was filled with fun facts?
    He grinned. Or maybe it was just Ainslee who made them fun. She had a way with a story that left him hanging on her every word. Possibly it was a combination of her bright smile and the enthusiastic sparkle in her eyes as she talked. Or the mind-numbing way the spandex workout pants she’d changed into at the campsite they’d been lucky enough to find stretched across her superior ass when she bent to read a tombstone in the cemetery. Whatever the reason, he was having a terrific time wandering through fields and woodlands in a place filled with hints of lingering pain and suffering.
    Ainslee rose to her feet from a crouching position in front of an age-stained headstone. “This boy was only seventeen.”
    “War sucks. A wasted life.”
    “True, but both sides fiercely believed in the values they fought for.” She glanced around. “I guess we should head back to the campground. It’s getting pretty dark.”
    He took her arm when she stumbled on the uneven terrain, then clasped her hand in his. “Thanks, Ainslee.”
    Her gaze shot up to meet his. “For what?”
    “Broadening my